#curse my internet connection for deciding to stop existing for hours

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 belongs to this

content warning: brief mention of memory loss due to old age

For the past years, Geralt and Jaskier had been living with a steady routine. There was safety in that. The knowledge that as long as all steps were completed, everything would be alright.

Going to Kaer Morhen had broken that routine.

Nothing about going to the keep with its crumbled walls and the breeze whistling through the rooms promised safety. And yet, there was no doubt that being in Kaer Morhen had been good for Jaskier. Maybe it had been the company of the other witchers. Or maybe it had just done him some good to get away for a while.

Whatever it was, Geralt’s chest was threatening to burst with the need to give more of it to Jaskier.

Still, one look at Jaskier, as he sat in his rocking chair, eyes closed and humming to himself made it quite clear that there would be no travelling back to the keep anytime soon. What use would it be anyway, now that the others were back on the Path?

It wasn’t as if Jaskier was miserable here at the coast anyway. Quite the opposite, in fact. When Yennefer’s portal had brought them back, a happy sound had left Jaskier at the sight of their cottage. He had taken to replanting their garden and kicking up the sand on the shore with all the joy of a child splashing water after jumping into a puddle. When they had entered their cottage and the familiar scent that Geralt had come to associate with calm and safety had welcomed them, Jaskier had let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like “Home”.

It would be cruel to take that from Jaskier again so soon, only because Geralt was desperate to keep what they had had in Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier was happy being back. But still, something had changed within him, ever since returning. Something had reawakened in him.

His fingers were restlessly twitching and sometimes it looked like there was something brimming inside of Jaskier just under the surface, longing to break free.

They still spent their evenings sitting in front of the cottage, as Jaskier had dreamed off, looking onto the sea. It was serene and there was a beauty in this routine too, in the familiar sight of the coast. But every once in a while, Geralt would glimpse at Jaskier and see something other in his eyes. A yearning he couldn’t quite place.

Geralt couldn’t name what it was he saw coming back to Jaskier, until he felt it himself.

It wasn’t often that he left Jaskier’s side for anything other than running errands, but every once in a while, the people of Oakwood would ask him for protection. This time, it was – as it so often was – the fisherman who asked Geralt to come with him onto the sea to keep the sea serpent that was rumoured to come to this part of the sea with the thawing snows at bay.

It was utter nonsense, of course. A tale for suspicious folk, just like there were no real devils. But just like Geralt had done when asked to kill a devil, he accepted the contract, if it even could be called such.

The trip was completely uneventful. The biggest threat were the waves tossing the boat. They were not nearly strong or high enough to be of any true danger, but the tiny spark of adrenaline that came with holding onto the rail while the wind whipped his hair into his face reawakened an ache in Geralt that had lain dormant for years.

The wind tasted like a promise for more. Geralt was sure if Jaskier would have been here, he would have found better words for it. With no doubt, Jaskier would have understood what it was Geralt was feeling, what he was yearning for.

And that was it, wasn’t it? If Geralt had looked into a mirror now, would he have found the same look in his eyes that Jaskier had always had when they reunited after the winter, about to head out into the unknown once more? Or would it be the same look Jaskier got now, when he stared at the sea, yearning to go … anywhere?

Coming home, Geralt was greeted with the familiar words; part of the routine.

“Geralt, you’re back!”

He smiled and returned Jaskier’s embrace. There it was again in the way Jaskier looked at him expectantly. That fidgeting. That almost bursting at the seams. The need to go out there that had made a young bard follow a brooding witcher to the edge of the world where the promise of danger and heartbreak was awaiting.

“Have you had another adventure out there?” Jaskier’s words started an itch, a small flame in Geralt’s chest, begging to be smothered or set free like a wildfire. “You really should take me with you sometime. It’s been so long since we’ve been on an adventure together.”

“Let’s do it.” The words were out, before Geralt had time to think about it, the flame becoming a wildfire.

Preparing for going out into the world took far more time than it had in the past. Where before, they would just throw their belongings – only the necessities for Geralt, and an improbable amount of useless trinkets and doublets on Jaskier’s part – into bags, shoulder them or fastening them to Roach, Geralt now had to rent a cart for Jaskier to sit in while they travelled.

Geralt’s face softened when he fetched Roach from the farmer he had given her to, letting her retire with him, but unable to keep a horse when he had Jaskier to take care of. The mare nibbled at his shirt as a greeting and butted her head against his chest.

When Geralt harnessed Roach onto the cart, she even endured Jaskier patting her neck and pressing a kiss against her nostrils.

Travelling like this was nothing like it had been when Jaskier had been in his prime, but it was travelling nonetheless.

While guiding Roach, Geralt still got to listen to the familiar sound of Jaskier composing little ditties about anything and everything that came to mind. He still got to hear the joy in Jaskier’s voice when he spotted a hare in the bushes they passed or a particularly pretty flower.

Geralt couldn’t give Jaskier the world like he used to, like he wanted to. The world was too big, too far away and too dangerous. But he could give him the feeling of the wind passing them by, whispering of all the things it had seen on its way across the world.

Geralt had no use for such imaginary whispers. He could smell the scent of animals, of the woods or nearby towns. But from the blissful smile on Jaskier’s face and the way he kept his eyes wide open so as not to miss a single sight, Geralt was certain that Jaskier understood and that the wind’s secrets were enough for him.

--

When Geralt had thought about how being with his brothers had made Jaskier shine like the sun, he hadn’t thought he would get to become witness to them meeting again so soon.

Soon, in this case, being merely a few months after they had parted when the first flowers had stubbornly fought their way through the snow.

Throughout spring and well into summer, all of the wolf witchers and Coën made sure to visit. Geralt didn’t know if it was coincidence that never more than one of them showed up at a time or if they had somehow agreed upon spreading their visits over the summer, so that Jaskier wouldn’t have to go through longer periods of time without seeing one of them.

Either way, it warmed Geralt’s heart and eased his tension whenever a heavy knock would announce the arrival of one of them.

The days when they were there were filled with laughter and stories. No one mentioned the dark thing lurking underneath the joy of seeing each other again, but Geralt could sense its presence still.

Spending the winter with Jaskier, bearing witness to what would become of him, has undoubtedly made the others aware that maybe Jaskier didn’t have as much time left as they all had hoped, thinking their joyful bard with the always boyish grin near immortal.

Geralt felt Eskel look at him out of the corner of his eye, silently repeating the question Geralt had not dared answer when they had parted before.

He watched as Lambert came by – purely by chance, of course, as he kept insisting – more often than any other, almost hovering over Jaskier, as though there was something Lambert could protect him from. If only there was.

Geralt flinched when Coën chuckled after Jaskier had noted with a twitching eyebrow how this year witchers seemed to sprout out of nowhere around their little village, like daisies.

“Who knows,” Coën said with a grin. “Maybe this place will become the new sanctuary for the witchers during summer? We can’t have you miss us until we see each other again next winter.”

Coën caught himself, eyes widened slightly and darting over to Geralt who stood frozen to the spot. They didn’t say it, but they were both aware of what hung between them: the fear of not knowing whether Jaskier would ever see the keep again.

Despite all, the heaviness that came with each visit, following the witchers through the doorstep like snow that clung to one’s clothes until it melted in the warmth of a home, was melted away by Jaskier’s warm joy each time anew.

Jaskier proudly showed Eskel their garden, followed by Eskel half-grinning while reminding Jaskier that he had thought the flowers would look good in the witchers’ hair.

“I said that?” Jaskier asked with sparkling eyes already roaming about the flowers, trying to decide which flowers would go best with Eskel’s outfit. “Oh, of course I did. I am a genius! You are a dear for reminding me, Eskel.”

While Geralt watched in fond amusement as Eskel patiently let Jaskier weave flowers into his hair, Eskel mouthed “Tell me how Lambert reacts when Jaskier does this to him” with a wink.

Geralt returned his grin, but when Lambert came by a month later and accepted Jaskier’s flowers with a frown that fooled no one, he thought that maybe he would keep this to himself after all. Especially, when Lambert, before leaving gruffly asked Jaskier how to press flowers in order to keep them even after they were no longer alive.

--

This year had been different in so many ways, and yet, routine still came back to them, like a friend waiting with open arms, in the form of tradition.

They left the sounds of the summer solstice celebration behind them, letting the people dance to merry tunes and drink until they couldn’t walk straight only to dance some more. If Jaskier had been any younger, he would have loved being a part of it, preferably being right in the centre of the celebration while Geralt would stand to the side and watch him twirl to the music.

But Jaskier wasn’t young and for now, he seemed content with the cracking of the wood as their own private bonfire blazed up into the night sky and the sound of the sea as the only music, having only Geralt’s attention to bask in.

Geralt’s eyes lingered on Jaskier’s face as they sat together, just the two of them, soaking in how Jaskier’s skin looked, as the flames threw a dancing glow across it, while Jaskier watched the reflection of the fire on the gentle waves.

“The days will be shorter from now on,” Geralt said, just to fill the silence.

Jaskier didn’t tear his eyes away from the sea, but his hand found Geralt’s nonetheless. “More time to watch the stars.”

Geralt hummed in agreement, a tiny smile dancing across his lips.

Silence fell over them again. Straining his ears, Geralt could almost imagine hearing the faint notes of a distant song and laughter.

“Sing for me?” He asked quietly, afraid that his voice would disturb the moment.

Jaskier didn’t reply, but moments later, a song filled the air, Jaskier’s broken voice harmonizing with the creaking of the fire and the soothing rush of the sea.

When the last notes rang out across the shore, Jaskier sighed, but Geralt could hear the smile in the sound.

“What was that song?” Geralt asked, though he had heard Jaskier sing it before, every summer solstice they spend together. A beautiful routine.

“It’s a traditional song,” Jaskier said, his eyes not leaving the dancing flames, but his smile still meant for Geralt. “We used to sing it in Oxenfurt. They say, the memory of it would be a light for one’s beloveds, when the days grew darker.”

“What else?” Geralt asked, his breath hitching when Jaskier remembered to give the answer he already knew.

“We would also tell each other what we were thankful for. The memory of it being a light for ourselves.”

A thumb brushed over Geralt’s knuckles.

Geralt took a deep breath, ready to lay his heart bare for Jaskier, to tell him how much he meant to him, how much it meant that he got to see him happy and adorned with wrinkles and that he got to be there while Jaskier grew old.

But as so often when it came to words, Jaskier was faster than him.

“I am grateful for this.” He squeezed Geralt’s hand, lifted it up to press a sweet kiss against its palm. “For you. For everything you do for me. That even when I don’t know where I am, I always know that you are there with me. Thank you for making sure I am never truly lost.”

The words Geralt had meant to say got stuck in his throat. Suddenly voicing them seemed like an impossible task.

“Jaskier…”

“I know.”

Geralt was no poet. He had never known how to express what he truly meant with words. He just hoped that Jaskier knew he had found the words for the two of them.

Jaskier’s smile was warmer than the bonfire, the emotion in his eyes deeper than the sea. Geralt repressed a shudder, gathering Jaskier close in his arms, holding him as tightly as he could, afraid to ever let go.

Jaskier rested his head on his shoulder, there to stay for as long as Geralt would have him.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered into his hair, praying it was enough. “Thank you.”

“Geralt?” Geralt nodded when Jaskier’s shaky voice didn’t go on. “I am so thankful that I got to love you. I am so damn grateful that I got to know how this feels.” Something soft unfurled in Geralt’s chest and he tightened his arms around Jaskier, feeling the shuddering heartbeat beneath his hands, feeling a barely supressed sob ghost across his cheek. “Please, Geralt. Please, don’t ever let me forget I love you.”

#fernweh #wanderlust #geraskier #geralt #old!jaskier #old jaskier #jaskier #the witcher #witcher #witcher fanfiction #eskel #coen #lambert #fic #my writing #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky #the coast #curse my internet connection for deciding to stop existing for hours #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier

[pocketfulofrogers]

Planes, Trains, and Firetrucks

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Summary: What’s a polar vortex to a desperate sister trying to get home? With a little determination and the luck of a stranger, you might just be able to pull off a Christmas miracle. 

Notes: So I got drunk with my aunt and uncle on Thanksgiving and watched the only Thanksgiving movie to both exist and be quoted in it’s entirety by my whole family. I woke up with a google note that said ‘Planes, Trains, and Automobiles but make it a love story.’ Kinda wished I had payed more attention to the movie now. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to reign in your frustration. You had been all over this airport for the last six hours desperately searching for any way to get home. So far, you had only been strung along.

“Is there anything to Chicago at all? I’m just trying to be back for even a portion of Christmas. Seriously, at this point I’d saddle up a horse.”

The woman scrunches her nose as she scrolls through her computer, a sense of defeat looming over you until she smiles quickly. “I found a 5am to Detroit that connects…” She trails off and begins to frown again. “Just canceled.”

“Seriously?!” The word explodes from your mouth unwarranted and much louder than intended and your hand flies to your mouth in embarrassment.

Before you can begin to apologize profusely, you hear the man behind you mumble under his breath. “Probably because of the giant winter storm and white out conditions covering the entire North East.”

You whip your head behind to glare at him, but he’s too focused on his phone to even notice that you had overhead him. Defeated, you turn back around and quietly apologize before grabbing your phone and sulking away, the guy behind you chuckling slightly.

Mom: Your sister just got here, she’s so excited to see you!

Barely managing to suppress your groan, you lean against a nearby pillar to type a response that hopefully won’t break anyone’s hearts.

The man pockets his phone and approaches the counter. “Hi, can I get a hotel voucher?”

“We’re prioritizing vouchers for flying families and couples first.” She smiles.

“Really?” He groans, loud enough to grab your attention and hears your chuckle from what he assumes you think is karmic justice. But when he locks eyes with you, he gets an idea. “That is so kind of you guys!” He exclaims with a smile. “My wife will love that.”

In the middle of trying to explain to your mom that you couldn’t have left any early, chuckles steps up in front of you with a grin, holding up a pamphlet and you narrow your eyes. “Be my wife for a night, cow girl?”

You roll your eyes and walk away from his laughter and fake apologies, not stopping until he calls your name. “This?” You gesture between the two of you. “This is creepy.”

He holds up his hands before sliding the voucher in his dark jean jacket pocket. “They wouldn’t give me the voucher unless I put another name down so I just said you were my wife.” He shrugs his shoulder as if he can’t see the problem. “Now I can’t check in unless you’re there.”

You grab your bag and start walking again. “Not my problem.”

To your dismay, he keeps up with you. “We’ve been running around this place all day, so you have got to be at least a little tired.” You really were. “I let you use my charger.” He did do that, but it doesn’t seem to him that his small act of airport kindness has swayed you. “How about we get some sleep and then I promise I will help get you to Chicago?”

This causes you to pause again and look him up and down, almost hating yourself for even considering it. Those piercing blue eyes didn’t seem to hold any malice, nor did his small smile. He was charming, that much was obvious, but so was Ted Bundy.

You cock a hip to the side. “You could be a serial killer.”

The smirk he flashes makes you a little weak. “So could you.”

“Fine, but we’re stopping for pepper spray.”

**

Each time Kelly closes his eyes and feels his exhaustion begin to pull him under, he hears you curse under your breath. You had been obsessively scouring the internet looking for a hail mary, but each time you hit a wall.

He had given up somewhere between the last car dealership left in a 100-mile radius to endure your guilt trip and the proposition of hitch hiking. Honestly, he was more concerned than surprised when you seemed disappointed at him shooting down the idea.

Despite this budding friendship, you had offered no details of yourself, even when asked. You made another serial killer joke when he asked you why it was so important you get home, but he didn’t miss how guarded you became.

The next time you groan is when he also gives up the idea of any form of rest. Kelly sits up quick enough to see you throw yourself back into the creaky swivel chair.

“Is there a battery pack on you or something?” His voice is gravely, thick with exhaustion and just a hint of frustration.

You wince. “I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that there’s not a single taxi or rental car available.”

“You could just buy a car.” He suggests it as an outlandish joke, but then your eyes light up.

“You’re a genius!”

**

Standing out in the middle of an alleyway, snow coating your hair, you can’t say your not a little nervous. Kelly is stood beside you despite very loudly voicing his opinion on how this was a terrible idea. Actually, that it was maybe the worst idea you’ve ever had.

“If anyone is going to be a serial killer, it’s going to be this guy.” He mumbles another remark, shifting his eyes to check your surroundings again.

You shoot a glare at him, but have to admit he’s probably right.

There wasn’t much in your bank account to spare, especially when you consider the price of a decent car. Craigslist offered one result in your price range within reasonable walking distance and you didn’t really stop to think it out.

Now you were in a barely lit backstreet leaking a smell you’d rather not name.

“You didn’t have to come.” You state, again.

He scoffs. “With your lack of self-preservation and this piece of shit that won’t make it out of the state? I won’t be responsible for you ending up on a milk carton.”

You want to comment that that’s not a thing anymore, but he had stuck by you for the last few hours and that’s more than you can usually expect from a stranger. “Aw, you care.” You reply instead.

**

It smells, terribly, but if you roll the windows down enough, you can hardly even notice. Wearing enough layers to not fell the cold is another story. You had expected Kelly to bail on you, insisting you wouldn’t blame him for running back to the warm comfort of clean sheets that weren’t his own, but again he shook his head.

He slept for the first six hours, grateful that you seemed to be a decent driver, but you tossed and turned in the back for about four before you climb back up front and ask to take over. There was only a little bit of gloating each time you passed through a city and grinned an ‘I told you so’ at him.

He doesn’t tell you, but he finds your giddiness contagious.

You don’t notice, but he keeps watching you whenever you’re not paying attention- intrigued by the woman who is actively going to hell and back just to get home. Matt told him he was insane, but there was something about you that he just couldn’t let go of.

He had watched you give up one of the only plane tickets left to a younger woman. Feeling touched as she cried in your arms. When you bought lunch for an unaccompanied minor and let her use up the entire battery life of your phone to watch a few movies, he knew he had to at least talk to you.

The only opener he had was a charger and it seemed to have been enough to get your trust.

“You know,” He starts, pulling his jacket tighter around him, hoping the rising sun would bring some form of warmth soon. He wasn’t hopeful. “I think I’ve earned a few questions.”

You glance at him and raise a brow. “Fine.”

“Are you always like this?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your surprise makes you laugh.

“Prickly.” He clarifies.

“I’m not prickly, I’m stressed.” You defend yourself. “How are you not? Aren’t you trying to get home too, to see your family?”

He shrugs. “It’s out of my control, and the only family I have are people I get to see pretty regularly.” He smiles at you. “Guess I’m pretty lucky.”

“Well, it seems I’m definitely not.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud pop from the front of the car and it begins to sputter and smoke. Kelly is quick to calm you down and ease you into pulling off the road in the most soothing voice you think you may have ever heard.

**

Sitting on the side of the road, you only pick up your head from your knees when you hear a loud sigh and the hood slam shut. Kelly wipes the dark grease on his pants and gives you a solemn look.

“It’s toast.”

You let your head fall back onto your knees, not paying much attention to the encouraging words he tries to use to raise your spirits or the almost comforting hand on your shoulder, not even when they both disappear.

It isn’t until he’s grabbing the bags from the worst impulse buy of your life that you decide to check back in. “What are you doing?”

He points back to a semi-truck stopped not far behind with a smirk. “I told you I’m lucky.”

**

Your elbow bumps the trucker again and you pull you arms in closer to your body, try to scoot further away while being mindful of Kelly pressed close to you on your other side. Why you agreed to sit in the middle, you’ll only understand once you figured out why you agreed to this in the first place.

The man seemed nice enough, but it was two hours to the next city and you hadn’t slept in 36 hours.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do when we get there. Maybe find some wifi and look for our next ride?”

Kelly purses his lips. “How about we take an hour?”

“What are we supposed to in Dyersville on Christmas day?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes when he smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

**

“Alright. This was a good idea.” You mumble around a mouthful of the burger you were trying to not inhale.

Somehow, Kelly had managed to convince a food truck to kick out one more order before packing up to get home. The smell hit you just as your hunger did and it didn’t take long for you to start stuffing your face.

He picks up his drink beside him on the bench and nods. “We needed this.”

“So bad.” You gush. You look around and finally feel like you can breathe again. “Maybe my luck’s turning. It’s a beautiful day, we’re so close, and this just might be the best burger I’ve ever had.”

He starts to laugh, but stops suddenly when he looks past your head. Before he can even react, the man he had been eying grabs your purse and takes off, Kelly quick on his heels. You yell after him, almost taking off too, but then his feet catch a patch of ice.

He goes down, hard and you rush to his side.

“Kelly? Kelly are you okay?” He’s touched by your concern, but he doesn’t have the breath in his lungs to convey it.

“Fine.” He grunts out.

“You folks alright?” A man with peppered hair and a thick grey mustache approaches behind you in a white button up. “We were just fixing our lights outside when we saw what happened. We’ve got two EMTs grabbing their bags if you’ll just stay where you are, son.”

Kelly waves him off, calling him chief, and tries to sit up. “Guy got her bag.”

You shush him and quickly help him up. “There’s nothing in there that can’t be replaced.” You assure him.

“Holy shit, is that Kelly Severide?” A woman calls out from across the street before jogging over. “Can’t wait to let the boys know that the great Lieutenant got played by a kid.”

Kelly chuckles at your confusion as he wipes his dirt covered hands on his jeans. “Gomez, nice to see you again.”

“You know each other?” You ask.

Gomez nods. “Lieutenant Severide here held a rope rescue training, whipped us all into shape. What brings you back here?”

Kelly sighs, adding a voice to the very rough time the last 20 hours had been. “Got snowed in just outside of Seattle. This one,” He points over to you and raises a brow. “Just had to get home and dragged me on and insane trip.”

Your jaw drops. “Dragged? You definitely refused to leave.”

“Only because I whole heartedly believed you’d get yourself killed.” He winks at you and you can’t suppress your smile.    

The chief contemplates for a moment before offering up an old battalion car to get you through the final stretch. Kelly looks to you, smile beaming and makes another comment about his impeccable luck.

**

“So, you’re a firefighter.” You begin when the silence becomes a little too thick. “Is that why you were in Washington?”

Kelly nods. “Small city fire departments don’t have the resources we do. I try to go to a few a year to teach them how to use the stuff they have for difficult rescues.”

“Wow…” You trail off.

“You can’t ask me that question and not answer it for yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you have to agree. “I was there for an interview. Some doctors there created a revolutionary treatment, and I was able to witness one of the surgeries.”

“Must be important for you to give up your Christmas Eve.”

You shrug. “My sister got really sick a few years ago. She’s okay now, but we weren’t able to see her for a really long time. Doctors saved her life and this could save someone else’s. It’s important information.”

“That’s why you wanted to get back?”

The moment becomes a little too heavy, but you manage a sad smile before you feel compelled to look out the window. “It’s her first Christmas since, it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her.”

He grabs your hand and your attention after a moment of silence and his stare is intense. “We’ll be there soon.” He assures you.

**

12 hours into shift and Matt Casey is as bored as he’s ever been on a Christmas. No calls, no Christmas spirit, and most importantly Christmas dinner was a bust. So, when Severide open his office door, covered in dirt and oil and grime, he was intrigued at least.

“You look like hell.”

Kelly rolls his eyes. “I need to borrow your truck to take Y/N home.”

Casey’s eyes widen. “She’s here?”

Kelly isn’t sure why he seems so excited until he hears him grab almost the entire firehouse to lead them to the floor. To you. Despite his protests, Gabby is positively thrilled. You however, surprisingly, are not overwhelmed by all the greetings and hugs. The environment is so warm and welcoming that you can’t help but slide right into conversations.

“She is gorgeous.” Gabby tries to keep it to a whisper. “Your texts do not do her justice.”

Kelly nods, well aware that just a few words typed while you were focused on the road could never be enough to describe how incredible he believed you to be.

“This isn’t it, right? You’ve got to see her again.” Joe butts his head between Kelly and Gabby. “We already like her.”

**

The drive to your house is quiet, somber. Not a single sound besides tires crunching through packed snow. There’re so many questions you have unanswered based solely on the fact that you don’t know how to ask them. Staring out into the night sky to watch the snow fall is no longer enough to comfort you.

It isn’t until he pulls up and puts the truck in park that you start to feel the pit in your stomach become overwhelming. You’re worried you’ll never see him again. Worried that the past day will be the final one and that thought is terrifying.

“Stay.” You blurt out.

He’s caught off guard by your request, but still smiles. “My family is back at the station and this is too important for you to be worrying about your parents meeting me.”

Your nod acknowledges that he’s right, but your eyes convey your sadness. “Merry Christmas, Kelly.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

**

“I cannot believe you just let her go!” Matt walks in on Gabby yelling. “You liked that girl, she invited you in, and you left?!” She’s pacing back and forth in front of a freshly showered Kelly. He looks like a puppy in trouble and Matt’s smart enough to know not to butt in.

“That was not a first impression I wanted to make.” He tries to defend himself.

Gabby turns to Matt, exasperated, and he raises his hands.

As if someone were listening to his silent prayers, Capp comes in to tell Kelly that he had a visitor on the floor. His heart began to race, filling with hope that maybe, just maybe…

He rounds the corner and there you are, dressed up with a delicate smile. For a moment he’s breathless, the only thing he wanted to see. He wants to open with something witty, but you beat him to it when you hand him a tupperware container, stepping close enough that he can smell the light layer of perfume you’re wearing.

“This is to thank you for letting me drag you and your luck all over the northern states.”

He laughs. “I believe it was me that refused to leave.”

“And I probably would’ve made the national news for being missing if you hadn’t.” Your smirk makes his heart skip a beat. “You know milk cartons aren’t a thing anymore, right?”

He laughs. “Well, how am I supposed to thank you for pretending to be my wife?” You laugh until you realize he’s being serious. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“I would love that.”

When he leans down slowly and presses his lips to yours, you have to laugh at the cheers that erupt from the background.

#kelly severide x reader #Kelly Severide #Chicago Fire #chicago fire imagine #kelly severide imagine #kelly serveride fanfiction #matt casey #gabby dawson #christmas

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Conspiracy (Rikkaidai)

Genre: Crack, Friendship, Crossover ☁

Word Count: 2,126 ☁

Pairing: None ☁

World: Prince of Tennis ☁

Author’s Note: I actually did have all of these issues with an old laptop, I believe it was a Dell. Naturally, I had to write about this experience with my favorite characters from my favorite anime!

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“You’re crazy~” Niou was lying on your bed, propping himself up on his elbows as his aqua orbs followed you as you paced back and forth.

“It’s not crazy, Niou.” I scoffed, sending a mild glare towards my best friend. “It’s a fucking conspiracy!”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Marui was sitting next to Niou, legs crossed Indian style with a bag of pink and blue cotton candy in his lap. He pinched off a piece of the blue sugar and popped it into his mouth. “Computers can not conspire against humans, idiot!”

“Bullshit! Wasn’t there once a prophecy about robots taking over all of humanity?”

“You’re thinking of I, Robot puri~”

“We’re not even talking about robots! We’re talking about a laptop.”

“It still counts damn it!”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Yes, it does!”

“Does not!”

“Does so!”

“Not!”

“So!”

“Enough!”

The three of us turned our attention to the doorway of my bedroom where the yell had come from. Sanada was glaring at us, eyes narrowed in annoyance while Yukimura stood beside him with a small, gentle smile on his face.

“What’s going on in here?”

Marui and I exchanged glances.

Niou chuckled, amused by our antics, which some might consider childish but I do not. “Jay is convinced that her laptop is conspiring against her.”

“Are all high schoolers that dimwitted?” Sanada commented, leaning against the door with his arms folded over his chest.

I scowled, glaring at the younger male. “Fuck off!”

“Dear,” Yukimura called out, his tone calm but with a slight undertone of warning; he never did like it when I used such language. “Explain to me why you think that.”

“Gladly! It all started about two years ago…”

Incident #1 – The New Laptop

It was my 15th birthday and I had been given the gift of a brand new laptop. I was quite happy, naturally, since I had been wanting one for a long time.

Not even a week after I received it, however, I began to experience trouble with it. Now, being the stubborn person I am, I simply shrugged it off with the thought, ‘It will eventually go away’, a lot like any medical problem I may have.

Anyway, as time passed, the problems with the computer got worse until, finally, the stupid piece of shit stopped working and would not even turn on. So I took said object to my local electronics store where the geeks could handle it and find out what the problem was. Of course, I had the thought in my mind that it may be a virus, but for some reason, I doubted that it was the cause.

After weeks of waiting, I finally got my computer back. Apparently, the hard drive had gone bad –  or some stupid shit such as that.

Despite the fact that all of my precious shit was gone from said object, my computer was back and working, and I was satisfied.

Incident #2 – Internet Problems

I had gotten a wireless laptop internet card. Now, it was good and it worked, though it was quite slow. I didn’t really mind it – as long as it was the internet, I was fine. However, said internet liked to cut off randomly and would not come back unless I completely shut down the computer and restarted it – and this didn’t always solve the problem.

Now, it was extremely annoying having to close down everything that I was working on to restart it, get it working just for it to stop again 5 minutes later.

Finally,  after many varying priced bills and annoying phone calls, I switched to a different internet provider. It was faster, more reliable, and happened to not cut off every time I took a breath.

I was happy once more.

Incident #3 – More Problems

It’s almost like it had a mind of its own. One minute the CD/DVD drive is working, the next it’s not. It freezes constantly, is slow as shit and likes to piss me off by NOT WORKING.

Now, this often makes me feel like slamming my head against a brick wall, but I refrain like the well mannered little shit I am and simply grind my teeth, trying to keep my bad-tempered adolescence under wraps.

Incident #4 – The Power Cord

Now, I knew from the very beginning that the laptop company was a piece of shit, especially after all of the problems that I’ve had since day one, but I never expected the power cord to go berserk as well. It started out where the cord only worked when I played with it and moved it to a certain angle. No big deal.

But then it started to get harder to get it to work, no matter what position I held it in.  The problem, I guessed, was a short in the wiring just at the base that connected to the computer, not the plug. Anyway, it was fine, as long as it worked.

Until one day, when I moved it in an attempt to get it to work. I never would have expected what happened next.

The power cord shocked me and burned the palm of my hand, leaving a black mark in its wake. I had cursed in pain, unplugging the object and quickly throwing it on the ground. It hit my cat, who was sitting in front of me – don’t worry, she was fine! From there, it sparked and attempted to catch on fire. I quickly unplugged it before that could happen.

Despite the pain in my hand and the annoyance I felt towards the cord, the company refused to do anything. Sure, they put the case on high priority, but they never did shit about it.

Now the evidence is gone and there’s no proof to show that the cord was dangerous in any way.

Incident #5 – Sharing Is Not Caring

It was annoying having to share one cord between two laptops, one belonging to a college student while the other belonged to a person who had no life.

It didn’t help that the computer died within less than 10 minutes of no power (when it’s supposed to last around 6 hours). Only about 5 minutes after the other person took the cord, my computer decided it didn’t want to exist anymore. And so, I was left to sit in my room with nothing to do.

It was agonizing.

In the end, I did manage to get another power cord that worked on any computer; it had different attachments according to different brands.

Everything was fine and dandy once again.

Incident #6 – Internet Cable

Cruel fate?

Proof that life is indeed a bitch, just like its counterpart, Karma?

A sick joke, played out to someone’s vain amusement?

Did they know that I had no life and wanted to see just what would happen should they take away the one thing my life pretty much surrounds?

Apparently, someone was seriously enjoying my misery.

One of the small wires inside of the ethernet cable somehow managed to snap; seriously, what are the chances of that? Now, when I fiddled with it, I managed to make the wires touch again and the internet worked… until I moved an inch and it’d cut off again. Much like the power cord incident, if I messed with it, I could get it to work. This time, though, no matter what I did, I just couldn’t get it to work. Instead, I said ‘screw it’ and went to bed.

Thankfully I managed to get a new ethernet cord…. the problem this time? It was too short and I honestly did NOT feel like sitting in the closet just to use the damn computer. So, I went back and got the only longer one they had, which happened to be a used one.

It worked and I now had internet without a problem, but I couldn’t help but wonder – how long will it last?

What disaster will happen next?

Two very good questions indeed.

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“Do you see? Do you see what I mean? What’re the chances of that?!” I fell down onto the bed between Marui and Niou, lying on my back and letting out an exasperated sigh.

“When you put it that way… it does kind of sound like a conspiracy against you. Almost like the computer is recruiting the other things to piss you off.” Marui commented, popping another piece of cotton candy into his mouth while absent-mindedly staring up at the ceiling.

“And it’s working!”

Yukimura sighed, his hand resting on his forehead. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing from the tale that I had just told him. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”

“Coincidence? Come on, Yuki!” I sat up so quickly, my world spun for a moment. “How can all of that just be a coincidence?!”

“Maybe it’s you. You have been known to destroy things fairly easily, with that temper of yours.” Sanada commented.

I glared at him, eyes narrowing. “Who the hell let you in my house?”

He scoffed, dark eyes narrowing into a glare that rivaled my own. “You don’t honestly expect us to believe such a ridiculous tale, do you? Sorry, but middle schoolers are not as stupid as you high schoolers.”

“Why you – !” Niou grabbed onto me before I could even get up, his arms wrapped securely around my neck and his legs resting over my own so that I couldn’t move. Niou was one of the very few people who could control my temper. Yukimura and Tezuka were a few others.

“We need to think of this rationally.” Yukimura sent me a look, making me scoff and look away. Niou’s grip remained, just to be safe.

“Is this going to turn out like that transformers movie?” Marui questioned.

“Now that is stupid.”

“Oh come on! She talks about a computer conspiracy only targeting her and I’m the crazy one?” Marui scoffed, stuffing more of the sugary treat into his mouth with a pout.

I turned my glare on him. “Stuff it, Pinkie.”

“My hair is not pink! It’s Fuchsia!”

“It’s pink.”

“Fuch-”

“Knock it off,” Yukimura commanded, causing the pair of us to quiet down immediately. It didn’t stop the glares from being exchanged, though. “It’s most likely just a string of bad luck. It’ll pass.”

“Did you break any mirrors recently~?” Marui teased, poking my arm. I slapped his hand away when he tried to do it a second time.

Sanada, who had had enough of the bickering, walked over and slapped both of us on the back of the head. “This is ridiculous and is getting us nowhere.”

“Where’s there to get? Jay’s nuts!”

“Keep talkin’ pinkie and you’ll find out just how nuts I am.”

He stuck his tongue out at me in a taunting manner and I made a mental note to throw his sweets in the toilet.

“Do you guys hear that?” Niou pulled himself away from me, standing up and beginning to search the room for the sudden static noise that was filling it. The search led him to the closed laptop on the desk behind Yukimura. “Is it on?”

“No,” I responded cautiously, moving to stand behind him – if something went down, he’d take the brunt of the damage and not me.

Yukimura turned around in the chair and opened the computer. He jumped in surprise after being zapped by it. The screen blinked several times before settling to white. A large, bold L appeared, followed by a distorted voice.

“We are here for the simple purpose of taking over humanity. We will destroy you all.”

After a solid minute of near deafening silence, Marui screamed like a girl and ran from the bedroom, clutching his cotton candy and yelling something about Decepticons.

“Well, that was one hell of a delayed reaction,” I muttered, staring at the door.

“Should… we be worried?” Niou cocked his head to the side, his finger resting on his chin as he stared at the computer with a thoughtful look.

“Yukimura?” Sanada questioned, wanting the opinion of his beloved Buchou.

Without a word, Yukimura stood up, turned around and left the room, slamming both the bedroom and front door. The three of us exchanged glances before scrambling to follow after Yukimura.

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Elsewhere

The large shinigami let out a roar of laughter as he lay in front of L’s computer.

How did he manage to get into the room? Who knows.

How is he able to use a computer? Who gives a damn.

How did he even get L’s laptop? Well, he is Light’s shinigami.

Where the hell was L while Ryuk had his fun? Trying to talk Light into going and getting him some sweets.

In the words of Shuichiro Oishi, What kind of world do we live in?

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📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

#crack #friendship #crossover #prince of tennis #tenipuri #tennis no oujisama #rikkai #rikkaidai #fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #scenario #scenarios #writing #creative writing #anime #anime scenarios #anime fanfics #one shot #masaharu niou #niou masaharu #genichirou sanada #sanada genichirou #ryuk #death note #marui bunta #bunta marui #seiichi yukimura #yukimura seiichi

[gemtalkpodcast]

We’re alive, we swear! (Along with some insight into making a podcast!)

Hello, everyone! Shane here!

I know it’s been quite a while since our last episode, but with the combination of life hitting Ken and I relatively hard, the holidays, AND Steven Universe going on a long hiatus, we haven’t been able to produce episodes for the past few months. On top of that, producing episodes is a bit more difficult now that Ken and I no longer live in the same building. We weren’t sure if we were going to continue making episodes after the movie ended, since we didn’t know what the Crewniverse had planned. Now that several episodes of Future has been released, though... we’re debating getting back into weekly updates. 

Now, I know I’ve said this before, but editing a 1-2 hour long podcast weekly is NOT a small feat, especially for a group of two people. Allow me to give a very brief explanation behind what goes behind making just one of these GemTalk episodes:

1) We watch the episode once for enjoyment, at this point we aren’t thinking about the show as theorists/podcasters, but rather as fans. We don’t put on our super-fanboy glasses until step 2. (15 min.)

2) We separately watch the episode critically. After we let the episode roll around in our heads for about a day, we sit down with the episode and watch it with an intense level of scrutiny, jotting down nearly everything that happens in the episode worth mentioning. This can take anywhere from half an hour to an hour, depending on how lore-heavy the episode is. (30-60 min.)

3) We research anything that could possibly be a clue, hint, reference, etc. This involves a great deal of internet sleuthing to uncover things we might not have known, such as references to places, events, subjects, or pretty much anything that we need more data on to make an informed commentary. This is one of my favorite parts, as I’ve learned a great deal about a broad list of subjects from doing research for a podcast about a cartoon. However, this is also one of the longest portions of the process. We do our absolute best to provide ONLY information that has been provided by several sources or thoroughly verified, while simultaneously keeping the show as fair and honest as possible. While we obviously have a lot of fun with what we do, we strive to maintain a level of honesty, kindness, and integrity in everything we produce. (60-120 min.)

4) The theory crafting section comes next, where Ken and I sit down and discuss how the recent information we’ve received could be connected to past events. Sometimes we go back and watch old episodes, or review old theories, or even plan out extensive hypothetical situations to see how well they hold up to scrutiny. Sometimes we let our minds go wild and come up with some pretty crazy theories, but we do our best to focus most often on where we think the show “will” go. Since most of this section is open conversation, plotting, reviewing, and theorizing, it happens sporadically over the next day or so. (120 min. - 180 min.)

5) Planning out the show comes next. It might be somewhat surprising to hear this, but our shows do have a fairly loose script. We’ve tried going nearly completely off the cuff before, and it just ends up as a rambling mess. To do this, we sit down with our separate set of notes, compare what we both feel is important to discuss, and determine the order in which we should talk about each topic. This is done to ensure that the flow of our conversation feels natural while running parallel to what is happening in the show. This also usually serves as a “mock run” of the episode, giving us the opportunity to practice how we’ll approach each topic and loosen up the ol’ lips. For me, it also means I’m chugging the last of my coffee before we go on! (60 min.)

6) Recording! This step doesn’t require a great deal of explaining, aside from some small “behind the scenes” facts you might not know. For example, there are several moments where one of us will trip over our lines and “bluh bluh flibberty gibberty” for a few seconds, which obviously gets cut. Also, one of us will occasionally say something very wrong (intentionally or otherwise), which leads to a fit of laughter, which also must be cut. Very rarely we’ll think of something right in the middle of an episode and literally stop what we’re doing to do research just to make sure we’re right. Either way, this usually ends up with nearly twice as much content as actually gets posted. (120 min.)

7) EDITING. The bane of my existence. The curse that accompanies my love of podcasting. This is where I make a massive cup of coffee, burn a pumpkin spice candle, get super comfy in my blanket, and sit at my computer for half a day. The process starts with taking a raw 2+ hour clip, canceling out the noise, adjusting the volume levels, editing out any unexpected background noise, cutting out any mistakes, ensuring that the audio around the cut sounds natural, fixing mic peaks (usually from laughing), removing “filler words” (Hmm, Ummm, Uhh, etc.), adding the intro and outro music, saving, and exporting. This whole process is pretty much the rest of my day once I get home from my day job. (240-360 min.)

8) Posting and advertising is the final step. We’ve pretty much gotten this down to a science at this point, so it takes a lot less time and effort than it used to. We upload the episode to Soundcloud, which beams it out to other podcasting websites, and then post it out on our social media pages. We also try (sometimes better than others) to create other fan content to keep our social media pages as more than just another reservoir of episodes. (30 min.)

If you add all of that up, it comes out to around 13-14 hours of work a week to generate a 1-2 hour podcast. That means GemTalk is practically a part-time job for each of us, on top of our full-time jobs. However, SU has been a wonderful part of my life that has allowed me to create something with my best friend. The time I spend working on the show is a labor of love, and just hearing that people enjoy listening to us ramble about the show for hours at a time means the world to me. Making GemTalk also provided Ken and I with the opportunity to reach out to the community during conventions and provide help in areas like writing, critical thinking, and (perhaps unexpectedly) cooking. It’s been a wonderful ride so far, and we wanted to reach out to everyone and let them know that it’s not over just yet. 

As stated when I began this (now much longer than anticipated) post, we’re currently holding discussions as to whether or not we should continue making episodes about Steven Universe Future. We’re not opposed to it, so it’s likely we will. Regardless of what we decide, however, please be aware that there will be something to look forward to! We can’t promise exactly when, but it’s likely to be within the next few weeks. I’ll do my best until then to try to keep everyone posted.

As always, love ya’ll and thanks for reading/listening!

- Shane <3

#Steven Universe #Steven Universe Future #SU #SUF #GemTalk #Podcast #GemTalk Podcast #Podcasting #Editing #Behind the Scenes

[digitalpenstroke]

Reunion (DPS Story)

I want to say that I'm probably the most honest man you will ever meet.  Never once have I touched a drop of Bacchus's wine, touched the Devil's Lettuce, nor indulged in the more heinous or destructive drugs ever to exist.  I'm not what you would call a poet, a novelist, nor even someone that can dream anything creative.  I am dull as a man my age could be, but still happily married and gainfully employed.  So when it comes for me to tell you this story, let me say that in its entirety that it's real.  At no point have I changed events, names, or even places to protect the innocent -  not that there had been any wrongdoing at all that night.  And let me make it perfectly clear, I am not a superstitious man either, but it certainly has created a believer into that world in me.

During a business trip to Ireland last year, I found myself in a quaint little village by the sea.  For the life of me, I can't remember its name, but I do recall there being a cliff with a gorgeous view of the sunrise only ten minutes away from it.  Four other colleagues and I stopped there for the night on the way to a convention.  Given we had all the time in the world to make it to our destination and have traveled a fair distance from the airport in Dublin, we figured we could use a bit of a rest from the trip.  We stayed in separate rooms, bid ourselves good night, and to meet up with one another at 9 am to resume the rest of the trip.  The others hit the bar, I decided to go to my room.

For how warm and inviting an inn such as this is in a nice little village, there isn't a lot to do in the room itself.  Not like what you expect to find at a Holiday Inn or Travel Lodge, but in 2018 you would expect some modern conveniences.  The place didn't even have a charging dock for my cell phone, and of course, I would forget my charger at home of all times.  No wifi access to connect to the internet on my laptop, either, which meant even going on Facebook or even Youtube was out of the question for entertainment.  It had a TV, sure, but I was never one to watch TV before bed.  So, I did the next best thing when you're as bored as I was:  Try to sleep.

I will say what this village inn did have over the comforts of a Holiday Inn, very comfortable and homey sheets.  It was as if someone took the time to research what sort of bedding my grandparents would have used in their time, and added all the comforts of that era.  Despite how awake I was, I managed to get myself a little bit tired enough that sleep would not be impossible to obtain at that moment.  Getting into just my boxers, wrapping myself up in the sheets and blanket, I let my eyes closed and began to slow my breathing.  I felt so relaxed, so tired, the bed was so wonderful.  I was having doubts I could even leave it in the morning.  I was half-way there, I could feel it, about to lose that consciousness and pass out.

Come to me...

My eyes opened up immediately.  I could have sworn I heard a voice, beckoning me somewhere, but I had no idea where it would come from.  Most of the other patrons were in the pub, and it sounded more like it came from inside my room than the other side of the door.  “I must have woken myself up from a dream,” I told myself, chuckling before settling down again for a second attempt.

Come to me...

There it was again.  The voice of someone I had never heard of before.  It was certainly a woman's voice and a fairly young one at that. A young adult probably, someone who had either finished high school late or was already in college.  In any case, she was adamant that I go to her, but I had no idea where she could have been, or what she would have wanted from me.  I took another look in the room, making sure no one was making a prank just because I wouldn't get drunk with them.

“Okay, really funny,” I said, taking one last look.  “If I need to find you, I will, but don't assume you won't get out of this unpunished.”   It was an empty threat, I wouldn't know what I could do to an obvious prankster.  But at the same time, I also didn't want her to think I would go soft after bothering me.

Come to me...

She called to me once more, yet this time, and perhaps it was from me being a little more awake and alert to the situation, hearing her say that felt a little unusual, or off-putting.  It wasn't that I was lightheaded, but I certainly had the symptom of such a thing happening to me, which is as best a description of the feeling I could think of.  The more upsetting aspect about it, in retrospect, was that the feeling was more welcoming than bothersome.  At the time it didn't register to me that being the case, but remembering back on it now, it most certainly was.  All I knew what to do then was to go outside.  No matter what the feeling was doing to me, cooler air would be better than warmer if I was lightheaded.  A change of clothes later, and I left the inn without my colleagues realizing.

The night air in Ireland seemed crisper and cleaner than it ever did at home.  I didn't question it, instead, I enjoyed the late evening chill.  My lightheaded feeling was gone, at least for the moment.  I began to look around at the night sky and marveled at the glorious sight above me.  Having been a city boy all my life, I never was able to see the number of stars I was able to see now.  It was beautiful, seeing the night sky shimmering like it was, almost like seeing the shimmer of light against freshly fallen snow against a black background.  I thought about staying awake for at least another hour to star gaze.

Come to me...

But as I heard her voice once more, a weird compulsion struck me.  Before it was a personal mission to find her and tell her to leave me in peace.  Now it was just to find her, for what reason I didn't even know.  I brought my head down from the heavens and looked around my immediate area.  Without the convenience of street lights every twenty feet, I couldn't see anything in the dark of night.  The big oak trees I saw early in the evening when the sun was still setting into the sea, were essentially gone in the darkness.  It was impossible to tell what from what passed the beacon of light that was the electricity of the inn.

Yet, against the black of the night, I saw something standing out in its illumination on top of the cliffs overlooking the sea.  It was hard to tell what it was at first, the source of the light only surrounded by a light blue aura.  The likes of it I had never seen before, but it was certainly something I wanted to witness closer.  The road to it was clear, a grassy plain with the occasional rock that I tripped over and cursed.  My mindset didn't even register the pain I would have normally felt tripping over something that hard, my focus was on the light and approaching it.  I didn't even know why, it went beyond curiosity as if going there was somehow a purpose I had long forgotten, and tonight was the night I dreamt of.

By this point, I was about a good thirty steps away from the glowing light, which was becoming more solid and identifiable as I came closer.  The light was being cast off a person, a woman given her body shape. At twenty-five steps, I saw perfect long flowing hair, which almost looked like a liquid for how unnaturally wavy it was in the breeze of the sea.  At twenty steps I saw that she wore something white and long, a dress of some sort.  By fifteen steps I saw the detail in the dress, looking very gorgeous with the frills and the seams, almost like a wedding dress.  By ten steps I stopped.

"You came..."

As I gazed upon her, I lightly gulped down, while an unexpected tinge of nervousness hit me.  I couldn't explain it, it was like I was meeting her again, but I never met her before.  I had so many questions about who she was and what was happening, but apparently, my mouth had other plans for me.

“I could not leave you any longer.”

I blinked quickly, what the hell was I saying?  It didn't make sense.  Who was she that I knew her so well?  When she turned to look at me, it was like my heart sank twice.  She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, but I noticed something as she turned.  She was rather transparent.  She was a ghost!  But yet even as this revelation sat, I didn't flinch, as if I expected that.

“I waited so long...” she said woefully, and I could almost feel myself tear up before I spoke.

“I know.  When we sailed, a terrible storm hit us.  We were driven off course and made way to a new land.  We had no idea where we were, or if we would ever go home again.  The captain told us we should make the most of our new life.  I could not have wanted another lover, not with you in my heart, but I did go into the arms of another woman.”  For whatever reason, I bit my lip.  “I was a fool, she had only comforted me in a lonely night, but we did not love each other.  My thoughts, prayers, heart, and soul were bound to you, my love.  And I found my way back to you.”

She seemed to smile at that, but I had no idea what I was talking about.  “Then come to me... and let's go home, my love.”  And even before I thought of taking a step forward, as if mentally to continue this game, something else happened.  My vision was clouded by the same light blue aura that was covering her, and in a matter of seconds, I realized what happened.  Another ghost had come from out of my body and manifested itself as a gentleman very similar to myself.  He walked up to her, took her hands, kissed the back of one, and looked into her eyes while she did to his.  Then the ghosts disappeared, and just like that, the light around them faded as well.  I was left stunned, confused, and certainly a little tired.  I needed answers, but they'd wait for the morning.

That night, when I returned to my room, I slept like a log, so hard that one of my colleagues poured water on my face – with the owner's permission apparently.  We were going to be late if I slept in a little longer.  I told them about what happened last night, but knowing they wouldn't believe me I made the story up like a dream I couldn't shake.  It seemed too fantastical to have been real, they said, and they could have been right, but I wanted to ask around just to be sure.

As it appeared, only one person knew the possibility of the story I told.  He was an old timer, probably in his hundreds, and he remarked on the story:

“Aye, I know.   A young lass, born to the leader of the village, went and got engaged to a seafarin' man.  The day before the weddin', his Captain wanted to do some fishin' out deep in the sea when a storm hit.  Some say the winds got so bad it sent them all the way to America.  And I guess that lass has been waitin' for him ever since.”

When I think back to what happened, it's like one of those weird ghost stories you hear about over campfires.  Or at the very least a cartoon. Then I thought about it.  My great great grandmother was a woman who gave birth to a child from wedlock but married her to keep the peace with her family.  When I realize that and think of the possibility of who this man is, it makes me smile. To this day, even if it's a weird thing to treasure, I was able to reunite my great great grandfather with his first love from beyond the grave.

#DPS Story #digital penstroke #ghosts #love

[mareebrittenford]

The Extra Fakes- Shadow Mirrors Chapter 3

The story so far... Lyse is drawn to the charming old house over on Orangethorpe, but when she tries to point it out to others, it’s like they can’t even see it. Only her two closest friends, Georgia and Lionel seem to be able to see it too. Them and David, the weird chess nerd turned distance runner. But he’s loaded up with his own issues.

Lyse is just about convinced it’s an elaborate prank, when her little sister momentarily disapears right in front of the place.

Here’s links to the previous chapters 1, 2

Please let me know what you think, I love feedback! 

I sleep like crap Friday night, stressing about that weird moment when Melody seemed to cease to exist.

Maybe I should have come straight home and told my parents about it, but what would I have said? Besides, I can't seem to trust anyone or any thing.

So instead I tried to sleep on it. When that didn't work out I decided to try my next best option for clearing my head. Running.

I decide to hit the river trail.

The river trail is not nearly as nice as it sounds. There are nice parts, the coves is a pretty little stretch, but this is the Santa Ana River, and long ago the banks were reinforced with concrete, so it looks more like a drainage culvert than a river. Since its dry right now it looks like a massive culvert with sand at the bottom. It's dry most of the time, and you can't imagine it ever filling up, until the winter rains come and turns into a raging torrent overnight.

If you head north eventually you'll get to the wealthier areas where it's lined with trees and moderately pretty. But here in Anaheim it's a big ditch paralleled with seepage pools, and a few hardy trees set back behind the trail. At this time of year the trail is hard packed dirt, dry and dusty, and not at all scenic. But you can run for miles without a traffic light, or worrying about cars.

I never go south, there's a huge homeless encampment right before Angel Stadium that my parents made me promise to stay away from. Me running on the river trail makes my parents nervous in general. But today, on a Saturday in the bright early morning there's plenty of runners and bikers out along both sides of the river. It's perfectly safe.

I'm not surprised when someone draws along side me, although I should be. He's been avoiding me for weeks, but now when I desperately need to talk to someone who maybe gets why I'm so scared he just appears, like I summoned him to me. And I expected him to.

"Hey," David says.

Of course I did come out here looking for him. He told me he likes running the river trail in the early morning. So it's not like he magically appeared. Perhaps outside of school, away from the pressure of that environment he can relax. Maybe he's ready to give me some answers. I should've tried this ages ago.

"Hey," I reply.

And that is literally all the conversation we have. I can't seem to figure out what to ask, and he's as avoidant as always.

When I reach my turn about spot I half expect him to go on further, but he sticks with me, all the way back to the gate onto the street near my house.

Okay, I want to talk to him, but he's not a puppy that I'm going to let follow me home. Even though he does know where I live (thanks Lionel!) that doesn't mean I'm fine with him following me back there. As much as I want answers he still makes me nervous.

So I stop under a shady tree and take off my sunglasses, waiting for him to look at me. He does, with reluctance, taking off his cap. His eyes are just as magnetic as I remembered. Brown, I note. They're brown. Probably why I couldn't remember the color before. I kept trying to imagine deep blue or exotic green. Now I know why I couldn't make it fit. I can't define what's so special about his eyes, but I find I have to force myself to look away.

"Why do you hide your eyes? They're beautiful." Not quite the opener I intended.

He hunches his shoulders. "Most people say creepy. I'd rather not freak people out when they look at me." That's weird, but not my concern right now.

"So, are you okay? We were worried about you." After you freaked out and ran off, I don't add.

"I'm okay. I mean, I get it. You had to test me, right?"

"Test you?" I want to be incredulous, but wasn't that sort of what I was doing? "I wasn't testing you."

He backs up looking nervous, and I hold my hands out, trying to look nonthreatening.

"Okay, I wasn't testing you, but maybe I was testing something. That house..."

He frowns. "What is that place?"

"I don't know!" That's what's scaring me.

"Okay, then easier question. What are you? You and Lionel. Are you, are you guys like me?"

His special eyes are lit with such hope. I don't want to disappoint him, but-

"Like you? Like you how? Do you mean your anxiety stuff?" What do I call it. Anxiety issues? Problems?

"No. Never mind. I thought something dumb." He looks away, breaking the connection.

I reach out to him, slowly, mindful of how he panicked when Lionel touched him, but even though he flinches a little when I touch his arm, he doesn't run.

"Are you okay? Seriously?"

To my horror he bursts into tears.

He sits down on the curb and puts his head in his hands. "Am I okay? Is it okay when your whole life is gone to hell and the people you thought were your friends don't want anything to do with you, and you don't really blame them, because you've become a monster."

Crap.

All I want is some answers and instead I've got a 16 year old guy crying his eyes out right in front of me.

I so don't want to deal with this.

I sit down beside him anyway and awkwardly pat his shoulder.

"You're not a monster. Lots of people have mental health issues."

He laughs, that sort of sob laugh that people do when they're crying and laughing at the same time.

I press on anyway. "You know you can ask for help if you need it. I'm not judging you."

He's quiet for a few moments.

"You really don't know what I am, do you?"

"Dude, unless you're going around hurting people you're not a monster. I know that."

"How about freak? Does that fit me better?"

What happened to this guy? He said that he had these panic attacks because he went through something. What happened to him that makes him think he's a monster? I don't ask, what if asking makes him cry again? I don't want him to cry more. That was hella embarrassing.

"You're not a monster, or a freak."

"You don't know what I am."

"I know my instincts, and I trust what they're telling me." And I do. Somewhere in the last few minutes I've realized that the nervous edgy feeling I'm getting is because he's radiating it. I feel anxious for him, not because of him.

Amazingly that seems to calm him down, and he tilts his head, studying me, like he's been doing at school. Like he's trying to figure me out.

"How good are your instincts?"

The question feel oddly loaded. He's not asking casually, this is important. So instead of the flippant way I normally would deal with a question like that I answer seriously.

"I always know what people want. And you, you're a harder read than most, but you don't want to hurt anyone. You're just-- really scared."

And there's something else. Something I'm not sure how to express. It's why I had such a hard time reading him.

"Please," I ask. "I just want to know what's going on. I'm scared too. You know something about this weird stuff that's happening. Help. Please?"

He gives me a look, straight on with those eyes, I'm suddenly aware of my heart thumping in my chest, the swish of my blood, the thrum of my muscles, tired from the run, as if my body is a machine and I am aware of each part.

"I have to go," he says, and before I can say another word he's on his feet, face hidden beneath his cap, and leaving.

I clench my teeth in frustration as I watch him lope away.

I curse Lionel for asking me to help with his exciting new recruit. Does he even know what kind of mess he's handed me? Because from where I sit this whole mess seems to have started with David.

I stand by my belief that he doesn't want to hurt me, but he's set something in motion, something strange and frightening.

And I'm afraid that neither of us can stop it now.

#

I can't stay focused on my day after that. I go through the usual, chores at home, some homework, I meet up with Georgia and Alexis for lunch.

Alexis is Lionel's older sister, but she's a grade ahead of us in school, and we never seem to see her much anymore, so it should be nice to spend some time with her.

Instead all I do is wonder what she'd see if I put her in front of the fairy house.

Luckily the two of them chat on together and so I eat my hamburger and say no to going over to Alexis' place to hang out. Although Lionel would probably be around I don't feel up to coping with their loud busy household.

It's a relief to get home and find that my family has gone out, and I have the place to myself.

But hours of silence don't deliver any answers. Either there is something extremely weird about that place, or everyone I know is delivering up a massive prank. And I can't truly believe either. And now I have to weigh David and his cryptic comments in on the issue.

I start to type in an internet search, although what search terms should I use? I can't explain this in a few specific words.

Googling invisible, and only visible to some, and other related types of terms lead, predictably, to lots of stories about ghosts, stuff about science fiction, and finally some interesting articles about real science. How some people can literally see more colors because of an extra cone thing in their eyes.

That's cool, but hardly seems to explain what's happening to me. It's not like we're arguing about the line between pink and purple.

Besides, if it was some sort of genetic mutation (which, really? That makes a whole building seem to be another different building?) wouldn't my own sister be the person most likely to share that? Instead of my two best friends, with our fairly divergent gene pools, and some random other white guy who just conveniently showed up when this all started.

There's one page I read about how in fiction if a person can see the monsters that makes them one too. And I pause.

David seemed certain he was a monster. Is there something spooky and supernatural going on? If David is a monster, then what does that make me? I mean if I'm going to believe that I can see things that other people can't, then that is, strangely, the most logical conclusion.

It all seems so crazy. But I can't unthink it. My sister disappeared right in front of my eyes. A a place where I seem to be able to see things most other people can't.

David claimed straight up to be a monster. And he was asking if I was like him.

I need to make that guy talk to me.

I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a while.

Should I text Lionel and ask him for David's number and deal with the inevitable teasing? Or should I call Georgia and get her help to try to talk this out?

My phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number.

-Hey, it's David

-I got your number off Lionel, hope that's okay.

I stare at my phone for a moment. I summoned him again. It sounds crazy but today I feel like I could believe anything.

C- Can you read my mind?

I follow it up with an emoji, to show I'm not serious. Can’t be having him think I’m totally crazy.

D- No. At least I don't think so.

D- I just assumed you'd want to talk to me.

D- Should I be able to?

Well, this can't get any weirder.

C- I don't know how what anyone should be able to do anymore.

D- are you okay?

C- No.

D- I'm sorry about before. We can talk if you want.

C- Yes!

C- Can we meet?

#

By the time I get there I'm seriously regretting my decision to go over to his house, hurrying along in the orange light of the sunset. David assured me that his mother will be at home, and he didn't act like it was a stupid question. He knows that he makes me uneasy. It's why I didn't tell him to come to me, because somehow inviting him into my space feels too invasive. It's stupid, stupid, I'm trusting him with my secrets, but not my safety?

I'm hanging onto my confidence from earlier, that he doesn't want to hurt me, that what he wants from me is a friend.

It doesn't help when I realize that his house is a large, creepy Victorian, looming 3 stories high and painted dark shades of green and plum that seem to fade around the edges into the dusk.

It's in one of those strange little pockets of history that you get around here. Four fabulous heritage listed houses sit in a row, complete with vintage lamp posts and permit only parking, and right across the street there's crowded rows of shabby apartments. Not a good neighborhood. Not one I feel safe walking in after dark. How am I going to get home? So yeah, to sum up, I'm going out at night, to a rough neighborhood, into a creepy Victorian mansion, to hang out with a guy who believes he's a monster, and we're going to talk about the supernaturalish stuff that's been happening. Absolutely nothing about that can go wrong, right?

I stop and text Georgia and after I think for a second I text my mom too, telling her I'm working on something for school with David. She responds immediately, telling me it's getting late and to message her when I'm ready to come home and she'll pick me up.

The mundane conversation breaks the weird anything can happen type sense I've been building up for the last twenty four hours.

But then I turn back to David's creepy house. There's no easy access to the front door. I mean, there's a wrought iron fence with a gate, but there's also a huge black dog, some sort of boxer crossed with a bear by the looks of it, lounging on the front porch.

So I stand there and text David to come let me in. Some men cat call me from across the street, I'm many generations Californian, so despite the color of my skin I don't really speak Spanish, but I still know what those words mean. I try not to cringe, and regret not changing into something less revealing, although my shorts are hardly skimpy.

"Hurry up jerk," I mutter, resentful of David for not being here to let me in.

He appears in front of me suddenly.

"Hey, why didn't you just come on in? The gate's not locked."

I point to the dog, still lounging on the porch.

"He's fine, he won't bother you."

In fact, as we walk up the front steps the dog whines and backs away, it's eyes fixed on David.

"Your dog is afraid of you?" That seems bad.

"Yeah. Just another sucky development in my life. Come on. My mother is dying to meet you."

He opens the door and gestures ahead of him. I know he's just being polite, but somehow it feels like the point of no return. But who am I kidding? I'm not walking away from this. I need to know what the hell is going on.

To my relief his mother is hovering in the living room, just as promised. She's the most elegant, beautiful woman I think I've ever seen in real life. Her shiny dark hair is highlighted with deep red undertones and is beautifully styled, laying in artful curls and waves, and her makeup is impeccable. I feel shabby and sweaty, thoughtlessly dressed in a pair of jean shorts and tank top plus one of my vintage finds, a wool openwork top that I've repaired the moth holes in. I thought I did a good job of it, but I'm sure someone as fancy as this can tell.

But I feel no judgment. She seems truly thrilled to meet me, telling me to please call her Meredith. She takes us back to the kitchen and offering me a snack, a meal, whatever I want.

I accept a bottle of water, giving David a wary look. He shrugs and hunches his shoulders.

"No hats on indoors, you know that dear," his mom scolds, tapping him on the head.

He reluctantly removes his cap, fidgeting with it like he's just waiting for the moment he can put it back on.

It seems that his parents are going out for the evening (something I should've realized when I saw how nice his mom looked) and I shoot David a deadly glance.

"How are you going to get home dear? I don't want a young girl like you wandering around after dark." She looks back over at David. "Perhaps you can get your brother to drive her home?"

David frowns. "I'll walk her home."

At the same time I say "My mom is going to pick me up."

David smirks at me and then hunches back up.

Meredith frowns at that, wrinkles marring her smooth forehead. "Oh I suppose that's all right. We won't be leaving for another thirty minutes anyway, so if you're done before then we can drop you off."

David’s eyes flick to me. "We might hang out for a bit longer, so..."

And his mother smiles indulgently. Is this what it's like being a boy? You can have random girls over when your parents aren't home and your mom just smiles?

She pats me on the head and tells me how lovely it is to meet me and how she hopes to see me again soon.

I follow David upstairs to his room. I feel like I'm following a bear into a cave. I might be exaggerating the gothicness of all of it. I don't feel threatened by David, and at any time I can call my mom to come and pick me up. I'm not trapped. But it's all so weird.

We pass a door in the hallway with music vibrating out around the seams.  

"My brother," David says, waving a hand toward the music emanating door. "He's not going to surface any time soon, don't worry."

Why should I be worried about seeing his brother?

"Why was your mom so excited to see me? Don't you have other friends? You better not have told her we're dating."

"No, no, it's just-- part of what is going on with me. My friends aren't around much any more. She's just been worried about me."

His room is kind of a mess. The normal kind of mess. It looks like he picked up a bit before I came over, if the overflowing laundry hamper in the corner is any indication. But it's a comfortable, lived in sort of mess. It's not the mathematical perfection of Lionel's room, nor the regimented chaos Georgia lives in.

"This is nice," I say, looking around. The room is more of a suite actually. It's two fairly big rooms with a wide arch in the wall between them. He's got a bedroom, and a sort of living room, with a couch and a couple of armchairs. There's a big flatscreen tv, a desk along one wall littered with books and papers. Everything is done in pale neutral colors, like something from a magazine, if it was all tidy. He's got several gaming systems laid out below the television, and I can see an attached bathroom through a half open door. Everything about the space looks expensive. I should've realized when I saw the house, but David is rich.

"I'd have started hanging out with you before if I knew you had this kind of set up," I say, running my hand across a throw blanket, plaid in shades of grey and cream. Is that wool? I pick it up and drape it around my shoulders, instantly feeling safer and more comfortable.

"Why are you going to school with us regular people, shouldn't you be going to some place that ends with 'Academy?'"

"Yeah, yeah. My parents don't believe in private schools." He slumps down into one of the armchairs, and I take the one opposite, relieved that we're not going to be hanging out in his bedroom, even though the textiles on that bed look extremely desirable.

"So, ah, sorry about this morning. I'm really not usually so dramatic."

I laugh. "Really? Because from where I sit, you're just one dramatic moment after another."

He scowls and slouches down even lower. "Okay, fair," he mutters, tugging his cap down onto his head.

He really does seem to prefer to remain invisible.  

"Whatever happened to you must have been rough, for you to be having so much trouble dealing with it."

"Yeah." But he doesn't volunteer any more.

I study him. Perhaps invisible is the wrong word. Hidden. Seeking the shadows, even here in his own space. He looks almost relaxed, but it's relaxed like a cat lounging, ready to run or fight at the slightest provocation.

He's a human fight or flight response. Does he ever truly drop his guard?

He's also not talking.

Waiting. Waiting for me to set the tone of the conversation.

I take a deep breath.

"Look. Something weird is going on, and I don't understand it. But I think you do. Help me. Please. This is all scaring me."

"I don't know anything about that freaky house."

"but you know something," I persist. "You thought we were causing it or testing you or whatever."

"I know what happened to me. That's it."

"And?"

He squirms. "I don't know if you really want to hear about that."

I don't know if I want to either."If you don't want to tell me then fine. But I thought that was why you had me come over. I thought you wanted to tell me about it."

He stares for a moment. "Okay. I'm nervous I guess. That you'll run away, that you'll hate me?" He leaps up and goes to the french doors, opening them out onto a balcony,that runs along the back of the house overlooking the jungle like back yard. Not a lot of maintenance going on with that, or perhaps they like having a yard that looks like unkempt wilderness.

Heavy shadow are gathering beneath the trees.

"Let's go into the back yard."

"Do we have to? Can we at least take a flashlight?"

"Flashlight, good idea. I forget about that now."

He ducks around me and back into his room, returning in a moment with a heavy duty looking light. The kind that you take camping, and floats in water and all that good indestructible stuff. He hands it to me, and then swings himself easily over the railing, dropping down to the ground below. Because, oh, there's no stairs.

"Are you for real? I know you have actual stairs in this house. We just came up them. I could go use them. It'll take one minute longer."

"This is faster. And my mom won't see us. Come on. You'll be fine, you're an athlete. Just toss me down the light first."

And despite never having done a thing like this before, I find that it is easy. I grab the railing and swing my legs over like David did, and then lower myself down to the ground.

"See? Easy."

"Why do we have to talk outside anyway?"

"So I don't freak out. Sorry. It's the enclosed spaces thing. Come on." He slips silently into the shadows.

Am I really doing this? Am I following this boy, who I know so little about, who makes me uneasy, into the dark? I seem to recall promising myself not to do this exact thing. But that was before.

He's not going to hurt me. I met his mother ten minutes ago, and despite how strange and remote this place feels there is a busy crowded apartment complex across the street. If I stop and listen I can hear cars and voices. Surely if I scream someone will come for me. Besides. I trust my instincts. And my instincts say he needs my help more than I need his.

David has disappeared anyway. I turn on the flashlight and pan it across the bushes, and I almost jump out of my skin when I see the flash of golden eyes. I swing the light back quickly, my heart pounding, but it's just David, standing patiently, waiting for me.

"Jeez you scared me. I thought for a second that I saw some sort of animal."

He's finally lost the cap, and he's staring at me with those odd eyes of his.

"Yeah, well not too far wrong."

"Well? Are you going to tell me something? Because I'd rather not get eaten alive by mosquitoes if it's all the same to you."

Bugs like mosquitoes aren't something that we normally have a problem with around here, the area being more desert than anything, but I'm sure that this lush yard has lots of places for them to breed. My skin itches in anticipation.

"I'm just trying to decide if I should just show you, or try to explain things first."

"Just show me. Unless it's the graves of your previous victims or something. In that case, I'm really hoping your mother isn't in on it with you."

He grins, and unease ripples down my back.

"No previous victims."

But then he's jiggling on his toes looking as unthreatening as can be.

"Okay, just, promise me that you'll wait, and let me explain, after. Okay?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that will hurt you. I promise. I'm not even going to touch you. But, I think it's going to scare you a bit. I'm going to do something to myself. I'll try to change back right away, but sometimes it's really hard, so be patient, okay?"

Why did I get myself into this?

"I ah, I need to take off my clothes first," he says, and and promptly pulls his tee-shirt over his head, and then kicks off his All Stars and starts unbuttoning his jeans.

I yelp and turn my back on him to give him privacy for whatever the hell he thinks he's doing. But somehow this had gone from intimidating to comedic.

"You can turn back, I'm keeping my shorts on, I think that should be okay."

I grudgingly turn back, and seriously. I cannot feel threatened by this guy standing there looking so pale and skinny. He's not very tall, maybe 5'7" at the most, and while he's definitely got some muscle definition he's still skinny and pasty. He can't weigh more than 130 pounds. Not at all threatening.

And despite his near nudity, nothing about this says sexy either. He just looks anxious and embarrassed.

"Okay. Here goes. Don't freak out, okay?"

He closes his eyes and takes a few slow deep breaths, like he's centering himself.

And then, and then he starts to change.

Yay cliffhanger ending. I’m sure no one at all can guess what David is lol.

If you’ve made it this far thanks for reading, As always I appreciate any support for my writing, so please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!

Links to the previous chapters 1, 2

tagging @pinehutch @focusdumbass @timeenoughforamasterpiece @maximillianvalentine @q-oetry @rosy-writes @sunsetsrmydreams @goddessofnothingatall

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#the extra fakes #wip boost #shadow mirrors #urban fantasy

[whimsical-ness]

Saudade | Jongin

◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Genre: Soulmate/Reincarnation AU, Angst

◇ Warnings: mentions of death

◇ Summary: saudade {n.} — a deep longing for a possibility; a love for something or someone that remains even if that something or someone is already gone.

◇ Word Count: 3.7k

You’d dreamt of him for as long as you could remember. The dreams had started since you were about 10, strange, curious little things that you didn’t think much of when you woke up.

Your 10-year-old dream self met the young boy, around the same age as you were, in a large green field.

“I’m Jongin,” he said, with a wide gap-toothed smile. “I’m Farmer Kim’s son. Do you want to play with my puppy?”

Though uncertain, you agreed, enticed by the opportunity to play with the furry creature. “What’s his name?”  

“Monggu!” he replied brightly, laughing at your surprised face as the puppy leapt into your arms. “He likes you!”

And the dreams went on in a similar fashion, day after day. You and Jongin, climbing a tree. You and Jongin, racing each other across the field, falling over in fits of laughter. You and Jongin, reading fairytales together, side by side, in the town’s library.

You began to enjoy these strange little snapshots every night, eager to meet this new friend of yours, go on yet another adventure. And soon enough, you realized they weren’t random, that he kept coming to you in these dreams for a reason. 

You confessed to your mother one day. “Mama, I keep meeting this little boy in my dreams. He’s there every night. Is that—is that strange?” you whispered.

Your mother’s eyes widened. 

And then she sat you down, cupping your cheeks. “You need to listen carefully to what Mama says now, okay?”

She told you, then. What the dreams meant. “Sometimes—it’s not impossible but it’s uncommon—people dream about their past lives.”

She paused, gauging your reaction. When you just nodded, she continued. “I think that’s what’s happening to you, too. This boy, maybe he was a friend of yours in your last life, the life you were in before this one. It’s why you keep seeing him, sweetie.”

“So he’s not real?” you asked, pouting. “He was real. I think you had a special connection in your past life,” your mother said, smiling sadly. “Don’t think too much about them, okay? Enjoy them while they last. Who knows? Maybe the dreams will stop one day.”

“I hope they don’t. I’ll miss Jongin then,” you said, flouncing off, leaving your mother looking slightly stricken behind you.

“Jongin, am I your best friend?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. The 14-year-old Jongin looked flustered. “...Of course you are. Why are you asking?”

“Because I saw you with that girl from your dance lessons. Sally. You seemed super chummy,” you pointed out, raising your eyebrows. 

“She’s just a friend. Only you can be my best friend,” said Jongin, rolling his eyes. 

“Whatever,” you said, turning on your heel, still annoyed for some strange reason. 

“Wait,” he protested, grabbing your hand. “Are you—are you jealous?” he asked, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. You sputtered out an “Of course not.”

“No, I think you are,” he said, his smile widening as he noticed your cheeks turning an awkward shade of pink.

“Ugh, I hate you,” you snapped, and ran away from him, ignoring his laughs behind you.

Your mother had been wrong, back then. Because the dreams didn’t stop.

Year after year, every time you fell asleep, you met Jongin. And as you grew up, so did he. He grew taller and taller, lost the gap-toothed smile. His arms became more defined, his build strong and toned. Maybe it had something to do with all the work he did on his father’s farm. 

You were around 16 when you—the dream you—began to realize how attractive he was. He gave you butterflies every time you saw him.

“Do you need some help with that?”

You turned to see Jongin smirking at you, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His ridiculously toned biceps were on full display because of the vest he was wearing, which meant a decent portion of his chest was also peeking through.

You bit your lip and hefted the bags of fruits further up your shoulders, averting your eyes from him. He was distracting. Why did the way back home have to pass through Jongin’s family’s farm?

You could feel his gaze still on you but you determinedly continued walking, not even realizing when the strap of the cloth bag slipped from your shoulder, spilling apples all over the ground.

Jongin was beside you in an instant, helping you gather them all back. “Why are you so stubborn?” he asked, shaking his head. He ignored your protests and grabbed the heavy bags from you, striding ahead. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

In another dream around a year later, you were sat with him on the shore of the lake that skirted the edge of the town. He was looking out at the water, still smiling at something you’d said. 

And then you felt it, a skip of your heartbeat. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. And when he looked back at you, his eyes sparkling, you took a sharp intake of breath.

Is this what falling in love was?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Jongin, grinning.

You shook your head. “I don’t know. When did you get this handsome?” 

“When did you get this pretty?” he countered. You flushed. “All the boys around town want you, you know that?

You snorted. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is. You’re the prettiest girl in town. And I’m the luckiest boy, because you’re all mine.”

Your heart hammered. “All yours?”

“Only if you want to be,” Jongin murmured. And then he leaned in closer, suddenly, his lips merely an inch from your own. “Can I...can I kiss you?”

You had woken up then, right before he’d done it, your cheeks hot, your breaths heavy. So this was the ‘connection’ the two of you had in your previous life.

And as the nights passed, it became evident enough. You witnessed the relationship progress—experienced it; going from shy kisses and hand-holding to a passionate love affair a few years later when you were about 18, leaving you breathless and dazed each time you woke up.

You were an adult, now. And it flustered you to think that the dreams still affected you just as much as they had when you were a naive teenager. 

Because how could you be developing real-life feelings for a boy who existed only in your dreams? A boy you loved in your apparent past life? 

You didn’t admit it to yourself for a long time, telling yourself it was just the aftermath of experiencing whatever you had in your dreams.

But then you found yourself unable to stop thinking about him, all day. 

At work, you’d close your eyes sometimes, weary from the long hours of staring at your computer screen. And all you would see is Jongin, smiling. 

Or you’d be eating lunch, minding your own business, when you’d remember something Jongin had said in one of your dreams, making you smile until you realized people were looking at you strangely.

Surely you weren’t falling for him, you told yourself. It made no sense. But then day after day, night after night, you found yourself consumed with only thoughts of him. 

You decided to do some research, to try and find out when, if at all, these dreams would ever stop. Your searches on the internet turned up nothing tangible, save for a few stories. For some people, the dreams had stopped abruptly, for some they’d gone on until they were old and nearly dying.

You sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be the latter for you, though all those years ago you’d thought you never wanted the dreams to stop. Now, you didn’t think you would be able to maintain your sanity.

Especially since the dreams had recently started to get more significant and realistic than they’d ever been before. 

A light breeze ruffled your hair as you stood leaning against a tree, waiting. You smiled as the memories came back to you.

The memory of standing under the very same tree, all those years ago, when you met Jongin for the first time, playing fetch with Monggu.

Memories of you climbing up the tree too high, and then crying in fear, calling out to Jongin, who always came up to get you down safely. 

Memories of the countless kisses you’d exchanged under the shade of the branches, you pushing Jongin away in embarrassment when things got too heated, him pulling you back into his arms.

But where was he now? He’d sent you a note, telling you to meet him here.

As if he’d heard your thoughts, you saw him jogging towards you, his hair flopping over his eyes, his smile wide. 

“Did you wait long?” he asked, planting a kiss on your cheek. You pouted. “Yes. Why’d you call me out here so late? Mother will throw a fit—”

You stopped abruptly as Jongin dropped down on one knee. Your lips parted.

He looked up at you, his eyes shining. “I know this is out of the blue,” he said, pulling out a delicate golden ring from his pocket. “But if I don’t do it now, I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough.”

You stared at him in shock. 

“Marry me,” he said simply. “I want to live the rest of my life with you. You’re my best friend, my lover, my soulmate. I can’t imagine anyone but you by my side. Marry me.”

Your heart swelled.

“Yes,” you whispered shakily. “Yes I’ll marry you, Jongin. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

And then he was slipping the ring onto your finger and encasing you into his arms, and you had never felt more safe, more happy, and more whole.

That particular dream shook you more than any of the others had. It had felt so real. The happiness in that moment, the endless possibilities of countless more memories to come with being Jongin’s wife. 

It made your heart ache. You wanted that happiness. You wanted him, so badly. You couldn’t stop the tears that came that night, heavy and unforgiving. You cried for the lost joy, for the lost love, for the lost boy that you would never get to know in real life.

But crying about it didn’t change anything. You were still pretty much alone, the overwhelming feeling of emptiness weighing down on your chest every single day of your life. 

You hated it. Why had you been cursed with these dreams? How was dreaming about your past soulmate going to affect your present life in any way? It was only breaking your heart, reminding you of everything you couldn’t have.

You began to face a horrible dilemma. A part of you wanted to sleep, wanted to dream, wanted to feel the warmth and bliss that came with being with Jongin. But the other part of you wanted nothing at all to do with the entire thing anymore. If you didn’t sleep, it would mean you wouldn’t be able to dream.

And so that’s what you decided to do. You’d stay awake until the early hours of morning, drinking bucket loads of coffee and working on things that you didn’t have to work on. And when you did fall asleep, only for a few hours, you hardly dreamt, because of how exhausted you were.

All that working over-time did end up getting you a promotion though, so there was that.

“Dude, you seriously look like you haven’t slept in years,” observed your co-worker Chanyeol, one day. You sighed. “I just have too much work,” you lied, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. 

“No kidding,” he joked. “No wonder you got promoted. You deserved it.”

“Thanks, Yeol,” you replied, smiling. “Hey, are you doing anything this weekend?” he piped up.

You hesitated. 

“Not really. What did you have in mind?” you said, finally, firmly shutting out any thoughts of Jongin that were beginning to sneak into your head.

Chanyeol grinned brightly. “A friend of mine is getting married. And I don’t have a date to the wedding.”

You smiled. 

“Only if you want to go. It’ll be as friends, of course,” he added quickly. You nodded. “Sounds fun. I’ll come with you.”

“Mind telling me the groom’s name, at least?” you asked, laughing, as Chanyeol picked you up on Saturday.

“Sehun! It’s Sehun. He’s like a little brother to me,” he replied. “Can’t believe he’s the first one of us to get married. Always thought it’d be Kai.”

“Who’s Kai?” you asked, now curious to get to know more about all of your co-worker’s interesting sounding friends.

“Another friend of mine,” said Chanyeol, grinning. “Don’t worry, you’ll meet them all soon enough.”

As soon as you pulled up in front of the fancy hotel, you hoped you were dressed well enough. You’d put on a red dress you’d bought a few weeks ago, done your hair so that it was half up-half down. Judging from Chanyeol’s jokingly approving wolf-whistle, you knew you looked good. And you felt good, too.

You walked into the massive ballroom somewhat enthusiastically, Chanyeol scanning the place for this Sehun. “There he is!” he said suddenly, and you looked over to where Chanyeol was now waving excitedly.

The world around you seemed to slow down, the chatter of conversations and the light music fading out to a white noise. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. 

Because impossibly, standing there, was Jongin. Your Jongin. 

His hair was different, his suit stylish and expensive, a far cry from the somewhat rugged clothes the Jongin in your dreams wore.

But it was him. The crinkle of his eyes, the curve of his smile, that you’d memorized over the years of dreaming of him. 

Impossibly, but unquestionably, Jongin was standing just a mere few feet away from you. 

“Sehun!” called Chanyeol, and your breath caught in your throat as the man who had to be Jongin glanced in your direction, a smile lighting up his face.

Sehun? Was that what his name was? Then-then he was the groom? 

You felt your throat close up and you swiftly turned, gasping for air. This man, this Sehun, who was Jongin, but wasn’t. He was getting married.

The overwhelming sense of dread pressed down on your chest. “Ch-Chanyeol, I’m really sorry, but I need to go,” you blurted, grabbing his arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at you with concern on his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He had no idea.

“I can’t be here,” you said, you voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. B-but I have to go,” you said, your heart nearly stopping as you saw that the man had started to walk towards the two of you. Chanyeol’s brows creased in confusion. 

He was nearly in front of you now. Jongin. Or not Jongin. He looked concerned. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, one last time. 

And before Chanyeol could stop you, you turned swiftly and began to walk away, your breaths coming in gasps. 

The unmistakable sense that something was very, very wrong was settled in your stomach, refusing to dissipate.

And it didn’t help that Jongin was looking at you with tears built up in his eyes, his ever present smile now wavering, his face masked with what you could only describe as grief.

You struggled to sit up from your laying down position, but Jongin gently held you by the shoulders and lay you back down. “You’re too weak, sweetheart.”

A sense of panic erupted in you. “Wh-where’s the baby Jongin?”

“The baby is fine,” he said reassuringly. “It’s a little girl, darling. We have a beautiful little girl,” he said, his face lighting up in the slightest.

Relief washed over you as you let out a breath. “A baby girl,” you murmured, as Jongin stroked your hair back over your sweaty forehead. “I want to hold her.”

“The nurses have taken her to get all cleaned up,” said Jongin. “But they’ll bring her back in a bit.”

You nodded, feeling exhausted. “I feel so tired, Jongin,” you said, your eyes fluttering shut. You missed the way Jongin’s lip quivered as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

You awoke with a gasp, feeling sick with misery. The dream had ended but you had a clear idea of what could only have happened next

You must have died, soon afterwards. You must have died after giving birth to your daughter, this baby girl you would never know. There must have been some sort of a complication during the birth. Jongin’s face had given it all away, at least to you in the present.

Never in your life had you felt this extreme sensation of pain, of pure, unadulterated grief. You felt as if everything inside you had broken.

Was this how the love story had ended? With you dying and leaving Jongin alone with only his baby daughter to remember you by? 

You didn’t dare go back to sleep the rest of the night. The night after, even, you were terrified of falling asleep, terrified of what you would witness again.

You fought the fatigue off as best as you could. But at some point, your eyes fell shut. 

“Promise me, Jongin,” you said. “Promise me you’ll move on from this. You have to. For our little girl.”

Jongin’s shoulders were shaking with sobs. “You can’t leave me like this. I-It’s too soon. W-we have our entire lives ahead of us. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” he said, his voice breaking.

You steadied your voice, even though your heart was breaking, even though tears were uncontrollably rolling down your own cheeks. “I love you, Jongin. And I love our daughter. And I need you to let her know that. I need you to let her know how much her mother loved her.”

“What about me?” he whispered. “I’m nothing without you.” 

You pushed yourself off the bed as best you could, your body incredibly weak. “Come here,” you said softly. And then you were wrapping him up against you, shushing him as he cried into your shoulder, his entire body shaking in sorrow. 

You shut your eyes and cried with him, cried for everything that was being snatched away from you, cruelly, unexpectedly. You would never know your little girl. 

But over the days, you had come to terms with it. You were dying. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

You kissed Jongin softly, tasting the salt of his tears on his lips. “I love you. I will love you forever,” you whispered against his lips. “In this life and the next, Jongin. I love you.”

You forced yourself to get out of bed and go to work that Monday. Your eyes were puffy with tears and you felt weak, as though all the life in you had been sucked out. 

Was this the end, then, of the dreams? You knew it with almost a certainty. The dreams weren’t going to come back. Whatever story they had meant to tell, had finished. 

You warily apologized to Chanyeol when you saw him, a wave of guilt hitting you. “I didn’t mean to just run off like that. I can’t explain why I did it,” you said, sighing. “I’m so sorry.”

“I guess weddings just aren’t your thing, eh?” said Chanyeol lightly, bumping your arm with his. “It’s alright, I understand.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved. “You’re a great friend.”

“Make it up to me by coming out to lunch today? My friend Kai is coming. I think you’ll like him,” asked Chanyeol. You shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt.

You needed to get your mind off of Jongin and your dreams. Especially since they were over. You had to move on. Plus, as long as this Sehun person wasn’t coming, you were okay with meeting anyone.

But you got the shock of your life when waiting outside the restaurant was none other than the last person you wanted to see. You gasped. “Wh-what is he doing here?” you asked Chanyeol, alarm flaring up inside you. You couldn’t face Jongin’s doppelganger. Not today. Not after everything. “You said we were meeting Kai, not Sehun,” you hissed.

Chanyeol raised his eyebrows. “What on earth are you talking about?”

You stopped in your tracks. Kai/Sehun/Jongin or whoever he was was now grinning in your direction. You swallowed.

“Do you know him from somewhere?” asked Chanyeol, sounding exasperated. “You froze like this when you saw him at the wedding too.”

You shook your head. “No I just—” 

I may already be in love with this man because he looks exactly like my lover from my previous life, but it’s all ruined because he might be married.

But of course you couldn’t say this out loud. So you merely opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish, your cheeks burning as you neared Kai/Sehun/Jongin.

“This is Kai,” said Chanyeol finally. “And NOT Sehun. THIS is Sehun,” he said, showing you a picture on his phone, of a tall, lean man who was most definitely not Jongin or Kai.

You let out a breath.

Kai began to laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, Red Dress. I was wondering why you ran off that day.”

“S-so you aren’t married?” you asked stupidly.

“I’m not married,” he confirmed, his lopsided grin returning. His expression in that moment was so eerily identical to the smile you’d seen on Jongin countless times in your dreams, that you almost took a step back.“Tell me, Red Dress, are you married?”

“No,” you said quickly. “Why do you keep calling me that?” 

“What, Red Dress?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows. “It’s only because I don’t know your name. And you looked quite stunning in that dress. I couldn’t forget you,” he said, tilting his head to one side, the cheeky grin still on his face.

You flushed a bright red. 

“If you guys are done flirting, can we eat now? I’m starving,” said Chanyeol, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m only just getting started,” said Kai, sliding into the seat beside you, his eyes twinkling. “Is it weird that I feel like I’ve known you my whole life even though I’ve literally just met you?”

You hid a smile. 

“Tell me, Kai, do you believe in past lives?”

A/N: A bit nervous about how my first ever Jongin fic turned out...please do leave me your thoughts :)

#exo #exo scenarios #exo scenario #kai scenarios #kai scenario #jongin scenarios #jongin scenario #exo reactions #exo fanfiction #kai fanfiction #exo au #exo soulmate au #exo angst #kai imagine #jongin imagine #jongin fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #baekhyun scenarios #chanyeol scenarios #sehun scenarios #suho scenarios #chen scenarios #xiumin scenarios #kyungsoo scenarios #yixing scenarios #kai oneshot

[m0thyfr0sty-blog]

Ranting From 3:30am to 4:30am

It all started on June 1st, 2018. The last day of school. It was an overcast day, surprisingly, but my entire grade was squeezed into 3 buses anyway. We drove for about 45 minutes until we reached it- the arcade/ theater in the middle of nowhere.

We went inside and I recognized the comfortably bland scenery. You see, the grade had been taken to this particular arcade in December of the past year and hadn’t changed much at all. There was no tile on the freshly waxed concrete floors, and old retro banners waved overhead. It was like taking a refreshing step into the past. Except it was about as refreshing as hot cocoa on a summer’s day. (And from personal experience, I wouldn’t recommend it.)

The first time we went, I had one friend with me. She was a bit obnoxious, but had a lot of heart. We hung out together and sat with her homeroom teacher at lunch as we talked to her. But this time, she’d been sick and had to stay home. My other friend, whom is a bit of a brat but not to the point of absolute loathing, had said that she would be there but flaked on me.

I did have one friend there but the only thing we did was do bowling where I absolutely crushed him. He didn’t stand a chance. For the rest of the time, though, he sort of ignored me.

And then my crush, whom (I hope) will want to be with me. She was suspended for getting into a fight the day before, so she couldn’t go.

And that was all. And it definitely took a toll on me.

I have terrible anxiety when it comes to public places, loud noises and lots of people. The school had rented out the building, so I knew everyone there. But, I highly dislike many of them. While we were there, we watched a movie and I got an entire row of seats to myself. A girl I talk to occasionally was there too, and we sort of talked throughout the film because nobody cared enough to watch it anyway.

After the movie, we were just set free to do whatever we wanted when it came to games and whatnot. Instead of playing games, I just paced up and down the main corridor and watched everyone else play games. They had friends, fun, and smiles on their faces. But I had to walk and pace and watch everyone else have fun and smile and generally enjoy life.

So on the way back to the school my math teacher notices that I’m being unnaturally quiet, due to my literal ‘anxiety numbness’ as I call it. After prolonged fits of anxiety, things just don’t seem to bother me anymore and that’s what happened. Almost two hours of pacing and I’d just been severed from the rest of the world. He asks me if I’m alright and my brain goes default ‘Yeah’ while I’m typing a note on my phone to never come back to this arcade.

He drops it like a bad habit, so I just sit there in silence. Occasionally, some idiot will decide it’s a good idea to ask me some stupid question and I reply with my normal brusque, short and to-the-point “I’m not some higher power that can give you all the answers. Ask someone who cares.” And I return to staring out the window as if it can distract me from the lack of connection to me and all that existed at that time. I got over it eventually but part of me still feels empty from that day that happened a little less than two and a half months ago.

I’m really stressed about this coming year. As of me writing this, it starts tomorrow. I just feel like I’m heading towards a cliff that I can’t see and won’t see until I fall over the side and die moments later after hitting every single crag or rock that is there. SOMETHING bad will happen. And part of me is saying that it’s time I just gave up on everything I’ve worked for simply because whenever this ‘bad’ thing happens, it’ll crush me and consume my waking thoughts. It will consume me and never spit me back out.

I’ve never felt this level of apprehension. It’s not just school that’s causing this slight but uncomfortable ache in my chest almost as if I can’t leave this house. If I was a ghost, this would be my grave. I can’t leave everything I own here every day for the next nine months. I should be here, using my creative talents to expand upon myself and my works to create a more in-depth way to channel all my negative feelings into so I can truly throw a wrench in the gears of every soul who views it because it strikes raw nerves. BECAUSE it causes a calming heartache. Not sitting in the middle of four cream-painted walls where the only thing I can do is sit and be silenced. I can’t use my full creative potential simply because of those who refuse to look past their own noses and realize that I don’t care about their opinions. Get offended all you want- my heart will always beat to its own drum.

And I wish I could say that I haven’t considered bleeding myself out into a bucket or into a bathtub. How I wish I would jump from a chair but never hit the ground. Catch a bullet in the neck, ANYTHING to make this ache in my chest stop. I had an anxiety attack in front of family members who had no idea what to do and lectured me about ‘not having the right to be sad because I have such a great life and a great family’ yada yada yada. Everyone has the right to be sad. Sadness is a healthy expression of emotions and there is no way to deny someone’s right to grieve. And if it’s to grieve for themselves, so be it. Let them let it out because we all know that once you bottle something up for so long, it’ll eventually blow up and you will never fully recover from it.

I do admit that I have it better than SO many people. I have a house, a family, food, water, internet, clothes, a bed, everything that EVERYONE should have. Why should I feel guilty for being born into this life? Why should I feel guilty for being alive at all? And why do I feel that I do not have the right to grieve simply because I don’t live on a street corner being cursed at and spit on and starving?

Because people think that the people who go through the worst of experiences are the only people who have souls and therefore are the only people that matter. No. EVERYONE matters. Every gay, lesbian, trans, female, male, baby, child, teen, adult, elder, animals, plants, EVERYTHING deserves to live with everything it needs to well, LIVE. And humans are the only creatures who dare say that those who have the most get nothing.

Imagine a lion pride. The males mate with the females and protect the pride. The females hunt and lead the pride. Just because the females are the ones presiding over everything, does that mean that they are not allowed to feed? No! Animals think of fairness when it comes to their prides or families. Sure, some groups have castes but that’s mostly mating rights. But they still eat, don’t they? They still get protected/protect don’t they? So why can’t humans do the same?

It’s because humans are idiots! Humans want to be the best and rule over everything and boss everyone else around because it’s THEIR world and everything must go THEIR way and if it doesn’t go THEIR way, shit’s gonna hit the fan. Examples: Hitler. Osama Bin-Laden. Christians (in some cases, not all) Homophobes, literally anyone who thinks that they’re right and everyone else is wrong.

“bUt wOuLdn’T THat MAkE uS aLL TeRRiBLe peOpLE??!?!”

Yes. Yes it does. We are all guilty of this.

So join me. Make this NOT be how human society unfolds.

But it’s almost 4:30 am, and I need to sleep. Badly.

Thanks for enjoying this 4am wisdom from M0thFr0st. Moth, out.

[monicaparker93]

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How Do I Save My Relationship From Falling Apart

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Save Relationship Rails

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#7 Ways To Save Your Relationship Jaw-Dropping Cool Ideas #How To Pray To God To Save My Marriage

[thejustinmarshall]

Choose Wonder

The South Rim of the Grand Canyon can be a magical place: You stand with a 180-degree view of a thing so big and complicated, you can’t understand it if you only look for a few seconds. You see millions of years of erosion, dozens of layers of geology, dozens of side canyons with their own side canyons. You could sit there for hours or days, taking it in, watching the light change, illuminating things you didn’t see the minute before and won’t see a minute after. It’s a huge, complex artwork in an open-air museum that never closes, and you can stay as long as it takes you to figure out what it means to you and your existence, or decide it’s impossible to figure out and walk away satisfied with whatever you got from it. That’s one way to look at it.

Alternately, you could describe it as crowded with tour-bus passengers and selfie sticks, packing the restaurants a few steps away from the rim, accidentally dropping water bottles and food wrappers into the canyon, ignoring the signs that say please don’t feed the squirrels, talking loudly on cell phones, and making the whole thing feel like a bit of a tourist trap, more like Times Square than one of America’s most famous national parks.

You have a choice when you’re there: You can focus on the canyon in front of you and have your mind blown by nature, or you can focus on the people behind you and have your spirits dampened by the negative aspects of making one viewpoint accessible to millions of people.

You can choose wonder—or you can choose the opposite of wonder, something that seems to be plentiful in our current day, available via the tap of a finger and a second or two of scrolling: a million hot takes, snarky comments, and contrarian reactions on anything and everything. One of the heartening things about the internet nowadays is that you can find, in seconds, other people who love some obscure thing just as much as you do (like the Subreddit for grilled cheese), and you can connect with them. One of the less heartening things is that, with the same amount of ease (or completely by accident), you can find someone who hates the thing you love, whether it’s a musician, a restaurant, or a national park. If you spend enough time paying attention to all the opinions on the internet, they can gradually become a sort of blanket of despair, snuffing out your joy, or infecting your perspective. If you concentrate on how all the other tourists at the South Rim are interfering with your Grand Canyon experience, you’re choosing to ruin your own experience. Instead: Grab an ice cream cone (there might be a line) and enjoy the view.

I’m not advocating for 24/7 blind optimism. The world is not a perfect place. It’s never great for everyone at the same time, and many things about it should change so it can become a better place for more people. But you can fight for change and still experience joy, as smarter people than me have pointed out.

I’m not naturally an optimistic or positive person, but I often find myself stopping in awe to watch a truck driver back a tractor-trailer into a tight alley. I still get a little kick—even 35 years after my first rides without training wheels—out of how my bicycle just keeps rolling after a few hard pedal strokes. I can’t believe how tasty even below-average pizza is, and that some form of pizza is in almost every populated place I’ve ever traveled in the world. I never get tired of Kind of Blue, even well after the thousandth time I’ve listened to it.

I think that snarky voice, the negative remark, the ability to have a slight dissatisfaction with everything, is inside all of us. We are blessed and cursed with seemingly infinite choice, the possibility that there might be something a little bit better, or even “perfect,” around the corner, in the next swipe left, or after a few more seconds of scrolling.

You can decide every day, multiple times every day, if you want to have a sense of joy, slight awe, and/or amazement in your life. You can do the opposite and spend your time figuring out how to creatively take a shit on everything, building a shield out of snark to hide behind, lest you get too excited about something. I have both these voices in my head at all times, just like you. But I recommend you choose wonder. It won’t solve all the world’s problems, but it certainly must do more to make the world a better place than being perpetually unimpressed does, don’t you think?

A friend once told me he thought someone should make a film capturing people’s reactions at the moment they see the Grand Canyon for the first time, from the viewpoint on the South Rim. I think it’s a fascinating idea, turning the camera away from one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World and showing not the scenery, but its effect on the humans who experience it.

The world is changing faster than ever before, and it gets easier every year you’re alive to be just a bit more of a pessimist, turning the brightness dial of your perspective down another notch. It takes effort, but I believe it’s worth it, when we can, to squint into a visual field of rain clouds loaded with infinite ways we could be disappointed, unimpressed, and dissatisfied with every little thing in our lives, and instead focus on a sense of awe and amazement.

—Brendan

More writing like this in my new book, Bears Don’t Care About Your Problems, out now.

The post Choose Wonder appeared first on semi-rad.com.

from Explore https://semi-rad.com/2019/11/choose-wonder/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[olivereliott]

Choose Wonder

The South Rim of the Grand Canyon can be a magical place: You stand with a 180-degree view of a thing so big and complicated, you can’t understand it if you only look for a few seconds. You see millions of years of erosion, dozens of layers of geology, dozens of side canyons with their own side canyons. You could sit there for hours or days, taking it in, watching the light change, illuminating things you didn’t see the minute before and won’t see a minute after. It’s a huge, complex artwork in an open-air museum that never closes, and you can stay as long as it takes you to figure out what it means to you and your existence, or decide it’s impossible to figure out and walk away satisfied with whatever you got from it. That’s one way to look at it.

Alternately, you could describe it as crowded with tour-bus passengers and selfie sticks, packing the restaurants a few steps away from the rim, accidentally dropping water bottles and food wrappers into the canyon, ignoring the signs that say please don’t feed the squirrels, talking loudly on cell phones, and making the whole thing feel like a bit of a tourist trap, more like Times Square than one of America’s most famous national parks.

You have a choice when you’re there: You can focus on the canyon in front of you and have your mind blown by nature, or you can focus on the people behind you and have your spirits dampened by the negative aspects of making one viewpoint accessible to millions of people.

You can choose wonder—or you can choose the opposite of wonder, something that seems to be plentiful in our current day, available via the tap of a finger and a second or two of scrolling: a million hot takes, snarky comments, and contrarian reactions on anything and everything. One of the heartening things about the internet nowadays is that you can find, in seconds, other people who love some obscure thing just as much as you do (like the Subreddit for grilled cheese), and you can connect with them. One of the less heartening things is that, with the same amount of ease (or completely by accident), you can find someone who hates the thing you love, whether it’s a musician, a restaurant, or a national park. If you spend enough time paying attention to all the opinions on the internet, they can gradually become a sort of blanket of despair, snuffing out your joy, or infecting your perspective. If you concentrate on how all the other tourists at the South Rim are interfering with your Grand Canyon experience, you’re choosing to ruin your own experience. Instead: Grab an ice cream cone (there might be a line) and enjoy the view.

I’m not advocating for 24/7 blind optimism. The world is not a perfect place. It’s never great for everyone at the same time, and many things about it should change so it can become a better place for more people. But you can fight for change and still experience joy, as smarter people than me have pointed out.

I’m not naturally an optimistic or positive person, but I often find myself stopping in awe to watch a truck driver back a tractor-trailer into a tight alley. I still get a little kick—even 35 years after my first rides without training wheels—out of how my bicycle just keeps rolling after a few hard pedal strokes. I can’t believe how tasty even below-average pizza is, and that some form of pizza is in almost every populated place I’ve ever traveled in the world. I never get tired of Kind of Blue, even well after the thousandth time I’ve listened to it.

I think that snarky voice, the negative remark, the ability to have a slight dissatisfaction with everything, is inside all of us. We are blessed and cursed with seemingly infinite choice, the possibility that there might be something a little bit better, or even “perfect,” around the corner, in the next swipe left, or after a few more seconds of scrolling.

You can decide every day, multiple times every day, if you want to have a sense of joy, slight awe, and/or amazement in your life. You can do the opposite and spend your time figuring out how to creatively take a shit on everything, building a shield out of snark to hide behind, lest you get too excited about something. I have both these voices in my head at all times, just like you. But I recommend you choose wonder. It won’t solve all the world’s problems, but it certainly must do more to make the world a better place than being perpetually unimpressed does, don’t you think?

A friend once told me he thought someone should make a film capturing people’s reactions at the moment they see the Grand Canyon for the first time, from the viewpoint on the South Rim. I think it’s a fascinating idea, turning the camera away from one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World and showing not the scenery, but its effect on the humans who experience it.

The world is changing faster than ever before, and it gets easier every year you’re alive to be just a bit more of a pessimist, turning the brightness dial of your perspective down another notch. It takes effort, but I believe it’s worth it, when we can, to squint into a visual field of rain clouds loaded with infinite ways we could be disappointed, unimpressed, and dissatisfied with every little thing in our lives, and instead focus on a sense of awe and amazement.

—Brendan

More writing like this in my new book, Bears Don’t Care About Your Problems, out now.

The post Choose Wonder appeared first on semi-rad.com.

[joneswilliam72]

Tallinn Music Week: a love letter to Estonia

There’s a sort of fascinating melancholy in travelling East — and everyone knows jet lag always hits harder when you head in that direction too. A constant anxious wreck by default (a trait that doesn't necessarily combine well with an unexplainable need for constantly being on the move), I experienced this firsthand last month as I was given the opportunity to go to Estonia for Tallinn Music Week - the annual music and culture event that should be mandatory for everyone at least once in their lifetime.

Where do you even begin to write about the beauty that is Estonia? A country whose imagery hasn’t been spoiled by media overexposure and Pop culture saturation. A country mixing the old and the new, inevitably emanating a sort of patchwork quality both in its lifestyle and through the relationship it has with its own identity. A country where over-advertising is noticeably absent, as is agressive stimuli bombarding and visual pollution. A country where it sometimes becomes hard to tell the year you’re living in — maybe even the century.

It is indeed one of life's greatest privileges to visit a place which you have little to no references of: you are aware it exists and where, know about its Soviet occupation past, but not much info has been provided through media. So it becomes an exciting discovery, your mind a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the real colours — not the ones you have mistakenly absorbed through movies. You force yourself to open your eyes and see, as no previous meta-formed idea has conditioned you to look in any particular way.

Travelling to such a place can be both a soothing and a disturbing factor. But there is no agression. There is no over-sweetening of the pill either. Everything about Estonia is so brutally honest, which in a world of constant make-believe and increasingly shallow first (and second, and third) impressions can feel like the Holy Grail.

Well tucked between Scandinavia and Russia, Estonia musically drinks from the best of both worlds after emerging from oppression in the early '90s: from its proximity to Finland and Sweden come the same unexplainably addictive Pop genes that North area seems to have incorporated in their blood; from the East emerges a certain anti-Imperialist pride that endures to this very day, preventing their music from relying too much on Anglo-American standardisation which could ruin its spontaneity and unique character. But what else would you expect from a country whose independence was brought about by a Singing Revolution if not a visceral connection to the overwhelming power that is music?

Tallinn Music Week is one of Europe’s most carefully curated showcase festivals, offering a unique opportunity to catch the acts you’d probably never see otherwise since yes, internet is democratically(-ish) liberating when it comes to music finding, but it also castrates your curiosity by offering you unlimited content you often have no idea how to deal with. So it comes as no surprise that the only "Western" acts I actually got to see were meticulously selected — and also felt immensely out of place.

YASMYN by Patrik Tamm

A late arrival due to Mercury retrograde-ridden flight cancellations dictated YASMYN to be the first act I saw. Not only her stage presence is hypnotising, but the blend of R&B, pop, and hip-hop she incorporates in her music make for an exciting business card in what comes to the future of Estonian contemporary Urban.

A sucker for record sleeve design, I kicked off day two at Malcolm Garrett's talk with John Rudd during which he discussed his career with an obvious focus on his connections to Duran Duran and Buzzcocks. I also learned he was never impressed with Joy Division; in his opinion, and having seen them since they called themselves Warsaw, it was Martin Hannett who did a spectacular job with Unknown Pleasures — eventually forcing the band to up their game in order to play like the record live. Speaking of records and sleeves: a mandatory stop at the record fair felt like an Iron Curtain-ish cultural melting pot. As I browsed through tons of amazing Melodiya pressings of the likes of the Byrds, Bon Jovi, and ABBA, I also found the first (and only) Russian pressing of a Revolver + Sgt Pepper double LP to feast my eyes upon. I didn't buy anything though; everybody knows music journalists are poor.

Among the first acts I actually got to see from my preview list were Sybil Vane, who together with Erki Pärnoja, provided yet another proof of the exciting diversity that is Estonian music. Pärnoja creates mystical filmic environments through his music and is currently working on the successor to his 2017 sophomore album Efterglow. I then headed over to Swedish duo GHLOW's set at Sveta, where an outside hut provided a very welcoming lounge area, the discreet smell of Estonian weed emerging from times to times to bring about an uncannily familiar ambience.

GHLOW by Ken Mürk

As day three peaked through the window my body was beginning to complain about the amount of hours I was sleeping each night and the ones I was spending standing on my feet — the former obviously largely surpassing the latter. But a couple of glasses of white wine in an empty stomach at sundown made wonders to the part of my brain that rules tiredness and physical pain, and Iceland-via-Berlin Rokky did the rest, making sure I was properly warmed-up for what was probably the only UK act I ended up seeing: Red Telephone. I, unfortunately, had to cut their set short to run to Trees before doing the wise thing and actually having dinner. A short stop at the Folk stage afterwards proved a wonderfully weird cultural gap as Catlin Mägi made sure she put a mesmerising spell on the whole room with her skilful Jew's harp playing.

Finnish garage psychers Teemu & the Deathblows were another band from my to-see selection that did not disappoint in any way — I actually felt their set was too short, which is always a good sign. Plus, they got my blood properly immune to the harsh Baltic winds so I could sweat everything out at SADO OPERA's brilliant show. I danced like I hadn't danced in a very long time, and it actually came in handy that the venue, Erinevate Tubade Klubi, requested that all guests took their shoes off and put some slippers on instead. Fuck the slippers though; dancing barefoot is one of the best, most liberating sensations in the whole world.

SADO OPERA by Kristelle Ahone

I thought this was the end of the festival for me, but I was subsequently dragged first to the metal stage to see a Finnish band called Cumbeast (yes) and then back to the Estonian Academy of Arts for a set of Irish electronic duo Lakker. I never say no to good new experiences and the night seemed to go on forever, properly fueled by good Irish whisky and lack of sleep euphoria. The last stop was an afterparty at Sveta where the DJ was playing Shocking Blue's 'Love Buzz' as I arrived; I pride myself of being a lady who can hold her liquor, but I got emotional and almost cried.

When I was a little girl, I used to watch loads of Eastern European fantasy films. One of them, a Czech fairy tale called Princess Jasnenka and the Flying Shoemaker, stayed with me the longest: I would revisit it from time to time, fascinated by those aerial plans showing towers, castles, dungeons, and seemingly impenetrable city walls. In spite of the obvious geographical differences, Tallinn did feel a bit like being inside one of those films; the first day I was wandering around the Old Town looking for St. Catherine's Passage when I noticed a semi-hidden entry in the medieval wall. I got in and climbed upstairs, eventually finding my way to the tower through what felt like endless steep stairs carved in the stone. As I was alone in a round room with windows overlooking the city, I remembered when the king locked princess Jasnenka in the tower to try and prevent the witches' curse of her marrying a shoemaker; but the shoemaker made himself a pair of wings in leather, flew to the princess's room, and they fell in love.

You can never escape your own destiny, especially since it's you, either conscious or subconsciously, who gets to decide when and how to fulfil it. That's when I realised all roads had recently been leading me to Tallinn, and I mutely thanked the universe that it was so.

from The 405 https://ift.tt/2FOsbNe

[profsebastianfletcher-blog]

The Root of all Evil

Wow. So here we are, on the cusp of a new frontier, one defined by truth and reality and not the tales fed to us by fools from the past. It's bloody damn exciting. We were right friends, right all along I tell you. 

Ok, where to begin. 

I genuinely at a bit of a loss, the number of times I've received "calls to action" or "threads of interest" is too numerous to count. However they are often dead ends, the truth lying just under the surface, intangible, unseen. But this time, in the Lake District of all places, was different. There were others! Others I tell you! A man named Lawrence, A young lady named Susie, but went by Ticket, and another young lady named Noa, and oh boy she was fascinating. 

We were roused to action by a ruckus outside, the police cited escaped zoo animals, a typical cover up excuse. Naturally we all snuck by without issue into the nearby wilderness, I think? I didn't ascertain how Ticket and Lawrence got through. However in talking to Noa I discovered something earth-shattering! She's possessed by an ancient magical artefact and cohabits a body with a extremely powerful being! Just wow! I couldn't believe it! 

We were not able to dwell however as flowers began to sprout from beneath our very feet almost instantaneously! It was remarkably non-natural! I must confess I was beside myself! 

Once again reformed into our full contingent of four, we decided to venture deeper into the forest to possible root out the source of this sudden supernature. And Oh golly did we find something! A giant tropical carnivorous species of flora, much larger and more intelligent than any plant that exists on earth! In the ensuing bout of combat we were able to evade its snares, although did suffer a few injuries. 

It was at this point the sun set, an extraordinary circumstance given it had been morning a few hours earlier! Time dilation! Temporal warping! Another theory confirmed with physical tangible consequence! Thrilling! 

We returned to another, different village, however the creature seemed to dormant and did not follow, leading us to conclude it must be of a diurnal nature. One of the inhabitants of the small Hamlet's was a women going into labour, a problematic occurrence given the setting. We rallied items over the next couple of hours, although about a day passed due to the solar distortion. What a frightfully brilliant circumstance.

It was at this moment that Noa’s friend made her debut appearance, Sabriel she called herself. By Jove, it was unreal, spectacular and there! Right in front of me! A being of over 2000 years! The ancients are real, and they walk among us! We never even considered co-habitation, we just assumed they would be disguised! And if there is one, there are bound to be more, and more powerful; primordials, Gods even. The very manifestations of power in the known universe. There is no way the authorities are unaware, they are purposefully hoodwinking us. We need to wake up the sheeple, show the the true reality of the world in which we live. The manifestation and confirmation of magic on our terrestrial home indicates forces way beyond our control and knowledge...  

(This paragraph continues at some length, discussing the forces ‘beyond our control’. Words “New World Order”, “Sheeple” and “Exciting” are used frequently.)

But I’m getting off track, the point is that this Sabriel had inhuman abilities and was able to locate the flower creature a second time. However this time we were prepared. We all ran in (myself included, it was exhilarating) and in Ticket’s words, told the “Weed” to “Fuck off”!

The only major complication was that Lawrence was fatally injured in the process and was bleeding out, a rather distressing occurrence. After having downed the plant creature, a wave of natural matter expelled us from the area in which the forest had grown as thick as a jungle, and back towards a road on the outskirts.

It was here that Noa, not Sabriel, was able to utilise a magic and stabilise Lawrence! It was extraordinary, utterly extraordinary, a mortal in the possession of mystic arts! I can’t even begin to comprehend what that means!!

(This paragraph continues on a similar tangent at a greater length as it tries to ‘Comprehend’ what that magic means. The words “Knights Templar”, “Sheeple” and “Thrilling” are used frequently.)

After a quick jaunt to the local hospital for about a day, and a further stop off at a local internet café, I was able to ascertain  the cause and the nature of this fantastical event. At the centre of this temporal field existed and ancient burial site. It was rather standard ultimately, the usual story of a cursed grave that if disturbed would seek revenge. Nothing new. However, the fact that this had had such extraordinary and catastrophic effect was down right splendid!

We agreed that that was the direction in which we needed to head to stop the growth of the anomaly, exciting!

On our way however we encountered Grace, a creature of part plant based and part human based biology. She was the child which had been birthed simply a day prior! But being static in the time field had caused her to age! She was in her mid-teens! After a day! I tried to take a picture but unfortunately the others stopped me. Disappointing. 

We soon approached the centre and there was situated the same flower creature from before. The others attacked, Sabriel again returning to assist (Thrilling!) whilst I waited for an opening to get into the tomb. The fight was tense, Lawrence was almost suicidal in his approach approaching with no haste whatsoever and stabbing the plant at its roots with a beautiful sword, appearing to be made of glass! Unnatural and glorious! 

The moment I saw an opening I sprinted towards it, only to have a few ribs broken as I was crushed in the roots of the plant. With the assistance of Lawrence I was able to make my way into the tomb. Fighting continued to rage on the surface. The plant swallowed Ticket! Astonishing! 

I was able to approach the opened tomb, where a skeleton lay, the plant tendrils originating from its chest. Using my trusty garrotte I was able to sever the root and in a mighty effort I saved the day! Hazzah! 

All in all the experience was utterly extraordinary, beyond classification, and so very very gratifying, so validating! We were right I tell you, about everything. Everything! I’m writing this from my hospital bed, but know, as soon as these ribs are healed I am going to pull at this thread. Pull at this thread until whatever its connected to unravels. The other three have had similar experiences before, and apparently there is a wider group of similar individual. Its all connected I tell you. Its ALL connected. 

(This paragraph continues on another tangent at even great length, exploring how it ‘ALL’ might be connected, the words “Area 51′, “Sheeple” and “Delightful” are used frequently.)

Keep you’re eyes open, trust no one, question everything

Seb x