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dogbearinggifts · 4 years

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What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever.

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

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mighty-ragnarssons · 3 years

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Knocked Up | Modern Vikings AU | Chapter I

Relationships | Modern Ivar x OC Summary | Ivar always thought he'd be one of those people that never find the love of their lives. But then he found her - or, as the story goes, she bumped into him. He never saw it coming. Then he had to deal with it, and all the consequences that came along. Warnings | some smut, a little angst, harassement, teenage pregnancy

You can read in AO3 as well (click here).

Chapter 1

There was no one in town that didn’t know about the Ragnarssons, the children of the famous Ragnar Lothbrok. They were fearless, they were reckless, and they were dangerous, just like their father. That’s what everybody said.

Bjorn was the eldest, the first-born of Ragnar’s first marriage with Lagertha. There had been a daughter too, Gyda, but she had passed away terribly young. After that, Ragnar had only sons born from his second marriage, this time with Aslaug. First came Ubbe, then Hvitserk and Sigurd. All of them perfectly healthy and strong boys that, much like Bjorn and to Ragnar’s amusement, took after their father in several ways. Unexpectedly and accidentally, however, there was a fifth child, the last son of Ragnar, Ivar.

Ivar was very different from his brothers.

Born with a bone condition, he was crippled from the start. It was not just his legs that wouldn’t allow him to ever walk on his own, but a whole lot more pain coming from his frail bones that were never to be trusted. No wonder he grew up as a vulnerable, angry, and sad kid, despite being his mother’s favorite and most protected son. And now, as he was becoming a man, people called him mad and a drunk, a wild card with whom everyone rather stay away from. Ivar didn’t mind, he preferred to be tamed than to be pitied after a lifetime of being looked down on. In fact, he would do everything in his power to remain like this. It was the only way to prove himself and stay out of his brothers’ shadow and, most importantly, his father’s to who Ivar was the least favored son, something which hurt the boy more deeply than his constant physical pain.

“Hurry up, Ivar. Crawl faster, or else when we get to the club Ubbe and Hvitserk will have gotten all the best girls” Sigurd’s voice echoed loudly through the house.

Ivar was there a second later clearly annoyed at his brother’s mocking tone. “Last time I checked, dear brother, you need me to drive you. So shut up. Let’s go.”

Sigurd couldn’t argue back. He did need Ivar to drive them to the club. He kept failing at taking his driver’s license. It was humiliating to have to need his crippled brother to drive him, but Ubbe and Hvistserk, the bastards, hadn’t been home. Minutes afterward Ivar was behind the wheel of his accessible SUV and off they were.

Thirty minutes later they were skipping the line to get into the club. The Ragnarssons had their ways. If there was one circuit in which their name was known by everyone, it was the nightlife one. No party would ever start without one of them being there. Ivar and Sigurd joined Ubbe and Hvisterk in the VIP area. As usual, Ivar took a corner where he knew he’d spend the next few hours drinking, smoking, and glaring at the dancing crowd. Perhaps if someone caught his eye he’d make a move, but usually, it was more like his brothers to do that.

“There you go” Hvitzerk handed him a joint “Don’t look so serious, Ivar. The night is young. Enjoy!” By the looks of it, it was clear that he was already a bit high. But again it was Hvitserk and unusual would be to find him sober. “A lot of pretty ladies out there. Want me to pick one for you?”

Ivar knew Hivtserk was only joking, but he still didn’t like it. His brother, ignoring Ivar’s cold glare and much to his annoyance, started pointing out to random girls who were dancing. “Oh, look at that one. C’mon Ivar, ain’t she a treat to stare at?”

Thankfully, Hivtserk stopped his stupid game once their oldest brother Bjorn joined them, bringing shots to everyone with the help of his wife, Torvi.

“Brother, to what do we owe the honor?” Ivar said, throwing one of his ironic smirks.

“I bring good news. Father is going to be released from jail sooner than expected. In three months to be exact! I had to pull some strings but it’s settled”

The news was received with different reactions. Sigurd didn’t seem that happy, while Ivar was the opposite. Ubbe was the first one to hold one of the shot glasses and started the toast “To Father! To Ragnar!”

Ragnar had been in prison for almost three years due to white-collar crimes, having been convicted of corporate fraud and money laundering. His sentence would’ve been of more than ten years, but Ragnar had his ways and was able to cut a deal for five years. And now, apparently, he would only serve almost four. Throughout this time it had been Bjorn taking over the leadership of the family’s successful business, Northmen Ventures, of which all of Ragnar’s sons had become the sole shareholders just before he was imprisoned. This explained why they were one of the richest families in their Norwegian city of Bergen.

Bjorn, now age 30, had been the natural successor of Ragnar. Not only because he was the oldest and perhaps the favorite son of Ragnar, but also because at the time he was the only one with a university degree, having just graduated from Law School. Yet, all of Ragnar’s sons were meant to get involved with the business. At least that was their father’s wish. Ubbe, now 24, had just graduated from Architecture School but had recently joined Bjorn on the company’s executive board. Ivar wasn’t given the opportunity to help out, something which he grudged his older brothers - for dismissing him for his age, despite the fact that he’d watch and learned as much from his father as possible since an early age. Now 19 he was a freshman in college taking Business Administration. Then there were Hvitserk, 23, and Sigurd, 21, the ones more adamant about following in their father’s footsteps. Hvitserk was using the money they were all getting to sustain his pricy bachelor lifestyle, and so was Sigurd who dedicated most of his time to art and music. Neither tried to pursue a higher education degree.

“Don’t get too excited. Father will be back and then what? It’s not like he cares about us.” Sigurd, the mood killer, chugged his beer aggressively “He didn’t let us visit him in prison not even once. Not even Mother was allowed to. He didn’t even care for sending a postcard for Christmas!”

“He must have had his reasons.”

“And he left us the company”

“And so what? He just wanted to prevent it from ending up in the hands of the government. Fuck him! You might all want to play the role of doting sons, but I’m not gonna tag along” After this Sigurd stormed off.

The remaining brothers looked at one another. A little bit of what Sigurd had just said resounsed with them, but at the same time they were excited to welcome back their father. Things would be very different with him around.

“I say we celebrate.” Ivar said, not minding Sigurd. He couldn’t wait for his father to be back so that he could prove himself once and for all. He was no longer the defenseless crippled child he was when Ragnar went away.

Despite the good mood he was in about Bjorn’s good news, Ivar wasn’t vibing with the club’s atmosphere that night. Hvitserk and Ubbe were making out with some random girls, Sigurd was nowhere to be seen and Torvi and Bjorn had left already. Instead, he was craving for some adrenaline and he knew just the way to get it. Texting his dealer, he left the club with the help of his crutches.

Nothing was to stop him except that on the way out someone bumped into him almost causing him to lose his fragile balance. Fury grew on Ivar who was about to yell at whoever made the mistake of infuriating him that night, but that’s when her face lost the blurriness of a few seconds ago and Ivar lost his balance again but for a completely different reason.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to...shit”

“Bitch, get back! For the hundredth time, you’re not getting in!”

The girl’s expression quickly turned one of desperation. “I told you I have to. My cousin needs help! Don’t stop me, please” Her words were towards the bouncer that was now pulling her back, but her pleading eyes were on Ivar as if asking for help.

“Hey, let her go!” Ivar didn’t know why, but his rage got up to new levels when he saw the bouncer getting his filthy hands on her. “I said back off. Take your fucking hands off of her.”

At Ivar’s command the bouncer let her go. It didn’t matter that he was a big muscle guy, Ivar took a step towards him and faced him with a cold death stare.

“She’s coming in with me, do you understand?”

“Ragnarsson, she is a minor. I can’t let her in.”

“I’m not asking.”

His tone set it. He nodded so that the girl got in the club ahead of him. She didn’t even say a word, going immediately in. Ivar had to hurry himself inside to catch up.

“Fuck, there’s so many people” she noticed looking absolutely lost.

“Let me help you.” he offered.

“The bathrooms. My cousin... she called me, she didn’t sound fine… I’m worried something’s happened... She said she couldn’t move” she was trembling as she spoke. Ivar reached her hand with his.

“If she is here we are going to find her.” he assured her “Follow me”

It was not typical of Ivar to help a lady in distress but as he was guiding this girl through the crowd of drunk dancing people he couldn’t understand the need he was abruptly feeling for shielding her and, worst of all, to comfort her. These feelings left him uneased, but he was not going to dwell into that right now. If his suspicions were right and her cousin was somewhere in the club, then she was probably drugged to the point of unconsciousness and in a position to be taken advantage of.

They swiped all the bathrooms at the club until at last they burst into one where a girl was noticeably knocked down in a corner.

“Cathrine!” the girl immediately crouched down on her cousin. “Cathrine, can you hear me?”

“All of you, get out” Ivar demanded the girls who were inside. Some tried to complain, after all he was the guy in a female bathroom. These same girls that had paid no attention, or they just didn’t care, to the other girl on the floor. He then went outside as fast as he could and got a water bottle.

“She’s awake, but barely. Says she 's dizzy. She’s not talking right”

“She was likely drugged” It wouldn’t be a first in that club “Make her sip some water” he threw the water bottle at them. He really wanted to level down to them, but with his crutches and all it just wouldn’t go well. “I’m gonna find help.”

He ‘raced’ to the VIP area. Only Hivtserk was there with a girl on top of him. What was wrong with his brothers for acting as if their corner was a place of public foreplay display?

“Hvitserk, I need your help!”

“Go away Ivar” he grumbled and continued to suggestively run his hands on the brunette over his lap.

Ivar had to take the matter into his hands. The first thing he found was a leftover cocktail on the table which he threw at the girl. Her immediate squeak was so high and audible despite the deafening music. She practically jumped from on top of his brother.

“You crazy motherfucker!”

“What the fuck Ivar?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Come with me. I need your help.”

Usually he didn't have much faith in his brothers - after all they were a pain in his ass most of the time - but this time he was really hoping to call on Hvitserk’s good senses. Fortunately his prayers were answered and his older brother followed him back to the bathroom

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a passed out girl. We need to get her out of here.”

“Would you go so far as in to get laid, little brother? Oh, you sicko”

“This is not the time for jokes, asshole. You’re the sicko for even suggesting that”

Ivar was almost regretting getting Hvitserk to help, but the truth was that he alone wouldn’t be able to carry the girl out from the bathroom. The moment they got in there Hvitserk got a bit more serious and kneeled next to the two girls.

“Let’s get her out of here”

Together with Hvitserk, the girl helped raise her semi-unconscious cousin. People inside the club were so fucked up that they didn’t drop one second to look at them leaving.

“Take her to my car” Ivar indicated and so they did. He unlocked his metallic grey SUV from afar and went on to open the backdoors where they laid the girl. “Let her get some fresh hair. It will do her good.”

“Should we take her to the hospital?” Hvitserk suggested.

A loud “No!” came from the inside of the car.

“She can’t. It will be too complicated” said the other girl but not without hinting her dissatisfaction.

Ivar finally took a moment to fully look at her. Dressed in just a pair of jeans and a warm sweatshirt, she was lean and tall, but at least a good ten centimeters shorter than himself. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun with some strands falling down on her face. He had to hold the instinct to gently brush those aside. And her eyes… They were a very greyish blue color like he had never seen before. They were mirroring worry and nervousness.

“I’m calling a cab. Thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you” she said facing Ivar and Ivar only.

“I can drive you.” he offered without thinking.

“We already bothered you enough -”

Ivar cut her off “Nonsense. I’m going to drive you” he declares in a way that offered no other option.

Relief poured from her gaze “Thank you”

It was quite the drive, further out of Bergen’s city center. By the time they got there the passed out girl - Cathrine - had regained consciousness, albeit feeling nauseous and dizzy. Hvitserk carried her alone in his arms to the inside of the house and further into her bed. It was time enough for her to fall asleep like a rock.

“She seems just to need some rest. Keep her hydrated when she wakes up.”

“If she was drugged then it should wear off her system soon”

“Noted. I don’t know how to thank you both”

“You could go on a date with one of us, how does that sound?”

“Hvitserk!” Ivar admonished in reaction to the girl’s shocked expression “Please, ignore my brother. He, too, has drugs that need to wear off his system”

“You’re no fun, Ivar” Hvitserk couldn’t argue back on the drugs part. “A pleasure to help, milady. Until next time” He did a silly bow and left the apartment back to the car.

“Is he always like that?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” Ivar shrugged his shoulders “Hand me your phone” Because she did without complaining, he got it and put his number in there “I’m Ivar Lothbrook. Whenever you need help.”

What he really wanted to say was ‘text me’. He didn’t have the nerve for that, tho.

For the first time that night she finally showed a glimpse of a smile “Honestly, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help, Ivar Lothbrok”

Her hand was touching his and for a moment everything seemed to stop. The way his name sounded on her lips… A shiver went down his spine. He wanted to hear it again, but most importantly he wanted to know her name.

But in that exact moment a horn yelled. Goddamned Hvitserk. He was going to wake up the whole street, which was the opposite of what the girls had asked. “I better go drive him home now or else he’ll wake up the whole neighborhood”

Yet Ivar was finding it difficult to leave. To leave her. Another honk made him take the necessary steps.

“I mean it when I say for you to use my number whenever. Stay safe”

He finally closed the door behind him and walked back to the car, but not before looking over his shoulder. There she was, by the window, waving goodbye with a shy smile on her face.

He needed to see her again.

The next morning Ivar woke up rather hopeful of seeing a text message. Seeing there was none, his day didn’t kick off exactly on the right terms. Throughout the day he checked his phone more times than he cared to admit and each time he grew impatient and irritated. What was it about that girl to make him like this? It’s not like he usually gave a crap about whoever he met.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve got a right cob-on” his older brother Ubbe asked later that day when they were all chilling by the firepit in the backyard of the Lothbrook’s home.

Although in Norway it was uncommon for people their age to still be living at home, in their case that’s how things were and worked out great most days. Usually it was just the four brothers and the house was big enough for them not to be in each other’s ways.. Their mother, Aslaug Lothbrok, ran one the country’s finest art galleries. After her husband’s arrest she had moved her gallery to the capital city, Oslo, instead of their home city. Lately she spent most of her time there rather than at home.

“It’s nothing. Leave me alone”

“He’s hung up” teased Hvitserk “Still thinking about the pretty blondie from last night, brother?”

Right that moment Ivar wished he could smack the mocking smiles out of his brother’s faces.

“Well, well, well Ivar. Didn’t know you had company last night.”

“He didn’t. Not exactly. None of us did” Hvitserk proceed to put Ubbe on the loop in regards to their little episode last night. “Instead of asking her for her number, our little brother gave her his. Wrong move, dude.” Ivar immediately regretted telling this to Hvitserk. “Don’t be so bummed out, Ivar. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. Speaking of…”

A blonde Ivar doesn’t care much about exits their home in Sigurd’s company, both appearing content which can only mean one thing. Margrethe is a constant guest at the Lothbrok’s and probably the only female with the fame of being acquainted with all of the brothers’ rooms. Although a favorite among the Ragnarssons, to Ivar she’s nothing but an unpleasant company he is forced to tolerate after they fall out months ago.

“If that’s the fish you’re hinting at, I’d rather go vegan” Ivar mumbled under his breath.

I hope you liked it! It’s my first Vikings fic :) Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language. At least five more chapters will be on the way.

#knocked-up-fic #vikings fic #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #modern vikings #modern vikings au #modern ivar #modern ivar au #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #ivar x original female character #ivar ragnarsson #ragnarssons #my fiction #ivar lothbrok #knocked up fic

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loki-darkprince-odinson · 3 years

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King Loki, I apologize for the rant but I would like some advice.

My father always makes me feel like complete garbage. He is always putting me down, never appreciates me, and makes my depression so much worse. I'm fixing up a house to move in with my friends but I'm still stuck at the house since my parents won't help me get my license or a car, much less a job. I cook, do dishes, take care of the pets, take out the trash, get the mail, do my laundry, wash towels, and help with their laundry. I also take care of my sick mother and while I'm currently on summer break, I'm going to college to become a clinical psychologist. Even then, my father will point out other things that I don't do, and expects me to clean the entire house every day. He always talks about how he needs to do everything around the house yet all he does is sleep, play video games, and watch television. He also says he works hard yet on many occasions he says he sits on his ass all day on his tablet. He also yells so much. I get scared every day when he starts yelling because I worry he may leave us, which he has threatened before, or he may actually hit us. He never has hit either my mother or I yet, and says he never would but he slams and throws things when angry at us so it's his way of showing us how much he wants to hit us, even if he doesn't realize it. However, not only do I have many responsibilities, My depression makes it difficult for me to do much, and he makes it worse. Even when I do try to clean the house he always makes comments such as: "About time." or "How long until it gets cleaned next time?" or "This was half assed, you didn't do it right." I have tried so hard to have a connection with him but I'm so tired of fighting for a relationship that he doesn't care about. I can't address my concerns with him because he will threaten to not take me to college and pay the bills. Do you have any advice to help me deal with my father until I can escape?

Best regards, Catrina.

“Catrina,” Loki drawls, in his smooth resonate voice. “I firstly must commend your good work. For caring for your ill mother, minding the household needs, and that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for a rest; that you keep on living even if you do not know how to anymore. Secondly, you have my deepest sympathies for your grievances. I am all too familiar with what it is like to seek the approval of a parent; only for there to be none in return.” His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration as memories flowed unbidden.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a sad smile.

“Those whom I knew and called my mother and father are dead. That much is beyond dispute. They were not my real parents, but they raised me as their own. I daresay they loved me. That had been in dispute, at least in my own mind for awhile. I found out very late that my identity was a lie. Not Asgardian, not a son of Odin, I was completely unmade. That was how I felt when I learned of my true parentage. I was a fraud, a monster; it explained so much. It explained why I never felt like I fit in, why I would never be my brother's equal, why I would never get what I'd been promised my whole life.” His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Loki raises his left hand and rests his forefinger against his lips as a line forms between his own eyebrows in thought.

“I have lingered around Midgard long enough to come to an understanding of how your minds tick. I shall do my best to give advice where I can.

Try, if you will, to put things into perspective. The most loving parents commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force one to destroy the person they really are: a subtle kind of murder. Even the most loving parents damage their children with the best intentions—to protect them, to guide them, to better them. In most cases, it would appear they do it by imprinting their own fears and prejudices on them.

The point is, parents are mere, imperfect people.

They have flaws, struggles and impaired judgement. They have both emotional and intellectual handicaps. Regardless of their parental role, they are afflicted by personal blockages and limitations.

But most of all, they are people who make mistakes, and who are terrified of being judged by their children.

Learn to see your difficult parent as just that; human. Learn to see their emotional immaturity as a type of disability.

With that in mind, you would do well to keep your expectations of them low.

In many ways the effect a difficult parent has on ones self is fueled by their feelings of injustice and the belief that things could be different, or ought to be different.

In other words, your expectations dictate how you feel.

You need to let go of your expectations and accept your parent for who they are.

You cannot expect someone with, say, a narcissistic personality, to act with empathy and kindness. No more than you can expect a scorpion not to sting.

Difficult parents are much easier to deal with when you accept that they will not change. So do not expect of them more than they are capable of, and you will not be disappointed or hurt.

Do not fall into the illusion of guilt, Catrina.” He warns. “A difficult parent loves nothing more than to make you feel like you’ve hurt them. Or, in a different scenario, like you’re a bad person if you do not do something they ask.

Do not fall for it. If they’re setting a guilt trap, calmly tell them that you do not appreciate being emotionally manipulated, and you will not tolerate it anymore.

Manipulators, and I should know, detest being called out on their dirty tricks.

If they continue to harass you, reiterate that you cannot do what they’re asking you to do this time, and you need them to respect that.

The trick is agreeing with everything they’re saying (how can they argue when you agree with them?) and re-stating your decision over and over again.

Now this part I find to be… far more easier said than done. You must let go of the need for your father's approval, Catrina. It goes without saying that every child needs and wants their parents’ approval. It is normal to want it, and it is normal to receive it.

Yet so many have to accept the fact that this is not going to happen. For whatever reason, their parent has chosen to withhold their approval. Some difficult parents do it as a form of punishment. While others hope to influence their child in the “right” direction.

Most likely, your father loves you, but they have a very warped idea of what parental love is.

In their misguided quest to make you into a version of themselves, they missed the chance to get to know you. And so they cannot appreciate you for the wonderful being that you are.”

He shrugs elegantly. “It is their loss. When you realize this and let go of the need for their approval, you will be able to start living your life in a whole new way.

When confronting your father, be direct and calm without expecting a specific response. That is the part you cannot control. The part that is within your control is letting your thoughts and feelings known, which is empowering.

Stick to the facts and use “I” statements such as, “I feel like my words do not matter to you when you constantly interrupt me” or “I feel scared and misunderstood when you yell at me”

Remember that manipulative parents are not known for their empathy. They will try to confuse you, go on the offensive, or assume the role of a victim.

Do not allow them to bully you into submission by invoking guilt or pity. State your case in a calm and polite manner, and stay cool regardless of their response.

Your goal is to be honest about your feelings, and to make it clear that you will not tolerate certain behaviors.” He softly clears his throat.

“Last but not least, an unhappy alternative is forgoing the relationship that is too harmful. I know, a parent is not someone you can so easily cut out of your life. But if all else fails and your father continues to cause you psychological harm, then this may very well need to be taken into considerable consideration; at least for the foreseeable future. Sometimes it is the only logical recourse.

A parent that is fundamentally incapable of showing love and support, unable to see the error of their ways after numerous attempts to communicate how their behavior or words affect you, consistently dismissive, demeaning or critical, manipulative in a habitual manner, punishing and cruel whenever you disobey, are disrespectful of your boundaries and using threats and intimidation to get what they want is a destructive force that will continue to tear you down until you put a stop to it.

It is not an easy feat, my dear. The parent-child bond is hardwired into the brain, which means children get attached to even the most awful of parents.

But consider the cost of having that toxic relationship in your life—stress breeds anxiety, depression, internalized feelings of inadequacy, and failed personal relationships.

I wish you all the best, Catrina. I truly do.”

#loki #loki rp #loki odinson #ask loki #ask #parental troubles #gothiccatrina #loki roleplay

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anna-justice · 3 years

Text

too Close for Comfort - Upstead

Summary: Throwback to the aftermath of “Lines,” in season seven. This is the conversation between Jay, Voight and Hailey that we didn’t get to see.

Warnings: swearing, PTSD?, angst

Requested: Yes! #75, “What did you need to tell me?”

…

“Shut the door.”

Hailey slammed the door of her car shut, falling breathlessly into the driver's seat. It was freezing, the air inside being even colder than the frigid wind outside. Hailey threw her head back against the seat, numb to the frosty touch, she shook ever so slightly, having left her coat on her chair in the haste to get out of the district.

“So this is something we’re doing now?”

Soon, the temperature began to set in and Hailey broke her trance long enough to turn her keys in her ignition, suddenly being blasted with air as cold as Chicago winter wind. She didn’t bother to turn it down, it would warm up eventually and hopefully her with it. With no feeling in her ears or her hands, she hit the steering wheel, a single tear escaping her eye. She was surprised it didn’t freeze against her cheek. She had no idea what she was doing.

“Do you understand, you crossed the line?”

She did, she knew what she did was wrong, but she just wanted to feel something. The cold air circulated throughout her car, making it borderline inhabitable. If her fingers were moving against the dash, she didn’t know, she felt nothing. She wanted to feel something: guilt, fear, remorse, even. But she didn’t. All she knew is that she had crossed the threshold of something she couldn’t even see, and all she felt was void. Part of her thought she would be happy, or maybe prideful. She had helped put away a violent criminal and saved another man ten years of life wasted, but the Hailey that had done that wasn’t recognizable to her anymore.

“The lines, they are real clear.”

And she wished they were, in Chicago at least. She knew that at the FBI there was almost a marked path of steps on the floor to take, you couldn’t miss it. But she wished it were that easy at home. She wished that she was afraid of them, like she always was before. But everything seemed different now, ever since Jay was shot her world had been upside down. She watched him cross the line with Marcus, and then with Angela. He was just trying to do the right thing and it almost got him killed, it was so clear to Hailey. 100%, without a doubt, get Jay out of this. He was crazy, supporting the family of the man he got killed, he was too close. But then, she was too close to see that he was never going to move on, not without doing everything he possibly could to help them.

God, it was so normal. It felt like everyone around her got the benefit of the doubt but her. Letting Angela walk to keep Jay’s secret was wrong, an oversight that the old Hailey never would have made. But the old Hailey didn’t watch her partner bleed out on a basement floor, the old Hailey didn’t plant evidence in peoples cars, the old Hailey didn’t dare take a step out of line.

“I don’t want you to be me.”

She didn’t want to be him, but she didn’t see any other way. There was no going back now. Not after Cameron’s death, not after Darius. She wasn’t the same person who walked in and spilled coffee on Platt all those years ago. She felt like a fraud, and the only person that could really see her may never forgive her. Why would he? Hailey put on her seatbelt, willing herself to drive out of the parking lot, she had a lot of packing to do.

“Hailey, I’m starting to wonder if you can do it.”

She did too, she wondered what happened to her. Maybe it was the job: maybe she was hardening, losing her morality or just getting bored. But it felt like so much more than that. She had a family now, a real one, and she would do anything to protect them. She loved Vanessa, and she hated seeing her hurting. Of course she had to help Luis, she couldn’t watch Vanessa spiral. She was attached, something she had never let herself be before.

Hailey’s phone buzzed in her cup holder, bringing her back to reality. Her car had finally decided to warm up, and now she felt on the verge of overheating.

Jay Halstead: I’m at Backdoor, text me when you get here. I’ll wait to go in.

Hailey groaned, feeling her eyes well up again. She forgot that she had plans to meet Jay at their bar, it had been a rough case, a rough day. It was their thing. She was dreading it, but she had to tell him. She couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

…

Jay’s phone buzzed in his hand showing Hailey’s caller ID. He picked it up immediately. “Hey.” He said, a smile gracing his face.

“Hi.” She said, her voice coming through quiet and cut off.

Jay sat forward in his seat, “What’s wrong?” Worry laced thick.

“Jay,” She said, almost like she was bracing herself. “I’m going to New York.”

“What?” The words just kind of fell out of his mouth.

He heard Hailey take a deep breath on the line, “Voight is loaning me out to the FBI, the field office in New York. I leave tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand…” Jay trailed off, “Why?”

“I-I messed up Jay.” She said, her voice breaking. “I did something really stupid and I guess this is my punishment.”

Jay was seething and he wasn’t exactly sure why, “He can’t do this, he can’t just ship you off-”

“He can and he did.” Hailey cut him off. They were quiet for a moment. “I should go, I need to pack and my flight is early. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Jay stumbled over his words. “Thank you, for letting me know.”

Hailey breathed out a little laugh, “You think I would just disappear in the middle of the night?”

Jay froze for a second, she didn’t understand the weight of her own words. “You? No. Just, still, I appreciate it.” He had a million questions, but it seemed like she wasn’t really up for answers.

“You’re my partner,” She said without hesitation, “And you will still be my partner when I’m there and you will still be my partner when I get back.”

Those words were his anchor, she was coming back. “Damn right.” He paused, “Get some sleep and text me before you take off, so I know you got through security okay.”

“Of course. Goodnight Jay.”

“Goodnight Hailey, have a safe trip.” And with that the line went dead.

Jay could feel his blood boiling, he smoothly threw the truck back into gear and high tailed it out of the parking lot. There was someone he needed to talk to.

…

10 minutes later Jay burst into Voight’s office. “You’re sending Hailey to New York?”

Voight put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, he should have seen this coming. “The FBI needs a loan out officer, I thought it would be a good opportunity.” He said, calmly.

Jay paced around the small office, his hands resting on his hips. He was so mad he couldn’t form a sentence. “How could you do this to me? Again?”

“This isn’t about you Jay…” Voight said, his voice getting a little louder.

Jay scoffed, “Like hell it is.” They stared each other down for a moment. “Kevin would have loved this chance, Adam too, and you’re telling me that Kim didn’t need an escape right now?” He didn’t understand why it had to be Hailey, punishment or not. “Why Hailey?”

“Upton knows why.” Voight said shortly.

“Then tell me!” Jay exclaimed, exasperated. “I’m her partner.”

Voight stood, throwing the file he was reading down on his desk. “She needs this.”

“Well, I need her.” Jay snapped, gripping the back of the chair in front of him.

Voight scoffed, “Jay, I told you a long time ago that if you want to be in my unit, you keep it in your pants.”

“Oh, believe me,” Jay spat. “It’s in.” He sighed. “Hank, I can’t lose another partner to the feds. I can’t start over again.”

Voight took a breath, looking at the hurting young man in front of him. “Erin leaving was hard on me too, but ultimately it was her choice. She chose to leave and not come back. I gave Upton a temporary assignment, she is welcome back wherever she is ready.”

She is coming back, she is coming back, she is coming back. He almost felt like he was manifesting it. “What is she doesn’t?”

“Then that’s her choice.” Hank said, “Either way, you are yelling at the wrong person right now. Go home Jay.”

Jay nodded, “Yeah, okay.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Jay gave him a short nod before quickly leaving the office. He was feeling so many things he could barely stand it. He was embarrassed for blowing up on Voight and basically admitting his feelings for his partner to his boss. He was dreading the next few weeks without Hailey, he was dreading the constant stress of her deciding to stay. He was sad, all this New York talk was dredging up old memories, ones he wished he could just erase. He was angry, but he wasn’t sure who he was even mad at. And now he was scared, because somehow his truck ended up outside of Hailey’s house.

He wasn’t sure why he was there or what he was going to say, but he just needed to see her. Jay made his way to the front door, knocking. The door swung open to reveal Vanessa, looking a bit more disheveled than normal. “Hey.” Jay said, he had forgotten about the roommate situation.

“She’s upstairs.” The young officer said, skipping all niceties.

Jay nodded, “Thanks.” He looked up the staircase, debating just calling her downstairs. This felt like a line they have never crossed, one he wasn’t sure either of them were ready for, but tonight wasn’t the night for playing it safe. He made his way up the carpeted stairs, the pictures hanging along the wall catching his eye. He was surprised to see that he was in most of them.

There was on at the very top of just the two of them, he remembered the day it was taken like it was yesterday. They had just made a big bust, Voight and Antonio had taken the suspect in while the rest of the unit stayed behind to work with patrol. They were all so excited to finally get the guy off the street, it was one of those really good days on the job. He was pretty sure Kim took the picture, but they were both leaning against a squad car. You can’t see it, but Jay had his arm resting on Hailey’s back while hers and his other one held their vests. She was leaning against his, grinning like she normally was.

When he willed himself to leave memory lane, he made his way to the top of the stairs, wandering for a moment down the hall to what he assumed was Hailey’s room. He met the threshold and was taken aback. Hailey had his back to him, an open suitcase on her bed. There were clothes everywhere in different folded piles and strewn across the floor. He knocked on the door frame and Hailey turned around immediately. “Hey,” He said quietly.

“Uh, hi.” She said, running a hand through her hair. She had on leggings and an oversized t-shirt, something that Jay had never seen her in. “What are you doing here?”

Jay shrugged, “I just wanted to see you before you left. Make sure you were okay.”

Hailey shook her head, going back to throwing things in the suitcase. “I’m fine, Jay.”

Jay took a step into the room and then a few more, crossing yet another line. He made his way to Hailey, trying not to get distracted by the fact that he was standing less than two feet from her bed. “Hailey, talk to me.”

Hailey sighed, “This is a really good opportunity, but I’m not sure I’m ready, and I don’t think I even want it. Is that ungrateful? This whole thing just feels tainted.”

“Hailey you are a good cop, if anyone deserves this, it’s you.” Jay said softly.

“Jay, you don’t know what I did-”

“It doesn’t matter Hailey.” Jay said, cutting her off. “No matter what you did, you are going to kick ass in New York.” He was being completely serious, even if it was the last thing he wanted, he knew she was going to thrive there. “You’ve got this.” He stood up to leave, he couldn’t lay all his fears and worry on her now, he had to be supportive.

“Jay-”

“Have a good trip Hailey, call or text whenever you want.” His chest felt tight as he reached the doorway, debating not looking back at her. Every part of him knows he needs to walk out that door, but he can’t forget all the times this has happened before. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Jay, I don’t want to leave.” Hailey calls across the room.

There are a million things he wants to say, but not now. Not right before she flies 800 miles away. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

Hailey gives him a soft smile, it’s enough confirmation for them both. She’s leaving, but she will be back. And for then,that was enough.

…

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this fic, I haven’t done one like it in a long time. I got the inspiration for this while listening to Meet us at Molly’s @meetusatmollys (check out this podcast on Podbean, you won’t regret it!). Thank you for reading! <3

P.S. comment/reblog to be added to my one-shot tag list

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #jay halstead x hailey upton #upstead imagines #hank voight #chicago pd #one chicago #chicago pd imagines

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marvels-agents100 · 4 years

Text

in the hands of tyche

“for those who believe, no proof is necessary. for those who don’t believe, no proof is possible.” stuart chase

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: slight swearing

word count: 4,603

author’s note: thank you for your patience with this request! it is such a cool concept and it was so, so fun to write. also, im putting together a lil ~thing~ in celebration of hitting 100 followers, so stay tuned :)

“Some psychic this guy is,” Rossi muttered, “this place is as far from a rocky shoreline as you can get.”

Hotch pulled back the blue plastic tarp that was draped in front of the window, revealing a view of lighthouse perched upon a rocky shoreline. Of course, it was a mural painted onto the brick wall of the neighboring building, but it was still a rocky shoreline, nonetheless.

“Dave,” Hotch said, the amusement not lost in his voice. The ghost of a smile danced on his lips as he turned back to his friend, more entertained by the legendary David Rossi being wrong than a psychic being right.

Meanwhile, at the local police department, you were placing Aaron’s files into his briefcase, hoping to have the station cleaned up for him and Dave before they returned. You set the files before you, biting onto your cheek as you tried to picture how Hotch would order them himself. Pensive thoughts brought about your fidgeting with the silver band that wound around your third finger. It was something you did whenever you got lost in your mind, playing with the engraved ring Jack had insisted Aaron purchase for you when they visited Disneyland the autumn before. Small sparkles and fireworks were etched into the metal, a small reminder of happiness when the days seemed dark.

You remember the day you received it, waiting at the airport terminal for the Hotchner boys. The moment you locked eyes with Jack, his smile had lit up the room and he began to sprint towards you, arms open and insistent. You knelt to catch him, his small body colliding with yours, your laugh filling the air.

It was short lived, the hug he gave you, because he quickly ripped himself away and ran back towards his dad. Jack’s tiny hand grabbed into his father’s first two fingers (his small palms were unable to fully grasp Aaron’s hand), desperately pulling the two of them towards you.

“Dad! We have to give them the present!” His little feet were skidding on the tile in excitement, sneakers jumping erratically against the linoleum. A giggle accompanied Aaron’s wide smile, his own feet moving at a purposefully slow pace, just to savor the unbridled excitement his son displayed.

“Present?” You questioned as the boys finally reached you, your eyebrow raising in Aaron’s direction.

“I picked it out all by myself!” Jack exclaimed, pointing a finger at his chest. The small lisp on his tongue only made his pride more endearing.

“He did,” Aaron agreed, his usually serious tone abandoned, “he refused to let me have any involvement in the choosing of presents.”

When you did finally receive the ring- back at Aaron’s apartment, where he could comfortably dig through his luggage- Jack also had to show you the other presents he had chosen for the rest of the team. The line-up included a Stitch bobble head for Auntie Penny and a Genie stuffie for Uncle Dave, to name a few.

Ever since that day, that ring was permanently placed on your finger- the sweet, innocent smile of Jack Hotchner calming your mind whenever you saw it. It had become a grounding mechanism during particularly difficult cases.

You decided to order the files by date, starting with the earliest murders. However, before you could even begin, your instincts froze your movements. The hairs along the base of your neck straightened, a slight shiver circling around your spine. Your eyes scanned the room subtly, meeting the gaze of none other than Stanley Usher, a resident psychic that was involved on the case, who was standing beside an officer across the room.

Abandoning your organizational pursuits, you walked the length of the room towards him.

“I have a feeling you haven’t heard this,” you began, “but thank you for helping on this case.” You decided to start politely, rather than confronting him for his obvious staring problem.

You held your hand in front of you, offering him a handshake.

“You believe I helped?” He questioned, smile never faltering as his palm shook yours briefly.

“I think it doesn’t matter what I believe,” you shrugged, “you gave someone hope when all was lost, and contributed to helping find a missing woman. I thank you for you intentions, whether your predictions came true or not.”

His eyes narrowed at you slightly, but that might have just been from his widening smile.

“I appreciate that,” his voice had a gentleness to it- you could see how he was so successful in his line of work. Anyone with a comforting timbre to their words would be easy to believe.

You nodded curtly, spinning on your heel to return to your work.

“And, Agent?”

You looked over your shoulder, pausing your stride momentarily.

“Chase him,” his lifted his hand, his thumb pointing to the base of his middle finger. Your eyes flickered to the silver ring on your own.

“When the summer rain falls, you’ll know he’s chasing you, too.”

You stared back at him for a moment longer, eyebrow raised in question. Then, wordlessly, you turned forward and moved to the aforementioned table, shaking away the completely ridiculous thoughts Stanley Usher had placed into your mind.

‘Chase him’?

Yes, it was vague, and your skeptical mind told you that there was absolutely no logic behind it, but the certain Supervisory Special Agent that immediately popped into your thoughts was far from vague. Aaron Hotchner had occupied your conscious (and subconscious) mind rent-free, and his tenancy was a fact you did your best to ignore. But, despite your best effort, his deep, honey eyes and velvet voice never left you alone, even when you tried so hard to escape them.

There wasn’t a single soul who knew of your infatuation with your Unit Chief, and there was no way in hell Stanley Usher would know.

***

The jet was quiet on the trip home. You were sat beside Hotch- as per usual- while he read a book, his chin resting in his palm, elbow perched on the armrest of his seat. Mind somewhere between conscious and asleep, you lulled your head towards him.

“Hey, Hotch,” you spoke lowly, in order to not disturb everyone else on the plane, “guess what?”

A chuckle slipped past his lips, your obviously sleepy demeanor amusing him, “What?”

“Usher, the psychic guy, gave me a prediction.” You bit back a smile on your bottom lip, your slightly delirious state missing the way Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips momentarily.

“Really?” A small grin- a shit-eating grin- settled on his features, (he always smiled so damn much when it came to you), “Alright, I’ll bite. What did he say?”

“He basically told me that we’re gonna fall in love- something about summer rain?” you chuckled, lifting your hand, “And he got all of that from this ring.”

The falter in Hotch’s smile lasted only a millisecond, but the way his pulse raced was something he was sure would last for a few hours.

“I think that just confirms my theory,” Hotch relaxed further into his chair, eyes moving back to the novel in his lap, “that guy is a complete fraud.”

The back of your hand met his shoulder in a playful smack, “You’re an ass,” you settled into your own seat as well, closing your eyes as you began your first attempt at sleeping, “It would be a privilege to love me.”

And you were far into your own dreamland before he could even think about replying, but even if you were awake and alert, his honest reply would’ve died on his tongue before he even spoke the words.

Yes, he thought, it would.

***

There were no more discussions of a potential love, or Stanley Usher, following that late-night jet conversation. Life was nothing short of normal and wonderful, with the days spent in the BAU full of cases and paperwork, and the days off spent with Jack and Aaron, (since Hailey let Aaron take Jack on his days off), or in the comfort of your own home. That’s not to say your feelings had disappeared, but rather you had never broken your routine of completely burying them.

Little did you know, the words you shared with Aaron that night had yet to leave his mind. It was a terrible and abrupt realization, how much he truly cared for you. It was a subject he had never fully confronted within himself- whether it was out of fear or avoidance, he didn’t know. But, since your sleep-induced thoughts spilled from your lips, they had wormed their way into the forefront of his memory and had given little respite to the anxious worry they brought with them. It was entirely stressful, trying to figure out his own emotions.

There was only one thing he was certain of: he had wondered how your lips would taste on far too many occasions to call it normal daydreaming.

He found himself struggling with his self control when you were around Jack. There was something about the way his son smiled at you, that made him want to hold you for an eternity. The swell in his chest brought a warm fullness that he hadn’t known he was missing, but the feeling of it’s presence became addicting. He found himself yearning for you, missing your company, wishing to hear your voice.

“Watch out!” You had yelled to him, running from the giggling Jack Hotchner, “It’s the baby monster!”

Jack squealed in delight, hands held in front of him like an adorable, undead zombie, feet pattering on the hardwood flooring as he chased you.

Ah, there it is.

Like a breath of fresh air, the feeling returned. The weightlessness it brought made Aaron float.

***

The sun shone brightly as you entered the BAU, and while the bright weather is something you usually praised, the lingering pain of the previous night’s bad decisions was keeping you from basking in the light. Damn Emily and her affinity for whiskey.

The travel mug of coffee in your hand made a satisfying clink against the wood of your desk, your half lidded eyes reaching a file that hadn’t been there when you left yesterday. In fact, it was a file you had turned in a few days prior. On top of the manilla was an orange sticky note, the unmistakably messy writing of none other than Aaron Hotchner scrawled on it.

MISSING ME’S TOXICOLOGY SCREEN- SECOND VICTIM

AH.

You sighed as you settled into your seat, picking up the landline to call in for the report.

He subtly watched you from his office, almost chuckling at the slump in your shoulders. You were never able to say no to Emily, regardless of how many shots she brought to you. A smile tilted at his lips, but was quickly gone as a knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” he called. JJ’s head poked in, a sizable stack of files in her arm.

“Good morning,” she greeted, “I just wanted to let you know, they’re postponing maintenance repairs on the jet until tomorrow.”

He shuffled papers around, eyes following his work’s movement, “Are there any cases you’re considering? Should we start looking at commercial?”

“Thankfully, no,” there was hint of a laugh in her words, “which is good. I’ve never liked flying in the rain.”

His actions stopped momentarily, gaze snapping up to the woman in his doorway. Desperately, he tried to keep his features from displaying how his heart had dropped from his chest.

“That is good,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly strong, “keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled, the door clicking shut as she retreated back to her office.

He let out a long, drawn out breath as soon as she left, suddenly feeling dizzy and very, very warm. The intensity of his pulse was something that echoed in his ears, which became red at the very ends to match his cheeks. He had put his best efforts into keeping the words of Stanley Usher from his mind, but it was a lost cause as soon as JJ had mentioned the rain.

Eyes moving back to you, he felt the nerves begin to eat away at his gut. You were obviously miserable, but somehow, someway, the slight frown on your features and the (mildly) disheveled state of your hair was enough to lift the very corner of his lips into a minuscule smile. Even on one of your worst days- which is beyond understandable, from your choice of a drinking partner- you were, in Hotch’s eyes, the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

***

It took a little over an hour to get the toxicology screening faxed to the unit, machine sputtering as it printed. You slipped the paper into the file, the soles of your shoes clicking against the floor as you made your way to Aaron’s office. Knuckles tapping lightly on the wooden door, you poked your head in.

“I have that file completed,” you smiled, holding up said file in the doorway.

“Come in,” he didn’t look up from the papers below his pen.

You didn’t think much of his focus, moving into the office and putting your revised work on top of the tower of manila that sat on his desk.

“Anything you need?” You offered, fingers twisting the ring on your finger, “Coffee? Food? A break?”

He finally looked up at you, eyes flickering to your fidgeting hands.

“No,” his voice was soft, “but thank you.”

You nodded shortly, a polite smile on your lips before you turned and left, suppressing a shiver that ran down your spine. There was something that was bothering him, you knew. His whole demeanor was slightly shifted, slightly wrong. Even if you didn’t know the reason, you sure as hell didn’t want to deal with an oddly behaved Hotch for the remainder of your day.

You popped two Advil into your mouth at your desk, willing your headache to leave you as you began plotting.

***

Your final decision was that of the edible route. If there was anything in the world that could create a smile on Aaron Hotchner’s face, it was a blueberry scone from the hole-in-the-wall cafe three blocks north of the BAU. Your lunch break was spent walking to, and dining at said cafe, enjoying a scone and coffee yourself, the second round of caffeine helping to ease the remnants of your hangover.

Emily hadn’t stopped teasing you since the moment you had clocked in that morning. She was as chipper as ever, acting as if she had gotten a full eight hours of sleep and didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol the night before. The way she seemed invincible to the source of your destruction only further proved your point that God is a woman, and her name is Emily Prentiss.

But, despite the jokes and jabs from your close friend, the BAU had been oddly quiet. Any day spent without a case was something to be marveled at in and of itself, but the tense atmosphere extended further than that. Specifically, into the Unit Chief’s office. Derek had talked to you about it briefly, the way Hotch was acting.

“I know that office is his home, but the closed door is a bit concerning.”

You agreed, but neither of you knew how to go about a solution. Eventually, you had retreated back to your desk and subsequent mountain of paperwork. It was while you were finishing a file on the cop-killer in Phoenix, Arizona, that the famous blueberry scone made an appearance in your mind.

It was quickly followed with a mental image of Aaron Hotchner’s smile, but you elected to ignore that. (You also ignored the way your heart was beating because of it).

You were one block away from the Quantico Headquarters when the sunny sky split, unleashing a rain that was just heavy enough to soak you thoroughly.

Water dripping off your clothes, you stepped into a nearby clothing shop, heading straight to the clerk.

“Do you sell umbrellas?” You asked, arms crossed and fist still gripping onto the scone-filled plastic bag.

“Back corner over there,” he said politely as he pointed, obvious sympathy in his eyes.

Nodding, you turned and followed his direction, tugging a new shirt and slacks from their hangers as you walked. A bucket of umbrellas sat exactly where he said they would be, all patterned differently.

Naturally, you took the plain, black one, moving towards the front of the store once again.

“Is it okay if I change into these clothes after?” You questioned, placing your items on the counter.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, “dressing rooms are just around that corner.”

Paying him quickly, you grinned, “thank you.”

You sent the polite retail worker one last smile as you exited the store, wet clothes in the plastic bag the scone was previously in, the treat protected only by the paper pastry bag the baker had placed it in. Everything was better- since you were armed with an umbrella and fresh clothes- until you glanced down to your watch. You were, without a doubt, late.

The sprint you took off into was that of complete panic, knowing the team was sure to be questioning your absence. You were always so punctual- any deviation longer than five minutes (which was tripled, at the time), was noticed immediately.

Shoes splashing in the pavement’s puddles, the FBI building finally came into view. You huffed as you walked up to the secured, employee-entrance door, reaching for the ID card that always sat at the hem of your shirt.

The dread that filled you when you grasped air was nothing short of terrible.

Your eyes moved to your hip, and there was empty space where that card, adorned with that terrible ID photo, should have been. Frantically, your hand patted at your pockets, only to find them empty. Your other hand was occupied with the umbrella, bag of clothes, and blueberry scone.

As your self-pat down turned up fruitless, your frustration took over, causing you to close and abandon the umbrella for the sake of using both of your hands. The rain soaked you quickly, which only added to the tension. And, as if you hadn’t suffered enough, the stress had begun your alcohol induced headache once again.

It wasn’t until your smiling face, next to the title ‘Supervisory Special Agent’, shone through the plastic bag that your erratic search stopped.

Of course, you thought, a wave of relief rushing over you, of course it’s still on my other shirt.

In reality, opening that plastic bag should’ve been an easy enough task, but the shakiness of your post-drunken fingers and the slickness that came with the rain proved it to be the complete opposite.

To say you could cry from the pure frustration with the entirety of your situation was an understatement.

“Damn it!” You exclaimed, letting the bag drop to the concrete. It landed next to the now soaked scone- the entire reason you had left the building in the first place.

You had half the mind to call Emily and beg her to let you in quietly before the entrance’s door swung open.

“Good God,” you groaned, “this day just keeps getting better.”

Hotch stood in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed as the took in your outfit change, your dripping hair, and the umbrella, plastic bag, and paper bag at your feet. Honestly, it was a lot to process.

“Should I ask?” He questioned, one eyebrow lifting. It took everything in him to fight off his smile.

“I mean it with complete sincerity when I say: I will kill you if you do,” you threatened.

“Noted,” he chuckled, stepping into the rain and picking up the previously discarded umbrella. He opened it swiftly, holding over his and your head. “Are you okay?”

And his voice was so soft and so damn tender, you almost lost it then. It didn’t help that he was entirely too close to you.

“I went to get you a scone,” your eyes peeled from his and landed on the pastry bag, sure to be containing the soggy remnants of said scone at that point, “It started raining, and it all went downhill from there.”

He followed the trail of your eyes, looking at the sad, saturated brown bag, “Why did you do that, sweetheart?”

Ignoring the feeling the pet name gave you, you met his gaze once again, “You’ve been in a funk today. Thought I’d try to cheer you up.”

He sighed, eyes jumping between yours, “I appreciate it, even if it didn’t survive the trip here.”

“Yeah,” you cracked a smile, “what a short, sad life.”

“Very sad,” he agreed, his own smile widening with yours.

You stared at him for a moment, before realizing your stupor and quickly saying, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re alright,” he shook his head with his words, denying your need for an apology.

“I figured someone would notice I was gone,” you chuckled, “I left my ID on my first pair of clothes, then had a disagreement with the bag.”

“I definitely saw all of it,” he smirked.

“Dick,” you nudged him, still trying to calm your pulse.

“I know,” only a couple steps closer and you would be pressed against him, “but yes, I noticed you were gone.”

What he didn’t say was how hesitant he had been to retrieve you. It was summer, rain was falling from the sky, and the predictions of some small-town psychic were weighting heavily on his mind. Despite his skeptic nature, the mere thought of standing with you in the rain was enough to bundle his stomach into a nervous knot. There were very little things he couldn’t control about himself, and his ability to restrain his feelings while standing beside you in a soft rain was something he was absolutely sure he couldn’t control.

And you know, sometimes he was so annoyed with how right he was.

Because, as he stood before you- small water droplet stains on his charcoal grey shoulders and little drips falling from the ends of his hair- he could feel every ounce of self control slip from his grasp. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he was holding on very tightly to begin with.

It was completely your fault, he had decided. It was your fault because you had walked in the rain, almost got into an altercation with a plastic bag, were still fighting off a whiskey hangover- and yet, you managed to be just as radiant and beautiful as you had always been. It was your fault because you made him feel warm as he stood in a chilled rain. It was your fault because he was standing so close to you and wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you.

If you weren’t so damn perfect, he wouldn’t be at war with himself.

“Hotch?” You asked, your eyebrows creased together, “You okay?”

He broke from his thoughts, blinking at you. There was a moment before he spoke, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them.

“Stanley Usher.”

“Stanley Usher?” You repeated.

“What did he say?” He questioned, “About the summer rain?”

“You can’t be serious-“

“Please.”

“Why?” You interrogated, “What does he have to do with- oh.”

You met his eyes with your own, allowing yourself to read him- which was usually off limits. He looked desperate, almost yearning, for an answer. It was almost laughable, the thought of him believing the words of Stanley Usher. You hadn’t forgotten them, but you were far more spiritual than Aaron. He was the one who was supposed to be completely level headed and realistic.

“Aaron, be honest with me,” you began, “are you asking me because you want to justify your feelings?”

Maybe it was too bold, but you needed the answer, and were far too frustrated with the day to dance around the subject.

The way he immediately looked to the ground was answer enough. You sighed, saddened by the fact that he felt ashamed. It was expected, his embarrassment with himself. Anyone who had feelings for a subordinate would act the same.

You sighed before speaking.

“It reminds me of you, the rain,” you said softly. His eyes flickered up to you, looking through his lashes.

“It’s a little cold, but it’s soft and refreshing,” you continued, reaching up and tracing your fingertips on his temple, “I would dance in it all day, if I could.”

He knew what you were saying, and it took his breath away.

Your hand dropped to your side, your head tilting slightly to get a better look at him, “Would you?”

And all at once, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. The umbrella clattered onto the pavement, his large hands holding your face instead, pulling you to him and connecting your lips to his. You let out a surprised squeak, but quickly relaxed into his touch, winding your arms around his neck.

He kissed you desperately, like the rain would wash you away as soon as he let go. You let yourself get lost in him, throwing every reservation and hesitation to the wolves. He seemed to do the same, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. He wanted no empty space between you. Happily obliging, you tightened your grip around him.

You wanted desperately to learn every detail of him, to feel his breath with yours, to match the beating of his heart. You wanted to know every flaw, every weakness- every portion of him, no matter how small. He had become your everything, and you were content with that first kiss being your last first kiss.

Even as the rain relentlessly fell upon the two of you, no complaints were heard. The raindrops were simply an audience to the resolution of an unspoken love.

You were the first to break away, unable to ignore your empty lungs. Neither of you moved to untangle from each other.

“Aaron,” you breathed, your words brushing against his lips, “we’re gonna have a lot of explaining to do,” your eyes flickered to the cameras lining the federal building before you.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling, “Forgive me if I don’t care.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” you pressed a chaste peck to his lips.

“Mm,” he hummed as you pulled away, “I have been waiting to do that for a while.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for a while.”

Your teasing tone was not lost on him as he bumped your nose with his, “We are both going to get sick from this rain.”

“Worth it,” you sighed, connecting his lips with your own once again.

And he couldn’t agree more. Even when you both caught a nasty cold, even when Strauss confronted you about your ‘romantic endeavors’, even when the team teased the living hell out of both of you- it was all worth it.

You were worth it.

***

Stanley Usher sat in his living room, flipping through channels before landing on the news, the local weather man flashing on the screen.

“-and, as the weekends come, we expect precipitation on the west coast-“

And he felt it, the phantom metal around his middle finger, the overwhelming warmth in his chest. He looked to the ceiling, almost able to hear the soft patter of rain on pavement. His thumb brushed the coolness away from his finger, and he settled into his couch cushions, a smile never leaving his face.

taglist:

@quillvine @winterscaptain @agenthotchner @davidrossi-ismydad @misskirkstark @good-heavens-chris-evans @vintagecaptainspidey

#aaron hotchner imagines #hotch x you #criminal minds #aaron hotchner

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deans-baby-momma · 3 years

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Wounded Hearts 2

Summary: When John Winchester leaves his two high school-aged sons in a motel in Fairfax, IN while he goes off on a hunt, they both make friends. What happens after they have to suddenly leave when John comes to fetch them. Will those friendships endure? Does Dean leave a piece of his soul behind?

Word Count: 3,408

A/N: This is a sequel to Past Haunts, but it’s mostly what happened in the thirteen years between high school and when Sam and Dean return to take care of a haunting in their old stomping grounds of Truman High. The first couple of chapters will be mainly Dean’s POV and then after that, each chapter will switch from Dean’s POV to Rebecca’s POV. I will label them appropriately.

Rebecca’s POV

The walk home is kind of uncomfortable. My crotch is sensitive and tender and these jeans are not helping at all. I think over what just happened. I just gave my virginity to Dean Winchester. The boy who came out of nowhere and walked the school halls like he owned the place. I briefly thought about how just last week he was all about Amanda Heckling, the popular girl, the head cheerleader. Had he fucked her too? They had seemed hot and heavy for a minute but then, just as quickly as he showed up, they were over and he was proclaiming to the halls that he was a hero. Had he taken Amanda's virginity too?

I shake my head and huff a laugh. No way was Amanda Heckerling a virgin. Not since freshman year at least. She had been caught with her pants down, literally, with Justin Scott in her bedroom. So, no Dean definitely hadn't taken Amanda's innocence.

As soon as I get home I rush to the bedroom to change out of my- now damp from the remnants of what had transpired between me and Dean- panties. Thankfully it's just my cum filling my underwear; Dean had wrapped it up before he fucked me.

I change quickly, wadding my ruined panties into a ball and stuffing them to the bottom of the hamper. My mom yells that dinner is ready and I pause, taking a breath and praying that neither she nor dad can sense the change in me. I'm no longer their innocent little girl but a woman, an adult capable of safely fornicating.

I can feel their stares, hear their whispers as I walk to my locker. Does everyone know? Are all my classmates aware that I am no longer pure and virginal Rebecca Quentin. Do they know that I oh so easily gave it up to Dean Winchester? Or am I just imagining it all?

I grab my books and sign in then take my regular seat in Mrs. Meadows' English Lit class. My heart is pounding in my ears, knowing that shortly Dean would walk through the door. Would he sit beside me, like he did Amanda? Would he ask me to be his girlfriend? I mean, we've already done the deed so that's the next step, right? Ok, so our steps are a little misconstrued but so what?

I hear him before I see him, his heavy army-style boots stomping down the hallway. As soon as he enters the room, my breath catches in my throat. I'd always thought Dean was good-looking but now? Damn is he sexy as hell! I can't help but turn away to hide the blush on my face as I remember his touch and how it felt to have him inside me. My heart drops as he passes by the empty desk beside me to take his seat at the back of the room. Dammit, maybe it wasn't as special to him as it had been to me. Maybe he was used to defiling girls and then acting as if they didn't exist. As Mrs. Meadows calls for attention I vow to confront him at lunch. Hopefully we can have a quiet discussion and not cause a scene.

By the time the bell rings for lunch, I am a nervous wreck. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to address the obvious elephant in the school. Dean Winchester conned his way into my pants; pretending to be a gentleman and noble when in all reality he was a fraud, a hustler. Watching him with his little brother yesterday, how he had made sure Sam was well-fed and taken care of had to have been a ruse! Just a way to get me to let my guard down and then he struck when that window of opportunity opened; like a snake, a conniving devious snake.

Deciding I can't civilly accost Dean, I make my way to the vending machines. I'll just go to the motel after school and talk to him then. I just hope he hasn't duped his next victim there. That's what I feel like; a victim, a casualty of the trickster that is Dean Winchester. I scan the lunchroom as I enter but see no sign of Dean or his brother Sam. I sigh in relief as I don't think I could handle being ignored again. I sit at a table in the corner and open my bags of chips.

The rest of my classes were dull and lackluster. I just couldn't concentrate on anything any of my teachers were saying. The concept that Dean was ignoring and avoiding me was breaking me, was breaking my heart and soul. I wanted to know why. Why did he choose me? Why did he have to defile what could have been an incredible friendship? Maybe even a wonderful and dare I say loving relationship. Did getting the privilege of saying he slept with me mean more to him than that? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got until I had furiously scribbled a hole into the paper on my desk. I was going to that motel after school and finding out!

When the last bell sounds, I gather my books and head to my locker. I look morosely at locker #214, the one Dean had been assigned. It was only a few down from mine. I hadn't seen him all day; not since he so openly ignored me during first period. It is painfully obvious he was avoiding me. Well I am going to put a stop to that. I march out of the building and head down the same path we had walked yesterday, straight to the place it all went downhill, room 7 at the Motel Monroe.

A few hours later

I knock on the door and wait. And the longer I wait, the more upset I get. How dare Dean ignore and avoid me and act like I don't exist in his world. Yesterday, he acted as if he made me believe he was interested in being my friend, if not more and today I'm nobody?

I'm not a nobody. I get perfect grades and in less than a year I will be moving away, going to college and in a few short years graduate with a master's in psychology and on my way to becoming one of the best behavioral counselors in the country. I have plans and dreams; I'm not just some girl to pass the time with.

After a few minutes and another knock, there is still no answer. I step to the window to see inside but the curtain is closed tight. 'Oh no you don't, Dean Winchester,' I think silently. 'You are not hiding from me. We are going to hash this out like adults.' I walked toward the manager's office to find out if there is a way to get him to open the door. Instead I find devastating news when the manager tells me, "They cleared out about 3 hours ago."

I walk away from the motel, the place I lost my virginity in with tears threatening to roll down my face. Will I ever see him again?

Eight weeks later

Time is a fickle thing. Some days it seems to rush by while others it seems to just stand still and turn stagnant.

After finding out that the Winchesters had left town, I turned my attention back to my studies. I only had a few more months until I'd be graduating high school and moving on to bigger, brighter things.

Thanksgiving had come and gone and now we are all hurtling toward Christmas and the almost two weeks off from school. The whole school is abuzz with excitement and enthusiasm for the break. Me? I am just going through the motions. I had gotten ill a few days ago, puking my guts up and just feeling horrible. Whatever it is, I wish it would just run its course already. I am tired of feeling weak and feeble.

Today is the school's last day before Christmas break and I was just looking forward to being able to lay around and let the flu or pneumonia or whatever gets its claws into me. Something grabs my attention and I look at the calendar hanging beside my desk. A big old red circle is around the 4th, the day I should've started my period. I grab the calendar and turn it back to November and see another big red circle. Two months. Two missed periods. And I know that they are missed because every time I start I always draw a line through the circle and these two circles have no lines. What the hell? I try to remember having my period in November but I am coming up blank. The last period I remember was in October, the first part of October. I remember because it was right after my Mom's birthday. I turn the page and yep, October 5th has a circle with a line through it. So why didn't I mark through November's and December's? I scan through the month of October and my eyes land on the 14th.

The day I spent with the Winchesters, the day I lost my virginity to Dean, the day that…..oh fuck. Oh god no!

At school, I can’t concentrate on anything. My calculus teacher calls on me and I don’t hear her. The words ‘I’m pregnant’ keep repeating over and over in my head. I can’t be pregnant. I only had sex once. But once is all it takes, I tell myself.

I get through the rest of the day, barely, and by the time the last bell rings I am a nervous wreck. I know what I need to do. I have to go to the pharmacy and buy a test. But everyone knows everyone in this town and I know old Mrs. Wilson will tell my parents that she sold me a pregnancy test.

Walking into the drugstore I am praying and hoping that Mrs. Wilson possibly has the day off and someone else is working her shift but no such luck. As soon as I walk in she sees me and smiles. I return the smile and walk down the farthest aisle from the one I need. As I trek slowly through the store, pretending that I am looking at different things, I come up with a plan. I’ll just take one off the shelves and ask to use the bathroom.

When I get to the correct aisle I feel overwhelmed. There are so many! Different brands, different processes. I find one that looks easy enough; what is more easier than just peeing on a stick? Stuffing the box in my bag, I head toward the front of the store, grabbing a package of maxi pads on my way.

“Hello Rebecca,” Mrs. Wilson greets me. “How are you today?”

“Hi Mrs. Wilson. I’m good. Listen, is there anyway I can, uh...use the facilities here?” I ask as I show her the maxi pads. She nods in understanding and points me toward the bathroom.

I quickly shut and lock the door and lean against it, taking a breath. ‘Come on Rebecca. You can do this.’ I think to myself. ‘It might even be negative. Could be something completely different wrong with me.’

I pull the box out of my bag and step toward the toilet. I know I don’t have that much time before Mrs. Wilson comes to check on me. Pulling the test out of the box, I quickly read the directions.

1. Pee on stick

2. Wait 5 minutes.

3. Two lines means pregnant; one line means not pregnant.

Ok simple enough. I do as instructed and place the stick on the sink. This is going to be the longest five minutes in history!

How can something so inconsequential as a piece of plastic change your whole life? Plastic is nothing but synthetic polymers that can be molded into whatever is needed. In this instance, this piece of plastic was sculpted into a thin white stick with a window on the end. And in that window was life-altering news. Two pink lines.

I stare at the test for what seemed like forever. I’m pregnant. I am only a few months away from turning 18, graduating high school and going off to college. Yet, here I am carrying Dean Winchester’s illegitimate child. I place my hand on my still flat stomach and look in the mirror. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper to my reflection. I didn’t even realize I am crying until I see the tears streaming down my face.

Hearing Mrs. Wilson heading my way, I hurry and wipe my face clean and pick up the positive test, sticking it in my pocket. I open the package of pads and take one out and cram the unused one into the bottom of the trash can. At least, that way it will look like I used one and not raise any suspicions with the old busybody.

After paying for the one item I won’t be needing for a while, I leave the store and head home. How am I going to tell my parents that I’m pregnant? Of course they're going to want to know everything. Well, maybe not everything. They know how babies are made, they have me after all. But they are going to ask a million questions. Who’s the father? Where is he now? Does he know? Is he going to be a man and step up? I only know the answer to one of those. Dean Winchester is the father. That’s all I know. He used me and then up and disappeared the very next day.

I get home and am relieved that both my parents aren’t home yet. I have a few more minutes to come to terms with the fact of my situation myself. I run upstairs to my room and fall onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow. While I am alone, I decide to go ahead and get it out. The anger, the frustration, the heartache.

I am 17 years old, a senior in high school and pregnant by a boy who split in no time afterwards. The tears come instantaneously. How am I going to be able to fulfill my dream of going to college and becoming a psychologist? I can’t be raising a kid while going through years of study at Harvard to get my bachelor’s plus an internship. By the time I’d be done with all that my child is going to be at least 10 years old.

Damn him! Damn him and his boyish charms and his mesmerizing green eyes and his sexy as hell body.

“Damn you Dean Winchester! I hate you. I wish I’d never met you,” I scream into the fluffy cushion. “I hope wherever you are that your dick falls off and you can’t do this to some other poor girl!”

Fuck, is all I can think. How many girls had he done this to? How many illegitimate babies did he have? He had said his family traveled a lot so there were probably girls all over who were pregnant or had bared his offspring.

"Fuck," I sigh. "If I get an STD because of him I'll hunt him down and kill him," I growled. I begin punching the pillow, pretending it is Dean’s face. I can’t believe him. How dare he take advantage of me like that!

But then I realize, he didn’t take advantage; I clearly gave him exactly what he wanted. ‘Dumbass! I am such a dumbass. I walked right into his trap and didn’t even understand what I was getting into. I was so dumbfounded and surprised that he wanted to talk to and hang out with me that I just followed him along like a lost puppy. And then I gave him the one thing that I could never get back. All because of a few words and some attention. How much of an idiot am I?’

Shaking my head at my stupidity I head to the bathroom to clean off my face and get prepared to confess to my parents. They are going to be so disappointed in me. It’s going to break their hearts. I’ve been talking about going to Harvard and becoming a psychologist since I was in middle school and now that is just a pipe dream. It won’t ever come true now.

I don’t have much of an appetite so I just push my food around on my plate. I feel bad about it because Mom had rushed home from work and went straight to cooking and now my stomach is all twisted up and I can’t eat. It looks like they are about to be finished with their dinner so I decided no better time than the present.

“Mom? Dad?” I begin. “We need to talk.”

“What is it sweetie?” My dad says as he gets up to put his plate in the sink. “Did you get a C in class or something?” he turns back to the table with a jesting grin on his face. “You know you don’t have to be completely perfect in everything.”

Mom and Dad have been telling me for years that I was pushing myself too hard. That it doesn't matter to them if I get straight A’s or not as long as I don’t fail. But I wanted to prove to them, and myself, that I could. And so far I had; I am only a few credits shy of graduating high school with honors.

“Oh, I’m not perfect,” I tell him, looking down at my hands in my lap. “Far from it actually. I-uh-I have some not so good news. You might even call it upsetting news.”

My parents both look at me, perplexed. Mom speaks up first, “What is it Rebecca? Are you dying? Do you have cancer or something?”

Leave it up to Mom to think about a worse-case scenerio. Of course in her mind, the most distressing would be that I only had a few months to live. Which, in this case, it’s kinda true. A few more months and life as I know it is over.

I pull the positive pregnancy test out of my hoodie pocket and lay it in the middle of the table. Clear as day, anyone can see what it is. My dad suddenly sits down and puts his head in his hands and Mom…well, Mom stands up, looks at me with pity and walks out of the dining room. A few minutes later, I hear their bedroom door slam shut.

The commotion brings Dad out of his stupor and he looks up at me. “How did this happen, Rebecca?” I quirk an eyebrow at him at the absurdity of his question. “I mean, I know how it happened. When?”

“Back in October. I hung out with this guy and his little brother and we watched a movie and ate pizza and popcorn. After the movie was over, his brother wanted to go to the arcade and it left me and Dean in the room, alone. One thing just led to another.” I finish with a shrug of my shoulders.

And just like I assumed, Dad begins badgering me with questions. “Who is he? Does he know about the baby yet? Is he going to step up and take care of it and you?”

I sigh before I answer. “His name is Dean. Dean Winchester. No, he doesn’t know and probably never will. He and his brother were staying in the motel across town while their dad was working. He’s gone now. Left the day after. I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

Dad and I sat there in silence after I told him about Dean and how he was no longer around. I can see the steps of processing Dad is going through on his face. At first he is angry, livid even. Then he is just mad. But what breaks my heart is when my dad looks at me and all I can see is disappointment.

I feel like such a failure. I failed my parents and myself the moment I allowed Dean to come into my life. The moment I had sex with him.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @atc74 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @hoboal87 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @markofdean79 @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78

#dean winchester #john winchester #sam winchester #wounded hearts #past haunts sequel #rebecca quentin #smut #fluff #angst #dean x becka #high school

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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Missin’ You is Terrible-Part 3: Fooled Around

Calum isn’t looking for deep feelings, just for some fun. But he’s pretty sure friends with benefits isn’t supposed to go like this. Black!Female Reader.

Enjoy my masterlist

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_________________________

I am not even five feet away from you. You do not have to text me.

Calum looks up from his phone, to her--brown eyes, rich brown skin, black hair. She’s sitting in her backyard, at the small desk she set up outside, half her manuscript printed out next to her. The cursor on her screen blinking at her to finish the thought. But she is staring at him, her lips quirked into a bemused smirk. She is staring at him and Duke, who rest at Calum’s feet, enjoying the warmth of the wooden deck, soaking into his back. She is staring at the shy smile that takes over Calum’s face, the little scrunch to his cheeks and crinkle around his eyes. She listens to the soft chuckle that escapes his lips as he reaches out for her, wiggling his fingers. She is captivated by his shyness and allured by his softness.

“Then why did you text me back?” Calum quips, still signaling for her.

“Because I am working and maybe too lazy to turn around.”

“And yet, you did so anyway.”

She flips him off, turning back to her computer. Calum laughs at the action and pushes from the steps he’s seated, navigating around Duke. He kneads at her shoulders, kissing the crown of her head. It’s not like beautiful days aren’t a common occurrence in LA, but this past week has been too good to Calum. His days are spent watching her write, watching her edit, writing his own stuff. He gets to wake up next to her; gets to fall asleep next to her. He gets to cook for her. They do laundry together, clean while jazz blares over her speakers.

She melts under his touch, firm enough, but never too hard on her muscles. Plucking away at the keys, she tilts her head, cheek brushing up and down on his fingers. Calum chuckles at the gesture before pinching the fat on the side of her face. “You’re supposed to be writing,” she mutters, cheeks still between his fingers.

“I’m helping you,” he says, releasing the flesh. “Clearly.”

“Clearly,” she laughs. Duke barks, running down the steps of the porch, chasing after a bird. They watch him run in the grass until the bird wises up and flies off. Duke stops, watching, waiting. He watches the bird flying. She watches him and Calum watches her. He wishes he could bottle this moment, pack it nicely into a cube, carrying it with him everywhere. So he could never be down, so whenever things did get bad, he could pop it open and be reminded of her smile, of the way her lashes curl as she blinks. Be reminded of the way she inhaled, the way her chest rise with the action, the way her fingers curled around his. So he could always be reminded of her, though it’s not like he already wasn’t. The wind blowing a certain way made him swear he caught a whiff of her scent in his nostrils.

She turns back to her screen, fingers slipping from around his. Calum walks down to the grassy backyard, but not before grabbing the red ball. The second Duke spots it in Cal’s hand, he perks up, already on alert. Cal gives it a gentle toss, the pup sprinting after it. Yeah, if he could bottle this moment up, he would. If he could drown in it, he’d fight every instinct for oxygen. There’s nothing like this. Duke drops the rubber ball at Calum’s feet, eager for the next throw, eager to push his legs over the grass.

__ “I can’t believe this. You really--,”

“Yes,” she interrupts him, swiping her thumb under his eyes. “Yes I really did. Do you know how easy it was to get your family on board with this? All them extended their houses. I was flooded with emails--all eager to help you.”

Calum pushes up from the chair, pulling her over the table to him. She said that months ago--promised him on her living room floor that she’d take him to New Zealand. It’s not that he didn’t believe her. He just didn’t think it’d happen now. But it makes sense. Tour is done. All his other obligations are months from now. He finally gets a chance to breathe. She scoots out around from the corner of the table. He buries his face into her shoulder, arms wind so tight around her that they meet the other side of his chest.

Something is salty against his lips when he pulls back. His vision is a watery mess. He’s crying-no he’s weeping. Sobs are pressing, squeezing his chest. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she soothes, grabbing napkins to clean his face. He knows it’s okay. It’s more than okay. He just can’t stop himself, there’s no words to express how overjoyed he is. She’s doing this all for him. Something he’s always wanted to do; all for him. He wraps her into a hug again. She gently rocks him side to side, trailing her fingers through the shaved sides and back.

“I’m always good on my word,” she chuckles.

“God, I’ve gotta pack. What about Duke?” he asks, pushing away from her. His mind races now. He needs someone to watch his house. So does she, or at least someone to come around and water all her plants. She’s such a gardener, if her plants were to die while away, she would be crushed.

“I thought of this. Just take a breath. Finish your pie, we got time. Flight’s in two days.”

Calum nods, exhaling and finally takes the napkins from her. He stares down at the plane ticket. His chest ignites again, his eyes water yet again. “You’re fucking incredible, you know?” he whispers to her. He doesn’t bother wiping the tears. They don’t matter to him, they don’t change meaning if he clears them away. His chest bubbles, his lips curls, his tongue presses into bottom row of his teeth with three words threatening to spill over his throat. But he stops himself, he pulls his tongue back, he straightens as best he can the wobble to his smile. He can’t say those words just yet.

It feels right, though, he could. He could say it right now. Should he? She starts wiping his cheeks again, pressing short pecks to his reddening cheeks. He grabs her face, pulling her into his lips. It’s salty, the meeting of their lips, due to his tears. But she smiles, that makes it sweet. He can’t say it right now. But he can show it. He can show all the love he feels, even if he’s terrified of the words spilling pasts his lips.

__ He knows it hasn’t been that long. A few months at the absolute most, but by God, the boy looks half a foot taller. Calum rubs his eyes looking at his cousin, laughing. “When did this happen? I blink and you’re sprouting like a tree.” He wraps the boy in a hug.

“Just trying to be like you,” the boy grins. The hug last a long moment, but no one minds. His aunt and uncle crowd around, eager to greet, but patient enough. This is a moment she wishes to bottle, though the air has a slight chill to it and her jacket is just thick enough to keep the majority of the chill out. But the smile on his face makes her chest warm. The way his family wraps him in close to their bodies, grins wide, laughs falling from lips easily. This is the laughter of reunion, the ‘oh my god it’s been so long and you’ve grown so much’ laugh. It’s the ‘the gods have lined up and I’m actually seeing you in the flesh and by god I am elated to see you’ laugh. It’s the ‘if you don’t give me a hug to make sure you’re actually real’ laugh. The awe on his cousin’s face let’s her know they needed this just as much as he needed it.

She’s the last to be hugged, and profusely apologized too. “We swear we’re not rude,” his uncle laughs, hugging her.

“It’s quite alright. It’s about him anyway.”

In the car, Calum watches intently at the rolling hilltops as they travel down the road. His fingers are thread through hers, thumb brushing over the skin of her hand. She watches him, watching the scenery. She wonders what he’s thinking. It’s breathtaking for sure. The air feels different in her lungs. But she wonders what is this is doing specifically for him. She squeezes his hand. Calum turns to her, a soft smile resting on the corners of his lips.

“It’s beautiful. Now that I can actually sit down and see it. I love it,” he says. She nods in agreement.

“Have you ever seen a Haka?” Calum’s cousin directs to her.

“Not in person. Just online.”

“Has Calum taught you any Maori?”

“Not yet.”

“Is he really as cool as people say he is? I know he’s a rockstar or whatever. But,” the boy raises his eyebrows.

She laughs, but nods at the question. Calum’s not paying attention, having turned his gaze back to the grassy hillsides. It’s soon replaced by city streets and sidewalks and the bustle of city life. But even if all the slabs of manmade infrastructure the trees are still powerful and towering.He inhales deeply as they exit the car. Yeah, here is different. Here is reaching through the depths of him, touching something he’s always felt distantly there. Always brushed his fingers over it but never firmly grasped it into his hands.

Is he ready to grasp it now? Can he? He feels a little like a fraud, he embraced it so powerfully before. But as time has gone on, he’s swallowed it back down. So many times he’s been called Asian, too many times he’s felt himself and others brush aside his Māori blood. Is he a fraud? Or is he just still that seventeen year old boy who’s had his trust shattered? Once so connected but battered down by time, once so trusting but hurt by the very arms he fell into. His lower lip wobbles.

Her voice is soft in his ear. “Hey, earth to Calum.”

He shakes his head, blinking back the start of tears. “Sorry, just thinking.”

Her nails run down his arm, threading her fingers through his. “Do you want to be left alone? I already put your bag inside. They’re prepping us some food.”

No. Maybe. “Just for a moment please?”

“Of course.” She kisses the back of his hand before unraveling her fingers. The door closes quietly behind her. Calum looks to his hand, his mother’s initials staring back at him. He wishes she was here. She’d tell him that it doesn’t matter how his journey of self-acceptance went, doesn’t matter if he feels like he’s regressed, as long as he still takes the journal. Maybe that’s true. Now he wishes she was here, she’d reassure him, she’d wrap him into a hug and rock him gently.

Calum turns to the front door and steps into the house. It’s warm, smells like home, feels like home. His cousin smiles at his entrance. He steps through the narrow hallway and standing there next to his uncle is his mother. His knees falter right then and there and he leans into the wall next to him for support. “Mum?” Calum’s voice is so quiet it’s barely audible.

She smiles, opening her arms wide. “I been waiting for you,” she laughs, striding over.

As they hug, Calum feels like a child again, he buries his face into her shoulder, letting the tears slip down his cheeks. “Oh my God. I’m so happy to see you.”

“Hmm, me too, Calum. Me too. Always happy to see my boy.”

“I love you,” he whispers, only for her to hear, only for her to latch onto.

“I love you too.”

Later, they sit in the living room, watching TV. Calum’s got an arm around both her and his mother. They recline into him on either side. This is what he needs. Just time to sit in quiet moments. He can tell by the deep breathes that she’s fast asleep, so he wraps his arm tighter around her body, gently rubbing at the base of her neck, right at the edge of her hair line. She loves that spot in particular. “Mum?” he starts softly.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being more vocal like I used to be about us. I’m not ashamed. I want you to know that. I guess, I’m just, I grew tired of always been mislabeled. I grew tired of being different.”

She smiles at Calum, resting her head onto his shoulder. “We all grew tired. The trick is to find your energy again. Find a way to become reconnected. And I think that girl in your arms is the answer to that question.”

Calum looks down to the sleeping body snuggled into his side. Maybe she is the answer. “I love her,” he says. It’s easier to say to her unconscious body. She doesn’t have to say it back. He doesn't need her too. He’s not even sure he wants her too right now. He wants to linger in this moment, the reality of the words, but without the expectation for reciprocation. He will linger here, in the freedom of finally letting himself fall, knowing that there’s a net to catch him.

There’s a knock on the door. Calum snaps awake, instinctively pulling her body closer to him. The door creaks open and Joy pops her head in. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Still some sleepyheads, I see.”

Calum chuckles. “We can be awake bodies in a minute.”

Joy chuckles, waving at him. “Rest.” Then she shuts the door.

Calum rests his head back onto the pillows, eyes closing, right as a muffled voice whispers into his hear. “Think she noticed I’m not wearing a bra or a shirt?”

Calum chuckles. “We’re adults. It doesn’t.”

“I hope it’s not too lame, but there’s this museum I think we should check out.”

“Are you saying we but really mean you want to check out?”

“Maybe,” she huffs with a sleepy chuckle.

“Tomorrow?”

“Deal.” They hook pinkies, and then drift back to sleep. When they wake again it’s about one. They get dressed and head downstairs. Calum’s cousin is eager to show them around. So they bundle up before starting out of the house. Calum watches the way she asks questions, the way she tries the words on her tongue. They fall awkwardly from her lips, but after a couple tries she finds her way. He watches the way she takes in the scenery around her. He wonders wha his feels like for her. Is she imagining the battles that might’ve taken place right here on this very grass? Is she thinking about the Maori women and men that walked here before her, trying to piece together their story? What pushed them here? Were they just traveling? Did she wonder what business they attended to? He know he did. He wondered all those questions and more.

“So yeah, silver ferns are a big deal. But Calum’s got fucked up, so here we are,” the boy chuckles pausing at a bench in the park.

Calum lets the jab go with a shake of his head. He knows the tattoo was not executed well. But it’s the thought that counts. She settles onto the bench next to the younger boy. They talk, she asks about school, what his favorite subjects. He asks what it’s like to be in a publishing firm, still writing her own work. Calum doesn’t say much, watching the exchange, the ease at which she listens to the boy speaks, the way she listens to understand not just respond. They land on the topic of her most recent project, but she shies away from too many details. “Basically,” she starts, “I’m retelling events from the future perspective. So I’m telling a story as present me to past me with all the things we should’ve said or done to see how the events would turn out differently.”

“So you’re basically time traveling?”

She nods. “Yeah in a way. But it’s not fiction full fledge science fiction, or really fiction. It’s a weird mixture of creative nonfiction and elements of science fiction.”

“It sounds interesting. So are you then showing how things change with the information?”

“I thought about it. But that might push nonfiction too far into fiction, which is not what I want to do. I want to it to be a dialogue.

“Can I read some of it? ”

“If you really want to, yeah, sure. Just pretend you know nothing of course.”

The boy chuckles. “I swear to take it to my grave.”

They talk for a little bit longer before wandering back to the house. The second Calum steps through the door he finds his family lined wall to wall, standing, waiting to greet him. The first sound of a stomp echoes in his brain long after the last cry is shouted, long after the tears cloud his vision. He doesn’t consider himself worth of such a greeting, not a haka. Not him, never him. He doesn’t even realize how caught up he got until he realizes how breathless is, until he feels the sweat rolling down his back in his sweatshirt.

He looks to find her, to see if he really did what he just did. She always grounds him. She’s panting too, grinning, hugging Joy into her side. “I got roped in,” she laughs. “But god was it beautiful. Is it weird to say I saw a rainbow, like a literal rainbow? I’m pretty sure some might call it a hallucination. But I swear to high heavens, I saw a rainbow over you guys in the beginning.”

“She wanted to join. I could tell,” his mom grins, hugging her tighter. “She caught on fast.”

His cousin holds out his phone. “Caught it all on tape for you, Cal.”

“Calum?”

He turns to the sound of his baby cousin calling him, feeling her tug on his pant leg. He picks her up with a smile then turns to the boy. “I’ll watch later. Thanks.” His throat is dry, his voice sounds shot. What did he do? It’s almost like his consciousness left him, flew straight out of his head and only re-entered once he was done. He remembers nothing. It’s like someone else took over his body. Maybe someone else did. Maybe he needed the hand of some ancestor to reach into his soul and unlock him fully.

His mother smacks his hand. It’s not hard. More like a gentle tap, a warning that he really should remove his hand. “You keep stealing pieces and we’re going to have none left.”

Calum laughs but retreats. “But your rēwena is the best,” he pouts.

“I know it is. Now out.”

Walking out of the kitchen he hears the shouts from a phone speaker. One particularly loud shout echoes above the rest. It sounds like him. But also not like him. Peering over the huddled shoulders, Calum watches himself. It’s him he’s staring at, but his gut tells him that it’s not him. It’s something deeper than them on that screen. It’s more than just joining his family in their greeting for him. It’s everything he’s been afraid of spilling over his throat. It’s the fear of sixteen year old him leaving everything he once knew behind. It’s the frustration of feeling himself disconnecting, but feeling like it’s his only option. It’s the terror of being lost, brushed aside, never understood.

Calum watches himself, teary eyed but smiling, as he lets it all out. As he finally feels welcomed. He’s home. A place always yearned for, but now felt. Then he finds her, in the corner following along with his mother. He would’ve never had this moment of freedom if not for her. He would still be yearning, still be hurt. Not that he’s fully healed now, but it’s a start. Those words are bubbling again against his lips. He looks around the room for her, but then he remembers that she’s in the kitchen.

Calling out her name, he starts from the living room back to her. She meets him in the hallway, hands wrapped in a towel. “Is something wrong?” her eyes are a little wide.

The words are falling over his lips before he can stop them. He cups her face with his palms. He zeros in on the deep, almost black, brown to her eyes. “Kei te aroha au i a koe,” he breathes.

There’s a chorus of aww’s from his younger cousins. She waits, she thinks she knows what he said. “I am not sure what you said exactly. But I’m going to assume it’s sweet by the reaction it just got.”

Calum closes his eyes for a second, laughing at himself before kissing her lips. “I said I love you.” His lips brush over hers as he speak. It feels so right falling off his lips, over his tongue, pass his teeth. “I love you,” he says again kissing her lips. “I love you.” Kiss to her right cheek. “I love you.” He kisses her left cheek. “I love you.” One final kiss to her forehead.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, he knows. He didn’t plan for this to fall in love with her. This was just supposed to be for fun, someone he could enjoy company with and slide beneath the sheets with. They were only supposed to be be fooling around. But he went along, fooled around, and fell right the fuck in love with her. He’ll be damned if he pretends like it bothers him. He’ll be damned if he lies to her or himself about this. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t say it to her.

“Teach me,” she utters softly. “Teach me how to say it back.”

Calum shakes his head, her cheeks still warm beneath his palms. “You don’t have to say it back in M.”

“I want to. Because I feel the same way. Now how do I say it? I want to learn.”

Calum breaks it down piece by piece for her, watching the way her lips curl to form the words. Her first attempt isn’t great. He fights to keep the chuckle from bursting through. “Give that one more shot,” he encourages, kissing her hands now wrapped in his.

“Kei te aroha au i a koe,” she whispers.

He’s never heard a better phrase falling from her lips. “Perfect, you nailed it.”

“Are you guys done? I’m hungry,” comes one of cousins. They laugh and move out of the way, letting the kids by. Calum hugs her to his chest, burying his face into the top of her hair.

After all the museums and nurseries are visited during their visit, Calum and her sit out under the stars the last night before they leave. It’s beyond cold, but they wrap up in layers and huddle together under a blanket snagged from the hall closet. Every breath exhaled is a ghost escaping their nostrils. “Thank you,” Calum says. “I don’t think I can even begin to describe the experience I’ve had.”

“You’re beyond welcome. It’s amazing here. Your family is beautiful and I love them.”

“They are enamored by you. Everyone loves you.”

“I watched the video of the haka again. I still believe there’s a rainbow.” He disagreed with her upon rewatching it. But he did state that he wasn’t fully conscious during all of that, so he’s not the best judge. Others don’t see it, but she refuses to concede. “But I’m pretty sure your soul like ascended or something. That’s what I believe. Watching you even in that moment, I could tell something was taking over you.”

He nods, humming in agreement. “That’s probably better than I could ever describe it.” Then there’s another moment of silence. Calum ought to say more. He wants to say more. He’s just not sure how to say more. So he squeezes her body and she looks up. “I don’t think I’d have enough tongues to tell you thank you enough.”

Her smile is soft. “It’s alright. You can always try.”

Calum chuckles, leaning down. She captures his lips, her cold and his chapped by the unforgiving chill. He grazes his teeth over her bottom lip, pulling on it. She moans against his mouth, arms tightening around him. Their lips don’t say disconnected for long before Calum kisses her again. She swipes the tip of her tongue over his lips. Releasing a sigh, Calum parts his lips for her. One of her hands slips down his crotch, holding onto his thigh. He shivers a little at the touch and because the blanket starts to slip from around them. He’s normally a warm person, but even this chill bites as his skin.

She pulls away, throwing the blanket back over her body. “It’s cold.”

“Let’s head inside, yeah?” he breathes against her skin, brushing his nose along her jaw, pressing butterfly kisses to her neck. “Think you can keep quiet.”

“I’m less concerned about me and more concerned about you keeping quiet,” she chuckles.

“You’re right,” he laughs, resting his head onto her shoulder. He knows he can be particular vocal. She holds him tight, occasionally brushing her nails over her scalp. Calum wraps his arms around her waist as she reclines into the railing of the deck for support. “But it’s way too cold to do anything out here.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait. What a shame.”

Calum closes his eyes, inhaling her scent. “I’m okay with that,” he murmurs. He’s not even sure that the sentence is audible. He’s okay with just sitting in this moment even though it’s cold. She makes him feel connected, feel at home, feel loved. She makes him warm on the inside.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood smut #calum hood imagine #calum hood 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos smut #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes #michael clifford #luke hemmings #ashton irwin

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delightsan · 4 years

Text

FLAME (II) | CS

⁕ genre: fuck boy!san, bad boy!au, college!au, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

⁕ pairings: choi san x fem!reader

⁕ words: 6.4k

⁕ description: keeping the title of being the best student on campus isn’t easy for you, especially when your mind was occupied only by him and his annoying smirk, the popular bad boy who once decided to sets on fire your heart without anybody’s permission

⁕ warnings: explicit language, suggestive remarks, smoking & alcohol

read the prologue and the chapter one

The sociable cafeteria is filled with people whose names you can't remember, but their curious stares welcome you with affectionate embrace, as soon you enter the huge space of the room. The embrace you crave, since San planted the promising rays of hope in your heart, it's devastating to you, because the only concern which matters are his gleaming eyes, full of chestnut color and mischievous spark. His presence is absolutely breathtaking. You're indeed a fragile prisoner of his burning touch, and the lustful gaze, soon as you would gentle rub affectionate circles on his arms tattoo's beauty, the night before, where the only sound was your rapid heartbeats and heavy breathing. He left the blurry trace of passionate kisses down your pale neck to remind you about his intentions, when you see the purple marks of his unspoken words.

Choi San's eerie relationship with you are the cause of your ruthless nights, but you will gladly suffer for him if it meant he would hold your hand in his warm palms, and smooch your face in kisses.

Rushing at the end of long line to the bufet, you scan the surroundings in a haste glance to spot his glowing figure, seated between the rest of his friends, it's utterly mindblowing, the way your stomach churns with pleasant anxiety when his starry eyes meet with yours. San's dazzling existence throws you into the vortex of emotions, where the love is struggling against the malicious demons of your fears. He's dressed in his usual clothes, the color black highlights his sharp facial features, and the used martens on his feet shows his rebellious side.

You bow in grateful at the elderly woman, who give you the meal of the day, thanking her for the extra portion of rice, as your stomach grumble at the lack of the daily food intake. The kindly gesture make you smile in delight, while the other students talk feverishly about the last soccer game in which the boy, whose angelic voice is like the sweetest honey, Jongho won a golden tropheum for the school's team. He becomes a hero in the eyes of the thousands of people and Hongjoong's, who is proud to call himself a father figure. ATEEZ have a lot of outstanding achievements on their side, they are a gang of gifted kids with deadly stares and auras, for example Hongjoong godly hands are great at crafting, he is a owner of his own fashion brand, called "star1117", in which "Mars" is a main model, and that's your beloved saviour Seonghwa. Yunho's long to heaven legs are born to dance on the big scene, along with Wooyoung's powerful movements and San's acute technique. Yeosang is the expanded mind behind the drones, Mingi is a soundcloud rapper, who still takes baby steps in his career, but is already famous on the campus, and Jongho is a star of the football team.

The pretty girl, who would wave in excitment at seeing your presence in the entrance to the cafeteria, before your spirit had lost his way on earth, to land in the gates of hell by San's intoxicating appearance is your bestfriend. Her name is Yeji and she is a lovable person, the definition of your half missing, with a adventurous heart and daring smile, catching the attention for her stunning looks in both genders, but the confessions of the admirers are always denied in order to search for her unrequited love in Wooyoung's sparkling eyes. You know she deserves someone better than a mere boy, but Wooyoung is a perfect example of being out of her league. The hands contaminated with sins of his could never reach her, as you protect her through the life, like a guardian angel, who failed himself agaisnt the bright side of good, as he signed a pact with the devil, to let his heart rotts in hell.

She is excessively pure to be in a dark place, the same as you, where you are fighting with your sins, doubouting the feelings of innermost love and the power of God. To be honest, you had grown to have a loads of faith in every existence, which drifts in the subconsciousness of your mind, while trying to defeat the ghosts of cruel prejudice, as you want to believe in his sincere words and his innocence. Perhaps Wooyoung's adorable giggles and goofy smiles, that creates with care his mesmerizing crescents eyes, which are underlined with smoky eyeliner, aren't plaugued with demons, maybe his easy going aura isn't fraud in lies, maybe he is way more different than you think.

Truth to be told, you shouldn't ponder over it and you shouldn't be hanging around San or his friends as much as you do, but you can't help the desire to.

You greet Yeji with a soft grin, muttering a faintly "hi", while taking the free spot beside her at the wooden table, at which she beams at you in delighment, happy about your your presence, but soon her strong gaze gets bored of you, and wanders towards the source of her happiness. "What's so interesting, hm?" you say, acting dumbfounded at her behaviour to ignore the pain inside your chest, the betrayl it is. She's long lost to the paradise of him, Jung Wooyoung is the reason behind her loving stares and fast heartbeat, you failed miserably at being her guardian angel, but maybe that's what the destiny write in their galaxies.

Yeji bites her plump lips in anxiety, curling a lock of her black hair between fingers, the feeling of infatuation on her face, and you sigh, while she spares you a glance, it's filled with deep affection, and a smile ghosts over her cherry lips. The view of the boys belonging to the ATEEZ came into your frame, as she bumps her head towards them, where all of them eating their lunch in peace, and her smile is reciprocated by Wooyoung. "Oh, Wooyoung? Is something there between you and him?"

"No, well not yet of course, but maybe soon." Yeji says with a sorrow, it's obvious, groaning in annoyance like a lovestruck teeneger, who can't decide which kind of dress would be the best option for a memorable date with a crush, a cute ribbon dress or sexy tight dress. The mischievous cupidin, who travels the world in search of his miserable victims, not only hit you both with his influential arrow, making you a fools for his entertainment at your clumsy attempts to feel being beloved.

She is dedicateted to the idea of Jung Wooyoung being selected by gods to be her first and last love, but he likes to deny the allegations of being the leading light in her life, even if she deeply cares for him and treasure the feeling of dedication to him.

You want to beliefe it also, maybe some souls are meant to be together, bound by the red thread of destiny to the end of their fulfilled life.

The obnoxious sight of the stupid girls at the left side of the room, who would swoon over the holy eightly of boys, in which Wooyoung's high pitched laugh is heard everywhere, because San's another corny joke about big dicks is hilarious to him, is a painful sight for Yeji. Her significant other is looking at the stranger blonde with a lewd eyes, the picture is what trashes violently your heart and your lungs feel as if on fire, you pity your besfriend, she doesn't deserve the treatment of feeding up with his false hope. Jung Wooyoung likes to play a sick roulette with her genuine feelings towards him, doesn't give a single fuck about the consequences of his sinful actions.

Choi San does seem to care, though, because he catches your furious stare, which could burn the holes in Wooyoung's shaky with laughter figure, the devil itself apologize for the behaviour of his beloved friend. Bad habits are tough to break, blinded by a hand of foolish lust in frail attempts to take the boredom out by being an asshole, as the bitter aftertaste of forbidden fruit never tasted so good. You smile softly to him, to reassure him it's not his fault, because he can't control the actions of the other person. Rubbing small circles on the back of your friend to lift her ruined mood, while Seonghwa notices your gaze filled with adoration towards San, he smirks in a mockery, and you make a disgusted face, as Hongjoong giggles like a sweet kid at your exchanges, but you throw at Seonghwa a middle finger, at which he gaps offended. San's concerned face is what make you bashful of your previous poor actions, as he narrow his cat like eyes at you in order to search for a cause of your outbusrt.

Fuck, Seonghwa you are dead to me.

You hide shyly behind Yeji's small shoulders like a scaredy cat, who was caught at scratching the favourite furniture of his owners, the feeling of shame is creeping at your face, while avoiding his puzzling glare. "So he likes me, huh?" you whisper in a hush, trying to convince yourself once again about the sincerity of those significant words, which sound like sweet nothings in a romantic fairytale in your mouth. The tight grip of yours at the girl's pink blouse is a definition of your tiresome doubts, you wish to the vivid stars to save you from oppression of the snares of love.

You don’t know when you fell in love with him. You don’t even know if you fell for him at some point in life or if you’ve loved him from the beginning of your life, or maybe far before the two of you existed, but his declaration of love locks you in a cage of wonders, making you a helpless bird.

Yeji is astonished, when she comprehend your remark, and she quirks her eyebrows at you. "Wait, hold on. (Y/N) is there someone interested in you or my delusional mind is playing tricks on me, because I heard that someone likes you."

The light shade of pink adorns your face like a spreading flu, the trembling of your hands and the dizziness in your head it's the effects of your disease, which San is the cause. Unlike the flu, it won't disappear, when you treat it with a care, the only way to get rid of the disease it's by hurting him right through with a piercing bullet, but you can't do it, when he looks at you with a smile, that can melt your heart. You quickly shake your head, don't knowing about the breath you were holding, when she ask you the question. "No, what do you mean." She wouldn't let you go so easily, she do know about your defensive position, as you like to run away without giving a proper answer.

She sighs. "Okay, listen. Maybe I'm not the smartest kid in our school like you, but I can't ignore the way San is looking at you. He is eye fucking you everytime he sees you, it's fascinating to per say." she mocks you in a childish manner. "What the fuck? Yeji, shut up! It's embarrassing, while you say it like that." "I don't care, tell me what's between the two of you."

To fight her in an unequal battle is hopeless, because the possibility of you winning is none, the victory is negligible, as you would never win an argument with her strong points. She is like a brave lioness who defends her children against the threats by other animals, she also have a soft spot, which is Jung Wooyoung, but you wouldn't dare to touch the burning subject of her love, as you could die in the agony, and there would be nothing left but ashes of your mistake. "Fine, you ass." you roll your eyes at her, maybe admitting to your obscure desires is a good step to believe in impossible. The weight of your insistent insecurity is tugging you down, but your desire to fly between the old friends, made in heaven where the clouds are the epitome of warm embrace is stronger. "I like San." you confess. "He said he likes me, when I was with him in the library, he confessed to me about his love, and the world suddenly started to overflow with it colors. I want to try, but my insecurities are making it hard to believe, but we kissed-" Your voice is shakier and more broken than you’d ever thought it could be.

"Hey, don't. You need to understand that you are amazing." she cooes. "I'm not surprised he likes you, you have heart made of gold and personality who shines like the brightest gem in the world, everything about you screams perfect." her reassuring words, which soothe your strained nerves in pleasure of joy, as you nod in agreement are a reason behind your shy smile. Yeji is a great friend, you believe that the only reason you became best friends was the fact that you didn’t let her vanish into the sea of doubtness, when there was no one who would extend a helping hand to her lifeless body. "Give yourself some time and most importantly trust him, everyone deserve a chance."

Your romance is not like any other love story unless you consider painful longing to the point of self-destruction as normal occurrences, he demolishes your soul and paints the idea of spending more time with him into the world of unknown, because you are, once again, convinced that Choi San was born to mess with your heart. The idea of being devoted lovers, burns the unseen scars at the pit of your stomach, because it feels distant, but also so close within reach, it sounds unfeasible, but also so beautiful, as you think about his hot touches on your skin. You care for him deeply, he knows the struggle of being misjudged just based on the foolish decisions made in past, but everyone do mistakes, which leads to a irritating effects in the future, haunting us like the worst nightmare.

We need to understand that people aren't faultless.

The longing picture of San's getting out of shackles of the rebel, sealed by his sins, drifts into the subconscious state of your mind like a dove of hope, letting you imagine to be the person, who is willing to help him and experience his transformation, it's fullfilling your senses. To dream about the future next to him, where kisses are laced with love, the passion and where fondly words of utter adoration are whispered in the deadly night is deadlier than anything else in this world. But you pray to God, promising to be a good cause of his wrongdoings, which will lead to his change, because no suffering like this would ever break him free. "You are right, thank you."

"We are friends, it's not a big deal. Now promise me, you will never doubt yourself again."

"I promise." you smile.

You're deep lost in the meaningful conversation with Yeji to notice the flaming presence of San, whose delicate hand touches your fragile shoulder to get your attention on him, and you melt the moment his burning touch you. He smells like cotton candy, when he wasn't smoking, and his whole aura seems to brighten entirely at the prospect of your sparkling eyes on his, and you allow a giggle to slip past your, when his cherry lips grins at you in a toothy smile, the round cheeks after the meal makes him adorable, how can he be a personification of the devil. His red hair is styled back, showing perfectly his forehead and the intensity of his eyes, the charming dimples you grow to love don't ever disappoint to take away your breath. "Be at the library at 5PM, don't be late." His tone is soft and gentle and you decide, that you hate Choi San for making you fall so carelessly in love with him. He was gone, by the end of the bell sound, and his intoxicating scent also gone with him.

And the warmth, you are already missing.

"Good luck, (Y/N)." Yeji squeezes your arm, and make her way towards the next lecture.

The rest of the day went smoothly, sharing some classes with San doesn't help you with your studies, it's a poison to your grades, but an antidote for your lonliness, as the monotonous lecture with Mr. Kim is coming to an end soon. You chuckle at his little love letters, which he puts in your sweater pocket, most of them consists of a cheesy pickup lanes, like "For some reason, I was feeling a little off today. But when you came along, you definitely turned me on." and "Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?" His hot breath on your neck, makes you shiver in a pleasure, when you sit in front of him, as you decide to abandon your pet's teacher seat in the displeasure of the scolding look of the lecturer, but you couldn't care less. "Come meet me at your locker." the last letter says, and you are introduced the state of euphoria.

The bell once again rings, not only signaling the end of the lecture, but also the rapid beating of your heart.

You turn around, exited to see his beautiful face, but you are slightly late, as he are already nowhere to be seen in the class along with his table partner Yunho, who reminds you of a big polar bear. Packing your belongings, you got a message form an unknown number, which shocks you to the core, "Don't trust him, he is not worth it." those words are driving you mad crazy. What the hell. You don't think much of it, but there is an empty feeling in your chest, as if a dark force settled down your stomach to bug out your day. Choi San has turned your life upside down and has brought you onto an edge that you enjoyed more than you cared to admit, it was too late to take a step back.

"Fuck this." you curse under your breath, exciting the class to look for San.

You take the steps, needed to arrive next to his strong figure, Yunho nowhere to be seen, and you offer him the bestest smile you can, perhaps, filled with every emotion you can't hide. The air around you is suffocating, he radiates an angelic glow, uncommon to him, you can't help but place a gentle kiss on his cheek, when he leanded nonchalantly against your locker, his shoulder relaxes visibly at your loving presence. San sends you a sly grin and tugs at the end of your blue sweater to draw you into his arms, eyes focused onto the sweet source of his happiness. "What was that for?" he pats the top of your head and places his hand on the small of your back, his actions are enough to make your heart stop beating, because his beauty defined by high cheekbones and dark arched eyebrows are the defenition of perfection.

"I don't know." you splutter. "I suddenly got an urge to do it or maybe I wanted to prove to you about the theory of meteorite impact to the ground, which would kill all of the dinosaurs. "

"Oh, why did you make me aware of death of dinosaurs, it's sad. Can you kiss me again to make my pain go away?"

"Kiddo." his forehead presses against yours, as you lean into him and press your lips against his ear, hands intertwined tightly and the scent still overwhelming. You place a fond kiss at the hem of his ear, whispering about sweet nothings, the boldness of your actions are enough to make him stiff in place, as you take your time to look at him, to drink in his perfect features. He’s sun kissed, you notice, and his lips are red and curved into a small smile. Choi San has turned your life upside down and has brought you onto an edge that you enjoyed more than you care to admit. "No more kisses." you laugh.

You pull away from him, and his bottom lip pops out, forming a pout and you have a strong desire to trace it with your fingers and your mouth like you did back then on the balcony, where the bright sun embodied your serene emotions. "I can always steal it, princess." he teases, and you break out into an easy grin, as he placed a chaste kiss at your soft lips.

"Let's go. I'm not in the mood to study anymore."

"There is still one lesson ahead of us, San."

"So what? I want to spend rest of the day with my girlfriend. Now come on baby, don't make me beg you."

He promised to make you fall in a twisted snares of love with him, his burning touches which ignites the fire will be the answer to your hopeless eyes, and he will prove the sincerity of his intentions, when you decide to run away with the knight in laether jacket to find the source of your happiness. There is no place for deep reflections, you want him to degrade you with his dark life, and to be a part of his kingdom, because ruling without the queen was already hard for him. The world can burn in noxious agony, if it means he would be there with your connected soul, holding you closely in a affectionate embrace, as your trembling hands finds way to his sharp face adorned with the most attractive smile.

"Fine, let's go." you mutter under your breath, and San lets out a quiet and triumphant yes slip from his lips, as he eagerly grabs your hand in his warm one, to assure you about the correctness of this choice and leads you to the courtyard, where his black motorbike is parked.

Choi San is the love of your life, you decide, as you watch him, hand held tightly by him. San is everything you want and more, he is fullfilling your senses with wholesome ecstasy, you drink up his presence in the gleaming sun, a view satisfying like the miracle oasis in the middle of tropical desert. You look at him and smile.

He is beautiful.

He attentively puts a helmet on your head, his face scrunch in concentration, his tongue pokes out of his mouth, when he was focused on protecting you from inevitable, he flashes you a dimple grin, which you return. "It will protect you. I hope you aren't afraid of speed." The thrilling feeling of adrenaline kicks in, as San's motor roars in the air like a obsessed mantra, your heart beating abruptly in your chest at the frantic sound. You are terrified, but the look of pacification on his blissful face, you long to is enough for you to hop into the embrace of death, hugging his calming back from behind. "Good girl."

The fast ride through the city with San reminds you of playing with fire, it could be a lethal weapon in the wrong hands, taking away your reckless life, when you handle it without proper caution. Life isn't beautiful without taking a risk, perhaps it's easier to put your faith in devil's sharp claws, than look for the light in angel's halo, because San's calming presence is enough for you to endure the feeling of frighten. He is aware of your trembling hands, you can't control, the swift breaths you take to soothe your racing nerves, while you melt into his figure to gain the courage, as he speeds up down the road. The destination is unknown to you, he hasn't metioned where he wish to take you, kissing you with the burning passion, holding you close in his arms till your worries of unrequited love vanish into the void, leaving a space for an attachment.

You trust San with the remaining strength in you, it isn't difficult, but you can't resist fluttering shut your eyes to ease the throbbing of your heart, you know nothing awful will happend to you, if he is here to remind you of his close proximity. "Baby, we are here. Open your pretty eyes, you can't miss the view." The ride came to an end when his divine voice comes out of his throat, the moment his yearning palms touch your gentle face to reveal you from the helmet, it's devastating for him, he can't let go of your pure smiles and soft chuckles at his sugared praises about your bravery. He is mesmerized by your angelic purity, the taste of blissful heaven never tasted so delectable at his tongue, as he molds your lips in a heated adventure between clouds. His intoxicating scent make you lightheaded, teeth clashing together in a messy battle of dominance and you let his lustful desires win, the low whimper escapes from his mouth. Believing in God is unnecessary for him, but believing in the miracles of blue paradise is right, because he could meet you.

The mesmerizing view of ocean absorbs your attention, it's beautiful, the sun is near to set and the colors of orange and red are visible in the sky, interwined together in a fierce dance to create a gorgeous convolution of emotions, where the stray souls would find the answer for their longing questions. San's head falls down into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet perfume, the smell he craves, his warm embrace on your waist grow in strength, as the cold breeze hit his back. He place another chaste kiss down your neck, your delicate hand is gripping at the red hair on top of his head, when your lips tremble at the close inticimaty, but he pulls away completely and you feel cold and empty, as he flashes you a sly grin.

"I thought it would be nice to enjoy the sunset, while we will be busy making out like horny teenegers." San's glowing eyes forms the crescents, his sharp features softens in the vivid twilight, when he teases you, as he ruffles your hair with a precious laugh. He is uterrly beutiful in every way, you think, from the reflection of luminescent stars in his eyes, the freckles on his neck made of stardust, you yearn to explore with your desirable touch, to his flawlessly shaped waist, as it fits perfectly in your arms. But he is brighter than all stars above. "It was a joke of course, but it doesn't sounds so bad in my opinion." He flashes you a mischievous grin, eyes flaming as he stared you down with an interest.

You giggle, subtly pressing harder against him, the heat rolling off his body, he will be the death of you, but the state of limerence is amazing, you can't restrain from his charms, the God had taken his time with him, so why he had to banish him to the gates of hell? "You're gross." you flicker his forehead, smiling with adoration, when his face pouts a disappointment, a little whine escapes his mouth. Then you realize the God is awful, maybe San isn't uninfected with sins, he never prayed, but he tries to be good in his own, unique way.

Because Choi San is open minded, the heavy curtains of the cruel world aren't enough to fool his divine eyes, and maybe you're dancing with the devil, but it doesn't frighten you. Being partly good is better than being artificial pure. San laid his leather jacket that smells like his cologne on your shoulders, as he sees you shivering under the circumstance of cold wind, his arms now exposed fully to you, the antic makes you blush and you throw him a sheepish smile to hide the cherry like flush. "No, just madly in love with you, princess." he takes out the cigarette from the back pocket of his jeans, lighting it up immediately, with a cunning smirk, it's the sin he is addicted to, the smoke surrounding him seems to embrace him gracefully.

The motorcycle seat beneath you is like a safe home to you, when still in place without the danger of speed, it's comforting you in every possible way, and his godly presence makes it even better, it's like the best antidote for solitude. "Are you always this smooth with your words?" you ask, biting your trembling lips, as his intense stare is burning holes on your redden face. He hums in dismiss, heart beating faster and faster as the seconds passed by. "Can I have one?" your breath hitches in your throat, when his large palms clutches your chin in a gentle touch.

Choi San is the cause of the swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

"Can you be honest with me? Tell me, have you ever smoke?" he says, searching in your eyes for a genuine answer, but you can never lie to him, as the weight of the repulsiveun untruth is inordinately heavy, you couldn't carry it throught the life.

"No."

"Then the answer is also no, angel." his delicate grip on you has loosened, as he lets go of your chin, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you whimper in his chest at the lose of his warmth. He doesn't fancy the idea of you being addicted to the awful nicotine because of him, the deadly treat isn't worth losing your flawless purity, and for San you are a good girl made of pure porcelain, too fragile for this dark world. Good girls don't smoke. You clutch at his black shirt, as he lowers his head in order to move his lips to your cheek, while you inhale deeply his intoxicating scent and you’ve never felt more alive than you did then, in San's arms – the one boy who sets your heart in flames.

"But I want to try, please San. Let me, it will be my first and last time. I promise." you whine, the high hopes in your mind, because San can't resist your soft pleadings, as he is a slave of your angelic voice, but he doesn't mind as long, as you are his cause of rapid heartbeat. Truth to be told, both of you are too lost into the world of love, Choi San has committed to you, and you seal the deal with the devil itself, as you press an open mouthed kiss on his neck and then on his jaw, landing on his lips at the end. And yes, maybe it can bring the pain and sorrow, but the embrace of the devil is worth it.

He chuckles, and it’s low and throaty, his right hand ends up on your neck in a firm grip, leaving a trace of hell, which burns you alive. You aren't afraid of his crimes anymore, beacuse Choi San is the reason of the flowing sensation in your veins, as he pushes you harder into his body, taking a deep inxhale from the cigarette with the other hand. He molds together your plump lips in a sensual kiss, the other hand finds the way to your cheek, the metal cold rings on his fingers are sending you to overdive, as his mouth opens against yours and his tongue licks eagrly at the entrance of your lips. You give in to his burning touch, mouth feeling hot and a heavy, the sensation of fullness settles into the pit of your chest, as he kisses you harder and more urgent, exhaling the deathly smoke into your lungs. San is needy, but you don't mind, as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. There’s no reason to hold back, you desire his proximaty and he desires yours, it's the definition of selling your soul to the bad side.

Your fingers reach for his hair, feeling the fluffiness of his locks, as San breaks the kiss, when the overflow of smoke in your mouth chokes you, and your hazy eyes still fixated on his swollen lips, which forms a cocky grin. "I can't believe you said it was your last, when you are looking at me like this, sweetheart." You struggle to breathe, as his hands cup your face in between them, rough fingertips rubbing circles into the skin, and you blush harder than you thought possible, when a low and guttural moan leaves the back of his throat. "Fuck, it's hard for me to restrain."

"Sorry."

The overwhelming weight of the intense battle, filled with lustful touches and hot kisses, leaves you hot-blooded, and you wish it would last longer, because San is the reason of your mad addiction and sins, which pulls you down into the hole of thirst. You don't regret giving up, the pit in your stomach deepens and your thoughts swirl around in your head like sweet promises, because you can see the love oozing in his chestnut eyes, and you swear you fell in love with him once again. San rests his forehead against your heart, the sound of your rapid heartbeat is like a beloved lullaby for him, cooing him to fall into the marvellous dreamland, but the gates to the underworld of Hades are watching him, proud of his actions, because you sinned, and the God will never forgive you, but if that means rotting in hell together with San, then it's alright to do so. You are sure that you can endure it, because Choi San is your medicine for pain.

"Don't be, it's my fault. I got too carried away, but I can't help it, you are driving me crazy." his fingers brush at the strands falling into your eyes and he presses another quick kiss onto your longing mouth. There is no air left in your lungs, and they burn with need yet you neglect them. "Do you like the place?" he flashes you a gentle smile, pushing up the jacket on you, which had slip when you were too engaged in each other mouths, and he moves away completly from you to let you see the breattaking view, as he stands next to you. It eases your neglected pain.

The beautiful place pulled straight out of a fairy tale, reminds you of the place, where you had spend most of your childhood, but you can't recognize it, as your memories are blurry. "Yes, I do!" you answer, looking at the sunset in awe. "I feel like I was here before, but I can't remember it." you sigh. "I have a feeling that I used to spend a lot of time here, coll-" you say in a daze, but San interrupts you with a unreadable grin, when you look his way, to see how the sun is glowing at his honey like skin, making him a untouchable piece of art, the messy hair stand on all sides from the previous actions, but he still looks saintly.

"Collecting the colorful sheels and screaming about the invisible fishes in the water, which would scare you to the bones?" he finishes the sentence for you, and you, quite simply put, forget how to breathe. San smiles a bright smile, pearly whites on display, and you see the glimmer of the orbs in his eyes. You blink at him in confusion. "Yeah, something like that, but how did you know?" you ask bewildered by his words.

"I was the kid with the blonde streak at the top of his head. Girls swooned over me, and I only had my eyes for a girl, who would smooch my bruises on knees, from falling too many times on the hard rocks near the shore." he chuckles, finally looking at you with beaming eyes full of adoration, the late realization hit you like a bolt from the heaven.

The story of you and Choi San didn't start the moment the saviour Seonghwa introduced him to you, but it started at the very beginning of the hot summer holiday, both of you were still an small mere imitaions of your parents, made of nothing, but the blank pages, who later would be neglected by your bad words and poor choices. You met him at the age of 12, he wasn’t the tallest, but he was endearing, when he walked confidently into the blazing sand, in his hands toys and a happy smile on his face. San had one desire back then, the childish one, to defeat everyone in the competiton of building the highest sand castle, and the prize was a date with the most beautiful girl on the beach, and yes you were her.

He succesfuly won the first place, after many devastating for a kid failures, but his motivation to win was more powerful, just like him today. In this young age boys grossed you out, they were noisy and disgusting, and they were talking only about games, but he was different, a little mysterious. You were under some sort of aura that managed to take your breath away even back then, when he was nothing more than a boy, who was raised by his granparents, with a stupid name "Shiber Choi", but he soon turned to be your best friend and that's how your two months teeneger crush, filled with nervewrecking adventures and deep conversation started.

"What? That was you, no fucking way, San! You were my first love, you asshole!" You flush in delight and raise on your tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his mellow cheek, putting your hand over his heart. "I love you, San." You whisper quietly into his shirt, sound muffled by the fabric and you hope he hears you, especially now, that you are held by him so tightly. He hugs you tighter and kisses the top of your head, fingers coming to comb through the hair at the nape of your neck.

Choi San is your first love and you hope to also be your last.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez san #choi san #choi san scenarios #choi san imagines #ateez fluff #san imagines #san scenarios #san x reader #ateez au #choi san fluff #san fluff #kpop #kpop scenarios

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ibijau · 4 years

Note

mdzs worst engagement au!xisang! Would lxc save nhs from jalouse lxc admire ?

Worst Engagement

Warning for bullying and threats of physical violent

Stay toward the middle or end of Nie Huaisang’s first year in the Cloud Recesses, when he’s still trying to be a Good Boy TM

Another class finishes, and Nie Huaisang has no idea what it even was about. Talisman, he guesses, but it might very well be manners. Quite possibly, it's the etiquette for using talismans. He's been trying to concentrate harder on lessons lately, terrified of failing and getting scolded again by just about everyone he knows, but it's just impossible to focus on something so boring. His mind keeps wandering to painting, to birds, to that minuscule crack in the ceiling of the classroom.

He's not even sure what will happen if he fails the exam. He just knows that it'll be awful.

That's the only reason why when a group of boys encircles him as he exits the classroom and asks if he wants to study with them, Nie Huaisang actually considers it.

The group, sadly, is led by Jin Zixun. There's little love between him and Nie Huaisang, though in fairness there's little love between either of them and anyone else. Only the Jin disciples seem to like Jin Zixun, and they don't have much of a choice when his mother is the sect leader's sister. Jin Zixun is a bully and, quite frankly, an idiot, but he's still doing better in class than Nie Huaisang. That makes studying with him and his friends… tempting.

"What do you want in exchange for letting me work with you?" Nie Huaisang asks with justified suspicions. Just a few days ago, someone threw a wet inkstone at him, ruining of set of white guest robes, and Jin Zixun looked too amused to be fully innocent.

"It's just sad to always see you alone," Jin Zixun replies. "The heir apparent to Qinghe Nie should try to make friends."

That's rich coming from the one person who made sure to ruin all of Nie Huaisang’s efforts. But it's true also that Nie Huaisang can be shy. Some of the other boys did try chatting with him, early on, but they only wanted to hear about Nie Mingjue at best, about Lan Xichen at worst, and that quickly got old.

"Come with us, Nie gongzi," another Jin boy insists, his smile less sharp than Jin Zixun. "You seemed a little lost earlier when master Lan explained things, but together we can all figure it out."

Nie Huaisang shoots the boy a surprised look. Nobody usually pays attention to him, so this is pleasantly unexpected. Much as it pains him to admit, Jin Zixun isn't wrong: it'd be nice to make some friends.

"I am very grateful for your generous offer," Nie Huaisang says with a bow. "I hope we can all work hard together."

Happy with that answer, the other boys lead him away from the classroom, chatting about dinner and what they'll do for their next free day. Nie Huaisang doesn't say much, happy to listen and let himself be led along the way.

It's not until they pass the last cabin and step on a path to the mountain that Nie Huaisang realises something isn't right. Before he can ask about that, Jin Zixun gives a signal. Instantly, two boys grab Nie Huaisang’s arms and push his back against a tree, hard enough his breath is knocked out of him.

"I thought we were going to study," he stutters, immediately earning a few laughs.

"Who'd study with you?" someone says. "Has there been a single class you haven't failed?"

"Yeah, you're annoying," Jin Zixun adds. "You're a shame to the entire cultivation world already, but you had to make it worse by laying a claim on Lan Xichen?"

Nie Huaisang blinks a few times.

"It's not like I chose that!"

"I could have been the one engaged to Lan Xichen," Jin Zixun argues. "It was considered for a time! I would have been far more worthy of him than some stupid little cowardly mouse like you.”

“Go to your uncle and ask to have him then,” Nie Huaisang mutters. “Good luck. I don’t think Lan gongzi will want you.”

The slap is no surprise, but Nie Huaisang still cries out when the blow is sharper than expected.

“He doesn’t want you either,” Jin Zixun spits. “Everyone knows he’s ashamed of being engaged to you. Qinghe Nie is barely respectable to begin with, and then they had to give birth to someone like you? Everyone knows you don’t even have a golden core!”

“I do have one!”

It’s only half a lie. His core has almost finished forming. For better or worse, the discipline of Gusu Lan has actually helped quite a bit, which annoys Nie Huaisang to no end. He doesn’t want to owe that to the sect that will someday already own him.

“I don’t think that’s true,” another Jin boy says, the one who was so nice earlier and said he’d noticed Nie Huaisang struggling to follow the lesson. “Nobody with a core would squeal like a pig over just being slapped.”

“He did sound like a pig,” Jin Zixun agrees. “Maybe we should open him up like one and check? Maybe those Nie butchers messed up and raised a pig instead of a cultivator. Or maybe his mom’s a sow instead of a dancer. I mean, it’s the same in the end, isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang shouts in rage at the insult, and manages to free himself from the other boys’ hold just enough to kick first Jin Zixun’s knee, and then his chest when he doubles down in pain.

"Talk about my mom again and you'll see what a butcher can do!"! Nie Huaisang roars, trying to launch himself at Jin Zixun only to be tackled on the ground by the other boys. "Fight me alone if you dare!"

A boot on his face silences him (still that nice boy, Nie Huaisang is never trusting anyone’s kindness ever again), pressing his cheek into mud and grass. Nie Huaisang still manages to look up when Jin Zixun stomps in front of his nose. He has one hand on the handle of his sword, and yet all Nie Huaisang can think of is how unflattering that angle is on the other boy. It’s a stupid thought to have, and it’s stupider still that it makes him snort, because of course Jin Zixun only gets angrier.

“Maybe I can’t cut open you like a pig,” he says, “but I can cut your face. If you really have a golden core, healing it won’t be a problem. If you don’t… it’ll just leave a scar and everyone will know you’re a fraud.”

Nie Huaisang cries out and struggles as hard as he can, but without the power of surprise he can’t free himself again. To his horror, Jin Zixun actually unsheathes his sword. When he puts it against his cheek, Nie Huaisang goes deathly still and closes his eyes, feeling tears of terror and frustration pool behind his eyelids. The blade is cold against his skin, the tip of it digging slightly, not yet hard enough to actually cut, but Jin Zixun starts to press down and…

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone jolts, but thankfully Jin Zixun is just smart enough to lift his sword and not leave any mark on Nie Huaisang.

Nie Huaisang who opens his eyes and sees Lan Xichen coming their way, radiating the sort of calm anger one might expect of a martial god. For the first time in their engagement, Nie Huaisang is sincerely happy to see his fiancé, so much so that the tears he barely managed to restrain before start spilling.

“Lan gongzi!” Jin Zixuan exclaims, putting away his sword. “How are you doing today? Isn’t the weather nice?”

Lan Xichen gives him such a cold look that Jin Zixun cannot help stepping backward. He then turns his gaze to Nie Huaisang, and frowns.

“Let him go,” he orders the boys still holding him, and is obeyed without hesitation. “Fighting is not allowed in the Cloud Recesses. Surely you know this by now?”

"Lan gongzi, we were just playing!"

"Where you?" Lan Xichen asks, his eyes still on Nie Huaisang who looks away.

"Yeah, we were playing," he mutters, carefully getting back on his feet and wiping the dirt from his face. "Sorry if we were too rough, Lan gongzi. It won't happen again."

It's a huge lie, and one Nie Huaisang isn't selling well with his red eyes and snotty nose. Lan Xichen rightfully pinches his lips, but can't say anything without calling both Jin Zixun and Nie Huaisang liars, which would be a serious accusation. Nie Huaisang knows he's making yet another bad impression on his future husband, but between that and alienating someone who's currently so high in the inheritance line for Lanling Jin… Lan Xichen's anger can be dealt with, but Jin Zixun's hatred would probably never be pacified.

"I see. Then please, play more peacefully next time, and in a more appropriate place," Lan Xichen notes with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "If you seek such an isolated place, people might think you are trying to hide mischief. Now go back to your cabins. I'm sure you have a lot to review after today's lesson."

They don't need to be told twice. Some of the boys are probably older than Lan Xichen, but he radiates such authority that nobody would dare to contradict him, especially not when they all know they're lucky not to be punished. Even Nie Huaisang could have gotten in trouble. He's not sure if the rules against fighting apply to self-defence as well.

"Nie gongzi, stay with me a moment," Lan Xichen orders. "I wish to speak to you."

Nie Huaisang freezes on the spot. In all the time he's spent in the Cloud Recesses, this is the first time Lan Xichen had asked for a chat. In fact, isn't it the first time for the all of their acquaintance? And by the look of it, it's not going to be a pleasant one.

But then again, when has anything about this engagement ever been pleasant?

"Do not pick fights you cannot win," Lan Xichen advises when everyone else is gone.

"I didn't start this," Nie Huaisang grumbles, feeling like a child being scolded. "They're the ones who attacked me!"

"Then be more careful not to give others the occasion and incentive to attack you," Lan Xichen said, never once dropping that kind, condescending smile. "Just because we are set to marry doesn't mean I will always be there to save you. If you can't defend yourself, if you can't make friends, at least have the good sense to stay away from bullies."

That hits a little too close to home. Of course Nie Huaisang should have known something was wrong, he should have guessed Jin Zixun couldn't have turned nice all of a sudden, but…

He just wanted someone to want to be around him. The other Nie disciples don't count, they have to be nice to him. But apparently, friends are too much to ask.

"I'm sorry, Lan gongzi. May I go now?"

"You may."

Nie Huaisang strides away, as fast as he can without running. When he reaches the cabin he shares with the other Nie disciples, he doesn't even get changed and just starts studying right away.

He has to pass his exams when the time comes, at any cost, so he can go home and be away from this fiancé who hates him.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin zixun #mo dao zu shi #worst engagement au #jau writes #lxc is bitchy but plz consider that nhs just fucking lied to his face #and to defend jin zixun of all people #this prompt was sent at least a week ago lol #I'm not ignoring prompt but I got a lot and I gotta pick which to do first #as much as possible I want to fill a lot of them just plz be patient #this is a one birb operation after all #Anonymous

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billiejs · 4 years

Note

request: the boys are still alive in the 90s, and Luke hates school, but he realizes he has a test worth half his grade due, so he fakes sick to study on it and his parents believe him.

Here you go! 90′s Luke, sickfic, slightly angsty because it’s what happens when you want me to write about 90′s Luke and his parents, 1 k There are three things Luke hates: number one is liars and frauds. Number two is school. Number three is lying to his parents.

On this unfortunate February day of 1994, two of these things are going to destroy his mood for the next three days at least. If he spins it right though, maybe he can use his angst to write a good song later on.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Luke stares at the Biology textbook on his desk, half-open under a pile of CDs and his trusted black Sony walkman. He had totally forgotten about the test he has in two days. He doesn’t really care about the differences between animal and plant cells or whatever it is they’re studying now, but he knows that if he flunks it, Mr. Harding will talk to his parents and it will be even harder to play with the guys. He’s not sure he can take another fight with his mom this week.

But still. The Biology test is not going to magically disappear, and he has approximately thirty-four hours left to try and learn the basics of it. He’s just going to have to… act.

He pads into the kitchen ten minutes later, after having kept his face pressed to the heater and drenched his hair to make them look sweaty.

“Luke, honey!” Emily hurries toward him, studying his figure. “Are you feeling okay?”

Luke slumps down on a chair, avoiding her eyes.

“Yeah…” Luke says, forcing a couple coughs out of his throat. His father studies him attentively while he drinks his usual cup of morning tea.

“Are you sure? You really look…” Emily hesitates. “You’ve looked better, sweetheart.”

“Are you calling me ugly?” Luke mutters, pressing his bare feet against the cold pavement until a shudder rattles through his body.

“Oh, Luke,” Emily chuckles affectionately and presses a hand to his face. Her rings are cold against his skin, and even though he’ll never admit it, this feels nice. “Darling, you’re burning up. Isn’t he burning up, Mitch?”

“He is,” Mitch confirms, standing behind Luke’s shoulders to feel his temperature. “You’re burning up, Luke.” He repeats for good measure.

Mitch likes to say things twice, it helps him build his assertiveness. Luke just finds it annoying, most times.

“I’m fine, really,” Luke doesn’t really have to fake the discomfort that shows up on his face, because manipulating his parents like that makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. He doesn’t like it when they fight either, but at least he knows he’s being true to himself, and that knowledge gives him the strength to wake up confident every morning, and fight for his dreams. This? Lying so convincingly just so he can stay home and study for a stupid test that won’t matter at all in a few years? This feels like a betrayal of his moral code for no justifiable reason.

“Did you catch a cold? Was it that garage again? I told you to bring a hoodie when you go there…” Emily’s tone of accusation is gratuitous, but Luke bites his tongue. This is not the right time.

“No,” he replies, more sharply than he’d like to, “I think it was something I ate. My stomach feels weird.”

“It’s best you go back to bed then.” Emily pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll call the school to let them know you’re not coming.”

“But mom,” Luke figures that a bit of protesting can only add color to his dramatics. “I’m supposed to see the guys in the afternoon…”

He’s done it on purpose so he shouldn’t be upset when his mother flashes him a steely gaze in return.

“Surely the boys will understand,” she says in a clipped voice, “And a little rest from that too, can only do you good.”

Don’t fight back, don’t fight back, don’t fight back.

“I’ll sure do you good.” He snarks back.

Shit.

Emily stiffens beside him and Luke doesn’t want to start a fight, really, he doesn’t.

“Whatever,” he says, springing to his feet, “I’m going back to bed.”

He’s under the covers in a matter of seconds, a pillow pressed to his face to suffocate the frustrated scream he lets out. Why, why is he always so damn angry at everyone? Why can’t his parents just let him breathe for a minute?

He waits until he hears his dad’s car rumble out of the driveway, and he fishes his Biology textbook from the desk, flipping it open until he gets to the title page of the chapter on Cells. Luke flips the textbook upside down, grimacing at the page. Studying it is going to be a challenge: he covered every blank inch in lyrics and doodles, often writing over the paragraphs. A light knock on the door prompts him to quickly hide the book under the pillow and resume his moribund expression.

“Yeah?” He moans.

His mother comes in with a cup of what smells like hot lemon tea and some dry biscuits on a tray, and Luke feels suddenly better and worse at the same time.

“How’s your stomach?” Emily asks, setting the tray down on his bedside table. Luke doesn’t miss the way she grimaces at the piles of CDs that are one blow of air away from tumbling to the floor. Luke replies with a noncommittal shrug and Emily sighs, sitting down next to him.

“Luke, you know I don’t want to make your life difficult.” She says, and the way her voice breaks when he looks at her makes something in Luke’s chest break too. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Luke knows this argument like the strings of his guitar, and he’s really not in the mood for the usual script that goes along the lines of ‘Music makes me happy, how is it not the best for me?’ and ‘But how are you going to make a living out of that?’

“I know,” Luke says. There are a million other words pressing on his lips right now, words like, I love you, and I wish you could trust me, and I really just want you to be proud of me and would you like to hear some our songs?

But he has a test to study for, and he’s not in the mood to be real with his mom. He’ll have a lifetime to make up for this shitty behavior anyway. Emily addresses him with a sad smile, before she closes the door between them.

_________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Here (x) are my other ficlets for Julie and the Phantoms. Feel free to leave a prompt in my askbox if you’d like! Only, don’t make it another sickfic of some kind please, because I’ve written three of those in the past few days and I’m starting to run out of ideas on how to spin it lol

#jatp minific #jatp #julie and the phantoms #my fics #luke patterson #JATP fanfic

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jimmyflemion · 3 years

Text

Hi everyone. The Spiritual album is here. Damaged Goods / Sinned in Reverse. Out now! Finally. Our album that has been talked about in interviews & the works for the last 30 years. Today digitally available everywhere. Always had it in mind for this to come out as an album in album form (who knows, maybe someday?) but now that it has been finished this seemed the perfect time for its release. Over the last 9 years all the song versions were listened to meticulously, chosen, vocals & instruments added & recorded, the theme of the story & running order placed in a schematic theme, mixed, mastered & the artwork went through several renovations until today as it stands in its completed form. Whenever it seemed like it was finished & patience had given out, there was that voice saying that when the time was right it would be ready. Why are any of us here? Our spirits, our souls, the learning, the forgetting, the remembering. What is my purpose? Is it something other than what I think it is? Am I supposed to be helping in some other way? I often ask myself these questions. Music always has given me hope to figure out these things & be good with myself & my choices, helping me to make sense. I often think of my sins & sins of omission words I feel I should have said or shouldn’t have said. The life I’ve led, previous lives. Being honest with myself & others & communicating my feelings freely & openly. Reflecting how my life would have changed dramatically. Often pointing the finger & not owning up to my own part in things. We all play a part in the communion. I’ve judged so much in my life. Through my own faults perceived through my own judgement, I become more & more conscientious & conscious & not so much on autopilot. For those I’ve hurt through my own neglect, I offer my sincere apologies. To be good with yourself & your pure refection brings peace. Myself & my brother were The Frogs. We grew up together, played & wrote songs entwining a world revered & a world despised & quickly scribed them with quill, in the end giving you the listeners your own choice in choosing where your heart aligns. From seeing both sides of characters as well as taking an honest look at ourselves, there began an introspection as to who we are as humans & it made its’ way into the work. We uncovered a society of depravity we had no intention of joining. Although given somewhat of a view of the music biz here & there from a ringside seat, in fact we were never invited to the party for we posed a threat in seeing through your false idol’s bullshit. We were different, we didn’t fit in & in retrospect a very good thing to be, working in our favor. But alas however cool or punk or whatever someone might think that might feel it took on an aura of loneliness. We were outsiders, who still in a way wanted for our ego’s sake (remember this is show biz, it takes some sort of ego to continue on, year after year) to be appreciated or make some sort of a living at this game. However, looking at things now, there really was never anything we missed out on, knowing how proud he was of me & I of him & what we set out to do through our creativity. I am reminded by a beautiful princess who once upon a time told me, we are all frogs. We are God’s children that keep getting turned into frogs & under the spell of the witches. The Frogs, the band represents all the frogs of the world. The Frogs, the band are the narrator, the storyteller as in the fairytale. The Frogs have their sweet revenge by flipping, showing the people thru song their own judgements of what beauty, evil, cruelty & perception of what is truth or not. You are the judge. It’s always been up to the listener of the message what they were to receive from it to learn or unlearn. Like a lot of music itself, it’s multilayered, multidimensional, the listener gets to decide what it means. We are all frogs, right & wrong, good & bad, ugly & beautiful, loving & hateful, mean & kind. We have a choice. Thru our own experience, we can heal & help to shine our light or to stay in the darkness & continue to judge all of it or accept & return to all that is within us which is love. & somewhere within all that we must not forget what they do to frogs in school’s biology class, cutting them open, dissecting removing parts showing children that it is ok in the name of science & men who eat & destroy the lives of children. Becoming comfortable with these ideas as if it’s cool or gross, not really understanding what they are doing. That which was once life, God’s creation lie there on the table, it represents us thru the fairytales. Being manipulated, being blinded from the day of our birth that we should be okay with all this and yet that is the great big lie too. The world you, we know/knew & the people of it that revel & cling to darkness remain at that vibration until they subscribe to the light. The light is for all yet some have an allergic reaction to it due to their disposition & judgement of the collective creation. The Frogs, myself and my brother spoke the truth about everything the 3rd dimensional world holds & ascending dimensions above. Together we were not puppets, poseurs, plagiarists or frauds, follow the long lost line of money, our trail is short. Those who hijack the heart will find & attract those of like. There remains nothing to be taught or learned for the kingdom of heaven is within, pretty simple. It’s easy to innerstand, if one makes a concerted conscious effort to spread love as opposed to their fascination with fear & pornographic obsession with death, which spoiler alert walks hand in hand with life. The music we created has nothing to do with “satire”, in fact at times there is no rhyme & reason & in times needed there is rhyme & reason. A fool auditions for a song, a wise man dresses up in costume, the world’s zoo comes to life & appears & disappears in illusion or what some call magic or a critic appears on notice to define art. There is a floodgate of material & songs to peruse & at times it makes the most sense to corral them conceptually. I used to be so concerned on being comprehended correctly to my liking but matters not. If I must spell it out, see how the Phoenicians, use their created language & words in plain sight, with the word spell to cast spells. In conclusion, the words with respect to the music are laced with wisdom. There is no other way. The goal, the direction, the soul purpose being co-creating beautiful sounds, energy & vibrations with the maker. In appreciation of creation. The heart beats, the world turns, the divine nature of the soul is changeless, without wavering, it answers the call of protecting & nurturing the mutual life force. Love avoids competition as it stands in its own sovereignty. ‘Tis the very common ground we all share & vibrate to. No one else can control our destiny, that which we were put on this plane, planet earth to fulfill. There was a shared mission only Dennis & I shared. The understanding & meaning that music in the right hands transforms the soul. Caging people, labeling, putting them in boxes, thinking these monsters own you is the absolute antithesis of love. The angels provide the roadmap, speak to them, I’ve spoken in song about freedom, having loved the show “Born Free” growing up under the Leo sign. I pray someday people that are real will find like minded humans & the fake actors satisfied with their empty empathy will have a true awakening. Judge much, yes but ‘tis a lonely world full of ghosts. So on a lighter note, as we float higher, what have I learned in all these years later 9 since Dennis has passed. What I’ve always known that I am so beyond blessed & grateful to have had him as my brother, how much love, care & detail he put into every moment of his life, how much he gave & how everything was a gift, how much he cherished life & being in everyone’s presence. His heart was always in the right place. An angel. Finally this album is the final Frogs album (the spiritual album that has been promised for years) 32 tracks, (number 5) Dennis & I were both number 5’s in our life paths. “damaged GOoDS / sinneD in Reverse” Damaged Goods / Dennis in Reverse In reality this album could not have been completed without the help of our dear friend Bjorn Thorsrud (additional production, mastering & editing) Dennis always wanted to have Bjorn work on this album & when he offered to help it was a GODsend. I devoted my heart & soul into this record & when I finally completed it on the final playback, I broke into tears, my only wish was for Dennis to be proud & happy with this record as a testament to The Frogs legacy. This album is in 432 hertz, the highest energy that governs the universe, vibrates with the earth’s heartbeat, the golden ratio, divine proportion. We made music because it brought us joy & made life such a wonderful experience. The telepathic musical communication Dennis & I shared is innerstood, felt inside. With regards to words they would have you say understood, but none of us is beneath or under where any other human soul stands, we are all equal & equally divine. I love Dennis with all my heart, always have & always will. I am so happy & thank creation so much that I was able to be here on this day to fulfill Dennis & my dream for you to hear this our final Frogs album. This album is for you all the fans who drove all over the country to come to our shows, stood in line, supported us at our merch booths. We started out having fun playing music together in the garage, writing songs in our bedrooms, had absolutely no idea any & all of this would have happened, well it couldn’t have happened without you our fans, we love each & every one of you for showering us with your love all of these years. This album is dedicated to the fans. Love, Jimmy

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crazedlunatic · 3 years

Text

Sexy

Blaine’s inner thoughts of Kurt talking about porn and afraid of sex and then going to Burt.

I literally cannot believe I am in this position. David and Wes are going to love this.

But I can’t tell them about this. Trying to teach Kurt how to be sexy.

Although if he’d just have confidence in himself, I wouldn’t have to teach him.

On the other hand if we were dating I could actually teach him… Bad, Blaine. Mentor.

He is sexy, though.

In this adorable, knows-nothing-about-it kind of way.

Mentor. Yeah, right. You don’t even have your life together. I’m a fraud.

Can you be a fraud at 17?

He’s so uncomfortable.

I would have been uncomfortable if I was a virgin too.

But, I mean… it’s sex. And it happens a lot.

Too many times with me apparently.

Twenty people. Who knows how many time each.

Ugh.

As a junior he knows nothing about it? His dad isn’t like mine. His dad would totally be open to talking about that.

Maybe?

Okay. I have to put Kurt out of his misery.

Here goes.

“Uh, Kurt, they’re all kind of looking the same.”

Seriously, how do I end up in these situations? Oh my God.

Why is he so cute? Why did he ask me to help with this?

Sex related discussions with the person I’d really like to have sex wi— bad, Blaine. Mentor.

“That’s because the face I’m actually doing is uncomfortable. This is pointless, Blaine. I don’t know how to be sexy because I don’t know the first thing about sex.”

“Kurt, you’re blushing.”

And it’s so cute.

“I tried watching those movies, but I just get horribly depressed and I think about how they were all kids once and they all have mothers. And, God, what would their mothers think, and why would you get that tattoo there?”

Wait, he just admitted he’s tried to watch porn.

Oh my God, did Kurt just admit he tried to watch porn?!

I can’t see that.

I can totally see him feeling horribly depressed for those actors… who thinks about what porn star’s mothers think?

Although tattoo placement is pretty, uhm, interesting in porn. He has a good point.

Not that I’ve watched it in forever.

Reading fanfiction is better.

No. We’re forgetting about the fanfiction. Seventeen is too old to read that.

HA.

Right. Mentor.

“Then maybe we should have a conversation about it. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Please don’t take me up on this. I cannot do this. Cannot. Cannot talk to Kurt about lube and condoms. Oh my God, Kurt’s probably never even bought a box.

Think about something really depressing. Or gross. Like gorey car crashes. And that time you walked in on—no, not going there.

“I don’t want to know the graphic details. I like romance. That’s why I like Broadway musicals. Because the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets.”

Oh my God.

He’s perfect.

MENTOR.

“Kurt, you’re going to have to learn about it someday.” Blaine pointed out.

Is it getting hot in here? Jesus Christ.

“Well not today.”

Thank you, God and Allah and all of the other mythical beings because I cannot give Kurt a sex talk.

“I think I’ve learned quite enough for today, thank you. I think you should leave.”

Oh my God. He kicked me out. He hates me now.

I was just trying to help.

Worst freaking mentor ever.

Blaine left and got into his car.

But at least I didn’t have to give him a sex talk.

…

This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

But someone needs to talk to him, right??

And his dad seems like a legitimately good dad—despite being uncomfortable with Kurt being gay and not thrilled about me. I did get drunk and sleep in Kurt’s bed so I can’t blame him.

If I was worried I made a drunken move on him, at least I didn’t need to be. Since he’s so embarrassed about anything more than the touch of fingertips.

I can’t even with this.

Also Hummel and Lube. Is this even for real? Let’s talk about your son needing a sex talk while standing inside a place called HUMMEL AND LUBE… problematic because maybe one day there will be lu—MENTOR.

My life is such a sham or joke… or both.

Blaine got out of his jeep, took a deep breath, and walked into the building. Of course, Burt was front and center. Maybe Blaine had come around lunch time in hopes he’d be gone. No such luck.

Blaine approached the car Burt was working on and stood back a bit, not wanting to startle him and he hit his head on the hood. That’d have been a lovely intro.

“Need a hand?”

Burt looked up, clearly confused, and nodded. “Yeah. Why don’t you hand me that carburetor?”

Blaine grabbed the part and passed it over.

“How’d you know which one it was?” Burt asked, looking surprised.

“My dad and I rebuilt a ‘59 Chevy in our driveway two summers ago. One of his many attempts of bonding.” Blaine said, trying to make it sound light hearted and sincere.

But don’t take that as real bonding.

It was the worst form of torture ever.

He only did it to try to make me a real man and because my grandmother could tell people she worked with felt tension at family dinners.

“You looking for parts?”

Ugh, I wish.

Anything but this.

“No, actually.” Blaine said.

Here we go.

“I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you about Kurt.”

“Is he okay?” Burt looked alarmed.

“Have you ever, uhm, talked to him about sex?”

Boom. There it is.

Can I just die now?

Totally crossing the line.

Oh my God.

Burt stepped closer to him before asking, “Are you gay? Or straight? Or what?”

“I’m… definitely gay.”

Burt looked a bit relieved. “Okay, good. I mean, you know, whatever, but, uh, good for Kurt. He needs someone like you to talk to.”

Haaaaa. That went well. Pretty sure Kurt’s avoiding me now.

“Well, that’s kind of my point. I’ve tried talking to him, but he basically puts his fingers in his ears and starts singing.”

Burt, looking uncomfortable again, sighed. “Well, when he’s ready, he’ll listen.”

Oh God.

Does he think I want to have sex with Kurt?

But, I mean, I do.

But that isn’t what this is about, really.

Mentorrrrr.

“I’m worried that it might be too late. You know, Dalton doesn’t even have sex ed classes. Most schools don’t. And the ones that do almost never discuss what sex is like for gay kids. Kurt is the most moral, compassionate person I’ve ever met.”

Was that a non-pushy and appropriate way to say that?

None of this is appropriate. Oh my God.

“He gets that from his mother.”

“And I’m blown away by you guys’ relationship. You think my dad built a car with me because he loves cars? I think he did it because he thought getting my hands dirty might make me straight.”

Ixnay on the talking about your family.

“Yeah. He talk to you about this, uh, kind of stuff?”

If you count locking almost beating me up after finding out I’ve gotten tested fot STD’s.

“No. I had to go find it for myself. The internet is great, and all the information is out there, but I went searching for it. Kurt won’t. And one day, he’ll be at a party and maybe have a few drinks, and he’ll meet some guy and start fooling around, and he’s not going to know about using protection or STDs. I don’t have the relationship with my dad that you have with Kurt. I think it would be really cool if you took advantage of that. I’m sorry if I’m over-stepping.”

Totally not what happened with me at all. Nope. I mean, that’s actually not as bad but, technicalities.

Burt said, not unkindly, “You are.”

Blaine turned and left, groaning when he closed the door.

“I am never going out in public again.”

#wbuct drabble #i love high school blaine so much

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csykora · 4 years

Text

[A newspaper photo of Sergei (front, tits out) and other members of the Soviet national team running on an outdoor track around their training compound.]

[A newspaper photo of the players taking a quick break, skates and socks on. Tretiak is standing over them and Sergei is seated in the middle, smiling at someone out of frame.]

“Camp” was literal. For nine to eleven months of the year, the players lived in compound inside 12-foot wrought iron walls in the woods of Arkhangelskoye, which had once been the country getaway spot for Moscow elite.

Coach Tikhonov viewed physical development as the first, last, and only priority. He took notes on everyone’s progress, or failure, constantly, in little notebooks. For lack of any other mental stimulation, Igor started to take notes, too. While Coach catalogued them, Igor watched him.

On the first floor were Coach’s office and rooms for certain ‘staff’, who never did much of anything but went everywhere with the team. Everyone knew who was KGB. Upstairs, players bunked with a roommate. “Each room is big enough for the two beds, a night table, a lamp, and not much more.” Eighteen rooms per floor. “Toilets? Of course: two per floor. Telephones? A private one for the coaches and trainers, and two more—one per floor, at the end of the hall, for the 70 soccer and hockey players.” The phones were available for an hour a day--for everyone. One of the players’ phones would be out of order for the next nine years.

They woke up by 7:15 AM. At 7:30 they started a daily program of weights, carrying cement blocks or each other, and running, lap after lap in the bare grass and mud around the walled compound in the high summer sun or snow. Breakfast at 9. Then more weights and skating until they were released at 7PM for dinner, and then they were really free to race each other to the shared phone. Back to bed at 11PM. “Goodnight, Igor. Tomorrow you can do it all over again.”

[Krutov and Fetisov performing bodyweight sit-ups in the field outside CSKA's practice facility]

Sometimes they mixed it up. In the short summers they had less ice time, more weights, and more running. Before tournaments they ran less and skated more. “Variety,” Igor notes, “is the spice of life.” Depending on the season, you were supposed to be rationed a day off to drive home every ten days—as long as you were back by 7:30 the next morning.

Unlike Americans and Canadians in the NHL, the Soviet players were all officially amateurs. That was how they were allowed to compete in the Olympics and World Championships when professional NHLers were banned. During the season they received the equivalent of $60 US a month as a stipend for food and housing, with a bonus of about $16 dollars if they won.

In the season Igor waffled since the initial offer, Tikhonov had almost changed his mind: he wanted to put Igor between his second line wingers, but those two turned out to play better apart. “That left him with a problem: he had me. Now what was he to do with me? Put me between Makarov and Krutov on the first line, or on another line he was in the process of forming?”

“There are still doubts,” Tikhonov told everyone, “about this Voskresensk boy.”

The doubts weren’t about Igor’s play—at least according to Igor. Weirdly enough if you’ve got a Russian dictionary and you look up “balls-to-the-wall confidence,” it’s just a picture of Igor Larionov. It’s cross-indexed with “death wish.” The doubts were about Igor’s body, and Coach’s judgement drew attention.

Always short, he admits he was almost skeletal, nothing like the other boys. He hated weight training, and when he arrived he rarely ate meat, afraid that bulking up at all would ruin his fine skating. Zhluktov poked and teased him about it, which only cemented Igor’s desire to crush him and beat everyone else to the top line.

“Partners! Partners! The boys who with their skill and character would compliment each other and me, to help me rise to full height. I needed partners like I needed oxygen.”

Before arriving in Arkhangel for training camp Igor had reassured himself, “I knew I had one friend waiting for me, one comrade-in-arms….I would need help, support in word and deed. Instinctively, I probably waited for his supportive shoulder.” But Vova had learned enough in the last year to be more cautious than Igor in drawing attention or changing the dynamics of the room. At first he “was warm, but nothing more.”

Still, Igor reassured himself, “I knew—and I was not ever wrong—that when I truly needed him, he would be there.”

Sergei, an unfamiliar star, preoccupied Igor even more. Still charming in every photo from that time, his hair is perfect and he poses with arms Igor could only envy around his teammates. But Sergei struck Igor as if he was holding some things back. It had been only days since Kharlamov’s death, though Igor had no way of knowing how much that meant.

Lyosha was big and gentle, with easy advice. He treated Igor like a bit of “an ugly duckling,” unlikely to make the first line—unless he could listen, learn fast, and fit into Coach's plan. Coach had found Igor and the rest of them when no one else would, after all.

Slava seemed to be watching him across the room. As Igor began to prove himself in practice, he had the feeling Slava’s expression changed, that maybe, Slava was silently rooting for him.

At the end of the summer the three boys were given a try together. Igor, Sergei, and Vova were such similar skaters that they were able to pull into tight formation, a literal line, almost on top of each other, the two wingers escorting Igor so closely his legs were sometimes sliding between the others’ and he could bounce the puck up and down between the three of them. Then, all five. He and Slava were similar thinkers, staying out on the ice long after the others. Like music, he wrote that he didn’t have to look behind him because he wouldn’t ever mistake the rhythm of Vova’s skates for Sergei’s, Slava’s or Lyosha’s. Igor was finally issued a green practice sweater to match theirs.

"Our line could never be evaluated according to primative arithmetic addition: the innovation and steadfastness of Fetisov, plus the reliability and self-sacrifice of Kasatonov, plus the elegance and refinement of Makarov, plus the fearlessness and pressure of Krutov, plus the [center] position of Larionov.

No, no, as long as we were together and we had the same intentions, the line was transformed into a force far stronger that which you would get by adding up our merits and abilities.

It was a joyful, undeniable fact: the Greens were made for each other."

The five of them found they could play, or talk, for hours. But they never planned or replayed mistakes off the ice, and promised not to ever blame each other after. That was the only way they could take the risks they did. They fought sometimes, more and more like a little family: Slava and Lyosha always took each others’ side if one of the forwards fucked up a play in practice. The other two forwards would leap in on his side, but then one of them would forget which friend he was favoring and flop sides, so by the time practice was over every argument ended just as easily.

Soon they were doing everything together, including pickup soccer and volleyball against the second-best unit of players from Dynamo. They won, because Igor was bad at soccer but liked winning everything all the time, and the others indulged him.

[Sergei playing soccer in a field outside the barracks in his underwear. I’m not picking ones of Sergei on purpose, he’s just the one who has the most dedicated fan pages. You can see the rest of them topless in a minute.]

Only sleeping separated them. Igor was jealous of Sergei and Vova’s respective roommates. He wished the three of them could be like Slava and Lyosha, who got to room together, and talked long after lights out.

“As a nice girl dreams of a handsome fiancé, so do hockey players cherish the dream that at some time they will fall into the company of such fellows, with whom they will know how to forge together THE squad, a deserving squad, in which everyone on the line will blossom.”

[My artistic interpretation of what Igor just said. An old newsprint photo of him kneeling on the ice with Sergei and Vova on either side, with the text “ferda booooys” in very large pink font.]

In September 1981, the national team headed to Canada with its newest member and its silent escort to avenge Coach Tikhonov’s Olympic loss. The Soviets hadn’t cared too much about the first Canada Cup invitational tournament five years earlier, but after 1980, this one was a gift. When active NHLers didn’t play in the Olympics or World Championships, the idea of the Cup was to bring together all the very best players in the world--in Canada, of course. Alan Eagleson, then head of the NHLPA, masterminded the tournament (also a lot of fraud).

The Swedes landed in Canada feeling smug about their almost-entirely NHLer roster, and thought they were the favorites. The Americans had beaten the Soviets last year, and were sure they’d do it again. And of course Canada thought they could win it all with a “Dream Line” built around their own new weapon.

The Green Unit debuted on the international stage eight weeks after meeting each other, and they crushed it.

The final was a showdown between Canada and the Soviets. Coach Scotty Bowman told his players, “We really are favorites in the final. Nobody in this country will tolerate a loss."

Coach Tikhonov told his, "Today you’ve got to play so well that the entire Canadian population will talk about you afterwards and remember you for a long time. Play so well that the Canadian fans, when they will leave the Forum, will wait for you when you get on the bus after the game and admire you."

This is the one time I’ll say Coach Tikhonov was right. I guess you can call him hockey’s biggest fan.

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#green unit #igor larionov #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov #slava fetisov #alexei makarov

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