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nerdygaymormon · 3 years

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America’s Pre-Stonewall Queer Rights Movement

We talk like the 1969 Stonewall Riots came out of nowhere, and in some important ways it did as it upended the gay rights movement that had existed. It rejected the respectability politics of prior efforts. We were no longer trying to say we’re just like you, please treat us nicely. Post-Stonewall we were radical and demanding rights, legal reforms and power. However, the steps prior to Stonewall were important as it showed LGBTQ people exist and helped people start getting organized, building networks and methods of communication that could be used after Stonewall

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A lot of queer people lived in small towns and farming communities and felt like they were the only one. Then they were drafted into the military and fought in World War II and found each other.

Upon returning home from war, they were under a great deal of pressure to marry and conform to a conservative lifestyle. Most did but they still looked for opportunities to meet others and many upstanding men in their communities would go to certain bathrooms or parks to cruise (finding other men for sex) and then return home to their respectable life afterwards. They were out to satisfy a need and if the cops ran a sting, they slinked out shamefully, and feared their name being reported in the newspaper for that could destroy their life.

The United States government was scared of the Communists and called that threat the Red Scare. Related to this is the Lavender Scare, which is the belief that queer people would be susceptible to being blackmailed and so it was important to remove them from positions in government, business, & society. Many cities passed laws that further marginalized queer people. But not everyone took this meekly, they started organizing to try to fight back.

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1945 - World War II ends

1947 - Vice Versa, the first American lesbian publication, is written and self-published by Lisa Ben (real name Edith Eyde) in Los Angeles. Lisa Ben is an anagram of “lesbian.” It survived 8 months and published 9 issues. Vice Versa's mix of editorials, short stories, poetry, book and film reviews and a letters column, a pattern subsequently followed by many queer publications.

1950 - The Mattachine Society is the first national gay rights organization formed after WWII. They coined the term homophile (to be used instead of homosexual which feels so clinical and often used as a diagnosis of a disorder), and when asked to speak about what is a homophile, they talked about love instead of sex. At the time, LGBT people were regularly described as deviants and having mental issues, frequently portrayed as villains in the movies, often were homeless & sex workers as a result of being kicked out of their homes. The Mattachine Society fought to change that perception by portraying LGBT people as respectable citizens. The society went into decline in the mid-1960′s and disappeared after Stonewall for seeming too stuffy and unwilling to be confrontational.

1952 - "Spring Fire," the first lesbian paperback novel, was published and sold 1.5 million copies. It was written by lesbian Marijane Meaker under the false name Vin Packer.

1952 - Christine Jorgensen becomes the first widely-publicized person to have sex reassignment surgery, in this case, male to female, creating a world-wide sensation. This was performed in Denmark, and upon arriving in the USA, her transition was the subject of a New York Daily News front-page story, making her a celebrity. She published an autobiography in 1967

1952 - Several members of the Mattachine Society formed a separate society called One, Inc. They published ONE magazine, a monthly magazine and the first U.S. pro-gay publication. The US Post Office declared it obscene and refused to deliver, but it was sold at newstands in LA. ONE existed until 1965.

1953 - The Diana Foundation was created in Houston and is still in existence, making it the oldest continuously active gay organization in the United States. The Diana Foundation is focused on assisting and supporting the needs of the gay community, by distributing funds to organizations that are dedicated to providing services that enhance the lives of individuals in the community.

1953 - President Eisenhower signs an Executive Order banning anyone identified as threats to national security--including those with criminal records, alcoholics, and “sex perverts”--to be excluded or terminated from federal employment. It's estimated 5000 employees were let go, and this number does not include the many who were not hired as questions about their sexual orientation were found during background checks. This ban extended to all subcontractors who want to do business with the federal government, like Boeing, IBM, and many other businesses. 1955 - Dissatisfied at the lack of women voices in the Mattachine Society, the first lesbian rights organization in the US, The Daughters of Bilitis, was founded. It was originally meant to be a social alternative to lesbian bars, which were subject to raids and police harassment. As the Daughters of Bilitis gained members, they shifted their focus to supporting women who were afraid to come out by educating them about their rights and about gay history. They held national conventions in Los Angeles every 2 years from 1960 to 1968. Their 1962 convention was covered by local TV channel WTTV, making it the first American broadcast that specifically covered lesbians.

1956 – The Ladder, the first nationally distributed lesbian publication in the United States, began publication. It was published monthly from 1956 to 1970, and every other month in 1971 and 1972. It was the primary publication and method of communication for the Daughters of Bilitis. A big part of it’s end was debate over whether to remain aligned with other homophile groups or to join the National Organization for Women and their fight for women’s rights.

1956 - Dr. Evelyn Hooker presented her work that disproved the diagnosis that being gay is a mental illness. She conducted psychological tests of gay individuals who were not incarcerated and also were not psychological patients. Her work was met with incredulity, but she continued her work and published several additional studies over the coming years.

1957 - The word “transsexual” is coined by U.S. physician Harry Benjamin to refer to people who have a gender identity inconsistent with their assigned sex and desire to permanently transition to the sex or gender with which they identify, usually through medical means (hormones & surgery)

1958 - The US Supreme Court ruled against the US Post Office for refusing to allow ONE magazine to be delivered by mail simply for having stories and poems about lesbian and gay characters. This is the first US Supreme Court ruling to deal with homosexuality

1958 - The first gay leather bar in the United States, the Gold Coast, opened in Chicago

1961 - in San Francisco, José Sarria became the first openly gay candidate in the United States to run for public office, running for a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. Sarria almost won by default as there were fewer than 5 candidates for the 5 open seats, but city officials recognized this and on the final day had gotten more than 30 candidates registered. Sarria lost but won enough votes to create the idea that a gay voting bloc could wield real power in city politics

1961 - the Tay-Bush raid, the largest raid on a gay bar in San Francisco, resulted in the arrests of 103 people. It is considered a pivotal event in the history of LGBT rights in San Francisco.

1962 – Illinois becomes the first U.S. state to remove sodomy law from its criminal code, but it criminalized acts of "Open Lewdness,” such as open displays of affection between people of the same sex

1962 - The Janus Society was founded in Philadelphia. It is notable as the publisher of Drum magazine, one of the earliest gay publications in the United States and the one most widely circulated in the 1960s. The Janus Society focused on a strategy of seeking respect by showing the public gay individuals conforming to hetero-normative standards of dress at protests.

1962 - In San Francisco the Tavern Guild, the first gay business association in the United States, was created by gay bar owners as a response to the Tay-Bush raid and continued police harassment and closing of gay bars

1962 - A panel of 8 gay men had 90 minutes on a New York radio station to talk about what it was like to be gay. They talked about their difficulties in maintaining careers, the problems of police harassment, and the social responsibility of gays and straights alike.

1964 - the first organized protest against gay discrimination took place in New York City. 10 people picketed in New York City to protest the armed forces’ anti-gay discrimination and the army’s failure to keep gay men’s draft records confidential. These brave people stood up and spoke out at a time when very few were willing to do so because they did not want to be identified for fear of their family's reaction and the likely loss of their job and housing.

1964 - Life magazine published the article "Homosexuality In America" which was the first time a national publication reported on gay issues. The article described San Francisco as "The Gay Capital of America." This resulted in a big migration of gays to the city.

1964 - the Council on Religion and the Homosexual was the first group in the U.S. to use the word "homosexual" in its name. It was a San Francisco-based organization founded for the purpose of joining homosexual activists and religious leaders. It held an event where local politicians could be questioned about issues concerning gay and lesbian people, including police intimidation. The event marks the first known instance of "the gay vote" being sought.

1965 - Frank Kameny & Jack Nichols led the first “homosexual rights” protest at the White House. They wanted equal treatment of gay employees in the federal government, the repeal of sodomy laws, and the removal of homosexuality as a mental disorder in the American Psychiatric Association’s manual of mental disorders. 10 men & 3 women bravely picketed, and were covered by ABC, UPI, AP, Reuters, and other news organizations.

1965 - Inspired by the picket at the White House, on July 4th 39 conservatively-dressed people were part of a protest called “Reminder Day” held in Philadelphia at the Liberty Bell to point out that gay people are denied the rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”. This picket was done on July 4th for 5 years in a row. The last time just a week after the Stonewall Riots.

1965 - Vanguard was created, an organization of LGBT youth in a low-income San Francisco district. It is considered the first Gay Liberation organization in the U.S. which encouraged gays & lesbians to engage in radical direct action, and to counter societal shame with gay pride, such as by coming out to family & friends

1966 - The New York Mattachine Society stages a "Sip-In" at Julius Bar in New York City. New York liquor laws prohibited serving alcohol to gays. While unsuccessful that day in getting served, the publicity helped get the law changed. 1966 - Riot at Compton's Cafeteria in San Francisco - Compton’s became a regular hangout for drag queens, trans individuals, and young gay street hustlers, including many who belonged to Vanguard, much to the chagrin of it’s owners. The gay bars didn’t allow them in due to transphobic policies. One night management was fed-up by the noisy crowd at one table and called the police. When a cop attempted to arrest a transgender woman (cross-dressing was illegal), she resisted by throwing coffee at the police officer. It was followed by drag queens pouring into the streets, fighting back with their high heels and heavy bags. In the aftermath of this, the city of San Francisco began treating trans people as a community of citizens with legitimate needs instead of simply as a problem to get rid of.

1966 - In Los Angeles a coalition of Homosexual organizations organized demonstrations for Armed Forces Day to protest the exclusion of LGBT from the U.S. armed services. The 15-car motorcade is sometimes called the nation's first gay pride parade

1966 - National Transsexual Counseling Unit was formed in San Francisco, the first transgender organization ever, this is one action taken due to the Compton’s Cafeteria riot.

1966 - The Society for Individual Rights opened America’s first gay and lesbian community center in San Francisco

1967 - On New Years Day at the Black Cat Tavern in Los Angeles, the balloons dropped at midnight, auld lang syne was sung and some bar patrons kissed, then at five minutes after midnight, 12 plainclothes policemen began swinging clubs and pool cues, dragging patrons out the door and into the street. Sixteen people were arrested that night—six of them charged with lewd conduct (otherwise known as kissing). The raid prompted a series of protests that began on 5 January 1967, organized by P.R.I.D.E. (Personal Rights in Defense and Education). It's the first use of the term "Pride" that came to be associated with LGBT rights.

1967 - The Advocate, an American LGBT-interest magazine, was first published as a local newsletter by the activist group Personal Rights in Defense and Education (PRIDE) in Los Angeles. It began as a way to alert gay men to police raids in Los Angeles gay bars.

1967 - Craig Rodwell opened the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop in New York City, the first bookstore in the country focused on literature by gay and lesbian authors. Rodwell was also vice president of the Mattachine Society and the bookstore doubled as a community center.

1967 - The Student Homophile League at Columbia University is the first institutionally recognized gay student group in the United States.

1969 - Stonewall Riots

#queer history

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borhap-au · 3 years

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“No one understands”

Part two of Eugene Sledge x Black Reader.

“Courage meant overcoming fear and doing one’s duty in the presence of danger, not being unafraid.” - Eugene Bondurant Sledge

They talked long hours about inequality and the need for change. Neither of them even realized how late it was, until the room was completely empty and Eugene’s friend came to tell them they need to close the coffeehouse. They took their things, thanked the boy and went out of the shop.

“Well, I promised to get you back home safely,” he smiled while Angel shook her head.

“Oh, no. The only person I don’t want to mess with in this world is my dad. And he won’t be happy seeing me with a boy,” she chuckled quietly and he nodded his head.

“I understand,” after he said that, she felt a little bad. The real reason she did not want to let him walk her home, was because she promised her friend she will not be that “stupid.” However, she talked to him for hours and she grew to really like him. She did not want it to be their last meeting.

So she added, “but you know what? I finish my classes at 3 PM tomorrow. How about we meet in the coffeehouse around 3:30? I would like to talk to you some more,” she gave him a warm smile.

“I’d like that. You taught me a lot today. I’d love to find out some more,” he admitted. She fascinated him. Angel gave him a double thumbs up.

“Oh, no worry. I will bring a whole new set of facts and figures tomorrow. I must admit, you were a great student. I’m proud,” she chuckled quietly.

“And you were the best professor I’ve ever had. If only others could talk as interestingly as you do. Learning would be much easier,” he complimented her and she was really happy to receive such a compliment. Some guys complimented on her looks, others liked her personality and sense of humor, but she hardly ever received a compliment about her intelligence, which was the most important thing for her that anyone could point out about her.

“So, do we have an arrangement?” she asked, waiting for his reaction. “Will we see each other tomorrow?”

“Oh, most definitely. I wouldn’t keep a lady waiting,” she smiled in response. They said their goodbyes and each of them went their own way. Eugene turned around a few times to see her again. So did she, right before she turned to a corner she would not see him from, and their eyes met. They both smiled embarrassed. She was the first one to wave at him. He waved back. Then he lost her out of sight.

When he came back home, he kept on thinking about everything she said. Her words resonated in his mind. She was so right, about everything. Before that, he always thought not being a part of a problem was enough. That day he understood how important it was to actually be an active participant in the fight for justice. Fight other than physical, which was the only type they taught him in the military.

The next day he came a little early, as usual. He sat in the same corner and drank his coffee, waiting for her to show up. He really hoped she will not stood him up. He liked her and wanted to get to know her better. Minutes passed by, and she still did not show up in the door of the coffeehouse, despite Eugene observing it closely.

“I’m sorry for being late. They kept me longer in class,” she smiled apologetically, throwing her purse on the chair and sitting next to him.

“Oh, it’s not a problem. I hope you got home safely yesterday,” he started a conversation after the waiter brought her order.

“Yes, I did. It’s pretty close to my neighborhood. We all know each other there, I always feel safe,” she smiled and sipped her coffee.

“The sense of community is always nice,” he said while nodding his head. She wondered whether she should ask that question, but she couldn’t really help herself.

“Just like the army, right?” Angel looked at him biting her lip. She was not the one to be scared of tough conversations. Her topics were usually difficult, since she didn’t like a simple small talk. She wanted her life and her relations to be deeper and more meaningful than just that.

Eugene looked at her surprised, not expecting this kind of question at all. He put his coffee away and took a deep breath.

“You were in the army, weren’t you?” she asked, not wanting to let go that easily. She wanted to get to know him, and his army experience was obviously a huge part of his life.

“Yes, I was. For over three years,” he liked her. He wanted to be honest with her, but it really wasn’t the kind of topic he wanted to explore.

“My friend’s brothers all went to war. Most of them even returned. They enrolled even though their father was doing everything he could to get that idea out of their heads. His own father was born into slavery and he could not understand how could anyone risk their life for a country that enslaved their ancestors, tortured them and raped the women to create more free labor. But they went anyway. You know why?” he shook his head. He had some ideas, but preferred to let her speak. “Because that is their country. It was created on slavery. Slaves made the United States. Not to mention all those asshole who’d say we cannot decide for this country if we didn’t fight for it.”

Eugene nodded his head. He remembered very well all the slurs he heard directed at the Black community. He reacted every time, but unfortunately it rarely changed anything other than the soldiers’ opinion of Sledge.

“Not to mention the Double V. Victory in Europe and victory here. Have you heard about it?” she asked looking at Eugene.

“Yes, actually, I did. I support the cause wholeheartedly. I can’t imagine how it must feel… It’s already hard enough coming home from war, feeling estranged and misplaced. I can’t imagine how it felt for them, coming back to a segregated country that doesn’t even allow you to sit in the front of the bus, even though you risked your life for freedom of that country…” he scoffed and shook his head. “The greatest democracy in the world, fighting with the nationalistic regime of Germany whose segregated country used the US as their role model for that separation.”

She raised her eyebrow and he nodded, confirming what he has just said is true.

“In the 30s, when they were isolating Jews from the rest of the society, they looked at the American model of segregation. I read a report on it. I guess the United States must be really proud to be such a great idol for others,” he said ironically.

“That’s just outrageous…” she sighed and then looked at him. “Can you tell me the stories you have of Black soldiers? I ask this question to anyone I know who went to war.” He hesitated, not being happy about speaking of war, but finally agreed, since he did not have to talk about himself specifically.

“The situation was no better than the one back here. The troops were segregated. At the beginning they didn’t even allow none of the Black men to carry a gun. I guess they were scared of a revolution, or whatever other thing white men thought they obviously deserved for their actions. So the Black men were used for other things. They unpacked the trucks, cooked, drove cars. Only later, when we were short of men, they allowed Black troops to actually fight. A lot of them became great pilots. I really respect their courage, cause after all they fought for a country which doesn’t even treat them like full citizens…”

“’Like actual humans,’ that’s what you wanted to say. You don’t have to be afraid of the truth,” she interrupted him. “It’s because of the Double V. We need justice all over the world, we need to stop racists in America, Europe and everywhere else. We don’t stop here, it’s just a start. We managed to win in Germany, so why not here?” she smiled, and her smile was full of hope that one day things will be better.

“I understand their reasons now. Thank you, it became cleared to me,” Eugene smiled. He already loved listening to her. She spoke with such energy and faith in her cause. “But I have to tell you, their determination was like no other’s. Because I don’t know a single white man who would keep on pushing and trying to get in combat for a country that segregates army’s bathrooms… Hell, they segregated even blood donations! Can you imagine that? As if Black blood was any different from white… I mean, it’s red. It’s blood.” She just shook her head with disapproval and disgust, but she was not surprised at all. What for him was a shocking news, for her was everyday life.

“There’s a great poem, I don’t know if you heard about it. It’s called ‘Beaumont to Detroit’ by Langston Hughes,” she looked at him expecting a reaction, but he just shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I never heard of it,” he admitted, ashamed he was not familiar with it. She took a book out of her bag. It was a notebook with a handwritten title: “Poems of Freedom, Justice and Equality.” She opened it on selected page and began to read the poem to him.

“’…I ask you this question/Cause I want to know/How long I got to fight/BOTH HITLER – AND JIM CROW,’” she finished reading the poem and looked at him for reaction. He did not say anything for a long moment.

“That’s… That’s a really good poem. And it touches all the painful spots. I’m just really sorry, on behalf of all men…”

“No, don’t apologize for them. They wouldn’t apologize. They don’t apologize and they won’t apologize. They don’t feel sorry. You feel sorry, and you have nothing to apologize for. You’re one of the good guys. We don’t judge people because of what they ancestors did to us. We judge people by their current actions. We want to be heard, acknowledged. We understand that living your whole life in a country based on slavery might’ve made you turn a blind eye on some issues. We understand that the systemic racism made you believe in certain things. We really know all of that. But it doesn’t excuse anyone from learning. The problem is very often ignorance. People just assume something is this way because it’s ought to be this way. Or they say something in supposedly good faith, and when we educate them about it being a wrong thing to say, they don’t want to acknowledge their mistake. That I don’t understand and I won’t accept. Everyone makes mistakes. As a white man, you cannot know about all the issues a Black woman faces. But you should be willing to learn about them and fix your mistakes,” Eugene thought to himself that this girl should be a universally known speaker. She spoke with such respect, intelligence and charisma. She knew how to put the issues so that everyone understood her. She could’ve been the next Sojourner Truth if they let her. And it was then when it hit him. Why has he heard of so many Black male orators, but so few women? Was it that the system wanted to silence Black women in particular? Was the problem rooted not only in racism, but also in sexism? Yes, of course it was. Eugene could not believe it took him so long to see how oppressed were the Black women, who had to fought not just with white men, but also with white women, who did not want to acknowledge their femininity, in order to cut them from the feminist movement.

“So teach me. Tell me, please. If you want to. What are the most common mistakes white people make? I’ll try to teach others about them, so we can all know better,” she smiled hearing that. She thoroughly enjoyed having such a clever student.

“First of all, stop with the ‘I don’t see color’ thing. I’m glad you acknowledge that a color of one’s skin shouldn’t be a reason to treat them as a lesser human. I mean, it should be obvious, but unfortunately it isn’t. But it’s not a good thing to say things like that. Because by ‘not seeing color’ you don’t acknowledge the pain and struggle Black people have to endure every single day. Another thing – could the white ladies just stop asking to touch our hair? We’re not their puppies to pet. And don’t assume you understand. Don’t talk about those issues as if they were yours. It’s not just for you specifically, of course, is directed at all white people. I hear all too often them discussing our experience as if they were all-knowing. You have no idea. You have just the point of view of the oppressor, even if you don’t oppress anyone knowingly or purposefully. You didn’t live the struggle, so respect the fact you don’t know how it feels,” he actually took out a notebook and wrote down some of the things she said, as she continued to lecture him. They talked about race and social issues, and then their conversation turned more casual. They talked about books and poetry and exchanged some names they might like to read. Finally, Eugene found the courage to ask the question he thought about for some time.

“Would you like to maybe go out with me? Like… Not for a coffee, for a dinner for example,” he smiled and then looked down, being a little shy. He did not ask a girl out since he was in high school, apart from that one ball after he returned from the war, but neither he nor the girl enjoyed their time there.

Angel smiled slightly, but needed to remind him of something that he did not realize as he usually did not have to live with it. She was not surprised he did not know. Most white people do not think of such things before making plans, because the issue did not involve them.

“If you can find a restaurant that will allow us to sit there, sure,” her smile was a little sad. In Washington maybe it would be easier, but they were still in Alabama. “They usually don’t allow mixed couples in the public eye, you know, not to ruin their reputation. Black people are hardly allowed in any fancy places anyway.”

“So… I invite you to my house. I’ll cook the dinner,” he smiled. Of course, he did not think of the reputation his household will have among his neighbors after that event, but if anyone reminded him of it, he would say he did not care. If they had a problem with that, then it means they were racist, and he did not wish to affiliate himself with such people. “I can pick you up from wherever you want. I assume your father may not appreciate my presence at your house.”

“Oh, no. Just give me the time and address. I will definitely be there and get there on my own. I cannot wait to see what you’ll make for that dinner,” she gave him a big smile. She wrote down the address and they agreed on the time. They were both really happy about the meeting. Neither of them commented on how happy they were, because they did not want to jinx it or appear weird, but they definitely could not wait for the Saturday to come. And it sure looked promising.

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

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One Day - Part 4

A/N: Hello magical tumblr friends, this chapter is long and has a little bit of everything. I hope you like it. Thanks for all of your love and support. It really means the world to me. This doesn’t feature a poem, but rather a very real problem of mine and my writing. I hope you like this!

Disclaimers: One or two curse words. Mentions of making out and stripping - just in passing - (not smut)

Details:

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns)

Word count: 2563 (I’m sorry, I really don’t know how this happened)

Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Masterlist

3 May, 2001

(Y/N) and Draco apparated in the kitchen of a beach house in Playa del Carmen, México. Even though their abode was protected by a fidelius charm, they arrived at the break of dawn to avoid any sort of attention. (Y/N) walked through the airy living room and stood just in front of the wall sized window that lead to the beach. She stared in awe at the clear sand and the crystalline waters that stretched to infinity. This was their own private paradise for a week. Draco hugged her from behind and rested his chin on her head.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, absolutely taken by the view.

“It is, Dray,” she answered as she put her hands softly over his.

They had chosen a tropical destination mainly because Draco wanted to prove to her that he could tan. Upon hearing this, Blaise offered them his house in that vibrant Caribbean town. It had belonged to one of his – many – late stepfathers and nobody had used it in years, but it was well kept, modern and safe from noisy muggles and nosy wizards and witches. Blaise thought he was playing cupid by giving them the keys and Draco was both flustered and annoyed as he wiggled his eyebrows at them. (Y/N) had laughed it off, which confused Draco immensely.

He fell on a loop, overthinking for the thousandth time what could her laugh possibly mean. Was it meant to be playful? Did it mean she thought the possibility of them together was outrageous? What if it wasn’t, though? He definitely fancied her. He had fancied her even before holding her in his arms was a possibility. But he had blown up so many things in his life before. Everything he touched turned to dust. He was convinced he wasn’t good enough for her and he loved her too much to lose her friendship. If (Y/N) told him she was willing to start a relationship with him, he wouldn’t know what to do. Had been stuck in this hypothetical dilemma for the longest time and it was frustrating. He was pulled out of his thoughts by (Y/N), who shuffled in his embrace. She turned around so carefully his arms never left her waist. Her hands wrapped around his neck. Her fingers played with the little strands of hair on the nape of his neck.

Draco’s grey hues met (Y/N)’s mesmerizing (eye colour) ones. He smiled softly. She smiled back, but he noticed her features were dampened with concern.

“What’s wrong, Dray?”

He tightened the grip around her and offered her a smirk. “It’s nothing, (Y/N/N). I was just thinking.”

“Alright, then,” she answered, not very convinced, “why don’t we go to the beach?”

...

Draco discarded his turtleneck and trousers. Standing in his boxers in the middle of the room, he held at arm length the swimming trunks Harry had taken him to buy. They were just a looser version of his briefs, made of a dreadful material Draco had never even heard of. What, in Merlin’s name, was polyester? He scrunched his nose in disgust, but quickly scrambled into them as he heard (Y/N) knocking at the door.

They had tacitly agreed to sleep in the same room. She had barricaded herself in the bathroom to put on her own swimming suit. He wondered what she’d wear. At the muggle store he went with Harry, Draco had seen a bunch of items for women. He had gotten flustered, imagining (Y/N) in one of those. And he was getting hot and bothered again. He let himself fall, face down, onto the bed. “I’m ready,” he said, his voice muffled.

He heard the door opening and her footsteps as she came back into the room. She chuckled lightly as she saw him on his stomach, his face hidden in his hands. (Y/N) did a double take on him before he stood up. His arse looked amazing and his back was incredibly toned. The black trunks made a nice contrast with his incredibly pale skin. She bit her lower lip and looked away, trying to dissipate those thoughts and the tingling in her stomach. As her gaze settled out of the window, at some point in the horizon, Draco decided to move. His eyes rested on (Y/N)’s figure.

Nothing, not even his wildest dreams, would’ve prepared him for the sight of (Y/N) on an emerald green swimming suit. It was the least clothes he had ever seen on her and he just couldn’t tear his eyes away. Salazar, coming here alone with her could either be the best or worst idea ever.

(Y/N) felt his eyes glued on her and blushed profusely. She then faced him. For a minute there neither of them knew what to do. (Y/N) took a deep breath, walked forward and intertwined her fingers with his. Then she practically dragged him out of the house and into the sea.

They spent all day under the sun. They swam, splashed each other and walked by the seashore. They sat under the sun for a while, enjoying the salt on their skins until it turned too hot and overwhelming. Then they moved to the porch, staring at the sea and checking each other out when they thought the other was distracted.

Throughout the day, (Y/N) noticed how Draco would stare at his left forearm for the longest time. At first, she would bring his attention to something else and they would goof around or talk. At lunchtime, though, Draco put on a sweater with sleeves so long they reached his fingertips. It was a horrible sweater, so out of character for Draco, and it looked even more outrageous given the weather that had her bones sweating.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dray.”

He hung his head, defeated. “I…”

“No need to explain, love. I know it’s hard. But this,” she pushed the left sleeve up and Draco winced, but she continued, “this is part of your story. This is part of what has brought you here. And you have to accept it. Just like every other wonderful little bit of you. You need to live with this and forgive yourself, Dray”

Draco nodded, fighting off tears. (Y/N) took his face in her hands and give him a kiss on both cheeks. He smiled softly and took the sweater off. They cooked lunch together. Draco had been trying to learn how to cook for himself. So far he had managed to master a decent number of recipes and techniques. Cooking and baking reminded him of potions class and he loved it.

After lunch, they sat down on the sofa. There was a lot of space in the living room and yet, (Y/N) sat in between Draco’s legs, her back pressed to his chest, her head on his shoulder…a position much too familiar for them.

“I want to stay like this forever,” he said quietly, bringing her closer to him.

“Me too. I really don’t want to go back,” she answered, closing her eyes.

“We don’t have to,” he offered.

“I do. I have work to do.”

Draco sighed in response. “What is it that you do at the Ministry? What’s so important that you can’t enjoy more than one week of vacations?”

“A copious amount of paperwork,” she groaned. The Ministry was going through a series of reforms that took a lot of time and effort to put in practice. Hermione was ecstatic. (Y/N) knew it was all worth it, but she would be lying if she said her work hadn’t turned monotonous over the last few months.

“That sounds absolutely inspiring,” he said, sarcasm seeping through his every word. (Y/N) chuckled and hit his arm playfully.

“I thought you wanted to become a writer,” he added as an afterthought. (Y/N) blushed, feeling a bit exposed. She kept writing and Draco knew that. There was something painful about her writing, though. It was much too raw and took her back to pain and suffering. At times, whenever she sat down to write, the whole ordeal would leave her in tears. She couldn’t bring herself to be as consistent as before. She didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility of making a living out of it.

“It’s still an idea…” the vagueness in her voice made Draco regard her seriously. He pushed her just slightly so they could – kind of – face each other. (Y/N) tried to divert her gaze, but he put his hand on her cheek and made her look at him. Draco had expressive eyes. This time they were full of concern.

“(Y/N/N), is this because of money? Because I can –“

(Y/N) shook her head. She wouldn’t even let him finish. “I don’t need your money, Dray. You know that’s not the issue.” She wanted to turn the page, change topics as soon as possible, but Draco was not having any of it. They talked about his issues. He opened up to her and she would always offer words of comfort, support and cuddles. He wanted to do the same for her. He noticed how sometimes she would just close up, isolate herself. She’d try to brush her problems off. But he wouldn’t let her do that, not this time, not again.

“Then what’s the issue, (Y/N)?” he kept his hand on her cheek, knowing very well (Y/N) would try to escape, shrug it off and distract him. He then saw her eyes filling with tears. It was his moment to inch forward and shower her in affection.

“I’ve been involved in dangerous situations since I’m a toddler, Draco. My life at school consisted in avoiding death year after year. I can’t stay put. I need to feel like I’m doing something that’s bigger than myself. I need that rush.”

Draco’s fingers caressed her cheek. She was indecipherable at times. He knew there was much more than what she led on, but he didn’t want to push her.

“Besides, I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts more than what’s necessary,” (Y/N) muttered to herself, avoiding his gaze once again.

Draco was so close he heard clearly. He felt his heart tearing, just like that night, three years ago, when she had whispered to him and only him that she was broken. He made her face him again and, without a second thought, Draco leaned in. They both closed their eyes as their lips touched. It was a ghost of a kiss, tender and soft. It was everything they wished for and so much more; it felt natural and so, so good.

...

By the time (Y/N) and Draco reached the bedroom, they had left a trail of clothing behind them. They kissed and giggled and caressed each other. Her legs were wrapped around his torso, fingers laced in his blond locks. His own hands made their way through her back, trying to unclasp her bra.

After their kiss, they had cuddled all afternoon. They hadn’t mentioned it again and they were both determined to leave it at that. That was, of course, before they decided to go to a muggle bar and get tipsy with margaritas. When they came back, their drunken laughter filled the whole house. As the alcohol pumped through their veins they both felt bolder and uninhibited. The rush clouded their minds and ridded them of any sort of judgement.

(Y/N) stole their first drunken kiss. They were sprawled on the floor playing a game of strip wizard chess. Every time one of them lost a piece, they had to take an item of clothing off. As Draco slid his shirt off, (Y/N) crawled to him and kissed him. He growled lowly as his best friend bit his lower lip and they both felt the heat raising in the pit of their stomachs. He wanted her then and there, even more when she was being such a tease. As she laughed and tried to go back to her side, Draco caught her by the waist and pulled her back to him.

Draco tried to place (Y/N) in bed, but he was so woozy he fell with her. After laughing for their clumsiness, they laid on their sides, facing each other. Draco put a strand of hair behind (Y/N)’s ear. She traced his features with her fingertips. As she did so, he closed his eyes, enjoying her caresses as always.

(Y/N) found Draco absolutely beautiful. She was nothing short of in love with him. As that thought downed on her, (Y/N)’s desire stopped burning her. She lost momentum and withdrew her hand. She didn’t want this to be a spurt of the moment, drunken mistake. She wanted to be with Draco. Circe! She wanted to be with Draco. She was in love with him. (Y/N) sat up. How would this realization change their dynamic?

Draco opened his eyes immediately. The loss of contact had sobered him up. Had she realized he was a tosser who wasn’t worth her affection? Was it because of the mark? He sat up as well, searching for her eyes. The look he gave her was so full of mortification that she enveloped him in a hug.

“Dray…” she said after a few minutes of a deafening silence, “I don’t want this to be a one-night type of thing. I want to…be with you. I’d love to be with you. But it would break my heart if tomorrow we wake up and we realize that’s not what you…”

Draco’s gears were turning in his head. He felt as though he would combust right then and there. He took her face in his hands for the second time that day and looked at her in the eyes.

“(Y/N/N), what we have is way too pure, too good to be true. It’s the best thing I have going on for me, the best friendship I’ve ever had. I don’t want to ruin it as I tend to do with everything. I prefer to be your friend forever than your boyfriend for a couple of months. I want to think of you as my soulmate destined to be my best friend than a girlfriend I’ll end up hurting.”

(Y/N) fought back tears. “But I love –“

“I wouldn’t be able to handle it, love. If we broke up…if I fucked this up…if we didn’t want to see each other again”

They were both crying now. The silence was unbearable. (Y/N) kissed Draco on both cheeks before giving him a peck on the lips. Then she stood up, determined to not share a bed with him anymore.

…

(Y/N) closed her eyes. She decided to sleep on the farthest room she could find. Luckily enough, Blaise’s house was huge, so she had plenty to choose from. She had been trying to fall asleep for about an hour now, but she just couldn’t. The weight of her realization was drowning her. Then there was Draco’s rejection. She didn’t even want to begin addressing that issue.

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Can I come in?” Draco’s voice was hoarse and a bit unsure.

No response.

“(Y/N), can I come in?” he almost pleaded.

“Yes,” she breathed out.

Draco rushed into the room. In three strides he was looming over her form, eyes imploring for forgiveness. (Y/N) sighed. She lifted up the covers. Draco slithered in the bed and pressed his body to hers. They were soon cuddling again.

“You don’t ruin things, Dray.”

(Y/N) wanted to add that he would never hurt her, but kept quiet.

“I love you, (Y/N/N).”

“Love you, Dray.”

tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @naomi02hook @iliketoast23

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6v6taeminisloveshineeworld · 4 years

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House of the Damned Chapter Two: UNDEAD KISS

PART 1: BLOOD AFFAIR

Summary: Lust is neither love nor passion, it is but a starving beast driven mad by thirst and unyielding desire. A natural hunger akin to flame. As a daughter of the Church, a trial of purity is thrust upon you when a series of events leads you to live in a manor with six vampire brothers who are eager to possess you and claim their birthright as the strongest of the clan descended from Vlad.

Pairing: Taemin X Female Reader, SuperM X Female Reader

Genre: Vampire romance, Diabolik Lovers Crossover

Word Count: 3.3k+

Authors Note: Most dialogue in this story is from the Diabolik Lovers game Haunted Dark Bridal Translated by maichiruhanabira and used with permission. It is not all my original work and will follow the DL game story with some extended or altered scenes. For original content read my other works, this work will be a side project since I am a fan of the game. If you are unfamiliar with Diabolik Lovers then I hope you enjoy the plot.

The cold school rooftop wasn’t the most ideal place to hide in between classes but you found that sticking with Taemin was the best way to avoid his brothers and their advances. If he wasn’t in the music room he was either here or curled up sleeping in an abandoned hallway. Even though you’d been spending more and more time together lately you knew nothing more about him than last week when you’d come to stay at Hawthorn Hill.

Taemin was always listening to his music, avoiding conversation, and the world which was something you could relate to. You often spaced out and imagined you were anywhere else than living this nightmare. You opened a book of poetry from the school library and tried not to let the silence between you both eat anyway at you but it made you feel rather small and invisible. Well, invisible is better than having him try something on me. But then there was that small traitorous part of you that wished something would happen.

You’d gotten through only two poems before you really couldn’t stay quiet any longer and decided to ask what you’d been pondering over since the first fated day of your meeting, “Taemin? I have a question.”

“What?” He asked groggily.

Well, at least he’s responding. “If you’re a vampire, does this mean you turn into a bat and fly? Also, do you hate eating garlic? Do you burn in the sunlight? Is that why you all go to night school?

“That’s a lot more than one question,” He said with a sigh.

“Sorry, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s a vampire.” You said indignantly.

“Ah but you aren’t sorry, he said opening his eyes and giving you what you would have called the tiniest of amused expressions. “You are curious, I’ll give you that. Well, so you know and stop pestering me, it’s not like I’m going to die if I eat some garlic pasta. I can’t turn into a bat, but I can fly in my shadow form. I’m afraid if you were asking because you wanted to kill me you’ll be quite disappointed to learn that I’m not going to burn to ash if I decide to go for a walk in broad daylight. It’s not that easy for me to die, believe me, I’ve tried it all.”

“I wasn’t asking because I wanted to kill you!”

“Hm. Well, whatever. The legends about vampires in your world are all stupid delusions you humans came up with,” Taemin said closing his eyes again.

“I’ll remember that,” You whispered back. Even if it would have been useful to learn some information on how to at least deter his brothers it wasn’t like he would just volunteer information that could really be used against him. You rubbed your crucifix between your fingers and silently wished it really did work on vampires.

“Do vampires prey on sleeping women to gain energy from having sex with them?” You asked hesitantly with a blush on your cheeks.

He laughed and didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he responded to your question. “I believe you are confusing us with incubuses though I daresay a vampire’s lust is any less potent. We prefer women a little more awake and willing than that so you may sleep more easily mortal. Unless you like that kind of thing then i’m sure my brothers will be more than happy to oblige.”

You huddled into yourself and continued to read, not bothering to answer. At the sound of the school bell, you quickly began putting away your book and grabbing your coat.

“Taemin, class is starting, are you coming?” You asked when Taemin didn’t move at all you moved closer to see that he’d fallen asleep again. His blonde hair fell over his face as he slept. He looked tranquil like this, almost human. This close you were even more aware of the graceful curve of his upper lip and his angular cheekbones that seemed to remind you that even the devil had been a beautiful angel once. You moved your hand close to his arm then realizing that you’d almost been about to touch him you quickly steeped back. “Taemin please wake up. Class is starting,” you said.

“Be quiet.”

“Sorry, but the bell rang.”

“So what? The soloist is just about to play. Don’t bother me.” He said, tucking his arms around his body tightly.

Was that why he didn’t go to classes? So he could hear the music students playing in the room below? You didn’t know why the thought of him holding his education back bothered you so much but it did. “What if they hold you back a year for not attending so many classes? What will you do then?” You asked him.

“It’s none of your business whether I repeat a year or drop out of school or not. You said you weren’t trying to bother me right? Well, try a little harder. You can leave now.”

“But I was just-” Truthfully you just didn’t want to step into class alone and deal with all of his brothers as well as the other students and their gazes. Arriving every morning with the Hawthorns beside you didn’t seem to give you many friends. They were all either too scared of the brothers’ wrath or steaming with jealousy. Besides, maybe Taemin would thank you in the long run if he didn’t have to repeat a year.

“Let’s just go to class!” You told Taemin with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I’ll drag you over there myself if you don’t budge!” You pulled him playfully and he just looked at you a bit stunned that you’d touched him and that you hadn't run off so easily.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a serious tone. Honestly I don’t know the answer to that myself.

“Taemin, please just stand up!” You said, pulling a bit harder.

“You’re really persistent. You want me to go to class that bad?” He said, shaking his head.

“Yes. Because I want the person I’m choosing to share my blood with to do well in life.” I’m an idiot. Why would I say that?

“You’re really bothersome, to feel accountable for that is unnecessary.”

“It’s not good for you to skip classes.”

“Okay, then.” He said, moving to sit up.

“You’ll go to class?” You said in surprise.

“Only if you kiss me.” He said, meeting your eyes.

“What?” You shouted, pulling away.

“You didn’t hear me? It’s too much of a bother to say it again.”

“I… I did hear you but.”

“So you can’t do it?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Then I’m not going. Please leave me here in peace. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Please don’t be so selfish,” you said. He’d closed his eyes again and was laying comfortably now, certain you wouldn’t bother him anymore. He was just trying to scare you off, he didn’t actually seem serious about it and knowing that seemed to only draw you further in. He was much less imposing than his brothers and you found yourself crossing over lines that really shouldn’t be tested when dealing with a man like him. Without giving it more thought you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes opened in surprise as he looked up at you. Then without a word, he got off the floor and pulled on his blazer. He paused at the rooftop door and said with a small smile, “You’re an awful kisser.” You blushed at that and then he was gone, leaving you completely stunned. It had almost been too easy. Not only had you gone and kissed him he’d actually kept his word. You shook your head and followed after him, glad that at least your little stunt meant you wouldn’t be alone today.

As the week went on you found that along with the time you spent in the Hawthorn Hill library, you had come to enjoy the luxurious baths you’d grown used to taking before bed. Your bathroom itself was as big as your room and the tub was large. The floor was marble and there were so many bottles of expensive soaps and bath salts that taking the time to draw the water and pick among them had become a very entertaining and relaxing part of your new daily routine.

You’d filled the bath with hot water a few minutes earlier and after finding the perfect book to read in the library you went to your bathroom door only to hear classical music coming from inside. You open the door and sure enough, Taemin was inside sleeping in your tub.

“Taemin! What are you doing in my bathtub?” You shouted, taking in his clothed state. He was in the water fully dressed and dozing off you’d tried to avoid his eyes ever since the kiss on the rooftop but now you just stared him down. He made a slight moan in response and sunk deeper into the water.

“Wait!” You said, worried he’d hit his head on the side. You ran over and pulled him up so that his head was above water again. “Taemin, please wake up.” He gave a small hum to show he was listening and he opened his eyes, you frowned at him. If he was awake why was he acting all sluggish as if he was drunk.

“Oh, it’s you. Taemin said in a groggy tone “you look like the gatekeeper to hell.”

“Who are you calling a demon? You’re one to talk!” You said angrily.

“You’re making a face like a demon.” Taemin said, “Hungry eyes and lustful expression.”

“I’m not a demon! Please stop saying things like this. Anyway, don’t sleep in the bath. You’ll drown.”

“Lewd woman. Watch where you’re looking.”

“What do you mean? You’re still wearing clothes.” You said with a blush. “It’s not like I came in here to look at you!”

“Then what’d you come here for?” He said with a smirk.

“To take a bath! But you have a bathtub in your room, so why’d you come here?”

“Don’t be so loud. My bath didn’t have hot water in it.”

You rolled your eyes “there won’t be any hot water if you don’t fill it up and use your own hands!”

“There was hot water in this bath when I came in here. So I got in.”

“Ugh,” you grunted in irritation. “Fill up your own bath. I’m going to take one now, so please get out!”

“You want me to get out? Fine. Then, why don’t you pull me out?”

Again with this. “What! Is it too much of a bother to get out of the bath yourself?

“Alright, then. I’ll just sleep in here. You can join me if you like.” He said submerging himself deeper into the water till his whole body was under.

“Y-you’re sinking! You’ll drown!” You shouted. Which if you would have thought more on it was idiotic considering the fact that he was already dead and would probably just lose consciousness only to regain his breath again but your instinct compelled you more than reason in that moment and you pulled him up with all of your strength. You blushed deeper when you felt the hard lines of his body against your hands.

“What’re you freaking out for? And stop making noise in the bathroom; it echoes.” Taemin said. “It shouldn’t matter to you if I drown in here. Wouldn’t it actually be convenient? Don’t meddle.”

It’s like he doesn’t have the energy or will to live at all. “I chose you remember. It’d be a bother if you died. Besides, I want to take a bath too. But not in a bathtub somebody died in.”

“Right, well then pull me out so I don’t drown.” He said, moving his hand toward you.

“Again with this? Honestly you and your brothers act like children.”

“Don’t make me say it again, it’s annoying. If you don’t want to do it, then get out of here. You’re being a nuisance.”

You took his hand and proceeded to pull him out of the tub completely. Anything to get him to leave you in peace so you could have your bath you thought. He was soaking wet, his clothes clung to his body in a way that set your face aflame and you didn’t know where to look.

“I’m so tired,” Taemin said, leaning his body against yours and laying his head on your shoulder. His body was pressed so closely to your own you were sure he could hear your thundering heartbeat. Droplets of water fell from his chin onto your chest and the warm steam in the air left you flustered.

“Hey. P-please don’t lean on me.�� You said, voice small again.

When he laughed you could feel the rumble of his chest from your proximity. “Why are you blushing?” Taemin said as he moved your damp hair behind your ear. “So you were trying to see me naked.” His voice was low and his face was so close you could feel his breath mixed with the heat of the room. He smelled of expensive soaps and lavender. “You’re a pervert,” he whispered against your ear. A tremor went though your entire body as when he blew into your ear. He rested his forehead against yours and you stood so still, too stunned to move in that moment.

“I… I’m not.” You finally said when you remembered how to speak. “Please don’t say weird things like that! I wasn’t trying to-”

“Then why is your face so red?” He laughed again and you realized that you were just a source of amusement for him and it made you angrier. “That kind of vulgar expression isn’t in alignment with your words.” He said, tilting your chin up. So what’ll you do now? Come onto me?”

“N… no, of course not.” You said looking away.

“Well,” He said, moving away from you to grab a towel he then proceeded to run it though his hair. “Do enjoy soaking in the leftover bath water as you fantasize about me.” With that last statement and a smile he left the bathroom and closed the door.

“Why would you say that you conceded- Honestly!” You looked into the mirror to see your expression. Your face and ears were red just as you’d expected. You threw your clothes to the ground and sunk into the water. Your heart continued to pound as you took in the lingering scent of the room. The hot water against your skin sent a surge of pleasure through your body and as the music of Debussy filled the room and muffled your soft moans you prayed the walls didn’t really echo as loudly as he’d said.

After losing on purpose to another game of chess with Baekhyun you settled into your favorite armchair in the living room ready to read another book from the library until you noticed Taemin on a sofa nearby. You’d been avoiding him since your bathroom encounter yesterday but there was only so far you could go without bumping into him constantly. You debated what would happen if you went up to bed instead of staying but honestly you didn’t want to make things more awkward for yourself by leaving suddenly and you’d have to be around him tomorrow night for classes as it was. After all it was him who had barged into your room making accusations why should you be the one to leave.

You could see him shift his sleeping position from the corner of your eye. He was listening to music as usual and from the look of it he didn’t really seem asleep just absorbed in whatever was playing and as usual you broke first.

“Taemin? What are you listening to?” Even if it hadn’t worked when he’d been playing the piano before it would be nice if you could understand him a little more and talking with him about music did seem like the easiest way to go.

“That’s none of your business.” He said, opening an eye.

“But you looked so lost in it so I was curious. What kind of music is that?” You said determinedly.

“You never quit, do you?” He said getting up and coming over to you. “If you want to know so badly, then here. Listen for yourself,” Taemin said handing you one of his earbuds.

“Thank you,” You said. The second you placed one in your ear you regretted ever asking. You blushed a bright red at the moans coming from the music player. You quickly took it out and glared at him. “What is this?”

“It’s music. Wasn’t that obvious?” He said with a shrug.

“That wasn’t music!” You said. It had been the sounds of a woman being pleasured and it made your head spin and wonder at whether it was just some X rated drama cd or the real thing that he himself had recorded. You shivered at the thought. You began to wonder if it was always things of this nature that he played when music wasn’t blaring from his earbuds.

“It’s not really attractive to force your opinions onto other people.” He said in a serious tone. “The singing voice of a woman dancing in joy is almost as good as one of Stravinsky’s rondos. I don’t think it’s very polite to judge my taste.

Why did he have to make that sound so reasonable?

“Whatever. I don’t care what you think of me.” He said going back to his sofa.

“Taemin?” You said feeling a bit guilty at your outburst. Afterall, it had been you who had asked to listen to what he was playing; it wasn’t as if he’d forced it on you.

“What? You still need something?” He said.

“Do you have any other, um… music tracks like these or is this one your favorite?”

“You still want to listen to it?” He said with a smile. “So you do like it.”

“N-no, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious where you got it since I haven't seen them sell these type of things in CD stores I’ve gone to before. Did you buy it online?” What am I doing playing dumb its not like he’d tell he if me made it himself or not and why am I even wondering about that it shouldn’t bother me. It’s not my business.

“There’s several others I like, but… what I really enjoy is that innocent look on your face right now.” He said with a smirk before continuing, “You’re a curious one, why do you care so much about how I came to acquire it?”

“It’s perfectly normal to want to know! You’re the weird one!”

“There you go again calling different tastes from your own weird.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s stupid to try and judge me using human standards.”

“I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight, Taemin.” Perhaps it was best just not to know. As you made your way up the staircase you heard him chuckle slightly. “What is it?” You asked, turning around.

“You were listening to this stuff right before bed. If you’re not more careful from now on dirty dreams will consume your sleep. I bet that’s what you’re hoping for tonight.”

“O-of course not!” Honestly why does someone so lazy have to be so paradoxically good at teasing. He just seemed to love getting a rise out of your every time.

“You’re blushing again.” He said with a smile that had you gripping the banister railing tightly. “I suppose I was right then,” he said getting up and walking out of the living room. Damn that angelic face and those devious words. He always knew just what to say to take you out of your comfort zone. For someone so dead he didn’t have the right to make all of your senses come to life this way.

#Taemin fanfic #superm fanfic #vampire fanfic #taemin x reader

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ucflibrary · 4 years

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November in the United States is Native American Heritage Month, also referred to as American Indian and Alaska Native Heritage Month. It celebrates the rich history and diversity of America’s native peoples and educates the public about historical and current challenges they face. Native American Heritage Month was first declared by presidential proclamation in 1990 which urged the United States to learn more about their first nations.

Join the UCF Libraries as we celebrate diverse voices and subjects with these suggestions. Click on the Keep Reading link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the featured Native American Heritage titles suggested by UCF Library employees. These 16 books plus many more are also on display on the 2nd (main) floor of the John C. Hitt Library next to the bank of two elevators.

An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo In the early 1800s, the Mvskoke people were forcibly removed from their original lands east of the Mississippi to Indian Territory, which is now part of Oklahoma. Two hundred years later, Joy Harjo returns to her family’s lands and opens a dialogue with history. In An American Sunrise, Harjo finds blessings in the abundance of her homeland and confronts the site where her people, and other indigenous families, essentially disappeared. From her memory of her mother’s death, to her beginnings in the native rights movement, to the fresh road with her beloved, Harjo’s personal life intertwines with tribal histories to create a space for renewed beginnings. Her poems sing of beauty and survival, illuminating a spirituality that connects her to her ancestors and thrums with the quiet anger of living in the ruins of injustice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Bird Songs Don't Lie: writings from the rez by Gordon Lee Johnson In this deeply moving collection of short stories and essays, Gordon Lee Johnson (Cupeño/Cahuilla) cements his voice not only as a wry commentator on American Indian reservation life but also as a master of fiction writing. In Johnson's stories, all of which are set on the fictional San Ignacio reservation in Southern California, we meet unforgettable characters like Plato Pena, the Stanford-bound geek who reads Kahlil Gibran during intertribal softball games; hardboiled investigator Roddy Foo; and Etta, whose motto is “early to bed, early to rise, work like hell, and advertise,” as they face down circumstances by turns ordinary and devastating. From the noir-tinged mystery of “Unholy Wine” to the gripping intensity of “Tukwut,” Johnson effortlessly switches genre, perspective, and tense, vividly evoking people and places that are fictional but profoundly true to life. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

Coming Down from Above: prophecy, resistance, and renewal in Native American religions by Lee Irwin An introduction to an important strand within the rich tapestry of Native religions, this shows the remarkable responsiveness of those beliefs to historical events. It is an unprecedented, encyclopedic sourcebook for anyone interested in the roots of Native theology. From the highly assimilated ideas of the Puget Sound Shakers to such resistance movements as that of the Shawnee Prophet, Irwin tells how the integration of non-Native beliefs with prophetic teachings gave rise to diverse ethnotheologies with unique features. He surveys the beliefs and practices of the nation to which each prophet belonged, then describes his or her life and teachings, the codification of those teachings, and the impact they had on both the community and the history of Native religions. Key hard-to-find primary texts are included in an appendix. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Fools Crow by Thomas E. Mails; assisted by Dallas Chief Eagle Set in Montana shortly after the Civil War, this novel tells of White Man's Dog (later known as Fools Crow so called after he killed the chief of the Crows during a raid), a young Blackfeet Indian on the verge of manhood, and his band, known as the Lone Eaters. The invasion of white society threatens to change their traditional way of life, and they must choose to fight or assimilate. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Four Souls: a novel by Louise Erdrich After taking her mother’s name, Four Souls, for strength, the strange and compelling Fleur Pillager walks from her Ojibwe reservation to the cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. She is seeking restitution from and revenge on the lumber baron who has stripped her tribe’s land. But revenge is never simple, and her intentions are complicated by her dangerous compassion for the man who wronged her. Suggested by Jada Reyes, UCF Libraries Student Ambassador

House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday He was a young American Indian named Abel, and he lived in two worlds. One was that of his father, wedding him to the rhythm of the seasons, the harsh beauty of the land, the ecstasy of the drug called peyote. The other was the world of the twentieth century, goading him into a compulsive cycle of sexual exploits, dissipation, and disgust. Home from a foreign war, he was a man being torn apart, a man descending into hell. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Keepers of the Morning Star: an anthology of native women's theater edited by Jaye T. Darby and Stephanie Fitzgerald This is the first major anthology of Native women's contemporary theater bringing together works from established and new playwrights. This collection, representing a rich diversity of Native communities, showcases the exciting range of Native women's theater today from the dynamic fusion of storytelling, ceremony, music and dance to the bold experimentation of poetic stream of consciousness and Native agitprop. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

Native Southerners: indigenous history from origins to removal by Gregory D. Smithers Long before the indigenous people of southeastern North America first encountered Europeans and Africans, they established communities with clear social and political hierarchies and rich cultural traditions. Award-winning historian Gregory D. Smithers brings this world to life in Native Southerners, a sweeping narrative of American Indian history in the Southeast from the time before European colonialism to the Trail of Tears and beyond. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

Nature Poem by Tommy Pico This work follows Teebs―a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet―who can’t bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He’d slap a tree across the face. He’d rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he’d rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he’s adamant―bratty, even―about his distaste for the word “natural,” over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the “natural world,” he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

On the Rez by Ian Frazier This is a sharp, unflinching account of the modern-day American Indian experience, especially that of the Oglala Sioux, who now live on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in the plains and badlands of the American West. Crazy Horse, perhaps the greatest Indian war leader of the 1800s, and Black Elk, the holy man whose teachings achieved worldwide renown, were Oglala; in these typically perceptive pages, Frazier seeks out their descendants on Pine Ridge―a/k/a "the rez"―which is one of the poorest places in America today. Suggested by Larry Cooperman, Research & Information Services

Shapes of Native Nonfiction by Elissa Washuta Just as a basket's purpose determines its materials, weave, and shape, so too is the purpose of the essay related to its material, weave, and shape. Editors Elissa Washuta and Theresa Warburton ground this anthology of essays by Native writers in the formal art of basket weaving. Using weaving techniques such as coiling and plaiting as organizing themes, the editors have curated an exciting collection of imaginative, world-making lyric essays by twenty-seven contemporary Native writers from tribal nations across Turtle Island into a well-crafted basket. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Surviving Genocide: native nations and the United States from the American Revolution to bleeding Kansas by Jeffrey Ostler An authoritative contribution to the history of the United States’ violent path toward building a continental empire, this ambitious and well-researched book deepens our understanding of the seizure of Indigenous lands, including the use of treaties to create the appearance of Native consent to dispossession. Ostler also documents the resilience of Native people, showing how they survived genocide by creating alliances, defending their towns, and rebuilding their communities. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

The Man to Send Rain Clouds: contemporary stories by American Indians edited by Kenneth Rosen Over a two-year period, Kenneth Rosen traveled from town to town, pueblo to pueblo, to uncover the stories contained in this volume. All reveal the preoccupations of contemporary American Indians. Not surprisingly, many of the stories are infused with the bitterness of a people and a culture long repressed. Several deal with violence and the effort to escape from the pervasive, and so often destructive, white influence and system. In most, the enduring strength of the Indian past is very much in evidence, evoked as a kind of counterpoint to the repression and aimlessness that have marked, and still mark today, the lives of so many American Indians. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Humanity has nearly destroyed its world through global warming, but now an even greater evil lurks. The indigenous people of North America are being hunted and harvested for their bone marrow, which carries the key to recovering something the rest of the population has lost: the ability to dream. In this dark world, Frenchie and his companions struggle to survive as they make their way up north to the old lands. For now, survival means staying hidden … but what they don’t know is that one of them holds the secret to defeating the marrow thieves.

Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

Thunder in the Mountains: Chief Joseph, Oliver Otis Howard, and the Nez Perce War by Daniel J. Sharfstein Recreating the Nez Perce War through the voices of its survivors, Daniel J. Sharfstein’s visionary history of the West casts Howard’s turn away from civil rights alongside the nation’s rejection of racial equality and embrace of empire. The conflict becomes a pivotal struggle over who gets to claim the American dream: a battle of ideas about the meaning of freedom and equality, the mechanics of American power, and the limits of what the government can and should do for its people. The war that Howard and Joseph fought is one that Americans continue to fight today. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Where the Dead Sit Talking by Brandon Hobson With his single mother in jail, Sequoyah, a fifteen-year-old Cherokee boy, is placed in foster care with the Troutt family. Literally and figuratively scarred by his mother’s years of substance abuse, Sequoyah keeps mostly to himself, living with his emotions pressed deep below the surface. At least until he meets seventeen-year-old Rosemary, a troubled artist who also lives with the family. Sequoyah and Rosemary bond over their shared Native American background and tumultuous paths through the foster care system, but as Sequoyah’s feelings toward Rosemary deepen, the precariousness of their lives and the scars of their pasts threaten to undo them both. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

#featured bookshelf #ucflibrary #native americans #native american heritage month #booklr #reading #tbr

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btssunnyboy · 4 years

Text

Mistakes- Jeon Jungkook

Being drunk is such a cliche excuse, but being sober only makes matters worse.

Word Count- 3,087

Warning - Cheating, implied sexual themes and mentions of alcohol.

Also this was inspired by the amazing @hobisgorgeousass and their Shattered fic! I really hope you don’t mind me tagging you!

Masterlist

——————————————————————-

It definitely wasn’t a spur of the moment type thing.

It took months, more specifically four months. It was all good at the start, almost too good to actually be true. The longing kisses and the desperate touches were something you began to crave the longer you stayed. It was all so delectable, who would want to willingly leave something so amazing like that. Through your eyes it seemed like a perfect relationship.

Oh god, where would you begin to describe why it was immaculate. For starters the luscious dates he’d always prepare. Moonlit dinners with soft candle light, or a cheesy, but very wonderful walk on the beach. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and sway to an unheard rhythm. It was peaceful and beautiful, as were all of his dates.

His perfect words. He had a way to hook you in with a single syllable that dripped past those honey like lips. They’d wrap around you like a fluffy blanket, trying to provide you with some sort of comfort. You should’ve paid more attention to often he spoke those caring words, versus what he does now. He’d usually treat his words like a poem, making sure they follow a pattern and definitely making sure they express all the feelings that run a muck in his oh so troubled mind.

His touch and his overall scene of love. At the start, it was like being on cloud nine. He showered you in affection every chance. His large hands clasping over your smaller ones. Rubbing those comforting circles over your smooth knuckles. Pressing his soft lips your tender neck and painting a beautiful masterpiece of the blank canvas. As possessive as it sounds he loved letting everyone know your heart is already taken and not up for sale.

The thing is he’s worked out a routine. A precise and well thought out routine. It has to be perfect he can’t get caught, but he can’t fall behind and accidentally mix two things that should never mix as long as he’s alive. He has to make sure you received the gentle smooches and the others received the rough part of him that is begging to be released. The tequila that lingered on his breath done more then just sting, it made his body reactions a bit more uncalled for. He had control, but at the same time he didn’t.

He knew it was a bad idea to mix stress with the overwhelming amount of alcohol. Yet he did it. Despite all the nagging in his ears, he grabbed his keys and raced to a secluded bar. Filled with only ones who could keep a secret or those who were going through the same famous troubles as him. A soft hand, kinda like yours, but the difference between the two were easily noticeable.

He should’ve stopped it right then and there. Let this stranger know his love was at home, and he couldn’t betray her. Yet he allowed one drink to quickly turn into another which then led to another. Pretty soon her face was slightly distorted and the sight resembled you in a weird way. Her lips were so inviting, so damn inviting. He couldn’t help himself.

Do you wanna take this somewhere else?

The question hung heavy in the air, but his body reacted before his mind. His tattooed fingers cling to her ink-less skin within a second. The walk to the car sobered him up a bit, but his mind was already set. There was a beautiful woman — not as beautiful as you — giving him bedroom eyes, and he needed to release. His inner roughness was clawing at his insides and the way this mystery women was talking it seemed like he hit the jackpot. Saying she could last a few rounds, and she was already half way undress in the car.

The moment the car pulled up to the doom he led her to his room as quietly as he could. The soft giggles she was letting out were distracting, and he’s do anything to get that horrendous sound to spot echoing in his head. So he grabbed her waist and held her against the wall. The steaming hot kiss between the two leaving them breathless. Her shaky breathes were edging him on as he attacked her neck with this honey lips. The same lips that placed loving kisses on your forehead, but now instead of honey they’re venom.

They’re a substance to be used with caution, it’s dangerous to play with something like this. She knew as she pulled him into another kiss and it was at that moment she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they met. When his bedroom closed and the legs opened, he knew this was a mistake. It went on to happen though, with the sound of the headboard assaulting the wall. Making the paint chip with the harder it happened.

He was careful as can be the first time. Besides one thing. He didn’t plan on someone banging on the door with urgency. The sound made him shoot up and his eyes dart to the sleeping body placed beside him. The mystery stranger, whose name he soon found out was Piper. He shook her wildly and tossed her discarded clothes in her direction and made her hide in the closet. It was such a childish thing to do, hide the one who just slept with. Why not own up and just say you got laid.

Oh that’s right he can’t, because that’s not you in the closet. But that could be you at the door, and he can’t let these two situations meet in the middle. Time, that was all he needed, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be caught in his dirty tracks. He deserved to have his dirty laundry aired out for the entire fucking world to see.

She blew him a kiss when he shut the wooden door once more and raced to other. He swung it open and a sight of relief passed through his body. It wasn’t you, but it someone he knew would keep this secret. Jimin eyed his out of breath figure suspiciously and soon let his gaze linger around the room.

“I thought Y/n hated pink?” He questioned, what was supposed to be an innocent question as well. His head tilted in confusion before he put the small puzzle together. You hated pink with a passion, and he knew that bra definitely wasn’t your style. “You mother fucker.”

“Jimin I can explain!” Jungkook gasped out as he yanked the man into his room.

Jimin let out a dry scoff as he watched the women come out of the closet. Jimin forcefully yanked himself away from Jungkooks touch, like the mere brush of his fingertips burned him like a raging fire. His face held a mix of emotions, but disgust was overtaking them all.

“You screwed up big time.”

“Is anyone else here.” Jungkook panicked as he peeked his head out of the door. Seeing no one insight he grabbed a handful of cash and said get a cab to the women. When he finally heard the front door slam shut he turned to a pissed off Jimin. “Don’t say anything! Please!”

“And why the hell should I keep this a secret. You fucking cheated on y/n!” Jimin bellowed as he made wild hand gestures to prove his point. “Besides I don’t even have to open my mouth for her to find out.”

Jungkook held a confused look until he followed Jimin’s gaze down to his neck. At neck breaking speed he raced to his bathroom. His canvas was painted. Purple with splotches of red littered his neck. For once, you weren’t the paintbrush in this example. He knew he was royal screwed now, oh god he didn’t want this to happen.

“Jimin please I’m begging you I love her! I swear this’ll be the only time.” Jungkook sobbed with his bloodshot eyes. He couldn’t lose you, he just couldn’t bare the thought.

“You better not be lying.”

Those five little words lifted a weight off of Jungkook’s shoulders. After this he went on his day as usually, just making sure his neck was covered. On the other hand Jimin was a ball of nerves. The stress from this secret was eating him alive. He should’ve said something and made you’d leave Jungkook once in for all. When he decided to keep this secret he thought it was for a once time mistake, what he didn’t realize was this one time mistake was growing into a common occurrence.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

He’s being distant. A lot more then he is usually. You knew the stress of the upcoming tour, and he needed to sort things out. It was best you kept your distance as well. If only you knew what that meant. Right now he wasn’t complaining about the stressful choreography, but he was praising the women beneath him. After the usually session was done he grabbed his clothes and bolted.

“What took so long?” You questioned as you sat up from the floor.

“Yeah just needed a longer bathroom break.” Jungkook shrugged as he placed a sweet kiss onto your cheek. Your eyes lingered on the sweat that was dripping down his neck and the stain right above the collar of his shirt. Before you had the chance to speak up another voice beat you to it.

“How about we all go out and eat. I can ask Piper to arrange something.” Namjoon suggested as he downed his water.

“I’m up for it.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Jimin felt like he was going to throw up all over his meal. He couldn’t believe that’s she of all people got hired as a personal assistant. He wished he could just scream at the two of them and let this shit get settled. He almost gagged at the sight of them giving sideways glance to each other each time you turned around.

That fucker promised him it was a one time mistake. He’d lost count of how many times he’s caught then since then. The other members are beginning to catch on and oh how they wished they had the balls and tell you. Their breaths hitched slightly when Piper has to excuse herself due to a so called urgent phone call. Like clockwork, Jungkook excused himself to the bathroom.

“Geez, you could cut the tension with a knife.” You commented lightly as you picked up a piece of your meat. Your softly chewed under the tense eyes of the others.

“He’s cheating.”

It caught you off guard. In the process making your meat go down the wrong pipe. Seokjin softly sighed as he hit the boy next to him.

“Are you being serious?”

“Y/n-“

“Don’t say my name when it’s not relevant, are you being serious? Is there any proof?” You asked worriedly as you bounced your leg up and down. Their eyes stayed casted downward and that was all the evidence you needed. You quickly excused yourself and hastily walked towards the restroom. As soon as you yanked opened the bathroom door two figures stepped out of a stall.

You’d remember those red bottom heels anywhere. And those black combat boots as well.

“You’ve got be to fucking kidding me!”

Both stopped dead in their tracks when their eyes landed on you. Your eyes were glossy and tears were screaming to fall over your waterline. Your legs felt like jello as you fell into the nearby wall. Out of instinct Jungkook’s arms began to wrap themselves around your fragile form. When his skin touched your all those suppressed feelings surfaced and a sob raked through your body.

You yanked yourself away and quickly wiped underneath your eyes. If anyone saw you like this then they’d know what happened in this stupid bathroom. You couldn’t afford to cause a scene, if this got out who knows what would happen to the boy’s reputation. Even though you wanted so desperately to take everything away from Jungkook you couldn’t do that to the rest of them, even if they know all along.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You should’ve connected the dots sooner. From the red wine stain on his white shirt, he drinks tequila and you never drink red. Next, was the late night hours he’d come back home. You knew he worked hard, but he was unusually tired and you never would’ve guessed that the reason was another woman. Lastly, you should’ve known your nose wasn’t fooling you. That cheap perfume was a dead giveaway, since you’d never use something that, well cheap.

If you had just paid a smidge more attention you could’ve avoided this whole thing. The boys wouldn’t have had to lie and keep this dirty secret. Right now you probably wouldn’t have all of his belongings in a box ready for it leave your sight at once.

“Get your shit.”

The harshness of your voice took him back more then a bit. He came not only because of his stuff, but he wanted to make peace. He wanted to try to win you back. It was a stupid plan, at least that’s what everyone was preaching to him, but he needed to make things right.

“Baby please it was an honest mistake.”

“Don’t baby me, and besides cheating is a choice not a mistake.”

The conversation died after those words. They echoed in his brain like a taunt. He deserved it though, is what he kept telling himself. He deserved every ounce of pain and guilt that were gonna come his way. If anything he deserved for his whole career be destroyed, just like destroyed your relationship.

“I know your legs work, use them and leave.”

You have no remorse for him. You wanted him out of your house, and out of your life completely. Not caring about how harsh you sounded, you were not going to be gentle and caring version of yourself. You were going to be a stone cold bitch. Jungkook eyed the box once more with a guilt stricken face. His eyes soon glossed over, and he almost let the sob loose.

“I’m still so sorry, y/n.”

“You should be, now get out.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

He’s a total wreck, from his head to his toes. Everyone could only watch on as his light dimmed each and every day. They felt bad, but he brought this on himself and he needed to learn from his actions. Just because he was famous doesn’t mean his actions can’t have consequences.

“Y/n, he’s a mess.”

That didn’t bother you one bit. It’s only been two weeks since the breakup and in all honesty you were doing fine. Not perfect, but you were getting along just fine without him. By the sounds of it, Jungkook seemed to be taking this hardest.

“Should I care?” You shrugged as you nonchalantly sipped on your drink. “Why am I even here?”

“We just wanted to see if you’d consider just talking to him for a few minutes, the poor boy looks like he could use some time with you.” Yoongi softly spoke, as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He knew how the whole ordeal happened, and he knew this was a touchy subject. Surprisingly, he was the only one who didn’t know this was happening at the start.

“I get it you guys care about him, but he broke my heart. He cheated on me and now I’m gonna have to live with this constant doubt that I’ll never be good enough.”

“You’re more then enough, Y/n.” Jimin stated rather quickly as he soon zipped his mouth shut. His cheeks burned a bright red as he kept his head down.

You ignored those words as your mind kept replaying that night. As you watched the two walk out of that stall. Her burgundy lipstick smeared across her chin, and the shoulder strap of her dress hanging limply beside of her arm. His arm was wrapped around her waist and his lips were still pressing soft kisses to the base of her neck. Then their eyes met yours and the color drained from their faces.

In all honesty, you wished you’d slapped him. Tell him how much of a fucking idiot he was. Make him wither in a pit of his guilt and despair, but you didn’t. You let yourself go in that moment and you swore to yourself that you’d never let yourself get caught up in anything like that again.

“He still texts me a lot.” You sighed as you ran a hand though your hair. The soft sensation calming you down slightly. You shouldn’t have said anything, but you needed to get this off of your chest. “I barley open them, but if I do I never respond.”

“Are you ever gonna talk to him again?” Hoseok asked while his fingers tapped away at the table. As much as you tried to focus on that sound you still couldn’t get the situation out of your head.

“I want to say no, I really do, but in all honesty I’ll probably give in like I always do.” You scoffed at your pathetic self. He cheated, he’s the one who destroyed this relationship. You shouldn’t even give him the time of day. Now here you are actually thinking of talking to him again. Talking to the one person who single handily destroyed the way you see yourself.

“Just talk for a few minutes and get every last thing off of your chest. It might help you feel better.” Taehyung suggested as he gestured to the buzzing phone on the table. The screen lighting up multiple times with a phone number. “Did you take him out of your contacts?”

“I had too, because the temptation to text him got stronger every time I looked at his name.” You mumbled, while fiddling with the sleeve of your worn out sweater. “I thought he would’ve got the hint by now.”

“Y/n, please just try to give him one more chance to get some last minute things off of his chest.”

You took their advice too heart and tried to settle things out. You typed your heartfelt text and poured every ounce of your hatred and sorrow into as well.

Let’s just hope he finally gets the hint, you’re done. And you want him to finally leave and go be with another. Considering it wasn’t that hard for him when you were together, now he’s free real-a-state anyone can have him.

337 notes · View notes

lihikainanea · 4 years

Note

Hi, so it might sound wierd but I would love to hear more about you and the photog dude,like how you meet and a little history about you two haha. Also , I feel like so many women have a guy like that in their lives those days. Anyways,you're amazing and I just wanna say you do you girl! Do what makes you happy! Hugs - 🐞

Oh my sweet bugaboo, buckle up.

Me and Photog Dude--we actually go way back. We went to high school together. He was a skater dude, I was the quiet nerdy and weird girl in the corner trying to be exactly like Kat from 10 Things I Hate About You, scribbling Edgar Allen Poe poems all over my notebooks.

He was...unfortunate looking in high school. And before you get mad at me for saying that, just know that I was also unfortunate looking in high school. Aren’t we all? Anyway, he was short. Really short. He had bad acne, big braces, and this weird white boy ‘fro. He was a total stoner, he’d graffiti anything that stayed still for long enough. We never mingled much, but we always sat next to each other in class because we were seated alphabetically and we have very similar last names.

After high school, fast forward 3 years later and I walk into a philosophy elective in college and his stoner ass is there (fun fact--he was legit so stoned in college that when I talk to him about this now, he has no recollection.)

Didn’t see him after that. He didn’t even last the whole semester. He dropped out, I kept him on my Facebook, never really paid much attention.

But then 2 years ago, he started posting some photos that were just...incredible. It was from his trip to a city that I used to live in, and some of the photos really caught my eye. They were beautiful. I checked out his professional page, and just thought holy fuck...this dude has talent. And I messaged him, because I’m big on complimenting people. I told him that his work was stunning, and that I was glad he was able to turn it into a career because I always remembered him being creative. We chatted back and forth for a bit, maybe a week or so, and then he invited me to his vernissage.

Maybe I got the wrong idea, maybe he was being deceitful, who knows. In any case, none of my friends were free so I roll up to this vernissage looking bomb. Smelling good. Hair in full effect.

He walks in, and I literally almost pass out--because Jesus he got so fucking hot. He’s taller now--not ideal 6′5 tall but tall enough--and he has beautiful scruff. Bright green eyes. A strong jaw. He’s all lumberjack with plaid and leather and he smells good and I’m squirming in my bar seat.

But then he rolls up with his girlfriend, whom he had been dating for 8 years.

Lei gets drunk, goes home with the bartender. Makes a point of waving to Photog Dude and winking at him as I make my way out. I go off on a tour of the world (remember when I used to travel? har), never think about him again.

Until a few months later, when I get word that he’s single. He dumped his girlfriend because they were just in different places in life.

I plot. I plan the attack. We start chatting again.

Randomly, on Valentine’s Day, I go to a local dive bar with my best friend and ‘ol Green Eyes is there. We make out in the hallway near the bathrooms, because I am classy like that.

We start sleeping together shortly after.

And from then on, friend, that’s where we’re at. It’s a mess. I really only started to get more invested this year, when I stopped travelling. It was complicated before but it worked--I’d be away, and then I’d find out that he went somewhere to a log cabin with a group of friends and fooled around with a girl there. And I’d get peeved, but I was no better--I have dudes in Sweden and in Denmark and a few other places that I was getting with too.

It’s been rough lately, only because I legitimately don’t know if I’ve caught feelings or if I’m just bored. He’s so goddamn pretty and the sex is great and now in my mind it’s ~love~, but I also don’t think about his bitch ass when I’m getting flung by my dude in Sweden.

I think I’m just bored and in need of love.

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i-need-dr-reid · 5 years

Text

Dear Diary

spencer x reader

Chapter 2

Spencer’s POV

author’s note: thank you SO MUCH for your support with the first chapter, I was absolutely blown away by how much everyone liked it! I’ve been sitting on this chapter for a few days because I was nervous about how many people were looking forward to it! If you wanna be tagged in future updates, please comment and let me know!

rating: this chapter is a little steamy! no full smut yet, but we are building, friends. so like, fluffysmut, I guess??

——————————————————————————

I laughed at her joke lightly as she gracefully slid past me. “Please do”, I chuckled. As soon as she shut the door, I collapsed onto my bed and sighed loudly. I rubbed my palms into my eyes until I saw stars, and as I heard her turn the shower on, I did my best not to imagine what she must be doing right now. I couldn’t believe I’d nearly insinuated out loud that we could share a shower. I hoped she hadn’t caught it, but when I thought of how her eyes had gone wide and her cheeks had gone an adorable pink, I knew she had.

What interest would she even have in me? I thought miserably.

I stared at the ceiling and tried not to notice that she was singing Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls in the shower and how beautiful she sounded.

What I wouldn’t give for her to be singing about me, I mused. But why would she? I’m not the kind of person people sing love songs about. I’m not the kind of person people pine over, I’m not the kind of person anyone falls in real love with. I’m surrounded by death and darkness every day, I spout off rape and murder statistics from memory like it’s a knee jerk reaction, I’ve read more books in the last three years than most people read in their whole lives, and I’m certainly no adonis. Not like Morgan, who women seem to fall over themselves to get to know. I’d give anything just for one woman to want to get close to me. No, not just any woman, just her, I admitted to myself. Just her and her perfect everything. Her wonderful mind, her beautiful soul, her perfect hair, her gorgeous eyes, and everything else. The way she can make me smile even after the worst cases where we drudge through the absolute worst the world has to offer. We could be in the trenches together and she could bring me back to life with just her wit and her smile. I am absolutely hopeless for her... I continued to mentally torture myself.

It was at about that time that I heard something thud onto the ground. I slowly opened my eyes and looked over the bed. There on the ground, open face up to what looked like the most recent entry, was her notebook. I bit my lip and contemplated for a moment. It would be very wrong of me to infringe upon her personal space, but... it was open already, I bit my lip. And she had said it was just for things related to cases, right? I’m sure she already has ideas written down about this case, I thought as I leaned down to pick it up, she’s so smart and so-

I immediately realized that what was written on this page had nothing to do with this case. Or any case.

The page the journal had opened to was the bookmarked page, it seemed this journal was one of the ones that had a pretty silk ribbon coming out of the spine. On this page was a poem. A love poem, the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t stop myself from reading it. And re-reading it. And the empty feeling in my gut that I felt any time I saw her smiling and laughing with someone who was good enough for her opened up and became endless. Of course, I thought, of course she has someone. She’s perfect, she deserves someone like this. Someone who makes her feel dreamy and endless. Someone who-

The bathroom door opened suddenly and there she was. She was humming softly as she towel-dried her damp hair, her skin still a little pink from the warm water. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think.

She looked at me and smiled and my heart stopped, then she saw what I was holding and here eyes went wide. “W-what are you-?” she nearly began to panic.

“It fell and it was open on the floor, I just picked it up and it was... open... I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have read it.” I tumbled through the apology, not meeting her eyes.

“You...read it?” she sounded... not angry, but embarrassed almost. Like she’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. It was adorable.

When I finally looked up at her, her cheeks were pink, not from the warm water anymore, but from embarrassment. “What exactly did you read?” she continued.

I stood up and handed her the small diary, looking between the two of them guiltily. She took it and looked at the page, and when she realized what I’d read, she pressed the book to her face.

“Oh my god.” she groaned, still hiding her face.

“Why are you embarrassed? You just caught me reading your diary! I should be embarrassed- I mean, I AM embarrassed!” I sped on, laughing nervously hoping to make her feel better. “And it’s really good! I didn’t know you could write like that, I mean, he’s really lucky. Whoever he is, to have someone feel like that about him, especially you.” I couldn’t stop myself rambling, but she was looking at me now with a small smile and I felt a light in the empty feeling in my gut.

“‘Whoever he is’? You mean you have no idea who this poem might be about?” she asked me, fully grinning now and the empty feeling was suddenly full of birds and butterflies and anything else that fluttered. I smiled back at her because I couldn’t help it.

“Should I?” I worried. If it was someone I knew, shit if it was Morgan or anyone I knew, I think I’d die on the spot. I laughed a little, nervously, at the thought.

She looked like she was contemplating something, looking at me critically, like she did when she was picking apart a suspect in interrogation. Sometimes, I thought she had some kind if psychic intuition with how well she assessed people. I was afraid of what she saw in me.

“If I tell you who it’s about, you can’t freak out on me, okay? Promise?” she was nervous and jittery. I’d have found it more adorable if I wasn’t having a near out of body experience. I was probably shaking slightly. “I promise”, my response was just above a whisper.

She took a step closer to me and I almost didn’t notice because it was such a small fluid motion and then -

And then her lips were on mine and the emptiness in my gut exploded. I was pretty sure I blacked out for a moment, but then she started to pull away and I woke up. Jolting forward I held her face in both my hands, keeping her with me. She made a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob, and I thought she must be relieved. Hah, imagine how I feel! I thought, but I couldn’t say it out loud, I couldn’t say anything because I was far too busy being enraptured by the feeling of her soft lips against mine as I kissed her gently, afraid she’d get scared and want to this to end. I never wanted to stop kissing her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and slid a hand through my hair and I moaned involuntarily as she tugged at it softly. I grabbed her waist and pulled her tight against me and this is it, I could feel it, she’d decide she’d had enough and she’d come to her senses and she’d want this all to stop. This was just too good to be true. But instead she pushed closer to me and moaned and I thought I could feel my heart stop or burst at the sound. I kissed her harder and dug my fingers into her hips and she moaned again but this time it was my name, “Spencer!” against my lips and I swore I was in heaven. All I could do was moan in response, as I turned us and backed her up until we fell onto the bed, her beneath me. We scrambled up the bed until we reached the pillows and settled there.

We kissed for what felt like a lifetime, eventually slowing down to lazily making out. I ran my hands up and down the side of her body because it made her shiver slightly.

We finally broke the kiss and we laid there, gasping for breath and smiling at each other.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She whispered, as if she were afraid to break the spell we were under.

“Why didn’t you?” I countered, I couldn’t stop smiling. I didn’t think I was the kind of person people wrote love poems about.

She never stopped holding me, I never let go of her. I knew then that I never would.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list:

@practical-brujeria , @charming-fan-girl , @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal , @ritz-hell-hotel , @antiquetypewrittermain , @theetherealbloom , @jess-the-introvert , @lokislilslut , @honimello , @sammy-jo1977

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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biglittlesshop · 3 years

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Great Dane 5 Things You Should Know About This Woman Dog Mom She Loves Dogs More Than Human Tee Shirts

I didn’t know anything about this brand when I first bought it it was a Great Dane 5 Things You Should Know About This Woman Dog Mom She Loves Dogs More Than Human Tee Shirts good price and I needed some things so since I was there I picked a few stuff amazingly I really like the products the eye liner does wonders I love it. In response to last week s tatoosday post we got so many tattoos from last unicorn fans around the world that it will take months to showcase all of them to help make things go slightly faster than that and because it s neat to compare and contrast we re going to make today a two tattoosday post take a look at these very different approaches to showing the human and unicorn versions of peter s classic character in one image ashley knight schroeder s tattoo is beautifully stylized I just got this done on saturday the last unicorn has touched my life and helped me through many a rough patch even my sons will watch with me and sing talk along to the movie rippy s tattoos did the work I have no idea who did the original design I saw it and feel in love would love to find the original artist brittni lynn martin and her artist phil meyers from california opted for classic heartfelt look this movie has been my favorite since I was little and is now my favorite book and I have a 3 year old daughter who also loves it and we watch it together so it’s been a huge part of my life so beautiful both of these. The only way to protect your body from these dangerous toxins and reverse the damage that has been done is to use a natural nutritious cleansing program one that will give you exactly what your body needs to flush out all of the toxins that shouldn t be there and boost your metabolism at the same time an easy 3 day program with a complete shopping list and simple recipes that you can make from home without punishing depriving or starving your body start now 3 day cleanse with danette may detox program detox beauty diet fashion cleanse smoothie

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Yesterday was a busy day of meetings and airplane travel for peter and connor but last night peter took some time to share his thoughts on the passing of the great christopher lee christopher lee was the tallest actor I ever knew he was also by far the most literate when we first met in a los angeles studio where he was recording his lines as king haggard in the last unicorn he had just recorded haggard’s speech about his first sight of unicorns and I mentioned that it was probably my favorite speech in the book he immediately wanted to know well did I do it properly we can always redo it right here of course he’d handled the lines perfectly but writers and writers’ opinions about their work mattered intensely to christopher that same afternoon we discovered that between the two of us we we could call to mind just about all the lines of g k chesterton’s poem the rolling english road we also discovered a mutual need to hit the men’s room and my son dan in his mid teens at the time still has a very clear memory of christopher simultaneously peeing while declaiming in that voice which no one could ever keep from imitating after fifteen minutes with him before the roman came to rye or out to severn strode the rolling english drunkard made the rolling english road a reeling road a rolling road that rambled round the shire and after him the parson ran the sexton and the squire I leave it to the reader to imagine that voice in the tiled acoustics of a hollywood bathroom we met a second time in munich where the last unicorn was being dubbed into german most of my memories of that time and of chris lee have to do with books and authors he had known both j r r tolkien and a writer who mattered more to me t h white we had a long ongoing argument in munich about a chapter of the sword in the stone that appears in the english edition of the book but not in the american one he turned out to be right he usually was he never failed to mention the last unicorn as one of his very favorite books and as one of the movies he was most proud of having made indeed he left my whopperjawed as mark twain would have put it when we were being interviewed together on austrian television and he announced oh yes I simply couldn’t resist a chance to play king haggard one more time even in another language after all and he looked straight into the camera it’s the closest they’ll ever let me get to playing king lear the camera swung toward me to catch my stunned reaction and chris looked across the studio at me and winked but my most vivid memory chilling as it remains to this day has to do with the day that I and michael chase walker associate producer of the last unicorn and the one who really got the film made in the first place somehow found our way out to dachau I can’t now recall how we managed it considering that neither one of us spoke german and that you had to take both a subway and a bus to get there from the hotel where the crew were staying but we got there somehow and spent a good half of the day roaming with other tourists around a legendary concentration camp peering blindly into the huge crematoriums but staring with equal horror and fascination at the endless rows of filing cabinets containing every record of every human being who was ever imprisoned starved gassed or simply worked to death in this place michael and I grew quieter and quieter that afternoon until by the time we started back to munich we weren’t speaking at all I think we both felt that we might say anything in words again the first person we met in the hotel lobby was christopher he took one look at us and announced you’ve been to dachau we nodded without answering chris strode toward us looked all the way down from his six foot five inch altitude lowered his voice and inquired still smells doesn’t it with the end of world war ii christopher as a member of the special forces and whose five or six languages included fluent german had been assigned to hunt down and interrogate nazi war crminals and had been present at the liberation of dachau and yes the smell of death had undoubtedly faded somewhat since 1945 but it was still as real as michael and me wandering dazedly between the ovens and the filing system we just didn’t know what it was but christopher did and i’d know it again I never saw him again after munich though we spoke on the telephone a few times on the last occasion when I had called to wish him a happy 90th birthday I remember him assuring me that if by the time you come to make your live action version of your movie I have passed on do not let it concern you I have risen from the dead several times I know how it’s done he worked almost to the last as the real artists of every kind do they work to be working because that’s what they do and they die when they stop I always regarded him as the last of the great 19th century actors that bravura larger than life style went with him no modern rada trained performer would ever attempt it today nor should they it would inevitably come out parody however earnestly meant yet there was always more to christopher lee as an actor than dracula or the mummy or saruman or sherlock holmes for that matter though he was very proud of having played not only both holmes and watson but sherlock’s brother mycroft as well lord summerisle of the original the wicker man probably his favorite of his own movies is most likely closer to chris’s dark benignity than any other role he ever inhabited I believe this because lord summerisle sings a surprising amount in that movie and chris passionately loved singing if there is any such thing as an afterlife or reincarnation I truly hope no believe that christopher lee will return as a wagnerian opera singer if he hadn’t been considered too old in his 30s to be accepted for formal vocal training he might have been in his own eyes at least a happier more fulfilled man but we would have been deeply poorer for it and never have known See Other related 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hansoheeglobal · 4 years

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English translation; Han Sohee interview on Dazed Korea May 2020 Issue (credit the scanned article goes to @cubfcoftee)

Usually, the more popular the drama is, the more viewers see the characters in the drama being reflected in reality. In that sense, do you realize the popularity of "Yeo Da-kyung" in "The World of The Married"?

Yes! (Laughs) These days, I've already been getting a lot of bad words from my acquaintances, regardless of family or friends. Two days ago, I got a message from a friend saying, "You're really bad."

How did you interpret Da-kyung as an actress?

When I read the script, I felt sorry for Da-kyung. A young woman in her early 20s abandoned her family, her gaze, and her pride, I wondered why she was doing this. In order to express the character, I had to understand Da-kyung enough, so I was worried about how to do. In my view, Da-kyung is a character who threw both body and mind in love with 'Tae-oh', so I decided to look at that part only. For 'Da-kyung', the keyword love is in front of a married man, and for people, the word married couple exists before love. I think this is the difference between Da-kyung in my view and Da-kyung that viewers see.

What's the point of the future story?

Tae-oh is cursing, and so far it's only the beginning? (laughs) Focus on Da-kyung and Sun-woo" relationship, but at the same time pay attention to the story of the people around them. Yes, as couples of different ages, such as Lim Je-hyuk, Hyun-seo, and In-gyu, get involved in the incident, the episode unfolds in an omnibus style. There will be a lot of things happening one day.

"I want to act a real love relationship this time, not a dramatic love. Stories that date their peers, resolve conflicts, and end happily. And I hope my character gets loved next time."

Da-kyung's fashion is also getting popular.

At first, I thought Dagyung should dress nicely because she is a rich-house daughter. Thinking about it again, I thought, "Yeo Da-kyung: The daughter of a rich family is the eye of the beholder, and Da-kyung's poem line is my house (=the rich house) that was born and grew naturally, so I don't need to shine like the daughter of a rich family for the first reason." Dakyung's fashion will all change with time.

Dagyung is a Pilates instructor.Do you actually enjoy pilates?

No, I don't have a lot of muscles, so I've been doing weight training. Before I started filming, I learned Pilates at the director's recommendation, and it was so different from the exercise I've been doing. Something similar is that it feels like holding up like a core exercise, a plank. I didn't think static exercise was right, but once I tried it, it was effective for Jasmine's orthodontics. I'm going to try to do it a little more.

What kind of character do you want to play?

Instead of dramatic love, I want to play a real love affair next time. It is a story about people of their age who date, solve conflicts with each other, and end happily. And next time, I want to be act as that character.

Is there anything else you'd like to challenge besides acting?

I used to study art. I want to learn more from my discharge because art is something that I have to be with in my life. But I don't think I can do art at the same time.You have to do one right before you can catch two rabbits. I think it's time to focus more on acting, and art is not light to me, so I want to study in France when I have time to turn my eyes to it.

I was surprised that your skin was so good while watching the monitor. Do you have any special methods?

Sleep? For me, sleep is better than exercise or diet. I'm going to sleep at least 7 hours. When I'm on the location, I'll sleep as soon as I get in the car. In fact, if you can't sleep, you get dark circles and pigments, and you'll be able to control your tired skin. I'm trying to make a habit of drinking water. I didn't even drink a cup of coffee.

Your hometown is Ulsan. I'm curious about the Seoul adaptation period.

I have a friend who is studying abroad, and when I came to Seoul, she was the only one I knew. My friend lives in Hongdae and I live in Gangnam, so I was always alone when I was eating or drinking coffee. The street is a little too far to see often. So I have been staying in the studio with my friend, not my house, ever since some time ago. And I got to know a lot of people through Arba Teu, and now I'm happy to have that kind of relationship.

Don't you usually use dialect?

Now I have free dialects and standard language, sometimes without even realizing it. There are times when they come. It's not a dialect, but it's a unique accent Haejun Sun Bae, who plays Taeoh, is from Gyeongsang-do, so he naturally speaks in dialect once or twice in the scene.

You must have tried hard to change your dialect while acting.

It was natural. Fortunately, I think the environment helped a lot. My grandmother is from Wonju. She doesn't speak in dialect at all, so I didn't speak in dialect when I was young. After coming up to the first page, I naturally adapted to it by making many friends in Seoul. I still use dialect when I meet my friends from Gyeongsang-do. Depending on who you talk to, it becomes similar to the other person's tone.

I heard you were popular with your friend when you were in school.

I'm an exaggeration. (laughs) I didn't have a commonly called "boyfriend." attend a girls' high school I transferred to an arts high school, so I didn't know what to do in a space with boy friends. If you've been to a girls' high school, you'll know how fun it is. Seven unique moods. I don't like extreme color and I'm interested in people, so I've been friends with O.J. I've received a few letters from my friends saying that I want to be close to them. I think it was misrepresented that I was popular among women. (laughs).

You're working as Han Sohee. What is Lee So-hee's personality like?

There is no boundary or difference between Han So-hee and Lee So-hee. It's still strange to call her Han So-hee. I like people. It's not like I listen to other people's stories and say, "Whoa!" I just like to sit face to face and watch.I thought, "How would a photographer like?" and "How would he like to be?" I tried to approach him as a person when I didn't do it when I was working.

You think a mind that likes and observes people will be the foundation for the job of an actor/actress.

That's right. Since the character is human, I think it's helpful to get to know many different sides of people naturally.

What do you usually do when you're alone?

I ride a bicycle because the weather is so nice these days. I can't go to the fitness center because of Corona 19, so instead, I ride my bike for a walk. I like to be active, but when I want to pick it up, I just stay at home for a week. There's something extreme about it, but it's all at home. Suddenly, I was like, "Oh! I can't be like this." If you think you need to move like a human being, you can go out alone.

When I saw at your Instagram, I thought, 'Han So-hee has her own taste like a woman in her twenties these days.' I'm curious about Han So-hee's daily life, hobbies and tastes.

I usually watch movies, especially French movies. I recently watched all of director Xavier Dolan's movies again. I like the feeling of seeing and listening to different cultures and languages. If you keep looking at the characters in the movie, you can feel their eyes, hands, and feet. In short, everyday fashion is manuscript! Among them, I like to wear dresses that have a vintage or retro vibe in the design that reveals the necline. I like styling that matches rough boots that contradict the feminine dress of flower pattern. I rarely dress up these days, so I only wear Crocs.(Laughing) I rarely put on basic makeup and apply it on my lips to add more vitality. My skin is thin enough to show veins, so I rarely do base makeup because the more I put on makeup, the more my skin gets damaged.

It's a cat named Butler?

It's my second brother. At first, I brought him with the thought of having a child, but now he's a sister who lives with Eun. His name is Marsh, and he's soft like a marshmallow. So I called him Marsh. He's like a real brother. He's good at opening doors. Jump and lower the lever grip and open the door. Sometimes when I get sick of cat toilets, I go into the bathroom and do my chores, and I'm often surprised at night. But he's a quiet kid who's never been bitten.

How was the photo shoot today?

Since I was filming a drama, I was stuck in Da-kyung for a while, but I felt like I was out of it today. It was a pictorial, so I knew I had to strike a chic pose, but it was fun because I was able to move freely, slanted and tilted. I like this better than the pose that you put on in a cool way.

Which pictorial would you like to take with Dazed for the second time?

I want to take pictures outdoors. with a languid feeling in the sun

So sorry there are a lot of mistranslation. I hope you all still get it.

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 5 years

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Three Card Draw

For @leonine-eagle as part of the Les Mis Halloween Exchange 2019! Your trick for the prompts mythology au and modern au! I know you asked for pining too and I tried, honest, but I don't think it landed which is why I labelled it gen. Though hopefully I fit in enough friendship feels for you! Regardless I hope you like it and Happy Halloween! Words: 11,617 Rating: T AO3

Being stuck in Limbo for a few centuries was boring. A few thousand years just made him angry.

Zeus had said that he was “a radical even your lauded Prometheus wouldn’t associate with” before chucking him in here. Enjolras was fairly certain he’d been forgotten about by this point.

Not that it made Enjolras any more remorseful. Especially seeing as he wasn’t remorseful to begin with. This just further proved his point that Zeus was a self-important asshat who disrespected women and took advantage of the mortals. It would seem the other gods still wouldn’t listen to him though, if they did maybe he wouldn’t still be in this plane of literal nothing. Or maybe they just couldn’t find him. Or maybe they were too afraid to share his fate.

Regardless, Enjolras wasn’t happy and was getting tired with just arguing with the version of Zeus in his head. Besides, he was a minor god anyway. And the god of freedom. Why was he being punished so severely? What did Zeus expect?

It would have taken him hundreds of years longer before he’d have been even the slightest bit of a threat. At the very least a century. Enjolras had a small following in the northern wilds outside a growing city called Rome; the group was expanding steadily but never at an alarming rate. Or, well, he’d assisted a bit in the Romans establishing a republic and that may have bolstered his following and increased his power. But still not enough to catch the attention of the Greek Pantheon.

Except, some of the Greeks’ followers had come to Rome and as a rapidly expanding city it caught their attention. Enjolras with it. So, he said some things, Zeus was awful, and he was thrown here. The last thing Enjolras heard as the portal closed was Zeus telling his son, Dionysus, that he could have Enjolras’s followers since “intoxication is just a variation on his theme.” That last bit was something that especially pressed on his nerves.

For the umpteenth time Enjolras was finessing the finer points of his argument that freedom did not equate rampancy and debauchery when there was a break in the nothingness. A rectangle had appeared to his right. He couldn’t exactly describe what it looked like beyond the fact that it was something in the nothing. Enjolras didn’t know what this meant or if it might be a trap or a punishment even more severe, but he knew he might not get another chance to leave Limbo. He walked toward it and then through it.

He’d walked right into a room with strips of light coming through window coverings and landing on two sofas, some small tables – all of which were strewn with books both open and closed – and two very shocked young men.

“Holy shit. Ferre, it worked,” the one said in a hushed tone.

“I’ll admit that I’m just as surprised as you are,” his companion replied.

“Are you- are you really a god?” The first asked, eyeing Enjolras suspiciously. Or, more accurately, shifting his suspicious gaze from the book open between them up to Enjolras before going back to the book.

It was quickly dawning on Enjolras that these two men had released him from his prison. Realizing the intelligence, compassion, and will needed to accomplish that quickly endeared the mortals to Enjolras. Besides, the answer was obvious. “What year is it?”

The second man blinked at him from behind two small panes of glass enclosed in some type of dark metal. “2019,” he answered quickly, and added almost as an afterthought, “AD.”

Enjolras frowned and raised his head to the sky, only to be met with a low white ceiling. It was close enough, if Zeus were listening he’d get the point. “Fuck.”

“Sometimes I forget that you’re a god,” Courfeyrac remarked from where he was sprawled across the couch in Enjolras and Combeferre’s small apartment. His presence meant there weren’t currently books sprawled there, rather they were piled haphazardly onto the end table by his feet. “But,” he continued, “then you do something like this and I’m abruptly reminded.”

Enjolras glanced down at the bucket of cleaning supplies in his hand before throwing a look to Combeferre who seemed just as confused. Ferre lowered his book to better examine Courfeyrac as he asked, “You mean voluntarily clean the bathroom?”

“Yes!” Courf cried, swooning further into the sofa and making Enjolras roll his eyes to hide his smile. “Marius would never!”

Enjolras snorted. “Well it is Marius.”

Courf scrambled to escape the sofa. Enjolras had learned quickly that it had a tendency to absorb you if you sat there too long and it seemed as though Courfeyrac was the current victim. He’d looked into whose domain crappy apartment furniture fell under and while Combeferre insisted that it was Hestia Enjolras wasn’t too sure, there was no way she’d associate with the abomination that was Ikea. Enjolras was convinced that it was Loki. It was an ongoing debate.

“He is not that bad!” Courfeyrac insisted. Combeferre made a face before going back to his book, leaving Courf to give Enjolras a pleading look. “Really, he’s not.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, shifting the bucket to his other hand. “The first time I met him he told me that the gods were long dead and that if you were going to waste your time with religion it should at least be to the Catholic Church because at least they did good as an organization.”

Courf winced. Marius’s first impression had not been a good one and he knew. “That was his family talking, not him. You know that.”

Sighing, Enjolras turned to go scrub the toilet. “I do. I just have a tendency to hold a grudge. That happens when you spend thousands of years stuck in literal nothing.”

Following him to the bathroom Courfeyrac snorted and leaned against the doorjamb. “He’s harmless.”

“I know,” Enjolras admitted. “He’s like the thing from the flim with the singing frog.” He disliked not being able to recall the word. In a matter of months he’d managed to catch up on all the history and culture that he missed, with Courfeyrac and Combeferre as diligent and kind teachers, but there was still a steep learning curve and sometimes things escaped him.

Courfeyrac hadn’t responded so Enjolras stopped his scrubbing to look at him. Courf had tilted his head to the side and drawn his brows together in confusion. “Meet the Robinsons?” he asked slowly.

“No,” Combeferre appeared behind Courf, looking amused but benign. “The Muppets. He’s calling Marius a muppet.”

Courfeyrac looked between them, a pouty frown firmly in place. “Marius is…” he stopped, sighed, and continued, “Marius really is a muppet.”

Combeferre looked smug before turning to go back to the living room. Enjolras just snorted and made to keep cleaning. He’d thought that Courfeyrac had left too until he heard him speak again.

“If you don’t like Marius why are you friends with him? Is it just because you need the followers?”

Enjolras let the brush rest in the toilet and turned to look up at Courf. He understood why the question was asked but it still hurt a bit. Enjolras had quickly grown exceptionally close with Courfeyrac and Combeferre and enjoyed being folded easily into their loose group of friends. They were smart, passionate, and believed in everything that Enjolras had been working for before Zeus had exiled him. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were his brothers. And their other friends were just that, friends.

“No. Marius may be a bit misguided but he’s not the only one. Knowledge about the gods is lacking and something happened and no one seems to know what. It’s not his fault that this lack of knowledge impacted him. He’s a good person and seems to genuinely want to learn. He’s my friend and I want to help him,” Enjolras assured Courfeyrac.

Courf nodded, he sank so that he too was sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. “It’s just… I know that you need followers or worshipers or whatever to regain your power and like the twitter thing isn’t going as well as we thought.”

Enjolras shrugged, he wanted to reach out and put a hand on Courf’s shoulder but seeing as how he was still in the middle of cleaning the toilet thought better of it. “It’s gaining traction faster than anything I used to do and I am getting stronger every day. What’s important though is that there are mortals who want to make the world better for each other because it just proves my point: you never needed gods to begin with, just each other. And you and Combeferre and Feuilly and Joly and Bossuet and yes even Marius are proof of that.”

Courfeyrac seemed to be in better spirits as he leveled a searching look at Enjolras. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Say just the right thing?”

Enjolras smirked. “I am a god.”

Courfeyrac laughed and they could hear Combeferre booing the joke from down the hall, making Courf just laugh harder.

The weekly meetings at the Musain, a café near Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s university, reminded Enjolras of the rituals that his followers used to conduct. Though these he found much more enjoyable. There was a strident attempt at democracy and even though they all knew Enjolras was a god they never treated him as such. He reveled the egalitarianism of it.

Jehan still insisted that they open every meeting with a poem. Their compositions were far superior to any that Enjolras used to hear though and ranged in topics from soap bubbles to deforestation. Sometimes within the same poem.

It was during Jehan’s reading of a piece on feminism in the film industry that Bahorel ducked into the backroom late, another man on his heels. They settled into seats in the corner, as to not cause a disruption. Enjolras studied the new man as Jehan recited. There was something about the flash of his eyes under his messy curls and the twitch of his mouth that spoke mischief to Enjolras. The same look he’d seen about Hermes, Loki, and Sun Wukong.

Jehan sat down, finished, and rather than snap politely like the others all did the newcomer clapped loudly. He earned a startled look from Jehan and a glare from Enjolras. Bahorel winced and clapped him on the shoulder.

The newcomer looked at Bahorel in confusion. “What? It was good. I’m showing my appreciation.”

Bahorel sighed and made a face at Enjolras that clearly said, “What’re you gonna do?” Enjolras waved it off in favor of looking to Jehan to see what they thought of the whole situation.

They were grinning broadly. “You really enjoyed it?”

“Oh, very much yes,” came the reply. It was enthusiastic and warm but felt like it was the build up to something else and Enjolras was unsurprised as he continued. “The rhythm and cadence? The way you made the syllables fall just so! And-”

“R,” Bahorel interrupted, “why don’t you let me introduce you before you overwhelm Jehan by presenting an impromptu dissertation on their poetry.”

The man called R stopped and grinned. It was lazy and self-deprecating and that mischief was back. Something about it bothered Enjolras but he didn’t know what and he didn’t know why.

“I’m Grantaire,” he said with a sweeping wave of his hand.

Jehan beamed. “R!” they laughed and once it was pointed out Enjolras got the joke too. It was clever and he smiled at it.

“Bahorel beats me up once a week,” Grantaire continued after flashing a warm smile to Jehan.

“I do not!” Bahorel scoffed. He looked like Jason Mamoa’s little brother. Two inches littler and that was it. Compared to Grantaire who, from what Enjolras could tell, was stocky but not tall it wasn’t hard to believe Grantaire.

Grantaire rolled his eyes but his smile never faltered. “’Rel and I box at the same gym and for reasons lost to both of us became sparring partners. He invited me to save the world club and I got tired of saying no.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Bahorel, why would he keep inviting someone who didn’t want to come? Bahorel pointedly ignored him.

Bossuet leaned across the table and immediately swept Grantaire into a discussion with Musichetta and Joly. Enjolras knew he was frowning and was relieved to notice that Eponine was too.

Eponine was suspicious of everyone and it came in handy, she could normally tell how trustworthy a person was within a matter of minutes. Since no one seemed to know what had happened to the other gods, or if Zeus would track Enjolras down should he discover he’d been freed, it meant that keeping Enjolras’s identity as a god a secret was imperative. No one was allowed to know until Eponine gave her nod of approval. Enjolras could have easily confirmed their loyalties himself but he hated doing that, feeling that it was an intrusion of privacy and to ask someone to consent would tip his hand. Besides, Eponine hadn’t been wrong yet.

She glanced back at Enjolras and nodded. It seemed her frown was just mild annoyance and initial distrust. Eponine was settling back into her chair and turning back to listen to something Combeferre was saying. Something about Grantaire still seemed off to Enjolras though so he texted Musichetta quickly.

Enjolras: Do you have your tarot cards?

Musichetta: Never leave home w/out em! Why?

Enjolras: Can you do a reading on Grantaire? Can we trust him?

Musichetta: One sec.

Enjolras pretended to listen to Courfeyrac and Feuilly talk about the essay they were doing for the international relations class they were in together. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Musichetta excuse herself from the table, grabbing her bag and slipping it on. She pressed a hand to Grantaire’s shoulder as she passed, saying something likely along the lines of “be right back” and heading towards the bathrooms. About a minute later Enjolras’s phone lit up with a text from her.

Musichetta: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups

Enjolras frowned at the screen. Tarot wasn’t in use before but picking it up was almost intuitive for him, though he did much better when the cards were in front of him. As such, it was taking him a second to recall the meanings of the ones Musichetta texted she’d drawn. For Musichetta it was a second language and she would often have entire conversations with her deck, to the delight and amusement of their friends.

She must have known that he was still working it out because another text appeared.

Musichetta: He has a past he’s not sharing and may not want to share with us. Something happened and I think it still is but ultimately we can trust him. He’s good people Enj.

Enjolras typed out a quick “Thanks” before flipping his phone so it was facedown on the table. He’d wait until she got back to really start but in the meantime he could get everyone’s attention.

“Alright,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of conversation. People quieted and the room’s attention turned towards him. Musichetta slipped back into her seat and gave him a nod. “Since this is Grantaire’s first time joining us and I think we could all do with a bit of a refresher on the twitter front let’s start there. Courfeyrac? Combeferre?”

“Right,” Courf shuffled his chair back so he could stand, “so we set Enjolras up with a twitter because this is the twenty-first century, I’ve read way too much The Wicked and The Divine, and his witty comebacks translate well into two hundred eighty characters or less.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but didn’t interrupt Courfeyrac.

“So far we’re at a little over a thousand followers and growing steadily. Um, we do need to work on your hashtag game.” He gave Enjolras a serious look and it was all Enjolras could do to not start talking about how he thought they broke up the flow and Courf would fire back about SEO and all sorts of terms Enjolras realized were important for social media but he was only just beginning to understand.

“The testing of followers to power has been… tricky,” Combeferre winced and Enjolras knew he was thinking of the other day in the kitchen. Enjolras used to be able to just will a flame into existence. He’d managed to light a candle and then Courfeyrac and Marius walked in and he’d nearly set the curtains on fire. “It seems that the physical presence of people who believe in Enjolras make him more powerful but that has also made gathering empirical data difficult.”

There was a laugh from the corner of the room and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire looking at them all incredulously. “You do know you sound like you’re talking about a cult? I mean, I told ‘Rel I thought he’d joined a cult but like I wasn’t serious. Look, nobody should be striving to be Jared Leto dude.”

“It’s not a cult,” Enjolras heard himself say flatly. “We’re trying to make the world better.”

“You know that’s exactly what someone leading a cult might say,” Grantaire still smiled but it was sharp and there was a little bit of mania in his expression now. Enjolras watched as he pulled a flask from somewhere in his coat and took a swig. “Or, you know, a new religion. Which is kinda like a cult. Now fuck Zeus, guy’s a dick who can’t keep his dick in his pants, but like I doubt that any of the gods are gonna go in for you trying to turn yourself into one. Believe me, it doesn’t work like that.”

Enjolras was instantly impressed and just as quickly furious. It was brave to speak so glibly about any of the gods and especially Zeus. Then again, what did this man know? No one knew anything about the gods except the gods themselves and as far as they could tell Enjolras was the only god around.

“Oh, and you’ve tried?” Enjolras heard himself saying before he could stop.

Grantaire just raised his brows and took another long pull from his flask. Enjolras knew what Dionysus looked like and it wasn’t the man at the other end of the table. Something about the angle of the brows and the mocking tilt of the lips and the flask in hand reminded Enjolras of him though and that made him see red.

“There’s no need to become a god when you already are one!” Enjolras threw his hands onto the table, pushing himself to his feet. He could feel his palms getting hot and his chest heaving as he breathed.

Grantaire just stared back from across the table. Enjolras saw there was satisfaction in his expression, Enjolras having confirmed his suspicions and risen to the challenge.

Someone was tugging on the sleeve of his sweater and Enjolras turned to see Combeferre giving him a look. It was part reprimand, part warning and Enjolras knew he needed to heed it. Combeferre was wise beyond his years and much smarter than Enjolras, which they both knew. He also had a much cooler head and was able to direct Enjolras’s anger much better than Enjolras himself was.

He returned to his seat, avoiding his other friends’ eyes and the smug look Grantaire seemed to be sending his way. The spot on the table where his hands had pressed smoked slightly and the plastic had warped. Enjolras felt himself flush as he examined it.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said, naturally filling in the awkward silence. He tried to catch Enjolras’s eye but quickly realized that was futile and stopped. “So, like I was, um, explaining? Since the gods draw power from their followers, we’re trying to get Enjolras social media followers and hope the sentiment transfers!”

Where Combeferre took Enjolras’s anger and pointed it at a target, Courfeyrac was able to shape it. Not blunt it, though sometimes he was able to do that too, but turn it into something that was wieldy. Focused. The easy cadence of his voice even now was helping to pull Enjolras back to the present. Not the past, where he was trapped and powerless. Or to the future he dreamt of and longed for and knew with enough help he could achieve. But the present where he was surrounded by his friends who believed in that future and wanted to do what they could to make it a reality.

Courf’s voice had been working, centering Enjolras in the here and now, until Grantaire interrupted. Again.

“Ho-ly fuck,” Grantaire laughed. Enjolras whipped his head up to look at him and this time he really did look manic. “You really are a cult!”

There was some general sputtering and cries of outrage and Courfeyrac was saying “What? No. What? No! We- we- we don’t even have water!”

Enjolras found himself taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and opening them to focus on Grantaire. “You came because you were curious, for one reason or another, about what we do. We’re trying to help people and it just so happens that I have the ability to do a little more than the average. The gods have mistreated mortals for eons, using them as playthings and pawns. Then, leaving them to be crushed under the rubble of the wars the gods have wrought. We’re saying no more. No more fate or interference, just the freedom to live as you want without dealing with the fallout of beings too powerful and arrogant to give a shit.”

The room had gone silent; if he tried Enjolras was sure he might be able to hear breathing and heartbeats but even that seemed like a stretch in the hush that had fallen.

For the first time all evening Grantaire’s face had gone blank. “You want a revolution,” he said flatly.

Enjolras opened his mouth to contradict but Grantaire had cut him off.

“You want a revolution. Never mind the fact that the gods have fucked off ages ago. Never mind the fact that in a fight with a god all your so-called friends would die and you would be the lone martyr left standing. Who can’t be killed but certainly wouldn’t be allowed to just walk free. No, that wouldn’t matter because you have justice and righteous fury on your side. But wait, I don’t see Forseti or Sekhmet here? Oh, right. Because the gods have all fucked off and left the mortals to rot. How can you fight something that’s not even there?”

“I’m here,” Enjolras said with certainty.

“Good for you! I’ve spent half my life cursing Zeus and you know what? He still hasn’t shown. I feel like my evidence is more damning.” At that Grantaire stood, stuffing his flask back into one of the many pockets on his jacket. “Well ‘Rel, this was fun. Or something. Bossuet, Joly, give me a call and we’ll put a D&D game together.” He walked out the door saying, “I’ll just go, figure you don’t want non-believers in your little cult.”

Nobody moved in the wake of Grantaire’s leaving. Enjolras just blinked at the door, upset and hurt but he didn’t understand why. Not Grantaire’s words, but his leaving was certainly the cause. But why would that upset Enjolras?

Bahorel finally broke the tension. “Dude, I am so sorry. I didn’t- He’s not- I thought he’d be cool, y’know?”

Enjolras nodded. He felt himself relax as everyone seemed to refocus. Grantaire wasn’t the first naysayer Enjolras had met and he wouldn’t be the last. So why did he bother him so much?

Enjolras was shocked then when Grantaire appeared at the Musain the next week. He walked in late and carrying a bottle of wine but he didn’t interrupt, just sat in the back drinking and occasionally scoffing at something that had been said. He’d left as soon as the official meeting ended and took his bottle with him.

The next week the scene repeated itself. Again and again, week after week.

Finally, Enjolras was so infuriated by his own inability to work out Grantaire’s motivations he just asked. Breaking off in the middle of speaking he turned slightly to better address Grantaire, “What are you doing here?”

“Not being disruptive?” Grantaire hazarded, confusion plain on his face. “Or would you rather I be disruptive? Because I can be, don’t think I can’t.”

Enjolras huffed. “Oh, I am abundantly aware.”

Grantaire smiled, the expression what Courfeyrac would have called shit eating. “Well,” Grantaire said with sickening sweetness, “then the choice is yours.”

Enjolras felt his face heat. He turned and continued to address his friends. He could see Grantaire drinking from the bottle out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the night was no different than any other, except that Grantaire stayed until the end. Enjolras was talking with Feuilly about an upcoming protest they were planning to attend when he saw that Grantaire was still there, helping Bossuet move one of the tables back to its place against the wall.

As everyone else filed out Enjolras lingered, noticing that Grantaire did too. Soon the other man was ducking out after Marius and Cosette, leaving Enjolras with Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

“That was odd,” Combeferre commented, nodding after Grantaire.

“Aw, R’s harmless,” Courfeyrac waved it off, shrugging on his jacket. “He drinks too much and runs his mouth but he’s not a bad guy. If you don’t believe me use your weird godly powers to check for yourself.”

Enjolras made a noncommittal noise to that. “I just, I don’t understand why he keeps coming if he doesn’t believe in us.”

“He’s a skeptic.” Combeferre said it like it was a fact. Sunlight reflecting off gases in the atmosphere made the sky blue. Enjolras was a god in exile. Society benefits when women are given opportunities. Grantaire was a skeptic. “He wants to see if we can actually prove him wrong.”

Enjolras scoffed at that. He flipped the lights off as he closed the door to the back room behind them. Courfeyrac patted both Enjolras and Combeferre on the back before going to flirt with the baristas, who were definitely trying to see which one he’d ask out on a date first.

“Look, you’re going to think what you want and I won’t stop you. Just, that’s my opinion on the matter,” Combeferre gave him a level look. “If you don’t believe me you can always ask him yourself. And not in the middle of a meeting leaving him open to public embarrassment.”

Enjolras widened his eyes. “That’s not-”

“I know. He might not have.”

Enjolras cursed. It was ancient and long and his friends always begged him to tell them what it meant but it didn’t translate well so he never did.

Combeferre just smiled, shrugging. He gave a little two finger salute off the corner of his glasses before turning and weaving his way towards the door. He was heading back to the university to get some work done, meaning Enjolras had hours of an empty apartment ahead of himself to stew on the evening.

Enjolras took one last glance to the counter where Courfeyrac was fluttering his eyelashes at the girl with the pixie cut and glasses. She seemed unimpressed which was a far cry from her coworkers. There was no way Courf would be joining him to walk to the metro station anytime soon. Enjolras stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and headed towards the door.

He shouldered the door open and immediately flinched at the shock of the drizzle. Enjolras grumbled at the weather and everyone he could think of who might be responsible for it as he turned to walk down the sidewalk. He was brought up short though by the figure leaning against the wall just under the awning and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked incredulously.

“Knew you’d be the last one out.”

It was all the confirmation Enjolras needed. “I’m not. Courfeyrac is still in there,” he huffed.

Grantaire laughed, but it didn’t sound mocking. It sounded genuinely amused. Enjolras frowned, suddenly off balance.

“You know I never thought the god of poetry would be so fucking literal.”

“What?” Enjolras felt like he was getting whiplash, so thrown and unsure of what was currently happening.

Grantaire gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, come off it. You’re obviously Apollo, god of the sun and poetry and healing and music and a million other things.”

There was a lot wrong with that sentence but Enjolras managed to zero in on the most minor thing in his shock.

“Apollo isn’t the sun god, Helios is.”

Grantaire looked at him like he was crazy as he sipped from the cup. “Where have you been? They gave Apollo and Artemis the sun and moon ages ago.”

Enjolras frowned. “I was exiled.”

“No shit,” Grantaire laughed. “I mean, it was kinda obvious you weren’t in good standing.” He gestured with a nod back towards the café.

“No.” Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head. “No, I mean I was literally thrown into limbo.”

When he looked back at Grantaire he’d frozen and there was an undecipherable look on his face. But just for a second before it had flashed back to some color of amusement.

“You’re saying Dante actually got that bit right?” He teased.

Enjolras responded with a flat expression.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Go on, tell me how wrong I am.”

“It’s a term that is used to describe a pocket dimension wherein nothing exists, not even time.”

“Hmm. Fascinating.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows over the rim of his cup.

“You’re enjoying this,” Enjolras accused.

“Only minimally.”

“Why?”

“It’s amusing? You’re very easy to rile.”

Enjolras huffed, crossing his arms. He assumed that Grantaire chuckled but Enjolras was trying too hard to ignore the other man to tell for sure. He was stubborn but his curiosity won out and his mind had circled back to the beginning of their conversation in the silence.

“Did you really think I was Apollo?”

Grantaire spluttered a bit on his drink, coughing before he answered. “Well yeah. I mean, the whole blonde halo of hair kinda implies it as did the grand speeches and well it wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was a damn good guess.”

Enjolras hummed. He stared out at the street were a car passed, mist making swirling clouds in its lights.

“So I was wrong, I’m used to that. Do I get another guess or would you be so kind as to enlighten an unworthy creature like myself?” The delivery was dry but the bite of acid was still audible in Grantaire’s words.

Enjolras’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at Grantaire again.

Grantaire blinked and took another sip. “We can make it an exchange if you’d rather. You ask me a question and I give you an answer. In fact, you ask me two questions and I’ll answer both.”

Enjolras didn’t see the point or really follow what exactly Grantaire meant but this had been the longest interaction they’d had and so far it wasn’t crashing and burning. Which was exciting if only for the novelty. So, he did as Grantaire had said.

“What’s in the cup?” It was a genuine curiosity because Enjolras had never seen him drink anything that didn’t contain alcohol.

Grantaire gave a slow smile and swirled the cup once. It made Enjolras note the hand warmers he wore, knit from dark purple yarn they looked remarkably similar to the ones that Feuilly had made for him a few weeks before, in fact the only difference that he could see were that his own were gold. It made Enjolras wonder when the two had become friends and how he had not noticed. In fact, the longer that he thought about it the longer Enjolras realized that Grantaire had befriended all of Enjolras’s friends over the past few weeks, gestures and snatches of conversation and off-handed mentions all suddenly righting themselves in his memory.

He was pulled from his musings as Grantaire answered. “Mulled wine.”

Enjolras sighed. Right, most of those memories had something or other to do with nights out on the town and most, if not all, included heavy drinking.

“And where did you get mulled wine?”

“Uh, uh, uh,” Grantaire tutted, waggling a finger. “That’s your second question, you sure you want to waste it?”

Rolling his eyes was Enjolras’s only response. He couldn’t see anything else about Grantaire that could possibly interest him.

“Alright,” Grantaire shrugged. “Suit yourself. I made it.”

Now Enjolras was surprised and genuinely curious. He studied Grantaire to see if he might be teasing him in some way. Grantaire raised his eyebrows and tugged the corner of his lip up in a smirk.

“I bet now you wished you had asked a different question. Or had the ability to ask a third.”

Enjolras glared. Now Grantaire was teasing him.

Grantaire’s smirk turned into a smile. “Fine, I’ll take pity on the poor god and tell you one way you can make mulled wine. Granted, this would be for some shit mulled wine but still drinkable.”

“How kind,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Hmm, yes, thank you,” Grantaire preened. “You order a cup of hot apple cider, but you ask them to only fill it halfway. Then you go to the little bar with the creamers and what not and add extra cinnamon and sugar and steal a stirrer. Then, you fill the cup with your own wine and stir.”

He wasn’t able to help himself, Enjolras wrinkled his nose and took a half step back in mild revulsion. “That sounds disgusting.”

“I did warn you it wouldn’t be great.”

“Still.”

“You asked and I went above and beyond the call of duty to tell you about that. Now, I believe you owe me something?”

Enjolras sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was leaving the Musain before he spoke. “Liber.”

“No shit,” Grantaire whispered as his eyes widened. “No shit. You’re literally liberty leading the people.” He laughed and that hint of mania was back. Enjolras stepped towards Grantaire, reaching out to steady him if he had to. Grantaire jumped back as though Enjolras’s touch would burn him as he kept laughing and muttering “no shit.”

“Yes,” Enjolras hissed. He was hurt by Grantaire’s reaction. It made no sense for him to be and yet he was. “Now can you stop that?”

“Sorry, sorry. It explains so much though. Wow.”

Grantaire’s response was getting excessive. A sudden flare of annoyance flashed through Enjolras and he curled his hands into fists, feeling his nails bite into his palms as they heated up.

“You wanted to know,” he bit out.

Finally, Grantaire caught on to Enjolras’s mood and pressed his lips into a thin line, obviously trying to sober up. However, Enjolras bitterly thought that sober was not something applicable to Grantaire.

“My curiosity has been sated,” Grantaire said, holding up his hands in an attempt to dissuade or perhaps ease Enjolras’s temper.

“Yes,” Enjolras replied shortly. “Now, I really have been standing out in the rain long enough. Goodnight Grantaire.”

“I thought that the gods weren’t bothered by little things like weather?”

Enjolras had turned to stride off but now he pulled up short, glancing back at Grantaire over his shoulder. “Some have gone numb to the mundane, I hope to never do that. Especially after knowing only nothing for so long. Besides, why should the gods not experience life the same as the mortals they seek to rule?”

Grantaire didn’t answer and Enjolras didn’t expect him to as he continued once more towards the metro.

During the next meeting Grantaire came in late and sat in his usual corner. Enjolras ignored him as Cosette went over the process they would need to complete for a permit if they wanted to host a rally. When she finished Enjolras thanked her and stood to continue, except he couldn’t ignore Grantaire anymore because Grantaire was loudly questioning why they were having the rally in the first place. Enjolras explained but Grantaire continued to question until it had dissolved into little more than a heated debate, their friends observing it as one might a particularly interesting tennis match. And it did resemble one, with the speed of their volleys back and forth.

And so it went. Every meeting Grantaire would interrupt Enjolras, sometimes with rants and others pointed questions, picking apart whatever he’d been saying. It frustrated and infuriated Enjolras.

“I hate him,” Enjolras said after one meeting, flopping facedown onto his couch. That was one thing he liked about the twenty-first century: the couches were comfortable yet sturdy enough for the perfect melodramatic sulk.

“No, you don’t,” Courfeyrac called from where he was raiding their kitchen, Enjolras could hear the cabinets being opened and closed.

“I do,” Enjolras insisted. Except he said it into the cushions, so it came out as a muffled garble.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Combeferre teased. Enjolras could hear him smirking. “Maybe if the immortal being wasn’t pouting like a toddler, we’d be able to hear what he’s whining about.”

Enjolras pushed himself upright and threw a withering glare at Combeferre where he’d settled into the armchair.

“Well fuck. It actually worked,” Courfeyrac looked as shocked as he sounded, a corn chip frozen halfway between the bag and his mouth.

Rolling onto his back Enjolras huffed out a sigh. “Why does he bother? He obviously doesn’t care about what we’re trying to do!”

He felt his feet being lifted and raised his head to see Courfeyrac holding them so he could settle on the couch and let Enjolras’s feet rest in his lap. “You could always ask him?” Courf suggested now that he was comfortable.

“But why would Enjolras do that? When he’s obviously perfectly content to just complain about it on end instead,” Combeferre said dryly.

He didn’t deem that worthy of a verbal response so Enjolras just stretched out his arm and flicked his middle finger up instead.

“Every day I understand Zeus’s reasoning for sticking you in Limbo a little bit better,” Combeferre told him mildly. Courfeyrac snorted and then nearly choked on a corn chip. Enjolras rushed to sit up so he could make sure that Courf didn’t actually choke on a corn chip but thankfully he was already coughing and waiving off any assistance.

“This is what comes of you trying to make a joke,” Enjolras said darkly, flicking a hand towards Courfeyrac.

That time Courfeyrac did choke on a corn chip while laughing and Enjolras had to divine him better.

As Courfeyrac gulped down water in the kitchen Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“Touché.”

“And just fucking talk to Grantaire before one of you gets me killed!” Courfeyrac called from the other room.

“Wait!” Joly called as people started to set the backroom back to rights. “Before you go! Halloween party! Two weeks! At our apartment! You must wear a costume but need not bring anything. That is all.”

“I thought that Samhain was a Celtic holiday,” Enjolras said to Combeferre.

“Yes, but like most everything else in the past three thousand years it’s changed,” Combeferre joked.

Enjolras made a face.

“R,” he overheard Bossuet lament, “you have to come. It’s mandatory.”

“And if you don’t I’ll be cross and you’ll be sorry,” Musichetta added. Enjolras was trying not to listen in but the room was small and they were loud and there wasn’t currently anything else to distract him.

“I don’t have a costume so really I can’t,” Grantaire was insisting.

Enjolras couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and open his mouth. “It doesn’t seem in character for you to turn down such bacchanalia.”

Grantaire sputtered and it turned into a coughing fit. Bossuet clapped him on the back and Joly seemed to procure a cup of water from somewhere and pushed it into Grantaire’s hands. “I’m fine, fine,” he said as he got his breath back, waving off their help.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked. He might not get along with Grantaire, but he didn’t dislike the man. Besides, it was in his nature to care for all people.

“Yeah, you, uh, surprised me.”

Joly and Enjolras exchanged a look and Joly once again pressed the cup of water into Grantaire’s hands. This time he accepted, taking a drink before turning back to Enjolras with a challenging expression on his face.

“Are you going, oh fearless leader?” he asked.

Joly and Bossuet both turned expectant eyes on him while Musichetta raised her brows in a subtle but noted threat. “I had no intentions of not.”

“D’you have any ideas for your costume? I mean, you have time obviously, that’s why I wanted to say something tonight, but I was just curious,” Joly said excitedly.

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, but I’m open to suggestions.”

He caught the look Grantaire gave him. It was somewhat quizzical and something else that wasn’t quite decipherable.

Enjolras left the Musain with Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly tossing different ideas around, their voices overlapping and echoing out into the night. But, Enjolras couldn’t focus on anything but the memory of Grantaire, who had disappeared off into the night.

Enjolras adjusted his hat again, for probably the hundredth time in the last hour. Courfeyrac had talked him into dressing as a pirate for the party, arguing that they lived a life of freedom and fought against societal constraints and so Enjolras should be able to relate to pirates if only in an abstract way.

Lacking any better ideas and being presented with the poofy white shirt, foam sword, and oversized hat by Courfeyrac made Enjolras agree to the costume. He’d added his own black vest and skinny jeans. Combeferre had pointed out that a real pirate would be wearing tall leather boots rather than the Doc Martens Enjolras had gone with but he’d responded to that comment by flipping Ferre off.

He’d resolved to wear it with all the dignity he could muster, resulting in more than one compliment from his friends. “You’re like a blonde Will Turner,” Jehan had told him solemnly.

Enjolras wasn’t positive who that was but when he’d asked Courfeyrac he was given an appraising look and a “You know you kinda are?” Then Bahorel had snuck up behind Courfeyrac and thrown him over his shoulder and the two spun away laughing.

Musichetta had appeared then, sweeping over and trying not to hit anyone with her butterfly wings. She hugged him before holding at arm’s length to examine him. “I told R you’d show but he didn’t believe me. And he laughed at me when I said you’d even scrounged up a costume and yet here you are, looking wonderfully ridiculous.” She smiled brilliantly and the glitter on her cheeks sparkled in the purple fairy lights.

“I haven’t seen Grantaire, is he here?” Enjolras asked. He’d been trying to spot him since they’d arrived but hadn’t seen so much as his shadow among his friends.

Musichetta frowned, just slightly with her pink painted lips turning down and her brow wrinkling. “He’s been hiding in the kitchen all night. I don’t know why, he loves parties.”

Enjolras found that odd too. He’d admit that he didn’t know Grantaire very well at all but from what he did know he could tell that was out of character.

He made to say something to Musichetta about it, but she’d turned away to talk to Bossuet whose costume seemed to just be a blanket slung over his shoulders. Enjolras took the opportunity to slip away, heading towards the kitchen.

It was a long and narrow room tucked just off the side of the living room. While the rest of the apartment had been strung in fairy lights and was dark and loud with the sound of music, the kitchen was bright and quiet. Enjolras blinked at the sudden change. He turned to see Grantaire standing at the stove, stirring an overlarge pot.

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked before he could stop himself. From hear it looked as though Grantaire was wearing his normal jeans and flannel.

Enjolras had caught Grantaire by surprise and he startled, dropping the wooden spoon so that it clattered against the side of the pot.

“Fuck. Warn a guy?”

“Sorry,” Enjolras winced, stepping further into the kitchen.

Grantaire closed his eyes and took a breath, likely trying to slow his heart back down. “Hello Enjolras, happy Halloween. So good to see you too,” he said sarcastically with his eyes still closed. When Grantaire opened them he raised an eyebrow and Enjolras felt himself flush.

“Er, right. Happy Halloween.”

That made Grantaire’s lips twitch up into a grin. He nodded, satisfied. “I’m the fourth part of Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta’s lifecycle of a butterfly.”

Enjolras raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Joly had clearly been the caterpillar, he now understood that Bossuet was supposed to be the cocoon, and Musichetta was the butterfly but he still couldn’t tell what Grantaire was supposed to be.

With a snort Grantaire reached towards the other side of the stove and grabbed something that was leaning against the counter. When he held it up Enjolras could see that it was an overlarge flyswatter. “I’m The End.”

It was terrible, Enjolras couldn’t help but groan at how truly awful it was. Grantaire smiled and laughed happily. Enjolras couldn’t remember ever making Grantaire laugh before, or it least not like that. Normally if he was laughing it was because he thought Enjolras was stupid. This felt more like he was laughing with Enjolras rather than at him.

He went back to stirring whatever it was in the pot and Enjolras couldn’t stop his curiosity. “What’s that?”

“Mulled wine.”

Enjolras flashed back to the first night they spoke and felt his nose wrinkle at the mulled wine Grantaire had talked about then.

Grantaire must have remembered it too. He shook his head, “No this is the real thing. It’s nearly ready, do you want some?” Grantaire had grabbed a mug and a ladle and began to serve it.

Accepting it caused Enjolras’s fingers to brush against Grantaire’s. Grantaire jerked his hand back and Enjolras felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it and took a sip of the wine, it was warm and sweet with just the slightest kick.

“This is really good!”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Grantaire said lightly but there was an edge to it.

“No, really. This is fantastic.”

“You don’t have to fawn over it, it’s just wine.”

“Why must you contradict everything I say?” Enjolras asked, frustrated.

“Because you’re not always right! You act like you know everything and can just show up out of nowhere and save the world! Well you haven’t been here and you haven’t seen the things I have and you’re just so naïve!”

Enjolras stopped. He didn’t know how to respond to Grantaire’s outburst. Grantaire himself even looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to the outburst.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered quickly, staring wide-eyed at the stove and refusing to look up.

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said softly, “it’s ok. It makes sense that you would feel that way.”

Grantaire gulped. The silence that stretched between them was excruciating. From the other room floated the sounds of their friends laughing and the thump of the music. Enjolras finally set his mug on the counter and turned to leave. Grantaire still hadn’t moved.

For the first time Enjolras was nervous when he saw Grantaire slip in during the meeting after the party. He had no idea what the other man might do or say and, well it didn’t scare him exactly, but he was anxious.

Yet, nothing happened. Much like the meetings following the first that Grantaire had attended he sat and drank, saying nothing. He didn’t even so much as react to Enjolras. It was odd and more than once Enjolras found himself waiting to be interrupted and nearly stumbling when he wasn’t.

They ended earlier than normal and Enjolras couldn’t help but think it was because he and Grantaire hadn’t argued.

As everyone else started talking and stacking chairs Grantaire made to leave. Enjolras ran after him.

He caught Grantaire just as he was exiting the Musain, his breath coming out in a cloud in the chilly night air as he said “Wait!”

Grantaire stopped, then slowly turned around. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat and his shoulders hunched. Grantaire didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at Enjolras expectantly.

Honestly, Enjolras hadn’t planned this far ahead.

He froze as he mentally floundered. He normally was so careful and proud of his organizational skills. Even if Combeferre now refused to go shopping with him because Enjolras was too anal retentive. It was the one thing the other gods had actually liked about him.

Grantaire just stood there, waiting. Enjolras had to say or do something or else he might just walk away and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Why do you think that the social media follower idea isn’t working? Or at least it’s not working on the scale we expected. I have thousands of followers, but I don’t feel any stronger than I did a few months ago. Though a few months ago I suddenly felt stronger than I ever have.”

“What?” Grantaire blinked. Enjolras opened his mouth to keep trying to explain but Grantaire shook his head. “No, I mean, why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re smart and everyone else has given their ideas but you haven’t and I’m curious.”

“No.” Grantaire shook his head. “You don’t like when I share my opinions because they contradict yours. Why?”

Enjolras couldn’t name it. He just knew he needed Grantaire to tell him. He grumbled in frustration. “Because! Because you make me think! And you make my arguments stronger and remind me why I have to do this and you make me better!”

That at least got a reaction from Grantaire other than blank staring. He chuckled darkly instead. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I do!” Enjolras insisted and he realized he did. Grantaire’s apathy and cynicism pissed him off but it did make him think harder and fight more and he appreciated that. Right now though, in the face of it, Enjolras was just pissed. “Unlike you who doesn’t believe in anything!”

Grantaire’s face had gone blank again, but this time there was something cold behind his eyes. No, not cold, missing. There was something missing from behind Grantaire’s eyes as he stood there starring back at Enjolras. “Wrong as usual,” he finally said softly, devoid of any emotion.

Enjolras frowned and stepped towards Grantaire, expecting the other man to move he was surprised when instead Grantaire just ducked his head. Enjolras was so close to Grantaire and yet it wasn’t close enough. Testing his luck, he continued to walk forward until they were standing right in front of each other in the cold night air.

Finally, finally Grantaire did more than stare at his scuffed-up converse. He raised his head and met Enjolras’s gaze with a never before seen ferocity. This close he had to tilt his head up and Enjolras ducked his own in order to accomplish it.

He watched and tensed as Grantaire took a deep breath. A car passed and the door to the Musain opened and closed a few feet behind them but Enjolras was entirely focused on Grantaire, curiosity and anger still warring in his veins.

“I believe in you.” Grantaire said it with such weight that Enjolras actually took a step back. That wasn’t the only reason he’d stumbled though, Enjolras had been suddenly overcome with such a surge in his power that he was physically thrown off balance.

Grantaire caught him, shooting a hand out to grab his elbow and steady him.

Enjolras could do little more than stand there blinking at Grantaire as he tried to process the events of the last thirty seconds. A warm gratitude was spreading through his stomach mixed with an excited twinge of anxiety, curiosity and thrill raged at the amount of power he now felt he had, and over laying it all was layers and layers of shock. Shock for the power. Shock at Grantaire. Shock at himself for the relief he felt to know that Grantaire didn’t really hate him like he’d thought for months now.

“Are you ok?” Grantaire asked, he was studying Enjolras with concern and had managed to guide them from out of the middle of the sidewalk to the Musain’s brick wall.

“I- Yeah- I- Headrush,” Enjolras breathed out as he looked at Grantaire with wide eyes.

Grantaire looked back at him with entirely too much worry and Enjolras felt surprise wash over him again. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I- No- I- I’m good,” Enjolras said. He knew it’d be more convincing if he could actually speak but he now had a full grasp of the ‘speechless’ and ‘dumbstruck’ idioms.

They stood there studying each other, Grantaire with a frown pulling at his brow and Enjolras knew he was gaping like a fish but he felt that was excusable.

Seemingly satisfied that whatever danger Enjolras may or may not have been in had passed Grantaire began talking. Well, began cracking jokes that Enjolras quickly realized had always been his way of deflecting or processing.

“Now I know my having personhood can’t come as that much of a shock; Combeferre is the philosopher, I’m sure he’s talked to you about James,” Grantaire said wryly. It wasn’t effective at hiding his feelings though because Enjolras could still clearly see the frown at his brow.

“You don’t believe in what I’m trying to do,” Enjolras stated. It was a fact. He was still processing and he needed to know what of his impressions of Grantaire were right and which were wrong and where that growing anxiety was coming from.

“I don’t believe that we’re actually able of accomplishing the sweeping change you’re calling for.”

Now Enjolras was frowning and Grantaire was blinking. It was subtle but the way Grantaire said it was very specific. The stared at each other, a silent challenge to see who would explain first.

It was Grantaire. “I don’t think that it’s possible, I don’t believe it will actually work. But,” Grantaire took a deep breath and closed his eyes, almost like he couldn’t bear to look at Enjolras as he spoke, “I believe in you. I believe that you can and will accomplish anything that you put your mind too. I believe that you can change the world.”

Again, Enjolras felt like he was being hit with a wave as his powers surged. His knees buckled and he flung an arm out to hold himself up against the brick. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground until he was sitting on the gum-stained sidewalk.

Crouching in front of him Grantaire hovered and his mild panic was now palpable. “Are you ok? Seriously Enjolras, are you ok? You’re a god, you can’t get sick. Please tell me you’re ok.”

Taking a shuddering breath Enjolras nodded. “I- it’s- I don’t know,” he admitted.

Grantaire frowned and made to stand, obviously going to fetch Joly or Combeferre who would do little good – not for their still incomplete medical training but for the fact that they did not treat gods. And while Combeferre had stumbled across the spell that had released Enjolras from Limbo and he and Courfeyrac had successfully completed it that was the beginning and end of his magic dabbling. Jehan, who hosted seances and monitored corpse roads, or Musichetta, with her tarot cards and uncanny ability to know the next song before it was played, would probably be more help.

Quickly, Enjolras snatched Grantaire by the sleeve and held him in place. “I’m fine, just need to get my bearings.”

He looked skeptical, but when did Grantaire not look skeptical? He stayed though, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the freezing cement too.

As they sat there Enjolras’s heart slowed, which had been beating hard enough that it was only now that it wasn’t pounding did he even realize it had been. His breathing returned to normal. His palms still tingled but he knew that would settle eventually.

Grantaire sat watching him with quiet curiosity. His lower lip had been pulled between his teeth to worry. It slipped free as Grantaire gave him a shaky smile. “You sure you’re ok?”

Enjolras nodded. He was still collecting himself and part of that meant that he was trying to parse out how much of what just happened he felt he should share with Grantaire. Much like his earlier revelation, Enjolras suddenly knew that not only could he trust Grantaire, but he had trusted Grantaire for a long time now. If he hadn’t he never would have let his friends share so much of their plans during meetings. More importantly, he’d trusted Grantaire the very first time he’d followed him out of the Musain. He could trust him now.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras assured him. He relaxed, the rough edges of the bricks catching on the shoulders of his jacket. Grantaire seemed to relax at this too, settling more on the concrete. “I’ve been slowly rebuilding my power as I gain followers, right?”

Grantaire’s expression darkened but he nodded.

“Just now I had a surge of power. Twice. I- I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. It just, it wasn’t something I was prepared for and it hit me hard.”

This didn’t seem to put Grantaire at ease. A couple was walking down the street towards them so Grantaire skootched himself so they were sitting next to each other with their backs to the wall.

“What?” Enjolras asked once they’d finally passed.

“Nothing.”

“I thought we’d established that I do genuinely want and care about your opinion,” Enjolras said with only mild exasperation.

He earned an eyeroll.

“Seriously, R.”

That got his attention. Grantaire blinked at him and the surprise was so obvious it was almost comical. Enjolras couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk at Grantaire’s reaction.

Grantaire made a face. “You were just talking about how you didn’t feel as though you were gaining the same power to person ratio or whatever and then you’re brushing this off as a coincidence.” The words were mean, they were meant to be said mockingly, but they came out flat. Like Grantaire was simply going through the motions.

“I’ve noticed,” Enjolras tried to tease. Grantaire just glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I want to know if you have any theories why because all I can come up with is a delay. You always seem to think I’m wrong so…”

That made Grantaire’s lip curl in distaste. He turned his head so that he was starring out into the street. Enjolras let him as emotions flickered across his face. When it became clear that Grantaire had retreated deep inside to wage war with himself Enjolras bumped their shoulders together. Grantaire jolted before settling with a pained sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“Because,” he groaned, “it’s not ‘followers’ from which you derive your power. The gods are given power so long as people believe in them. It’s why the old gods have died out, passing on their realms to others either by choice or by force or without meaning to at all. It’s how new gods have risen, and what cold cruel gods they are. You only have power so long as people believe you have power. Or whoever they think you are.”

Grantaire’s words explained a lot, why he got stronger with each new friend and yet stagnated despite growing numbers. Why Zeus had forgotten and forsaken and seemingly ignored him. Why no one could explain the gods’ disappearance. Why Grantaire’s confession of belief had resulted in their current positions slumped against the wall. Well, maybe not. That was much more power than Enjolras had ever experienced and Grantaire knew more of the gods than Enjolras himself did.

“Then why did your belief affect me so strongly?” Enjolras asked softly.

He’d turned to look at Grantaire, leaning forward and pinning his gaze.

Grantaire blinked once. Twice. Swallowed, and spoke.

“That’s what happens when you win the belief of another god.”

Over the course of the following weeks Grantaire shared his secrets with Enjolras. It started on the sidewalk outside the Musain with a confession of faith. It continued inside the café and at one or another’s apartment, over food or coffee or a movie Grantaire insisted Enjolras just had to see.

“The 1830s were a sucky time to be a young adult,” Grantaire had started his tale. “I’d left my family and found myself in an alcohol fueled haze, stumbling from dance hall to pub to café to dance hall. I bumped into him somewhere in there.”

Enjolras took some sickly sense of vindictive justice to know that Dionysus had aged poorly in the wakes of capitalism. He’d been unable to adjust to the enlightenment and was preserving his power wherever he could.

“He just couldn’t go on. He was too weak,” Grantaire had frowned at the memory but Enjolras felt no sympathy for the old god. “So, he pulled me aside and told me everything, about the gods dying and needing to pass on his realms lest one of the new gods snatch it. He liked me, I was always kind to him, and I had amassed my own small group of fellow revelers that he seemed to think would keep me afloat.”

That had sparked a conversation about power and belief and together they managed to puzzle most of it out. The discussion – which alternated between a true discussion, a debate, and blatant bickering – lasted well into the night and they were swiftly kicked out of the Musain by the barista that Courf never seemed able to work his charms on. She’d seemed apologetic but also annoyed and the hour was so late that they both felt guilty and left a small pile of bills to try and make up for it.

“So you’re the god of wine?” Enjolras asked at the opening of one of their meetings, Grantaire quite literally having just opened his apartment door.

“Good afternoon, Enjolras. You’re really bad at greetings,” Grantaire said sarcastically. Enjolras grumbled as Grantaire stepped aside to let him in. “Less so wine and more general god of alcohol?”

This made them circle back to the power and belief equation. Enjolras was desperately curious to know what exactly fell under Grantaire’s domain. He hadn’t been too positive as Dionysus had simply passed on his divinity, essentially said that Grantaire had to fulfill his responsibilities, and then died. Through a lot of questions – Enjolras’s – and sighs – Grantaire’s – they worked out what did and did not fall under Grantaire’s control.

“I feel like Combeferre would be helpful in this conversation. Or Jehan or Musichetta.” Enjolras frowned down at his empty mug. He got up to make another cup of coffee and stopped in shock at how late it had gotten, the clock on Grantaire’s microwave blinking that it was 3:00 a.m.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask: did you have Chetta do a reading on me?” Grantaire called, he was still sprawled on the floor where he’d moved to lay down about a half hour ago though maybe it was longer.

“I wanted to know if we could trust you,” Enjolras admitted. He’d forgone the coffee and just poured milk into his mug.

Grantaire snorted, he sat up so he could shoot Enjolras a look. He didn’t say anything just laid back down.

“I trust Eponine’s judgement, but you can never be too careful.”

That made Grantaire snort again and rather than returning to his place on the couch Enjolras sat cross-legged on floor next to him. Rolling his head so he could look at Enjolras, Grantaire raised a curious eyebrow. “And? What’d they say?”

“That we could.”

Grantaire laughed. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop his smile, not that he wanted to anyway. “Fuck you, Watson.”

Another laugh came from Grantaire, loud and deep and warm. It made Enjolras feel warm too, with pride at being responsible for it and from listening to it.

“I might still have the text?” he offered, already reaching for his phone.

“Why not.”

“She did a three-card draw: Hanged Man, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Cups.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Well fuck. I feel intensely seen.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow but Grantaire didn’t elaborate. He’d looked up the meanings behind the cards after that first meeting, but he couldn’t derive anything more and trusted Musichetta. That Grantaire seemed to agree so succinctly was interesting though.

“She ever do a reading for you?” Grantaire asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

He shook his head before shrugging and making a noncommittal noise. Grantaire raised a brow. “She taught me about tarot and we did readings and all but never on me.”

With a nod Grantaire pushed himself so he was sitting upright. “I’ve found that they help just for like self-reflection.” Grantaire cleared his throat and Enjolras could tell it was because he was suddenly, overwhelming self-conscious. He charged onward though, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the overfull bookshelves in the corner of the room. “But it’s also an easy way to, uh, assess? Your domain? Power? Whatever. It’s a useful tool for a god.”

Enjolras nodded. He’d realized that but even with Musichetta’s help he was still remedial.

“Here,” Grantaire handed him a small velvet bag and took a seat across the small coffee table from him. “If you want, I can do you. Um, do a reading for you.” Grantaire flushed and Enjolras felt his own cheeks heating up.

“Um, sure?”

“Just shuffle the cards,” Grantaire instructed.

Enjolras pulled the deck out. Like Musichetta’s and the one that he’d seen Jehan pull out every once in a while, they were larger than playing cards, tall and broad. Grantaire’s were decorated with an intricate pattern of vines on the backs. They were cool and slippery as he cut the deck and passed chunks of it from hand to hand. Some cards stuck together, and others moved easily as he shuffled. Once he was satisfied Enjolras set them on the table between himself and Grantaire.

Grantaire picked up the cards and carefully pulled the first three, placing them face up in a neat row between them. Normally that’s all that he and Musichetta would do, quick and messy she’d call it and then add on “but effective.” Grantaire kept going, two more cards were placed below them and then a final one at the bottom creating an inverted pyramid on the table in front of him. Grantaire set the rest of the deck aside and frowned down at them.

“That’s a lot of the Major Arcana,” Enjolras observed.

Grantaire hummed. “Yeah, that happens with gods. Not sure why, besides the fact that we kinda exist on a larger scale? Or something. It’s just a theory.”

Enjolras nodded and began to study the cards with Grantaire. He was too distracted by the artwork though, bold paint strokes and bright colors tempered with thick, dark lines.

“Ok,” Grantaire said and startled Enjolras. He’d zoned out trying to make out the shadowed face of the Magician. “The top row is past and obviously represents you: rebellious, driven, focused, leader, with an innate sense of fairness and responsibility. Seven of wands, Magician, Justice.”

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire continued. “The next row is meant to be present, or the events that have led to your present. The Tower is destruction and downfall and well it’s obviously you getting your ass thrown in Limbo.”

“Gee, thanks,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

Grantaire held his hands up placatingly but gave a wicked grin. “Just saying. Wheel of Fortune is change so being freed but also your little save the world club and your desire to make change.”

“Those I could follow,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire shot him a glare. “You agreed to this.”

Enjolras shrugged and this time it was his turn to spread his hands in a placating gesture.

“Right,” Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him before returning to the final card. “Future, Two of Cups. Truce.” Grantaire frowned.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked, realizing that just sitting here, on Grantaire’s living room floor, was its own truce.

“Um, also connection and…” Grantaire’s ears turned red again. “Uh, attraction.”

Enjolras nodded. He reached towards the deck and drew the top card, placing it over the Two of Cups. The Knight of Cups looked up at them.

The Knight had his armor stacked at his feet and stood in his tunic and leggings. His hair was the same curls as Grantaire’s, and his eyes held the same mischief.

He’d never admit it, but Grantaire had been right. The cards were good for self-reflection and looking at them, hearing Grantaire explain them, the months since he’d met the other man all suddenly fell into place. When he looked up to meet Grantaire’s shocked eyes he could see that they had for the other man as well.

“Truce?” Enjolras asked again, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Grantaire grinned back. “Truce.”

#les mis halloween exchange 2019 #les mis #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #les amis de l'abc #mythology #my fic #writing #own writing

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alpacinothirst · 4 years

Text

Time Traveler Imagine Prt. 3

1973

Al had walked me back to the hotel. “Here’s my phone number,” he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. “Call me tonight around 8:30, I should be free.”

“I will if I’m not held up by these guys,” I smiled at him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem at all. Have a good rest of your day, Kelly.” He walked off with his agent, leaving me to face Jane. She was in the conference room, sitting by the phone.

“Took you long enough. What did your commanding officers tell you in your time? They told you not to medal with the past.”

“I was just grabbing coffee. They said I could make friends, Jane. Living here and having everyone breathing down my neck is lonely.”

“You were throwing yourself at him the entire interview!” Jane shouted at me.

“Excuse me?” I yelled at her. She scowled at me, picking up the phone. I knew she was calling Moretti. “Are you tattling on me?” I sneered at her.

Jane rolled her eyes, talking into the phone. “Yeah... The interview went terribly... She went for a coffee with him afterwards... Well, I’m not the one who sent a floozy from the 21st century, okay!”

“Don’t call me a floozy!” I yanked the phone from her hand. “I grabbed coffee with someone! That’s it. Why is it being turned into such a big ordeal?” I shouted into the phone.

“Jane told me you didn’t use the fucking cards... What the fuck is that about?” Moretti yelled.

“Those cards were absolute horseshit! I was never going to get a real answer from Pacino like that.”

“You’re here to do a job, not to get a little boyfriend.” I slammed the phone on the receiver.

“Think about who’re insulting next time, sweetheart. I come from a time where women are respected,” I sneered at Jane, walking out of the room. Tears brimmed my eyes as I walked to the bathroom. Fuck them, I thought, trying to make myself feel better. I sat in a stall to calm myself down. I did not need to be crying on my way home after being called a whore.

After I had collected myself, I walked out of the building and took off down the street. I didn’t really care that I had no idea where I was, but I needed some time to myself. “Why is everyone such an asshole in this time?” I asked myself, feeling my eyes tear up again.

I sat down on a bench, crossing my arms and looking around. There were people walking up and down the streets. No one looked familiar, so I felt at peace. I was a little afraid Jane had followed me.

“Kelly?” I looked up to see Al walking towards me.

“Oh hey,” I smiled weakly at him.

“Waiting for the bus?” He asked, gesturing to the bus stop sign above us.

“Yeah... What are you doing here?”

“Well, it just so happens I need to take the bus too.” I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m sorry...” I sighed, smoothing my pant legs. “My boss was just yelling at me.”

“I feel like that’s partly my fault.”

“No! Not at all... She’s just mad and stressed about projects and this interview wasn’t what she wanted,” I tried to explain. It sounded like the most made up thing to exist.

“What was wrong about the interview?”

“They’re hung up on the questions thing still... Jane’s boss, the big boss, called us to yell at me.” Al sat next to me. “They called me a whore for getting coffee with you.” Al scoffed at that. “I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s like every time I’m not eating and breathing my job they call me names.”

“You don’t deserve that kind of abuse.”

“I’m sorry. We just met and I’m unloading all my problems on you,” I apologized, crossing my arms. “You just are easy to talk to,” I sighed to myself. I needed to be careful around him. One slip up and I would be hunted by two time periods.

“Why don’t I take you home? You look like you need a nap...”

“I thought you were taking the bus,” I smirked at him.

“Well, I just now remembered I came here in a car,” he joked. Al helped me up, leading me to the car. “We can grab lunch if you want... If you’re hungry.”

“I’m okay... I just feel really tired. Thank you, though.” He drove as I gave him directions to my apartment.

“You know, I can get you into a different company if they keep treating you like this,” Al offered. I smiled at him warmly.

“I might take you up on that offer, but I just need to let everyone cool down... They’re all just hot headed.” Al chuckled at me. “Would you like to come in?” I asked as he parked the car. “I can make lunch.”

“Well now that you mentioned food,” Al laughed. “But yeah... I’ll come in.” We got out of the car, going up to the third floor of my building. “This is a cute place,” Al said, walking inside. I took his coat and put it in the closet.

“I have sandwiches, pasta, salad... Almost anything...” I said, looking in the fridge.

“I’ll take a sandwich, please.” I nodded, making us lunch. “So tell me how you got into acting, Al.”

“It’s a long story...”

“I think we have time,” I smiled at him. He nodded, smiling back and telling me about it.

“Well, I loved acting as a child. I would play out scenes of movies I watched... I... I would quote movies and poems all the time.” He went on about it, smiling to himself as he did. I admired him. His love for the big screen showed as he talked about his first movie he was in.

2035 (Alex)

“Agent Moretti just contacted us this morning,” Gary sat a file in my desk.

“And?”

“Jackie’s not doing too well.” I rubbed my face, sighing heavily. “We did send her back to get Nixon reelected. I don’t know how we thought this would work.”

“It was supposed to work. She goes in through the media. Talks about how great Nixon is and fucking changes people’s minds! It’s the 70′s for crying out loud. People were fucking dumb!” I spat at him.

“Yeah, but people also hated Nixon as much as Nazis back then.”

“So are we pulling her out or not?”

“Chief Dressier said we need to wait.”

“How long, huh? How long are we waiting?”

“He doesn’t know. He wants you to take a look at this though.” Gary said, sliding the file towards me. I opened it, seeing pictures of Jackie with Al Pacino. They were walking together, going to a coffee shop, and in the car together.

“This is sloppy. What the fuck is she thinking?”

“I don’t know...”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” I shouted at him.

“We thought maybe you could send a letter to her? I know we can’t contact her directly, but we can send her a letter. And tell her to knock it off, this isn’t high school.” I sighed and nodded.

1973 (Jackie)

I had fallen asleep on the couch as we watched TV. When I woke up, my apartment was empty. There was a note by the phone that asked me to call Al when I had time. I smiled at it, picking up the phone. Before I could dial his number, there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peep hole, seeing it was Jane.

“Yeah?” I asked, opening the door.

“Here’s a letter from your commanding officer from your time. I suggest you read it carefully.” She handed me the letter and then took off. I rolled my eyes and slammed my door, locking the dead bolt.

Jackie,

I have been made aware of your friendship with Alfredo Pacino. Please be cautious with what information you give him. Remember he is from the past and you are there to do a mission. You are not there to make friends. You are there to get Richard Nixon reelected. Please do not forget your mission. The agency cannot afford another slip up. If you fail to keep on track, we will have to bring you back to the present time and terminate your employment.

I send this letter with urgency. Please think about what you’re doing.

-Agent Alex Motts

I rolled my eyes and threw the letter down. “What the hell does Al Pacino have to do with getting Nixon reelected?” I screamed. “Nothing. There’s not one fucking thing. This mission is stupid anyways. There’s no way I can change people’s minds...” I trailed off. “Oh no... No...”

Why had it taken me two, almost three, weeks to realize what this was? This was not a mission to save the world. It wasn’t a mission to rebuild American trust. It was another ploy by the government to control us. It all made sense in that moment. Richard Nixon committed a crime... The American government from my time didn’t want people to trust them, they just wanted us to blindly follow and obey them.

The Watergate scandal wasn’t a mistake blown out of proportion, it was a federal offense. The American people of the 70′s were not brainwashed by the media. Congress was doing their part and taking out the trash.

I picked up the phone and called Al, waiting as the phone rang. He didn’t answer, which made me nervous. “I have to get out of here.” I grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with clothes, money, and my wallet. There was no way I was staying here anymore.

The phone began ringing, stopping me in my tracks. I picked it up cautiously, answering it. “Hello?”

“Hey, is this Kelly Davis?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Al. I was returning your call. Sorry... I left for a moment. I had some things to finish up.”

“It’s... it’s okay... I was just packing.”

“What for?” He hummed into the phone. His voice was light, it sounded careless.

“Al, can I ask you a favor?” I whispered into the phone.

“Only if you’ll have dinner with me sometime soon,” he chuckled into the phone.

“Al, I... I think I have to leave the state.”

“What?”

“I got a letter from my boss today and it... I think they’re threatening me.”

“Hold on, Kelly, what?” I paused, trying to figure out an excuse. But nothing came to mind. The only thing I knew was that I had to leave.

“Al, I can’t tell you everything. I can barely tell you half of what’s going on. But please listen to me. I need your help.”

“Meet me at that same hotel we met earlier. Tonight, 6 pm. I’ll be in a black Charger.”

“Thank you... Thank you... I’m so sorry,” I began to sob into the phone. His voice softened as he tried to comfort me.

“It’ll be okay. Just be careful, Kelly.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m just so scared.”

“Of who?”

“I... I can’t tell you that... I can’t tell you that right now...” I said quietly. “I have to go. I’m packing. I’ll be at the hotel at six,” I promised.

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Wild Times In Charming Acres - Chapter One

Inspired by episode 14x15

JustinSmith!Sam x Reader, mentions of past Sam x Reader

Summary: Transported to another reality you find yourself married to a man named Justin Smith who may look like Sam, but couldn’t be further from a Winchester. As time goes by you decide to indulge in this Pleasantville world and wholesome husband.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and humor

Beta: ilikaicalie

Words: 2k

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

You’ve been here a little over a month - you think. It’s hard to distinguish how long you've physically been in this place and how long you’ve known who you really are. You remember Dean casting a spell while you and Sam stood in the middle of the intricately drawn sigil on the floor.

And when you came to, you were here, in Charming Acres.

You woke up next to a man who looked like Sam but was decidedly not. Not in the way he talked or looked or acted. He rolled over in bed that first morning, shooting you a pouty little look of distress. “Who’s Sam? You must’ve had one of your dreams again.”

This Sam, or rather Justin as he insists on being called, is the polar opposite of the guy you’ve been dating for almost two years. You can’t do this on your own, you need Sam to get out of here. So for the last four weeks, you’ve been doing your best to assimilate, all the while working to jog Sam’s memories back to life.

MONDAY

“I’m home bunny rabbit!” His voice calls up the stairs accompanied by the front door slamming shut.

You sigh, earmarking the journal in hand and hollering back. “Oh good, I’m coming down!”

You had found a series of journals hidden the back of the closet inside a hat box, although you’re not sure why the former you, Beatrix Smith, hid them. All they are is a compilation of recipes, dull-as-dirt gossip and detailed gardening arrangements.

Bounding down the stairs you’re met with the sight of him. It still gets you every time. There he is in a Mister Rogers sweater and tie, glasses perched on his nose, hanging his overcoat in the closet. You’re married to Ward freaking Cleaver.

“How’s my girl?” He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just great.” You force an unnaturally wide smile.

“I could smell dinner from the driveway.” He tilts his head, admiring you as if you’re his prize chihuahua. “It smells delicious.”

“Just meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” You never really took the time to cook before, but you’ve been forced to learn on your feet. In Charming Acres cooking and cleaning seem to be your primary functions. “Nothing special.”

“Everything you make is wonderful,” he quips. “Let's have a drink before we eat, shall we?”

At supper, he drones on and on about some meeting at work that you could less about. You sit, sipping white wine, and try to feign interest.

“You know I don’t like to think ill of people, but I swear to you sweetheart, I’m not sure the man has honorable intentions. He inserts himself into every conversation, by golly it’s all I can do to hold my tongue.”

“That sounds...just awful.”

“Thank you!” He nods enthusiastically. “Bob thinks I’m overreacting, but the man is almost intolerable.”

“Bob is an idiot,” you comment without thinking and Sam sits up straight. Too harsh. “Sorry, I just meant, you’re so good with people honey, and Bob doesn’t strike me as a person who reads people well. That’s all.”

“Well,” he relaxes a bit. “You’re probably right.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take of this bland existence. It’s bordering on mind-numbing, the same mindless details day in and day out. You decided this morning you’re just going to go for it. There’s been hardly any physical contact since you got here. Sure, he occasionally put his hand over your shoulder but the most intimate he gets is the pecks on your lips every night before he rolls over to go to sleep.

“What’s that on the counter? Do I spy a letter from the Women’s Lit Society?” He purses his lips, looking like he’s discovered a naughty little secret.

The Charming Acres version of you writes poetry about sunflowers, spring rain and hummingbirds taking flight.

“Nothing gets by you,” you chide. “They’re publishing my poem, Morning Dew, in the national newsletter next month.”

Sam leans in, both forearms on the table, “I am just so darn proud of you.”

“It's really not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You know, some guys have wives who just watch TV and gossip all day long, but you, you’re pursuing your talents. I say bravo and well done.”

He’s smiling to himself as he goes back to cutting his meatloaf into neat bite size pieces.

“S-Justin,” you almost slip. You’re getting better at it but continuity is still a weak point.

“What is it?” He looks up, setting down his fork to give you his full attention. Justin is nothing if not attentive.

“Do you find me….attractive.”

He scoffs like you’re asking the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.

“Of course, you’re my wife. The most beautiful woman in Arkansas,” he affirms and you can’t help but smile.

“I was thinking...” you have to be careful. You don’t want to spook him. “You’ve been working so hard and on Saturdays you have the bowling league and I have my book club. It feels we haven’t had the chance to spend much quality time together. I’ve been a little...lonely.”

“I had no idea.” He’s gravely serious, his head nodding in thought. “Well, I’ll tell you what bunny rabbit, this weekend I’ll say heck to the league and we’ll go to the opening of the new botanical gardens. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

He’s not even in your orbit.

“That does sound nice, but to be honest I was thinking I’d like us to spend more time together in terms of...romance.”

“Romance?” He sits back in his chair, a grimace overtaking his mouth. “Right…”

“I just - I miss you like crazy and I thought it would be good for us to...to rekindle our marriage.”

“To be honest I feel like a complete numbskull. You’re right, you always are. When’s the last time I brought you flowers? Or we went dancing at Joey's? We used to go out every Friday night. I haven’t been showing you just what a special little lady you are.”

“That’s not exactly what I-”

“I’ll start right now.” He thrusts a finger into the air. You watch as he gets up with determination, opening the cupboard under the sink and rooting around until he retrieves two tapered candles. Then he’s sorting through the junk drawer for matches. He sets both candles in the middle of the table, blowing the dust off the wicks before striking a match and lighting both.

Then he takes his seat, looking rather proud of himself and reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

He’s having a nightcap, watching the news while you’re frantically flipping through the pages of Beatrix’s most recent journal. The other version of you tracked everything from menstrual cramps to Justin’s favorite television commercials, there must be something about your sex life.

Halfway through the pages, you spot a red dot on the upper righthand corner of a page. You flip back scanning the notes and sure enough at the bottom, in tiny cursive letters is the sentence: made sweet love

Rolling your eyes you keep going, page after page until you find another telltale red dot and the words: most romantic evening, made love and talked for hours

You flip back looking between dates. Six months.

You double check, scanning through the pages again, but there’s nothing other than sewing tips and cocktail recipes.

Six months between sweet love making, no wonder he’s wound so tight, he’s must have blue balls big enough to be seen from space.

“What are you reading?” He asks from the doorway, scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Just...some old gardening techniques.” You rebox the journal and shove it to the back of the closet.

“I’m beat,” he yawns, taking his pajamas out of the dresser drawer.

He disappears into the bathroom for his nighttime routine and you rummage through the closet in search of the one and only piece of lingerie in your wardrobe. It’s a silk nightgown that leaves plenty to the imagination. It comes almost up to your collarbone and halfway to your knees. But it’s sleeveless, thin little straps over your shoulders that show more skin than any other article of clothing you own.

“Honey,” you call to him, stripping down and pulling it over your head.

“Yes?” His voice is garbled, brushing his teeth.

“I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier and I wanted to talk to you about something else.” Pulling the thick, floor-length robe off the closet door you put it on as he wanders out of the bathroom in striped pajamas.

“Is something wrong?” He looks at you, concerned.

“No, well, nothing’s wrong per say, just...not enough.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When I was talking about wanted more romance in our relationship, I was thinking more along the lines of...intimacy.”

“Intimacy?” He stares blankly.

God, he is clueless. You’re going to be forced to spell this out.

“Tonight, I was hoping that you would...make love to me.”

Several waves of realization fall over his face. Eyebrows shooting up, his mouth falls open for a moment before he recovers. “But...my birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Why should we wait for a special occasion?” You open your robe letting it fall to the ground, revealing the modest nightgown and he reacts as if you’ve flashed him your pussy.

“Oh - oh my goodness,” he gasps softly, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t like it?” You step closer, swinging your hips.

“I do!” He gushes, his eyes looking you over from head to toe. “I just - I wasn’t prepared.”

“What do you say?” You press yourself against him. His breath hitches as you slide two hands over his chest and around the back of his neck. “I want you.”

“What has gotten into you?” A nervous, excited grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you, I miss you.”

“Well…” He’s clearly embarrassed but also aroused.

After methodically turning off all lights, pulling the curtains, setting the alarm and slipping over the covers, your husband kisses you with a series of closed mouth kisses. He gently pulls your nightgown up past your hips and rolls between your legs. He almost grabs your breast through the nightie but thinks better of it, instead shoving his pants down and grasping his cock.

You can’t see much, between the darkness of the room and multiple layers of blankets covering you both, but you can feel him. Sam’s cock is huge, but Justin doesn’t have a clue how to use it. He just shoves himself inside with a mighty heave, moaning and rocking deeper and deeper until you open up for him.

Normal Sam, your Sam, would have his thumb on your clit, sucking on your nipples while he's fucking you into oblivion.

But in contrast, this version of him is moving on top of your body with both hands braced beside your head. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, moaning breathlessly as he pants about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

You just lay there, staring at the shadow of the ceiling fan as he humps you for the better part of twenty minutes before giving a few finishing strokes and cumming.

“That was amazing.” He kisses your cheek, pulling out and rolling onto his back. “Come here, let me hold you bunny rabbit.”

It’s the first time, in a long time, that you’re utterly speechless. He pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair as if you’ve just gone wild on each other and require some kind of aftercare.

“Yeah,” you nod, laying against his chest. “That was...something else.”

“My little minx.” He teases, patting your back.

While it’s not exactly the vigorous lovemaking the vague journal entries lead you to believe, it does spark a thought. He’s got no clue what he’s doing with that beautiful cock and powerful body. But as luck would have it, you are just the woman to teach him.

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

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#tedtalk!sam #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfic

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