#its like the worlds saddest alarm clock!

[itsreallylaterightnow]

Now All Our Memories (They’re Haunted)

Author’s Note:

Alrightyyyyy so here it is!!!

A painful one-shot!

This is an AU of Journey's End - the saddest Doctor Who episode ever

I hope you enjoy

Also, biggest thanks to @notapartytrickparker for being my incredible Beta!! You mean the world to me! <3

Peter grabbed a wrench from Tony’s bench and rolled his chair back over to his work table. May had a big charity event on Sunday, so Peter had decided to spend his weekend with Mr. Stark. The man had invited him over to help work on a car that he recently bought. It was a fixer upper, but that’s what the two loved about it.  

They would talk about life. Mr. Stark never seemed to be able to leave Peter alone when it came to talking about Michelle. He made jokes or teased Peter about kissing her. Peter would just blush – a bright and hot horrible blush. Then they would talk about college. Peter was a junior now, and closer to needing to make a decision than ever. He hated having to think about his future. Sure, he knew he was smart. He knew that he would regret it if he decided to skip out on college, but he loved to be Spider-Man. He loved swinging through the streets of New York, stopping kids from walking in front of cars and keeping peole safe on their walks. He wanted to stay in the city and focus on web-slinging. But between May, Mr. Stark, and Michelle – there was no way that was going to happen. The three of them agreed that he needed to experience college, to go and learn and be young. Mr. Stark pushed MIT, of course. The man would say how easily he could get Peter in. He would offer to pay his way completely, take care of May while Peter was gone. And he really wanted to. Peter desperately wanted to go to MIT and learn more, be challenged. The more he thought about it… well his chest would get all tight and his hands would shake, and tears would slowly fill his eyes. Because he had gotten a second chance. When Mr. Stark had snapped – Peter knew that he was going to die. Peter could hear Mr. Stark’s heart slowly fading out. Could feel the man’s life slowly leaving him, and it had crushed him. Peter was still having nightmares about that day. Stephen Strange had stepped in just at the right time. Doctor Strange and Shuri had rushed Mr. Stark to Wakanda, gotten to work healing the man. It took too long. There was a period of time – days that felt like years as Peter sat on a chair waiting for someone to come in and tell him that Mr. Stark hadn’t made it. That their attempts had been futile.

Then Shuri had come in, smile on her face. She had explained that they had done it. He lost his arm in the process, but she was already working on a replacement for it. He was awake and he was going to be okay.

And yeah, since then, the idea of leaving Mr. Stark, of not being right beside the man all of the time caused Peter to freak out. Because what would happen if he were in a life-or-death situation and Peter wasn’t there? He couldn’t be the reason Mr. Stark died. He wouldn’t let it happen.  

Peter was so caught up in his thoughts, that it took Mr. Stark physically shaking his shoulder for him to hear the alarms. His mentor had a strained look on his face.  

“Suit up,” he said, before tapping his chest-plate. Peter gulped before he reached for his backpack, ripping out his suit. He slipped easily into it, pressing the spider-symbol as the material tightened around his body.  

“What’s going on?” Peter asked as Tony stood still. “Shouldn’t we be going … well, wherever the fight is?”  

“We’ve got a ride coming. Listen.” The faceplate on Tony’s suit flipped up – his face wrought with hard lines, worry evident in his eyes. “This is going to be dangerous. Strange requested the both of us, but you stay out of the way. We’ve got a rogue sorcerer in the New York sanctum. He’s after the time stone – I swear on my life I’m sick of those damn stones – and Strange needs our help with this one. But you – you stay out of the way. Web him up from the side. Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to explain to your aunt that I got you shish-kabobbed on our lab weekend,” Tony teased, but Peter could feel the worry radiating off the man.  

“Got it. Stay out of the way. Web him up from the side. No big deal.” Peter was about to make another joke when his senses pricked.  

A gold circle formed in the lab, and Peter caught sight of Strange, a cut to his forehead and stress wilting his face. Tony flipped the faceplate down and nodded at Peter.

“Well, are you two coming or not? I don’t have all the time in the world, Stark.”  

“Well, technically you do-“

“Shut up and get in here.” Tony nodded, and the two jumped through the ring.  

Peter figured he never would get over the strangeness of being in one location and then suddenly being a completely new one, but he couldn’t think about that right now. The sanctum was a wreck.  

Ancient artifacts had been knocked over; glass was everywhere. Peter looked and saw that Doctor Strange was looking pretty terrible – it made sense that he called the two of them in.  

“What’s this guy’s deal?” Peter asked. They were on the top floor of the sanctum and Peter looked down the massive staircase to see the man in question.

“He used to be head of this Sanctum, surprise-suprise, he went dark side and he wants the stone for God-knows-what.” Strange’s voice was bitter as he prepared himself for the next attack. Peter nodded, as the man who had previously been on the floor forced himself to stand.  

He was tall and burly. His hair was greasy enough to make Peter think he couldn’t have showered in weeks. His eyes were dark – too dark. Like something was shifting behind them, an ocean in a storm – restless and unforgiving.  

“I… will get that stone.” He said, and then he was flying – literally – forward. Peter jumped onto the railing, shooting a web at the man. It connected with his shoulder as Mr. Stark shot out a beam. The sorcerer opened a portal and the beam went straight through it as Peter yanked down. The man began to fall, but he used a spell to create some strange glowy-sword and sliced straight through Peter’s web. Strange made his own… Peter really needed to think of a better word than “glowy sword”, but it was all he had now. The two met – face to face. Their weapons clashing in an onslaught of sparks. Tony and Peter gave one another a small nod – and they dove into the fight.  

The battle went on for too long. Logically, the three of them should have been able to take care of this sorcerer with no problem, but he was no second-rate wizard. He could open portal after portal, in such a precise way to catch Mr. Stark’s repulsor beams and Peter’s webs, and it almost rendered them useless. Strange was going hand to hand, but things weren’t looking good.  

Then things went from “not looking good” to “absolutely detrimental”. Because in one, swift move, the Sorcerer clocked Stephen in the side of the head with a glowing club. Doctor Strange dropped like a rock, hitting the ground with a thud that caused Peter’s heart to race.  

“Kid! Get the wizard away!” Tony cried, his voice robotic. Peter immediately shot a web, pulling Doctor Strange away from what would have been a deadly blow from the Sorcerer. Tony stepped in, throwing everything he had into the battle.  

Peter knelt beside Stephen, tapping the man’s face.

“Doctor Strange? Hey, um, didn’t your mom ever tell you it was rude to fall asleep when you’ve invited people over for a fight?” Peter opened his mouth to keep talking, but Stephen let out a grunt.  

“If you keep speaking, I’ll send you to Antarctica.” He grunted; his eyes still closed as his face twisted into a grimace.

“Yeah… I would last, like, two minutes – you know, spider DNA and all.” Stephen just grunted again.  

And damn himself because Peter should have paid attention. Damn himself because in no way should he have allowed it to happen. Because his spider-sense alerted him one second too late. And Peter turned and what he saw had him bending over in pain . Gasping because this was supposed to be a simple fight. It was one sorcerer. One. They had fought a mad Titan and his entire army, and they had won… so he should not be looking at Mr. Stark, gripping the sorcerer’s shoulders with a look of shock on his face. He should not be seeing the sorcerer holding a sword – found on the floor of the sanctum – punctured straight through Tony’s abdomen. He should not be seeing blood – too much blood – pouring into the room.  

But he was. And it was happening, and he wanted to scream at Doctor Strange to fucking GET UP!  

“Mr. Stark!” But the man didn’t look at him.  

And Stephen was still down, sporting a profusely bleeding head wound, his eyes closed. Peter knew that he wasn’t going to be any help right now. And Peter, for the first time, was noticing that the time stone had been knocked loose from its hold.  

Peter had started to pride himself on his decision-making skills. Sure, he still made poor choices, and got in trouble on the regular – but he really wasn’t as stupid as he used to be. He didn’t throw himself in the way of every harmful being coming at him.  

But this was different.  

Because Mr. Stark was on the ground now, and Peter could hear his gasping breaths and his heart slowing – and he could not do that again. The sorcerer was looking at him now – his eyes black with rage. Peter wasn’t much of one for violence. He used webs in order to keep from killing people, he did his best to pull his punches… but not right now. Now was the time to make his punches hurt.

The sorcerer lunged forwards, but Peter was faster. He grabbed the stone, his arm screaming as the pain began to unravel. He had watched Strange use the stone over and over again – he had seen Mr. Stark almost die when he wielded all six, and honestly – Peter had no desire to suffer the curses that the stones gave out. But he would not let Tony die again – not on his watch.  

The sorcerer smirked as he came at Peter with the sword – still dripping with Mr. Stark’s blood.  

Peter felt the stone then, although it didn’t speak to him, it provided a sudden wave of clarity that made him certain of what he had to do.  

He pulled the Time stone back and snapped his fingers – just like Tony had. The exact thing that Mr. Stark had done that had almost gotten him killed. And Peter understood that – if he lived – Mr. Stark would officially murder him, but he didn’t care. Honestly, Peter didn’t just do it because of Mr. Stark – who was still bleeding out – he did it because that sorcerer could not get ahold of the stone. He could ruin the world.

The snap resonated in his ears.  

But the sound wasn’t what stuck with him.

It was what he saw.  

Galaxies and murals and stars and all of time and space laid out before him. He saw the realities that Strange had seen. He saw how it could have played out, the devastating things that could have happened. He understood why Strange had allowed Mr. Stark to do what he did. He could see everything. Things that he never would have understood before. He could see all of the realities that he could have had – ones where his parents lived. Ones where Ben lived. He felt his mind wrapping in on itself – warping in and out like a kaleidoscope of ever-shifting colors.  

Then there were hands on him – strong hands that he knew.

Peter blinked and the galaxies vanished.  

“Peter! Peter – God, sit down kid!”

Peter just shook his head – his mind felt like it was running on a conveyer belt. Constantly bringing him new knowledge, overflowing the bin. Like every single idea was piling on top of one-another until he couldn’t breathe – couldn’t think.  

“PETER!” He snapped out of it.  

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He muttered.  

“Mr. Parker – please sit-” He shook his head, grabbing Tony’s arms.  

“Are you okay? Are you okay?” Peter asked - his voice a grain of sand shifting on the shore.

Mr. Stark just shook his head. “I’m fine – you idiot. I’m fine. You – fucking fixed that. Now, listen to the Doctor here.” Peter nodded, Strange stepping up to him, his eyes flaming with worry.  

“Peter, how are you feeling?” His voice was low.  

“I feel… fine.” Peter said, and honestly, he did. His mind was filled to the top with knowledge – overflowing with knowledge.  

“Your head? How does your head feel?” Strange asked, his voice persistent.  

“I feel fine. The stone opened my mind – it’s better than it has ever been.” The waves crashed against the shore. His mind was running on voltage – too high. Overloading – something was popping in his head - like he had touched a transformer box. Liquid dripped down his lips. It was iron and metal and sharp, and he didn’t like it.  

“Peter, pay attention. I need you to focus on me right now.” He let out a deep breath and looked up at Strange.  

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.” Peter said, his voice felt like it was stuck, like he couldn’t stop speaking even if he tried to. Someone squeezed his shoulder – too tight. His winced looking to see Mr. Stark, worry etched into every line of his face.  

“Peter, calm down buddy. We’ve got you, just calm down.” Mr. Stark’s voice - calm. A gentle breeze rustling through tall grass.

The lightning struck again – a blinding pain and he winced. His knees felt weak… they weren’t working.  

“Do you know what’s happening?” Strange’s voice cut through the noise, cut through the pain and the blinding –  

“Yeah.” He muttered… thinks he muttered. Because he knew that his mind wasn’t meant to handle this. He knew too much – more than his brain could take. Like charging an AA battery with a car battery. The input was too much.

“There has never been someone who could use the Time stone – use the Time stone without training. Do you know why?” Strange’s voice was filled with dread. Peter just nodded, a rush of water flaring through his soul.

“Because it’s too much. It re…reveals too much.” Peter responded and Strange gave a soft nod. Another lightning strike – more water flowing out of … the taste of iron. Firm hands on his shoulders.

“You know what I have to do?” The Doctor asked. Peter nodded once more – not understanding why-how he knew, but he did.  

“What – what do you have to do?” Tony asked, his voice terse. Peter felt like a tree – hurricane winds too strong as they pulled and tugged and pushed. Threatening him down.  

“I have to -Stark I am truly sorry. I need to remove his memories of these events. If I can get rid of the knowledge, he has that this happened – then all of the certainly overwhelming knowledge that is residing in his head… it will be like folding it into a box, tucking it away in a corner. If he doesn’t remember this, he won’t know the box is there to open. He’ll be safe.” And Peter blinked as he saw Tony shaking his head – fear, worry, dread.  

“Seeing you will only open the box right back up. We have to erase the fact that you two met, keep you apart so we can keep his brain together.” Strange said, and his voice was soft.

“No – no way. You will abso-fucking-lutely not erase his memories! I-” Tony surely would have continued to rant but the winds were too strong. Peter’s roots snapped; he was a tree falling. Towards the ground … the tile… the

Someone caught him, and he was being held up against a wall, voices that he couldn’t comprehend because there was too much .  

“Stark, if you don’t want him to die, then you have to let me do this. His mind is shutting down – his body is shutting down.” And Tony must have seen it, in the way the leaves were shaking, he must have seen it. Because he gave Strange a nod. The same nod Strange had once given Tony.  

Strange lifted his hand - and suddenly Peter was done with this idea. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to forget the times he had.

He didn’t want to forget meeting Mr. Stark in his apartment. Webbing him to the door out of fear for Aunt May finding out. He didn’t want to forget Germany, or the argument with Tony that had pushed him into becoming something better. He didn’t want to forget lab nights, meeting Pepper. He didn’t want to forget staying at the tower and the first time he and Mr. Stark had watched all of the Star Wars movies together. He didn’t want to forget taking a fake internship photo after Mr. Stark had insisted it would shut Flash up. As strange as it sounded, he didn’t want to forget going to space. He didn’t want to forget dying or coming back. He didn’t want to forget any of it. He didn’t want to.  

“I want to stay.” Peter stated indignantly, ignoring the blood that dripped from his nose, a waterfall of pain and dread. His head pounded like a river breaking on the shore over and over and over again. He could feel it. The energy that was racing through his bloodstream. His mind was a supernova. Flashes of lights and stars and images of things he had never seen – things he could never understand. Time warping around his consciousness, bending his thoughts into an everlasting loop. He felt the world at his finger-tips and he wanted it to go away. Like a black hole coming to wrap around him as he tried to claw his way back to the surface. Peter took a ground shattering breath – the earth’s plate shifting every time he inhaled. “I was going to be with you… forever.”  

Tony was crying now – a waterfall cascading down his face. Peter suspected he was doing the same thing.  

“Look at me. Peter, look at me.” He didn’t want to. But he did. Lifted his eyes – the earth. Looked into Mr. Stark’s coffee and motor oil and love.  

“I want to stay with you.” Peter whispered. “The rest of my life… stay with you – saving the world. I don’t want to forget all of this. Who will I become?” His voice was barely a whisper as Tony nodded.  

“I know. But you will be exactly who you are. Exactly as good as you are.” Tony’s hand rested on the side of Peter’s head, his eyes holding the sadness of a lonely ocean. “Peter. God, kid, I am so sorry. But we had the best of times.” And they had. They really had.  

Then someone’s hand was on his head – Strange.  

“No –“ He wanted to fight, but trees without roots have no means of staying upright.  

“The best. Goodbye.”  

“No – no – no – no!” He didn’t want to go.

And like being struck by an unbeatable force – into a black hole of time and space and gravity – his entire world shifted into darkness.

-

Peter wouldn’t remember what happened. He wouldn’t remember why May was crying when he walked out of his room from where he woke up on his bed. He asked her, but she just told him that it was private. He would just go about his day, telling May that he was going to go out as Spider-Man. That made her cry harder, but she just nodded. Peter dropped open his trap door, his onesie falling out and he grinned, pulling it on.  

He would spend the rest of his life feeling like he was missing something. He would go on to study Biomechanical Engineering at MIT, on some weird scholarship May had put him in for. It was called the IS Scholarship, and Peter had tried researching it, but nothing came up. He just knew he wasn’t spending a dime to go to school, and he was happy about it.  

Peter felt as though there were this… gaping hole in his head. It was the same feeling he always got when he got a concussion – like a hole in his memory that he didn’t know how to fill.  

And every once in a while, he would feel as though that hole were filled. He would catch a glimpse of a man. A man standing off just out of reach. He would always be in a hat and sunglasses, a coat pulled tightly up to his chin, hiding behind the corner of a building. Peter would find him staring – stock still. Sometimes it felt as though they were locked. A magnet drawing nearer to itself. But every time Peter tried to grasp it – every time he walked forward; he would get there a second too late. A cat and mouse game in which he somehow knew that he would never catch the man. He would never be able to fill that hole.  

Peter caught himself looking forward to those moments… it was almost like a glimpse into his – past? That didn’t make sense, sure. Because as far as his memories made known, he had never seen that man in his life.  

But Peter Parker would never be able to deny, seeing that man felt like home.  

#Journey's End #Doctor Who AU #Irondad #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #Big Sad #AU #I made things better #then I made them a lot worse

[peonybane]

Agape and Pragma: Chapter 9

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 5.3 k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Crack, Smut

Chapter Specific Notes: Fluff, Smut…. 

Warnings: Some MxM stuff (but like not a whole lot, it’s very fluffy), some light spanking, D/s undertones, threesome, knotting, female receiving oral, very, very light degradation if you can even consider it degradation, I think that’s it.

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Gray Wolf Namjoon, Scottish Fold House Cat Jimin, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook

a/n: It’s finally here... the smut! Please enjoy. This is something I’m not used to writing, but please enjoy it. Thank you as always to @ropeseok, my beta reader and to @mintedmango​ helping me with a small detail and for the emotional support.

<— Previous (Chapter 8)

You were woken up by the sound of your stomach growling. Turning over uncomfortably, you looked over at your alarm clock. It was only 8 pm. Dammit. You slept most of the day away, not that it really mattered. Your eyes were slightly swollen, your throat was raw, and your stomach made a hellish noise, letting you know that it wasn’t about to let you get away with not feeding it without repercussions.

Groaning, you decided that you might as well take the chance of running downstairs and grabbing something to eat, preferably something that went well with the bottle of wine you planned on smuggling out of Yoongi’s wine rack. Rubbing your eyes, you tossed your legs over the side of your bed, standing up on wobbly feet. Groggily, you walked over to your door, opening it. You weren’t ready for the sight before you.

Jimin was sitting on the ground across from your room, his knees up to his chest and his head resting on them, eyes closed as if asleep and his ears twitching slightly on occasion. You were frozen there, not breathing. The sound of you stepping back woke him (but the opening of your door didn’t, somehow), his head shooting up. He stared up at you with the sweetest, saddest eyes you had seen. You held his gave for a moment too long. 

The world seemed to stop in that moment as you found yourself drowning in Jimin’s weepy eyes. He whispered your name and you bolted into action. You tried to close the door, but Jimin was faster. He leapt to his feet and stuck his hand between the door and the frame, making him yowl in pain. Instantly you found yourself apologizing, yanking the door back and reaching for his hand. “Jimin! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!—“

You checked his hand brushing over the reddening skin with your fingertips and blowing cool air on it. Jimin cut off your panic but muttering, almost crying, “I’m sorry.”

You paused looking at him again. The air was heavy between the two of you. “Can… can I come in? I want to talk to you and apologize.” 

Just as you were about to reply, your stomach made its needs known once more. To your mortification, Jimin laughed. Your face flushed as you yelled, “H-Hey!”

“Luckily I figured you’d be hungry and what better peace offering than,” he leaned behind himself and pulled out a brown paper bag that you somehow missed while he was on the ground, “your favorite mac n’ cheese from Magic Shop.”

You bit your lip, eyeing the food, the smell drifting to your nose and making your stomach rumbling. You took the bag from him. “I accept the peace offering of the world’s best pasta and processed dairy.”

Jimin giggled and followed you into your room. He went to close your door but you said, “No. Keep it open.”

The air between the two of you turned tense again and his tail flickered nervously, he nodded, leaving your door slightly ajar. 

You gave him a smile and sat down on your bed, pulling out the familiar purple container from Magic Shop filled with your favorite mac n’ cheese and some plasticware. Digging in, you happily scarfed down the sweet but tangy taste of the cheese and pasta; Jimin cautiously sat down on the bed across from you. 

He watched you in silence, gauging your mood as you finished your food with a happy little moan, a sound that sent him tense and slightly bristling. You blushed, looking away from him. “Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. I should be.”

Placing your food on your nightstand, you took a moment thinking through your choice of words. “But I’ve been the one giving you the go around. With all of you. Because I’m stupid and don’t know my own feelings. I just… I don’t know.”

Jimin reached out and grasped your hands, making you look up at him once again. His jaw was set hard. “You’re not stupid. We’re part of the problem. We’ve been… giving you mixed signals, never telling you just how crazy you make us. We love you. With every fiber of our being.”

“But how can it work, Jimin? I… I don’t want to lose any of you. I don’t want to make any of you feel unloved. I don’t want be the center of all of your attention. I don’t want you guys to force yourself into a relationship just so you can have me. I—“

“You worry too much.”

Both you and Jimin turned towards your bedroom door as Namjoon pushed it open. There was something dark and feral in his gaze as he looked at both you and Jimin. For a brief moment, he turned around and closed your door, locking it. Your throat felt dry as you looked up at Namjoon. He stalked closer, his ears pressed forward. His eyes seemed to grow darker and it made something clench involuntarily inside you.

His voice rumbled as he said, “We love you. And we love each other, just maybe not in ways you think are obvious.”

Namjoon sat down on the bed in front of you and brushed back a strand of your hair. “You care so much for all of us. And you don’t even know how much we wish we could give you more. And this will work. With all eight of us. Let us prove it to you: that we can love each other, just as we love you.”

He shot a look over at Jimin and out of the corner of your eye, Jimin crawled across the bed towards the two of you. Your gaze followed Namjoon as he leaned towards Jimin, who already had a strange glazed look in his eye. Namjoon smiled, his dimples revealing themselves and his tail wagging a little as he reached out to cup the back of Jimin’s neck.

You stopped breathing, too enraptured by the scene before you as Namjoon kissed Jimin. It was gentle as first, Jimin immediately melting into the other’s touch. Namjoon smirked a little at the soft purring sound that rumbled in Jimin before capturing Jimin’s lips once again, sucking on his plush lower lip. Your breath hitched as Jimin let out a small moan.

Slowly, Namjoon pulled from Jimin, who practically chased after his lips. You let out a little gasp as Namjoon stalked towards you. Frozen in place, all you could do was watch him, an inferno building inside of you. He leaned in towards you and rubbed his nose against your own. “Please. Let us show you all the love we have for you. Today, it’s about you. And you alone.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you. It was shocking; your mind went blank. All that mattered was this heat, rolling off him in waves and the warm, oaky smell that permeated you. His lips were soft, and strangely sweet, like he had eaten a candy bar before coming up to your room. You closed your eyes as he threaded his hand through your hair, letting yourself relax into the kiss. 

The feeling of Jimin’s lips grazing your neck startled you, making you pull back from Namjoon. A throaty growl left Namjoon’s lips for a moment before he gazed at the hazy look in your eyes. “Kiss her.”

Jimin smiled as Namjoon guided you to his lips. Jimin’s lips were just as plush as Namjoon’s but there was underlying tenderness there that, even as gentle as Namjoon’s kiss was, wasn’t there. You sharply inhaled at the feeling of Jimin’s rough tongue swiping at your bottom lip as Namjoon nuzzled your neck, breathing heavily into your neck. Namjoon huskily whispered in your ear, “Tell us what you want.”

A swell of emotion filled you and you choked on a sudden cry that threatened expose all of your hidden, buried secrets. “Please… just, love me. Take all my doubts and worries away.”

Both of them smiled against your skin. Jimin cupped your jaw, slipping his tongue into your mouth as Namjoon ran his hand up your thigh, making you whimper needily. Namjoon whispered once again in your ear, “Alright, little one. We’ll do just that. Jimin.”

Jimin pulled away at the sound Namjoon’s voice. You chased after his lips, clearly not done in the least bit with the kiss. Namjoon laughed breathily. “It’s alright, little one. We’re just going to get comfy for a moment before spoiling you.”

Jimin was the first to get off the bed, looking at you sultrily, even though he was dressed in an old stained t-shirt and ripped sweats. Namjoon moved as well, sitting himself behind you, kissing your neck as you watched Jimin with curious and rapt attention. Jimin smirked as he began stripping, making a real show of it.

Damn him and his sexy body. You blushed heavily and looked away, feeling a bit self conscious. Namjoon nipped at your earlobe and whispered, “Don’t look away from him, little one.”

There was something in his tone that made you heed his command. You turned your gaze back on Jimin, who was now watching you intently as he ran his hands down his already naked torso (When and where did he throw his shirt off to?) and towards the waistband of his sweats. As he worked the sweats down his thighs, you were oddly intrigued by the way his tail twitched and flicked as it shimmied out of the stretchy hole in his pants for it. Once he was stripped down to his boxers, your eyes grew large in shock; he was already mostly hard. 

Worrying your bottom lip, you couldn’t help but look away again, which earned you a smack on your thigh from Namjoon. You looked back at him as he smirked. “I told you not to look away from him.”

“I—I’m sorry….”

Namjoon nipped at your neck again as Jimin joined you two back on the bed, this time, sitting right in front of you as he ran his hands up your calves and under your pajama bottoms. Namjoon whispered in your ear, “Little one, in this situation, you are to address me as ‘Alpha.’ Understand?”

You swallowed, followed by a clench deep in your center. “Y-Yes, Alpha.”

“Good girl.”

Over your shoulder, Namjoon shot Jimin a look, silently communicating something between them. Jimin nodded, almost as if he understood, and in a way, you suppose, he did. Jimin slipped his hands up and over your thighs, trailing them towards the waistband of your pajama bottoms, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. He slipped them off and over your thighs, his lips leaving a gentle trail of kisses down the inside of your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

As soon as they were off, Jimin started doing the same treatment with your panties, kissing his way down the other leg. It momently distracted you from the touch of Namjoon’s warm palms as they slipped under your t-shirt and over your stomach, coming up to cradle one breast in each hand. You bit your lip, letting your head fall back as Namjoon lovingly squeezed and massaged your breasts all the while Jimin rubbed his way back up your thighs after having removed your panties.

Jimin began kissing you, a hunger you eagerly returned, his hands working your t-shirt off of you as Namjoon continued to play with one breast, his other hand skimmed its way south over your burning skin. A gasp left your lips, a sound that Jimin eagerly swallowed up as Namjoon cupped your mound. 

You mewled as Namjoon smirked against your neck, starting to slowly stroke your pussy lips. Jimin giggled, commenting something about ‘cute.’ Though you weren’t really sure as the feeling of finally being touched down there after so long was more than distracting enough. With his rough tongue, Jimin started licking his way down your neck and nipping and sucking hickies into your skin on the way down. You started squirming in their hold, one hand threading through Jimin’s hair, which earned you a soft purr, and the other clawed at Namjoon’s arm that pinned to him as he started adding pressure to the hand cupping your pussy.

“Ji-Jimin… mmmmph… Namjoon!”

A hiss left your lips at the gentle, but quick smack to your pussy as Namjoon growled in your ear. “Alpha, little one. Last warning.”

“Y-Yes… I’m sorry, Alpha.”

Namjoon growled, “Go on, Jiminie. Do what you’ve always wanted to do.”

Before you could question Namjoon’s words, he tangled one hand in your hair, gripping it harshly as he turned your head for a brutal kiss. A part of you wanted to challenge, but you were so love starved that you were left weak, desiring everything that he could give you. 

And you took it all. 

You barely noticed Jimin’s hands leaving your body as Namjoon subjugated you with just a kiss alone. But in the next moment, Jimin made sure you wouldn’t forget his presence again. 

The sensation of a warm, wet, and rough tongue gently lapping at your lower lips left you squealing into the kiss, your body tensing from the sudden feeling. The feeling was so foreign, yet so familiar you weren’t sure how to process it. You felt Jimin giggle against you more than heard him as Namjoon kept you in place, one hand still in your hair, the other pulling one of your thighs open so Jimin could feast on you.

Jimin teased your pussy lips with a finger before spreading them apart, giving your clit gentle kitten licks, causing you to whimper and shudder, pulling at the hair around his little folded ears. Your reactions emboldened him, you could practically feel him smirk against your lower lips, as he gave your even harsher licks.

Namjoon let go out of your hair, instead, concentrating on keeping your thighs open, almost leaving bruises on them. You pulled away from the kiss for some breath, panting as you looked down at Jimin… which you quickly realized you shouldn’t have done. 

The sight alone made you clench around nothing. There he laid on his stomach in between your legs, rutting slightly against your bed as he continued to bury his face in your pussy, his tail at attention. It didn’t help when he gazed up at you and Namjoon with those sweet eyes. Namjoon chuckled into your ear. “You like that, little one?”

Before you could respond, Jimin took your poor little clit in his mouth, sucking on it. A strangled moan left your lips and behind you, Namjoon thrusted himself, almost uncontrollably, against your ass, his erection hidden under the fabric of his shorts. But damn. He was sizable. 

You leaned your head back against Namjoon’s shoulder, look up at him with large, needy eyes. He stared down at your darkly, his gaze growing darker, a growl rumbling in his chest against your back as Jimin inserted a finger into you, making you letting a small cry.

From between your legs, Jimin pulled away from your throbbing clit, “You like that, princess?”

You nodded, barely trusting your voice. Namjoon harshly nipped at your neck. “Answer him properly, little one.”

“Y-Yes! I like it!”

Jimin smirked, starting to thrust his finger into you, slowly working you open as he returned to licking and suckling at your clit. You continued to mewl and moan as he seemed to have the time of his life eating you out, if his tail was any indication. Behind you, Namjoon continued to hold your legs open, even as you fought his hold, all the while whispering dirty, naughty promises into your ear. “You like that? You like the way little Jimin suckles on your sweet lips? You want more?”

“Y-Yes….” The dark look in his eye gave you one last warning. “Y-Yes, Alpha. More.”

A sound, something akin to a purr, but deeper and yet, somehow off, reverberated through his chest. “Good girl.”

Namjoon let go of one of your thighs, instead now removing your hand from Jimin’s head and threading his own fingers through his hair and tugging on it, hard. Jimin automatically hissed, earning himself a look from Namjoon. You weren’t sure of what look Namjoon was giving him, except that whatever it was, it made Jimin blush and look away submissively. “There, there, kitty. I think you’ve been a good boy up until now. Do you want to go first?”

Jimin’s eyes lit up giving away his excitement before he looked over at you, shyly. He crawled his way up to you and Namjoon sat you up, pushing you forward a little to remove himself from bed. You didn’t follow him, instead you found yourself frozen in place under Jimin’s strangely predatory gaze. He grazed his lips against your own. “May I?”

Barely above a breath you replied, “Please.”

Jimin shot you one his usual sweet smiles before coming in to kiss you. It was a short kiss, granted, but it just felt so right. Like this was where you were meant to be. He shifted you towards the center of the bed, laying you down on your plush duvet. Jimin shyly smiled at you as he took one of your pillows and looked at you pleadingly. You tilted your head, not quite following until an almost naked Namjoon joined you two on your bed again (he was stripped down similarly to Jimin; just his boxers) and lifted your hips, letting Jimin slip the pillow underneath your hips. With you pelvis raised and the both of them looking at you, you felt shy, being all exposed.

You tried to cross you legs, to hide from their burning gaze, but they would have none of that. Namjoon grabbed you thigh as he laid next to you, stroking it as he looked at you lovingly. He kissed you gently, whispering against your lips, “You’re absolutely beautiful. Don’t hide.”

“He’s right. Absolutely divine. And all ours.”

You looked over at Jimin, who had completely stripped off his boxer. Your eyes bugged out at the sight. He was on the smaller side: short, average girth, but veiny and delightfully curved. He was perfectly smooth down there, making the pinkening skin look even prettier, especially as his stocky cock head started leaking pre-cum. Jimin smirked as you bit you lip, but the sight of him, for some reason, all exposed, helped you relax. Namjoon got back on his knees leaning in towards Jimin. “Let me have a taste of our little one.”

Jimin’s gaze turned docile again as Namjoon cupped his neck, going in for another kiss, this one far more aggressive then before as Namjoon forces Jimin’s lip apart, his tongue reaching in to taste the remnants of you on Jimin’s tongue. You watched in awe as Jimin moaned into the kiss and his cock jumped against his stomach. It seemed like you weren’t the only one to appreciate it as Namjoon reached down as grasped Jimin’s cock, stroking it. Jimin pulled away from the kiss and gasped, his head lulling back. Namjoon whispered something into his ear that you didn’t hear, but from the way Jimin blushed, it was certainly something naughty. 

Namjoon let go of Jimin’s cock and Jimin took a moment to calm down. Then they turned their gaze on you. Namjoon tilted his head, smirking. “Looks like someone enjoyed the little show.”

You blushed at his words, looking away. “But now it’s her turn to play.”

Jimin stalked towards you; you felt like prey under both of their predatory gazes. He gingerly took your legs and parted them, coming close enough to let his cock nestle against your clit, making you tense, but pleasantly so. He got down on his elbows, caging in your face as he gazed lovingly into your eyes. “You ready?”

You nodded. “Mmmhmm. But what about—“

Namjoon laid down next to you two, interrupting you. “I’ll go after Jimin. If you can handle it.”

You blushed at the look he gave you, this in turn made Jimin giggle before he gave you one last sweet kiss. Reaching between your bodies, Jimin grasped his cock, pushing himself into you. You gasped at the entrance. God. It’s been for fucking ever. Jimin groaned above you, teeth reddening that plush bottom lip of his. Once he was seated inside of you, you throbbed around him, getting used to the stretch after so long. He certainly wasn’t going to be the biggest of your potential lovers, if the hard on Namjoon was sporting was anything to go by. But he was certainly pleasantly shaped, the head of his cock curving right into your g-spot.

After a moment, you kissed up his neck and reached up to rub the curled cartilage of his ear up so you could whisper into his ear, “Please, Jimin. Move…. Please, make me cum.”

His other ear twitched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze turned dark. Namjoon laughed, “Little girl, I think you’ve awoken the tiger inside him.”

As if that really was a challenge, Jimin growled, pulling himself up so that he rested on his knees and the balls of his feet, his arms hooking under your knees. He pulled back until the tip before harshly thrusting back in, hitting your g-spot spot on. You cried out at the intensity, tears already threatening to escape. It’s been too long….

Namjoon leaned over you and started kissing you as your hand shot out, grasping his hand as a way to ground yourself. As if the sight of Namjoon touching you was some sort of trigger, Jimin practically turned feral, thrusting into you with a purpose. And that single purpose was to make you cum. You would cum because of his cock now, or not at all. 

To your embarrassment, you couldn’t help the moans and half screams that left your mouth as all you could do was lay there and take everything Jimin was giving you as he battered away at your g-spot, his pelvis striking your clit simultaneously. Namjoon growled happily, touching you all over as he licked, nipped, and sucked on your breasts. The erotic words fall from their lips didn’t help the inferno that was threatening to explode from within you. Namjoon would whisper naughty things like, “Little one, do you hear that? The sound of him fucking you raw?”

All the while Jimin would growl, “You’re mine, princess. Don’t fucking forget that!”

It was all too much. You barely had the chance to warn them before you were cumming. Hard. One hand in your hair, pulling while the other was clawing at Namjoon’s arm harshly, your legs wrapped around Jimin’s middle, taking him prisoner as your walls spasmed and a wave of euphoria washed over you. Your orgasm eventually dissipated with a strangled whine, which seemed to have triggered Jimin’s own orgasm as he let out a yowl, his hips twitch against yours as he filled you with ropes of his cum.

Namjoon smiled at you, his dimples poking through as he sat up. He first kissed you gently, wiping the sweat from your face before switching over to Jimin, kissing him just the same as your legs finally released their death grip on him. Jimin hissed as he pulled away from you, you whimpered in return at the sensation.

Jimin practically dive bombed for the spot next to you, opposite of Namjoon. He gave you a sweet, crescent  eyed smile before cupping your cheek and kissing you deeply. Namjoon nuzzled into the both of you making you giggle as you pulled away from the kiss. “How are you feeling, little one? Want a break?”

You couldn’t help but glance down, noticing that Namjoon was still sporting quite the hard on. “What about you?”

“I told you before, today is about you and your pleasure. I’ll wait if you’re done for the da—“

“No! I want you, Namjoon. I love you! I love the both of you!”

Something changed in his gaze. Those sweet dimples were gone and the gaze of an Alpha appeared. “Is that so?”

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Then get on your hands and knees so I can breed you like my bitch.”

You couldn’t help the clench you pussy gave, causing some of Jimin’s cum to leak out of you. His gaze grew even darker as he took a deep inhale. He all but ripped his boxers off himself. You didn’t get as good of a look as you’d have like of his cock (which all you could tell from a single glance was big and was surrounded by a trimmed smattering of hair) before he roughly grabbed you and flipped you over. He smacked your ass, leaving you a little dazed. “I said,” another smack, making you yelp. “On your hands and knees.”

You scrambled to your hands and knees, even going as far as to raise your ass even higher for him. Namjoon made a rumbling noise of satisfaction as Jimin moved to sit in front of you, his boxers back on (When did he do that?). Namjoon started rubbing his hands down your ass to your pussy as Jimin ran his hand through your hair, kissing you. 

That kiss was all that was needed to help you relax enough (and to distract you) for Namjoon to start sliding into you. You pulled away from the kiss, letting out a high pitched whine. Namjoon was big. Long with a medium girth. Now, you realized why, despite the fact that Namjoon was the Alpha of your ‘pack’, he let Jimin go first: it would have been absolutely impossible for you to take him after so many years. 

You found yourself tearing up a little. Jimin kissed away your tears. Namjoon seated himself in you all the way, you found yourself breathing hard as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah… just need a moment. Dammit, Namjoon. Just how big are you?”

Jimin giggled. “Oh, don’t say that. He’s not even the biggest of us.”

“What?!”

Jimin laughed some more. From behind you, Namjoon chuckled himself. “Now, now, Jimin. No need to tease her. After all, I think this is all she can handle for right now. I hope my little one can handle it when I knot her.”

You swallowed at those words. Knotting? He was going to knot you? You pussy betrayed you and clenched, making Namjoon groan. Jimin giggled as he stroked your cheek. “Looks like princess likes the idea of you using her pussy like that.”

The dirty look you shot Jimin was short lived as Namjoon gave an experimental thrust. Instead of a snarky comeback, a high pitched whine left your lips. Jimin smirked at the fucked out look already on your face as Namjoon began building a steady pace. Namjoon was surprisingly quiet except for the absolute filth leave his mouth (“Such a good girl for me.” And, “I can’t wait to paint your pussy in my cum.”). Though, to be fair, you were more than compensating by the moans and whines leaving your mouth as his hips repeatedly smacked your ass.

Jimin continued to kiss you as Namjoon battered away at your pussy and digging his nails into your ass. It was all too much. Eventually, your arms gave out with a cry, but luckily, Jimin was there to catch you. He whispered filth in your ear almost as bad as what Namjoon was saying as you clung to him for dear life.

You were getting close again. It was all too much but not enough. You were too distracted by the cadence of Namjoon’s hips smacking your ass to hear the scuffle that was happening right outside your door. But Namjoon knew. And boy did he like the idea of the others listening in as he fucked you hard.

Suddenly you found yourself being pinned down against Jimin as Namjoon changed the angle of his thrusts, practically making you scream. Namjoon nipped at your earlobe before asking, “I bet you want all of us don’t you? You want us just as much as we want you. You want all seven of us to use you. To love and to fuck you.”

You couldn’t help the clench your pussy gave at his words, drawing out a grunt from him. Jimin giggled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want us to go find them and invite them in, don’t you?”

Again, your pussy clenched and Namjoon gave your ass a smack in warning. Namjoon continued, “Unfortunately today’s not the day. Your pussy is far too excited and abused to take any more than this? Isn’t it?”

You whimpered, words barely beyond your comprehension as your orgasm was just within reach.  Namjoon threaded his fingers through your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper against your lips, “Soon. Very soon. I promise.”

Those words were all you needed to throw you over the precipice. You cried out as your orgasm wrecked through your body, just as strongly as the last. As you winded down from your orgasm, you were barely coherent of Namjoon letting out a string of curses before stilling above you. You then felt the most curious feeling. It was like… he was getting bigger at the base. 

Then you remembered his words from before: he was knotting you. For some reason, you thought it was be bigger, but his knot didn’t get too much bigger. It hurt a little as it pressed against your sensitive g-spot. But it was far from unbearable. Then you felt him flood you with his cum. It was uncomfortable but at the same time it felt… strangely good. 

Namjoon collapsed on top of you, putting both your weight and his on poor Jimin. “Yah! Get off me!”

You and Namjoon laughed as he wrapped his arms around you, rolling you both off of poor Jimin and onto your sides. You were still firmly pressed against Namjoon as you experimentally tried to wiggle around. He smacked your thigh before lovingly kissing your neck. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, little one. I might just fuck you again. And I won’t be as nice this time.”

The blush on your cheeks was instantaneous causing Jimin to laugh. You pouted in response which just made both of them laugh. Once he had calmed down, Jimin cuddled up to you, laying on his side, facing the both of you. First, he leaned over you and kissed Namjoon, the sound of their lips right by your ear making you blush. Then once they pulled away from each other, Jimin kissed you first, licking at your bottom lip. In retaliation, you nipped at his tongue, earning you a smack on the hip from Jimin.

You pulled away from the kiss and pouted, making Namjoon giggle behind you. As Jimin laid back down, with a smile on his face, Namjoon cupped your face, turning you slightly towards him to kiss you this time. This a sweet and gentle kiss, leaving you wanting more. When he pulled back, he stroked your cheek before whispering, “We love you.”

You choked up a little. “I love you, too. All of you. I love you and Jimin. I love Jin and Hobi. I love Jungkook, the little shit,. I love Tae and Yoongi.”

Something inside you finally broke open. It was the crystal cage that you kept your feelings in: you could look, but not touch. The little bursts of emotion that forced their way through the cracks of your shattering crystal cage were nothing compared to typhoon that engulfed you. 

You laid there, crying out your feelings, your relief, your revelation. No words were needed as Jimin and Namjoon continued to lay there with you, holding you, kissing you, pouring their love into you, as you cried. This was love. This physical act, was the sledge hammer than you needed to break that crystal cage on your heart. It was finally free. And you were never going back.

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Also, please note that I do NOT do tagging lists. Please see my FAQ for why.

Next (Chapter 10) —>

Agape and Pragma Masterlist

Masterlist

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#bts smut #agape and pragma #hybrid!bts #hybrid au #bts #uwu galore #chapter 9 #jin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader

[gossamie]

we have one hour left to live.

— summary: The world is ending soon. How will you and Jimin spend your last hour on this earth?

— pairing: park jimin x reader

— genre: angst w/ fluff if you squint hard enough

— word count: 2,839

— warnings: major character deaths, implied + non-explicit smut

— notes: wow this might be the saddest fic i’ve ever written. i love writing angst, but sometimes i cry over my own works and i wonder why i do this to myself. i promise i’ll be writing something more lighthearted soon, but until then, i hope you enjoy!

huge thanks to @fentasies for helping me with this story!

p.s. the research used for the introduction can be found in this article (so, yes, this could actually happen!).

p.p.s. i highly suggest listening to this as you read if you want to get in your feels, especially as you continue further on into the story.

“How strange this fear of death is! We are never frightened at a sunset.” - George MacDonald

We interrupt this broadcast to deliver you breaking news.

Scientists believe that the end of the world is imminent.

Throughout the century, the Earth has been experiencing climate change at an increasing pace, but there has been a sudden and rapid increase in the atmosphere’s temperature. Recent data from the Pohang University of Science and Technology shows that global temperatures are now 10℃ warmer than pre-industrial levels, rivalling that of the Palaeocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum, when, fifty-five billion years ago, Earth experienced one of the fastest temperature rises in history.

As we speak, the Earth is overheating in what has been theoretically known as the “runaway greenhouse effect”. Greenhouse gases are being emitted by the planet at an alarming rate and this self-providing mechanism has now become unstoppable. It is expected that the Earth will soon warm by hundreds of degrees, effectively terminating all life as we know it.

Mathematicians have calculated that this devastating process will take place exactly one hour from now.

We understand that this is very distressing information, but we urge you to enjoy this hour to the fullest. Spend time with your loved ones, speak to those that you haven’t, do something you’ve never done before— do whatever you think is necessary to enjoy these last few minutes we have on Earth.

We will now return to your regularly scheduled program. The government will issue a statement on this situation in the following moments.

From all of us here at Channel 17, we thank you for joining us.

[1:00:00] UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD

Today, you and Park Jimin are going to die.

You thought you would be more upset when you heard the broadcast. There are no tears in your eyes nor are your hands starting to shake uncontrollably from the thought of your inevitable demise. Rather, you feel—

Nothing.

There is a strange emptiness in the pit of your stomach and a hollow in your chest where your heart should be. It’s almost as if you had known that today would mark the date of your death but you had only chosen to act upon that information now.

If Jimin is at all scared, he doesn’t show it. You realize that both of you feel this unusual calamity lingering in the air, and when you look at each other after watching the broadcast, you do not think about how you will lose him in the next hour, but instead, you think about how you can spend your last hour with him.

This is the only thing that saddens you about your last hour living on Earth. There are so many things you want to do, so many words you want to say, but so little time. You want to destroy every clock in the world in an attempt to enact revenge on the cruelty that is time.

But you can’t because you’ve already wasted five minutes thinking about what you and Jimin will do first. Jimin suggests visiting the nearby arboretum, to which you quickly agree.

It is unusually hot outside when you arrive, the air much warmer than it had been in the past few years, but you and Jimin had expected this— the planet is, after all, being cooked into oblivion. There are no tourists strolling through the park, nor are there any employees stationed at the ticket booths; everything is extremely quiet— too quiet— as if the world, too, had already accepted that its end was near.

As you and Jimin walk through the conservatory with intertwined hands, you noticed just how bare the gardens are. Most of the vegetation had succumbed to the extreme heat, leaving the trees to shrivel into thin branches and the flowers to droop in defeat. Your eyes are met with patches of beige and umber wherever they look, and you sigh when you remember that your eyes should have met endless fields of emerald and bronze.

You sigh, for what had once been a shrine of cultivating life is now a grave of relentless death.

Jimin suddenly stops. “Look,” he whispers, and you turn towards him in curiosity as he gently pulls you to the side of the path.

From your viewpoint, all you can see is tawny grass and crumbling foliage. “Jimin, what’s so interesting about a pile of dead le—”

You saw the pink carnations.

There were three carnations, the few flowers that had grown amidst the dense, dehydrated bush. The rich, vivid tones of the carnations’ petals captivated you; you could not tear your eyes away from the hues of ruby and amethyst and opal that caught the sunlight like shards of jewels. The blooms were miniscule fireworks, blooming brilliantly, magically against the sepia sky.

What fascinated you the most, though, was how naïve the carnations were. They continued to flourish despite the unforgiving sun, as if they were completely and utterly aware of the fact that their beauty would become nonexistent in a matter of minutes. A small part of you wished that you could take part in the blossoms’ naïvety, wished that they could whisper the secrets of their blissful ignorance.

An iron plaque with engraved letters was positioned next to the pink carnations, and you assumed that it had once detailed the origins and the meaning of the flowers. However, rust had eaten away at the metal, making the writing barely legible. A mysterious aura now surrounded the carnations and it was begging you to solve it, only piquing your curiosity.

But time is precious and you couldn’t afford to throw these sacred seconds away. You raced to Jimin, who had already moved on down the trail, and held his hand once more. It was difficult to ignore the death that surrounded you.

[00:41:23] UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD

Jimin was hungry and he was craving fast food.

By some odd chance, you and Jimin had stumbled upon a small, dated diner. The only occupant in the restaurant was a middle-aged man wearing a checkered uniform. As Jimin ordered, you were tempted to ask the employee why he seemed oblivious of the eerie, unnerving silence, why he was here and not anywhere else.

When you noticed the pained yet empty stare in his eyes, however, all of the questions whirling in your brain died down because you realized he had no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

You tried to enjoy the burger and the fries Jimin had ordered for you, but you were a machine and eating felt mechanical, as if every fry you ate and every sip you drank was merely an action you were programmed to perform. It was so hard to enjoy because it was hard to enjoy anything.

How could you possibly enjoy living if life was ending?

Jimin, on the other hand, was eating his meal heartily, his cheeks growing more plump with each sip of his chocolate milkshake and his smile growing wider with each bite of his burger. You noticed how his happiness seemed to illuminate the dimly-lit building, how his body seemed to fill with a childlike innocence that you haven’t seen in an eternity.

In an instant, you were no longer watching your lover; rather, you were watching the cheerful and bubbly teenager you met in high school all those years ago. You were watching the boy who bought you roses every time he thought about you, who listened to all of your secrets and kept them locked away in his heart, who became your first kiss as you danced on the gymnasium floor during your senior year prom.

It was as if you were watching the boy you fell in love with.

“Earth to Y/N? Are you okay?” Jimin asked, his voice snapping you out of your reverie.

You blinked. “I’m fine, why do you ask?”

“You looked like you were falling in love.”

“Would it be a bad thing if I was?”

“No,” he replied. “You should do it more often.”

“I will.” Because I’ll never get a chance to do it again.

Even though the luminance of Jimin’s smile rivalled that of the sun, there was something wistful behind that beautiful iridescence, as if he heard those thoughts and made them his own. That unspoken truth lingered in the air like a sword hanging from a thread, threatening to sever the red string connecting the two of you.

Rather than confronting the truth, however, you and Jimin decided to spend the next twenty minutes floating in a comfortable silence, enjoying your last meal together.

[00:20:58] UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD

Somewhere in the neighborhood, there was music breaking through the silence.

Intrigued and captivated, you and Jimin followed the haunting melody, the streets leading you to a guitarist idly leaning against a barren tree. She sang with fluttering eyelids and drifting fingers; she, too, was enchanted by her own music.

“Before we say goodbye, let go / But I’m lost in the maze of my heart / From stereo to mono / That’s how the path splits…”

Her words seemed to flow and ebb, intertwining with the breeze that swept through what was left of the flowers at her feet. But, like Jimin’s smile, an otherworldly sorrow stained her voice, a melancholy that no human could ever feel. This sadness suffocated you, crippled you, with such force that breathing became difficult, as if you were trying to hold your head above water.

“If my fate is to disappear like this, then this is my last letter / Penned words, written then erased / Feelings for you, so many to let go / So be it, don’t cry / I’mma let you go and fly…”

You felt wrong; you should be panicking or hyperventilating or crying or something instead of standing here, especially when everything was crumbling to pieces with every passing second. But a larger, irrational part of you wanted you to stay, wanted to savor the world and what little there was left of it, and you listened to it. You felt as if you were a passenger on the Titanic, focusing on the band’s hymn instead of the ship sinking beneath you.

“In order to release your hand right now / I gotta let you know that I need to let you go / Hard to say goodbye / But I can’t run / I’m ready to let go…”

Somewhere, something within you was telling you that you had no other choice but to let go of Jimin’s hand; however, you ignored it, burying those thoughts into the rifts of your mind where you could no longer hear nor think of them. As if in defiance, your grip on Jimin’s hand tightened, a silent reminder to both you and him that you would never truly be ready to let your lover go.

“Life without you is really unbelievable / But even so I still gotta go / To the person I loved so much / To the red thread that got too entangled in itself / I couldn’t reach you, so I’ll walk a separate path / For that reason I’ll say goodbye…”

In response to your tense grasp, Jimin began to softly tap to the beat of the guitar on the back of your hand as if to tell you that, don’t worry, I’m still here. Your eyes trailed up to Jimin, focusing on his porcelain skin and the way the sun seemed to make his ash blonde hair glow like gold. His eyes were closed and his body gently swayed back and forth. He, too, was becoming more enraptured by the guitarist with every note that he sang. He looked beautiful; he looked at peace.

He looked like he forgot that he was dying.

“The color of the sky we saw together / The scent of the path we walked down together / Don’t forget them…”

You struggled to understand how Jimin could be so calm, so undisturbed by the presence of his impending death. When you looked at him, you saw pink carnations blooming underneath his skin and you desperately wanted to know how he could be so innocent, how ignorance could be so euphoric. Patience is no longer a virtue when the world is ending in twenty minutes; you wanted to know, and you wanted to know now.

But, like time or fate, this was something that could not and could never be understood so all you did was rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder and felt the life that emanated from his being.

[00:15:13] UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD

When you asked Jimin if he wanted to watch the sunset during his last moments on Earth, he said no.

When you asked Jimin why, he said, “I’ve seen enough sunsets in my lifetime. Let’s go watch the fireflies,” and you agreed.

The sun set for the last time when the guitarist finished singing, the clouds fading to hues of violet and lapis as you and Jimin arrived at the park. Although dusk had fallen, the heat was becoming unbearable, but you paid no attention to it. There was no need to pay attention to something that would no longer exist.

Amongst the jungle of barren trees, you and Jimin found a secluded, grassy clearing, the moonlight breaking through the clouds as an everlasting lantern. You winced as you laid down on the parched sod; the heat emanating from the earth threatened to burn the skin on your back.

You became numb to the pain when you saw the fireflies.

The fireflies endlessly surrounded you and Jimin, those flecks of gold stretching into infinity. The sight before you was otherworldly, as if you and Jimin and these fireflies were suspended amidst a more beautiful version of reality. You felt almost ashamed to be watching these fireflies; you felt like an intruder, recklessly disturbing the delicacy of their world.

It’s like the stars visited us, you and Jimin thought, and for an eternity, this was how you remained, with the silence and the heat and the raining stars.

Jimin’s hushed whisper cracked the glass of tranquility. “I never told you about the carnations.”

You turned your head towards your lover, your cheek pressed against the scalding soil. “What about them?” you asked.

“The meaning,” he replied. “I never told you about the meaning of the pink carnations.”

“Well, what do they mean?”

“They’re a symbol of gratitude. It’s a silent way of saying, ‘I’ll never forget you.’”

Jimin then pivoted his head towards you, his fingers reaching out and holding yours. “Y/N, I know we don’t have much time left, but if there’s one thing that I have to say to you before we go, it’s that I’m so thankful to you. Thank you for saying ‘yes’ when I got down on one knee. Thank you for making me a better man. Thank you for giving me the honor of loving you for these past seven years. Thank you for giving me a life full of love even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You look at Jimin and, for the first time, you are scared.

It’s not enough. There are still so many mornings left to start with laughter, so many nights left to fill with lust, so many kisses left to give, so many ‘I love you’s’ left to say, so many days left in your future, so many things that you will never get back because you only have fifteen minutes left before you lose Jimin forever.

You look at Jimin, and for the first time, you are truly and terribly scared because these fifteen minutes are all that is left; this is all that will ever be.

You start to cry and Jimin tries to wipe away your tears but it’s useless because crying is the only thing that your body can do. Somehow, you manage to find your voice within your despair and you whisper, “Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

“No,” Jimin replies simply.

“Why?”

“Being with you has shown me how beautiful life is. You gave my life meaning just by being in it. I’m not dying with any regrets. There is nothing more that I want from this world. I’m dying with a smile on my face and you by my side and I can’t be afraid if we’re together.”

His words resonated in your mind, marked its permanence in your heart.

I can’t be afraid if we’re together.

I can’t be afraid if we’re together.

You believed him.

He holds you as your tears start to dry, his arms wrapped around you tightly as if to prove to the universe that no force in the world could ever tear you apart.

You feel at peace in Jimin’s embrace. You, too, are not leaving without any regrets because Jimin has given you a life filled with love; for you, too, there is nothing more that you want from this world.

Jimin kisses your forehead in what will be your final kiss. He whispers, “I love y—”

[00:00:00] UNTIL THE WORLD ENDS

#i'm crying now what about you #kpopwritingnet #bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts au #bts angst #bts fluff #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #jimin au #jimin angst #jimin fluff

[sorrysimon]

at 3:00am...

An original work At 3:00am I can do anything. All my impossible dreams float in front of me, my Broadway stage dreams, my art school dreams, are all as real and as tangible as the mattress I lay upon. At 3:00am I'm the only person in the world. The house is silent save for creaks created by the crushing course of the wind. No one breathes but me in this plane of existence. The world is mine. The world is me. I am everywhere and nowhere. Simultaneously. At 3:00am I am scared. Im not a rule breaker by nature. I care too much. But at night I'm not me. I'm the world. And so I ignore preset bedtimes by a parents regimen so strict they put fascists to shame. I throw my caution to the cacophonous creaks of the wind. Each rock of the house send a shudder down my spine. Each flicker of a shadow sends my adrenaline pumping, telling my heart to beat faster than any high school marching band drummer ever could. I hide under my blankets, using candle light to read. So I Won't Get Caught. At 3:00am I'm happy. Everything seems possible, and the insecurities of my talent don't exist anymore. My vocal chords could cooperate, my shaking hands could draw straight lines. I'm happy because I can write, typing on my phone and hearing the tap tap tap of thumb pads against a glass screen. Soft and steady like the paws of cats walking on hardwood floors. My brain spits onto a canvas, littering the notes in my phone with obscure but meaningful stanzas. At 3:00am I'm the saddest I've ever been. Tears roll down my face as I realize the impending doom of reality. Of how my dreams are nothing but that, dreams. The blinding red characters flashing at me through the electronic screen of my alarm clock remind me that the world is not a 3:00am place, the world is an 8:00am place. A place where school starts and stops and starts again. And people pick you up only to push you down again, and parents don't understand that you're struggling to simply live because you're so good at hiding it. So good at smiling, and grinning. Because you think of life as a game of sims. Smile here. Say this now. And no one knows. But 3:00am can tell. 3:00am causes the tears flowing effortlessly from my desert eyes to melt the fake smile off my face and into my heart. Where I know lips cannot contain secrets forever. At 3:00am I'm alive. Every detail of my being is so clear. I can feel every individual tooth in my mouth clack together, rubbing against my gums. I can feel every hair in my head like pinpricks of needles softly caressing my scalp. I can feel the drops of sweat behind my knees rubbing against skin and chafing. My lungs seize up in the warm air of night, making breathing impossible in the complete dark. I can feel the pressure in my head, in my temples, places where the words build up because I cannot contain them. Where the words spill out because I cannot express them, for that talent is too overwhelming for me, and no matter how many words I type nor how fast I type them- it's never good enough. 3:00am laughs at me, placing it's cruel arms around my head and squeezing and squeezing until the words spill out my eyes in liquid form. And splash on my phone screen into lone sentences that I always mean to finish, but never even start. At 3:00am I am the world. No one else around me is awake. I cannot hear nor taste nor smell nor touch nor perceive the outside world. At this hour as darkness drapes across the sky bleeding into the earths state, I cannot tell if I am the last person in the universe or not. It's schrodinger's cat. The same cat whose paws are tapping softly on the floor matching my thumb pads rhythm like a steady heartbeat because writing is the only thing keeping me alive. At 3:00am I am myself. I am the broken hopeless confused shell of a person I am too scared to face in the daylight. As a child I always thought monsters lurked in the darkness. But now I've found there's only one. Me. 3:00am has ripped my face off with its vicious taloned hands, hands that once caressed me with the tender softness of a lover. It's exposed my insecurities welcoming all shame my mind could create. At 3:00am I'm forced to confront who I am, rather than the me I paint on in the morning when the sunrise saves me like a lifeboat in a ship wreck. The darkness dragging me under gripping my feet and pulling me down, even more unforgivingly than the crushing weight of gravity. I am me, and at 3:00am I don't even know who that is. 3:00am is the witching hour. Though for me it's more the wishing hour. As longings pain my heart and hopes destroy my brain, leaving me an empty shell pleading with the world. Until I'm sunk at the bottom of the night's ocean. Until the once reassuring cat leaves and the typing stops and silence once again consumes my room, letting my thoughts roar up again with nothing to tune them out. They roar and roar and roar like a caged circus tiger driven to insanity from the desperate craving of freedoms. And I'm facing an alarm clock, tears in my eyes, watching the quivering digital letters, I am shaking and silently, internally pleading for the letters to switch. For the letters to simply switch to 3:01am.

#poem #poetry #prose #spoken word #spoken word poetry #original poem #slam poetry #slam poem #spoken word poem #original prose #prose poetry #prose poem #rants #night thoughts #original writing #young poets

[mrmichaelchadler]

“Minding the Gap,” “The King,” “Devil’s Freedom” Among Highlights at DOC10 2018

You won’t find a more splendidly curated event dedicated to nonfiction cinema than DOC10, the annual Windy City festival presented by the Chicago Media Project. Ever since it kicked off in 2016, DOC10 has screened multiple films that have gone on to be ranked highly among my very favorites of recent years, such as Rokhsareh Ghaem Maghami’s riveting Sundance prize-winner, “Sonita,” and Theo Anthony’s thrillingly experimental mosaic, “Rat Film.” The third installment of DOC10, which runs from Thursday, April 5th, through Sunday, April 8th, at the Davis Theater, 4614 N. Lincoln Ave., promises to be no exception. 

Opening the festival is “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”, the highly anticipated profile of television icon Fred Rogers, directed by Oscar-winner Morgan Neville (“20 Feet From Stardom”). Other selections this year include Robert Greene’s “Bisbee ’17,” a timely look at the mass deportation of striking miners, restaged onscreen by their descendants; Jason Kohn’s “Love Means Zero,” an in-depth conversation with formidable tennis coach Nick Bollettieri; Mila Turajlic’s “The Other Side of Everything,” an investigation of a Serbian family’s history and how its divisions reflect those that permeate their country; Elan and Jonathan Bogarín’s “306 Hollywood,” a more lighthearted look at the story contained within objects left behind by relatives; and Betsy West & Julie Cohen’s “RBG,” a rousing celebration of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And in an inadvertent nod to “Ready Player One,” the festival will debut its own “VR RV,” inviting guests to experience virtual reality documentaries while safely situated within a recreational vehicle parked in front of the theater.

I was able to screen five of this year’s selections, and they are all essential in their own respect, though none of them spoke to me on quite as personal a level as Bing Liu’s “Minding the Gap.” It is set in Rockford, Illinois, one of the saddest of all American cities, containing near-vacant streets that are an ideal stage for the free-flowing movement craved by young skateboarders. Liu grew up filming his friends, Zach and Kiere, performing bruising stunts on their boards, and in his extraordinary first feature, the director holds his camera on their faces, illuminating the buried pain that they share, as well as their need to escape it. The fact that all three men are victims of domestic abuse is alarming but also quite commonplace in a town like Rockford. Having spent a great deal of time there myself, it is clear to me that Liu understands the area so completely that its essence has seeped into the marrow of his bones. This is a city where nearly half the population is paid below the minimum wage for working jobs that are gravely understaffed; where funding is slashed for street lights in crime-ridden neighborhoods; and where the residue of violence clings to the interior of houses that were meant to comfort and protect. “This place eats away at you,” says Kiere, who relishes the fleeting sense of control he sustains on his skateboard, until he wipes out. Sure, the hobby may hurt him on occasion, but so did his dad, and he still loves the old man, though it’s telling that Keire finds catharsis in stomping on his boards until they splinter. 

Being part of a community is often the only source of empowerment for disenfranchised Americans, a key reason for why churches and gangs proliferate exponentially in Rockford. The young men at the center of this film have found that community in each other, and the beauty of “Minding the Gap” is in how it utilizes the art form of cinema to bring its subjects closer to a place of healing. “I saw myself in your story,” Liu explains to Keire, who likens the experience of making the movie to “free therapy.” As the filmmaker struggles to come to terms with the wounds inflicted by his own upbringing, he starts to see echoes of his abuser in the increasingly unsettling behavior of his friend, Zach. With remarkable tact and sensitivity, Liu coaxes a tearful confession from Zach, who admits to beating his long-suffering girlfriend, Nina, while acknowledging the demons he has strained to suppress with his cheerful demeanor. When Liu films his mother and simultaneously confronts her about the abandonment he felt as a kid, he keeps a separate camera fixed on his face, drawing attention to his own inability to break free from the pain of his past. Assisted by co-editor Joshua Altman, Liu weaves these stories together, forming a seamless symphony of anguish and euphoria, culminating in an extended montage so deftly executed that it left me in awe. Kartemquin Films has produced many of the all-time greatest documentaries over the past 52 years, and this is their latest masterpiece.

“Minding the Gap” screens at 5pm on April 8th, followed by a Q&A with Bing Liu and other special guests.

“Devil’s Freedom,” Everardo González’s harrowing look at the toll of Mexico’s drug wars on the human soul, clocks in just over an hour. Any running time longer than that may have proven unbearable for most audiences. It is unlike any talking head doc I’ve seen, concealing its subjects’ faces behind masks, supposedly to maintain their anonymity. It is also an aesthetic choice of unfathomable depth. All of the people González interviews have been robbed of their identities by the atrocities they either have committed or have endured at the hands of others. The sameness of their blank masks externalize the dehumanizing repercussions of murder in all forms. As victims are rendered faceless in the minds of their killers, the humanity that had once defined the faces of the killers themselves are removed as well. When González’s subjects cry, tears form on their masks like pools of blood. As one man justifies his string of homicides, his eyes are shrouded in darkness, causing his face to resemble a skull. After a mother attests to feeling compassion for her sons’ killers, who cower in shame while in her presence, she is able to take off her own mask, emerging from her despair as a whole person. Allowing for wordless stretches accentuated by a hypnotic atonal score, González conjures unspeakable imagery in our minds, as his probing questions enable each subject to come clean about their inner turmoil. Perhaps most potent of all is the interview with a man who recalls how his face changed immediately after he had killed a child for the first time. Suddenly, his entire being was consumed with regret, though he’s convinced that he had no choice apart from obeying orders. “I don’t deserve compassion,” he replies matter-of-factly. “When I die, I will have the same expression as everyone else.” He already does.

“Devil’s Freedom” screens at 12pm on April 8th, followed by a Q&A with professor Xóchitl Bada of UIC; professor Héctor García Chávez of Loyola; and Susan R. Gzesh, executive director of the Pozen Family Center for Human Rights.

The finest documentary I saw in 2017 was Angelos Rallis’ “Shingal, Where Are You?”, a shattering wake-up call to the world detailing the 2014 genocide waged by ISIS targeting a religious minority in Iraq known as the Yazidis (alternatively spelled “Yezidis”). With over 3,000 women held captive by ISIS, the surviving members of their community now live as refugees and are desperate to preserve what remains of their culture. Rallis’ film charted the efforts of a Yazidi family to negotiate the return of their kidnapped daughter through numerous intermediaries, while listening to her horrific stories shared via speakerphone. Alexandria Bombach’s “On Her Shoulders” serves as a fitting companion piece to “Shingal” by following another Yazidi woman, 23-year-old Nadia Murad, who escaped her captors and is now traveling the world with the hope of bringing ISIS commanders to justice. Bombach is less concerned with the particulars of Yazidi identity than with the universal qualities of Murad’s plight as a displaced woman who carries a profound weight of responsibility on her shoulders. No matter how much praise she receives from well-wishers, the humble activist says that she will only see herself as a person of worth when the terrorists who killed her family have their day in court. With three brothers and a sister still in captivity, their fates left unknown, Murad must continuously recount the suffering of her people in excruciating detail, while somehow keeping her ferocious strength intact. When other Yazidis break down in front of her, she urges them to wipe away their tears, just as she does when the sorrow threatens to resurface. She is an astonishing force to behold, joining the ranks of other towering young women whose spoken truths are bringing about tangible change, drowning out every sexist naysayer in their path.

“On Her Shoulders” screens at 4pm on Saturday, April 7th, followed by a Q&A with Alexandria Bombach; Matthew Barber, former executive director of Yazda in Iraq; Brannon Ingram, professor of Religious Studies at Northwestern University; and Dr. Nancy Bothne and Kaycee Foreman of TCSES.

There is nothing satisfying about the conclusion of Stephen Maing’s “Crime + Punishment,” and that’s as it should be. Like previous Oscar-winners “Citizenfour” and “Icarus,” this infuriating exposé champions whistleblowers who risk everything in order to bring deep-seated corruption to light. In this case, it’s a group dubbed the NYPD 12, comprised of officers who have charged their department with enforcing an illegal quota system. Using police as a revenue-generating agent for the city is assuredly against the law, and yet over $900 million of New York City’s annual budget is generated by summonses, many of which these officers are allegedly pressured by their supervisors to issue. Hidden cameras and audio recordings capture irrefutable evidence of the NYPD’s crimes laced with blatant racism. When Sgt. Edwin Raymond asks why he hasn’t received his richly deserved promotion, he is informed that his identity as “a young black man in dreads” is the chief reason. Another cop, Sandy Gonzalez, is penalized for not being in uniform, simply because he wore his winter hat while standing at his post on a chilly morning. When he explains that it felt much colder than the day’s projected temperature of 38 degrees, his superior snaps, “It doesn’t matter how it feels! It was expected to be 38.” To paraphrase the disgraced Commissioner Bratton, that’s some bulls—t right there. Watching this film, I was reminded of my favorite line from “Minding the Gap,” delivered wistfully by Keire: “My dad said that being black is cool because you get to prove people wrong every day.” Though the NYPD 12’s case against their department is lodged in legal limbo, these officers have pulverized the assumptions of their overlords, who thought they could intimidate their underlings into submission. Needless to say, they have been proven wrong. Boy have they ever.

“Crime + Punishment” screens at 9pm on Friday, April 6th, followed by a Q&A with Sgt. Edwin Raymond.

Fans of “Twin Peaks: The Return” are going to have a field day with Eugene Jarecki’s enormously ambitious visual essay, “The King” (formerly titled “Promised Land” upon its Cannes premiere). It tackles several of David Lynch’s most memorable topics: Elvis, Vegas, Hollywood, mushroom clouds, small-town idealism and the dissolution of the American dream. Mike Myers, of all people, has one of the film’s best lines, claiming that the nuclear testing in Vegas caused the city to become a “radioactive mutation of capitalism,” a pure expression of our prevailing values governed by the almighty dollar. Boarding Presley’s 1963 Rolls Royce, Jarecki embarks on a road trip across the United States, while building a brilliantly nuanced argument that the legendary singer’s life serves as a microcosm of the country itself. The issues explored here by Jarecki are endlessly provocative and could easily have been stretched into a miniseries, yet he and his quartet of editors somehow manage to make all the disparate pieces coalesce into a mesmerizing whole. Traveling from Presley’s birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi to the numerous colorful locales he once called home, the filmmakers invite a diverse array of singers to perform in the backseat, many of whom represent the genres that he embraced and arguably appropriated. As the election of Donald Trump looms on the imminent horizon (“He’s not going to win,” Alec Baldwin insists), the parallels between him and Presley prove to be inescapable—both are celebrities cross-branded to consumers and both are swayed into making self-destructive choices when prioritizing money over common sense. As the Rolls Royce starts to inevitably break down, the wheels have come off the very foundation of American democracy. I can’t imagine a more appropriately bittersweet closing night selection for DOC10 2018 than this triumphant ode to disillusionment. You’ll be discussing this one for days, preferably at The Bang Bang Bar. 

“The King” screens at 7:45pm on April 8th, followed by a closing night tribute to Eugene Jarecki, complete with a Q&A and musical performance.

For the full festival line-up, visit the official site for DOC10.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2ImTn5k

[fatymahpervez-blog]

DEPRESSION   The Beautiful 'YOU'-- Relieving winter blues! Dark mornings, darker evenings and chilly gray days in between. Ever wish you could hibernate straight through the year's dreariest season? And the saddest answer is NO, as the life goes on-- so does depression follows like a dark shadow. Estimates vary, but some experts say that about 20 percent fall victim to depression. This isn't a surefire sign of seasonal depression ( the more severe condition, also known as seasonal affective disorder, only affects about 2 percent is characterised by feelings of hopelessness and despair), but that doesn't mean you should brush off your blah feeling. "Feeling blue for a period of time is not, per se normal, " says Jacqueline Gollan PhD, associate professor in psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Northwestern University in Evanston III. "When people feel blue, its a signal that something on their life needs attention." Depression is a common and debilitating mood disorder that is affecting more and more people around the world. An estimated 350 million people of all ages experience symptoms of depression and a figure that jumps to 25% for women in their 40s and 50s. While some people describe depression as 'living in a black hole' or having a feeling of impending doom, others feel lifeless, empty and apathetic. Men in particular may even feel angry and restless. No matter how you experience it, depression is different from normal sadness in that it engulfs your day-to-day life, interfering with your ability to work hard, study, eat, sleep, and have fun. Questioning yourself, "Am I depressed?"  So if you feel following signs, dreadfully, you may be suffering from depression. •Feeling helpless and hopeless: A bleak outlook-nothing will ever get better and there's nothing you can do to improve your situation. •Loss of interest in daily activities: You don't care anymore about former hobbies, pastimes, social activities, you've lost your ability to feel joy or pleasure. • Appetite or weight change: Significant weight loss or weight gain- a change of more than 5% of body weight in a month.  • Sleep changes: Either insomnia, especially waking in the early hours of the morning or over sleeping.  • Anger or irritability: Feeling agitated, restless or even violent. Your tolerance level is low, temper short and everything, everyone gets on your nerves. •Loss of energy: Feeling fatigued, sluggish and physically drained. Your whole body may feel heavy and even small tasks are exhausting or take longer to complete.  •Self-loathing: Strong feelings of worthlessness or guilt. You harshly criticize yourself for perceived faults and mistakes. •Concentration problems: Trouble focusing, making decision, or remembering things. •Unexplained aches and pains: An increase in physical complaints such as headaches, back pain, aching muscles, and stomach pain.  So pay attention, and get your hands on these bad-mood zappers: •Running shoes: Getting at least 20 minutes of vigorous activity four times a week has been shown to reduce depressive mood, says Dr. Gollan. "And there are a variety of ways to get exercise," she points out. Try a gym, but yes considering ease, you could also try riding, or running up and down the stairs. •Your alarm clock: Tempting as it is to be to sleep in mornings, its best to stick with a regular sleep schedule- establish a routine wakeup time and a soothing bedtime ritual, and if you aren't already in this habit, allow three or four weeks to get used to it. •A few laugh out loud films: Experts believe that laughter actually stimulates processes in your brain that counter depressive symptoms. And since chuckling is downright contagious, you cab invite a few pals over to share the popcorns.  •A hot chocolate: Its a good idea to make a few tweaks to your diet. Susan Kleiner PhD, RD, dietition, author of 'The Good Mood diet' says that a hot-chocolate cup in the evening prepare you for sleep. Make it with fortified milk, which provides a combination of carbohydrates, protein and vitamin D- nutrients that could help reduce your depression. She also recommends eating fish, three to five times a week, plenty of whole grains, fruits and vegetables, and at least one egg(with yolk) each day.  • A completed to-do list: Groan! But what this really means is to complete the business you need to take care of and do it on time. 'Behavioral activation is an important strategy', says Gollan. Decide to stop procrastinating on the unpleasant stuff that could just snowball into more stress later, like unpaid bills. Get the tools you need to get organised.  •A doctor's appointment: Blues and depression can be a part of some other system. Chronic pain, headaches, sleep disorders and even heart disease are all linked to depression symptoms so check in with your health care provider to make sure you're solving the right problems to treat your depression.  So get yourself free with the maniac depression- healthy you could show out yo be more radiant! 

[gh03st-writer]

Monochrome

 Charlie and Rowan have known each other since birth and never understood what people meant when they would tell stories of how color filled the world when they met their soulmate. 

At least, Charlie didn’t. Not until the color drained from the world around them.

Charlie found that the grass was always greener at home. Hell, everything looked more colorful. Travelling was one of the best experiences that anyone could ask for, but everything seemed so dull, as if the color was drained from the world. You know what they say, “There’s no place like home!”

           The plane landed and Rowan waited in excited anticipation as people started to come off the plane and enter the terminal, everything seemed so dull while Charlie was away. When Charlie finally entered the terminal, they both smiled as they saw each other. The world around them became brighter, more vivid, but they didn’t notice as they hugged and talked about their time apart.

           Charlie had been traveling for pleasure rather than work. The only child of one of the richest families in the world can afford such a luxury (literally). From Egypt to Greece, Italy, Germany, France, England, and back to the U.S. In that order. It was one of those bucket list things, you know, “things to do before you shake hands with the reaper”. Charlie didn’t have much of a bucket list, being rich had that effect.

They laughed as-

           The alarm clock screeched in several high-pitched tones. It was another dream. That same dream of the day of the accident. Lethargically, Charlie tapped the off button and stared at the framed picture sitting beside the alarm clock. It was a picture of Charlie and Rowan at their high school graduation, both had smiles from ear-to-ear. That was four years ago.

Today was the fourth anniversary of the accident. Charlie still remembered it as vivid as when it happened.

Rowan had just picked Charlie up from the airport and they were on their way to a Welcome Home party for Charlie. Rowan was driving and Charlie was changing radio channels when they were hit head-on by a car that had been going ninety miles per hour. It was sudden. They never even realized what had happened until they saw the blood. The airbags hadn’t deployed, there was a recall and the car hadn’t been taken to the dealer to get it fixed yet. Charlie’s head was hurting from being jerked during the impact.

Rowan didn’t move.

           “Ro…Ro…,” Charlie’s voice was soft.

           Rowan didn’t move.

The car was stained red. Charlie began to panic as the paramedics showed up and pulled them out of the car. We must have been in an accident…, Charlie thought.

           Rowan didn’t move.

           The paramedics placed Rowan on a stretcher and into the ambulance. Charlie watched the ambulance drive off, red sirens blaring, as the remaining paramedics placed Charlie on a stretcher and into an ambulance. The image of Rowan covered in red and not moving except for shallow breaths danced through Charlie’s mind on the way to the hospital.

           The hospital was cold and white. Charlie had a few scratches and only needed a couple stitches, but Rowan wasn’t so lucky.

Charlie raced through the emergency room to find Rowan. When Charlie finally found Rowan the doctors had stopped trying.

           Rowan didn’t move.

           Charlie started to cry as the green of Rowan’s eyes faded to gray. Grabbing Rowan’s hand, Charlie’s voice was hoarse as crying turned to sobbing, “Best friends from cradle to grave remember?”

           Rowan didn’t move.

           “I love you,” Charlie said barely above a whisper and saw the world around them turn gray as Rowan stopped breathing. A nurse turned the machines connected to Rowan off and a doctor called the time of death while Charlie sank to the floor and sobbed for what felt like days. Charlie never forgot that day.

           Lifting the picture frame, Charlie sat up and traced their silhouette. “What were our school colors again?” Charlie couldn’t remember. The only memory of color Charlie had anymore is the memory of that day, red blood, white hospital, and green eyes.

~*~

           The cemetery was unusually cold for early May. Charlie slowly walked along the stone path with a single flower in hand. So many graves fill this cemetery, how many are souls waiting for their soulmates, Charlie wondered.

           Rowan’s gravestone was nothing special, a simple headstone with Rowan’s name and dates of birth and death. Charlie chuckled, “Hey Ro, I brought you a flower, sorry I don’t know what color, I just told the lady at the stand to give whichever color looked nicest, she gave me the saddest look, can you believe that?!” A cold breeze rushed by and caused Charlie to shiver, “Damn it's cold!”

Sighing, Charlie sat down in front of the grave, “I had that dream again last night, the one of the accident, I have it every year on the anniversary, on the other nights it's some other dream.” Charlie began to cry, “You know, I dream that you never died, that you survived the crash, every time I go to sleep and dream you’re still here next to me, and I never want to wake up.” A chuckle weaved its way into Charlie’s voice, “It’s funny, in a sad sort of way, I should’ve realized sooner, I wonder how many people knew we were soulmates, I wonder if you knew.”

A single rain drop fell on the ground nearby followed by a few more, Charlie sighed and stood up, “Looks like I’ve gotta go if I wanna beat the rain, see you next year.” Charlie’s steps echoed through the empty cemetery as the rain began to pour.

           Rowan’s ghost watched, with a small smile, as Charlie walked through the rain, “I always knew, see you next year, love.”

#angst #original story #short story #colors au