#started raining like ive never seen before when i was on the road too. could barely see ten feet ahead of me

[brainrotdotorg]

My grandmother had a stroke . Shes lucid and out of surgery right now so i am thankful for that. Going to be staying at my grandparents place tonight. Drove a super long way to come back and im so so so tired and i have a cold n cant stop coughing and i miss my boyfriend and i dont want to drive ever again

#not doing well. my head hurts. im just exhausted and trying to sleep #but my nose is stuffed #im just glad my grandmother is doing better than the doctors expectee #i was so scared i was crying like half the drive back home #awful car crash on the high way thd blocked the roads for two hours. two cars completely totaled. #scared the shit out of me. #started raining like ive never seen before when i was on the road too. could barely see ten feet ahead of me #ive just been so on guard all day long and nos im laying in bed trying to decompress #before i pick my mom up from the airport #idk man.

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Jeno x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (with a plot!) ➔Warnings: Sexual tension & Penetration. ➔Word count: 2,470

➔Summary: You haven't called your ex-boyfriend in two years, but he's the first person you call when you're in a bit of trouble. He comes when you call, thus sparking a night neither of you will be able to move on from.

Anon request #1: can I request an ex to lovers scenario with jeno where his ex and him decided to stay as friends and since always they had a huge tension and after 2 years they got really flirty or smth, thanks💖

Anon request #2: hi, I want to request a drabble about sex with jeno, thank you!!

Jeno looked at his buzzing cell phone and blinked lazily. He hadn't seen your number come up since you broke up with him, which had to have been two years ago. He had managed to stay friends with you over those two years, but you were never friendly enough to call each other at three in the morning. Still, Jeno picked up the call to hear static at the other end of the line, wondering if he would still feel the same when he heard the sound of your voice.

"Hello?"

There was more static. When he thought you might have pocket dialed him, and he was getting ready to hang up, he heard your voice. Time seemed to slow down in those moments.

"Jeno?" you said. "I don't have good service out here. I'm scared, Jeno."

Feeling his heart race, Jeno asked, "Where are you? What is going on?"

"Off the highway. My car broke down." you said. "Can you come get me?"

Jeno sprang out of bed immediately, tearing the covers from his naked body. He got dressed while keeping you on the phone with him, so that you weren't scared. He drove to where you were, pulling over to the side of the road. When you saw him, you got out of your car and stood awkwardly, wringing your hands together.

"I know I shouldn't have called you first," you started to say. "But i-"

"-It's okay." he said, meaning it.

Jeno was bone tired, but being in front of you made him more alert. Though you broke his heart, he was still so careful with yours. Jeno came over to your car to look at it, pulling up the hood like he had any idea what he was truly doing. You watched his muscles as he fiddled around with stuff, your eyes slightly glazing over.

"I don't know much about cars." he said, shutting the hood. "I'll call someone to come pick this up. Until then, I will drive you back home. It's too late for us to be waiting out here."

You nodded and followed him back to his car. He made the call quickly before setting his cell phone down in the cup holder. There was so much gratitude for him in the silence, but you couldn't seem to get any of your thoughts out. You were still thinking about his muscles, about how handsome he looked at nearly four in the morning.

"It's done," he said. "They'll pick your car up soon. You can figure out what to do about it tomorrow."

"Thank you." you said.

It had started to rain. A few droplets hit the front of his windshield before a whole sheet of rain came down, hitting the top of his roof as hard as rocks. He could barely see out of the windshield, so he decided to wait for the storm to pass. It was awkward inside of the car, and too quiet.

You cleared your throat. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Jeno looked over at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Seeing his expression, you realized what an invasive question it was. You tried backtracking, but you were sputtering your words enough to make Jeno laugh.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not seeing anyone."

You didn't know what you were thinking. Maybe you were too tired to think straight. Maybe it was the sound of the rain. Maybe it was the way he looked at you in the darkness of the car. You reached over and touched the hand that rested on the steering wheel until he looked you in your eyes.

"You got Lasik eye surgery." you said. "You used to look so cute in your glasses."

For Jeno, it was easy. There has always been sexual tension between you. Touching the top of your hand felt natural. He leaned over, grabbed your chin and kissed you. You made out, completely unaware that the rain had stopped. When everything slowed down, you were straddling Jeno in his seat, and his hands were on your ass. You parted, your eyes staying on his lips until he spoke.

"I should get you home." he said.

"You should come home with me." you said, surprising yourself more than him.

Jeno laughed and eased your body off of his. "I want that more than you know, but I don't think it's a good idea. I could never control myself around you. "

Jeno drove you home, the only sound in the car coming from the windshield wipers noisily wiping away droplets of rain. You followed the blades swiping left to right, your brain in a funk.

Breaking up with Jeno was one of your top ten mistakes. You weren't as wise as you are now. You didn't know what you had when you let it go. You had carried his hurt with you everywhere you went for two years. Though you remained as friends, there was always weird tension whenever you met up with each other. His group of friends didn't trust you, and your group of friends always took your side, even though each of them was in love with Jeno. Your shared friends didn't get into the middle of it, and you and Jeno spent 24 months skating around unspoken apologies.

"We never had a chance to talk alone." you said, finally getting the bravery to speak out. “There are a lot of things left unsaid.”

Jeno pulled up in front of your house. You weren't surprised he knew where you had moved to, because you had been dropping hints for months. You had always hoped Jeno would roll up one day and give you another chance you didn't quite think you deserved.

"We don't have to talk about it now. "It's early in the morning and we both could use some sleep," he said.

You hummed in agreement, looking out of the rain soaked window at your lonely, dark house. You looked up at the sky and wanted the sun to come up, to cast a pretty glow over you and soften the experience of sitting with your ex in his car.

"You're like my knight in shining armor." you said. "I owe you a lot."

You had your hand on the door handle. You wanted to lean over and kiss him the way he kissed you, but your bravery only went so far. Jeno seemed to be thinking a similar thing. His eyes fell to your lips. Before either of you could act, he unlocked his doors.

"Get some sleep." he said, rubbing his arms as if he were cold. "I'll check in tomorrow to see how you're doing. I don't want them overcharging you for their services. If you want, I can go with you to make sure they don't."

"Okay." was all you could say. You got out of the car, tapped on his window as a way to say thank you and walked up the pathway to your house. You touched your fingers to your lips and remembered the way he tasted.

Jeno stayed there idling while you put your lock into the door and turned the handle. Once you were safely inside, you didn't wait to see if he had driven away.

You walked into your home, not caring enough to flick lights on. You weren’t as tired as before. Making out with Jeno had felt like an IV of caffeine had slipped into your bloodstream. Your body felt swollen in places, your heart most of all. You walked through the rooms, taking off your bra underneath your t-shirt and flinging it across the back of your couch. Your foot was on the first step of your stairs when you heard a soft rapping sound on your front door. Backtracking, you walked back to the door and flung it open, crossing one of your arms against your chest to hide yourself.

“Hi,” Jeno said.

He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes darting frantically around your face. You had no time to greet him back before he stepped over the threshold and took your lips against his. You moved your arm and let him smash his hard chest against your free breasts. Your nipples were aroused and you knew he could feel them against the thin material of his t-shirt. You threw your arms around his neck and clung to him, savoring the taste and feel of him.

“I know I said no but....” he said, between kisses. “It was very hard to watch you walk away from me just now.”

You kissed him and bit down on his lip, pulling it lightly with your teeth before letting go. “Take me to bed.” you said. “Or the floor...the couch..i don’t care, Jeno, just take me.”

Jeno picked you up into his arms. He shut your front door and locked it behind him without ever taking himself away from your lips. He was strong enough to carry you upstairs without struggling, which made you even more aroused than you already felt.

“To the left.” you whispered against his mouth.

It was strange having him in your new bedroom, yet, there was something familiar about seeing him amongst your possessions. He felt like he belonged. Jeno set you down on your bed and let out a groan of approval when you wouldn’t let go of his neck. You tried to trap him with your thighs, but he had pinned your arms above your head, which made you release him. Your body relaxed, half hanging off of your bed. Your stomach was bare where your shirt had ridden up, so Jeno leaned down to kiss it. He pushed it all the way up to expose your bare breasts and take them in your mouth one at a time. He was really going at it, feeling them and teasing them, when you put a stop to things and slipped out from underneath him.

“Can you give me a moment?” you asked, your face growing hot. “ I just need a second.”

Jeno sighed but agreed. He sat on the edge of your bed and watched you slink into your bathroom. You tried your best to freshen up, to get the 5 a.m stink off of you. Your mind was frantic and thinking of a million things that could go wrong. You realized that you were extremely nervous. The door to the bathroom slowly opened to reveal Jeno standing there with his hands in his pockets, and all of those thoughts faded like ghosts into the foreground.

“What are you doing?” he asked, crooking his finger. “Get over here.”

It was much easier than you thought it would be. It was like two friends getting together after a long time, friends that knew each other’s bodies inside and out. You tore off your shirt, not caring whether your armpits were sweating anymore. He met your breasts and moaned in appreciation as his mouth got back to business. On the bed, he rolled on top of you, laying kisses all down your body. You lifted your head up and let him nip at your neck. You took your hands and placed them underneath his t-shirt to touch his abs.

“Well,” you breathed. “This has changed.”

Jeno could only laugh. He took off his shirt and let you admire his body, which had definitely changed since the last time you took him to bed. You touched the hardness of his chest, down to the smoothness of tummy leading down to his cock, which you remembered in every detail. You sidled underneath him and let your tongue taste the salt on his skin. You bit down on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

Your body had changed, too. You were softer in a lot of places, which Jeno loved. He wanted to touch and savor all of you. There was an overeagerness to him that stifled any remaining awkwardness there could have been. He bit down on your shoulder in response, scraping his teeth against your skin before he met your mouth. His tongue wound its way around yours for a few seconds, just relishing the feeling of them together.

Once all the clothes were removed, a desperation started to change the atmosphere. Things were no longer silly. He didn’t laugh. You didn’t go anywhere but in his arms. The rain on the window was quiet but present. The sun was seeping into your skin where you lay underneath him. There was a moment where he grabbed your face between his hands and held you there, his thumb brushing across your cheek. He kissed you sweetly, his lips full.

When Jeno entered you, it was like all the memories of your sex life came flooding back. You would always miss him inside of you when he wasn’t there, miss the full feeling that came when he penetrated you for the very first time. You had missed the sounds his throat made whenever he concentrated on pleasuring you. You hadn’t forgotten how skilled his fingers were at fondling you, or how each stroke never failed to make you lose all thought. He fucked your body like it meant something in the morning glow. He didn’t slow down for anything, not even when he felt your fingernails digging into his back.

He had let you take control. You moved on top of him and sank down onto his cock, holding onto his arms as you did. With your hands pressed against his chest, you moved. You rode Jeno wildly, bucking against his pelvis with abandon. He tugged on your hair when you tilted your chin towards the ceiling. He gripped your waist. He smacked your ass. He did everything in his power to bring you back to him every time you slipped away. Your eyes eventually found him again. You moved lower and rode him, your sweaty body gliding against his. He held you, his thick arm around your neck as he felt your walls contract, as you came around his cock.

You wanted to cry out, wanted to bring the room down around you. You kept fucking him, wanting to coax the cum from his cock, to feel the warmth moving downwards with gravity. You wanted to keep it going forever, but it wasn’t meant to be. It had been a long time since you two had made love, and your bodies were too excited to hold back.

You knew there would be a talk somewhere in the future, when he was ready. As Jeno screwed up his face in orgasm, as you felt the warmth of his cum, you were a little too happy to prolong that conversation. You wanted him in your life for a long time but, for now, you would take him any way you could get him.

#jeno #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno smut #nct smut #lee jeno smut #jeno fanfic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #lee jeno fanfic #hope you don't mind me combining these #i liked where the first one was going #and i was not originally going to add sex but I know some people out there would love it #so it felt right to answer both

[cherryyharryy]

i have an idea for a request (it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do it) like an angst-> fluff where one of harry’s songs accidentally gets leaked bc of y/n like she has something on a flash drive and the song is on another and they get mixed up and obviously he’s really mad at y/n and they have a fight he’s super snappy with her but something happens to her like she gets into a really big accidental or something and he forgives her bc he cares about her more tha the leaked song

WC: 2.7k

***

Damage control wasn’t even an option. 

Y/n sat there, staring at Harry’s laptop, numb to everything except the blaring desire to go back in time just two minutes. Two minutes is all she would need to undo possibly the biggest screwup of her life.

And the worst part is that this mistake ultimately doesn’t affect her. At least not in comparison to how it will affect Harry. And his band. And his team. Basically everyone involved with his career. 

Her mind is equally begging for her to shut down and come up with a plan—an excuse—something, Is there anyway this wasn’t my fault?  

She checks the time, her heart sinking to her stomach when she realizes Harry and his team will be back any minute. Any minute and she’s done for.

They’ve only been together for five months, officially. She’s still new to most everyone. She’s that girl Harry’s dating.

“I told you he played in that movie.” Jeff’s voice echoes outside the studio. Y/n closes the laptop and prays for strength. 

“I have him confused with someone else.” Harry bustles through the door, a small crowd of people filing in behind him, back to the spots they left an hour ago. “Hey darling,” he greets, “finish your paper?”

Y/n’s frozen, morbidly wishing he had found out about his song leaking on his own so she wouldn’t have to tell him. “Uh, almost.”

He kisses the top of her head and hands her a cup of frozen yogurt. “Your favorite.” 

“Thanks.” She sets it on the table she’s sat at while Harry pulls up a chair beside her. “Aren’t you guys still working?”

He waves in the direction of his band, “Mitch’s gotta fix his guitar.” He snickers, and slides his laptop out from under y/n’s hands. “Had a bit of an accident in the car.” 

Y/n’s head tingles with what must be nerve damage, her place in this world, her place in this room, decreasing in value as Harry opens his computer.

“It’s gonna melt.” He nods to her yogurt.

“I’m not hungry.”

He furrows his brow. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She looks around the room, everyone busy getting back to work, light chatter passing among them. “Uh, actually, I uh, I have to tell you something.” Y/n tries to swallow the lump in her throat with no luck.

“Okay…” He shuts the laptop and gives her his full attention.

“Okay, um—”

“What the fuck!?” The room freezes as everyone turns toward Jeff. “Harry someone’s got a hold of your song!” 

Harry scrambles to his manager, complete shock on his face as they both stare down at Jeff’s phone. “Fuck.” They start to play a video, the sound of a girl screaming, with Harry’s unconsented voice playing in the background, fills the room. “How the hell did this happen?” He’s gritting through his teeth, neck red, veins bulging in his hands as he rips the phone out of Jeff’s hand. “HOW? Someone answer me!”

Y/N considers keeping quiet. Playing innocent. What good will it do to confess anyway? It’s not like it’ll undo what she’s done.

Sarah chimes in from across the room, “It looks like it happened half an hour ago. That’s when this video I’m looking at was posted.”

Y/n’s staring down at her lap, holding her head up with her fingers pressed into her temples when Harry slings himself back into the chair next to her.

“All that work, all that fucking work,” he nearly growls, “for some cunt to spread my unfinished song around for a buck.”

Y/n peers up to the room, a completely different picture compared to five minutes ago. Now there’s talk of lawyers and pressing charges while everyone shuffles around. Jeff slams the door as he steps out with his phone to his ear, and y/n knows she can’t claim denial, it’ll only make things worse.

“Uh, Harry?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look at her, eyes glaring at his phone while another video plays of a group of people reacting to his song. “Glad they fucking like it.”

“Harry?”

“What, y/n?”

She shrinks under his gaze, mouth dry as she forces her confession out. “I uh, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll do anything—I know I can’t fix it—but...”

Harry’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing in on her as a morbid silence forms a little bubble around them. “Go on,” he whispers with grit, “finish what you were gonna say.”

She stutters, desperately trying to figure him out. “I’m just sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How did you even manage to do this?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea what this accident means, y/n?”

She reluctantly shakes her head no.

“How the fuck did you do this?”

“I—I don’t know...I was taking a break from my paper, and, I don’t know Harry.” She’s in tears now, warm and salty as they spill down her cheeks. Her mouth wobbles around another apology, but no sounds make it out.

“Fix it.”

“What?”

He stands up, yanking his laptop off the table, pausing to glare at her one last time. “I said, to fix it.” With that he storms across the room, slinging the door open just as Jeff reenters.

“Harry, your attorney—”

“Forget it.” He turns around and points his phone towards y/n silently sobbing in the corner. “She’s gonna handle it.” He takes one step out into the hall and stops, spinning on his heels to face the studio. “Don’t speak to me until you do.”

Mitch’s guitar that was fixed and propped against the wall, crashes to the floor when Harry slams the door. 

Chatter passes around the room one more time, only now everyone seems to be in agreeance—that girl never should have been allowed in the studio, and maybe, Harry should break up with her.

***

Early morning rain fell outside Harry’s apartment. It was still dark, street lamps burning through the fog in the city below. His home fills with coffee as he pours his fifth cup; the prior four never offering more than a few sips before he had abandoned them somewhere, the counter, mantle, bookshelf, because he can’t talk without his hands.

Y/n sits on his couch. It’s velvet and pink and too big for one person. She hated it the first time he invited her over. If he breaks up with her, she’s going to tell him how ugly it is.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” She’s exhausted. She hadn’t hesitated to drive over when he finally responded to one of her hundreds of texts in the week since the mishap. But now she regrets it. They’ve been going in circles with the same argument for the past four hours. She’s convinced he invited her over just to be mean. She sighs, rubbing her temples. “I said I was sorry. You know that I’m sorry. And you know that I never, ever in a million years, would have done something like this on purpose.”

“I’m allowed to be angry with you. I have every right to be.”

“Do you, though?” She straightens up on his ugly couch and looks at him leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. “Aren’t you a little tired of hating me? God Harry, everyone else in the whole world has moved on except you.”

“It’s not everyone else’s song, is it? It’s not everyone else’s months and months of hard work. It’s not everyone else’s unfinished art? Nobody else is having to deal with a girlfriend that is so careless, so thoughtless, that she actually managed to leak my song!”

“Stop raising your voice at me!”

“You had no business snooping around my computer anyway! I told you you could work on your fucking paper, not to go prying around my personal shit!”

“You know what,” she scoffs, shooting up off the couch, “this argument is so pointless. You didn’t want me here so we could talk. You just wanted to torture me because you’re mad that people don’t love your stupid song.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

She brushes his shoulder as she passes by him, and a drip of his coffee spills onto his hand. He curses, and follows her into the kitchen where he lays his final cup down on the island.

“You’re being a baby because people aren’t fawning over you like they usually do.” She shrugs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not your best song, Harry.”

The veins in his neck strain against his flaming skin. His cheeks are sucked in, and if he bites down on the skin any harder he’ll puncture his face. “Get the fuck out.”

“I was already leaving, dumb ass.” She strides by him once more, practically feeling the heat steaming off his body. When she gets to the front door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Your couch is hideous, by the way. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you have to buy shitty looking stuff.”

When she slams the door behind her, the apartment shakes, and cold coffee spills from each cup.

***

It’s nearing five a.m. when y/n backs out of the complex. Her wipers race across the windshield, but do nothing against the downpour wreaking havoc in the city. She does her best to stay on what she assumes is her side of the road, swerving to the right each time headlights blind her.

“Shit.” Nothing is open, and she can’t even see where it would be safe to pull over to let the rain pass. But her home isn’t that far, and traffic isn’t too bad. 

She comes to a stop at a red light, only to realize she missed a left turn she should’ve made a minute ago. “Damn it. Fucking hell.”

As soon as the light turns green, she spins the wheel to make a U-turn, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, and her own clouded mind, and Harry’s voice echoing in her ears, she might have seen the truck who didn’t even try to avoid her.

***

It’s the headache from hell that wakes her up. And it’s the sterile smell of hospital that jogs her memory. And it’s a nurse not much older than y/n that says something about you’re lucky to be alive. 

She’s poked and prodded and asked a thousand questions before her IV is adjusted and a pill to ease one of the many pains scratching her body is handed to her in a small plastic cup. A police officer repeats half of this process, and somewhere in the mess of her reality, she learns that the other driver was sending a text to his wife when he plowed into her car. He’s at home and she’s here. Lucky to be alive.

She made calls to her mom and friends, and even managed to type out a decent email to her professors for her upcoming absence in class.

When she automatically pulled up Harry’s name on her phone, the last text he sent, the one inviting her over so he could make her more miserable than she already was, sat there in all its taunting glory.

What is she even supposed to say? Hey, I know you hate my existence right now, but I’m lying here in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around my head. It’d be cool if you stopped by.

It’s not long before the sun pops up and reminds y/n of just how early it is. The clouds part, and it’s like it had never even rained, like it had never even been dark for hours, and if she closes her eyes, y/n can pretend that the past week hadn’t even happened.

***

 “How are you feeling today?” The nurse checks y/n’s IV, humming after her question.

“Just sore. Ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve started the paperwork, so shouldn’t be too long. Who’s coming to get you?”

Y/n blinks, feeling stupid she hadn’t thought this far ahead. She doesn’t even have a car anymore. The nurse looks over the computer monitor, waiting for a response.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Awesome. Dr. Kirby has to come check on you one last time before you leave. I’ll go see if he can stop by now, if you want to let your friend know.”

As soon as the nurse is out the door, y/n scrambles to turn her phone back on, and once it is, her lock screen is filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

She’ll respond later; gives her something to do in the car to occupy her in front of Harry. 

She can’t call him. Harry’s not a monster, although the past week doesn’t exactly prove her case, but she knows he wouldn’t refuse to come get her. If anything, he’ll be annoyed she didn’t tell him about the accident sooner. But she’s too emotional to deal with hearing his voice.

She types out a text recounting her last 24 hours, along with the name of the hospital. He immediately reads it, and a moment later he’s trying to call.

To: Harry

I’m too tired to talk rn

She lies. And it works.

From: Harry

I’ll be there as fast as i can

***

“Baby?”

Y/n cracks her eyes open, irritated she never quite fell asleep. Confused as to why Harry’s calling her baby. Angry that she cares. And the next words out of his mouth are ones she’d been predicting.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve dropped everything. You’ve been here all alone, shit. Are you okay? What hurts?”

He’s hovering over her, fidgeting, unsure if he can touch her.

“I’m fine now. Just sore. And tired.”

“Fuck I can’t believe this, I—”

“The doctor already said I can go. I’m not allowed to walk out on my own, so, you need to let the nurse know you’re here. She’ll take me down in a wheelchair.”

“Baby I’m so sorry-”

“No, Harry. You would still be busy hating my guts right now—”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you?”

“Well you did a great job this week making me feel otherwise.”

Harry sighs, gripping the bed frame and dropping his chin to his chest. When he looks back up he has tears brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I know I’ve been an ass this week. I—you were right. I took out my anger from no one lovin’ the song on you.”

“Well it’s not no one. A lot of people did. And it’s unfinished anyway. You wouldn’t enjoy a meal if it was only cooked halfway.”

He nods, but y/n knows he’s only accepting her words because of the situation.

“You mean so much more to me than a leaked song. I’m sorry I treated you like shit. And that I—I made you think I hated you. You have every right to hate me.”

“You annoy the hell out of me, but I don’t hate you.”

His lips twitch, but a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She takes his hand off the rail and smoothes her thumb across his knuckles. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

“I can do that.” He kisses the top of her head and hits the remote to call for the nurse.

“You can really kiss me, y’know. I’m not gonna break.”

He’s hesitant, but slowly lowers his head to press his lips to hers. He’s timid, and his lips are still damp from tears, but it’s more relieving than either of them would ever admit.

The nurse ends their moment when she pops in the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. “Hi, you must be y/n’s friend.”

“Friend?” He peers down at y/n, suggestion lacing the word. “Care to explain?”

“Not really, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.” He clicks his tongue, supporting her arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Once she’s standing and steady, he tucks her hair behind her ear and bends down so his mouth can graze her lobe. “Since we’re just friends, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my ugly couch.”

#requests #requested #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #cherryyharryy

[notyetneedcoffee]

Can’t Run

Steve Rogers is a wanted man. He broke the Accords, broke the law, and is still trying to do what’s right. . . even if it may get him killed.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Cannon level violence in this chapter, NSFW in future

New series. Others can be found on my Steve Masterlist

 Enough of the cold night air seeped into your old house to prompt you to pull on a heavy sweatshirt and wool socks. It’s not that you couldn’t turn the heater up, you just did see the need. If you could live in a cold tent through an Afghanistan winter, an east Cascade Mountain cold snap wouldn’t kill you.

Gary, your Belgium Malinois, curled up in front of the wood stove on his dog bed. You gave him a quick scratch on your way to the kitchen. The lights were low. All the devices were off. You just needed some quiet time. Maybe a beer would be good, too.

Before you could pull open the refrigerator, your dog moved past you to the rear door. He moved silently, hackles up. Unusual. Your training kicked in and you pushed further back into the shadows. Moving closer to the door, you tried to look through the sliver between your blinds out into the darkness of your carport. Something moved, something man height.

You swore internally as you slipped back to you living room and pulled the P320 from the hidden gun case in your console table by the front entry. Slipping your feet into the muck boots by the door, you quietly stepped out into the cold through the front door. You left Gary in the house, knowing that if you yelled for him he would go through the flimsy dog door. Hopefully, it was just a prowler. No need to be sued for a dog bite by someone who was trying to steal your chainsaw.

Peeking around the corner you saw your car door open and the hood up. ‘Good luck, asshole,’ you thought. ‘That thing isn’t going to turn over until the new starter comes by FedEx tomorrow.’

You stayed back far enough that he couldn’t easily turn on you, but close enough to see well. “Don’t want to shoot you…”

He moved so fast, a blur of dark movement rushed toward your face. You fired twice before a hard hit sent your gun flying. Instinct took over. Your foot made contact. You went low and inside, catching a glancing swing on the shoulder. Your elbow smashed into his gut, knocking him back.

His face came into focus. Holy shit, Steve Rogers.

You jumped back, putting your hands up.

He frowned, hard, before a groan of pain escaped his lips and he slipped to ground.

Blood seeped from his torso, from his thigh, and his shoulder. He was already wounded. You stepped a little closer to the man desperately trying to stay sitting up. “What the hell?”

“Dammit.” He muttered just as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

Shit. You looked around. There was nothing but darkness. Where the hell did Captain Frickin’ America come from and why was he bleeding out in your carport? Shit. You couldn’t let that happen. Rushing inside, you went for the medical go-bag you kept in the closet.

“Gary, get back.” The dog had slipped out when you came inside, he was sniffing over Rogers. At your order, he sat. “I wish you could help me with this.” You spoke to the dog as you began to cut the material away from his wounds.

With well-practiced precision, you cleaned the wounds and applied trauma dressings. It took effort, but you rolled him over to look for any through and throughs or rear entry wounds. He had one more on his left shoulder.

After stopping that leak, you pulled out an old green canvas tent. There was no way you could carry him, but you couldn’t leave him where he was either. Folding the single person tent into a quick litter you tucked it under his side before rolling him over onto his back.

“Okay, Cap.” You stood up, panting a little. “What to do with you?”

But you already knew the answer. It took a lot of tugging, a lot of swearing, but you finally got him moved into the spare bedroom. At least, to the floor of the spare room. The hardwood floors made it a little easier, but you were sweating by the time you were done.

Going back to get your bag, you were thankful for the supplies. The Captain looked ashen and extremely hypotensive. Cutting open the right sleeve of his uniform, you opened an IV kit and pulled out a bag of saline. Even bleeding out the man had great veins. You hung the bag off the bedpost over his head. He would do better with plasma, but you could at least help a little to get his volume up while you figured out what to do.

Your dog whined from the door. “What do I do, Gary? I shot Cap. It’s not like I can call 911. He’s a fugitive. I’m not going to be the one to turn him in.”

“N’hospital.” He murmured.

“Captain?” You leaned over him. “Can you hear me?”

“No.” His eye opened but didn’t focus. “N’hospitals.”

“Okay. No hospitals. Got it.”

Suddenly Gary bolted for the front window. Someone was coming down the drive.

Remembering your gun, you shut the guest room door and dashed to the back of the house. Cold rain had started pelting down, practically sideways. At least it began to wash away the blood. You grabbed your Sig from the driveway and the bandage wrappers. Stuffing the paper in the trash, you heard the car pull up.

Tucking the cold weapon in to your jeans, you took a deep breath and looked at yourself. The ratty black sweat shirt hid any blood and you’d wiped your hands clean. A knock came at the door. Gary barked, aggressively. He didn’t like whomever was at the door.

Three men in uniforms stood at the door. They looked military, but had no visible insignia. You only opened the door a few inches, but enough to let them see you holding back the big dog.

“What is it?” You asked, not bothering to be friendly.

“Ma’am,” One tipped his head. “We’re going door to door looking for a suspect. Male, six foot one, blond or possibly brown hair.”

“Haven’t seen anyone, but something set my dog off like crazy about an hour ago. I thought it was elk.” Living in the woods, you saw them all the time. “He took off, barking like mad, but came back a few minutes later.”

“So, you haven’t seen anyone?”

“Nope.” Gary gave a growl and you tugged on his collar. “This guy would let me know if anyone were around. He’s not fond of men, as you can see.”

He stared at you a moment longer, before nodding. “Alright, ma’am. If you see anything, do not approach. Just dial 911.”

“Got it. Goodnight.”

As you shut the door, Gary instantly settled down and trotted off down the hall. You watched the men get in the car and leave down your drive. They didn’t stop even when they turned onto the main road at the end of your long drive.

You went back to check on your patient, opening the door slowly. The Captain had slid himself up against the wall and was half sitting up. Looking panicked, cornered, and dangerous, somehow his strength was coming back frightening fast.

“Hey there, Captain.” You said softly. “You okay? I mean, I know you’re hurt, but you’re not going to try and kill me, are you?”

“Who’s here?” His voice cracked.

“Just me.” You opened the door all the way and your dog laid down in the hall.

“No.” He frowned. “I heard, heard you talking to a man.”

“Some men came to the door. I lied and sent them away. It’s just me here.”

He shook his head. “Earlier.”

“I was just talking to my dog, Gary.”

“What?” He focused on you fully, face incredulous. “Who names a dog Gary?”

“An asshat brother with the intent to torment me for the rest of my life.” You knelt down, to be eye to eye with him. He huffed a half laugh. “Did I add to your wounds?”

“Um, don’t think so.” He swallowed and lifted his right arm. “You patch me up?”

“Yeah. It was either that or have you bleed out on my drive. Shitty job trying to steal my car, by the way.”

“Sorry.” His eye drooped. “Why didn’t you call me in?”

“We’re soldiers. You’re THE soldier. There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that.” You moved a little closer. “Any chance you’ve got enough strength to help me get you on the bed?”

“Soldier, huh?”

“Army medic, was anyway.” You came a little close and rearranged his IV line. “Good thing, too. You were banged up. I can’t believe you’re talking to me, actually.”

“I shake it off pretty quick.” He groaned as he tried to sit up. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You carefully helped him up an onto the bed. “I’m gonna take your boots off and cut these bloody clothes away. That okay?”

He laid back, panting, and gave a little nod. As you worked on his boots, he got the pain back under control and watched you. “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

“Near as I can figure I’m harboring a wanted man.” You grinned. “Best to have plausible deniability.”

“Fair enough.” Steve stiffened as you cut your way up his pant leg, getting close to his hip.

“Captain,” You paused. “I’m going to do my best to respect your modesty, but I’ve got to get these off.”

He frowned again, but nodded. You figured casual conversation would set him at ease.

“So,” you started. “Gary seems to like you. He doesn’t like most strangers. Are you a dog person?”

“I love dogs.” His lip curved up. “Never had one of my own, but yeah.”

He groaned as you pulled the remnants of his pants from beneath him. He wore black boxer briefs and you did your very best not admire his muscular thighs as you tucked a quilt around him. “It’s pretty amazing you’re even conscious. Is healing part of the whole super soldier thing?”

“Most times,” He ground his teeth together as you got the pieces of his uniform top off. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t painful, though.”

“I can only imagine. I don’t have anything very strong, but I might have one or two painkillers left from rehab after my last surgery. You’re welcome to them. Or a stiff drink?”

“Won’t help,” he huffed a pained laugh. “It would take more than you have, and I could down a bottle and not get drunk. More of that super soldier stuff.”

“Well, that sucks. Did they hide that disclaimer in the fine print or something?”

He laughed, and winced. “Oh, stop that. It hurts to laugh.”

“Sorry.” You grinned and bundled up his ruined clothes. “Any friendlies going to be looking for you?”

“Not for a couple days.”  

You could see him fading fast. “Okay then, you rest. I’m going to get rid of this and bring you something to drink, something to eat too.”

By the time you returned with a large bottle of water, a turkey sandwich, and a pair of pajama bottoms your ex-boyfriend left at your house, the Captain was out cold.

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fic

[one-boring-person]

Hey!!!how are you?

Can i have some Rambo Headcanons??

Maybe the old rambo moving nextdoor to a young(24), farmer? (They/them pls), and maybe eventually him developing a crush or Wanting to protect them since they’re always so nice and caring towards him?

Thank you!!(these are for my birthday lmao, im a complete and total rambo simp. And i feel old rambo would really enjoy calming down and helping around with someone who loves him)

You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to write these as soon as I read the request! It's so wholesome, so I hope I've done it justice! And happy birthday! I hope you like these 😊(also I'm good, thanks for asking!)

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x younger!reader headcannons.

Warnings: mention of PTSD, vague injury detail.

A/n: I'm sorry if this is not as expected, I'm still getting to grips with writing headcannons 😅

Masterlist

The ranch had been in a state of disrepair when John first got there, walls thinning, paint peeling, buildings empty and soulless. He hadn't expected things to be as they were when he left, all those years ago, but the evident lack of care surprised him.

The house had been empty, which he eventually figured out was die to the fact his father had passed a good few years prior, and hadn't left anyone in charge of the ranch.

This meant that everything was as it was when he left, photographs hanging awkwardly on the walls, dusty furniture shoved out of the way.

Naturally, the rest of the ranch was also in pretty poor condition: the stables were practically overrun with weeds and foul smelling hay, one lone horse still nosing weakly at the empty water bucket on the floor. Taking pity on the animal, and feeling a need to help it, John took it out onto the field, which is where he first saw them.

Across from his father's ranch was another, smaller one, where horses and cattle grazed in the fields, a single car parked up beside the main house, which was in a much better condition than his own newfound home. In one of the fields, running around with a young foal, was who he assumed to be a ranchhand.

For a moment or so, he had stood and watched as the figure ran in circles with the youthful horse in tow, admiring their seemingly high spirits - he hadn't felt high-spirited in years.

After he'd helped the old horse from the stables out (cleaning out a stall, feeding it with feed he found in a storeroom), John had gone back to the house, almost forgetting the figure across the field, intending to head to sleep.

A couple of days passed after that, before he saw them again, though this time, they also saw him.

He'd started work on the house, having collected what he needed from a nearby town, and was sat on the roof of the main building as the sun glared down at him. Taking a brief pause from his work, he'd looked up and seen them in the field again, this time astride a larger horse.

They were racing around again, until the rider noticed they were being watched, at which point they slowed to a halt and looked around, quickly spotting John on the roof. From that distance, he couldn't tell what their expression was, but they raised a hand after a moment or so, waving up at him. Hesitantly, he had waved back.

Later that day, when he'd been sat on his father's old rocking chair on the veranda, taking another break, John had noticed someone coming up the road towards him. Standing out of instinct, John soon realised it was someone astride a horse, the rider carefully trotting up the drive, their face becoming clearer the nearer they came.

Still cautious of people, John had acted somewhat guarded as the person rode up to him, a broad smile on their work-weathered youthful face. In their hand, they carried a small box, which they cradled awkwardly on their thighs.

Approaching him, they'd tipped their hat, a battered Stetson, and greeted him, introducing themself as (Y/n), the owner of the ranch next to his. They'd spoken cheerfully, as if unaffected by the hardships of life, which they may well be. That's what John thought anyway, until they openly and happily told him about the passing of their parents, four years ago. The ranch had been left to them, leaving them in charge of the business.

Their first encounter had been somewhat awkward, but it didn't seem to bother (Y/n), and they left after ten minutes or so with a genial smile at him, stating that they'd be happy to help if he ever needed it. They also left behind the box, which John soon discovered was filled to the brim with cookies, a food he hadn't eaten for decades. Trying one, he soon rediscovered a love for them he didn't remember he had.

In the following weeks, John managed to fix up the house, getting it ready to live in properly, with some very brief help from his neighbour. They'd been round earlier in one week, dropping off another box of cookies, and had offered him access to their tools, which they brought round soon after.

After this, John felt it was only right that he invited them round for drinks as thanks, something that still made him somewhat uneasy. Somehow, he did feel reassured when they happily agreed and turned up the following Sunday, the two of them sitting in comfortable quiet on the veranda, sometimes talking, other times staying silent.

This became a regular occurrence.

Every week, (Y/n) would go to John's, or vice-versa, the latter soon learning to trust them and enjoy their company, finding himself in a better mood than he had been in in a long time. Their openness to talk or listen (even if he said very little) comforted him, allowing him to forget the nightmarish things going through his head near-daily.

After three months, (Y/n) had started coming round much more often, many times just appearing in the middle of the day to help out with whatever task needed doing, unafraid of doing dirty work. They later told him it was because they enjoyed his company far too much, and often actively sought it out: they made it clear that his quiet, brooding nature was an attractive quality about him that reassured them.

It didn't take long for them to become close, the two seemingly working at a different wavelength to the rest of the world, one that only existed between their small ranches.

They helped John procure his first horses, lending him one of their own to help build up the numbers. The differences between each ranch soon became blurred, the fence running through the middle of their respective fields eventually disappearing as they merged their ranches together, continuing with business individually with the help of the other's land.

John had long since accepted, within himself, that he would not find someone to spend the rest of his life with, not after Sarah. It was a sad truth, but one he had to live with.

That all changed when he suddenly realised he had fallen for his neighbour, the one person he now trusted and cared for more than anyone in the world.

He'd realised this when their face first started appearing in his nightmares, after a close accident that nearly resulted in catastrophe. (Y/n) had fallen from the roof of the stables, thankfully landing on a stack of stray hay which softened the impact, leaving them in severe amounts of pain for two days. Their face became part of the repertoire in his head, nightmares about their death soon plaguing him even further, as he finally acknowledged the newfound love he felt for them.

Because that's what it was: love.

It couldn't be anything less, he was too damaged to have heedless fancies, and his emotions were far too strong towards them. Since he'd moved in, (Y/n) had always been there, acting as a friend he never had, steadily working their way into his life, bettering it in ways he never would've thought another person could, supporting him through the episodes of flashbacks he was now prone to having. They had showed him love and care he hadnt experienced from anyone else. He valued them highly, prioritising them over himself, and he knew he was heavily attracted to them, but he told himself "no", don't ruin the friendship.

They didn't make it easy to repress the urges. No, they only managed to win him over more and more with their caring, loving attitude, though their youth managed to awaken some form of paternal instinct John never knew he had. He felt the need to protect them at all times, and he would do his best to uphold this, but he knew his feelings were getting too strong.

Somehow, he managed to miss all the loving glances, and little tells (Y/n) inadvertently laid down before him, the rancher have g developed similar feelings for him, though they'd never admit it to John, knowing how human interaction like that could be upsetting for him.

Eventually, it had taken a beautiful evening, with the sun spilling its last bloody rays on the dry landscape as the two sipped beer from bottles on the veranda, for them to finally admit to each other how they felt.

It just happened: one minute, they were leaning in to replace their bottles on the table, the next, their lips are just touching, breaths mingling as they struggle to do rain themselves. (Y/n) had finally leaned in, pressing their lips against his, pulling back almost as quickly as they moved in, a horrified, embarrassed expression on their face.

They'd apologised instantly, terrified that they'd screwed up their relationship, rambling and cursing until John had recovered and kissed them again, cupping their face in his hand as he pulled them closer. It had been too long for him, and the touch was just incredible, goosebumps rising along his spine as he poured all of his love and care into the kiss, pressing as close as possible.

Somehow, (Y/n) had ended up in his lap, head on his chest as he cradled them, relishing in the feeling of having a solid, supple body against his own after so long, and one that means him no harm, too. They knew where they both stood, and it kickstarted a close relationship.

(Y/n) moved in with him after their second foaling season together, where he'd seen their parental instincts kick in, particularly when they'd then worked to socialise the foals by playing with them. The memory would always stick with John: something about the carefree youth in their face as they ran around with the frolicking horses reminded him of the good in his life.

Life was good, everything was going mostly well.

Naturally, there were some days when he'd relapse, having particularly bad episodes that would be harrowing on both him and (Y/n), though they were always there to help him through it. Their soft words of love and worry would easily permeate the cloud of despair, and had break down in their arms, enjoying the sensation of being held.

They often held each other. Even if it was just a quick hug, or an embrace from behind as one pressed up against the other's back, touch became a large factor in their relationship - John relished it after the more callous touch he had grown used to.

Kisses, too, became a large way of showing their affection. Little ones here and there between jobs, deep passionate kisses up against the wall of the house, or sloppy making out on the shared seat on the veranda, it all counted for their love, and they thoroughly enjoyed partaking in them.

(Y/n) was always there, even when Gabrielle and Maria joined them. They were there when Gabrielle died, and they were there to avenge her death, choosing to go out with the man they loved.

Both of them liked to cook, even if John's meals were a little...plain...so they often spent hours in the kitchen with each other, fooling around with whatever they could, John's face alight with more smiles and grins than he thinks it's ever been.

They went riding together, finding solace in each other's company on their many trails through their land, the horses often coming home tired after so long of being out.

Sometimes, John got self-conscious about his age in comparison with their's, thinking he is too old for them. Everytime this happened, (Y/n) would reassure him that they love him for who he is and doesn't care if he's not as young as he used to be, it never would matter.

Marriage was never really a thing they considered. John never had much time for the state anymore, so why get them involved in their relationship?

They considered themselves married, and wore rings to show it, but it was never a legal affair. Nevertheless, the union had always been a happy one, and John could honestly say that he had been wrong about himself: he had found love.

#rambo x reader #rambo imagine #Rambo headcannons #Rambo #john rambo x reader #John Rambo #John Rambo headcannons #Rambo last blood #Rambo 4

[narakurosaki]

Edwin prompt: ed has recurring nightmares of the stuff he's seen

im sorry this took me longer than expected! i hope you enjoy nonetheless.

summary: ed struggles with a reoccurring nightmare. thankfully, winry is there to comfort him.

rating: t

words: 2202

read on ao3!

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He feels as though he’s traversing through thick mud, hardening around his ankles. It cakes within the ankle joint of his automail leg, cementing him in place. He breaks free, using what strength he has left to continue down the road. The Rockbell home inches further and further away; he reaches out, as though he could grasp the building and hold it in place. Its just out of his reach. He screams out her name but receives no response.

Suddenly, he’s bursting through the front door, his shoulder aching from the impact. His eyes jump around his surroundings, searching for a sign of life. He calls out her name, again receiving no response.

His automail breaks down with each step, nuts, bolts, and screws falling to the ground. The plating disintegrates, the intricate work beneath exposed; the wires snap, and he crumbles before the kitchen door. Again, he calls her name, and again, he receives no response.

The kitchen door slowly creaks open. He drags himself across the floor, mumbling her name repeatedly. His fingertips dig into the splintering floorboards until bloodied. He crawls deeper inside, leaving behind a trail of blood. The kitchen is dark, a sole ray of light illuminating only a small section beside the dining table. An apple rolls into his path, followed by another, and another. One stains itself in his blood. His stomach churns.

“Winry?”

A pained moan rings in his ears.

In the light he sees Winry facedown on the floor, a basket toppled on its side beside her, apples spilling out endlessly. Her arm is stretched out, almost as though she’s reaching for him, her head angled enough for him to see her eyes peeking through her bangs. “Ed…”

The sharp edges of what’s left of his leg dig into the wood flooring, the strength of his thigh and core working together to propel him forward. His chin hits the ground beside her. “I’m here, Winry,” he palms her back, searching for any trace of injury. He comes up empty. “I’m here.”

“You didn’t keep your promise, Ed…”

“What are you—”

Beneath her, the Eye of God opens. Her lifeless body falls into the darkness; Ed is swallowed alongside her. Everything goes black; he cannot move, cannot see, cannot hear; cannot speak. He falls for what feels like an eternity until he is spit out on the empty streets of Central.

The broken down armor that was once his little brother lies unmoving. Edward crawls towards the metal scraps, halted only by the agonizing pain in his right shoulder. Blood trickles down his arm, seeing through the wounds created by the bits of his automail port left behind. “Al!” he cries out. “Alphonse!”

In his own blood, Edward draws a human transmutation circle. “Give him back!” His hands clap together. “He’s my little brother!”

…but nothing happens.

“No!” He claps again. “Come on!” And again. “Shit!” And again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Big… brother?”

“Al!” He turns toward the voice. “Thank God you’re—”

White, lifeless eyes stare back at him. The creature’s teeth are bared, muzzle stretching in what appears to be a smile. Its brown hair flowers down its back, a contrast against its white fur.

The blood drains from Edward’s face.

“Ed… ward…” The chimera nudges him with its snout. “Wanna… play?”

Before he has time to react, his surroundings vanish into a blinding white; the armor and the chimera are gone. He vomits onto the floor as a laughter echoed around him.

“So, you couldn’t save them, after all.” Truth’s mouth spreads into a sickening grin. “Such is the life of an ordinary human.”

Edward coughs. “I did, though. I did! I beat that bearded bastard and gave you my alchemy for my brother!”

“Ah, did you?” Truth tilts its head. It taps a flesh finger against its chin. “You must have forgotten. I am what one may refer to as God; I am the world and the universe; I am all and I am one; and, most importantly—” it points its flesh finger at Edward “—I am you, and I can do as I please.”

Edward struggles to push himself up and off of the ground. He manages to place his weight in his left forearm, but when he goes to move his right, he can no longer feel the muscles and tendons move beneath his skin. His eyes widen.

His arm has been torn from his body by the Truth.

Ed collapses in a puddle of his own blood as the Truth’s laughter rings in his ears.

———

He wakes with a start, bolting upright in bed, his skin slick and clammy from a cold sweat. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he struggles to catch his breath. He reaches instinctively for his left leg; his hands grasp at cool metal. He turns his attention to his right, daring to move his arm. He feels the muscles moving beneath his skin, watches his hand and forearm come into view. He makes a fist.

He turns his attention to the woman lying on her side beside him. She looks so peaceful—she always did when she slept—but he cannot shake the image of her lifeless body on the floor. He reaches out and positions his hand beneath her nose. He sighs, content when he feels the air leaving her lungs as she breathes out. He moves a strand of hair out of her face. She begins to stir.

“Mm…” Her eyes open slowly, blue eyes peeking through long lashes. The image of her in his night terror flashes before his eyes. “What’re you doin’ up?”

Edward forces a smile. “Bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

Winry blinks, squints, and yawns before draping an arm over Edward’s waist. She pulls herself toward him and rests her head atop his chest. Her palm lies flat against his pec, fingers splaying and unintentionally brushing against his nipple. He shudders. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He takes her in his arms, fingertips tracing invisible patterns across her bare shoulder. She pushes herself up, blue eyes boring into gold. Even in the dark, he sees a fire behind them. “It isn’t a bad thing to talk about what scares you, Ed. It’ll help you feel better.”

Would it, he wonders. He’d been haunted by nightmares since his and his little brother’s failed attempt at human transmutation. He’d never spoken of what plagued him, not even with Alphonse, though Edward always had an inkling that his armored brother knew. He’d been hopeful, assuming the terrors would vanish after restoring Al to his original body, but he had been dead wrong. He’d woke in a panic in his hospital room, mistaking the IV in his arm for the metal that kept him pinned to the rubble, vulnerable to Father’s deadly blows and tore it from his flesh. His nurse had rushed in, and though he had assured her that he was okay, the look in his eye said otherwise. She’d pushed an anti-anxiety medication into his veins after reinserting his IV, and he had fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Returning home hadn’t stopped the nightmares, either. Edward had fallen victim to a false sense of security, only to be terrorized on a rainy night, two weeks later. He’d sat in the dark, clutching his aching leg and listening to Alphonse’s soft snoring. He wouldn’t burden his little brother with his demons; and, just because he’s in Winry’s bed, he wouldn’t burden her, either.

But she’d asked him to share, and Ed could hardly believe it.

This woman, this beautiful smartass, gearheaded, crazy wonder of a woman had fallen for a broken man, and all she wanted to do was make him feel safe.

Dammit. He really was a lucky man.

He tilts his head and worries at his bottom lip. He fills his lungs, holds the breath, and exhales slowly. It’s his tell that he’ll talk, and Winry is content to lie back against him. He threads his fingers through her hair. “I couldn’t save Amestris. I couldn’t—” he sucks in a breath, his heart thumping against his ribcage. The dark of night mimics that of the Rockbell home in his dream. He bends his left leg and runs his fingertips along his metal port. “My leg broke down when I tried to get to you. I had to crawl but you—” He bites down on the tip of his tongue. The fire in Winry’s eyes has been smothered by his words. She looks at him with worry, and a familiar feeling bubbles in his gut. He’s burdening her, making her worry. Every fiber of his being screams for him to shut his mouth, to spare her the details…

…but the love in his fiancée’s eyes silences those screams. Something about the woman lying atop his chest urges him to share everything on his mind, from the most trivial thoughts to his darkest fears. He feels safe in her presence—he always has.

He takes a moment to breathe. Winry cups his cheek and he leans into her touch.

“…you told me I’d failed. I didn’t know what you meant, but we were both swallowed by the portal.” He closes his eyes, doing his best to rid his mind of the image of her lifeless body falling into the void. “Next thing I knew, I was in Central. Al’s armor wasn’t moving—I had to relive when he transmuted his soul in exchange for my arm. I tried… I tried so hard to bring him back, but my alchemy…” Another deep breath. Winry’s thumb moves soothingly back and forth against his skin. He swallows the lump in his throat. Nina comes to mind—he’d beaten Shou Tucker bloody, cursed himself for being unable to save an innocent little girl. She haunts him to this day, and Edward swears she will until his dying breath.

“I heard a voice call out for their big brother.” His voice shakes on the last two words, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly. “I thought it was Al, but when I turned to look…”

The story of a little girl turned chimera by her alchemist father wasn’t news to Winry. Edward had shared the horrifying details on a rainy night, when the pain in his leg and the thoughts brought on by the rain had been too much to bear. He’d cried that night, and, in turn, so did she. He had seen the good in alchemy, he’d explained to her, but he’d also seen the bad, and the bad outweighed the good in his eyes.

“What happened after that?”

He’s thankful for the woman he holds in his arms. She never forces him to discuss things that bring him despair. She’s quick to change the subject when it’s clear that he’s grown far too uncomfortable.

“The Truth,” he divulges quickly. While the Truth, itself, didn’t bother him, it was the ability it possessed to take. It had taken his arm and his leg; it had taken his little brother’s body; it had taken his teacher’s reproductive organs; and it had taken General Mustang’s eyesight. The Truth took what it pleased when alchemists played god. “It took you and Al from me, and it took back my arm and watched me bleed out on the floor. That’s when—”

“You woke up.”

“Yeah.”

He loosens his grip on her shoulder and steals a glance of her skin. His nails have left indentations. He looks back at the ceiling and drags his fingertips across her shoulder blade, dipping his hand into the back of her tank-top. Winry’s breathing beside his ear serves as a constant reminder than what he’d experienced was just an unfortunate trick of the mind, a side-effect of the trauma he’d experienced from a young age. He fills his lungs.

“Well,” she begins, “I’m here.”

He hugs her to his body and kisses the crown of her head. “I know.”

“And Al is here, too.”

That’s right, he was. Alphonse, his little brother, was asleep in his bed down the hall.

“You succeeded that day, Ed,” Winry pushes herself up to look him in the eye. There’s a softness in her voice. “You gave the souls of the Amestrians back, you defeated Father, and you brought Al back to us.” She cups his cheek tenderly, a soft smile on her lips. The blue of her eyes is piercing, and Edward never wants to look away. “You saved the country and fulfilled your promise. There’s nothing bad, anymore. There’s only good.”

She leans down to capture his lips in a kiss. They move in perfect synchronization, movements slow and deliberate. Winry’s tongue enters his mouth; he nibbles on her bottom lip; hands explore each other’s bodies until Winry straddles him and holds his face in her hands. He lifts her shirt over her head and loses himself completely.

She was right, the worst of his life was behind him. He’d returned his brother to his body, he’d found love with his best friend, and he’d been permitted to retire from the military to live a simpler life. There was only good ahead of him.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edwin #edward x winry #edward/winry #fma #my fics #equivalent exchange #otp: equivalent exchange #submitted prompt

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Shimmying His Way Into Your Heart - Swiss Ghoul (Ghost)

I have no idea what this is lmao.

~~~~~~~~~~

Swiss was watching you from across the room, you were helping Aether tune his guitar an hour or so before the show.

You were a guitar tech for this tour, and Swiss had become totally smitten with you. You, however, weren’t so easily charmed.

You found that every time Swiss needed help with his guitar, he’d try to flirt with you. You almost took to it at first, but soon you found that he would mess up the tuning on his instrument on purpose, just so he could talk to you.

You found this incredibly unprofessional and started to get another tech to help him out. You liked Swiss, but you started to get annoyed whenever he’d do anything, and that would not help you keep the job if and when you finally snap at him. You decided to ignore him so that wouldn’t happen.

You took your job seriously, to the point where some (mostly Swiss) would call you a buzzkill, and you felt he tried to stop you from doing a good job. You just did not understand how hard it was to not distract someone from their job.

Swiss tried a lot to get you to like him, but he realized it didn’t work pretty quickly when you started to ignore him. Even outside of show time. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong, usually his flirting worked on most people.

He figured you were playing hard to get. That had to be it. At least, that’s the reason he convinced himself to believe.

You felt a heavy weight on you. You’ve felt it before, you knew what it was and sighed. “He’s staring, isn’t he?” You asked the Ghoul in front of you.

“Ha ha...yeah.” Aether said nervously.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone...” You frowned.

“He means well Y/N.”

“He’s a pain in my ass is what he is.”

Aether chuckled. “Huh, that’s what I say about Dew.”

You rolled you eyes and finished up the guitar’s tuning. “Okay, try that.”

Aether strummed a few cords, mouth upturned in a smile. “Perfect. Thanks Y/N.”

You weakly smiled back. “No problem.”

But before you could walk away, Aether tapped you on the shoulder. “Go easy on Swiss, okay? He really does like you, just give him a chance.”

Turning back around, your eyes met Swiss’. He gave you a bright smile and a little wave. You were having a shitty day already, so you didn’t even bother waving back.

Swiss was starting to have trouble convincing himself that you were just playing hard to get. He frowned when you just walked away, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

An hour passed and Swiss was still feeling the bitterness of your apparent rejection to even acknowledge him, he didn’t even feel the nervous excitement for the show when he was putting on his makeup and show attire.

The rest of the Ghouls could feel his sad aura filling the room, making some of them bummed out as well. Rain was feeling it most of all, being a water Ghoul making him more sensitive to others feelings.

Aether quickly tried to hype up everyone for the upcoming show, considering it was almost the end of the tour. They had no trouble reciprocating the excitement, even Rain felt a little better. But Swiss just couldn’t get out of the little rut he was in. 

The Ghouls figured he’d feel better once he heard all the fans cheering for them once they got on stage.

Yet, the Ghoul did not cheer up nearly as much as the rest of the band thought. The whole show, Swiss didn’t dance. He still produced those beautiful backup vocals along with the Ghoulettes and swayed to the melody of certain songs. But he didn’t break out into a dance, he didn’t even shoulder shimmy once.

From side stage, you noticed this. You started to feel guilty about ignoring him when you felt you needed to. You thought that maybe you should talk to him after the show.

Well, the show ended and all the Ghouls and Papa Emeritus IV ran off stage. Some of the Ghouls gave you sweaty hugs for doing a fine job of switching out their instruments when the specific song called for it. But Swiss didn’t even glace your way, nor did you go to him as you felt you should.

A few days go by and Swiss still hasn’t changed his sour attitude, on and off stage. And the fans definitely took notice of this as well. Scrolling through Twitter you’d see the occasional tweet that would question the Ghoul’s gloomy state.

It irked you to no end.

Eventually, the Ghoul that would converse with you was Aether. The others placing the blame on you for Swiss’ attitude change, but Aether never blamed you once. He was thankfully sympathetic.

Everyday, you just wished for the situation to go away on its own. But from previous life experiences, you knew you have to put in the work to make a problem go away. And that’s exactly what you had to do. You wished you’d dealt with the issue as soon as it came up. But oh well, you live and you learn.

The tour buses were currently parked in the middle of nowhere, as a gas station in between cities to refuel. The Ghouls outside stretching their legs and adventuring around since no one would really see them, and plus it’s takes a long damn time to refuel those large buses.

You thought it would be the perfect time to address Swiss and get the confrontation over with.

You hopped out of the bus and looked around, smiling at seeing the Ghouls relaxing in their own way. Dewdrop was enjoying the sunny day, lifting up his face to the sun. Mountain was just sitting in the grass on the other side of the road, being a typical earth ghoul. Rain didn’t really like being out in the sun that much, unless he drank a lot of water. He was outside so you figured he did. The Ghoulettes were just talking, leaning against the side of the bus.

You furrowed your brows when you realized that you hadn’t seen Aether, or Swiss for that matter. Usually they’d be out and about with the rest of the Ghouls.

You relaxed slightly when you thought to yourself that maybe you could procrastinate just one day, not having to talk to Swiss.

But you thought that too soon.

Your eyes looked over to the bus door when you heard it creak open. The two missing Ghouls walking out, Aether patting Swiss on the back. 

Aether caught your gaze and frowned, almost disappointingly.

You sighed, knowing that it was officially the day to talk to Swiss.

Before Swiss could go anywhere, you walked up to him and looked to Aether. “Could you, uh, give us a moment, Aeth?” You asked timidly, making Swiss snap his head at you in confusion.

You nodded see Aether smile behind his mask and he nodded, stepping away and joining Dewdrop.

“What do you want?” Swiss asked, surprising with with how soft his voice sounded.

“I have some things to say to you.”

Swiss sighed and turned to you, leaning against the bus door. “I’m listening.” He motioned for you to continue.

“I...” You took a deep breath. “I really love this job and I thought that, if I were to be involved with you that I’d lose this. And I was scared. I just wanted to apologize for making it seem like I didn’t like you. I mean, honestly, I found you annoying but...you were sweet.” You chuckled nervously. “I thought I needed to be completely professional, but then I realized ignoring you in fear that I’d succumb to your flirtatious nature was in itself, really unprofessional. The guilt just got worse when you stopped dancing on stage...so...I’m sorry for hurting you, Swiss.”

You didn’t realize until you looked up at him, that Swiss was wearing a soft smile the entire time. The look of shock on your face made chuckle. “Goddamn girl, you couldn’t have told me this earlier?! I just had a heart to heart with Aether cause I thought you hated me!” He laughed loudly, making you blush.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.” You said, embarrassed.

Swiss wiped an escaped tear off of his mask and put a hand on you shoulder. “You don’t have to worry anymore, Y/N. I understand now.”

You almost could’ve let out a sigh in relief.

“Well, I guess that’s it then. You don’t want to be with me?” He said with a sad smile.

“I never said that, Swiss.” You said bashfully. “But...I would like to take things slow.”

Swiss smirked. “Slow and steady wins the race, baby girl.”

You cringed. “Please don’t call me that.” You giggled.

The next and final show of the tour, Swiss was his normal self again. He danced his little heart out that night, glancing over at you with a smile the whole night.

He also did his iconic shimmying, so much in fact that he knocked his tambourine off his mic stand.

You were finally smitten.

~~~~~~~~~~

God, was I on fuckin crack when I wrote this😂 

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfiction #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #ha ha im sad

[hitchcock-winter]

SUMMER OF 51′S Day 18: City Nights

Category: Gen

Notes: Tumblr’s formatting is driving me mental 😬

[or read on AO3]

I.

Midnight raged through with a scorching roar and ambitious streams of water. The fire was a three-alarm, and the smoke was so thick that the moon was a lie.

They were helpless. Johnny and Roy were washing eyes and pressing oxygen masks and watching their friends and colleagues return to the oven, over and over again, and they were helpless.

It felt like infinite, like a cosmic joke, like they’d worked so hard to stand stock still in the middle of madness.

It was forever before there was a reprieve, a break in the oxygen station visitors, time enough to realize they should be thankful that it was just oxygen and water that was needed. That there were only red eyes and sore lungs and absolutely no ambulances so far.

Johnny sighed, and looked up, and Roy did too, curiously. The canopy of smoke was starting to lessen, but it still reflected the flames and the city light like a shout.

“I miss them,” Johnny said quietly.

“What?” Roy asked.

“The stars.”

Roy didn’t respond, because he didn’t know the stars, not like Johnny did.

And then Rodriguez and McHale from 18s came up to them, and Johnny threw Roy a small smile that for the first time in his life Roy couldn’t read, and they returned to doing next-to-nothing.

II.

Midnight came in breathless, and it was the first time they could breathe all day. The intake of air was coming in snores, was coming in sighs, was coming in soft and silent dreams that were hopefully void of edges.

They’d checked on the fellas in the dorm first, when they rolled the squad into the bay. Everyone was safe. Everyone was asleep.

Johnny took the first shower so Roy was heating milk on the stove.

Having their colleagues secure in slumber was the first step to being able to sleep. The second would be warming up under the hot water, under the guise that it had been just another day, because it had been, but this just another day was maybe a little sharper than the rest.

The third was warm milk, a little tryptophan and comfort and quiet sips in the sanctum of the dayroom.

Johnny lumbered in with his bunkers, with slicked-back hair and bruises under his eyes and Roy passed him a steaming mug without words.

They leaned against the counter, and midnight turned to 12:30.

“You smell,” Johnny said.

“Thanks, pal,” Roy replied.

III.

Midnight fell in fat, relentless drops, drenching them as if they were in the Pacific. The rain caught the red-white-red-white of the ambulance and the squad and threw it back into the night sky, a fingerpainting of shine and anger.

Their helmets were supposed to keep water from dripping down their backs but whomever engineered the protective gear had never met an unhappy sky by the ocean.

Roy hovered above the victim as much as he could, trying to keep the rain off of her as they rolled her toward the ambulance.

The club had been loud and packed and had taken too long to care about the underaged teenager overdosing in the corner. She didn’t have a name because she didn’t have a wallet but Johnny and Roy could tell, they could tell that she wasn’t 21 and they could tell that she was already drowning in this so-called city of dreams.

“You sure you don’t want me to go?” Johnny asked, because she was young and she was strawberry blond and she was Jenny in a dozen years.

Because Johnny knew Roy without even looking at him, knew there was a twitch in his right eye that was fear and a set to his jaw that was desperation.

“I’m okay, Johnny,” Roy replied, jumping into the ambulance and taking the equipment from Johnny’s hands.

Johnny forced a smile and nodded, silently saying I’ll see you soon.

Roy swallowed and nodded back, quietly responding thank you.

IV.

Midnight was reverent, and the Squad was at a loss for words. It was quiet as comfort, silent like solitude. Except they weren’t alone. There was never an alone, not anymore, not since can I borrow your pen?

Johnny’s head was out the window. They were goddamned grown men—employees of the government—and his head was out the damned window.

It was a 40 mph zone but Roy’d slowed to 25. Because it was late enough that no one was on the roads. Because they were just heading back to the station. Because his partner was an idiot.

Because he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Johnny finally brought his head back in and his hair was the most ridiculous thing Roy’d ever seen. And he knew it, too, with that damned shit-eating grin. Roy burst out laughing, and Johnny followed.

They were red-cheeked and tear-tracked when they backed into the station, but their colleagues were already burrowed in their beds so it didn’t matter.

But it did.

They grinned at each other as they quietly got ready for bed.

It did matter.

V.

Midnight landed like marbles. Hitting at the back of the throat, leaving them on edge. There was no urgency, only waiting. Only the suffocation of cream-coloured walls and apologetic calls and plastic chairs.

When they were gathered like this, the crew, there should be six of them and anything less was unnatural, was chipped and wanting, was completely incomplete.

Tonight the headcount was five and they just needed to know, they just needed to see Brackett just once, to see the look on his face because it was never the words with Brackett, it was the shape of his mouth that told them the truth.

Johnny and Roy were side-by-side, leaning against the corner of the waiting room because this was where they would see Brackett come out first. They knew this carousel, they’d been round-and-round too many times to count but they also knew that they couldn’t get off.

Not without quitting. Not without dying.

They were both silently begging for Chester B. to be doing neither of those tonight.

Cap sat with Chet’s family. Mike stood opposite to Johnny and Roy. Marco was sitting hunched over, hands on knees, back to the treatment room door. Brackett was walking out of the—

Brackett’s mouth twitched up.

Johnny and Roy sighed, slumping, just a little and just a little against each other. “Chet’s going to be fine, folks.”

“Not when I get through with him,” Johnny muttered, only loud enough for Roy’s ears.

Roy elbowed him.

They both sighed again.

I.

Midnight pressed down from above, with the pressure of a blue-black sky and thousands of shining stars and the gleam of the milky way.

The ground was cool and hard but they had sweaters, they had a blanket, they had snacks and beers and hot chocolate.

They lay on the ground, on their backs, heads side-by-side, looking up.

Without the sounds of the city, with the shadows of trees surrounding them, muffling light and traffic and the world, it was dead. And yet, the stars were brilliant and so far away and so close that they made everything seem so much more alive.

“Is it like you remembered?” Roy asked.

Johnny was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “It’s even better, Roy.” He turned his head to glance at his partner. “It’s even better.”

#summer of 51's #hitch's fanfic #Emergency! #emergency! fan fiction #emergency! fanfic

[hxpemingi]

missing puzzle piece <3 s.c.b

a/n: this is my first ever lil au that ive written so please bare with me as i’m typing this as i go hehe (✿◠‿◠) sorry for any grammatical errors!!

Summary: you and changbin have been friends for years, you’ve always had a soft spot for this kid.  You have always had those lingering thoughts in the back of your mind that maybe one day this friendship could turn into something more..

word count: 2.6k 

genre/rating: oneshot!, friends to lovers!, female reader, college age, fluff, just pure fluff, angst if you squint.

-

-

-

As the summer winds down and the sense of the cool breeze fills the air, i know soon enough that the fall semester is coming closer.  i dont mind school all that much, its even better that i get to spend the day with one of my closest friends changbin.  we’ve been friends for gosh knows how long and we act like brother and sister at this point. But nonetheless, theres always that feeling of “what if” in the back of my mind.... what if we did end up dating? I always feel like a puzzle with a missing piece.... I want to find someone to complete the puzzle.  As i shove those thoughts to the back of my mind i hear my phone buzzing on my bed.

-Binnie 6:30pm-

what u doing tonight? are you free??

-Y/N 6:33pm-

i have a hot date with a bowl of ice cream and the couch tonight, but i guess i can rain check. whatchu got planned?

-Binnie 6:37pm-

Wanna go to the beach with me and the boys? we plan on chilling and watching the sunset with a fire and a few drinks.  whaddya say you in?

-Y/N 6:40pm-

count me in...pick me up in 30

-Binnie 6:45pm-

shweeeeet see u then

As soon as i see that text, i put my phone down and change out of some comfy clothes and change into shorts and a cropped tee.  I should probably bring a hoodie but i know Changbin has a few in his car.  I swear that man has a whole closet in his car.  I put on a pair of slip on shoes so that way i can take them off when I’m at the beach.  As I’m putting on shoes i see Changbin’s car pull into my driveway.  After grabbing my house keys and purse I head down the driveway to get into the car where Felix and Han are in the backseat giving me the front seat.

“Glad you gave up your hot date with ice cream to hangout with us tonight” Changbin says as he heads down the road to get to the beach.

“You know i was gonna finish Avatar tonight and cry over my love for zuko but NOOOOOOO i’m gonna become a babysitter for 9 kids as they throw each other in the ocean” i say with the slightest bit of sarcasm

“Oh c’mon Y/N, the ending of avatar can wait. theres supposed to be a comet tonight!!!!” Felix chirps from the backseat

“Yeah Y/N the sky is supposed to be clear and we’ll be able to see it pass by, you wont be able to see it for another 100 years!” Han chimes in.

“They’re right Y/N, it’s a perfect night to watch it.  When will you ever be able to say you’ve seen a comet pass by in your lifetime?” Changbin adds to the conversation.

“I’m pretty sure I saw a comet that time where we were all star gazing on Minho’s roof last summer” i say to them as changbin pulls into the beach parking lot.

“Y/N i hate to break it to you, but that was an airplane.” Han says while Felix giggles.

I turn back at the giggling fools and give them a glare.

“I SHALL STAND BY THE FACT THAT IT WAS A COMET YOU TWO” i say back to the boys as Changbin puts the car into park.

We meet up with the rest of the boys who are currently setting up a makeshift fire pit and setting out some foldable chairs, thats when i realize theres 9 chairs but 10 people.  Guess I will have to sit in the sand.  I don’t worry about it too much when i see Chan currently chasing Seungmin with a dead jellyfish on a stick trying to poke him.  We haven’t been here a total of 5 minutes and there’s already chaos.

-

-

-

After an hour or two of the boys running around in the sand, throwing each other in the water, and a quite competitive game of tag, the sun starts to turn the sky the most beautiful shades of orange and red.  Chan runs to his car to grab a speaker and Hyunjin starts a fire.  Pretty soon the boys gather around the fire when Jeongin says 

“Guys theres only 9 chairs and 10 of us...”

“I’ll just sit on the sand.” I say as I get ready to sit in the sand.

“Y/N, just sit on my lap” Changbin says quietly as you didn’t hear him walk up behind you

“Nono Binnie it’s fine I-”

“No excuses, now come on” he says as he drags me with my hand in his.

While I’m sure no one saw that encounter, I’m pretty sure they see the huge blush that has crept across my face.  Sure I’ve sat on changbins lap before, we do it when theres movie night at Woojins place.  It’s nothing new between us but my feelings for Changbin push through my mind and soon enough, I’m sitting on his lap trying to make myself comfy on his thighs.  Changbin casually snakes his hands across my waist and i suddenly freeze up.  Well thats new, he normally never does that. I try to relax my body and for some reason, it feels natural.  I suddenly feel safe in his arms. 

“Does anyone know when this whole comet thing will come??” Minho says as the music plays in the background.

“According to my phone, it says that we’ll be able to see it pass through around 10 or so.” Felix says as he looks it up on his phone.

“Well since we have time to kill, how about a friendly game of truth or dare?” Hyunjin adds to the conversation.

the group and I nod our heads in agreement as the game of truth or dare starts.

“Seungmin, Truth or dare?” Hyunjin starts off.

“Dare” Seungmin says non chalantly.

“I dare you to run into the ocean with your shoes on” hyunjin says while everyone giggles

“Really? I just bought these shoes ughhhhh” Seungmin sighs as he gets up from his chair and runs towards the water

“I hate this i hate this i hate this” he says as everyone by the fire laughs hysterically 

Once he returns back to the shore where the fire pit is, he takes off his shoes and sits down with a huff.

“alright lets see, Y/N truth or dare?” He says as his eyes direct towards me and changbin.  

I’m not one to play these games so i decided to play it safe

“Truth” i say

“BOOORRRRRINGGGGGGG” Han says from the other side of the fire

“Hmm, when was the last time you kissed a boy?” he says and the group falls silent

Shit, when was the last time i kissed someone? well besides my cat Lucifer i don’t think i’ve ever kissed anyone? Do I lie and say last week? or do I tell the truth and say no one?

“uhhh never” I say in a quiet voice as everyone eyes are glued to me still.  I can feel Changbins gaze on me as he tenses up a little bit, squeezing his arms a little tighter around me

“You really haven’t kissed anyone? Not even that kid you were seeing last semester?” Changbin whispers into my ear

“No we went on two dates and he was a total square and was really boring, he never initiated anything anyways” I say back

“Alrighty Y/N, you can ask a truth or dare or have someone else pick” Seungmin says as he waits for my response

“uhm, Changbin can pick who goes next” I say as I look down at the sand, my feet becoming more interesting

“Can I dare myself?” Changbin says as the group shares a puzzled look with eachother. It’s quiet for a moment before Chan says

“I mean it’s not a rule that you can’t do it but I guess go ahead buddy”

“Alright, I dare myself that I go on a walk with Y/N for a bit. You guys can keep playing” he says and I perk my head up and turn around facing him, giving him a puzzled look.

“Why would you wanna dare yourself to do something so casual?” I say as I get up off of his lap. My waist feeling empty as I grew used to having Changbins arms wrapped around me

“It was beginning to get boring anyways, plus my leg fell asleep from you sitting on it” he chuckles

As we two walk away from the guys who are giggling and laughing, their voices become faint as all I hear are the waves crashing along the shore. It’s peaceful, it’s quiet, and it’s just Changbin and I.

It’s silent for a few minutes before Changbin exhales and stops for a moment to look at the water and the stars up in the sky.

“How come you never told me you haven’t kissed anyone? Cmon Y/N we’ve been friends for years. We tell eachother everything” Changbin says and I look over at the water avoiding his eye contact

“I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal. How lame is it that I haven’t even had my first kiss and my younger sister has for gods sake? I sound like a loser saying it. It’s easy for you to say, I bet you boast to the boys on how many girls fling themselves at you.” I say with a hint of jealousy at the end.

“I don’t think it’s lame y/n, you’re just saving yourself for someone special. And no I do not brag to the boys about “all the girls I get” when in reality I have a different girl in mind.” He says as he goes and steps in front of me. Faces inches away from each other.

I take a few steps back to get some space between us. He’s acting different. It seems like this girl is really sweet from the sounds of it. I try not to act jealous when I start to ask about her

“Who’s this special girl in mind huh? How come you never brought this up to me? Do I approve of her?” I start to spit fire questions at Changbin before he starts talking again.

“I’ve never brought it up to you because I don’t want to ruin anything that I already have with her. I’ve been so nervous to fully confess my feelings because there’s that thought in the back of my mind that maybe she doesn’t like me back.” Changbin rambles when you cut him off

“Why don’t you man up and do it already? I mean the worst thing she could say is no right? Who knows, maybe she does like you back.” I say and Changbin blurts out

“I like you a lot y/n, like a lot a lot”

Holy shit

Seo Changbin, my best friend of 11 years

Just confessed

That he likes me????

“I- I- really? You’re kidding right? Changbin don’t play with my feelings-“ I say before he cuts me off

“Y/n I’m serious, I’ve liked you for a long time and I didn’t know how you would feel, but I know it was stupid of me to confess you know? I probably ruined everything and now our friendship is ruined and nothing will ever be the same again and I-“ before he rambles himself into oblivion i cut him off.

“The feelings mutual binnie, I’ve liked you for god knows how long” i say as he looks up at me.

“I’ve liked you since that day when I jumped off the jungle gym in 3rd grade and you helped me to the nurses office. I’ve always had those feelings for you but I always pushed them back in my head because who knows how you would feel right? So whenever you went and saw other girls it made me the slightest bit jealous. Always wondering if that could be us someday. So then I went on dates with guys but nothing lasted for more than one date. They weren’t you Changbin. It was always you” I say so fast i almost run out of breath

We look at eachother for a few moments before Changbin wraps one of his arms around my waist, taking his other and tucking a few strands of loose hair behind my ear. We look at each other for a few moments as my hands snake up around his neck, definitely a feeling I could get used too. His eyes go from my eyes, down to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

“Since you never had your first kiss, may I?” Changbin says as he’s looking at me like I’m the finest piece of art in the world. Taking in everyone of my features.

“I’d thought you’d never ask” I say with a grin.

He closes the distance between us and both of our eyes close. His lips are warm and soft. Although I’ve never kissed anyone before I start to follow his lead and mirror what he’s doing. It’s a slow and adoring kiss. Not anything fast or sensual. We take our time to see how our lips mold into one another. We break away for a few moments and Changbin puts his forehead on mine.

“You know for not kissing anyone, it seems like you knew what you were doing” he says with a childish grin

“Eh from all the rom coms I’ve watched I feel like I had a good grasp of what I was doing” I say back before he kisses me again. 

I kiss him as if he’s going to disappear from me, pretty soon he has both of his hands around my waist, squeezing my sides earning a quiet yelp from me.  We break away the kiss again and i see him look up in the sky.

“Y/n there it is!!! It’s the comet” he says as he turns me around, hugging me from behind. His chin rests gently on my shoulder as we look at the comet pass by.  

“I don’t think I’ve seen anything more jaw dropping than this before” I say as i look closely at the comet passing by.

“Oh trust me princess, this comet is pretty. but nothing will compare to you” he says as he pecks my neck with kisses.

“We should probably go back before the guys round up a search party for us.” i say while leaving his touch and grab his hand, heading back to the crazy bunch of boys.

Once we make our way back to the gang they look at us with questioning looks, we’re both smiling like idiots and our hands are intertwined.

“What took you guys so long??? You missed the comet, you should’ve seen it!” Jeongin says

“Do i even wanna know what happened?” Chan says, raising a brow at us.

“Don’t worry guys, we stopped and saw the comet too. Nothing crazy happened.” Changbin says with a sheepish grin and I start giggling 

“Did you two confess to one another yet? I’ve been waiting for this.” Hyunjin says as the boys nod their heads in agreement.

“Yeah Bin, did you finally grow a set and confess? I was getting sick of the late night texts saying “ooooo im in L word my guy” “bro she looks so good today”- UGH” Han continues to ramble while Felix elbows him in the gut. 

Changbin and I look at each other and start laughing, he leans down and pecks me on the lips. Earning a few “awws” and an “ew” from Jeongin.

“Does that answer everyones questions?”  Changbin says as we sit back down by the fire. 

We sit back down and start chatting at the fire, talking about the comet and small talk in between. For the first time in my life, I feel content with everything. Content with these 8 crazy boys I can call my friends. And Changbin, everything feels so right finally. It feels like all the puzzle pieces have been put together

Changbin was my missing puzzle piece. 

And now the puzzle is complete.

#changbin #seo changbin #stray kids #friends to more #skz #skz changbin #kpop scenarios #kpop au #kpop #changbeanie #fluff #changbin fluff #ftl #stray kids changbin #stray kids seo changbin #college au #stray kids smut #stray kids everywhere all around the world #stray kids edits #stray kids au

[kpurereactions]

Love Shot

CHAPTER 1

A/N: Hello lovelies, Ive been working on this piece for quite a while now and im finally ready to post it. This was inspired by one of my favorite fics of all time, Good Girl, but given my own little twist. I hope you all love Love Shot as much as I do.

Pairing: Exo x Reader

Rating: Drama, Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS: Language, Eventual Violence, Lots of Smut Later on

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

I let a smile touch my lips before taking a deep breath in, nodding once at the crisp evening air before turning to lock the door of my new combined studio and apartment. It was the first day where fall really felt like fall. The scent of rain lingered under the dense clouds and the sun was already halfway gone.  I had moved back to Seoul only three months ago after being gone for only a little under a year. I had originally came to Seoul to get my masters in painting and painting theory,  though I quickly gained enough local fame and connections that no one could quite understand why I left. So I came back.

I stood on the side of the road, my arm outstretched as I wait for a cab. My closest friend from school in the city was opening his gallery tonight and from the posts on my snapchat I could tell a lot of old classmates were already there. Song Mino was the first friend I made when I first moved here. He was talented and refused to fit into the art box the professor tried to force all his students into, as if art should be something someone else tells you to do. It should be your own thing. We had that in common. My style is simplistic. Aesthetic. Easy to look at, but the more you look the more you see behind the top layer. We both strived to challenge the viewer, and because of that we grew really close in our attempt to stick it to the man.

The first show is always the biggest event of an artist's career, and knowing I was seconds away from Mino’s brought another smile to my face as excitement seemed to run through my toes. I couldn't believe how hard he had been working, despite him refusing to let me see anything he had made to showcase.

The gallery itself was breathtaking, I couldn't help but note the obviously more ‘manly’ stain he had chosen for the wooden columns that broke the continuous glass of the front of the gallery. I was the one who helped him make his mind up. I took it in as it was its own work of art before I even walked up the short staircase to the front doors. The tall white walls were similar to my own space, but his had matching wooden floors and walls that were scattered around the room that broke your vision from seeing everything at once. I gave myself another smile as I noticed familiar faces of old classmates and Professors.

It didn't surprise me when I first walked in that I was being asked about the past year and how I’ve been. I was hard to miss, not just because I stood taller than a majority of the women in the room. The constant questioning reminded me why I chose to fail at reaching out when I got back. I made a point to keep trying to catch eye contact with Mino, who only seemed to mask the chuckle from escaping his lips, choosing to leave me to struggle with the boring repetition of the conversations I was having. I finally found the opportunity to excuse myself and all but power walk over to Mino, pretending not to see anyone else I recognized.

“American style!” He said excitedly, pulling me into a hug.

“Don't you ever leave me to the wolves like that again” I whispered in his ear before pulling back. “Mino this is awesome, I’ve only seen a few pieces but im so proud of you!” I said covering up my mild threat before hugging him tightly again. He chuckled with bright eyes before giving my arms a squeeze.  His eyes widened as he remembered the man standing next to him.

“Y/n, this is Junmyeon. He is a curator who graduated a few years before us. I've been telling him about your work.” He said as my attention moved to the slick haired man.

“You were talking about me at your own opening?” I said reaching for his hand to shake it.

“I actually asked specifically about you.” Junmyeon said with a soft smile that slowly grew.

“Oh, wow.” I tried to get out past the sound of my heart fluttering at his radiant smile. “Its very nice to meet you then.”

I was informed that Junmyeon was planning on stopping by my studio in the next few days, which brought on a new wave a nerves I've never experienced before. It wasn't until Mino placed his hand on my back to excuse the two of us could I finally breathe.

“Jesus, why is he so intimidating?” I said looking back over my shoulder as he dipped his chin to take a sip of his drink.

“If you think he’s intimidating your crazy” Mino said, leading me over to the first piece he wanted to show me.

“Did he asked to buy any of your work?” I asked before he could change the topic.

“All of it.” Mino said with a big smile.

“All of it?!”

“Yes. He’ll probably buy a lot of your stuff too. It’s more his style anyways.”

“Oh my god.” I said shaking my head.

I let Mino take control of the conversation as he began to explain the clay molded figure in front of us. I spent the rest of my time there following Mino around, while sipping on my wine and listening to him talk. Even though, as much as I was paying attention, it was hard to get your mind off of Junmyeon.

“Promise me you wont sell this one. I know you promised everything but see if this one could be an exception. I want to buy it.” I said pointing at a tall, organic figure of a woman. The memory of when Mino had made it flooded back as it was my first time to ever pose for another artist.

“Ill ask.” he said smiling before taking my hand and leading me to the next piece.

I tried to stay as late as I could. Mino was off somewhere talking art leaving me once again to be interrogated by my former classmates who all seemed to be very smug about the fact that I had yet to have an opening. It didn't matter what valid excuse I would give, they only cared that it hasn't happened yet. Thankfully I must have looked as uncomfortable as I felt since a hand wrapped around my arm to pull me back. I was just about to thank Mino for coming back and saving me when I turned to face Junmyeon.

“You didn't look too excited about that.” He said looking back over to the three girls who were all staring with confused and almost jealous looks in their eyes.

“Good to know it was obvious.” I said taking a sip of wine. Just as I was about to say something else Mino walked up.

“I think I'm going to head out. I have a pick up early in the morning.” I said, trying not to make it sound like I was at my ropes end with the girls who had added whispering to their staring. I smiled and quickly kissed Mino’s cheek softly before turning to Junmyeon and shaking his hand again, trying to do so without having to hear a protest from Mino.

The air outside sobered me up a little, and because of how nice it was outside I couldn't help but smile and start to walk down the sidewalk. Mino’s studio wasn't that far from mine, just a few blocks down and a horseshoe turn away, so I placed my hands in my coat pocket and began to walk. I let my eyes wander from the fashion that was passing me to the way the lights reflected off the puddles left from the rain that morning. Just as I was really starting to enjoy my walk the sky opened again, soft raindrops falling from the sky.

I sighed, of course this would happen. Clocking where I was I dipped into an alley, deciding the fastest way to get out of the rain in my heels would be to cut through the alleyways. Usually this idea was fine. I would maybe run into one or two strangers, but they were usually restaurant owners who were taking the trash out or sweeping their areas so the sound of voices deeper in the alley didn't really bother me.

“Kai come on! Oh my god no.” I heard a man laugh deeper into the darkness of the alley. But as I got closer to my studios back door I realized the figure I could hardly make out at first were men. Multiple men. Usually this wouldn't bother me but as I got closer the feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach started to deepen and deepen.

I took a deep breath when I started to pass them, my heart beating a million miles a minute while trying to keep a poker face to seem unphased so they wouldn't pay me any mind. Until they did.

“Hey wait!” I heard one of them call. I quicken my step slightly. Not to show I was scared, but just incase. “Wait, where are you going? I’ll walk you home.”

I looked up to see a half lit face walking backwards in front of me. I squinted slightly to try to get my eyes to adjust to what was under the ball cap he wore, but there was no use.

‘Shit’ I thought. I was staring too long. I looked away and quickened my step again.

“Oh come on! At least tell me your name!” He shouted after he stopped, his voice now behind me.

I was able to breathe again once my key was in my door, officially sure he stopped following me. But still the shape of the man's mouth was enough to stay in my brain as I flicked the lights to my gallery on and made my way upstairs to my bed.

___

“Mino I swear they were so scary.” I said pushing my denim painting shirt up past my elbows before wrapping my hands around the coffee cup that sat in front of me.

“I just don't understand why you didnt call a cab when you left.” He said sitting back in his chair, obviously taking it out on himself for not seeing me off safely.

“I just wanted to walk. I didn't plan on going through the alley.” I grumbled. I hated when Mino tried to school me. He was only a few months older than I was, and although I knew here it meant something different, he also knew that where I’m from it didn't.

“Do you at least remember what they looked like?” He asked, noticing my mood change.

“Um.. kind of. There were like five or six of them, but I only got a good look at one of them. He was a little taller than you, pillow lips… he was wearing a hat so I really didn't get a good look at his eyes. But he had to have been an athlete of some sort.” I said, my words getting quieter as I realized I would have had nothing to go off of if something bad had happened.

The coffee date ended with Mino once again scolding me, which I knew I deserved, but there was only so much I could take without pouting all the way home. I couldn't help thinking about the man in the hat. Why he was there in the alley with his friends. Why did he follow me, but then give up so easily? It's not like his friends were calling him back. If he was going to bother me in the first place, why give up? The more I thought about what had happened the more I worked myself up. They probably saw me unlock my door. What if they showed up in my studio? What if they came back with more people?

I half thought about texting Mino, but knew there was no point. He would be more worried about it than I was and he had better things to do then baby sit me in my own home. So instead, the moment I got inside I turned my windows down, making sure no one could see inside my studio incase they were passing to see if I was there. It was weird, though, this new set fear was enough to put me into overdrive. My inspiration hit me in my face and I couldn't pull a fresh canvas out fast enough to get the blurred images of last night down.

———

Music played loudly as I was lost in my own world. A galaxy of light and dark colors swirled and blended into one another across my canvas creating the confusing, but exciting pattern that seemed to get better with every stroke.

I was pulled out of my own head when the sound of someone's voice yelling over the music made me look up. I smiled to see Junmyeon and two other men trailing him into the room.

“Oh! One second please!” I said trying to press pause with the clean part of my palm. “Sorry, I didn't realize how loud that had gotten.” I said wiping my hand on my shirt before shaking Junmyeons hand.

“Its fine, good to see your working so hard because I brought with me two potential buyers.” He said gesturing to the two men on his left. “This is Byun Baekhyun and Kim Jongin.” He said.

I smiled shaking Baekhyun's hand, but the moment I met Jongin's eyes I felt my body stiffened slightly. He was familiar. Almost to familiar. I forced the feeling to be shaken off though, there was no reason why he would have possibly been brought into my studio if he had been hiding out in the alleyway behind the building the night before. Or at least I had hoped. But there was something about the way he smiled at me that made me feel like he knew it too. That he had seen me the night prior too.

I tried hard not to think about it. If Junmyeon was there, I was safe and if he was the man he probably wouldn't try to do anything with two other people there to witness. I turned my attention back to Junmyeon who asked if he could look through my paintings.

“Oh of course. And the racks on this back wall have more in it. I rotate them so the ones that are up are only there because they have a similar theme.” I said before trying to smile as normal as possible and turning back to my easel.

My drive was gone. I was too busy focusing on Jongin, who stood there supporting his chin in his hand as he listens to Junmyeon explain why he liked a certain piece. I took this opportunity to text Mino. Now if any would be a good time to alert him.

Mino, I think the guy from last night in the hat is in my studio with Junmyeon. I don't know what to do.

“Y/n, were looking to fill a room. Do you have any others with these same earthy tones?” Junmyeon said, pulling my attention away from my phone.

“Oh, yes. There over here.” I said smiling, slipping my phone into my back pocket before leading the men over to the opposite wall. I walked them through my color schemes, explaining to them the way I had everything organized just incase they changed their mind on a color or style they wanted. I was surprised Junmyeon and Baekhyun were able to distract me from the thoughts swirling in my head for the rest of the time they were there, but it helped that Jongin stayed behind us, obviously not trying to chime in.

“Y/n, thank you once again for taking us in on such short notice. We will take the one on the wall and the two that have been stored if they are not already spoken for.”  

“Of course, Ill wrap them for you so they’re ready to be taken.” I said turning to make a mental note as to which ones it was.

“Thank you again. We will be in touch.” He said, bowing his head slightly before taking my hand in a soft, yet firm hand shake.

“Thank you.” Baekhyun said sweetly as he took my hand next.

“Good to see you again. I hope to see you in the future as well” Jongin said with a small wink before taking my hand and giving it a firm shake.

The moment his hand touched mine my heart dropped. There couldn't be a way that was really him. The moment the door closed I reached for my phone again only to see Mino hadn't responded. It didn't stop me from quickly typing out another message, though.

It was him. It had to be him. Why else would he tell me it was good to see me again before winking if it wasn't him?

I looked up to see their backs bending one by one to get into the large black vehicle they came in, and once I was sure the door to the vehicle was closed and they weren't looking I quickly walked forward and locked the door again before backing up to my easel where I desperately tried to finish my work before deciding to just give up.

I couldn't focus. Not while finishing, not while making myself dinner, and not while I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I rolled to my side and reached for my phone. 3:00am. I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, taking my blanket with me and wrapping it tightly around my shoulders. I made your way up to the railing of my room slowly which allowed me look down onto my gallery. I wrapped the blanket closer over my shoulders before letting my elbows rest on the railing so I was more comfortably looking out the window. I smiled to myself finally feeling calm again. I loved how quiet the streets were at night. How all the colors of the lights around seemed to mix together on the rained on asphalt that laid below them.

It felt calm. But as my eyes were scanning I couldn't help but see two figures standing across the street. I squinted my eyes to try to catch a reflection of who the people were only to realize it was Jongin and Junmyeon. I stared at the two in shock as they talked across the road. They seemed to be laughing. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself they were probably just out getting drinks and just so happened to be standing across the street from my apartment. But then I remembered what the time was. I couldn't stop myself from panicking, and just as I was about to turn to hide myself, my eyes met with Jongin’s.

I didn't know it was possible for my heart to drop even further into my stomach as he gave me a devilish grin and wink. I scrambled back to my bedside table where I quickly reached for the remote that controls my space, knocking it off the table before I was able to press the button that made my windows go solid.  

Chapter 2

#exo #exo fic #exo mafia #exo smut #exo reactions #exo drabbles #Junmyeon #Suho #Minseok #Xuimin #Baekhyun #Lay #Yixing #Jongdae #Chen #Jongin #Kai #Sehun #Chanyeol #Kyungsoo #DO

[the-delta-42]

Wounded

Based on This Post by @lenoreofraven

Wounded

There was a sudden gasp as the air left Ladybug’s lungs. A silver knife was embedded in her abdomen, Chat hoped that the damage was not severe or fatal. Another knife collided with Ladybug, catching her on the right side of her chest, causing her to topple over. The Akuma laughed as they approached Ladybug, as she was trying to crawl away from the Akuma, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

“Running won’t save you, Bug.” Sneered the Akuma, grabbing Ladybug by the throat and lifting her off her feet.

Ladybug kicked at the Akuma, before they threw her into a wall. As the impact occurred, Ladybug’s transformation dropped, revealing her identity to everyone. The Akuma smirked, before stomping up to Marinette’s prone form, as she coughed up blood. Marinette tried to push the Akuma away, only for him to grab her arm and tear it from her shoulder. The Akuma stomped hard on Marinette’s chest, causing her to cough up more blood. The Akuma looked at the girls dismembered arm and tossed it aside, before raining blows down on the unmoving girl.

There were cries, yells and wails from the crowd.

But one was the loudest.

“MARINETTE!” Screamed Kagami, as her girlfriend started choking on her own blood.

That scream spurred Chat into action, grabbing the Akuma by the head, he pulled them away from Marinette, while the people in the crowd started to move Marinette out of the firing line.

“Oh, you want to die too?” Cackled the Akuma, “Fine by me, I get more trophies that way.”

Chat’s blood went cold, before it started to boil, “How many?”

The Akuma continued to laugh, “You’ll never find all of them. All those pretty, pretty little girls.”

There was a crunch as Chat’s fist collided with the Akuma’s nose, again and again and again. Soon the Akuma’s face resembled a bloody sack of meat.

“CATACLYSM!” Screamed Chat, the dark energy lighting his hand up, as a look of terror appeared on the Akuma’s face.

Chat shoved his hand down, connecting it with the pavement, which started to crack, before he threw the Akuma through the pavement and into the sewer. Chat kept hitting the Akuma until their face resembled a bruised fruit.

“CHAT NOIR!” Screamed Kagami, blood soaking her front, jerking the Hero from his rage.

“Yes?” Said Chat, his foot pressed against the Akuma’s face.

“She needs to get to a hospital.” Said Kagami, trying to put on a brave face.

Chat frowned, before striding over to Marinette, her white shirt stained red.

“I’ll go as fast as I can.” Said Chat, gently picking Marinette up and carefully using his baton to take him to the rooftops.

With their heroine out of harm’s way, the mob turned to the Akuma.

“I don’t suppose we can talk this out?” asked the Akuma.

W

Across the City, Chloe Bourgeois sat gaping at the TV, her mind continuously pulling blanks. Elsewhere, Alya Césaire was running out of her home at full speed, intent on finding the hospital Chat Noir was taking her best friend to.

Nino and Kim stared at the tv screen, lead lining their stomachs and their hearts frozen. All across the city, everyone who knew Marinette was in shock, Jagged was already sorting out the medical bills and Nadja Chamack had left the news studio.

Lila’s jaw hung agape at the television, the one time she and her mother watch TV in ages and she finds out that Marinette is Ladybug, the two people she hates the most are the same person. It actually made sense why Ladybug had exposed her, since she found that Marinette was a private person. Of course, while Lila was mulling this over, the Akuma ripped Marinette’s arm off. After that, Lila threw up.

Hawkmoth stood frozen; Ladybug had been Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The Ladybug earrings had been within his grasp. The girl that had captured the hearts of two people, was now dying. Hawkmoth grit his teeth, collecting the earrings from the hospital would be easy, by finding a way to make sure the insect was out of commission for the immediate future would be harder. He needed a way to destroy her. Of course, her months of captivity in a remote location did little to break her, no matter what method he used, he was unable to get the earrings off her, but he was able to manipulate her suit so it faded away in some areas. If only he had someone he could use.

Hawkmoth stopped, and smirked.

W

A medical team had been watching the battle as it was being streamed on the news channel, which had the unfortunate effect of showing them every detail of the fight.

“Alright, we’re the closest hospital to the fight, and the most logical choice, given the severity of the patients wounds.” Said a surgeon, already getting prepared.

As if on cue, Chat Noir burst into the room through a window.

“Line was too long.” Gasped Chat, a jacket covering the stump where her arm used to be, “You can help her, right?”

Within moments, Marinette was on a gurney being rushed into the operating theatre. As soon as Marinette was out of sight, Chat looked down at his hands, covered in Marinette’s blood. Chat took a deep breath, before leaving to de-transform and return as Adrien. Thankfully, Plagg removed all traces of blood from him.

Adrien ran around the corner and almost hit Kagami.

“I-I saw the news.” Gasped Adrien, as he and Kagami went inside the lobby.

“Are her parents here?” Asked Kagami, looking around for the hulking frame of Tom and the small stature of Sabine.

“No, they might not have seen the news broadcast.” Said Adrien, just as Tom burst through the doors.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Bellowed Tom, storming up to the Reception desk.

“Where’s who?” Asked the receptionist, her tone bored.

“My daughter,” Said Tom, leaning on the desk, “Where. Is. She?”

“I’m going to need a name.” The receptionist said in a snooty voice.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl that was just revealed to be Ladybug.” Said Kagami, “Where is she?”

“I think I’d know if ‘Ladybug’ was brought in here.” Said the Receptionist, leaning back in her chair.

“Sylvia,” Came a voice from one of the lifts, “Ladybug was brought in half-an-hour ago by Chat Noir, she’s currently in surgery, Her id gives her name as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, if you’d contact her family and let them know.”

Everyone looked over at a consultant leaning against the lift doors.

“Wait, Ladybug is actually here?” Asked the Receptionist, numbly.

“Yes, didn’t you see the news?” Asked the Consultant, before the lift doors closed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Said the receptionist, quickly, “I’ll have the room and floor up momentarily.”

Tom quietly grumbled; his arms folded. A few minutes later, the group of four were standing outside the operating theatre Marinette was in.

A group of doctors crowded around her, one working on each wound, with the exception of her shoulder, where two were carefully removing any remaining fragments of her destroyed limb.

“Chat Noir left her arm behind.” Said Kagami, hollowly, “He probably forgot about it in the rush to get her here.”

“Where’s her arm now?” Asked Tom, his voice quiet.

“A bystander took off with it.” Replied Kagami, as one of the Doctors jerked back.

Marinette suddenly began to struggle, her remaining arm grabbing an orderly by the face and shoving them back. There was a flurry of movement, then Marinette went still as suddenly as she had started moving.

“They sedated her.” Said Adrien, “She thought she was still out there.”

The medical staff had a quick, quiet conversation, before returning to their tasks. An hour later, Marinette was removed from the Operating Theatre and placed in a high security room. An orderly showed the group of four to the room, before leaving them with Marinette.

Sabine reached for Marinette’s hand, only to find thin air. Sabine let out a gasp and hunched forwards, her head falling into her hands, the stump on Marinette’s left shoulder covered with a series of stitches sealing the wound shut.

“What happened to the Akuma?” Asked Tom, looking over at Kagami.

“His object was broken, turned out he was a serial child killer,” Said Kagami, her voice thick, “There’s not much left of him now.”

Tom grimaced, before looking back at his daughter, “She had already been through so much, when will it stop?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Adrien, getting a sigh from Tom.

“Marinette had a twin brother, they were practically inseparable, until Jason ran into the road to pet a cat. Then Michael left, Toby following soon after and Skye taking residence in another country, Marinette’s childhood was full of loss and now, she’s forced to go through this.”

Marinette’s hand twitched, her eyebrows furrowing, before relaxing.

“What’s happening?” Asked Kagami, leaning towards Marinette.

“I am.” Croaked a high pitched, tired voice.

A small red creature floated into view, looking like she’d gone through a meat grinder.

“Who are you?” Kagami stuttered, recognizing the creature as a Kwami.

“I’m Tikki,” Whispered Tikki, her voice hoarse, “The Kwami that inhabits the earrings.”

“You’re what gives Marinette her powers.” Whispered Tom, getting a nod from Tikki.

“The reason she is twitching like that,” Explained Tikki, “Is because I gave her body an order to randomly test different areas of itself. I was in Marinette’s heart when she was brought here, one of the knives had nicked a major artery, I was keeping her alive for as long as possible.”

“So, the reason Marinette is still alive, is because of you?” Asked Tom, looking down at Tikki.

Tikki gave a shaky nod, before she glowed for a second and then flickered out, dropping like a stone. Adrien dived towards her, catching her in cupped hands.

“Keeping Marinette this side of the death veil took more power than I originally anticipated.” Whispered Tikki, her eyes drooping shut.

Marinette’s jaw opened, before closing again, then Marinette opened her eyes and suddenly sat up with a loud gasp. She started to scramble towards the edge of the bed, almost ripping the IV out of her arm.

“Wait, Marinette!” Yelled Adrien, getting in her line of sight, “Calm down, please!”

Marinette made a noise that sounded a lot like someone gurgling, before she leant over the side of the bed and threw up on the floor.

“Akuma, The Akuma?!” Demanded Marinette, blearily looking around.

“The Akuma’s been dealt with.” Whispered Kagami, making Marinette’s head turn towards her.

“Is the victim alright?” Asked Marinette, as if they hadn’t almost killed her.

“The victim,” Adrien spat out, “was a child rapist and murderer, and he was left for the mob.”

“Oh.” Said Marinette, quietly, slumping back against the bed, “It hurt worse than the months.”

Adrien tried not to wince, both Ladybug and Marinette had vanished for three and a half months, with everyone seemingly being too stupid to connect the dots, himself and Kagami included.

“What actually happened?” Asked Kagami, making Marinette look at her.

“With the Akuma or the Months?” Asked Marinette, getting a raised eyebrow from Kagami, “You feel okay?”

Kagami’s lip quivered, before she wrapped her arms around Marinette. Adrien found himself being pushed towards the two and pulled into the embrace.

The three sat there, before there was a knock on the door, before a nurse stepped in.

“There’s someone with a guitar here.” Said the Nurse, a look of confusion on her face.

“Oh, that’s Luka.” Said Adrien, as the blue haired teen rushed into the room.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Gasped Luka, doubling over with his hands on his knees, “Had to take the stairs.”

“You’re here now.” Said Adrien, his hand accidentally brushing over the stump where Marinette’s arm used to be.

Marinette let out a small hiss from the pain.

“Sorry.” Said Adrien quickly, before he heard shouting from the hallway.

“Do you know who I am?!” Demanded his father’s voice.

“Yes, sir, I do,” retorted a nurse, “I also know you are neither friends, family nor significant other of the patient. You can whine all about it as much as you like, but thar will not change the fact you cannot go into the patients room, we’re having enough trouble keeping the general public out as it is.”

“Ah, yes, trying to see their hero who couldn’t defeat a simple Akuma.” Sneered Gabriel’s voice.

“That, simple Akuma, as you put it was both a murderer and a rapist who has killed more experienced people with ease, the only reason he was able to do that to the patient was due to that damned monster helping him.” Came the Nurse’s voice, “So you can mock the title all you want, but that girl has done wonders for this city and if anyone has the right to be called a hero, it’s her.”

“She is a menace that continuously puts the city in danger when she could’ve prevented all of this!” Shouted Gabriel.

“Yes, defend the actual terrorist who has killed more people because he wants some pieces of jewellery that just so happen to be powerful magical artifacts that could do who knows what!” Retorted the Nurse, “Sir, I believe security can escort you out of the building.”

“I’m not leaving without my son!” Bellowed Gabriel, making Adrien flinch.

“With the behaviour you’re exhibiting, Mr. Agreste,” Came a cold tone of a Detective Ladybug and Chat Noir had worked with when searching for Hawkmoth, “Some of the hospital staff and members of the Police Force believe it better if your son stayed somewhere else.”

There was spluttering coming from Gabriel, before the Nurse opened the door.

“I have no idea how that man can be called a fashion designer when he looks like a mouldy ice cream.” Muttered the Nurse, making Marinette sit up slightly.

“Personally, I think he looks like a candy cane.” Said Marinette, making the nurse look at her.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, we honestly don’t know how he got up this far.” Said the nurse, getting a penlight from her pocket and shone it in Marinette’s eyes, “Aside from the residual pain from your injuries, are you experiencing anything that you think we should know about?”

“My head hurts,” Said Marinette, “although, I think that might be from how my head hit the ground.”

The nurse hummed, checking the monitor before she left. Adrien quietly excused himself, before going towards the toilets, on his way back, a white gloved hand grabbed his arm and yanked him aside. Adrien stumbled, before catching sight of Bunnyx.

“You don’t know how good your timing is!” Exclaimed Adrien, “Listen, Marinette’s been hurt and…” “And her identity has been revealed and her arm has been ripped off.” Bunnyx finished, slumping slightly, “I know what you’re going to say, that I need to go back a stop it from happening.”

“Yeah!” Said Adrien, turning to leave.

“I can’t.” Bunnyx’s words stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?!” Demanded Adrien, spinning around to face the rabbit themed heroine.

“I’ve tried everything, every scenario has folded out the same way, Marinette’s identity is reveal and she is injured or harmed in some way.” Said Bunnyx, “I’ve already changed the timestream once, on her orders, but every time I’ve tried to fix this, it’s either gotten worse or caused even more problems.”

“Oh, and what happened with the other scenarios?” Questioned Adrien, folding his arms.

“One instance was when I postponed the relationship you have with the others by three years, you would be on a date with Kagami when the Akuma attacked, in addition to her arm, Marinette would’ve lost her home and her parents, another instance resulted in both Marinette and Kagami being sent here.”

“And those are the worst ones?” Asked Adrien, feeling slightly sick.

“No, the worst ones can’t be said, because this is a children’s show!” Snapped Bunnyx, getting a small smile from Adrien when he heard the running joke of the class.

“So, is Marinette going to be alright?” Asked Adrien, getting Bunnyx to look at him.

“I-I don’t know, things have been manipulated so much that I can’t even tell you what the weather is going to be like tomorrow.” Said Bunnyx, before squaring her shoulders, “But something that’s remained constant, is that you cannot trust Gabriel. I’m afraid that’s all I can say now.”

Bunnyx opened a Time Portal and hopped through, “We didn’t have this conversation.”

Adrien stood there, numb as a board, before making his way back to Marinette’s hospital room. Adrien thought he heard them say something about Marinette getting out of Hospital soon.

W

Gabriel was fuming, first that Nurse dared to challenge him about that insignificant insect and then that Detective had the nerve to remove his son from his care.

“Do not disturb me!” Snarled Gabriel, as he passed Nathalie on his way to his Lair. He needed an Akuma, a strong one, one that would show everyone just how pathetic that half-breed mongrel really was.

Nathalie frowned at the computer screen, ever since Dussuu had been restored, she had started to have second thoughts on Gabriel’s crusade to get Emilie back. To go against adults was one thing, but to go against children, against Adrien’s friends was another. Nathalie didn’t know how Gabriel captured Ladybug, or what he did to her in her three and a half months’ worth of captivity, but he continued to look deranged, until that rabbit hero broke her out and delivered her to Ms. Tsurugi.

“He’s going after that Italian girl again.” Said Duusuu, as Nathalie started to rummage around in one of her desks draws, before removing a bottle of sleeping pills. She carefully removed ten pills, before putting the bottle back in the draw.

“This should be enough.” Muttered Nathalie, as she started to put the pills into a small bag.

Hawkmoth smirked at his Akuma approached Lila Rossi, the girl had been a willing minion in the past, now knowing that the two people she hates the most were in fact the same person, she should be jumping at the chance to get her revenge.

“Volpina, we meet again.” Said Hawkmoth, the smirk widening on his face.

“No.”

Hawkmoth blinked. Once. Twice.

“What do you mean no?!” Demanded Hawkmoth, increasing the mental strain on the girl.

“I’m done being your toy.” Came Lila’s response.

“After all the times she humiliated you? Exposed you?” Goaded Hawkmoth, thinking it would get the girl on his side.

“Maybe I just need to grow up and move on with my life.” Responded Lila, a blood started to leak out of her nose and ears.

Hawkmoth snarled, “You are mine to control, you will do as I say!”

Lila felt the trickle of blood start flowing into a stream, she was faintly aware of her mother screaming down the phone and then all she knew was darkness.

Hawkmoth smirked maliciously as he felt the girl’s mind collapse in on itself and the Akuma take over control of her body. He was so ingrained with taking control of the girl, he didn’t notice Nathalie coming up behind him.

The pipe stunned Hawkmoth long enough for Nathalie to force his mouth open and pour the contents of a glass of water into his mouth, before covering his nose and mouth, forcing him to swallow the liquid. Hawkmoth staggered, alarmed at how fast the substance was taking effect. The Butterfly broach was ripped from his chest, forcing him to detransform.

Gabriel blearily looked at Nathalie, as her fist collided with his face.

Nathalie shook her hand, before looking down at Gabriel, blood flowing from his nose. Nathalie looked down at the Butterfly Miraculous, before going back to Gabriel’s study and retrieving the Spell book and Tablet and left for the Dupain-Cheng Bakery.

W

Marinette winced as the flashing cameras blinded her as she walked out of the Hospital, Kagami keeping her steady as they walked to her parent’s delivery van. She was faintly aware of people calling out her name and her hero name, as well as a few derogatory remarks, one particular remark coming from Alec Cataldi and the responding rock hitting him on his forehead. After carefully piling into the back of the van, Marinette twisted and looked at Luka.

“Did you really need to throw the rock?” Asked Marinette, wincing as she felt a phantom pain run through her.

“Yes.” Said Luka, his arms folded, “It was either a rock or a brick.”

Marinette stared at him, before her eyes widened further and quickly turned to face the front. Luka was unnerved at Marinette’s sudden change of attitude, with how Adrien and Kagami were gently saying her name and getting no response.

Marinette was in the fight against the Akuma, Chat had been thrown away from the battle and a crowd had formed beyond the barrier police had formed. She turned to face the Akuma, who started launching bricks at her, one colliding with her face, making her stumble. There was a sudden gasp as the air left Ladybug’s lungs.

Marinette suddenly found herself in the back of her parent’s delivery van, with her head pressed against Adrien’s chest slowly calming down to the sound of Adrien’s heartbeat. Kagami had her hand on Marinette’s waist, carefully holding her while her head was against Adrien’s chest. Marinette was vaguely aware of the van stopping and a sea of flashes outside her home. Adrien, Kagami and Luka surrounded her and guided her inside the bakery.

“Are you okay?” Asked Kagami, once they were all sat down, “You froze up in the van.”

“S-sorry,” Said Marinette ducking her head, “something made me remember the fight.”

There was a collective wince, Kagami wrapped her arm around Marinette, carefully pressing her head against her chest. Marinette stiffened at the contact, before the sound of Kagami’s heartbeat started to calm her down.

Sabine turned on the news, with Nadja Chamack hosting it.

“Following Ms. Dupain-Cheng’s quick release from hospital earlier today, the Hospital in question has been blasted by numerous critics, all saying that she should have remained for at least a week to fully recover from her injuries.” Said Nadja, her knuckles white, “We go to Alec at the scene.”

No one missed the scowl that crossed her face at the mention of Alec.

The screen changed to Alec Cataldi, his forehead red.

“Thank you, Nadja,” Said Alec, “Earlier today, Ladybug was taken out of the Hospital behind me and loaded into a relatives van, many believe that the Heroine should’ve remained in overnight, at least, in order to give her time to let her injuries settle.”

Alec suddenly rocked forwards, as an egg smashed against the back of his head.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng was brought here by Chat Noir after an Akuma managed to overpower her and forced her to change back, the Akuma then proceeded to near fatally wound her, before he was pulled away by Chat Noir. I must warn you that the following footage may be incredibly distressing to some viewers.”

The scene changed to the battle zone, just as the Akuma threw a brick at Ladybug, hitting her on the forehead. Ladybug staggered back, her hand going to the wounded area, before two knives pierced her chest, one in her upper abdomen and the other on the right side of her chest, the Akuma bounded over and grabbed her by the throat as she tried to crawl away, before throwing the Heroine into a wall, when she promptly changed back into Marinette, blood spewing from her mouth. The Akuma slammed his foot into her chest and grabbed her arm as she tried to bat him away, he tore her arm from her shoulder, before tossing it behind him and started raining blows down on the heroine. This continued until Chat grabbed the Akuma, his face split into a picture of blind rage.

The scene suddenly changed back to Alec, as an ambulance pulled in behind him.

“Nadja, we’re interrupting the footage, because there has been an attempted Akumatization,” Rushed Alec, “Reports suggest that Hawkmoth attempted to Akumatize a teenage girl of Italian background, her mother called emergency services after she started to suffer from what appeared like a fit, before her condition deteriorated.”

Marinette glanced at the screen in time to see Lila Rossi be unloaded from the back of the ambulance with gauze covering her ears and nose, Marinette caught sight of Lila’s mother, trying to struggle to get next to her daughter.

“Many believe that Hawkmoth was attempting to capitalise on Ladybug’s current incapacitated state and her currently known location.” Said Alec, “Unfortunately, we are not allowed any closer than this at this current time.”

The screen turned off.

“I know that Lila’s been lying since she arrived,” Said Luka, slowly, “but no one should have that happen to them.”

“It’s strange,” Said Tikki, emerging from Marinette’s pocket, “normally that only happens when an Akuma is being resisted and at that point, the Akuma takes over.”

“So, Hawkmoth was stopped before the Akuma could take control.” Said Adrien, before the doorbell rang.

There was muffled talking, before Sabine returned with a backpack.

“That was your father’s secretary,” Said Sabine, handing the back over to Adrien, “she said she’d packed you some clothes until all this is over.”

Adrien took the bag and opened it, his face freezing at the sight of two miraculous boxes and a letter, Kagami reached in and opened a box, allowing the butterfly broach to be seen. The group stared as Nooroo shot out.

Meanwhile, Nathalie Sancoeur walked up to the Police Station.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #kagami tsurugi #luka couffaine #sabine cheng #tom dupain #alya cesaire #lila rossi #tw; violence #tw; major character injury #delta writes #rewrite history #alix kubdel #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #tw; blood #tw; graphic violence #tw; racism

[thedevilnamedlola]

"Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older"

[artificialqueens]

star-uncrossed [jackie x jan] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - this is a prologue of sorts to ‘i do like you’ but it’s mostly just more jackie and jan fluff featuring my favourite dialogue ive ever written. hope you enjoy it! <3

*

They meet on their first day of college and fall in love. Okay it’s not that simple but they do meet on the first day of college and they do fall in love.

Jan didn’t read the email properly.

(She’s from Jersey, screw it, she knows New York and she doesn’t need to read some stupid instructions to find her way around.)

She didn’t read the email properly so she ends up outside the Lillian Verge school for International Relations even though she enrolled in Tisch and quite frankly she’s just incredibly confused. And then she meets a sweet girl with dark brown hair and a loosely Canadian accent and she finds herself feeling a little bit less lost.

“You okay?” The stranger asks with a kind smile. “You seem lost.” And Jan smiles because goddamn, only she could be a damsel in distress in a city that she’s known for years.

“Just a little,” she admits as she stares at the name on the buildings signs - hoping maybe they’ll transform and she can just walk into her 10 am seminar on Performance Movement.

The pretty lady chuckles and bows her head. “What school are you in?” She asks, “you don’t strike me as an international relations student.”

Jan wants to be indignant, play the can’t judge a book by its cover card but she’s dressed in tight leggings and a pair of worn Nikes with a hoodie from her last regional theatre performance and a dance bag slung over her shoulder. She takes a second to look over the brunette and realises that if Jan doesn’t look like an IR major - she most certainly does. She has a white button-down tucked into a pair of light-wash-straight-leg jeans with a beige and red silk bandana in her hair and a leather satchel.

“Tisch,” Jan responds, doing a little twirl for emphasis because if she’s going to be seen as a ditsy blonde theatre major she might as well do it right but the response isn’t what she was expecting.

“Damn, you must have real talent.” The brunette says with genuine sincerity.

Jan decides she wants to marry her on the spot.

The woman pulls out her phone and fires off a quick text before she looks at Jan again. “I was just letting my friend know I’ll be late for brunch,” she states quickly as if it is normal to adjust brunch plans for someone you have never met before and then she grabs her wrist and starts walking.

It’s a fourteen-minute walk down ninth street followed by a three-minute walk down the second avenue in which Jan learns both everything and nothing about the stranger. She learns she’s supposed to be meeting her old pen-pal for lunch near Parsons because she’s an international student from Paris, that she’s fluent in French and Farsi and that she’s lived alone in New York for two years since she turned sixteen because she values life experiences over possessions.

In return Jan lets her know that she’s allergic to shellfish, will do anything for a smoothie and is gay as all hell prompting an in-depth discussion about the rights of LGBT people across the world, a topic that Jan was vastly underprepared to discuss at 10:03 on a Tuesday.

They arrive at Tisch with a start and out of breath but Jan has to stand there a minute longer before she can brace herself to go in.

“You look like you carry a pen,” Jan says, causing the Brunette to raise an eyebrow (although she reaches into her back pocket and produces one anyway). Jan grabs her hand and scrawls her number on it in a veritable chicken scratch before she hands it back.

“I’m Jan,” she says with a smile and an open palm.

“Jackie,” then non-stranger replies.

(Jan starts her first semester at Tisch on a negative grade. It’s worth it.)

*

Jackie texts her at three in the morning asking if she’d like to go for a smoothie tomorrow and Jan replies asking if it will be postponed due to her inhuman kindness.

(Jackie responds not to bite the hand that feeds you but she’s delirious and there is definitely a french word thrown in there somewhere.)

The brunette is laid across the end of Nicky’s bed waxing poetic about Jan’s blue eyes as she had been for three and a half hours and the Frenchwoman is getting very close to kicking her longest friend out of her dorms and forcing her to walk to her own apartment for the night but she knows there would be no point.

They’ve been pen pals since they were seven having long rambling conversations in french through decorated envelopes and sticker-covered letters. As they got older the letters for longer and they evolved into care packages too. Boxes would arrive full of foreign candies and stationery and a book here or there. One year, close to Jackie’s birthday, Nicky sent her a pair of fluffy socks and the letter she received back was tear-stained.

Nicky runs a hand through Jackie’s hair and sighs.

“”This sounds remarkable simple you know,” She offers up with a wry smile and exasperated tone.

“Yeah but it’s not,” whines Jackie in response as she rolls onto her front and lets out a dramatic sigh. “She’s cute and blonde and knows about gay rights.”

“I’m cute and blonde and know about gay rights,” Nicky reminds her.

“Yeah but you’re french,” Jackie responds with her tongue stuck out.

“God. you’re like Romeo and bloody Juliet, what was it - Star crossed lovers?” Nicky grabs a shirt out of her draw and tosses it so it lands on her friends head. “You’re making it so fucking hard for yourself. You’re basically star-uncrossed lovers. There is literally no issue.”

Jackie presses her face into the duvet and moans. “That made no sense you french son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, but you understood me.”

(She did and she’s not happy about it. The whole thing is refreshingly uncomplicated and that makes her very nervous.)

*

Jan wakes up and texts Jackie that it is raining. It’s not that she’s never encountered this before - she just feels the need to share it with someone and Jackie seems appropriate.

Jackie sends back a smiley face and a request for the address of Jan’s dorm and when Jan responds, she tacks on that she will meet her in the lobby at eleven.

Looking at her purple alarm clock, Jan has the realisation that it’s ten am on a Wednesday and she is yet to leave her bed so she rolls out of bed, hits her hand on the drawer of her bedside table, yanks her phone off the charging cable and takes herself to the bathroom she shares with the rest of the floor before deeming that her hair does not need a wash.

(It probably does but it’s dyed a much lighter shade of blonde than it is naturally so she doesn’t want it to fade and she’s not feeling a cold shower this morning.)

By the time she has dressed herself the rain bounces a few inches off the ground and the roads have turned into rivers which is why it is all the more adorable that Jackie meets her in the lobby with a massive black umbrella. She holds her hand up (she’s written Jan on it in black marker) and waves like she’s in an airport which only makes the blonde scrunch her face up in happiness even more.

“Morning!” Jan exclaims with a huge smile and an enduring positivity.

“Morning Jan,” Jackie smiles back, linking their arms and settling the umbrella above their heads so they can walk through the automatic doors and onto the still busy streets.

They banter and bicker the whole way through smoothie bowls whether it’s over the best Disney film (Jackie says Beauty and the Beast but is entirely willing to watch them all with Jan to make sure), guilty pleasure foods (Jan waves her EpiPen as she raves about cocktail shrimp) and their respective majors.

By the end of it, Jan’s learnt her fingers fit perfectly between Jackies and she’s just about ready to put down a deposit on a three-bed two-bath house in Harlem.

They wander home in the early afternoon sunshine, fingers loosely intertwined and Jackie realises quickly that they could count quarters together and she’d be entertained.

They kiss in the lobby and Jan watches the way Jackie’s eyes flit from her lips to her eyes and back down before going in for a second. And then a third. And her mouth tastes like cherry and somehow cinnamon and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get a smoothie again without recognising the taste.

*

“It’s so easy,” Jan moans with her head on Gigi’s lap. The taller girl is paying very little attention to the blonde but still cards her fingers through her hair occasionally as she sketches a blazer.

Gigi goes to Parsons but her accommodation got messed up so she ended up next door to Jan and they became friends rather fast. Gigi would define friends as someone she tolerates and Jan would define friends as her heart and soul so they both get everything they want out of the situation.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an emotionally distant bitch,” Jan asked over pot noodles the day they first met.

Gigi smiled and said thank you and that was that so now Jan is disregarding any requests for personal space and is quite happy to just exist in Gigi’s gorgeously decorated dorm room and pilfer the french candy that she gets from a ‘friend’ who Jan happens to know is very loud in bed.

“I really don’t see the issue,” Gigi replies, looking down at the blonde with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Jan states passively. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now stand up so I can measure your proportions.”

*

‘Did you know that in the war, Oscars were made of plaster?’

‘Did you know that the gestation of the Indian Elephant is 22 months?”

‘Did you know I love you?’

*

Turns out it’s absolutely that simple.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #jan sport #lesbian au #gigi goode #nicky doll #uhaul jokes #fluff #I do like you #pinkgrapefruit #jankie #s12

[trashyeggroll]

'storm' for ramvers:) also i loved your ramvers fic(s)! didn't know you wrote for then too. every ship ive soo much as looked at you've got it covered lol.

🤩 thanks anon!! so many good ships, not enough waking/not working hours in the day. ramvers is absolutely one of my favorites to write, the fluff potential is just as endless as the angst. also i am 90s kid so the references in the movie felt like a personal attack

#11 Storm: a too-long backstory sandbox 😅

For days, the meteorologists had watched and issued warnings about the tropical storm barreling across the southern Atlantic and along the Gulf of Mexico. On August 3, 1970, the upgraded Hurricane Celia it made landfall near Corpus Christi, Texas, wreaking havic on the coastal town, knocking down buildings like dominoes, washing away roads like sand, and roaring with winds that sounded like rocket shells to the families who had remained, huddled in shelters and basements and bathrooms.

One of them had been six-year-old Maria Rambeau, frozen with terror as she sat frozen with terror in her family’s dark basement. It sounded to her like the world was ending at the top of the stairs, and water had started leaking through the walls, puddling in the low spots in the floor. Maria clung to her older brother’s arm while they stared in silence at the rumbling ceiling, occasionally releasing a cloud of dust and dirt after a particularly loud bang. Maria felt like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink for fear that her whole world would be ripped away.

When the storm passed, Maria emerged to find half of their house gone, smashed to splinters, and in the ensuing days, as the Rambeaus packed up to relocate with family in Louisiana, the death toll in Texas would top out at 15, and Celia would long hold the title of the costliest storm in the state’s history.

As the years passed, Maria learned to manage her fear of storms, of thunderclaps and dark skies at high noon. She might’ve enlisted in the Navy if not for the way trickling water still made her pulse tick faster, and the very thought of being surrounded on all sides in the belly of a metal ship for months on end… No, the skies were Maria’s home, and besides, nobody flew fighters in storms.

Much to her chagrin, Monica loved storms, a trait very likely learned from Carol, who after growing up in the land of tornadoes found hurricane season somewhat quaint… especially after gaining her powers. A bolt of natural lightning would be like an ant bite to Captain Marvel, and gale-force winds like a pleasant breeze.

That had been something of a problem in the years that Carol had been missing. Their daughter had lost her example of confidence and wonder, and too often, Maria had felt too nervous herself to properly comfort Monica through roaring storms that tore the limbs off trees and shingles from their roof. Monica was strong, though, and during storms or clear skies, she made Maria more and more proud of her with each passing day.

Still, Maria was tired of cowering before storms. She’d zipped through space in extraterrestrial crafts, held laser guns and battled movie monsters come to life. Storms seemed like a reasonable foe to conquer.

Carol had listened to her plan with widening eyes, and when those ran out of real estate, her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “That is… dramatic.”

“Says twinkle fists,” Maria shot back, arms crossed over her chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you sure you can hold up your end?”

The mild challenge made Carol scoff, and Maria knew the conversation was over before the blonde added, “Pfft. Easy.”

And so, on July 18, 1997, almost three decades after the night in the family basement, Maria Rambeau instesd donned a lightweight spacesuit that Carol brought her from another world. Her wife still looked a bit worried as she fastened the last airtight cuff, her forehead adorably wrinkled when she stepped back.

“I want to do this,” Maria murmured into her helmet, which would transmit to Carol’s own suit. “And… I’ll have you there, with me.”

The blonde’s expression softened, and her lips quirked into a smile as Maria grasped her hand, giving it an extra squeeze for good measure. Usually, she could feel the heat from her supercharged wife’s skin, but the suit effectively blocked it, and she supposed that was good for what was about to happen.

“No pressure,” Carol stilled joked against her lips, and Maria gently thunked her helmet against the superhero’s forehead. It was a poor stand-in for a kiss, but Carol would probably make her refit the whole suit if she disengaged the face shield, and it got her signal of affection across.

The first drops of rain were starting to plink against the metal roof of Maria’s workshop, and she blinked reflexively at the drops spattering against the glass shielding her eyes when they stepped out from the shop’s refuge. Carol folded her arms around Maria’s chest, attaching a bungee cord between their suits for good measure, and after a quick 3-2-1 countdown, they jettisoned together into the darkening sky.

Hurricane Danny roared ahead, drenching the Louisiana delta, and Maria’s heart started thudding against her ribcage. It certainly looked different, from a few hundred feet in the air. Carol’s alien fire burned up the rain before it reached them, but Maria could feel the outer winds, and each flash of lightning turning the sky to daylight made her muscles tense. But Carol was right there, holding her firmly to her chest, giving her encouraging squeezes whenever she felt Maria go stiff.

The hurricane-force winds were at the eye of the beast, but Carol didn’t take her through them; the superhero turned and zoomed higher, until the rain broke over their heads, and it was just stars above. Maria would never tire of that view.

“Look,” Carol’s tinny voice chirped in her ear.

Maria tilted her chin down as they stopped to hover in place. She’d seen astronauts’ photos of hurricanes before, but they didn’t do an ounce of justice to the effect. The slow swirl of the clouds, the way lightning illuminated puffy sections in white-blue. The storm was still mostly over the ocean, tracking a strange, jagged path across the gulf states.

“It’s almost pretty,” Maria said, not entirely consciously. “From up here. But I’d hate to be on a boat down there, right now.”

Carol’s glow brightened. “I’ve seen better.”

Maria twisted a little in her arms, enough to see the cheesy grin her wife was flashing over her shoulder, nose wrinkled. “You stop.”

“What? I’m adjusting your associations with storms. And I meant it.” The blonde adjusted her hold as Maria turned back around, dropping one hand to grip Carol’s tightly. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Maria had no sooner sighed the words before Carol took off, hurtling them back down, towards the massive eye of the hurricane. This time, Maria closed her eyes against the rush of panic, fighting off flashing memories from her childhood—the helplessness, the way her imagination turned breaking beams into skyfall.

“It’s just heat and water, that’s all,” Carol was saying as they dove through the clouds, purposefully dipping ito the place where the winds blew hardest, and the rain became a sheet. The sound, even through her suit, drowned out nearly every thought, all sound completely overtaken by endless water… and she could still feel Carol holding her tight. Her arms were sure and her flight steady. Maria opened her eyes.

Behind her face shield, it almost looked as though they were moving through a choppy ocean, except for the bubble of safety in Carol’s glow, and Maria imagined this might be how it felt to be in one of those ocean cages, where you could get “up close and personal” with sharks. Except, Maria’s foe was on all sides, and her metal cage was the strongest in the universe. Heat and water. Life or death, depending on the form. That, the engineer in her understood well.

Maria’s nerves seem to peak along with the winds, like a wave breaking on a rocky shore, and a final burst of adrenaline had her shouting into her helmet, a crowing victory call that no one but Carol and the hurricane could hear, and her wife’s musical laughter filled her earpiece.

Veering sharply to the right, Carol took them through the wall of the storm, and as suddenly as they’d dove into danger, they were floating in cool, calm air, high over an churning ocean. Water fell off them in a miniature falls, and Carol gingerly turned Maria in her arms.

“Better?”

“Better,” agreed Maria, reaching up to open her helmet, now that they’d returned to human-friendly heights. “Just heat and water.”

Carol nodded, smiling as Maria looked around the surreal column over the ocean, illuminated by the moon and Captain Marvel herself. When she turned back, Maria couldn’t help but capture her wife’s lips in a kiss, taking another small victory in the way they dipped in the air and Carol’s small noise of surprise.

#not entirely happy with this #but regardless THANK YOU for the prompt #trashy writing #ramvers #danbeau #long post #the keep reading isn't working

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part two) Fandom: Supernatural AU Main characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part two: Jo picks up Y/N from the airport and doesn’t waste any time warning the intern for a notorious wrangler called Dean Winchester. When she arrives at Gold Canyon Ranch, she soon understands why. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Broken Halos’ - Chris Stapleton (car scene) and ‘No Good’ - Kaleo (saloon entry). (check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify!) Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     It stops raining just as suddenly as it started coming down, but the asphalt in front of the airport entrance still shimmers under the streetlights. Knowing that it's going to take at least forty-five minutes for her ride to arrive, Y/N treated herself to a cup of coffee from Starbucks, which she sips on while seated on her suitcase. Whenever a set of headlights approaches, she looks up hopefully, but up to now, all cars have passed by. With a bored sigh, she tucks her flat-ironed hair behind her ear and yawns, despite the caffeine she’s consuming.      She checks her phone again. “Come on, already…”

     When she looks up from the device, a black pickup pulls up to the curb. It triggers her to straighten her back and seek eye contact with the driver. As the car comes to a stop, a young woman has turned to look outside her downed passenger window.      “Are you Y/N?”      “Yes,” she responds a bit hesitantly as she rises.      The driver grins and signals her to come closer. “Well, get in. I ain’t got all night!” 

     Y/N smiles back somewhat nervously, draws out the grip of her suitcase and rolls it to the side of the car. With difficulty, she manages to push the heavy load in the open cargo area, making sure not to scratch the paint or spill her coffee, after which she hastens to the passenger-door and gets in. Before she settles down, Jo picks up her ivory white cowboy hat from the seat and puts it down behind her, offering her passenger a place to sit. As she does so and closes the door, the driver holds out her hand. Y/N shakes it, surprised by the strength of the young woman’s grip.      “Jo Singer,” she introduces herself. “Welcome on the Gold Canyon Ranch Express.”

     While Jo steers the car back on the road, Y/N takes her in. She’s slender, not very tall, but the confidence she radiates makes up for that. She’s rocking the ripped jeans and western boots, a comfortable loosely knitted sweater covers the skin that her tank-top doesn’t. The young woman has plaited her hair in a messy braid which falls down from her left shoulder. With one hand at twelve o’clock on the wheel and the other casually hanging outside the door, she averts her focus from the road for a brief second, turning to her passenger.

     “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Cattle just came in and Dad got a little caught up. He gets that way sometimes,” Jo apologizes as she lowers the volume of the radio.      “That’s okay,” Y/N assures, holding up her coffee. “I had company.”      “What is that, by the way? Do I smell cinnamon?” Jo eyes the coffee container as if it’s alien.      “It’s a Cinnamon Dolce Latte,” Y/N states before taking a sip.      “A what now?”      Registering Jo’s expression, she sniggers. “Cinnamon, coffee, and milk, basically.”      “Fancy.” The driver grins. “You’re from up north, right?”      “Yeah. Freeport, Maine,” she elaborates. “It’s quite a change of scenery.”      “I’ll bet,” the cowgirl behind the wheel reckons. “Ya’ll have pretty cold winters over there, huh?”

     Curiously, the new girl looks over at Jo. The Southern charm in her voice is rich. Her accent has a lot more soul to it than the ones she picked up in the arrival hall and the coffee place back at the airport. Not even the local taxi drivers who were chatting as they waited for a ride sounded like Jo. 

     “Yeah.” Y/N nods, answering the question after a beat. “Lots of snow too.”      “You won’t ever be cold in Arizona, I can promise ya that, Yankee.”      Y/N chuckles. “Yankee?”      “That’s what us Southerners call Northerners,” she explains. “Better get used to it.”      “I thought Arizona was considered the Southwest,” the intern says.      Now it’s Jo’s turn to smirk, as she gives her a side-eye. “Aren’t you as smart as all get out? But you’re right. My folks are from the South. The ranch belonged to my grandpa back in the day. When he got too old to work the land, Mom and Dad moved in to help and took over when he passed. I was born and raised here in Gold Canyon, but what can I say? It’s hard to lose the slang when you’re around a bunch of Southerners.”

     Jo continues to make small talk. Y/N doesn’t mind it, though. It’s nice to get to know the ranch owner’s daughter and at least there’s not an awkward silence dwelling in the old pickup. Easy conversation about the weather is soon traded for other subjects, like the ranch and the horses.      “Dad mentioned you’re a reining rider. What level are ya?” Jo asks.      “Debuted in Open a couple of months ago.”

     She tries to stay modest, but a proud smile forms on Y/N’s lips anyway. Hours of practice and years of training have brought her to the highest level in reining sport. When the letter from the National Reining Horse Association came in to inform her of the promotion from Non-Pro to Open, she remembered being so excited that she ran through the house screaming high pitched and hugged her parents so tight, she almost suffocated them. It took hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, but she made it. It all paid off.

     “Whoa, you must be pretty damn good then!” Jo responds, eyebrows raised, impressed.      Y/N doesn’t really respond, not sure how to take the compliment. Instead, she looks down at the coffee container in her lap. “What about you?”      “I’m not a reiner,” the cowgirl smiles. “I race barrel.”

     Now, it’s Y/N’s turn to be fascinated. Surely, reining is an exciting discipline of horse riding, but barrel racing is a whole other ballgame. She always enjoys watching it at the rodeo. The speed, the acceleration, the tight corners around the barrels, beating the clock, every fraction of a second counting; it’s the definition of thrilling.

     “What’s your PR?” she wonders.      Jo looks at her sideways, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “16.1 seconds.”      Y/N huffs, amazed. “That’s fast!”      The ranch owner’s daughter shrugs it off. “I’ve got a very good horse.”      “My grandfather taught me that a  horse will never become extraordinary unless it’s matched with a skilled rider.”    Jo smiles at those wise words and gazes at the road ahead.

     The beams of the headlights reach out several yards in front of them. Everything beyond remains in the darkness of night. Although the rain stopped falling down on the dry and thirsty land, clouds still shield out the frail moon’s radiance. They left Metro Phoenix about ten minutes ago and Y/N can barely see what’s out there, but what she can see, captivates her. For a girl who has never been to the southwest of the US, it seems foreign, not from this planet even. A pair of tail lights glides down the straight two-lane freeway towards an invisible horizon, while a few lights on the mountains give an idea of the relief in the east. Dust, sand, and rocks alongside the road are all that she can make out, joined with tall cacti and small bushes every now and then. This is the first time she has seen a cactus in its natural habitat. She didn’t know they could grow that tall.

     “You should stay away from those when you go on a trail, especially the little fluffy lookin’ ones,” Jo suggests, noticing her passenger’s amazement as she watches the cacti pass by. “There’s nothing fluffy about the damn things when you get too close. I’ve seen the most gentle and laid back horses go full bronc after running their ass into a ‘cholla’.”      Y/N chuckles; she can imagine that happening. Appreciating the tip, she turns her attention back to the driver.      “Any other good advice for my first day tomorrow?” She dares to ask, curious about what lies ahead.      Jo smiles at her, appreciating her eagerness. The girl beside her isn’t the first rookie to ask her this. To her, it’s a sign of insecurity, one that comes along with the lack of experience.

     “You didn’t do a lot of ranch work back in Maine, did ya?” she confronts.      Out of balance, Y/N looks aside at the driver, then averts her gaze. The gentle expression on Jo’s face should tell her that she doesn’t intend to make her feel uncomfortable, but she can’t help herself from moving in her seat a little, lost for words.      “How can you tell?” she replies shyly.      “Your boots are too clean,” Jo grins, nodding at the intern’s feet.

     Somewhat stunned, Y/N looks down at her shoes. Wanting to make a good impression, she polished the brown leather. Honestly, she spent more time cleaning them than she normally would before a show, but it might have been a better idea to leave them dirty. A blush warms her cheeks as she shakes her head slightly; apparently, she’s a little too eager to prove herself.

     “You got me,” she admits. “You’re right, I lack experience when it comes to stable work. But I really want to learn.”      Thankfully, Jo takes away the embarrassment and seems to appreciate her enthusiasm.      “Don’t worry about it. We had workers who didn’t even know how to pick out a hoof, let alone ride a horse,” she reassures. “You’ll be fine. Keep your eyes and ears open, your head low and if there’s anything you need, you can always come to me.”

     Slightly put to ease, Y/N smiles at her shiny boots. Jo is right; she will be okay. There is no need to be nervous about tomorrow, she’s not completely oblivious after all. And with the ranch owner’s daughter as her new ally, she feels confident enough to believe that she will manage just fine.

     A moment of quietness follows as the young blonde takes the exit and directs the pickup onto Superstition Mountain Drive, leaving route 60 behind them. Soft music comes from the amplifiers, a country ballad bathing them in pleasant tunes. Despite her insecurities, Y/N feels comfortable with Jo by her side, and as she glances over at her, a future image of them becoming friends forms in her head. It doesn’t seem unlikely, not at all. Her wit, her confidence, the joy that she seems to have in everything she does; she can appreciate that.

     “There is one other piece of good advice I’m gonna give ya,” Jo continues after a while. “And it’s very, very important that you stick to it.”      Curious, Y/N waits for a follow-up, eager eyes on the blonde cowgirl in the driver’s seat who waits a couple more seconds, underlining the importance of her message.      “Do not, under any circumstances, fall for Dean Winchester.”

     A little underwhelmed, Y/N’s facial expression shifts from confused to amused. She scoffs, for a second thinking she’s joking. Jo’s dramatic build-up prepared for a line she was going to remember during the tough moments while staying at the ranch, so it’s a bit of a downer when it resulted in advice on men.

     “Who’s Dean Winchester?” she asks, unimpressed.      “He’s a wrangler at the ranch,” Jo enlightens her. “Also a shameless womanizer who has broken more hearts than I can count. That bastard lures gals into his bed like it’s a fucking competition. Or in the haystack, his truck, the restroom of the saloon. Whatever place he finds fit to hump somethin’.”

     Y/N’s jaw drops, after which she covers her mouth to muffle her chuckle. And ten minutes ago they were talking about the weather. Well, that escalated quickly.      “I’m serious,” Jo underlines, noticing the cynicism in her passenger’s laugh.      “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s not what I’m here for,” she assures the ranch owner’s daughter.      “That’s what most of them say,” she returns, having heard this before.

     For a second Y/N observes her co-driver as questions start to buzz around in her head. What are Jo’s motives? Might there be something more behind what seems like just good advice?      “Did you…? Did you ever, you know…?”      Insecurity overwhelms her once again, disabling her to form a proper sentence. A little confused, Jo looks over, but at the sight of Y/N’s raised eyebrow and a subtle smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, it suddenly dawns on her what she’s getting at.      “What?! Oh, hell no!” She shudders in disgust. “Christ! He’s my cousin!”

     Y/N eyes grow large when she realizes what she just implied, but then Jo snorts and they both burst out in laughter. How this conversation went from climate and desert flora to sex and men puzzles her completely, but she’s sure that she just gained a friend. When both of them can talk again after another convulsion of giggles, Y/N can’t help but wonder about this wrangler with a reputation.

     “What’s so special about this Dean?”      Jo wipes away tears that came running down her face in the uncontrollable laughing fit she endured. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

     She switches on the turning signal and turns left onto a long driveway. Fenced pastures stretch out on either side, running up towards the hills. Cows are chewing their roughage at the hayracks, but look up when the headlights of the Chevrolet captures them briefly as the car passes. Up ahead, a wooden sign arches over the road. ‘Gold Canyon Ranch’ it says in bold capital letters. The pickup surfaces from underneath the sign and proceeds up the driveway, which fans out into a square. In front of a house - which is built from sandstone and has a red-tiled roof - Jo parks the car and turns off the ignition.

     Amazed by the setting, Y/N gets out of the truck and takes it in. Several buildings, all in the same architectural style, surround the square as well. The soft and easing sounds of horses rummaging around in their stables originate from a large barn to the right of the family home. Then there’s that familiar and soothing smell of the farm, although the scent that’s reaching her senses now is sharper, more earthy than she’s used to up in Maine. Then another sound draws her attention; the sound of a cheerful crowd and country songs. Y/N looks over the top of the Chevrolet and watches Jo walk over to a building complex at the other end of the square.

     “Leave your suitcase. Let’s fix us a drink first.” She hints at the saloon, from where the music is coming. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the bunch.”      Y/N follows in a fast stride, forking her fingers through her hair and straightening it out quickly, then she tucks her checkered blouse into her jeans, even though she just decided that she was going to leave it hanging over her belt. This is ridiculous, she scolds at herself. Why are you so nervous?

     She doesn’t have time to think about it, because when she’s about to catch up with Jo, the blonde swings open the double doors and makes her entrance. The musk of hard work mixed with beer and nicotine welcomes her, mingling with the lingering heat of the day. The music shifts to a new song, the guitars and a strong beat sounding through the space. Burning stares come her way as they walk into the saloon, making her feel like she got stuck in an old spaghetti western starring Clint Eastwood. Where is that cowboy to save her now?

     “Look what I found out in the rain,” Jo jokes, casually putting an arm around Y/N’s neck. “Our Yankee!”      Cheers rise from the group of men, glad that they made it back. Half-empty beer bottles litter the wooden surface of the table they are seated at; it’s clear that the party has been going for a while now, eyes getting hazy and laughs roaring louder. It’s a good thing that Jo basically drags her inside, because if she had been on her own, she would have frozen on the spot.

     A middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair steps from behind the counter to meet them halfway. With a dish towel hanging over her shoulder, she approaches the new face, smiling genuinely.      “Y/N, this is my mom,” Jo introduces.      “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Singer,” Y/N greets, humble, remembering her name from the email exchanges they had to arrange her internship.      “Please, call me Ellen. Welcome. Make yourself at home, honey,” she says as her husband flanks her.      “And this is my old man.” Jo pats him on the back, triggering a mutter.      “I’m not that old,” he states, redirecting his attention to the new guest. “I’m Bobby. Nice to meet you. Sorry ‘bout the delay.”      “Oh, that’s alright,” Y/N smiles back at him, starting to feel more at ease.

     The family seems really nice, but the group of men - which Y/N assumes is the ranch crew - still curiously lurks at her. Intimidated, she lets her eyes roam through the bar, trying not to stare. At home she had her brothers to back her up, their presence alone usually enough for guys to take a step back. But yet again she becomes painfully aware of the fact that she is on her own this time.

     Her eyes glide over the workers and wranglers. At the far end of the table, a guy - who she guesses to be in his late twenties - looks back at her from under his cowboy hat. He has two poker cards in one hand and nurses a bottle of beer with the other, resting his strong forearms on the edge of the wood. Emerald green eyes seem to read her like an open book, taking her in with enough confidence in his expression to compensate for what she lacks. He puts his lips against the mouth of his beer bottle and takes a swig, slowly, without breaking eye contact. Did he really take his time or did her mind just process that in slow-motion? Suddenly aware that she’s staring, Y/N looks away and focuses on Jo again, who has continued the introduction.

     “This is Ash, one of our wranglers and in charge of the cattle. Don’t let the hair fool ya, he’s a pretty swell guy under all the craziness.” She walks behind him, peeking into his cards. “Wow, you really just raised with a two and a three?”      The guy next to Ash shoves two piles of chips forward, flashing the bluffer a big grin. Jo has settled between the two men, smirking at Ash’s annoyed face. Resting her folded arm on his shoulder, she turns her head and now puts a hand on her neighbor’s back.      “Benny Lafitte. Best farrier in Arizona. Also, a master on the ground when it comes to starting young horses.”      The man with a nicely trimmed beard tips his hat at Y/N, observing her with his blue eyes for a second before the ranch owner’s daughter moves on.      “Over yonder is Garth. Wrangler and our man in the stables.” She nods at the fragile built guy with dark hair, who shyly looks up and greets the newcomer. “He’s harmless, great mounted shooter by the way.”

     Jo straightens her back and folds her arms in front of her chest as she turns to her cousin. He doesn’t look back, though. His eyes haven’t left the new face, who forces herself to meet his gaze. After everything that Jo told her about this guy, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the spectator for her discomfort and shyness. But my God, she gets why the girls swoon by the sight of him. He has great features, a few days old scruff adding to his strong jawline. Broad shoulders pull at the fabric of his jacket, his strong fingers running slowly up and down the smooth glass of the bottle. He looks like he just walked out of a Marlboro commercial, western hat and all.      “And this is Dean,” Jo states simply, observing them both.      As the guy in question takes another swig of his drink, he finally tears his eyes away from Y/N. The weight that was pressing on her chest is lifted and instantly she finds it easier to breathe.      “What? No catchy intro for me?” he asks Jo. “Now, I know it’s hard to describe a man like me with words--”      “Oh, I already described you just fine, Winchester,” she returns impudently. “Every girl about to encounter you deserves a fair warning.”

     Dean raises his eyebrows at that remark, not sure how to interpret the remark. His eyes flick back to Y/N again, startling her. She must have flinched, because her reaction ignites a grin.      “You know us now, but what’s your name?” Dean asks, even though he is already aware.      Pushing her self-consciousness out of the way, she speaks as clear as she can, not just addressing him, but the entire crew. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you all.”

     When their gazes lock again, the cowboy’s smile grows a little wider and he flashes her a short and subtle wink. It’s close to unnoticeable, had she blinked she would’ve missed it, but she caught it, alright. 

     “Your turn, brother,” Benny calls for his attention on the game.      Dean glances down at his cards once more. A pair of queens; surely he’s going along with the raise, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about his good hand. He shoves two stacks of chips forward to meet the stakes and waits for his friend’s response. Translating his expressions and possible tells, the blue-eyed wrangler stares back at him while dealer Garth unfolds the final card; a queen of hearts. Benny seems to ponder, but Dean doesn’t give him an inch. 

     The farrier throws in five more chips. “I raise with five hundred.”      “One thousand,” Dean counters.      Benny chuckles. He’s got to be bluffing, right?      “Fine,” he agrees, adding five more to the pot as he throws down his cards on the table for his opponent to see. “A pair of Aces.”

     A good hand indeed, but not good enough to win. Dean bites his lip, looks down at his cards, then back at the young woman that caught his eye. This time she’s prepared; Y/N doesn’t look away. All she does is stare back into those green orbs, standing her ground. Before it becomes obvious to the others in their company, Dean averts his gaze first. For Y/N it feels like a big win in this strange staring contest that started from the moment she walked in. The hand that Dean lays out on the table is his victory. Three of a kind just won him over three thousand chips. Interesting, how a queen of hearts in the last draw is the key to winning this game of cards.

     “Well, shit!” Benny laughs, leaning back in his seat and admitting his defeat. “Guess the next round’s on me then.”      “Let me pour you a drink, sweety,” Ellen suggests, bumping her shoulder into Y/N lightly. “You can use one after all that traveling.”

     A heavy breath falls from her lips as she joins the ranch owner’s wife at the bar. Ellen isn’t wrong. Boy, she needs a drink, but not because of the long flight. The attention from Dean, him looking at her like he did; it’s unlike any attention she has ever received. It felt exciting and suffocating at the same time. Unable to truly understand what she is experiencing right now, Y/N thinks about what Jo said. The words she spoke in the car are starting to make sense now. The way this man has a grip on her since the moment she laid eyes on him, throws her off. He shouldn’t be having that effect on her, she’s not that kind of girl, after all. She’s the kind that keeps her eye on the ball and doesn’t let anything distract her. And if guys would try? She would give them a run for their money. With three brothers, Y/N learned to stand her ground in order to compete with her siblings. She developed a smart mouth and isn’t easily intimidated by men. But somehow all the lessons learned flew right out the window the moment Dean Winchester laid eyes on her.

     “What are you having?”        The one person who got her drowning in her thoughts settles on a stool on her right. She glances aside at Dean, who has a gentle smile on his surprisingly plump lips.       “A beer would be great.” She turns to Ellen, who is waiting by the fridge for an answer.      The wrangler puts up two fingers as he makes contact with his aunt behind the counter, signaling her to double it. Skillfully, she flips the caps off the bottles and hands them over.      “Here ye go. On the house,” she insists, her expression gentle.      “Thank you,” Y/N returns gratefully with a slight nod of the head.

     As Ellen Singer leaves to join her husband, Y/N is forced to deal with the guy in the seat next to her. Conflicting emotions battle each other inside her chaotic mind. Working on this ranch is going to show her Dad that she can build a company worth his investment. It will teach her everything she needs to know about ranch work. She made an agreement with herself that she is going to use every second of her time to learn. Wasting it by fooling around with one of the wranglers does not fit in her schedule and it certainly isn’t going to deliver the message that she’s taking this internship seriously. But she cannot deny that a part of her is curious about this cowboy. He ignited a downright confusing interest, all that with a few lingering stares and a couple of words.

     When she glances aside at the handsome man, elbows on the bar while holding her beer loosely by its neck, Jo moves into her peripheral vision. With a stack of plates in her hands, the blonde cowgirl enters the area behind the counter and continues to the kitchen, but not before shooting her new friend a glare that asks her what the hell she’s doing and tells her to stop it right now. Jo’s good advice fights its way to the surface and Y/N’s common sense takes over again. Dean didn’t take a seat because he likes her, he took that seat because he wants to get laid tonight.

     “So--” he starts off.      “Just let me get one thing straight,” Y/N interrupts, “I’m here to learn about the ranch management, not to entertain you during lonely moments. You might be able to wind any other girl around your finger, but not me, so forget it.”      It’s out there before she’s able to stop herself. She doesn’t fully understand where the words came from and how she managed to gather the courage to speak up, but the harsh message is out, hovering between them and throwing her admirer off his game. Jo - who spied on them from around the corner - seems impressed and smirks, amused, before disappearing again. 

     She’s not the only one who is left stunned. Dean has raised his eyebrows and needs a moment to recover.      “In my defense, I was gonna ask you if you were looking forward to your first day tomorrow,” he says with a chuckle, rubbing his chin.      “I like to set boundaries,” she states, taking a swig of her beer.      “Apparently.” Dean clears his throat, collecting himself before he speaks a little lower. “Good thing I like to break them.”

     The charismatic man has turned towards her now, his hand holding the beer resting on the counter. He’s not hiding that this hard-to-get demeanor actually intrigues him more. His arrogance, on the other end, only fuels Y/N’s persistence to shut his attempt down.      “It wouldn’t really be breaking boundaries if I’m just a number on the long list of girls you picked up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and tomorrow probably isn’t going to be much shorter, so I’m going to get some sleep.”

     With those words, she knocks back the last of the beer and leaves the bottle on the bar. Before he can stop her, she hops off her stool.      “I’ll show you the way,” Jo offers, surfacing from the backroom again.       With a suppressed grin on her lips, she passes Dean, who watches the two girls walk away from him, flabbergasted.

     It’s then when the puzzle pieces fall in place. That little bitch... Jo just cockblocked him! He bets his lovely cousin told all about his intermezzos with some of the women that have passed through these doors. She just ruined a perfectly good chance to get together with the new girl. 

     Without giving him one more second of her time, Y/N starts to walk towards the exit of the saloon, followed by Jo. “G’night, everyone.”      They all reply, either with words or by waving, all but Dean. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, turning on the stool to meet his beer again. It doesn’t happen very often, but his pride has taken quite a punch. When he looked at the woman that had him do a double-take when she walked through those doors, he could have sworn he saw her react to him.      Maybe you’re getting sloppy, he thinks to himself. Maybe you’re getting too old for this shit.  

     No, that can’t be it. Just because he’s heading towards those dreadful thirties, doesn’t mean he has to change the way he plays this game. Benny is half a decade older than him, he still lives like a bachelor and will most likely do so for the rest of his days. The intern probably has some history that causes her to act this way, a backpack full of misery; not something he wants to deal with anyway. Too complicated, at least that what he’s tries to convince himself of.

     “Hey, amigo? What’s that on your face?”      Ash looks over at the bar, observing the man who just got rejected. He shuffles the cards for the last game of the night.      “Oh, I see it too,” Garth acknowledges, pretending to be shocked by the sight. “That doesn’t look so good.”      Dean feels his cheek and casts a confused gaze at his friends as Benny starts to snigger.      “That’s one ugly lookin’ red handprint that’s swelling up, man,” Ash continues.

     Garth giggles, his laughter coming out in a high-pitched sniggering sound. By now Dean gets what’s going on and rolls his eyes. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these assholes.      “That’s gotta hurt, Chief. Want me to get some ice for that?” Benny adds, sparkles in his bright blues.      “Y’all can kiss my go-to-hell,” Dean mutters, unable to appreciate the banter.

     Now all three burst out in laughter and even Bobby can’t help but join in a full belly laugh. After the fun, Benny gets up from his chair and walks over to fill the empty spot beside him.      “I think this is a good thing,” he comments, his accent as gentle as Southern comfort. “It'll keep you sharp, a gal like that.”      “She’s quite somethin’, isn’t she?” Dean smiles at his drink.      “She ain’t easy, that’s for sure,” he agrees. “Good thing she ain’t the only lady friend in town.”

     Benny redirects Dean’s eyes to a beautiful dark-haired woman at the pool table. Casey is a guest that enjoys her time at the ranch every holiday, especially since most of that time is spent with a certain wrangler. She must have arrived just now, because he didn’t notice her earlier. Or was that because his eyes and mind were too occupied by someone else? It doesn’t matter, because when Casey makes eye contact before pocketing the striped number thirteen, the sexual tension between them is already stirring up. He might not spend the night between the sheets with Y/N, but he will be satisfied by the end of the night either way.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part three here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Dean reader insert #Cowboy!Dean #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x you #Dean Winchester x Y/N #Dean x you #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester reader insert #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #SPN AU #Supernatural AU #Dean Winchester AU #Dean AU #Dean fanfiction #Dean fanfic #Dean Winchester #Kate Huntington

[adanfourty]

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

..

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution