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destiniesfic · 3 years

Note

For the smut dialogue prompts: Darklina, 30 & 99 🖤

Note: Thanks for the prompt! I set this in one of the modern AUs that lives rent-free in my head, which is why the characterizations here differ from, say, OOT. It is definitely more explicit than my norm, so 🔞, thank you very much. Roughly 1800 words, with dirty talk, some mild comeplay, and edging under the cut.

(list of smut dialogue prompts)

Aleksander always woke up first. That’s how it had always been, even since the early days of their relationship, when they didn’t have a label for what they were. She would wake to find him looking at her, and laugh out of nervousness, and tease, because it long had been a habit of hers to hide her nerves with barbs.

“Do you like me?” she remembered saying. “Gross.”

And he smiled. The lines at the corners of his eyes had been fainter then, but they were there. She already liked tracing them in her mind, mapping them for the inevitable sketches she’d make of his face in the little notebook she kept in her bag.

“I’m starting to,” he murmured, in that voice, with that accent, and she was gone on him.

Later, once they’d moved into the condo together and settled into the rhythm of a life, she was not surprised that he was often up and out of bed before she was. It meant that they had fewer morning trysts, unless he finished his workout early, but it was also weirdly comfortable. She didn’t worry when she woke up and he was already in another room. She knew he would always come find her.

And that meant she could take her own sweet time getting out of bed on the days she didn’t have work. She could pull on one of his old shirts and saunter into the kitchen with it skimming her thighs, and she could raid his—their—fridge for ingredients to make herself a smoothie. (Almond milk was almost as good as dairy milk if it was vanilla and you put a lot of stuff in it, and he was right, her skin had gotten much better since she started swapping it in.)

Aleksander was already in his home office with the frosted glass door closed. She could see his silhouette pacing back and forth in front of it, and hear the low tones of his voice as he spoke emphatically to someone on the phone. She couldn’t make out what he was saying but found herself mesmerized anyway. Even in silhouette form, he was something. Broad shoulders, lean waist, power in his every step.

Alina didn’t realize she was staring until the talking stopped and the door slid back. There was Aleksander, still in his workout clothes, hanging up his cellphone. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his torso and she could almost make out the contours of his abs.

“Making breakfast?” he asked, wiping his face on the towel that hung around his neck, and Alina realized she was so distracted she hadn’t even put anything in the Nutribullet.

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in,” she said, an easy smile curling the corners of her lips.

“Cheeky,” he said, crossing through the living room to her side of the kitchen island so he could give her a kiss. Alina stood on her toes to receive it. She knew, somewhere in her logical brain, that she should maybe be turned off because he was still sweaty, but the weird fact was that she was kind of crazy about the way he smelled. Supposedly that was a good thing, meant that they were physically compatible. All Alina knew for sure that she wanted to press her face in his neck and inhale until she had her fill.

“I’m serious,” she murmurs against his lips.

She felt his smirk. “Well, you do need to eat regardless. Compliments won’t hit your macros.”

“I can think of a way to get more protein.”

“Alina.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. It was getting long again, a couple of inches past her shoulders—grown out from when she’d cut it for her film debut, nearly two years ago now.

“What?”

His grey eyes sparkled. “That was very bad.”

“You like when I’m a little bad,” she teased. She ran her hands down his shirt, and then followed their path, sinking down to her knees. The kitchen floor was cold, but not unbearably so, and she was distracted anyway, running her fingers around the elastic waistband of his athletic shorts. He was already responding. Just the sight of her on her knees seemed to get him hard.

“I do,” he said, placing a hand on the back of her head. “But I like it better when you’re very good. Can you be good for me now?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pulling down his shorts and drawing his cock out of his briefs. And then there was no more talking. She knew it was time to get to work.

To think when she started she had no idea what she was doing. She thought she had to fit the whole of him in her mouth, which was just not a realistic possibility most of the time, and usually made her choke. Now she knew better. Now she knew she could wrap her hand around the base of him, use her other hand to touch while she started just with licks, with brief teases, before wrapping her lips around him for real. (And no teeth, ever.)

He groaned when she really got going, a sound that zinged straight to the core of her. She remembered that back in the day, when she knew so little, some girls, older girls, framed this as a chore. To her it wasn’t, not for the privilege of licking the salt from his skin in the early morning, to glance up at him and see him watching her with those glowing grey eyes. Alina still didn’t know what it was that made him notice her, made him like her, made him want her—talent, sure, but talent wasn’t hard to come by in this town, and he had to be used to seeing it. Maybe she never would never know.

Aleksander pushed on the back of her head a little, and she picked up the pace. He was efficient. He liked things hard, fast, and on his terms. She knew when he was close before he said anything, and she could swallow, but today he tugged her hair and pulled her off of him and growled “Shirt. Off,” and so she pulled his t-shirt over her head and knelt patiently on the floor while he finished himself with his hand. The result was—well, it was splatter on her mouth and chest, which was okay, because it wasn’t her eyes or her hair and she hadn’t showered yet today. Besides, there was something very bad about it, very forbidden, and Alina was still so horny herself that any residual grossness hadn’t really sunk in.

“Aleksander,” she said. “My turn.”

He reached down and took her chin in his hand, brushing a thumb over her lower lip and smearing some of the residue in the process. She shivered. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He asked.

“Aleksander.”

“You know what to say.”

She took a breath, sighed it out, and gave him a roll of her eyes for good measure. “Please?”

And then he was lifting her up like she weighed nothing at all and placing her on the marble countertop. He pressed her onto her back and got his hands on her thighs, pulling up her underwear. “Already soaked,” he remarked, his voice dark with lust, and she shivered. “Does sucking my cock make you wet, Alina?”

“Oh, fuck, Aleksander. Please.” She really meant it this time.

Despite her pleading, which usually drove him to decisive action, Alina quickly realized that he was taking his sweet, sweet time with her. He slipped one finger inside of her, curling it, rubbing back and forth in a way that drove her absolutely crazy and added a second at his own pace. When he finally tugged her underwear off so his head could come to rest between her thighs she moaned so loudly she was sure their downstairs neighbors would hear even though the condo was completely soundproof.

But just as she was inching toward climax, he pulled back, kissing her thigh instead and withdrawing his fingers entirely. She whimpered, and after he decided she had enough time to cool off, he began teasing her again, stopping just before she hit her peak. If her mind wasn’t completely numb with wanting she’d ask him if he had time for this, if it wouldn’t get in the way of work, but if he was taking this time he probably had it to burn. It was so unfair that she was the one set aflame.

“What are you doing!” she finally asked, out of desire, out of despair.

“Yes, haven’t you been good?” he asked, sliding his fingers back inside of her. “Isn’t it fitting you should get a reward?”

“Let me—”

“Don’t you want to come around my cock, Alina?”

Oh, was that what he was waiting for? Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for him to get hard again, with her spread and bare before him. Still, she squirmed. “I want to come.”

“Be patient.” His other hand was no longer on her thigh, or hip, and although she couldn’t see it she could see his arm moving, and she knew he was touching himself. Not too much longer.

She writhed, feverishly hot against the cold marble. “Aleksander, please.”

That did it, it seemed. He took his fingers from her and his hand from himself and gripped her hips to pull her onto him. He groaned, but she practically howled from the relief, and all it took was another push of his hips to push her over the edge of release, the heat in her core spilling into the rest of her body.

He kept fucking her while she was seeing stars, hard and fast—he liked it that way. She was uninhibited, moaning, her nails scratching at the granite. His eyes were on her face, on her breasts, still glistening with his semen. She felt almost like she never stopped coming, like she was suspended in perpetual climax, until somehow she tipped over another cliff and clenched around him and it was just shaking, shaking all over. That did it for him, too, and a moment later he slumped over on top of her, one of his hands closing over her breast, breathing hard.

“Oh, god,” Alina panted. “Oh god, I hate you.” She slung her arm over his shoulders. “I love you.”

She didn’t know if he would say it back. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn’t. But this time he straightened himself and slid his hand up to her neck, caressing the hollow of her throat. Alina let her eyes fall closed.

“I’m thinking of getting you something,” was what Aleksander said.

#darklina #alarkling #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #the darkling #mine: fic #nightbringer #ask #intern au

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b-does-the-write-thing · 3 years

Text

The Unforeseen, Unanticipated and Unexpected: A Tale in Three Parts

Dear @moonlight91 Your prompt was so amazing (I do like a challenge) that I wrote a million different stories before I finally settled on a bit of fairytale hilarity with a little bit of the fake dating trope thrown in just for fun. So, thank you for your patience these last two weeks, and a big thank you to @rumbellesecretsanta for allowing me to help out.

Merry (belated) Christmas- I do hope you enjoy it!

Read it on AO3

At the seventh stroke of midnight on the seventh day of the seventh month, the Dark One found himself summoned with blood, ash, and bone to a deep, dark grove.

All this pomp and ceremony was unnecessary, but if he didn’t go about setting weirdly-specific conditions, he would be summoned left and right and would never get anything done. As the summoner rose from the make-shift altar, the moonlight bounced silver off the figure revealing the Dark One had been called forth by, by his least favorite thing in this world and the next, a knight.

Said knight was already peering down his nose, clearly unimpressed. Rumpelstiltskin knew the type. He could have shown up as a fire-breathing dragon, and this fool still would have been disappointed. “Do I have the honor- “ the knight’s tone made it clear it was anything but- “of addressing the Dark One?”

Rumpelstiltskin cracked a particular toothy grin. “Present!” he trilled, adding a flick of his wrist for a pop of flair. Knights loved pageantry; it always helped to give them a bit of a show. “And who might you be exactly?”

“I am Sir Gaston LeRoux, the First Sword of Avonlea, and I have need of your aid.”

“And what help could a great warrior such as yourself possibly need with little old me? Can’t be ogre problems. I got rid of those things centuries ago.” Rumpelstiltskin tipped his head back and forth in consideration, mulling it over. “Perhaps you are in need of a magic sword, that sort of thing?”

“I have no need for magic weapons,” the knight managed through a clenched jaw.

Rumpelstiltskin picked a moonflower from a low hanging branch. It must have just bloomed, for the scent was ripe and sweet as he plucked first one petal off and then another, and another- “Then, tis a woman.”

He knew he was right. True, this Sir Gaston was more handsome than the usual lovelorn sort and well aware of his good fortune judging by his perfectly styled locks, but men of the sword were often hopeless when it came to affairs of the heart.

The knight bowed his head in acquiescence. “Thou speakest true. I am betrothed to the Lady of Avonlea, but my heart belongs to another.”

Rumpelstiltskin tsked. How boring. He ever only got involved in this sort of nonsense on the off chance he stumbled upon a case of True Love. And there was no chance this vain peacock knew the first thing about love. “Then, why not just break it off?”

The knight cleared his throat. “It is no easy feat. I have tried, but….the reason I have come to you is...in truth, I suspect my betrothed is, herself, a sorceress. She has bewitched all those around her to do her bidding. Her father has stepped aside to let her rule in his stead. Why even I was briefly under her sway. I fear, not for myself, but what she would do to my love if she ever uncovered my heart is no longer a slave to her spell.”

For the first time in the conversation, Rumpelstiltskin’s interest was piqued. A sorceress was rare. Sure, the occasional noble lady did pick up a spell or two here and there, but more typically, they just had a magical heirloom of sorts at their disposal. Perhaps this wouldn’t be a colossal waste of his time after all. “I do like a challenge,” Rumpelstiltskin acknowledged, already mentally listing possible lost artifacts he might acquire. “What’s in it for me?”

The knight grew even more somber, impressing, considering he had yet to show any actual emotion. “I have heard of the monstrous price you require. So be it.” He inhaled deeply, then as if it pained him to even speak the words, he said,” For the Dark One’s assistance, you shall have my firstborn.”

Oh, great. This again.

Rumpelstiltskin had rather thought he had put an end to this rumor sometime last century. Honestly, he had no idea where people kept getting the fantastical notion that he wanted their children. It had just been the one time, and he hadn’t even been serious then. Besides, any halfway decent looking man was sure to have a litter of bastards in every kingdom. “I hardly want your byblows,” he scoffed. “You shall have my help. But first, I require three truths from your lips, and afterward, a favor.”

The knight hesitated. “You...you’re sure you don’t just want my firstborn child?”

Oh, for the love of - It had been a slow decade and growing more monotonous by the minute. There was no excitement anymore. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t even recall the last time he had been called upon to partake in some great struggle between the forces of good and evil. It was just the same thing day in and day out. What he wouldn’t give for a good war right about now...

Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers, and a rather long, intricate scroll appeared, the terms of the deal neatly inscribed upon it. “Three truths and a favor. Do we have a deal?”

These were words that could change a life forever, especially when said by the Dark One himself. Only the truly desperate or truly deluded ever agreed to them, and the man before him did not appear desperate.

As anyone could have predicted, the fool agreed to the terms of his demise without so much as reading the fine print. There, in the heart of some nameless swamp, the knight committed to his ruin. He finished signing his name with a flourish, only for it to shift and change in a shimmer of light and magic.

“Gaston LeGume,” Rumpelstiltskin read aloud. He bared his fangs in a mockery of a smile. “My, my. A baseborn son of a landless farmer has styled himself the First Sword of Avonlea.”

As expected, his companion’s mood darkened in an instant, a hand descending to the hilt of his blade. “I warn you, sir- do not mock me!”

Rumpelstiltskin almost wished the knight would draw his sword. It had been ages since he had turned anyone into a frog. But business was business, and he was confident he could not only profit here but have a little fun with this destined-to-be bullfrog. So, he simply wiggled his fingers, adding in a giggle for good measure.

(That always threw these types off.)

“Touchy, touchy,” he admonished. “What do I care about your birth? You owe me three truths, and the first one has now been collected. Count yourself fortunate. Now, for the second truth, who is this paragon of beauty that has awoken you from the sorceress's spell?”

Gaston hemmed, and he hawed, but the magic got the truth from his lips in the end: Princess Allissa Óir, the only heir to the throne, riches, and lands of the great kingdom of Ormiston. Gaston waxed on a bit about her beauty, grace and the usual nonsense men said about women they barely knew before Rumpelstiltskin cut him off to ask the question that truly mattered. The third and final truth: “And this paradigm of a woman- does she love you as well?”

The knight clutched passionately at his breast again to drive the point home. “Most ardently. Her father has even blessed the union.”

No wonder this fellow had gone to such desperate lengths as to summon the Dark One. With just his good looks and silver tongue, the son of some carrot farmer had transformed himself to the next king of the most powerful kingdom of the age. There was just one thing in his way, his betrothed, the Lady Belle Levasseur of Avonlea.

The Dark One knew Avonlea; it was a minor holding on the edges of Ormiston. Which explained why the false knight could not just disappear into the night and emerge as a king. The two lands were neighbors, and if the Lady Levasseur was indeed capable of magic, the new King and Queen of Orimson would pay dearly for their marriage.

Yes, yes, an almost interesting case. A king in his pocket would do nicely. After all, Rumpelstiltskin had been purposefully vague on what “a favor” entailed. First, he had to deal with the one responsibility that fell to him: removing Lady Levasseur from the equation.

It was best to get it over. So, Rumpelstiltskin made his way straight to the small fort that the inhabitants of Avonlea called a castle. It was an odd, misshapen thing with a sloped roof tower by the gatehouse that looked like someone had been drunk when designing it and even drunker when building it. The rest of the hold appeared stable enough, though there was not one taller than an adolescent ogre amongst the five turreted towers.

There was a light in the gatehouse, but the lone watcher was none the wiser of the wolf lurking in the shadows. To ensure it stayed this way, Rumpelstiltskin swept his hand up and over his head, and oblivion helpfully draped itself about his shoulders, rendering him as visible as a spiderweb in the dark.

Inside was no better in terms of architecture. Every wall, both exterior and interior, was composed of an assortment of gray cobblestones, held overhead by low hanging wooden beams that even someone of his low stature would risk walking straight into. Though he was loath to call this hovel anything more, the inhabitants of the castle had done their best to make the place look respectable. Rich tapestries hung in strategic spots, and the candelabras upon the wall were pure gold, equipped with beeswax candles that had been neatly wicked.

In a residence of this size, it was easy enough to spot the Lord’s Tower. It stood in the center of the courtyard; a royal insignia stamped helpfully upon the wooden doors. A simple snap of his fingers and the doors were gone.

It was easy enough to make doors disappear, but he had not quite determined how to handle the disappearance of the lady herself. For to ensure his end of the bargain was met, she would have to be removed. Perhaps he could turn her into a swan; that had been rather popular last century. Or a sleeping curse was always an option. The lady could stay young forever, and perhaps after a hundred years or so, some prince would wake her with true love’s kiss. Oh, there were endless options. All of them were as easy as the right words and a snap of his fingers-

He just had to find the lady first.

Because despite the hour, she was not in her chambers.

Her bed had been slept in or at least laid upon. The windows had been drawn and shuttered, and the fire had dimmed to embers. He stood in the doorway for a moment, considering the scene, when he noticed a small drop of wax right inside the door. He shifted and then spotted another drop, a larger one out in the hallway. Both were hardened but not scuffed. Not fresh, but made this night.

To his left, there was a staircase descending back down from which he had come. To his right, a long hallway. Had the lady gone to visit a lover? How droll. Perhaps he could simply expose them, allowing Gaston to annul the betrothal and marry his princess without penalty. It was hardly titillating, but Rumpelstiltskin had long ago learned to keep his options open…

The hallway dead-ended into another door, no doubt the Lord’s Chambers, judging by the heavy snoring emanating from it. To his left, there was another staircase, but this one ascended. And there was a faint drop of wax on the third stair.

He followed it to the top of the turret, only to find one last door. This one was ajar, and from within, a light was burning. The tip of a turret was always a popular spellcasting spot, but there was nothing he could sense in the way of magic. Nor was there any sound of passion, no whispered words or bubbling potions- just silence—a conundrum.

He paused, considering for a moment. This task was proving to be a bit of something different. If pressed, he would almost admit he was enjoying himself. He made a careful note to keep the door from so much as making a squeak lest it announce his entrance.

But of all the things he might have imagined, he could not have predicted he’d find himself in a makeshift library of sorts. The rounded room had books piled along the walls, large and small, with spines of every color, carefully stacked in orderly rows. There was no fire to keep the night’s chill at bay or brighten the darkness, nor was there any tapestries or rugs to make the room inviting.

Besides the hundreds of books, there was just a single desk with a candle nearly burnt to the last. There was a lone cloaked figure at the desk, but they had fallen asleep, their head upon the desk’s surface, dead to the world. There were no cauldrons, no familiars, not even a vial of something foul. The only clue to the figure’s identity was a mass of auburn curls spilling out across the desk from beneath the hood.

He made his way closer. The floorboards silent; knowing better than to so much as creak underneath his weight. Outside, an owl hooted as if sensing a fellow predator. The call was followed by the sound of wings as it swept down from the roof upon its helpless prey down below-

And just as the Dark One reached out his own talons to squeeze around the neck of the sleeper, she stirred. He prepared for a gasp or even a scream- but he was not, however, prepared to find a dagger pressed into the underside of his jerkin.

“Another move, and your entrails will be on the floor.” The dagger pressed deeper as his “prey” slowly stood. She was a head shorter than him, but the light of the almost extinguished candle was too meager for him to make out her features. He could only see the fine-boned hand currently wielding what looked like to be a letter opener.

As annoying as it was to find himself in such a predicament, he had to admit it was rather masterfully done. If he were any mere ruffian, he would be entirely at her mercy. But the Dark One was not in danger of something so trivial as a dagger in the dark. He snapped his fingers, and in a heartbeat, her weapon turned into a single red rose.

It’s thorns bit into her white-knuckled fingers, drawing first blood. She hissed in surprise, dropping the flower to bring wounded fingers up to her mouth. “Magic,” she mumbled around her hand, sounding rather impressed. She lowered her hand with a sigh. “He must have paid a pretty penny. It’s almost flattering, truth be told.”

Rumpelstiltskin chose to ignore the insinuation he could be bought with something as trivial as money. As if he needed gold.

He whispered a simple charm and a twist of his finger; the candle burned back to full life. “You know for what purpose I have come?” he demanded. The lady nodded, and in doing so, her hood shifted and finally slid down to her shoulders.

Rumpelstiltskin was rather lucky he had not dropped the cloaking spell yet, as he found himself at an utter loss for words. This was the woman Gaston was spurning? He understood the man had been ambitious, but good lord, was he blind? In his long lifetime, Rumpelstiltskin had seen the great beauties of lore, the ones who the bards still sung of- none of them had ever struck him as half as lovely as the woman before him. Her features were delicate, classical, and yet there was a strength in the set of her jaw and intelligence in her manner that set her apart from the usual vapid emptiness that so often accompanied the truly beautiful.

She laid the rose upon the desk, subtly casting her eyes in his general direction. “Of course. You’re not the first to come. I wasn’t naive enough to think he’d stop trying.” If she was afraid, her eyes didn’t betray her. She looked more put-out than anything. “You’re the first with magic, though,” she added, in what sounded oddly like a compliment.

He held the cloaking spell in place. He wanted answers, and if the Dark One were to materialize before her, he was not sure Lady Belle would continue cooly discussing her brushes with death. Well, she might. This did not seem like a woman prone to hysterics, but he wasn’t taking that chance quite yet.

(He really loathed hysterics.)

“Why wait for death? Why not use the magic you possess-”

She began to laugh. “Wait- magic? Magic I possess- Is that what he’s telling people now?” To his complete befuddlement, she collapsed back into the chair, wiping away tears of laughter. “Me! Magic!” She fought to regain some iota of self-control but was failing miserably. “Oh, that’s a good one. As if I wouldn’t turn him into a toad first thing-”

“He’d make an impressive bull-frog.”

She made a genuinely horrendous noise like two gears grinding, and he realized she was laughing. “He would, wouldn't he?” she managed through laughter. “I can just see him sitting on the side of the lake, all puffed up.” She helpfully mimicked this by puffing out her chest and filling her cheeks full of air.

He had somehow completely lost control of this encounter. There was nothing to do for it. He discarded the cloaking spell, and her laughter died in her throat. “Oh,” she breathed, eyes widening. He was gratified. Most ladies tended to faint, scream or try and attack him, so this was at least a nice change of pace, if nothing else. “Oh. You’re-”

He sneered. “That’s right. So, if you are quite done laughing- you should know I have struck an agreement with your betrothed. But-” and here he raised a finger, “figuring as I’m in a good mood at the moment, I shall gift you a boon. You may choose your fate.”

His anger rarely ran hot. This self-control had served him well, allowing him to contrive and dole out some truly horrendous forms of revenge in his long life. Gaston would become king. He would rule, safe in the knowledge that he had gotten away with it, that he, a lowborn knight, had hoodwinked the most powerful creature that had ever existed. Only then, would the Dark One drop the Lady Belle back into play, reveal Gaston’s true nature, take all that he had gained, and leave him in the dirt. Possibly as a bull-frog. He’d have to see how he felt in a decade or so. There was nothing quite like a fate delayed. Ask Oedipus.

“You have three options. The first is that of the air. You shall live as a swan for a decade and a day, free to roam the world as you see fit. The second is of the earth. I shall turn you into a statue, and leave you here to watch over your people for a decade and a day, and on the second day, the sun shall rise upon you as a human once more-”

Just as he was about to explain the fire option, which was an excellent spell that involved the sun’s rising and setting- she, to his utter and complete astonishment, raised her hand. “If I might-”

Oh, for Nimue’s sake-

“Is all of this necessary? I have no interest in marrying Gaston. His precious princess is welcome to him.”

He sucked his teeth. This woman was making it impossible to get anything done around here. “Then, why, pray tell, is he trying to kill you?”

She made a sweeping gesture as if encompassing everything around them. “For Avonlea! Why do you think- Ugh!” She pinched her brow, and he could hear her counting to ten under her breath.

He hadn’t needed to ask. He was well aware of how these things worked. With Belle out of the way, Gaston would claim there had been a marriage. The elderly Lord of Avonlea would soon pass either from a broken heart or a knife in the back, and then Gaston would be Lord and Ruler of Avonlea, a fitting husband for a neighboring princess. Their union would unite the two lands...and Ormiston would continue to grow and prosper.

There was no earthly way that the knight had thought of this himself, which meant the King of Ormiston had gotten someone else to do his dirty work. Rumpelstiltskin ground his teeth. He had been played for a fool.

But a deal was a deal. He’d make sure they’d all pay in kind, but the fact of the matter was...this Belle would have to first pay the price.

“You can no longer remain here as the lady of this land.”

“Fine,” she huffed, standing abruptly. “I have to go away for- what was it? A decade and a day? Fine, so be it. I’ll go with you then. Surely, you need….I don’t know some sort of assistance. You have a castle, don’t you?” He opened his mouth, but she did not need an answer to continue the conversation. “Wait- no. Hold on, answer me one question. The deal- was Avonlea a part of it?” He mutely shook his head. “Oh, good. Here’s what we’ll do-”

And then, she laid out in very clear detail her master plan.

It was beautiful in its simplicity, calculating and cunning in its execution, and nearly diabolical in terms of vengeance. By the time the sun rose upon the Lady of Avonlea and the Dark One, a new alliance, had been forged. One that would change the landscape of the world forever.

It went as thus. On the evening of the eighth day, at the eighth hour at the eighth minute, the Dark Lord came (back) to Avonlea. His arrival was not expected at the pre-nuptial feast of Sir Gaston LeRoux and Lady Belle Levasseur, so his appearance was met with (alas) hysterics.

“I hear there is to be a wedding,” Rumpelstiltskin crackled. He rubbed his hands together briskly, clapping them at the end in glee for good measure. “I love weddings.”

Gaston was quite taken aback, but he rallied to put on a good show. He drew his blade, proclaiming loudly and for all to hear that he would protect his lady love. As for the bride, she simply sat in her seat, finishing a custard while an older man with a halo of white hair tugged at her sleeve, urging her to flee.

“Begone, foul beast!” Gaston roared, but he was slowly backing away from the dais, leaving the lord and lady of the castle unprotected. Not that anyone noticed. The entire hall had fled or was cowering under trench tables lining the room. “I shall strike you down before I let you so much as gaze upon my fair lady.”

“Pretty words for a pretty boy,” Rumpelstiltskin cooed up at him. He took another step, baring his teeth in a smile. “I came to allow you to mend your mistake, Lord Maurice.”

“My-my-” The old man was stuttering, white with fear, but he had not let go of his daughter’s arm.

“I had rather thought my wedding invitation must have gotten lost,” Rumpelstiltskin supplied helpfully, starting to pick at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “But then I started to think perhaps I wasn’t invited-”

“You were not!” The knight demonstrated a few fancy parries, and then with a little fancy footwork, he danced his way to the opposite side of the Dark One, blocking the remainder of viewers from the rulers of Avonlea. “Begone from this place at once!” Gaston crowed and had the audacity to wink. The fool, he was still playing checkers; they had moved onto chess.

Rumpelstiltskin waved his arm in a lazy arc, and the knight-who-would-be-king was stopped dead in his tracks, frozen with his sword raised overhead in a rather wickedly uncomfortable position. “Now, then, where were we? Ah, yes. I’m sure it was not your intention to purposefully slight me, was it, Lord Maurice?”

The older man’s jowls were quivering, mouth opening and closing with no sounds coming out. Belle took the opportunity to rise, placing herself pointedly between her father and her conspirator. “There was no slight meant, sir,” she assured him. In the light of the candelabras overhead, her golden dress glowed warm and bright. “What can we do to atone for this grievous oversight?”

A few of the party-goers were starting to creep out from beneath the tables and from behind pillars, their self-preservation losing out to their curiosity as he knew it would. Happened every time.

“You know, I’d rather like a wedding of my own, come to think of it.” He turned to the gathered, huddled masses. “Good people of Avonlea, I shall spare your lands from pestilence and pandemonium on one condition.”

“Good heavens, but name it, sir!” Lord Maurice exclaimed. “Anything and everything I have in my power to give is yours!”

Rumpelstiltskin whipped around, a huge grin spreading across his face. She had worried things might not go according to plan, but he had told her it would be easy. People were so predictable. Well, most of them. The ones not named Belle, at least.

“A bride!”

The entire congregation moaned in horror, and Lord Maurice collapsed in his chair.

“But-but-but-”

They had worked it out carefully; each knew their lines as well as each other’s - but Rumpelstiltskin always did love a bit of improvisation. “Let’s see,” Rumpelstiltskin sang, already descending the dais towards a group of young women huddled in a corner. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The girls, predictably, descended into sobs. They clutched at each other, but he turned away sharply, peering under a table at two serving wenches. “And who do we have here?”

One screamed and started to push the other at him.

“Enough, sir.” Belle had descended after him. “ As I am the only bride here, and it was my wedding which so slighted your honor, ” with a court curtsy, she prostrated herself before him, “I am the only one suitable.”

When Belle had suggested this ploy, Rumpelstiltskin had nearly swallowed his tongue. She made it clear she had no interest in marriage, and while she would like nothing more than to roam the world to explore new and far-flung places, her place was here in Avonlea, and if she could, she was honor-bound to remain. As a married woman, wife to the most powerful creature in the world, she could do just that.

After nearly an hour of debating, threatening and whining had not changed her mind; he had finally relented. Rumpelstiltskin would be free to come and go in the decades the lady lived, and Belle would be free to do as she liked as Lady of Avonlea.

The terms of his deal with Gaston would be met, with his betrothal to Belle broken beyond repair. Of course, without Avonlea to bring to the table, Rumpelstiltskin rather doubted a crown was in Gaston’s future, but as Belle had so cleverly seen- Avonlea had not been part of the bargain.

That was why you always read the fine print.

“Done!” Rumpelstiltskin proclaimed, and taking her hand, he helped raise her to her feet. Around them, the crowd began to whisper and moan, a few of the ladies having fainted. Belle met his gaze, bright blue eyes twinkling in mischief. Rumpelstiltskin realized he hadn’t known what color her eyes were, but he was reasonably positive he would never forget again. “We shall be married here, and now, that is unless anyone objects?”

“Belle!” her father moaned. “My dear girl-”

“It’s fine, Papa,” she assured him, but she never took her eyes off Rumpelstiltskin. “I know what I’m doing.”

There was utter conviction in her voice. Rumpelstiltskin had to suppress a shiver as he was still holding her hands. Some little voice in the back of his head was starting to wonder if he was way over his head in this after all, but he ignored it.

There was a clatter of steel on stone as the spell containing Gaston dissolved. The knight pitched backwards, down the stairs, and onto his back. There were gasps, and the crowd began to murmur, even louder this time as their favorite son, and would have been lord raised himself to his feet.

His beautiful face was twisted in rage. “WE HAD A DEAL!” he bellowed, already charging at them. He swung his broadsword, fully intent on cutting them both down where they stood. Rumpelstiltskin instinctively drew Belle to his side, sheltering her from the swing even though a crook of his finger was all it took for the Dark One needed to send the sword spinning into the air.

Even weaponless, Gaston was not cowed. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go!” he railed, far too lost in his rage. His perfectly styled hair fell into his face as he thrust a finger at them. “We had a deal, Dark One. She was to die, and Avonlea was to be mine! I was going to be the king, you-”

Now, the words died in his throat as the murmurs of the crowd swelled into a furious chorus. It appeared the First Sword of Avonlea might have been well-loved but not more than their lady.

“Scoundrel!” an older woman called out, ignoring her husband’s attempt to pull her back behind the safety of a suit of armor. “Blackguard!”

Belle took charge. Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t realized he had still been holding her tightly to his side until, with a squeeze of his hands, she stepped out of his arms and towards the man who wanted her dead. “Sir LeRoux, you are to leave this hall and this land at once. Return to your master of Ormiston and tell him Avonlea has a new lord. But first, I believe it is only fitting that you bear witness to our union, seeing as you had a rather large hand to play in its arrangement.”

“You b-”

Gaston did not get to finish those words. His hands, already reaching out for Belle’s neck, went to his own throat as invisible hands cut off the oxygen. There was no humor in Rumpelstiltskin’s voice now, all acting had gone out the window. “That is my bride you are speaking to, sir. Have a care what you say, or I will feed your tongue to the dogs.”

As Gaston struggled to breathe, Belle turned to a portly gentleman who was tightly wedged between his seat and the table. “Good Uncle Bartholomew, will you read the bans?”

The man looked from Belle’s calm and collected face to Gaston’s purple one, to the Dark One. Then, he turned to where Lord Maurice sat, still collapsed in his chair upon the dais. “My lord?”

“Belle, my dear, surely we can-”

“Papa,” her voice was steel. “I’ve made my decision.” She half-turned to Rumpelstiltskin. “All of you have borne witness to Sir LeRoux’s words. On the eve of our wedding, he has plotted my death to take over Avonlea as his own. If the price for my life and the prosperity of our lands is to wed the Dark One, who has saved me though he may not have known it at the time- then so be it. It is a price I will happily pay for you and all of Avonlea.”

“Here, here,” came a voice, and another echoed this and then another. The people closest to them were still eying Rumpelstiltskin warily, but with Gaston now on his knees, no one was daring to make too big a fuss.

In the end, the bans were read. It was an odd wedding. The bride’s father cried the entire time, the guests were somber and morose, and the man who should have been the groom was prone on the floor, barely able to breathe, much less object when that part of the bans was read aloud.

As for the bride and groom...Well, Rumpelstiltskin had been married once upon a time, and while this was in name only, the usual flutter of anticipation was in his belly, and he couldn’t quite help the lopsided grin on his face. He would tell anyone who dared ask it was all an act, but in truth, he couldn’t help smiling at his bride, who was positively beaming at him like a cat who caught the canary.

The guests would tell anyone who would listen (and everyone wanted to hear the tale) they had never seen a happier bride. Others would swear the groom looked almost nervous, but no one believed the Dark One could be nervous.

Gaston fled to Ormiston, only to be flogged, denounced to a hedge knight, and banished from the kingdom forever. That was the last of Gaston they ever heard of, and the princess of Ormiston married some other lordling’s second son who had more interest in farming than war. Rumpelstiltskin always denied he had a hand in it, but after that, Avonlea and Ormiston’s kingdoms were at peace.

As the bans concluded, and after Gaston had long made a run for it, Rumpelstiltskin was walking his new bride out towards the Lord Tower to her chambers. He would lock them both inside and then depart back to the Dark Castle, returning in the morning, and rinse and repeat for the remainder of the fortnight to ensure no one challenged the union. “So,” Belle said, her arm neatly in the crook of his own. “Told you it would work.”

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled. “Your clever plan has left you wed to the most fearsome creature in the world. Just wait. Scores of knights will show up to defeat the evil dragon and rescue the fair lady. You simply tell me which one you like, and I’ll play dead so you two may run off into the sunset. Do we have a deal?”

Belle considered this for a moment, tipping her head back and forth. Then, her blues eyes twinkling as bright as the stars overhead, she said, “No. I’m afraid I never much cared for courtiers. Besides, being a married woman comes with some advantages. No one can tell me what to do anymore, and if anyone gets too out of hand, I have a husband to sic on them. No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. I’ll remain wed as long as you don’t behave too beastly.”

He shook his head at her, but internally, found he was rather pleased. “I’ve been told I’m incorrigible,” he warned. “Impossible and ill-mannered.”

As the lock on her door swung shut, she simply grinned at him and quipped, “I do like a challenge.”

If you were wondering, it took Belle five months and five days, but she finally got it through to her husband that she was perfectly happy being his lawfully wedded wife. He relocated permanently to Avonlea having fallen very much in love with his wife, though it took her seven months and seven days to make him understand she felt the same way and was very much ready to be his lawfully bedded wife, but that dear reader is another story.

(and as always a big thank you to @prissyhalliwell for being a wonderful friend/sounding board0

#rumbelle secret santa #rss 2020 #rumbelle #rumbelle fan fic #b does the write thing #for the first time since 2019

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4birds-of-a-feather · 3 years

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Chapter 27 - Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight (when it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night) [part 5]

Birds Of a Feather

A bit late because we wanted to update on occasion of Jeff Ament’s birthday but it’s the thought that counts, right? ✨ Hope you’re gonna enjoy this, thanks for your patience!

(In the previous chapters: after Mike has made her reason, Layla has decided to finally do something about her crush on Eddie; Sara has been enjoying Demri’s company but her mood has been ruined by finding Jeff with another girl in what’s been her room for the last weeks; Stone has witnessed the entire scene and, after some failed attempts by Layla, is resolute to make Sara come out from the bathroom where she has locked herself up)

“There you are!” Eddie came up behind Layla’s back as she was chatting with a guy and a girl who told her they were going to be part of the band’s crew during their first actual tour. She had known for a while that the guys were about to leave to play some gigs outside Seattle but somehow she kept thinking about it as something happening in a much more distant future. Talking with the crew members she realized they were going to go to Canada in a little more than a week and, in less than a month, they’d be off to California. She was thinking about Eddie and the fact she’d be missing him and also that she and Sara would probably be back to their own apartment soon. When she heard him call her she got startled because it was like her thoughts materialized right there beside her. She turned around and saw him standing there, holding two glasses of what looked like red wine, lips curled up in a kind of goofy smile “Did I scare you?” “Hehe no, I just didn’t hear you coming” she awkwardly replied and took one of the glasses from his hands. <It’s a party, it’s loud, you’re not supposed to hear anything, you didn’t need to point that out> “Wine! Good idea! Hey Smitty, let’s go get some for the midnight toast as well” the girl told her friend as they exchanged an obvious look. “I’ve been doing toasts with Cready the whole evening, I can’t miss the big one. By the way, where is he?” “No idea, let’s go find him” she dragged him out of the way and left Eddie and Layla alone. “So…” Layla smiled at him and started to talk but didn’t know how to continue and hoped he would say something to fill the however pleasurable silence. “So… what about Sara? Where is she?” Eddie thought that if Layla wasn’t right outside that door anymore then things must have been settled. “Oh. She’s still in there, with Stone. He’s trying to talk her into starting the new year in a room that’s not the bathroom” she shrugged and took a sip. “Stone? And why did you leave it to Stone to solve the mystery?” the singer asked suspiciously, since he knew the two girls were inseparable and Layla sounded weirdly annoyed all of a sudden. For a fleeting moment he thought she could be jealous but immediately laughed at the idea. “He confessed he was the one who made her upset” “It’s Stone’s fault then? It’s always Stone’s fault” “He told her Scorsese is overrated and you know she’s a little touchy on the movie department” “Ouch! Yeah, hehe, I guessed. So, she likes Coppola and Scorsese too” Eddie tilted his head like he was assigning new interesting information to his memory and drank some wine while the girl stopped right before drinking. “How do you know she likes Coppola?” “Oh well, ehm, because… because she said it. Not like she told me directly but I think I heard her mentioning him a couple of times” “I see…” “IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT, YOU FUCKERS! GO AND GET YOURSELF SOMEONE AND CHOOSE CAREFULLY WHO YOU WANT TO ENTER THE NEW YEAR WITH!” Cornell turned down the music for a second to yell his announcement, then turned it up straight away. Eddie and Layla turned their heads to watch Chris just like everybody else in the room and, when the music was back on and their eyes met, the awkward silence was back on. “Err, any particular New Year’s Eve’s tradition in France?” Eddie mentally kicked himself as he spoke. <What the fuck did I just say??> “Oh, well, yeah, there are many traditions for nouvel an” she answered, taken aback by the question. “I’m all ears” “Well, people usually go to the réveillon, that is the New Year’s Eve party, all dressed up for the special occasion” “And I see you respected the tradition perfectly” the guy was feeling he was making a fool of himself with Layla but couldn’t help it. “Thanks. Mmm and well, to ring in 1991 the French way the wine in our glasses should be sparkly but I prefer red so I can make an exception” “I prefer red too” Eddie was thinking less about the wine he was drinking and more about the color of Layla’s top. “And, you know, at the stroke of midnight… everybody wish each other a happy new year and kiss” “Lovers kissing at midnight is a tradition that goes beyond borders, I guess” he watched as couples were starting to appear all around them and felt the urge to drink a little more. “But it’s not about lovers only, everybody kisses everybody” “WHA-” “... On the cheeks” “Ah!” “Hehe, lovers usually s’embrassent sous le gui” Layla added giggling at Eddie’s funny face. “That is…? They kiss… like idiots?” “They kiss under the mistletoe” she explained. “Isn’t that on Christmas?” “In France it’s a New Year’s Eve thing” she drank up what was left of her glass of wine and realized she hadn’t thought about putting any mistletoe branch in the apartment. <It wouldn’t have made any difference but…> “No mistletoe here though” Eddie said, almost mirroring her thoughts. “And no lovers either. At least, on my part” she sighed as she scanned the living room and noticed people already kissing without the need to wait for midnight or to have mistletoe hanging over their heads. “Same for me” their eyes met again and totally unexpectedly they both burst out laughing at the same time. “We’re such losers” Layla stated as she was catching her breath. “We can always enter the new year kissing each other’s cheek like the losers we are” “Agreed!” Layla and Eddie shook hands “But being losers, we also need more wine to enter 1991 properly” “Your wish is my command, Miss Boulais” he offered her his arm and she gladly took it as they made their way together to the drinks table.

♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️♣♦️

“You’ve been too harsh with Mike, Gossrad… I would have suggested my ex-apartment but the plumbing is fucked up, just like the electrical system and everything else” “No worries, I’m sure he has already charmed one of your neighbors – it’s a quality I envy him, to be honest” the guitarist sighed “C’mon, Sara, let me in” “I wanna be alone, is that such a hard concept to grasp? I hate New Year’s Eve, this is my normal mood for this day” “But you were totally fine before… has something happened to you?” “Well, I’m a great actress whose strongest suit is feigning happiness… now, seriously, nothing has happened: you must leave me alone, please” He couldn’t see her but the way she had just said that last word struck something within him. “Scirea” “... what did you say?” “I said Scirea, you fool!” “No, you mangled that word, you big fuckin’ idiot!” the girl almost growled “And that was a low blow, you shouldn’t have said it” “Desperate times call for desperate measures… C’mon, now you have to let me in, you can’t go back on your word” “I can’t believe you still remember it after all these years…” “I know, right? It’s just a code word that forces one of us to do whatever the other one wants, nothing remarkable” “Just like your pronunciation, genius” she quickly retorted, making Stone snort. “So? What are you waiting for?” “You know you just blew the chance to use it for the rest of the year, right?” “Well, according to my watch I can survive this: it’s a quarter to midnight, after all” “Suit yourself,” Sara declared, finally peeping out from a crack in the door that she had just cautiously opened “but next year I’ll have two free passes to the word and it’s mandatory, ok?” “Deal” he smiled at her and followed her inside the room, then closed the door behind them.

“Hey, what time is it?” he heard the question as if it was coming from a distant voice but it actually came from the person right beside him. It was probably due to the loud music playing at the party but mostly to the fact that his mind was somewhere else, just like his eyes, which were searching through the crowd in the living room. At some point he looked further ahead through the foil curtain and noticed some kind of commotion near the bathroom. He clearly saw Eddie and Layla leave one after the other. Then the bathroom door opened once again and someone let Stone in. He didn’t see who was inside, but caught a glimpse of a blue silhouette and didn’t like it at all. “Jeff?? Are you deaf?” “Huh?” he immediately came back from his frozen zoned-out state and looked at the blonde right next to him, who was giving him both a perplexed and amused glance “... It’s almost 1991, I guess”

“You know he died, right?” “Who?” Stone shifted in his seat, turning to look at the girl. They were both sitting on the floor, with their backs leaning against the door. “Scirea… last year, in a car accident” “Oh, I didn’t know” “Yeah, you never were a big soccer fan” Sara hugged herself “It’s a pity, he surely deserved much more fame” She then kept on rambling about his fate, what had caused his death, what kind of a job he was doing for Juventus and God knows what else; Stone couldn’t care less about soccer, that was true, but he listened to every single word without interrupting her: if babbling about deceased soccer champions kept her from wallowing in her own misery, he wouldn’t mind spending the next hours listening to her. Not at all.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me??” Steve shook his head as he watched Layla and Eddie laugh together straight in front of him; in the meantime, somebody else was sitting near him and singing to himself. “When I was young, I never needed anyone…” “I can’t believe she hasn’t been single in like forever and now that I gave up putting the moves on her she’s fuckin’ single, for fuck’s sake?!” “And making love was just for fun…” “Oh shut up Elias, you’re probably still a virgin!” someone shouted behind the guy, who kept getting more and more dramatic and louder in his solo performance. “Those days are gone…” “And she’s already hooking up with some other guy – I mean, so much for being a devoted girlfriend” “Living alone, I think of all the friends I’ve known…” Elias drunkenly went on and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m not your friend, man” “But I’m everything you’ve got left so I wouldn’t be so rude, you know?” Elias retorted really quickly before singing again “When I dial the telephone, nobody’s home” “You don’t even have a phone anymore, Dave said you forgot to pay the bill!” Matt said passing him by. The red haired guy just gave him the middle finger and screamed at the top of his lungs: “ALL BY MYSEEEEEELF” “Oh, Jesus Christ” Steve facepalmed while everybody in the room looked at Elias and laughed. “DON’T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF ANYMORE” “I can’t believe even Lukin scored someone and I’m stuck here with you” he pointed at the couch where his bandmate was busy tongue-wrestling a goth girl. “UH! I LOVE THIS SONG!” Layla yelled out of nowhere and for a second the guitarist thought she was referring to Elias’ rendition but then he realized she meant the song by The Church that had just come up from the big stereo in the living room. She was dragging Eddie towards the center of the room when Elias tapped Steve on his shoulder. “Shall we dance?” he asked with a hiccup. “... I need a fuckin’ drink”

Sometimes, when this place gets kind of empty Sound of their breath fades with the light

“This song…” “It was Layla’s idea, she specifically requested it” “Typical El: she has good taste in music but lacks some ability in the mixtape department… I hope she hasn’t asked you to put on some Dylan or Cohen as well” “Hell, that would spoil the party�� “Lambada, on the other hand… no contest, c’mon” Sara exclaimed in a theatrical way, making the guitarist sneer. “Admit it, I brightened your whole evening!” “More like ruined it, champ” “Don’t think you can fool me, missy; I saw you before, when you were rambling on some astrological bullshit with Demri: you were practically grinning from ear to ear” “I told you, I’m a fairly good actress”

I think about the loveless fascination

“Jeez, Sara, is it so hard for you to just admit you were perfectly fine before? And then something happened – and you don’t wanna tell me what it was exactly – and-” he gesticulated, pointing out the bathroom and her “and you ended up here, all alone during New Year’s Eve” “I told ya, this is normal for me… I don’t enjoy New Year’s Eve and hate parties, so put the two together and you end up with my archnemesis” she shrugged, but wasn’t able to meet his gaze. “You’re impossible! I saw you running in here, ok?! I saw you and I’m still doing it right now, when nobody else is giving a shit about you!” he blurted out, and she was taken aback. “What the fuck do you mean?? What, you saw me having a mental breakdown and want me to thank you because you ran here like a knight in shining armor?! Fuck off, Stone! Just what am I supposed to do to make y’all understand you have to leave me alone?! Tell me, what-” the girl stopped because she felt her voice already quivering. <Fuckin’ great, Fancini! Have yourself a good cry, given how it’s been hours since you last cried your eyes out! And do it in front of somebody who probably still appreciated you and now will lose all the respect he had for you! Great fuckin’ job, you outdid yourself> “Hey… hey, it’s ok” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled back. “Nothing’s ok, understood? Nothing! And it’s all because he...” she finally sobbed, her eyes immediately watering like they had wanted to do ever since she had turned that goddamn light on. <... ever since that July afternoon>

Under the Milky Way tonight

“Forget about him, ok? Let’s not talk about him” the guy kept on babbling. “How… how can you ask me to forget him?” she snapped out of it and recoiled, shooting him a glance full of both desperation and disgust for what he had just said. “Ok, then you don’t have to forget him,” he rolled his eyes, mustering all the patience he could “but we can talk about someone more important – you” “Me? More important? What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means that you’ll stay silent and I’ll say every single thing that makes you awesome and hopefully you won’t feel like shit anymore” “Then you can cut it out already, there’s nothing you can say that can make me feel better” the girl hid her face between her knees, hugging her legs “And it would only be a waste of time, I haven’t done a single positive thing in years… I’m just tired, I wanna be alone”

Lower the curtain down on Memphis Lower the curtain down, alright

“You’re so articulate and well-spoken it honestly puts to shame a lot of men who think you aren’t worthy of their time, and somebody should seriously tell ‘em it’s actually them who don’t deserve to waste your time” the guitarist cleared his throat, then resumed speaking without looking at her “The way your mind works… you can have a conversation about everything, there isn’t a single topic you can’t tackle – and yeah, I’m talking about science too: you may have been terrible at it in school, but outside? Whenever the newspaper had a story on the latest scientific discovery, you were always the first of us to know it” He heard her sniffle quietly and took her silence as a sign to keep on going.

I got no time for private consultation

“You’re always unapologetically yourself, for better or worse; you stand up for yourself and the ones you love, but also for people you don’t know at all – hell, you must be the bravest person I know” he heaved a sigh, his eyes never leaving the tile they had been staring at for the past five minutes “You’re a force to be reckoned with, truly you are… and I know you always carry some snacks in your backpack so you can feed stray cats – a shitty person doesn’t do that” At those words the girl raised her head immediately and looked at him with wide eyes: “How…?”

Under the Milky Way tonight

“Five years ago… every time a Queen song came on the radio, I used to think of you and what you might be doing in Florence: were you still attending gigs? Did you speak Italian with an American accent, just like you spoke English with an Italian accent? Did you still fly into a rage if anybody said that Hot Space was a shitty album?” he had ignored her previous question, but now finally found the courage to turn and look her in the eye “Did you still have that half dimple when you smiled all embarrassed? You know that kind of smile, the tight-lipped one”

Wish I knew what you were looking for

“Please, don’t look at me!” Sara immediately turned away, almost shrieking “I’m a monster: I have a runny nose and I’m sure my make-up is all smudged” The guitarist put his hands on her shoulders and made her face him again, then started to wipe her nose with some toilet paper. “... I look like a fucked-up panda, don’t I?” she muttered after a while, finally regaining her voice. “You just have a nose as cute as a button and as red as the one of a certain reindeer, the rest is just like it was before… oops, except for the eyes” “What? What is it?? They’re red, aren’t they?? Fuck, I’m not ready to say goodbye to my reputation as a badas-” “They’re shining, brat” he poked her nose with his index “Crying apparently suits you, but I’d appreciate it if in the future it’ll happen because you’re laughing too much” “Oh, shush” she pouted and shoved him, making him chuckle because avoiding her pushes was becoming increasingly harder but, most of all, because her half dimple had just appeared on the right corner of her mouth.

Might have known what you would find

After a while Stone was finally able to stop her, taking her hands in his without looking away. “Ever since I’ve known you, the ending of Chaplin’s City Lights has been able to move me, because before I didn’t understand it… I had never experienced what the Tramp goes through with the flower girl” he sighed and gave her a sad smile, slightly squeezing her hands “I don’t get tired of you the way I get tired of other people”

And it’s something quite peculiar Something shimmering and white

“Stone, what-what are you trying to tell me?” the girl looked quizzically at him but squeezed back his hands. “I don’t know,” he raised a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear “what do you think it is?”

It leads you here, despite your destination

Neither of them could tell who had been the first one to move, but now Sara was straddling him and he was holding her face in his hands and they were kissing – heavily. She could still hear the song faintly playing in the background, but all she could focus on right now was how Stone had been looking at her, the feeling of his lips against her own and the way he was still holding her, like she was the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. She touched his cheek and felt it was smooth, almost boyish (not strong and stubbly as the one she would have liked to stroke), and the realization made her angry; she instinctively proceeded to run her fingers through his hair, eliciting a moan from him, and pictured a pair of hazel eyes behind her eyelids that turned immediately into green ones. She shut her eyes with all her might until all she could see were lazy stars, then dizzily abandoned herself to passion, as if she were living somebody else’s life.

Under the Milky Way tonight

#eddie vedder #Jeff Ament #Pearl Jam #eddie vedder fanfiction #pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #jeff ament fanfiction #Birds of a Feather #chapters

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kwrittink · 4 years

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Wrong - EXPLOSION

Pairing: F!Reader x AdoptedBrother!Jungkook

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Warnings: language

"Oh dear, I can't believe we placed second at the event!" JiMin threw his head back with a frustrated groan, the plastic prince's crown headband almost tipping off his head. You chuckled, stealing one more piece of the flower cotton candy, receiving a warning glare back.

"And that's because you just wanted to spectate at first," you quipped, resuming to eat more of the sweet and sour popcorn that had you obsessed all afternoon. Daylight was already scarce by the time you had left the patisserie but you two had too much fun together, so hanging out for a couple more hours wouldn't hurt.

"Yes but I think I got a little competitive," He admitted, taking a long sip of the edible gold glitter laced passion fruit, and boba tea - 'Fairy King's Nectar' tasted weirdly delicious though - he had insisted on buying both, licking his lips and making them glisten in the low light of the park you've been wandering on. "Wasn't for that other couple blatantly cheating at the game... I mean searching for answers online should be considered as such, right?" You snickered and nodded as he turned to you with a small frown.

"Don't worry, I know SeokJin and he'll surely hold other events along the year," you assured the man that had admitted being called 'Mochi' through high school and university - and you were going to bring that back that for sure -, watching a hopeful look appear on his face.

"So we can come! You'll come with me again right?" And you didn't know why you just let yourself fall into his charm - maybe he was meant to be a fairy king or something and enslave you to his will forever - but you nodded after a second of hesitance while being stared at by wishful eyes. JiMin chuckled pleased.

The end of that 'date' - how it had been casually hinted at by your company - had everything to end in a good note, while watching dogs play around, even greeting some of them as the night fell and you finished your snacks. You felt at ease, distracted for the first time in days of the existence of Jeon JungKook, which wasn't exactly the root of all your problems, but someone you wished you didn't miss so much.

"But in all seriousness," JiMin made you snap from your thoughts bumping his shoulder into yours and you glanced to the side, meeting his contented expression close to your face. "I had fun today. Thank you for coming and not thinking this was weird, you know, for the working relationship we hold." He said and you smiled back at him, patting the hand resting on top of his thigh.

"I'm glad you asked me. I actually thought of you as someone closer to me since we first met, being honest. I was really happy that we became friends, though." You admitted, watching a grin play at the corner of his lips, a snicker that sent a waft of passion fruit and cherry to your face.

"Well it's really nice you think of me as a friend and not some odd client, though I-" And for a second you thought to be hallucinating, because you could swear his eyes were trained to your lips as he started to practically whispering what he was saying, but you didn't have time to really get it, because suddenly a voice was calling his name. A voice you knew so well it made you cringe, shivers rolling down your spine as you turned around slowly, wishing to be wrong.

"Hi JiMin, funny to see you in this neighborhood- Oh, Miss Y/L/N... Good evening," the drop in his voice was noticeable, even if you knew for a fact that he hadn't just seen you there, based at the look in his eyes. You greeted him back in the same polite manner while JiMin got up to talk to him, seeming to be a little embarrassed. You wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"So Jin's couples event? That's nice. I was just finishing my evening run, since there's nice weather," as he chatted with his partner, you chanced again a glance at him, this time properly measuring his figure, taking notice of his lean figure, how the dark shirt clung to his damp chest, sweaty hair swept back in a swift motion and strong thighs exposed by his shorts. You held a sigh, he had no business looking good while in the post-run state.

As I don't have any business minding that.

"It's not like you would go with me to that kind of thing right? And Y/N was free, so I didn't see any harm on asking her to be my company." JiMin shrugged, hands fitting his pockets. JungKook hummed, squinting.

"Sure Rose would have loved to come as well, she's always at your disposal..." He trailed off and both suddenly became awkwardly silent. That was your cue.

"We were actually about to say goodbye, it's getting late and work starts early tomorrow... At least for me," you tried chuckling a little to clear the air, getting up from your seat. "

"Ah sure, you're right. I'll take you home and-"

"Actually, I wanted to discuss some stuff with you, JiMin. There have been some issues with financials that will have to be solved first thing in the morning so..." And JungKook dared to wince at both of you, as if that wasn't complete bullshit. You knew him well enough to know that. JiMin's expression fell, fingers running through his hair exasperatedly. You knew he'd want to fix that as soon as possible, since one of the things that he hated the most was dealing with money problems. Actually he's the most eager to have an estimated budget of every project as soon as possible, that's probably the only annoying thing about this man.

With a pained look, Park JiMin turned to you. "Y/N, I..."

"Don't worry about it, I'll take a cab... I know those things are urgent," you started, walking up to him and blatantly hugging him while under Jeon's burning gaze. "Still I stand by what I said. I had fun! We should do this another time." And with a playful wink, you walked away, immediately calling NamJoon to come pick you up.

Your best friend surely had a good laugh about the whole deal.

"You're getting popular these days, Y/N." Mou giggled as you told her everything over a coffee in the break room, since work had been postponed that day for after lunch, due to a supervisor's meeting. You groaned, taking another sip of your beverage while eyeing TaeHyung by far and how handsome he was looking recently. It had been two days since your 'date' with JiMin happened and you still haven't talked to him.

"I'm glad my messy love life amuses you, my dear. If I can call it that, I mean." You quipped. You almost didn't mind that she was having this much fun about the whole deal, since it changes the 'NamJoon' subject, for a change.

"Oh but of course! Three hot men after you and all you've got to do is choose! That's something I'd wish for," Mou shrugged and you had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes again before they stuck to the brain-side of your head. But wait, did she say 'three'?

You bopped her forehead lightly, smiling softly. "Well, but you only have your heart set for one, despite the circumstances... But what do you mean three, last time I checked I got involved-ish with only two."

Despite her face flushing, Mou still rolled her eyes back at you while putting one more teaspoon of sugar in her coffee. "Drop the 'ish' because we both know Park JiMin was going for it before Mr. Jeon arrived. And by the way that's what I meant by 'three'. Jeon JungKook is totally into you!"

Blinking slowly you processed what she had just said. "What have they put in your coffee?" You snickered at the absurd statement and glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard you in the break room. Since there wasn't anyone glancing your way, you felt safe, but still whished your friend would tone it down.

"No but hear me out, the ride to the company in his car and the sweets basket could be certainly be misunderstood but him interrupting JiMin right as he was about to kiss you and stopping him from taking you back home with that lame excuse shows clear signs he's running for it too!"

You rolled your eyes at her, not wanting to believe that JungKook was being anything more than just a brat trying to sabotage you. Why would he want anything to someone he'd already abandoned? Surely that kiss years ago didn't mean anything to him, you didn't mean anything.

"What are you so excitedly gossiping about?" Min YoonGi leaned on the counter, nodding for a coffee mug lazily, which you fetched kindly to avoid his question. But Mou wanted to share, apparently.

"I was just trying to convince Y/N that this guy is interested in her even though he's been acting a little like a brat," she said and you glared at her from the coffee machine stand, hoping she would shut up. You liked your boss, but wasn't that intimate with him and would like to avoid that. Your career wasn't suffering for your bad decisions yet, and you were trying to keep it that way.

"Oh, that Jeon kid? Yeah, he seemed pretty intense since their first meeting. But I thought they were exes or something like that?" Bingo, you knew he would think like this. At least he's always muttering. No one would hear this nonsense.

"No, he's just a little weird you know. Handsome though, don't you think?" You watched YoonGi observing Mou compliment JungKook as you walked back to them, a weird feeling of seeing something on your boss's face that made you think of awe or endearment. Could it be...

"I don't know about that, but he seemed shy that day, enough to not even look Y/N in the eye..." But in the blink of an eye, the slight change was gone and you shook your head to the matter, focusing on the other impossible thing that was being spoken about.

"He just didn't like me, that's all. And even if there was a slight possibility for that whole delusion to be true, I would have to turn him down, since I work for him." You stated, placing the hot liquid in front of your very grateful boss and sitting to take another sip of your coffee.

"But what about Park JiMin-"

"Nothing is going on between us besides friendship, I've told you." You interrupted Mou with a sharp look but didn't miss the smirk on YoonGi's face as he too started his coffee.

"That's not what the local gossip is talking about," he said and before you could even think of countering whatever he was to say, you boss produced his mobile on the table, quickly unlocking and going to an internet page he had already open - gossiping site, you knew he liked those stuff - turning to show you a sort of obscure picture of a couple from the back with their faces close in a way that could only be intimate. One couldn't really see the girl in the picture but by her - your - side it was clear that the man leaning for a kiss was Park JiMin, dressed in his casual clothes.

Your face started to feel hot but ignoring that fact you still glanced up at YoonGi and his smug expression. "Nobody can say it's really me." You muttered while Mou grabbed the device to see it too, reading the headline that made you shudder. 'X's city most wanted bachelor in a late afternoon date with a mysterious woman: is the co-owner of A.R.M.Y. out of the market?'

____________________________

masterlist

#BTS jungkook #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook fluff #taehyung x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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m-alcn · 5 years

Text

How to get away with murder(ing Lielas)

So I went ahead with the murder idea with some minor changes from the original post. Enjoy!

Marinette was sitting slumped over – her hands cupping her cheeks, eyelids heavy – on the stairs of the courtyard leading to the classrooms, Adrien sitting next to her in the same exact pose. And any other time, she would be a blubbering, trembling mess, tumbling over her words like she would her feet, but right now she could not find it within herself to give half a fuck, let alone a whole one.

It’d been a long ass week. A whole damn week of nonstop akumas, each one more ridiculous than the last and each costume ghastlier even than Bulleur on her poor designer eyes that she was seriously thinking of having the fashion police called up alongside the actual police to every akuma.

She could even see the blots of garish color behind her eyelids. She needed bleach for her brain. She needed it, like last year.

She suppressed the swear words rolling on her tongue like a barrel, but that didn’t stop her groan from letting the world know how dead she was, Adrien answering in kind. He might have no free time to breathe because of his ass of a father, but she didn’t have the mental capacities to wonder why he sounded as roadkilled as her.

School hadn’t been easier on her either. Exams. Homework. Class President duties. Lila.

Adrien’s high road approach had been a steep incline that not even her superpowered endurance could take. And Lila had been running her mouth for so long now, she could have sprinted to Mars and back.

“Oh, yes I was essential for President Macron’s victory—”

Speak of the devil.

It was a tremendous effort to crack open her lids – and she’d been lifting cars as a pass time since getting her earrings – but she saw that little liar in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by her loyal dancing buffoons who were hanging on to her every word.

Marinette took back any inkling that her classmates had brains.

She wasn’t at her full mental capacities, but even that didn’t stop her from mumbling loud enough for Adrien to hear, “For fuck’s sake, why in the name of Papillon’s soiled underpants would a French presidential candidate take advice from a fourteen-year-old Italian girl that hasn’t been in the country for, like a second.”

Adrien didn’t seem to be able to muster the energy to be righteous on behalf of bullies. He only cracked open his eye, looked at her sideways and muttered, “Gross. And yeah, she’s been getting even worse at this.”

“Was she ever even good at this? Like seriously, best friends with Ladybug.”

“It could happen,” he weakly defended.

“Yeah. If she had a death wish and wanted Papillon after her and her family.”

Adrien lifted his head from his palms, frowning a little. “Huh, guess I didn’t think of that.” When Marinette only hummed a little in response, he turned to her. “How’d you even know about Ladybug?”

“I saw her yelling at her in the park, right after Lila threw your book on heroes in the trash.” This was one secret she was tired of keeping, and she was not taking the fall for that ungrateful piece of shit.

“Wait, what!” He whipped his head to her so fast it was a wonder he didn’t break it, his voice attracting everyone’s attention, especially a pair of narrowed olive eyes that she really wanted to never see again.

Marinette only flapped her hand at him. “Don’t worry, I got it back to your father.”

That didn’t seem to placate him as he continued gaping at her. But as she wasn’t looking at him and was clearly done with the topic, he slumped over giving her a pout and glaring at her of all things. “We’ll be talking about this later.”

She just listlessly shrugged.

The students seemed to have stopped paying them any attention, while Lila kept an eye on them even when she was regaling her loyal subjects with grand tales of her excellent bullshit, so she just changed the subject none too subtly. “Anyway, do you think she has an off-switch?”

She didn’t have to clarify who, so Adrien only gave a tired sigh. “Probably not.”

“I can make her one,” Marinette muttered darkly.

“What do you mean? Like killing her?” Adrien let out a laugh that only seemed to choke in his throat when he saw how utterly serious she looked. He stared at her for a horrified minute, as though seeing her for the first time, before he seemed ready to yell at her, remembering himself at the last second and hissing at her, “Marinette! You can’t do that!”

But if he was hoping to convince her, he went about it completely the wrong way, as Marinette came alive, throwing a deadly look like she was ready to kill him, and seeming to focus on the wrong word. “Oh, I can’t? Trust me, Adrien, I am fully capable of offing her and getting rid of the body without anyone knowing it was me.”

He stared at her, half scared out of his mind and half turned on of all things. That seemed to encourage her to elaborate even though it was the last thing he wanted her to do.

“I have different approaches and really they all depend on my mood, if I want it to be quick, painful, without any clue.”

Despite himself, Adrien found himself morbidly curious, exhaustion taking a back seat in his mind as he focused on his cute-and-from-the-looks-of-things-murderous friend. “How?”

Marinette gave him a sideways glance, barely stopping her lips from curving as she saw the curiosity peeking like a nervous rabbit from beneath his horror. She straightened a bit, slapping her hands on her thighs and turning to face him head on.

She might have given this train of thought some frankly inappropriate deliberation, that Tikki who’d seen some nasty things in her lifetime gave her the same look Adrien was giving her, but she came around, seeing as it made her less stressed. Even now she could feel Tikki giving her a half-admonishing, half-amused nudge through her purse, probably mumbling about how Plagg would approve.

She was a bit more energized, so with a clearing of her throat, she stuck up her index finger, making sure to keep her voice low, lest the vultures come swooping down to defend poor defenseless Lila. “Okay, number one. I finally crack and get akumatized like I almost was about two times already and go after her.”

That seemed to surge Adrien forward as he clutched her shoulders in a tight grip, brow furrowed and worry across his face. “You were almost akumatized? When?”

“When she came back to school.”

“How’d you escape that!”

“Because I’m Marinette.” She puffed out her chest a bit, sticking up her chin proudly.

Adrien regarded her with a fond, thoughtful smile. “I can believe that.” She felt the traitorous fluttering in her stomach that she’d been trying to quell ever since she resolved to get over him. “But then wouldn’t that be undone by Miraculous Ladybug?”

“Well, I don’t think Ladybug would wholly disapprove considering how much trouble she’s been giving her. But anyway, that was a plan that I was never going to use, because I wasn’t going to give either her or Papillon the satisfaction.”

Now the horror completely receded, replaced by awe and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know more, curious how her brain worked. “Well is that the only one?”

Marinette stared at him for a second, before she rolled her eyes in a strangely familiar way. “Pfft, the only one. I number my plans, because the alphabet’s too short for them.” No seriously, that confidence was familiar and appealing in equal measures. “Anyway, seeing as magic is real, there’s nothing stopping me from getting an untraceable poison or potion.”

“Wouldn’t you need to search practically the whole world for that?”

“I know a guy.”

“You- you- what? Marinette, who have you been talking to?” No really, it seemed he didn’t know his friend at all and instead of being disgusted, this was making him want to know her more than anything.

Again with the hand flap. “Oh, don’t worry, he wouldn’t approve either.”

Leaning closer to her, he flashed her a teasing smile. “So you’re basically telling me useless plans.”

She was too tired to freak out, and something about this was weirdly familiar, so she only shook her head. “Nope. They could all work if I’m stubborn enough, and believe me, I am. But I’m giving you a lot of my plans, so you know exactly how likely I am to succeed.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe that, but I’m learning I shouldn’t underestimate you.”

“Damn right. Okay, number three, during lunch I could go to her house, introduce myself to her mother as a friend from school, giving her a different name in case Lila’s brought her shit home and I’ll swipe one of her kitchen knives, wear a complete disguise, then accost her on her way back home, or I could wait to see if she ever has plans after dark.”

Adrien rubbed his chin, really getting into it now. “But you might be a prime suspect, with your animosity and last visit to her mother. They’d search your house and find your disguise.”

Marinette tapped her nose, giving him a wink. “Ah, but I was planning to burn my clothes over the Seine.”

“You’d still be a primary suspect. And why steal the knife from them?”

“Because it’s from their house, it could be classified as a suicide. I could even wait a month maybe, so the visit doesn’t even seem relevant.”

“Okay, but the name you give, it might bring you some time, but her mother would still be able to give a description of you.”

“I’m a fashion designer, I could change my hair, my clothes, my height, my face and no one would recognize me.”

Adrien nodded, because he knew what a really talented designer was capable of. He hummed and started counting on his fingers. “So, lets recap with this plan. It needs two disguises, a knife from her house, burning the disguises and an attack in broad daylight. You forget you need an alibi, and this is needlessly complicated.”

Nothing the Fox miraculous wouldn’t give me. I could be caught on camera on the other side of town. Plus, I don’t think they’ll really consider that a fourteen-year-old could kill anyone.

“I could actually fix all the kinks in that plan, but it would be more complicated, and it would look like number four!”

Adrien gestured at her to continue and with a smirk she did. “This one is completely at night, also with a disguise that I will dispose of and glasses to obscure my eyes. She has a window in her bedroom, so I scale to it—” she was interrupted by Adrien’s laugh, so she gave him the stink eye. “What?”

He continued to laugh, bringing some people’s attention to them. “I’m sorry Marinette, but I find it hard to believe you could scale a two-story window.”

She crossed her arms. “And why not?”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he finally realized that he might have hit a nerve. “Well, it’s just, that you’re clumsy, that would make sneaking into her room, a bit… hard.”

“Justice gives you wings. And trust me, Adrien, you don’t know everything I’m capable of.” She glared at him, tightening her arms around her chest.

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but he paused, taking in her posture, his eyes widening and cheeks flushing at the straining fabric of her jacket contouring her arms. He looked away, clearing his throat and silently willing the color to recede from his face. “Guess not.”

Marinette relaxed her arms, giving him a curious look, obviously seeing the color in his face but thankfully not seeming to know its cause. With a wave of his hand she resumed detailing how lucky they all were that she was a good person. “Okay, once in her room, I lock her door and then smother her with a pillow. As I’m in disguise, I leave no fingerprints. No blood. No weapon.”

Adrien nodded, humming in thought, before he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “And if you leave behind a footprint or a hair?”

“Hairnet. Plus, I’m already wearing a face mask.”

“And the footprint?”

“What would I have even been stepping on anyway?”

“Maybe she has mud under her window.”

“Assuming I wouldn’t avoid stepping on it,” she shot him a look to which he only nodded, “well I’d wear very thick socks, get those things dirty, tie the clean boots around my neck, then when I made it to the window sill I’d wear them.”

“You could still leave a trace on the carpet.”

“I’ll get boots from the men’s section. All the police would be left with is the size of the shoe.”

“Won’t they slip off?”

“I would stuff them with carton.”

“I think someone would remember a girl buying guy shoes.”

“And why wouldn’t they assume it was a gift?”

“Good point. What if her mother heard her muffled screams.”

Marinette cupped her chin, then gave him a chilling smile. “I could either turn up some music at a low volume, or I could be prepared with a remixed track in her voice saying she was having a nightmare and needed to be alone.”

“Needlessly complicated again, but it still feels like you could be caught.”

She gave him an irritatingly familiar smirk. “Aw, worried about me? Alright, number five is a modification of number four. I could borrow Chat Noir’s miraculous, get rid of the bedding and ash, make it look like there was a struggle and poof, no proof.”

Adrien instinctively cupped his right hand, hiding his ring and drawing Marinette’s curious gaze. He desperately tried to distract her so the cat would stay in the bag. “That one seems simple after all the others.”

“Sometimes simple works.”

“I have the feeling he won’t be giving up his ring.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t. But I have some tricks up my sleeve and Ladybug does too. Plus, that was only number five.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this.” And damnit he couldn’t hide how morbidly impressed he was. Still. “Marinette, you aren’t an Everyday Ladybug, you’re a criminal.”

Marinette put her hand to her chest in offense, though considering this whole conversation, she couldn’t exactly fault him that.

They were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice the lull of the courtyard and the approaching students.

“Plus, I don’t think you should implicate revered heroes if you have so many complicated ways to kill her.”

Before Marinette could argue the merit of the heroes turning into mercenaries, they were interrupted.

“Marinette? Adrien? What the hell?”

They turned to face one very horrified Alya, face reminiscent of Adrien’s at the start of the conversation.

“Marinette? Kill? Who?”

It was only after they shared a look that they both realized they hadn’t used a single name during their whole conversation.

Marinette turned back to Alya, whom everyone seemed to be using as a shield, as multiple pale faces stared at them. Even Lila seemed too surprised to take advantage of this situation and start a pity party about how Marinette was plotting her murder. Even though it would be the only time she would be telling the truth.

So she heaved herself to her feet, giving them a sickly sweet smile that made everyone take a step back, holding out her hand to Adrien who stared at her for a bit before clasping her hand.

With immense ease she hauled him to his feet in a way that must have caused a headrush, if the way he was red and staring at her was anything to go by.

So with a cheery, “Class is about to start” that seemed to unnerve everyone, Marinette pulled Adrien up the stairs.

Feeling a little too much like his alter ego, Adrien said in a casual voice, “Maybe you should be plotting Papillon’s demise.”

Marinette’s bright, “I have!” was just the topping on this extremely weird sunday, as just about everyone seemed to flinch.

“Maybe you should have been planning ways to expose her rather than kill her,” Adrien whispered to her with a quiet voice that didn’t carry even in the oppressive silence.

So she responded in kind. “Oh, that list is even bigger. And it’s even underway.”

“Wha—”

They weren’t even at the top of the stairs before a voice disrupted the quiet with an almost audible crack. “Mlle. Rossi. My office,” M. Damocles yelled from the railing over to the courtyard.

That seemed to jolt Lila from her stupor. “But—”

“Now!”

As Lila started to slowly climb the stairs, Adrien turned to Marinette, admonishing her without any real heat. “Marinette.”

She only smiled back at him innocently. “What? I just seemed to have met Mme. Rossi on the high road. As a concerned Class President, I went to her house to be more accommodating of a student’s disabilities and it seemed Mme. Rossi was under the impression that the school has been closed for months, the duration of their stay in Paris. Where they weren’t traveling.”

Adrien opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the book and how Lila almost cost him his freedom, and closed it. “Well, I think she’s got whatever happens next coming,” he muttered.

As they approached their class, he didn’t stop himself from voicing one last thought. “It’s a really good thing you’re not a villain.”

Marinette only beamed at him, hands clasped behind her back.

“Bwahahahahah!”

“Plagg.”

“Hahahahahahah!”

“Plagg.”

“Kid, I really like your princess.”

“Ugh.”

“Marinette.”

“Unnnhh.”

“Marinette.”

“Sleeeep.”

“Marinette, don’t you think you might have spooked your classmates. Especially Adrien.”

“Uhhhnnhn.”

“Marinette.”

“Sleep. Now. Freak. Later.”

@lexysama @mrtacothethird @nobodyfamousposts

#ml salt #ml salt fic #my posts #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #marinette #adrien #marinette dupain-cheng #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #adrienette #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous salt

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everythingoesnk · 4 years

Text

Pastime

summary; you wanna try something new -shaving him- and john is hesitant, fluffy

word count; 1 942

warnings; none. this scene has been sitting on the back of my brain for quite some time and i thought it was so so so cute. i enjoyed writing it sm so i hope it makes you smile. feedback is welcomed and requests are too !

********

What began as a monotonous night where all you did was snuggle up on the couch eating junk and laughing at inappropriate jokes spiced up because of you.

Leaning back in his seat John stood alone in the bathroom.

“Are you sure about this?”

You poked your head round the door.

“Again, John? We agreed to do it” you reminded him, crooking an eyebrow in his direction whilst entering the room.

He glanced across at you and watched you pull your hair back into a low bun.

“How did you come up with it?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged it off to accentuate how absurd it was that he was so worried.

Draping an arm around his shoulder, your faces so close you could feel each other’s hot breath, you met his alarmed gaze.

“I’m sure I won’t have to be hiding a body tonight” you guaranteed.

His eyes raking your features, John gently fixed a delicate heartwarming smirk on to his lips that moved your soul. You booped his nose with yours and flashed him a wide smile before advancing towards the hook where the towels were hanging over the outlets.

“Did you wash your face?”

“I did, miss”

“Good boy”

When you were done cleaning your hands and wiping them on the white and pink robe Pattie bought you for your last birthday, you unfolded a towel and tucked it a little inside John’s shirt collar like if he were a baby and the towel a bib.

He said nothing, just curiously observed your movements.

The next step was to get the brush and the foam.

“This is the easy part,” John remarked.

“Shut up”

Applying the foam to the skin was weirdly satisfying.

Since you were a perfectionist and didn’t have the pressure of being under a deadline, you took care of it in your stride. John was right, this was the easy part, but you enjoyed it and wouldn’t move on to the next part before you knew it was spread uniformly.

In fact, as the moment approached, you could feel yourself getting a bit nervous. But you wouldn’t let him know. You’d have him protesting and torturing you with harsh comments and complaints for weeks if something went wrong.

“You’re staring” you muttered some time later, concentrated on loading the brush with more foam.

For the last couple of minutes he’d been quiet, looking at you intensely the entire time. It didn’t bother you, but even though it wasn’t unpleasant you’d always found something to chat about.

Silence with him felt unfamiliar, that’s all.

“What made you fall for me?” he suddenly asked.

“Huh?” you scowled, and briefly stopped what you were doing.

Nothing was weird about the question itself, it just caught you by surprise.

John lifted his chin again for you to continue to lather his face, though his expression was showing he awaited a response. Yours turned warm.

“Your scent” you finally said.

“What?“ John wanted to laugh. But again, he didn’t capture an ounce of stutter in your voice. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah”

“By that logic you could’ve fallen for another man wearing the same cologne”

“But that’s the truth” you promised, face breaking in a pure side smile.

“Explain that to me” he chuckled, honestly baffled.

The mockery in his tone didn’t fool you. You were convinced by the sparkle in his eyes that his heart was definitely beating faster.

John and you met in the most boring and random way.

Your cousin worked as an engineer in Abbey Road Studios and one day he happened to forget his lunch at home, so he sneakily rang you to please go get it. Already leaving the building after dropping by to give it to him, you two passed each other by a whisker.

It was the delicious trail of his scent what made you look up to him.

Thanks to Paul, who stopped you just because he found your face familiar —you reminded him of your cousin, with whom he had a cordial relationship, so when you told him you were indeed related he was very happy to hear about it—, John was able to engage in a conversation with you to introduce himself before you had to go.

“It’s what made me turn my head to look at you”

“Oh, you mean when you nearly broke your neck desperate to check me out?”

“You’re dumb” you laughed, hitting him on the shoulder.

He felt the happiest man seeing you laugh because of him.

Every shared moment with you he treasured it. Tour, the number of insane hours he spent in the studio, all kinds of responsibilities of being in the most famous band on the planet took him away from you.

“Here we go”

John blinked at your words and paid attention again.

The sight of the safety razor within your power concerned him truly.

“Bird,”

You shook your head. “We’re doing it”

“Be careful. I lost count of how much my face is worth”

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling.

“Fans are too blinded by their obsession at this point to care if you have minor cuts for a while” you joked.

Warily, with the razor upon his face, you did the first swipe very cautiously.

Despite the light tremble of your hand you handled it pretty well, but the second you pulled the razor away, you unintentionally ended up nicking his flesh by doing it too quickly.

John hissed.

“You hurt me!”

“I’m so sorry” you hurried to say.

“Have some sense!” he cried as his face twisted.

Whatever confidence you had to carry such simple job disappeared.

“I’ve never done this before!” you defended yourself. The reddening on your cheeks due to the embarrassment never felt hotter. “Let me see”

Just how insignificant the scratch was made you want to scream. It wasn’t even bleeding.

You hit him again, it wasn’t an aggressive punch, but it was harder than the one you delivered earlier.

“You’re a bloody crybaby! You scared me for nothing” you huffed.

“Forgive me for feeling pain” he whined, giving quite the attitude.

“You sound like a five-year-old” you dropped the razor next to the hand soap and crossed your arms in annoyance. “Let me know when you’re done recovering”

John wrapped his skilled long fingers around your wrist.

“Come here”

Words weren’t needed most of the time for you two to communicate, so when he brought you closer you positioned yourself on his lap with your legs around his waist because you knew that was what he was seeking.

That and your chests coming together.

“I’m sorry, love, it was just unexpected”

Admiring your unmistakable daintiness, John couldn’t fight the desire of leaning in to kiss you.

It confused and disconcerted him when you tilted your head back with repulse. He couldn’t deny to himself he even felt hurt.

“What” his eyes scanned yours, trying to understand why you were denying him.

“The Santa beard has to go first”

He giggled and found himself sighing in relief afterwards.

“You love me, right?” John asked closing his eyes when you were ready to go for another stroke, once you were finished rinsing the razor.

Your hand remained suspended in mid-air.

It’d be hypocrite if you said you weren’t a sucker for attention, but John was exceptional; he didn’t love himself, his jokes about him being a genius were continuous although those who knew him well knew he thought so little of him, he suffered in the past and was still suffering because of the actions he carried out years ago that haunted him at night absorbing whatever good thoughts or feelings he could be experiencing, eating them up and leaving him in a darkened room without a single hole for the air to flow through.

John deserved to be happy.

“I do love you, Johnny. Why’d you ask that?” you questioned with your heart racing.

Didn’t you show it enough for him to know?

You were tense and he sensed it. Without opening his eyes, he smirked and squeezed your thighs for you to simmer down.

“I love hearing you say it, that’s all”

You stared at him adoringly.

“And I love you too,” he said, that smirk still there.

“I know you do”

Throughout the rest of the procedure you two remained mute, each immersed in your thoughts.

John kept catching himself smiling as he felt you tenderly patting moisturizer on the areas where you had previously shaved the hair.

“What’s so funny?”

That only made him laugh louder. He finally opened his eyes to stare directly into yours.

The stress they were under because of the band was impossible to measure, but he looked so carefree, cheerful and relaxed now. The almost childish expression on his face was contagious, and you were soon smiling like an idiot not knowing why.

“What?” you repeated, giggling.

“I’m just thinking of how excited you were about shaving me. From now on you won’t be as much because I’m definitely counting on you to do it for the rest of eternity”

You just shook your head, thick strands of hair that were no longer tied in the bun waving across your face with the action.

John looked down at you with ablaze eyes.

Matching the mischevious grin attached to his lips you put your arms around him and kissed him fervently. He held your face with both hands and calmly let one reach for your waist. As he pulled you even closer, you moved yours to stroke the back of his neck.

“You feel so soft” you murmured, your fingers complacently touching his cheek.

John returned the smile and rose from the chair with you still on his arms.

“Next time it’s me turn”

He grinned big, and that’s when you knew where he wanted to shave you.

“No fucking way. I won’t let you”

“Love, it’s not like I—”

“It’s off-limits”

“So you’re allowed to shave my face, that ironically people will get to see no matter what, whereas your—“

“Stop it there” you couldn’t believe he actually meant it. Right, if you’d have fucked it up the whole world would have known because it’s his face, but that’s not an argument strong enough for him to use and have the freedom to try because he’d be the only one to see it if he fucked up. “If I say no it means no”

“You’re using that now? When I told you earlier I didn’t want to at first you coaxed me into—“

You gave him a peck on the lips to stop him from talking, pausing to throw a towel in his face, and ran as far as possible because you were at the very losing end of the conversation.

John raised an eyebrow.

“Two can play at this game”

You bit your lip and purposedly let him catch you in the kitchen after playing hide and seek for five minutes.

Coming to a conclusion that it was pretty late, you walked to the bedroom together swinging arms and talking about whether to have breakfast the next day at home or visit a bar hidden in the suburb you used to frequent, where you knew you could have privacy.

You layed in bed entangling legs, facing each other, your head placed onto his chest.

John was the one to fall asleep first.

A huge smile was playing on your lips when you remembered you had John for yourself for four more days before he had to go back to being a Beatle.

You drifted off soon after, heart full.

#john lennon #john lennon x reader #paul mccartney #ringo starr #george harrison #the beatles #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfiction #john lennon fanfic #tayloredstarr

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og-danny-dorito · 4 years

Note

oh man i love your hellboy! can i get a request for a first kiss with the big red baby?

I like the way you think, anon. Please forgive me if this bit is bad since I haven't exercised my writing ability in a long while- (and I'm sorry this took so long I only saw it today rip) I decided to make the reader a little bit feisty

Hellboy x Reader : First Kiss

"Y'know, I've never believed in karma."

At the statement, you tilted your head, seeming to look in his direction as he lit the cigar teetering between his teeth. He cupped the flame with his larger hand while the other flicked your lighter's ignition to set it, leaving him to keep his eyes down on it to make sure it didn't crap out on him. From up here, you could feel the wind on your skin and the hopeless abandon of dangling your feet over the edge of a balcony. Late nights with Red never were boring, especially if they involved some good old fashioned trouble making and a pack of beer on the rooftops. Of course, it wasn't the most dramatic way to do things, but he really only ever was dramatic when it called for it. "It's always been a weird concept to me; seems awfully selective- y'know?" His voice held a low rasp one might find in a tired friend who was half asleep in the backseat of their car, leading a smooth drawl to it you never could place. He was a gentle dude now that you thought about it. His question made you shrug a little, looking into the scene before you. Lights spread over the edge of the city, filling your peripheral with images of different colors. It sounded less busy than usual even though the honking car horns and loud music still played in some areas. Maybe because of the whole quarantine going on right now, but at least the two of you had taken some extra measures to avoid others. Like jumping across roofs to not have to walk by others. The demon was quiet, although you could tell he was expecting some sort of follow up. You never had been a people-pleaser, but humoring Hellboy wasn't ever something you dreaded. Especially like this, where you felt vulnerable and relaxed in the presence of another person for the first time in a while. But outright thanking him would be weird. "I guess the whole concept is that it comes to them eventually, but I don't know, man.", you said, blinking. Your shoulders felt relaxed, and even though you still felt the dull ache of soreness in your muscles, you could tell that it wasn't an uncomfortable ache. No, it almost felt familiar, really. A comforting ache in bones that had been working too long. The man next to you shrugged, taking his hand from his mouth and handing you your lighter back, and glancing at him, you took it. Hellboy had always been much bigger than everyone around him, but when compared to you he certainly did seem like a giant. Sure, you weren't too short (well, maybe, but it depended on who you were asking) and you held some weight to you enough to fend for yourself, but compared to him you looked like a kid or a tiny animal. Kitten seemed to he his first relation with your size. Although it was initially annoying you got over it quickly seeing as he used it either in teasing or when referring to you endearingly. And you'd lie to say it didn't make you feel things you knew you shouldn't. You felt his coat rush with the surge of wind coming your way this time, turning the tip of your nose pink and your eyes shutting reflexively to prevent drying. He didn't seem to move, though. Quiet and unmoving, and with a cigar in his mouth fatter than your finger. "I guess no one really knows though?" He turned his head to face you at the comment, seeing as your brows had furrowed a little in thought. It was a good question, one you couldn't answer and couldn't bring yourself to think about any harder than this. But he didn't pressure you to speak more, rather leaning his elbows into his lap, leaning in, and looking out. It was a long moment before he spoke, the silence only being filled with the sounds of cars honking once or twice and wind rushing over the are. “You know how I know all that karma talk is bullshit?", he asked, looking at you. For the first time you turned your head too face him, eyebrows raising and your lips pursing a little. "How?", you asked. But when you saw the sly smirk that showed up on his face you felt yourself almost prepare to roll your eyes, watching him as he spoke. "Cause I've got someone like you runnin with me." The comment made you pause for a second, but you still smiled a little and rolled your eyes sarcastically at him. He didn't really mean it, you knew that much. "Wow, so smooth, Red. My panties are basically dropping right now. Oh my god, I'm sweating.", you said raising your hands and faking a voice. At this he pouted a little and grunted, now taking his turn to roll his eyes over dismissively. For a second you thought you did something wrong, until you heard a quiet "I mean it." from the man beside you. And that, genuinely, caught you off guard. It caught you off guard to the point where you had stilled to a silence, your eyes narrowing a little before you dropped your hands to your lap. You suddenly felt like you reacted wrong, and the butterflies in your stomach began to accumulate at the thought, clearing your throat, you looked in the other direction before scratching the back of your neck. He remained unmoving from his spot but did make small movements, even if only to take the cigar out of his mouth to exhale then do it again. For a few seconds you were quiet, but it was no longer a comfortable silence that remained shared between you two, but an uncomfortable one. You weren't...you weren't sure what to say. Did he actually care about you enough to say that? Only a month ago you were sure he hated you, why did he like you so much now? "I uh-" You gulped down a lump building in your throat, averting eye contact. The words being thought made your face heat up, but you guessed you had to say it eventually. Why not now when no one else was around? "Th-thanks. That means a lot to me. It's...it's fun hanging around you, too. You're good company." It almost seemed like he wouldn't catch it from how low you were speaking, but he did in fact hear it, and at the response slowly turned his head over to you. You could see his grin from the corner of your eyes, and soon enough you turned to face him, faking irritation. But... you didn't hold it for long. His lips were spread in an almost comical smile, teeth showing as he clutched the cigar between them, eyes glinting in amusement. You could tell it was genuine from the way his eyes twinkles when he looked at you, and, straightener get his posture, you realized how much bigger he was than you. Weirdly kissable lips upturned in a smile always got you feeliNg more nervous than you should. A few stray hairs came free from his man-bun thing that you never really understood, making him look slightly disheveled. But you couldn't help but grin back at him for it, seeing as his happiness was a bit infectious in you and vice versa. Slowly, you scooted closer, pushing some hair from your face. But your face was still as red as him, and it made him feel a little bit more...playful. Just a little. "You're blushing. Somethin you're not telling me?", he said, poking your side. Reflexively you squeaked and fake-glared at him, scrunching your nose up and furrowing your brows. Aw fuck, you were cute when you were mad- "No, why would you think that?", you said. But it was definitely obvious you were hiding something, and he couldn't help but be curious about it. How could you tell someone they had kissable lips? How could you also say you wanted your lips on theirs?? Without embarrassing yourself??? The pressure was building up again, and you felt yourself look in the other direction, crossing your arms and lowering your head. Exhaling, you shrugged a little. He seemed to furrow his brow a little, but his hunched over posture returned once again as soon as he realized what he thought was going on was probably true. Oh god, you were never going to hear the end of this, were you? "Do you like me, kitten? You know you can say it, although there might be some co-"

And with that, you turned abruptly, meeting him where he was facing you, and kissed him.

Now you'd lie to say you weren't struggling to stay up to his height, but considering his surprise was soon dissipating at he began to kiss back, the hands on your waist were slowly pulling you up and closer to him, leaning farther from the edge of the building. Instead you felt yourself turning your head a little to get a better angle, feeling how hot his skin actually was. You guessed it was red for a reason, but the fact that he felt like a furnace when you touched him really felt like overkill for his whole aesthetic. His breathing was steadying out as he eased into it, smiling a little as his lips moved against yours. A little chapped, yeah, but they were warm and oddly plush. Weird to think a big red demon man could be so gentle. It felt like forever until you actually pulled away, letting the taste of his skin linger on your lips before feeling your face heat into a low warmth that made you feel like you had done something shameful. "So you do like me?" Punching his arm, you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the smile forming on your face. Nor could you help the silly giggle that came from your lips at his joke. As most may say, happiness is infectious, and this was no exception. Even though he did tease you about it for the next few weeks, and you did have to punch his arm multiple times to get him to shut up while other people were around, it felt worth it.

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jenniferisacommonname · 3 years

Text

Voiceactors in my Head

One of my many contradictory feature sets is a silent, circumventing stubbornness paired with a pathological fear of confrontation. I will get what I want, and I will not stand my ground if verbally pressed on it. I concede points like it’s an Olympic sport. But as long as everyone's still smiling—gently, snidely, or otherwise—then I can go on forever. Case in point, I once trolled a stranger on the internet for over a year. (Don’t worry; by the end of the story you’ll be on my side again. And if you’re not, well, I mostly agree with you.)

It all started with a CD which was, at the time, exclusively available through the record label’s website. This was back in 2005, when online retailers still ran on frontier justice and only fools uttered the words “free shipping.” Needless to say, I did not have an existing account.

But we do what we must. So I bent the knee, and delivered my modern-day rogation of name, email, and PII governed by the Sarbanes-Oxley Act in order to receive my one CD—then I defiantly wasted that effort by never patronizing their establishment again. I mean, the album was fine, and I’m sure they had other struggling artists whose work I would have enjoyed, but apparently I’m against creative expression and the American small business owner or something.

Anyway, five years of blissful non-interaction go by. Then one day in 2010, I get a mass email from the founder of this little indie record label. It was—or at least it aspired to be—a classic “starting a new chapter” kind of announcement, letting everyone know that he had sold his (incredibly!) successful company, and was using the proceeds to start a charity that would bring music lessons to inner city children.

And, hey, I thought, that’s cool. Music is great for kids. Except… the tone of the email was weird. It was more than just casual; it was chummy. The concept of a YouTuber didn’t exist back then, but here was its primordial ancestor, testing the beachhead with its nascent flipper-legs of peppy chic.

“Yo, J-dawg, how's it hanging? Remember back in [mail-merged year] when you bought [whatever]? What a great album, am I right?! Anyway, it's been so long since we rapped, I thought I'd update you on my sitch…”

Obviously, I’m paraphrasing, but that’s how the voiceactor in my head performed it. And it just rubbed me so hard the wrong way. I mean, look, I get it—we live in a promotional society, and there's no avoiding that. I’ve done my fair share of book pimping, and if you have a legitimate fan base the intrusion can even be a welcome one. So, fine. Tell me about your thing—once—and maybe I'll buy it. But don't act like we're friends, like I have some kind of obligation to you beyond this basic consumer relationship that we've established.

So my gut reaction was a hard pass, pleading children’s eyes be damned. But the email didn’t include a link to unsubscribe. This spammer was so brazen, he had sent the message from his personal email account, as if threats like “more updates to come!” belonged in anything but a ransom note font. If I wanted my name off the list, I would have to actually write him back, creating exactly the kind of low-stakes, one-on-one confrontation that we all know is worse than torture.

How would I even phrase it, knowing that his overture was from the heart and my rejection would travel right back along that path? “Listen, amigo, I know you probably spent an hour composing this raw, honest self-reflection on your priorities, but it’s garbage, and I never want to hear from you again. Please keep in mind that while you have failed to inspire me, you’ve also failed the children. Because you’re a failure.”

The actual words wouldn’t matter; I was sure that’s what he’d hear. In fact, I would argue that a polite rejection is often worse, because it leaves no option for the rejectee to write off the loss as a dodged bullet. They really were a nice person, and you’ll probably never find anyone so humble again, you loser.

So instead, I got out my favorite piece of social armor: the ironic “yes, and.” In improv theater, if a scene partner implies that you’re the best of friends, you don’t argue with them. You commit to the bit. So I did.

“Oh my God, Steve, it's so good to hear from you!” I wrote (except I used his real name, of course.) “I can’t believe you still remember our special album. Makes me weepy just thinking about what it meant to us. Anyway, here’s what’s been going on in my life...” Then without warning, I dumped several years’ worth of emotional trauma on him—about severe autism, and how hard day-to-day life was, and how each treatment brought hope and frustration in equal measure while somehow never easing my crippling fear of the future. It was a therapy session on steroids, directed at a stranger under the guise of bitter sarcasm. My flippant sign-off left no doubts about my true feelings: “Anyway, as I’m sure you can imagine, we are flat broke with medical bills, bruh! So I'm gonna need you to take us off your list. But in the meantime, here are some autism charities that you could donate to on our behalf, since we're such good friends.”

To be clear, open snark isn’t remotely in the spirit of “yes, and.” But it felt better in that moment than honest rejection, and I figured he’d take the hint.

Instead, the guy wrote back.

“Wow, what an amazing story!” he said. “Crazy world we live in. I'll go ahead and take you off the list, but I do hope you'll think of us in the future.”

Ugh. He had met my bad behavior with empathy, and I felt moderately ashamed. Then again, you couldn’t argue with results, and at least I knew this ordeal was behind me.

Except he didn't take me off the list. A couple of weeks later, I get another fake-personal email, which I must again paraphrase, though I remember with furious precision the way it made me feel. “Heyyyy Jenn-ster, it's me again! I know how much you've always loved music, so I know you're gonna want to hear about this...”

BITCH. YOU. DON’T. KNOW. ME.

“Steve, what happened?!” I wrote back. “You used to be such a good listener! I think the money's changed you, man.” And I asked once again to be taken off the list.

This time, he ignored me. No reply, and the spam kept coming.

So I just decided that this was going to be our thing. Every time he sent me an email full of stuff I didn't care about, I was going to send him an email full of stuff he didn't care about. Except I kept pushing it a little farther each time, like, “Ooh, potty training's not going so great, let me tell you all about it...” And at the end of every email I'd always remind him, “Hey, anytime you want to stop getting updates on my son's bowel movements, all you have to do is take me off your list.” Sometimes I bolded it; once I super-sized it into a 40-point font. But he never did.

This went on for over a year.

But I won.

It’s a trite saying, but sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words. The last email I ever got from this guy was short, which was unusual for him, and it said something like, “Great news! We've just graduated our first class of students—check out these pics!” (Why am I paraphrasing so much, when email is forever and I could just go back and give you direct quotes? Stop asking questions and roll with me for a minute.) Anyway, embedded in the email, like already loaded and filling the screen HTML-style, was this giant picture of… I don’t know, a kid kissing a trumpet or something. It was probably super cute, to be honest—but I was on a mission.

“Great news!” I wrote back, trying as always to mimic the exact structure of whatever he had sent me. “My son just had a colonoscopy—check out these pics!” And I pasted the actual medical photos of my child’s rectal passage into the email, pre-loaded and filling the screen, so he’d be forced to view them against his will, just as I’d been forced to endure his endless marketing crap.

Sure enough, he never emailed me again.

Pretty good story, right? And that closer—I mean how can you top sending medical photos to a complete stranger just to gross them out? Unfortunately (or fortunately; I’ll leave it up to you,) this one has a weirdly philosophical denouement. If you like your narratives sassy and single-layered, I suggest you duck out now.

Around 2015, I was trawling my past for wild stories that could be condensed into a tight three minutes for open mic night, and ‘that time I emailed colonoscopy pics to a spammer’ was an obvious contender. Once I had the basic structure written down, more or less exactly as I remembered it, I went digging through those ancient emails to finalize the details.

And what I found was… not what I remembered. The story I told above clearly had some emotional embellishments (see: paraphrasing), but it was fundamentally true in circumstance, I thought. And, yes, I really did send this guy two pictures of my son’s colonoscopy, though they were just thumbnail attachments, not embedded. But the text of my actual emails to him barely came off as snarky at all, and I never once told him in clear terms to take me off his list. There are a few lame hints at irony that you can pick out if you really squint, but by and large I was just… writing him back. Like we were friends.

Which is a good thing, because his emails to me were even less accurate in my memory than mine had been. He hadn’t cut me off; he’d replied to every single email I’d sent, in a way that made it clear that he’d watched every video and read every article. He was cordial, empathetic, and seemed genuinely interested in my kids. It was a therapy session on steroids, all right—minus the steroids.

BITCH.

YOU. KNOW. ME.

And in return for all this kindness, I had sent him horrific medical photos for no reason. To which he had replied (and this time I’m not paraphrasing,) “Thanks for the update on your son. I appreciate it. Keep up the good work. All the best to you both.” The updates from him had indeed ceased after that, but from what I can tell it was just a coincidental winding down of that particular enterprise, not a removal of my name from any specific list.

Eventually, I ended up emailing him again, this time as a penitential mea culpa to ease my own conscience. I explained the situation, and apologized for my unfair judgment of years past, plus of course the unsolicited sigmoid landscapes. He thought the whole thing was hilarious, and admitted that he’d never once picked up on my poorly-conveyed bitterness.

More important than the personal amends, though, was the lesson I had to swallow about how emotions don’t just cloud memories—sometimes they invent them out of whole cloth. I swear, I swear I remember a photo of a kid graduating from his charitable music lessons, but I can find absolutely no evidence of it anywhere. My brain made it up to retroactively justify my behavior: yes, I sent a photo, but only because he sent a photo first. It’s not even a remotely good justification, but I guess it took the edge off just enough to keep seeing myself as a good person.

It was an important lesson professionally, too. History is nothing but a mashup of inherently self-serving memories, and multiple perspectives can only draw a narrative closer to objective truth by half-steps, never to fully reach its destination. Even hard evidence is fallible, because my emails as written did not accurately represent how I felt when I wrote them, which is an important part of the story in its own way. Misinterpretations and flawed perspectives are inevitable, but they’re also necessary, and stripping them out as a historian is just as wrong as taking them at face value. A story is both what the participants think it is, and what we know it isn’t—especially when those two conflict—and every non-fiction piece I write is just somebody else’s therapy session on steroids.

#spam #spammers #autism #troll #colonoscopy #medical photo #stand up #open mic #music #album #online retail

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mikazukikannagisjourney · 4 years

Text

Channeled (?) Message for these Tumultuous Times - A Call to Arms for the "Most Unlikely" (timeless)

Abstract: Within the next 6-10 years, the need to self-isolate due to energetic effects from the Quantum field only increases. The community quarantines and the social distancing measures will eventually become the norm, and this brief Saturn in Aquarius season only gives the entire world a glimpse of things to come before retrograding back to Capricorn within May 2020 to do one final slide. Thus it is increasingly important to be even more self-reliant, and self-mastery our vehicle to keep on surviving and thriving, because in the future the group systems that were once relied upon will not be the strong and stable support for the energetically renewed generations. This message pertains to all, but most especially for the Pluto in Libra and Pluto in Scorpio generations, who are the bridges between what has been and what things shall become.

Warning: Long post ahead. You have been warned.

Hi everyone, how are you all coping with the social distancing and the community quarantine measures? And if you're an introvert, yeah how's the usual life lol but I'm not even kidding in that sense. I hope you're all doing well, staying healthy, happy and safe. But for the people who are losing their minds due to cabin fever, I hope this message brings you a level of comfort and empowerment after reading it in its entirety.

I don't normally put "channeled message" in most of my posts because I feel like it's redundant, I mean, most of what I post in here are stuff I get from the etheric realms and just write in here to provide information to those who need it. But this one has been bugging me each time I meditate so I figured this must be an urgent matter, and thus this early Aries New Moon message comes to you now.

The Spiritual Implication of the Community Quarantines and Social Distancing

Not sure about other people, but from the energies that I have been feeling ever since the Aussie Wildfires and the volcanic eruption that happened in Taal just hinted at me that such events are only a prelude on the things to come. Separations and isolations were only going to increase. I didn't dare post anything about it since I was too busy detaching from the collective and just focusing on channeling energy to the world. Honestly that should have been a light bulb moment for me but again, I thought it was nothing because I was already distancing not just from the chaotic collective but also from a lot of people, by conscious and energetic choice.

I felt like I needed to do what I was supposed to do here. And I guess for me, it was fine. I am in between jobs so might as well do something to energetically clear the world. Once the chaos cleared, I thought I could breathe a sigh of relief. So even if I was 80% pure anxiety, I tried to drown that through more meditations, energy healings and watching owls and crack vids. Spare me the judgment, I'm used to that lol. For a while, it was nice and quiet.

But... Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.

Lol I should keep that under wraps but still, the message is the same.

Because when the Year of the Metal Rat came, that's when the COVID-19 issue started bursting from the seams (after being kept for so long. I mean, what else can you expect when trying to hide something that only keeps expanding, like bread rising due to yeast? ooops.). By then, things have been too much of a mess that fear and panic takes over, unless one is calm enough to detach and meditate. Because to be honest, staying calm and collected keeps our sanity readily available, and when we can decide with the combined forces of our two brain hemispheres we get to make the best choices, long-term or otherwise. Otherwise, fear-based decisions just lead to worse situations, and it's only going to snowball from there.

So what's the point?

Simple, in order to be free from the fear collective being built around this whole "pandemic" thing, aside from distancing from an excessive exposure to the news being bombarded faster than the speed of light, it is also important to carve out some time to learn new stuff. Like the mechanisms of disease transmission, how viruses multiply (that's my jam), how to manage epidemics, the pandemics that happened in the past century and what where the circumstances that made these dangerous or at the very least, slightly annoying.

Basically what I am saying here is to be informed by being strategic in how you gather information and using those to help you make better, more informed choices. Be more proactive in assimilating knowledge. Don't take the words of others as gospels of the truth. Heck, you can even doubt what I am saying in this post. Or let it tickle your brain to make new questions to ask the authorities, or create nuggets of thoughts and stuff that you might want to learn more of. Detach and make your own conclusions before you start sharing information in your preferred social media sites. Seriously, nothing is more important now than properly digested information because some people are not as strategic nor intuitive as you, and such sheeple will only eat whatever is tossed to them. But you KNOW you're better than that, which is why you are likely to start connecting dots and trying to make sense of things.

However, it is important that you first do these on your own before regrouping with people you trust and hang out with, otherwise the input from other people can cloud your own personal judgments, and could greatly affect the stuff you were already hanging on to, especially with regards to self-doubt. We don’t need that now, or ever. So serve yourself first, love that part of you first and do the inner work required before you go out to reconnect with people. That's why social distancing is so much more important than now: to improve self-trust and self-confidence in what you're doing. Whatever you're guided to do is what your soul wants you to engage in.

Why Call to Arms?

Because this battle is going to grow into a war, and that war is mostly going to be an internal war: war between what a person believes in deeply versus what the society tells this person, as well as the person's own social programming.

Now, more than ever is the need to remove ALL layers of programming and wounds and energetic blocks very relevant. Because by allowing our true selves to shine from within, can we all shine from the outside. But if blots of doubt and fear dot our existence, there will always be fears to run away from, triggers that can ruin our plans, low-vibrational thoughts that invade our times of peace. All that garbage can keep us stuck, unmoving, unable to move from the past and always fearing the future. And it is a well-known idea in nearly all spiritual communities that being in this stuck place prevents people from enjoying the NOW Moment and creating joy and love and abundance, which we all want.

This is basically a live or die situation for the next few years, and this is a war between who we are internally versus the external stimuli that we have to go through. No fret though, a good meditation and mindfulness practice plus facing our inner demons and turning them into our allies through healings and acceptance can really help get us through. It's a long process, but gaining stability and peace from such activities can really help reap in the benefits, especially in the long run when there is a need to keep calm and carry on, in all levels.

Why me though? Well, isn't the better question to ask is "Why NOT?" I mean, seriously, the times where relying on other people to do stuff for us in exchange for money or whatever is honestly only going to start decreasing, especially as we approach a great energetic shift. And that new shift is like the dot com boom and bubble bust period, where stuff just came and went in less than 10 years. So just imagine, things seem to only get better and better and then poof. Gone. Where do we go from there?

OK first of all I am not inciting fear in here, I mean, these are actual events that happened, probably even way before the Pluto in Sagittarius generation even understood or heard the first release of Backstreet Boys' Album MILLENNIUM. A lot of them were probably snot-nosed bebehs trying to play snake in their parents' NOKIA 3210 phones. Or something.

But back to you. Why are you being called?

Simple.

You might be one of those people who surfed the wave of that dot com bubble and burst. Here now, gone tomorrow. Or you probably panicked when the Y2K bug became a cultural phenomenon, or worse, the I LOVE YOU VIRUS got into your PC (an ancestor of all other computer AIDS right now). Maybe you were one of the kids who had to raise themselves because the old folks were out making money and you're mostly left at home, or you hang out with your friends after school just to find some sense of family in a way. Or it is possible that you just discovered some weirdly obscure niche such as Japanese Animation but can't share the joys of it because everyone else was obsessed with youth-oriented live action drama stuff, or F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (No judgement though) and whenever you mention Rurouni Kenshin, Yu-Yu Hakusho or Hunter x Hunter nobody batts an eyelash. Even if you stan Yukito and Touya (CCS) for some weird reason.

If life just isn't making sense right now, just remember those times. Those were frantic times, everything was hanging on a moment, the unknown was just a heartbeat away, but even so, you were able to find some sort of joy and satisfaction to get you through all the crap. You were tested once, and you're still alive now, meaning you were never broken. It just means that in the game of evolution, you were adaptable enough to survive the chaos. YOU'RE WORTHY OF THOR'S HAMMER, so to speak.

How is this going to affect me?

Well, remember the crazy times of the past? Since life's basically a cycle, the shitty times are going to roll over and make another visit yet again, but honestly, this time there is a bigger world that eventually gets affected a lot by these events. And truth be told, there won't be a lot of beacons of light once the older Pluto generations kick the bucket, especially the boomers that the whole world just can't get enough of (I am being sarcastic here, OK? Though some of them were really good musicians so it's hard to hate them all.). Within 30 years time, the Pluto in Libra and Scorpio people must grow into the sages that will help shape and stabilize the societies that were already changed by the continuous shifts toward self-mastery and self-stability. The younger generations will need more guidance than they will probably admit, and a lot of them will be so stubborn to even admit that they need any help because a large chunk of them were coddled and spoiled and made to think that they're right no matter what other people say, which is why a lot of them have grown to become very rude and selfish (and us millenials get the bad rep with what the younger bunches do, smh oh well). They're also used to bouts of impatience and wanting everything in an instant and perfectly done. Thus the impending need of the guidance of those who ACTUALLY HAD TO do things traditionally aka the hard way without cliffnotes and wiki how to's and all the hacks strewn in the internet. Doing everything by yourself, from scratch. Patience may not have been your virtue but trust me, the younger ones are probably a whole lot more impatient than you, so you're basically a patient person now whether you like it or not lol

But seriously, aside from that, the implications of these is that in the coming years, getting instant results will only turn out to be a lot more painful for everyone involved because the price of getting these through the "unclean" way will only lead to more chaos. A lot more people will rebel due to resentment because they will grow to realize that they're being overworked and underpaid and under-appreciated, plus they're being used as tools and then thrown out once after being used.

Never fear though, because in these times the over-looked members of the society will be sought after by those who will need their help, their talents, their assistance, not because someone says so but because their true, authentic, masterful nature becomes more apparent. Your strengths of making sure the job gets done correctly will be your strongest point, not just because you CAN deliver, but also because you have the uncanny capability of breaking down EVERYTHING into a logical process so that you can show and tell the entire method with everyone else. And people who only use other people because they're basically posers who actually have nothing on their name other than faking their way to the top will eventually be exposed. Thus, honesty and your sense of persistence to achieve your personal goals will be your best asset, and through this process the two generations can help provide assistance and guidance to the younger ones.

What can I do about these shifts?

Actually, it depends. I mean, to be honest it's easier to move with the shifts than force the energies to align to what you want. This is called the Law of Resonance. It’s like riding a wave when you surf, or going into the zone to do something creative. While nearly everyone else is doing their best to work miracles through the Law of Attraction, and getting frustrated because they haven't manifested that shiny new car yet, it is a whole lot better to just focus more on aligning your values and goals towards providing help and service to the world through your work.

Of course, it's realistic to worry about where you'll live, what you'll eat for the night, or even dispelling the gnawing heartache due to loneliness. Yeah, I get you there fam. But, annoying as it sounds, Source, God, the Higher Powers, or whatever you call the infinite energies give away more energies to those who ask for blessings in order to help others and bless others more, rather than giving energies to those who only want their own lives to improve. This is likely why the Law of Attraction doesn't work for nearly 99% percent of the time: People kept asking to appease their ego or personal needs.

Disclaimer though: This does not apply to those who are in dire need for food or shelter or protection, but rather to those who only want to be famous or respected by getting their material wants met. It’s because there's a huge energetic difference between those who resonate and those who attract. The resonators tend to find their life purpose quicker by resonating, while those that do their best to attract (under the assumption that they haven't done actual inner work) just keep getting stuck or even reverting to somewhere worse than where they were standing originally, thus making them believe that the Law of Attraction is a lie. But honestly, for everyone who did their inner work by healing and removing the low vibrational energies in their field can use either law or even both and still get some fantastic results.

So going back to your question, what YOU CAN DO with the shifts is to HEAL YOUR SELF. Focus on your own growth. Because you can't help others properly if you're wounded yourself. It's like the emergency flight instructions to put the gas mask on first before you help others. That's applicable and of utmost importance in the spiritual as well as in the 3D life. This ensures that you have enough high vibrations, as well as removing any agendas or resentments toward the people you help. Also, just to be practical, please give up on the notion of forcing everyone else to do this with you. You can only invite others to join, but it's just an option. At the very least, find a supportive person who can guide you to the entire process, but in the end this is a highly-personal journey that you must do ON YOUR OWN. No one else can do this journey for you. Thinking you can solely rely on one idea or guru to do the spiritual awakening journey by taking in your sins is like eating a whole bunch of food and telling someone to poop what you ate for you. That's just not gonna happen. So might as well start cleaning your own crap right now, it's for your own benefit anyways.

To start the process of working with the shifts, you can just shift your energies to instead RESONATE with your Higher Self, as per the Law of Resonance. If you haven't started already, the best thing to do is to go within, and clear as much of the old programming right away. Find out all of your limiting beliefs and reprogram yourself through the grace and power of self-love. This is the kind of love that encompasses your entire being and encircles the world, to the point that you have surpassed the idea of Duality and Polarizing views. You just start seeing everything as an expression of love from the Higher dimensional realms.

But seriously, it's OK to do fun stuff to stay sane

I am telling you right now, nobody’s going to hold it against you if you still want to do some wholesome fun. And if any spiritual guru out there starts blabbing out stuff such as watching horror movies or medical drama or whatever like that lowers your vibration, THEY'RE NOT ON MY ENRICHMENT TEAM. I just disagree with them wholeheartedly on that aspect.

Why?

Simply because despite being on the spiritual awakening journey myself, it was actually the opposite for me. After realizing that I'm a spiritual being having a human experience, that gave me a lot more courage to watch really gory and scary movies, because I know deep down, that shi* ain't real. So why should I fear? I'm supposed to live all aspects of the human experience, and watching something like the entire Conjuring franchise is an option that I can get on board with. Truth be told, after my awakening process and still walking this spiritual journey, I just get to enjoy a lot of the stuff with a greater depth of perspective. It feels so much different from when I was still living in the 3D consciousness state.

I actually found this to be true when I started binge-watching all of the Harry Potter books and movies, as well as the LOTR trilogy. When I compared what I felt and the stuff that went through my brain before and after awakening, I had greater appreciation for all of the characters, I simply saw each one as pivotal to the movement of the entire plot. Otherwise, nobody's going to learn and become stronger, and that creates character stagnation, which I honestly just think makes the hero’s journey stale. It's like setting up a character like Naruto, Ichigo or Saitama into overpowering mode right from the start without running into any obstacles. We all want our heroes to have that journey of growth, so why not see that into our own lives as well? Might as well be the cheerleader of our lives, right? So just enjoy this meatbody ride and to heck with the haters. You do you, have as much legal fun as you want.

The bottomline of this entire long-ass post is that self-reliance will become the new norm. And while everyone has some sense of self-reliance, those who were born around the Pluto generations of Libra and Scorpio will have their chance to shine, because this has been their thing since they were young. The lessons that they learned growing up will become even more relevant, as being the generations that were living between the boomer age and the internet boom age their skills of trusting their self, what they learned through experiences will be of great value in the times of information overload and the need to scour what works and what doesn’t.

Maybe you never had your shining moment because you let it pass you by. It's even possible that you're angry because everyone seems to be flying high and you're left on the ground eating dirt because you believed in yourself and not in the prevailing status quo. But I hope you still keep the faith alive, because there's a strong reason why you just keep sticking to your higher consciousness guns, and those will be revealed in the next 6-10 years. As to why this time period, you can check out this link from the Jovian Archive. Even if you're not too familiar with Human Design, the information here may have some value for you, or at the very least, give you some assurance that everything is cyclic and we're only moving forward with more shifts toward unknown territory. Just know that everyone who's been relying way too much on other people, whether they know it or do it deliberately will be greatly affected by the sudden shifts, and for the first time in a long time their ability to do things entirely by themselves will be tested. Spoiler alert: not everyone's gonna survive or even enjoy that ride. It's like separating the chaff from the grain, and if you're reading this right now, YOU ARE ONE AWESOME GRAIN.

I hope that this channeled message gives you support during these troubled times. As always, stay healthy and safe, and most importantly, use both hemispheres of the brain, your logical and intuitive side to stay sane. The time to play with both polarities in order to move beyond duality pretty much started already, and there's no better time than now, to begin seeing the two sides of everything and loving the entire thing because it's an all for one, one for all reality.

Thank you so much for taking your time to read this very long post. May you become the healing you seek.

三日月🌙

Mikazuki

Links to Resources or Extra Readings:

Jovian Archive Post - Support During the COVID-19

How to get your Human Design Chart

My Pluto Generations Post

How to generate your natal birth chart wheel

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PS. If you found the information in this post to be very helpful, insightful, and of great value to you and your own personal journey, please feel free to reblog, share and heart/like, or if you feel super-generous, energetic exchanges are welcomed! Please click here and use this email address: [email protected]

Thank you so much and be blessed!

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kakodaemon · 7 years

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Today was an odd day. Just a huge outpouring of affection toward...me. A huge number of my favorite regulars came in and it really sort of opened my eyes to how many people care about me, even if it’s in a distant, sort of formal way. Several people came in and they were, like, so excited to see me. Me! Like, I know I’m a good bartender, but to hear these people talk, you’d think that I make my martinis out of ambrosia and nectar. I’m just...methodical and precise, I do things consistently and in a specific way. It should be effortlessly reproducible by anyone with a measuring cup, but somehow, for some reason, “V, yours are the best!” And several of them mentioned how they missed me, a couple of them heard that I had been sick and were so relieved to see me healthy and back behind the bar. It was incredible. They were just so...happy. Just happy to see me. Me! Like...my mind wasn’t so clouded as to think that no one would miss me, but I firmly believed that my presence didn’t carry any real weight or importance to anyone. I’m just one of the bartenders. I’m replaceable. I’m good, but I’m nothing special. But for these people...sure, life would go on, but...they’d actually miss me. Like, it would make an actual impact on their social life and possibly where they would choose to hang out and drink. It was both very surprising and revealing. I’m just floored that my mere presence could make such an impact. It’s like I was thinking about before, how other people don’t need to really contribute or bring anything special to the table, just their presence is pleasant. And I thought that my presence was not, that I need to do something extra just to break even. But...that seems to be false.

And then the biggest thing. A young lady regular, we’ll call her Ren. I hadn’t seen her since August, but she came in tonight! I always just thought of her as being kind of a mess and thinking that it was unfortunate, but not caring all that much. But last April we connected over some shared trauma. We’ve both lost a parent despite our young age. I got off work somewhat early and decided to stick around and have some Merlot, toasting to my father’s memory. Ren realized how unusual it was that I was sticking around after clocking out and that I was drinking, so I talked to her about it and we both talked and cried and comforted each other and got kind of cuddly in one of the booths. I’m not really comfortable getting too touchy with people, I have a very firm personal space bubble. But I really like cuddling and I’m touch-starved and I dunno. With her it felt awkward at first, but it was also really nice. So after that every time she came in it was all smiles and hugs and pats. It’s nice to be able to be so close to another person. To just have that physical contact. When she came in last August, she was trashed and crying. I was really worried about her, but I couldn’t get her to tell me what was wrong. She just wouldn’t communicate with me. Tonight she requested to talk to me once I was done with work. I acquiesced and that was one of the things that came up. She was very concerned that she had said something that night. She didn’t, I could barely get a yes/no out of her. On that night I was planning to finish up closing and then walk her home, but she ended up leaving on her own while I was in the back spraying something down. I was really concerned and had G try to contact her. She said that my concern meant a lot to her, even though at the time she wasn’t ready to be open with me. I guess that really it’s a mirror of how people feel about me. Ren wasn’t really on my mind, I wasn’t actively worried about her, but when she came in tonight I was just so hugely relieved that she was all right. I missed her and it was great to see her again. I gave her a huge hug and she kissed me on the cheek several times. She was really obviously happy to see me too and she kept saying how good I looked, how much she had missed me, and so on. We talked a lot later and got very cuddly again. I caught a whiff of her scent over an hour later and was hit by “Oh wow. I had forgotten what it feels like to have another person’s smell on you.” It’s a weirdly intimate platonic thing we have between us. We definitely bonded a lot more. She revealed that the night she came in all out of sorts was the day she had been discharged from a psych hospital. I told her that I had been in one last month. Turns out we have a lot in common. Some abandonment issues, co-dependency stuff, lost parent, depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, close calls with suicide. Lack of hope or belief in inherent meaning to life. I’ve struggled and fought and come up with ways to partially deal with some of those things. And part of me wants to just talk it out with her and just, like, give her everything that’s helped me, give her everything I’ve thought of that hasn’t helped me in case it might help her, but...tonight it seemed like she just wanted someone to commiserate. She was also inebriated, which wouldn’t have helped the communication of some of these ideas. It’s just...no one should have to feel that way. It sucks, it’s fucking awful, I wouldn’t wish it on the worst human being on the planet. No one should have to feel the way that I so often do. No one deserves that, it’s fucking terrible. And I see her and I see the pain that she’s in and...I mean, I’m just a relapse waiting to happen, I’m just a single misstep or random event away from being in a place that’s just as dark or even darker, but right now I’m doing okay. And I see her pain and all I want to do is help. But I don’t really know how. And I don’t really know when it would be going too far. I don’t know. It’s incredible...she told me that she trusts me more than anyone. And that made me really sad because like...there was a four month period where we didn’t see or talk to each other at all. god, I really hope she was just being drunk and that isn’t actually the case. I really hope she has someone better than me and she was just foggy. She deserves better than me. But then, that might just be the depression talking. She says that I’m a good man, that I’m awesome and kind and this and that. How I’ve been through so much but I’m still fighting and how she admires me and how it makes her feel pathetic for not being able to handle her own stuff. And it’s just incredible to me that she looks at me and she sees so much good stuff, when I look in the mirror and I see nothing worthwhile. And it’s incredible to me that I think that she’s vivacious and wild and happy and interesting and free-spirited and a person who deserves so much good, and she looks in the mirror and she sees someone worthless who has no future.

I sent her a friend request on Fb. I hope to keep closer tabs on her in the future. I want to stay in touch and talk with her more. I’m a pretty fucking unlikely beacon of hope, but if I can be one in her life...like, god she must be low on resources if she has to rely on me for that, but hopefully, maybe, I can make a positive difference for her.

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