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yersina · 3 years

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okay, hear me out: blacksmith!jaskier.

like, maybe he’s the owner of his own shop (smithy? forge?), maybe he’s apprenticed to someone else—either way, he works in a little town, proooobably somewhere close to kaer morhen?

(sina, you may be saying that this point, jaskier loves to travel! he likes to see new things and meet new people and cause trouble! how could he stand to stay in one place his whole life? not a problem! shopkeepers aren’t confined to their shops, are they? especially if he’s an apprentice. i propose that he takes semi-annual journeys to travel to more far away towns and sell his wares there and maybe chase a few skirts while he’s at it)

so anyway, blacksmith!jaskier. he’s actually more of a jeweler sort of person—he likes beauty, likes art, and while he can see and appreciate the skill it takes to create a sword or a kitchen knife, he doesn’t really find his calling in creating chamberpots. but alas, see: small town, so this is the best place for something approaching an apprenticeship that he can find.

one day, he’s minding his own business in the back of the shop (smithy??), re-sharpening a knife for a nice old lady who dropped it off a day or so ago, when the master blacksmith storms in and gestures for him to get out. jaskier has long since learned that the master blacksmith is a man of few words, so he troops out to the front with no small amount of exasperation and confusion.

and lo and behold, there stands a witcher in his entrance.

“fix it,” he grunts (bc jaskier is, of course, cursed to work only around people who can’t be bothered to string together more than five syllables at once) and drops the literally shattered remains of a sword on the counter.

jaskier stares. dented swords, he’s seen. they’re close enough to a big city that they’ve occasionally gotten the odd knight looking for a cheaper alternative to city-internal smithies. but shattered? and in so many pieces? “i’d really just advise you buy a new sword at this point, good sir,” jaskier says slowly. “i could use this as scrap metal and make you a new one, but it won’t be the same sword.”

the witcher grunts. jaskier waits expectantly for any more input, but only several seconds of silence follow. “great,” jaskier chirps, injecting as much false cheer into his voice as he can. “i’ll just... take that as a yes.”

so he gets the witcher a new sword (a softer alloy this time, and one that hopefully won’t shatter at low temperatures like this one did), deducts the price of the scrap metal from the asking price of the sword, and sees the witcher on his merry (sullen, silent) way.

except the witcher keeps coming back.

jaskier has no idea why—it’s not like they offer services that any other smithy doesnt. all he does is sell the witcher (geralt of rivia, he eventually learns from town gossip) swords, the witcher grunts through jaskier’s admittedly meaningless chatter, and then he leaves. occasionally, he shows up twice in one month (once before a hunt to get his sword repaired, and then once after for the same), and then he leaves.

it’s utterly baffling.

but then theodore moore, the cheapskate bandit who passes through twice a year in order to spend all of his illegitimate money, drowns in the river while he’s stumbling through the forest drunk.

and then people start disappearing.

it takes until the little girl from down the road disappears while she’s picking flowers in the forest for the townspeople to seriously consider the idea of hunkering down and waiting for someone to take care of the problem. jaskier even rides to the nearby city and posts a request for help. maybe geralt will see it.

they spend half a year avoiding the river like the plague, but then people start disappearing from the town square—next to the fountain. then there’s talk of killing the beast themselves, but none of them know what it’s weak to.

when geralt shows up in the smithy one afternoon, white hair brown with dirt and skin smeared with mud, jaskier nearly cries. “thank god you’re here,” he says, and he’d laugh at geralt’s look of confusion if it weren’t for the circumstances. “we have a job for you.”

if he’d thought geralt was a wall to talk to before, it’s nothing when compared to how quickly geralt stiffens and closes off. jaskier didn’t even know that geralt had been slowly relaxing around him until right then, and a pang of regret echoes through him. “what is it,” he says flatly.

“a man drowned in the river last year,” jaskier explains. “and now six people are dead.” when geralt turns around without another word, jaskier has to scramble around the counter and tug him back. “wait, you can’t just leave—people are dying.”

geralt stares at him, unimpressed. “do you want me to kill it from in here?”

oh. jaskier laughs weakly. “of course, how could i have doubted you, master witcher.”

geralt turns to leave again and actually looks a bit annoyed when jaskier holds him fast. “what is it now?”

“i’m coming with you,” jaskier says firmly.

at least geralt doesn’t laugh in his face. “no.”

“look,” jaskier begins, and swears that he sees geralt roll his eyes. “i’m not—trained in combat, per se, but i can strike a few blows. i work with swords for a living! i can be backup?”

“this isn’t a game.” the furrow between geralt’s eyebrows grows the slightest bit deeper, like the world’s tiniest frown. “you could die.”

“i’ll keep out of the way,” jaskier throws in cajolingly. he’s not sure why he’s fighting so hard to join in on an expedition that will very likely lead to his death, but now that he’s started, he may as well go all in.

geralt just grunts and pulls his arm out of jaskier’s grasp, but he doesn’t do anything to stop jaskier when he grabs a sword and a scabbard and follows on his heels.

(this is where geralt wows jaskier with his fancy silver sword, and jaskier hardly needs to do anything other than gape on the sidelines as geralt dispatches theodore moore—a drowner now, he reminds himself—with brutal efficiency)

jaskier ends up arguing for higher pay for geralt bc of course he does, and manages to get geralt to sit down for a pint of ale in the tavern. jaskier travels but he doesn’t travel, and although geralt isn’t the best conversationalist, he does have some tales.

this ends with jaskier puzzling his way around making a silver sword and maybe getting a mage to imbue it with some magical runes or whatever it is that they do in their ivory towers, and he presents it to geralt the next time he comes by. geralt, being geralt, doesn’t do much else than take it with him while he’s leaving, but jaskier sees it strapped to his back the next time he stops by in the town, and geralt actually asks him to repair it at some point (!!) which is not smth that he’s ever done before.

geralt also starts bringing jaskier things which jaskier is utterly delighted by because it means that geralt has been paying attention while jaskier rambles at him the few times that they manage to sit down in the tavern together. this continues on for years and years and jaskier steadily grows fonder and fonder until he has a Realization one day when he’s looking at a sunflower and thinking abt how it matches the color of geralt’s eyes that goddamn he’s in love with a witcher.

(my Actual Prose runs out here but i’m envisioning jaskier putting those jeweler skills to use in fashioning geralt useful but also pretty pieces of jewelry as courting gifts until one day jaskier is just like “god you’re so fucking dumb” and just kisses him happily ever after the end)

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #blacksmith!jaskier #i Want this now goddammit

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ninbayphua-moyan · 3 years

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Where The Harvest Moon Is Brightest

Sweat trickled down my back as I lugged my suitcase behind me along the five-foot ways of Penang. A sense of Saturday afternoon languidness hangs in the balmy air like a soft, heavy blanket, lulling you to sleep. A gentle breeze fleets through the walkway, pleasantly cool against the slight stickiness of my skin. I paused and took a deep breath, head tilted back with eyes closed, listening to the faint rustling of palm leaves. The air was steeped with the fresh, earthy petrichor of a recent shower, and tinged with undertones of the alluringly sweet scent of frangipanis.

Loud giggles. Shrieks of laughter. Opening my eyes, I turned towards the sound and saw a group of children playing a game of ‘The Eagle Catches The Chicks’ on the street. They dodged and ran with unabashedly childish grins plastered onto their mud smeared faces, eyes twinkling with youthful glee and carelessness. I smiled. It wasn’t that long ago when I too was a little rascal playing on these very streets without a care in the world. I remember the days when the neighbourhood kids and I would play in the streets until our mothers called us in for dinner. Oh, the adventures we had! Climbing up trees; playing in the rain; racing the roti man down the street as he rides by on his bicycle. Ah yes……the roti man……how we used to wait for him to make his rounds each evening after school……The tinkling sound of the metal cup-like object being struck with an iron rod signalling his arrival…our short legs running, shouting ‘roti!’ until he stopped by the side of the road…the chaos that ensues as we crowded around him like hungry chicks waiting to be fed, coins held tight in our sweaty little palms……

Then, I heard it. The familiar ‘Ting! Ting! Ting!’ of the roti man echoing down the street, as if summoned by my reminiscence of it. The children had heard it too. They ran towards the roti man shouting ‘roti!’, their game abandoned without a second thought. Instinctively, I started running as well, fumbling around my pockets looking for loose change to pay for the bread. I joined the little gathering crowd just as the roti man was getting off his bicycle. A tantalising aroma of freshly baked breads and buns wafted out the minute he undid the catch on the little glass framed doors of the meat-safe seated behind his bike. I couldn’t help but groan internally at the heavenly sight and smell. I watched as he slathered the savoury margarine and rich kaya onto thick slices of roti benggali, mouth watering uncontrollably. After a few minutes, he handed me a big bag of the bread to me and I dropped the money into his outstretched palm. He flashed me a quick grin before returning his attention to the next customer.

Making my way back to the five-foot way, I stuck my hand into the plastic bag and brought out a piece of warm roti banggali. Biting into the bread, I felt my tongue melting. The crispy, golden crust and soft white crumb of the bread served as a fragrant base, a sacred chapel where the buttery saltiness of the margarine and the rich, creamy sweetness of the kaya sang, each in their unique tune before harmonizing into a heavenly choir and melding into one savoury mouthful of bread. Before I knew it, I had already finished a third of what I’d bought. Realising that I wouldn’t have any left by the time I reached my destination if I continued eating, I quickly knotted up the bag and hurried along.

Ten minutes later, I came to a stop in front of a shophouse at the end of the five-foot way. A large ebony plaque hung regally above the doorway, my family name engraved upon it in golden Chinese characters. U-shaped terracotta tiles covered the roof and three full length louvred windows lined the upper floor of the two-story building. The pillars were adorned with painted, three-dimensional decorative plaster of beautifully crafted flowers. Majestic peonies and tender lotuses blooming, their elaborate and delicate carved petals unfurling elegantly. Majolica tiles lined the dado façade on the lower quarter of the walls, adding yet another splash of colour to the otherwise, dull and plain exterior. The carved timber ventilated doors stood wide open, each of its panel depicting legendary creatures of ancient Chinese folklore. The exquisitely detailed carvings of phoenixes never ceased to amaze me, even after all this time. Perching nobly on golden branches, their wings were spread wide as if to take off at any second as I gazed, entranced. Then, as the late afternoon sun shines upon their gilded bodies, it was as if those carved mystical beauties were suddenly brought to life. Their once dull sheen now aglow in brilliant shades of scarlet, orange and gold, almost as if they would burst into flames at any moment, just like in the myths of old, and be reborn from the ashes.

The sound of fluttering wings and clear melodic chirruping snapped me out of my daze. Looking up, I saw a family of swallows roosting in their nest at the corner of the roof. Ah…it was that time of the year again wasn’t it…the swallows always left the nest as the harvest moon approached. I remember how excited I used to get when they came to roost in the spring and how sad I would be when they’d left as autumn drew near. A-Poh[1] would always pick the nest once the swallows had flown, clean it and turn it into a bowl bird nest soup. She always told me it was good for the skin as well as health but I was never sure how true these claims were.

Peeking my head through the door, I announced my arrival home out of sheer force of habit. There was a loud clanging and scuffling from the kitchen as I heard a delighted shout. I had barely stepped across the threshold into the house before I was pulled into a tight bear hug by A-Poh, immediately enveloped by the familiar scent of incense and rice powder. She was strong despite her age and sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if all her stories about bird nest soup were true. Pulling out of the hug, she gave me a quick look over and pinched my cheeks, complaining that I’ve lost weight again even though I hadn’t. I tried protesting but she shushed me with a fond pat on the cheeks and shouted for A-Gong[2] who instantly came wobbling out of the ground floor bedroom, a large toothless grin on his wrinkled face. He wrapped me into a warm hug whilst A-Poh hurried off into the kitchen, determined to stuff me up with food before anyone could stop her. I shook my head in resignation whilst A-Gong just laughed and ruffled my hair, amused.

Pouring some pu-erh tea into two clay teacups, A-Gong motioned for me to sit down, asking about my time abroad. As we sipped on the earthy fragrance of the pu-erh, I told him about my time in the UK; about its miserably wet weather; its tasteless food; its strange customs; and how much I had missed home whilst I was away. Upon hearing that comment, he chuckled heartily, a knowing look in his eyes. He too had left the comforts at home at a young age, sailing the seas to unknown lands to avoid the war. When I asked if he ever missed Hainan and his childhood home, he would always smile a little wistfully but would then shake his head saying home for him was where my A-Poh, a content look upon his wisen face. Even after all this time, they were still as in love with one another as they were back then, just like the butterfly lovers from Chinese folklore.

Halfway through our conversation, he suddenly stood up as if he had just remembered something. Giving me a wink, he disappeared out the door. I grinned, knowing exactly where he was headed off to. As I sat by the round wooden table in the living room, I gaze absentmindedly at the sparrows fleeting about A-Gong’s potted plants. The afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the lightwell, brightening the otherwise dimly lit interior. I remember still how my siblings and I would play hide-and-seek in the interior courtyard amongst those potted plants. Ah, those really were the days……

Shifting my gaze, my eyes were immediately drawn to the majolica tile floor. Its kaleidoscope of bright colours a stark contrast against the plain wooden and rattan furniture. Come to think about it, those mosaic pattered tiles were probably what triggered my interest in art in the first place…oh, the afternoons I’d spend on those cool, smooth floor drawing and trying to mimic their intricate patterns and colours…..

I was brought out of my reminiscence when a bowl of steaming hot pork dumplings was placed before me. Ahh…A-Poh’s pork dumplings. How I’ve missed it while I was away! Eagerly, I picked up the chopsticks and took a bite, my mouth immediately exploding with flavour. The saltiness of the pork meat marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil, the refreshingly sweet spring onions contrasting the meat’s saltiness, the delicately wrapped flour encapsulating it all, the slight bitterness of the herbal broth…this was my definition of heaven. Seeing me happily wolfing down the dumplings, she smiled and returned to the kitchen.

I was only halfway through my bowl of dumplings when the intense aroma of spices and chili came wafting out of the kitchen, making my mouth water. There wasn’t a need to look. I already knew what it was A-Poh was preparing. And sure enough, she came tottering out of the kitchen a few minutes later with two big bowls of hokkien-mee. Taking a seat next to me and we both dug in. I took a big slurp of soup and my tongue was instantly set on fire, the spices clashing as they performed a tango on my tongue. I had forgotten how potent the chili at home were. My lips were turning a numbing red within seconds but that didn’t stop me from downing down the entire bowl of noodles. After all, no self-respecting child of Penang would ever be caught dead bested by a bowl of spicy hokkien-mee. A-Poh chuckled as she watched me switching comically between fanning my tongue and slurping down the spicy soup.

Just then, A-Gong came walking in through the front door and I squealed in delight. He grinned, handing me the little plastic bag in his hands before sitting down. Like a child who was just given her Christmas present early, I happily started munching on the packet of ais kacang. The frozen sweetness of the shaved ice instantly cooled my burning mouth and I quickly took a few more mouthful. Content, I glanced at my grandparents and started noticing things that had previously escaped my attention. A-Poh’s once salt-and-pepper hair was now silvery white and her hands seemed more worn and wrinkled than I last remembered. The wrinkles on A-Gong’s face seemed deeper now and his hands, especially the one with a missing finger, shook a little more than they used to whenever he held something. Since when had they aged so much?

Realising that I had stopped eating, A-Gong pushed the plate of pandan cake closer to me, urging me to eat. Now, I was never much of a sweet tooth but I was particularly fond of this green coloured sponge cake that just melted in your mouth like a piece of cloud. The mild, aromatic sweetness of pandan and the light, fluffy texture of a chiffon cake, a beautiful fusion between European cake-making techniques and locally grown ingredients.

As I continued munching on the cake, I couldn’t help but smile, having realized how beautifully diverse my hometown was. Just like the pandan cake, it was a place where cultures of the East and West collided and coexisted in harmony. Yes…this little culture cocktail of an island was what I called home and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

NOTES:

[1] ‘A-Poh’ means ‘grandmother’ in Hainanese

[2] ‘A-Gong’ means ‘grandfather’ in Hainanese

[3] ‘Where The Harvest Moon Shines Brightest’ is a play on 月到中秋分外明，每逢佳节倍思亲 meaning the moon is brightest in mid-autumn; homesickness multiplies during each festival

Author's Notes:

Back with Part 4 also known as the final part of the short story slash prose pieces from uni series (this was the earliest piece I wrote in first year lol). The story takes place a year and a half after Part 3. A-Yun has finally graduated uni and has now gone home. All is well ends well. Yes I am aware that there is a slight glitch and A-Gong shouldn’t exist at this point but I wrote it before I wrote everything else so we’re bringing him back to life OuO Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading Part 4~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Since exams are over and graded and I've officially graduated, I can finally post my work online without having to worry about Turnitin picking it up as plagiarism because apparently you aren't allowed to plagiarise yourself according to university which is absolutely ridiculous but I'm not the one making the rules here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, please don't reupload my works without permission.

#ninbayphua 墨彦 #prose #short story #constructive critisms are always welcomed #please don't repost without permission

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btssunnyboy · 4 years

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You Have To Stay - Park Jimin

You wished he had stayed.

Word Count - 4,621

Warning - Death, car accident, If I stay au. S2L au, fluff and angst.

BTS , NCT , ATEEZ.

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The memory of the first time he saw you is etched into his brain for hopefully all eternity. All of the surrounding were blurred in his vision mere spectacles of faded blues and grays; but you were clear. Every little detail about you was crystal clear ; from the vibrant red sweater to the silver bobby pin that held back your soft hair. He took in everything he could at this moment ; not because it might be the last time he saw you. But he wanted to commit you to memory, because at this very moment Jimin wanted to show you the world. He wanted to show you all the happiness he has to offer. That beautiful smile that currently grazed you face was making his heart flutter with joy already ; now all he wanted to do was be the reason behind that oh so precious smile.

You noticed the boy with the bright red hair as well. After all you two were matching, considering how bright your current sweater was. You knew who the oh so famous bad boy of west town college was, and truth be told you didn’t find him all that intimidating. So, it did catch you by surprise when his gaze lingered a bit more then usual, what surprised you even more was when he didn’t care that other people started to noticed as well. That cocky smirk was plastered on his face, as he threw a casual wink to you across the room. And maybe, just maybe, did it affect you.

“It looks like resident bad boy, Jiminie, has his eye on a new prize.” Jisoo gushed, while her hands gripped your shoulders. Her throaty like laugh filling your ears as you quickly tried to pull your body away. Her over the top announcement of Jimin, caught his attention and you could feel your body cower away. Usually you paid him no mind, but that’s a lot easier when he’s keeping his distance. “And now look, something wicked this way comes.”

Jisoo sent a smile wave your way, as she practically bolted in the opposite direction. She has a whole plan in mind, for some odd reason she saw a chance for you to have a little fling and jumped on the chance. The cliché good girl, and bad boy trope having a rooted place within the poor girls heart. You didn’t understand how she saw so much potential between the two of you, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Because maybe you could get used to seeing that cocky smirk a lot more. You just wished that you paid more attention to small detail like that, because those were the things you started to fall in love with.

“Y/n, wait up!” The voice was rushed, and sounded fairly distant away. But you’d recognize that pillow soft voice anywhere, and you wished he’d talked forever. You watched with a raised eyebrow as his jog sped up, with his backpack swaying left to right from his sudden force. With a small slide he was sudden right in front of you, and for once in his life a genuine smile was softly appearing on his face. “Can I walk with you?”

“Of course, but I’m not heading towards the dorms.” You confessed while fiddling with the spiral on the end of your green notebook. The small appliance bringing you a lot of joy and comfort. He nodded his head, and soon the walk fell into an awkward silence. You may not be intimidated by him, but your ability to talk to just anyone has it’s limits.

“If you’re not heading back, where exactly are you going?” He inquires, while keeping his eyes focused on you. He thought it was cute how you occupied yourself with green notebook in his presence, he also thought it was cute how calm you seemed to. It was refreshing how you didn’t cater to his every need, or show off assets to get into his pants. You were awkward, but real at the same time, and he somehow cherished it already.

“The park, actually. I need new inspiration for my art project if I wanna pass.” You softly spoke, gesturing towards the notebook in your hand. You just wish you could find an ounce of color on the dreary day, grey clouds paired with slight droplets of rain. Before you two made it pass the glass doors, you fumbled with the white poka-dot umbrella. “It’s small, but at least it’ll keep us covered.

“Can I hold your waist? Just so we can make sure we’re both under it.” He softly questioned, while making direct eye contact. He wasn’t going to touch you without your say so, and when you shook your head yes, his fingertips ghosted over the material of your sweater. And he felt a ease with how you molded into his waiting body, and you surprisingly let a sigh of content left your body. For two people who only noticed each other has mere acquaintances before now, this moment sure did seem intimate. And you truly didn’t mind.

The short walk was filled with silence, but now it was a lot more bearable. The soft raining filling up most of the silence as you forced the boy to move from place to place. This ones too muddy, this ones too crowded with birds, and this ones too plain. No matter the places you two went nothing special attracted your eye, besides the red hair that followed your every step. He made sure to walk on the muddy sides, and risked his white shoes for your cloth ones.

“Do you mind getting wet?” You cocked your head to the side to appear as sweet as possible. He let out a laugh of disbelief, but soon stopped when you stayed in that position. Your cute eyes sparkling along with the crystal waters that fell from the sky. “I promise! I’ll get a quick mental picture and go from there!”

“I swear, when I’m sick and heaving up a lung in bed. I’m blaming you.” Jimin yelled while purposely trumping through the thick mud puddles. He laughed loudly when he let his body soak in the rain. That soft moment was a story within it’s own, a little over exaggerated story. But the story was just beginning for the two love birds. Right now the rain was an ally, but the two should’ve been more weary. As rain can quickly become an enemy.

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“I never would have pegged, Park Jimin, to be the soft type.” Jisoo spoke while her mouth was full of cake. Small crumbs sticking to the clear gloss that coated her lips. As well as the buttercream icing that smeared itself across her chin, when she hastily shoved the treat into her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m just in a rush.”

You snorted slightly, and brushed the napkin across her face. Collecting as much of the icing as you could. “Me neither! But the moment was serene, and the portrait of him got me top marks in my class! Look at how amazing he is!”

“You’re not hanging out with him for the free inspiration are you?” Jisoo accused jokingly while setting down her fork. Crossing her arms and leaning forward to take note of your expressions. The small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, the way a small blush was dusting over the apples of your cheeks, to finally the way you were staring so lovingly at the picture you drew of him. All these little things guided Jisoo to the conclusion that after a few little dates you were already falling head over heels.

“I know it’s only been a few dates, or meet ups. But Jisoo, I’m actually happy now. He lets me take my time with problems, he never rushes me with anything, every single time we see each other he also notices the little things I tried to change.” You rambled on. As you let your fingers trace over the lines on the picture, taking extra time on the lines around his hair.

“Y/n, will you promise me something?” Jisoo asked and reached across the table to hold your hand. A shaky smile appeared on her face, and out of instinct you clutched her hand tightly. A curt nod of your head only make her worry a little more. “Just be careful, I know things are amazing right now, and I know I was all talk when it first happened. But keep in mind Jimin got his reputation for a reason, I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You laughed heart fully, and stroked the back of her hand with your thumb. The small circles hopefully providing some support before you voiced your case. You knew she was right, but still that’s not something you like admitting. “Jisoo, I know the risk of being with him. I know that he most likely will get bored soon and find someone else, but right now he’s one of the things that make me happy, even if it’s temporary.”

“That breaks my heart, y/n. Hearing you say that you don’t mind the temporary love, I know for a fact you deserve better.” Jisoo pulled her hands away from yours and tucked them underneath each other. A disappointment gleam beaming in her eyes when she fully look at you. She wanted to say more, she wanted to go on a rant and get it through your skull even more that you deserved better.

“I mean, you never know. Maybe Park Jimin is gonna change his ways.” You hoped that by speaking these words into the universe that they’ll hopefully come true. You wanted this love with him, you wanted to have more sugary sweet moments with him, but most importantly you wanted him to hard and fast just like you did. But stuff like that only happens in the movies.

Or does it.

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His hand easily slid into yours. It felt good, almost like the action has been done a million times. When in reality it had only been a few times. But he acted like he knew you his whole life, and that was another thing you started to love about him. After a few dates the awkwardness went away on it’s own, now conversations come easy and are hard to get rid of. And you loved every minute of it.

“You know what tomorrow is right?” Jimin smiled as he dug around in his backpack. His fingers slipping and sliding through the material that inhabited the bag. Soon his fingers drifted towards a rectangular, blue velvet box. With a quick motion he hid it behind his back before turning too you fully.

“Yes, baby, it’ll be four months.” You gushed while pecking his cheek softly. A tint of peach gloss being left behind, when you pulled away. “But why are you asking now?”

“Because,” He started, and ghosted his hands over your wrist. A light tug was given so you’d stay in a place. An amused expression cover your face when Jimin didn’t make a move. His puppy dog eyes were fixated on those peach glossed lips. Before you knew it he cupped your face and molded his lips against yours. Out of habit you smile halfway through the kiss, and tried to deepen it. When he finally pulled away you noticed the golden item glittering in the box.

“Jimin,” You warned when you noticed just how fancy the gold, chain bracelet was. Three charms dangling from the loops. A painters brush with a red tip and gold handle, a ballet dancer, and a diamond key. You felt your eyebrows drop in sadness, and a small plea of disbelief was on the tip of your tongue.

“Before you say anything, it really wasn’t that much! And besides I started picking up extra shifts at the cafe for a reason!” Jimin babbled while he tries to push the box further into your grasp. He could tell you were on the fence, your body was pulling away slightly and a frown was etched onto your face. “And I have a heart shaped lock on my chain. Because, baby, you hold the key to my heart.”

A small laugh passed through your lips as a tear slid down your cheek. You knew he was working himself to death, and all for a gift. You’d be happy just having him for a full weekend. You hiccuped loudly while slightly crying. “That is the cheesiest you’ve ever been.”

He clutched your hands tightly and brought them up to his lips. He stood their silently and deeply breathed in the perfume on your wrist. A sweet vanilla scent filling his nostrils, and he loved it. He got you that perfume a a month ago, and you wore it religiously. “I’m always cheesy when it comes to you, because, I...Y/n...I - I love you.”

“I love you,too. I love you so much.”

__________________________________________

The rain date started the movement of a lot of great things. That small encounter led to many more art dates, and music dates. You’d sit there for hours and draw the man you’ve come to love, you’d draw every little aspect you could find. Jimin would preform his heart out for you every chance he got. From the underground performance to the small dances back in your dorm room. Both of you put great effort into your art, just to please the other. You wished it was always like this, but lately things have been on the rocks. Problems rose from every angle, and it was becoming frustrating.

“Oh my god! You’re being unreasonable!” Jimin bellowed as he roughly ran a hand through his hair. Long huffs of breath were being released, and you could tell his anger wasn’t subsiding, but growing immensely.

“I’m being unreasonable! You’re the one who decided to push themselves when you knew you were hurt!” You barked back while jabbing your finger in his chest. You needed to get him to understand that the actions have consequences, and these consequences were ruining his body in more ways than one. “Jimin! Honey, you’re limp has gotten worse, and ever since you took up singing you told me it hurts so much, that you can barley breath!”

Jimin bounced his leg furiously as he held his head in his hands. Sharp breaths were huffing past his plump lips in quick breaths. “Give it a rest! Y/n, you’re so annoying thinking you understand what’s going on! Your talent is drawing a stupid scene, but for me it requires actual talent!.”

The room went dead silent when those words slipped past his lips. The hard demeanor on his face dropped, because he knew he messed up. He knew you were insecure about you art, considering it wasn’t as extravagant as his dancing and now singing ability. A sarcastic laugh bubbled in your chest, and you felt relieved to let it pass.

“Get out.”

“Y/n, baby, it was the heat of the moment, and, I...I, didn’t mean it.” Jimin rushed out while he tried to grip your hand. He was now desperate to get you to listen once more. From the harsh glare on your face he could tell you were done talking. “Baby,”

“Oh, no. You don’t get to play the baby card, since I’m so annoying. It’s best you leave.” You harshly wiped the tears that flowed freely down your face. It wasn’t anger at this point, just mere sadness. You always knew how much effort he put into his creations, and you always thought little of yourself. You felt inferior when it came to things like this, and you just wished he didn’t stoop that low. “Go, I’m not gonna ask again.”

Salty tears gathered in his eyes when he noticed you turned your back on him. A let out a heavy sigh and yanked the door open. The only sound besides the thunder booming out was the sudden slam of the door, and it made your body jolt. You leaned your body on your legs and let it all out. The sob you were trying your hardest to keep down, shot out of your body. It raked through your stomach, and was buried deep in your chest. Your heaved loudly as the sobs just kept coming. Jimin’s blanket was thrown over the chair, and you tightly wrapped it around you body. You needed to get some sleep.

It felt like seconds, but it was hours that you sat in that chair. You sat there and cried over a little inconvenient fight, and let Jimin go. The ringing pounded in your head woke you up, and that annoying vibration against the wooden table was already driving you insane. You whined as your nails scraped against the table. “Hello?” You sniffed as you stood up.

“Y/n! Thank god, I thought you were dead!” Jisoo’s panicked voice flooded your ears. You heard her let out a breath that seemed as if she was greatly relieved. “When Namjoon called me, oh god, and when you didn’t pick up I thought...I thought I lost you!”

“What are you talking about, Jisoo!” You yelled as you abruptly stood up and went straight to panic mode. Why would she be worried that you’re dead, you stayed here the whole night. Oh god, you stayed home and Jimin drove in the rain. You gripped your roots tightly, and you began to blubber out. “Jisoo.”

“Y/n, Namjoon called me and told me about the car accident that Jimin was in.” She muttered out sadly, before speaking again. “He told me someone died, and there was one surviver. If it’s not you it’s either the other driver or Jimin.”

“Jisoo, please tell me the hospital! How long ago was this!”You ushered as you flipped pillows off the couch, and chucked blankets to the wall. Where were your keys. “Jisoo! Please! I’m begging you.”

“Mercy West hospital on main. And it happened last night.”

You let the phone smack the ground with a thundering crack. You raced towards the car and through blurred vision you tried to get the keys in the hole. You needed to get to the hospital and fast.

__________________________________________

Jimin witnessed first hand with what was happening to him and the driver that collided. He watched as the paramedics pulled a bloody man from the drivers seat, and multiple beer bottles from the back. He tried to voice the fact he was alright towards the officers on his left, but they ignored him. They walked past him as if he wasn’t even there, and he was growing worried. Why would they walk past a man who apparently walked away unscathed, from a disaster like this. His boots pounded against the wet pavement as he raced towards his car, and that’s when he noticed it.

His body.

His bruised, beaten, and bloodied body lumped against the steering wheel. Panic shot through every vein in his body when the offices walked right through him. Does this mean he’s dead? Did the crash actually take his life away.

“We have a faint pulse! We gotta hurry!” One of the men shouted as they raced the gurney towards the back of the ambulance. Jimin wasted no time in flinging his body in the back ; just before the paramedics closed the doors. Just watching them stick the IV in his arm was making him hold back a gag. He hated needles, he hated hospitals and watching these all unfold made him severely ill. Well as ill as a spirit could be at this point. In no time they were racing towards the front doors of the hospital.

Each person talking a mile a minute, explaining the situation that happened with the crash, and explaining what’s wrong with him. Skull fracture from his forehead hitting the steering wheel so forcefully, three broken ribs from the impact of the other car sliding into him, glass fixtures buried in multiple places of his body, and he was bleeding profusely from a wound in his side. All this talk with making him dizzy with panic, he wanted to live. No, he needed to live. He needed to get back to you, and make up for that stupid fight, he needed to say he was sorry. He was so incredibly sorry.

Multiple people gathered around his body as they raced to the operation room. Shouting incoherent things that his mind wasn’t able to grasp, and it was filling him with dread. The others around quickly jumped out of the way at the sight of the unlucky one at the end of the car accident. Without missing a beat they hooked up many wires ; they made sure that he taken care of. He watched with hawk eyes as the surgeon pulled multiple pieces of glass from multiple different places. Their skilled hands working on trying to control the bleeding in his chest, and that’s when he noticed the sharp metal that buried deep within his side.

After some time his eyes drifted towards the clock. They have been working on him for three hours and ten minutes ; while the surgeon was saying it’s gonna take even longer.

“Park Jimin has people in the waiting room, what am I supposed to tell them about his current state.”

The surgeon before him sighed heavily as he looked at the clock and back down at his body. “Tell then I’ll be done soon, but he’s still gonna be put on support after this.”

Jimin bolted after the nurse who speed walked down the hall into the waiting room. There he noticed seven boys, and a tear stained girl running through the side doors. Her eyes landing on the men who were seated and she walked towards them. She stared at the nurse with nervousness swirling in her eyes, and Namjoon pulled her close when the nurse spoke the news. Jimin wanted to be the one who reached out and pulled her close. Tell her that everything’s going to be fine, that he’s gonna pull through and they’ll be together once more.

He sat in the empty seat beside of y/n, and placed his hands on her shaky ones. Oh how he already longed to feel her warm touch, and smell that vanilla perfume. But right now this was the best that he was going to get. He stayed in that seat for another few hours. Just observing the poor, broken girl in front of him. You stayed silent the whole time, fiddling with the charms that dangled from the bracelet. Out of habit he reached up to hold the lock, but he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel the lock, it must’ve snapped off his neck during the accident.

The lock that reminded him of you, the lock that was a symbol of your relationship was gone. And sadly it wasn’t the only thing he was going to lose today.

“He’s in room 214, but please go in separately. In case anything happens we will need space to work. Oh and here we needed to take this off of him to do the surgery.” The nurse sadly smile as she handed y/n the locket, then she tucked the chart back under her arm, and dashed off. Jimin tried to link your hands, but he visibly went straight through. His body was slowly going translucent the longer he stayed there.

“Y/n, you go first.”

__________________________________________

More tears gathered in your eyes when you raced towards the room. You clutched the locket in your hand as you slowly opened the door. You needed to remain cautious, because you knew you were not prepared to see behind that door. You were not prepared to see the love of your life holding on with everything in him. When the grey door fully opened ; you had to grip the door handle with force to keep yourself up right.

“Oh my god.” You mumbled through tears as you slowly walked closer to his body. His forehead was covered in a long bandage, his face was purple and blue from bruises. The tube in his throat was loudly pumping. You pulled a nearby chair up, and gripped his hand tightly. You could feel the tears slip past your lips onto his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Salty tears were freely flowing down your cheeks, and you tried your best to stop them. You tried to man up, and appear strong for Jimin. But he looked bad, worse, he looked horrendous. You’ve never seen him so beaten up, and it broke your heart. You head dropped against the bed, as you let heavy sobs take over your body. The beeping monitor was background noise, and you wished you could make it steady.

“Baby, I j-just wanted to say I’m so sorry. I never should have l-let you leave last night. That stupid fight, I’m just so sorry.” You sobbed into his hand. You clutched it tightly, and kissed it repeatedly. You really wished that he would pop up, and do the same to yours.

Unbeknownst to you was that shadow that followed your every move. Jimin felt heartbroken watching you cry like this, and not being able to do anything about it. He harshly rubbed the tears that flowed down his cheeks, and dropped down to his knees in front of you. He laid his heavy head on your thighs as he took notice of the small light coming from the hallway. Tearing his eyes away he focused on your now quivering lip.

“Jimin, you’re hooked up to IV’s and have a tube helping you breath. If this...” You breathed our sharply. You didn’t want your voice to crack from all the crying. “If this is too painful, I just want you to know. It’s o-okay. You can let go, but I’ll always be right here.”

Jimin shot back from your body when he heard you utter those words. He didn’t want to give up, he couldn’t give up! Not now, not when he done survived the crash and surgery. He needed to live another day. He needed to show you the joys of the world like he promised. And he had a plan to make you his, the ring was sitting back on his kitchen table. He couldn’t leave the world knowing he never told just how much he appreciated you. This was not how he was supposed to go out.

He was supposed to go out in his old age, being surrounded by his grandkids. He was supposed to be with you. But that stupid light in that hallway was slowly getting his attention. He knew exactly what that meant, but he didn’t want to admit it. His panicked eyes shot open at the sudden decrease of the beeps. You were pulled away as multiple people rushed to his aid.

And he finally come to the conclusion, that this was the horrible way he was gonna out. Watching as people pressed metal plates to his chest, and your sobbing figure being dragged out of the room. He dropped to the ground in tears as they yelled clear one more. They pumped his chest repeatedly, but now his attention wasn’t on the people trying to save his life.

His attention was on the blinding light that shimmered in the hallway. And after giving you and the locket that had fallen out of your grasp, one more look, his heart broke for the last time. Then he solemnly walked towards the light while hearing a mumbled voice say.

“Time of death. 14:32.”

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

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The Vampires Familiar

Read Both Posted Chapters on AO3

Title: The Vampires Familiar

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/Hope Mikaelson

Hope Mikaelson took three even gulps of the shop's air and tasted magic. Old magic that burned the back of her throat and nipped at her lungs until she felt like they were on fire. The odd odor of rosemary and chamomile clung to her clothes. The herbs were stacked in even and dusty jars against the far-right shelves like candles in a store. They had no lids, and separately everything was harmless. But she feared what could be created when combined.

She listened as the bell chimed with her entrance to the small business at the edge of the French Quarter. It was narrow and long instead of large and wide, posters for an upcoming circus littered the walls and a few sheets of paper advertising summer babysitting had the bottoms crudely ripped off, number smeared in black ink.

When she was younger, Hope used to enjoy taking trips to magic shops with her Aunt Freya, the jazz scene in New Orleans had just sparked a flame and different melodies, melancholy and otherwise, flowed through the city like air. They would find herbs and boil them up and fix things that had been broken for a long time.

That strength was felt the moment she walked through the door of Conrad Drew’s, Jade at her heels dutifully. There was soft gold light and the building shielded them from the sounds of the city, the bustle of parties, and iron wheels of cars.

Drew was an old man now, still holding himself correct behind the glass-paned counter with his fingers leaving little smudges. His hair was graying and his body fell rigid with fear when he glanced up, smile fading. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.” Was all he said.

“Don’t worry, we won’t stay long,” Hope responded, walking across the wood floor until she reached the desk. “I just have a few questions.”

“Take them somewhere else, plenty of magic shops in town.”

Conrad Drew was a resolute man, once young and vibrant and strong in his words. He had held the shop under his thumb for the better part of a decade, before that, it was his fathers, and his before that. Hope met him when he was twenty, simple, and able to down liquor as if it were pure water. He had aged, and so had she.

“Oh come on, I thought we were friends.” Hope cooed, letting the glass cool her fingertips. The heat left small crescents close to the service. They dissolved as quickly as they appeared. “Besides, it isn’t up for much discussion.”

He clenched his teeth and thinned his expression into a tight one. His leathery skin was glossy under the low light of the magic shop and his lungs growled like a lion pacing it’s iron cage, shoes kicking around sour hay.

Jade picked up the nearest book, dust pulling from the pages. “Don’t touch that. What do you want?”

Though the words were directed towards the curious vampire, he never moved his ghostly stare from Hope. Her fingers twitched and he noticed entirely all too quickly. Hope Mikaelson had a temper like stained glass, just like her father. Intricate and beautiful but shatter prone.

“There’s been an unusual spike in magic lately. It’s buzzing around us even as we speak, Mr. Drew, I can feel it.” She was soft with her words but still moved her fingertips against her bare arms until they left little white lines from the pressure. “You can too.”

“It’s a magical city, girl. Of course, you can feel it.”

“This is different. This is darker- an uprising of sorts. And I want to trust that I’m not foolish enough for believing in the loyalty of your witches.” Hope leaned forward and the scent of old magic was replaced with cheap cologne and sweat, primal fear that Conrad Drew didn’t show well. “Am I foolish?”

The French Quarter witches had been rooted in New Orleans for centuries before they branched out into different covens. Hope had an unmovable fist around the throat of each of them- and that stemmed from the control of the company Conrad liked to keep. The ninth ward kept to themselves, kept their magic in check.

“If there’s strange magic it’s not from us. We’re not naive enough to practice right where your castle stands.”

Hope couldn’t’ tell if that eased her worry at all, or the strange electric feeling that danced across her skin in a dangerous tango. But she believed him, even in his annoyance and bubbling anger at her for crossing the boundaries they had drawn a long time ago.

He let out a sigh and pulled a yellowed jar from the shelf behind him, Hope couldn’t read the label, mottled with age. “You should try the Garden District.”

“The Garden District?” Jade had long ago abandoned her book, “Those hippie freaks don’t have it in them. Don’t they worship their regent like a God?”

“They’re unconventional, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can discount them.” He said.

Jade shrugged her shoulders dejectedly and wandered over to the far wall. She squinted at the contents in the mason jars, careful to shove her fingers in her pockets like she was in an art museum, gazing at pictures expertly painted, gold plaques carved with the words DON’T TOUCH.

Hope had no such worry about the witches that dressed in white to get closer to the pure source of magic. They had been holed up in a large house on the west side of town since she herself was a child; her father let them be, let them simmer, and practice what they wanted with the respect and patience of a noble man. So she had done the same.

“Was that all, Miss Mikaelson?”

It had been. The early evening was bleeding into a desolate night filled with the sound of crickets and the wet summer air that made her want to peel her own skin off. An expertly crafted wooden sign indicated that the magic shop was closing its own doors and Hope was never one to linger after hours when a place lacked good liquor.

The door with the little bell and the burgundy paint flung open with enough force to crack the double-plated glass that protected it. Jade drew in a sharp breath and Hope felt the defensive bit of energy strike against her fingertips akin to a match.

A girl crashed to her knees and winced as they stung tearing against the aged wood. She was drenched in the pungent smell of sweat mixed with swamp water and mud, it left an even ring against the midsection of a pure white dress, something that had once been spotless but was now torn with the scent of blood and moss.

Hope exhaled because she decided that it was better than the opposite, perfectly content with the heir of magic instead of muck. This girl was captivating and a near stranger. Her blonde hair was stained similarly with mud and tears streaked down her cheeks. Eyes so pale they were almost gray. Mud darkened behind her nails and blood soaked close to her collar, not from a bite, but a tear, a simple slice in her skin that looked all too intentional.

Conrad moved across the shop wordlessly and flipped the large iron lock against the door “What in God’s name-“

“I need help,” She girl gulped out, her voice was broken, pained from screaming. “There are people after me and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“A hospital?” Jade suggested, blinking at the scene.

“No, no I couldn’t. That can’t help me not against them.”

Hope hesitated “Who did this to you?”

The girl’s breath slowed, no longer a jagged pant but something loose and unstable. She hugged herself close, still sitting against the floor and dripping mud that would be nearly impossible to scrub away. “I took something important from a group of witches. It was for the greater good, I swear it, but they don’t’ see it like that. They have a tracking spell on me and I figured— fuck if anyone was strong enough to counter it with a cloaking spell it would be”

“Me,” Conrad finished the sentence. “Whatever it is, I’ll need more power than I have. It was half-witted to show up here. One man can’t take down an entire coven.”

“What about yours?” She searched desperately.

“They’re indisposed. You can’t hide here, girl. I’m sorry, it’s not my fight.”

Hope rolled her eyes, staring the sad excuse for a regent down. He liked to protect his people, and the tribrid could admit to her own motives as well. But watching the girl, so small and unsure of herself, it pulled at her. Pulled at her the same way that it did with Jade in the 1800s and countless others that shared her disposition. She blamed her mother for her soft side.

“Have some pity, Drew. Where would the world be if we didn’t take mercy on anyone?”

“A hell of a lot safer, your daddy knew that.”

She ignored the comment and the mention of her father. Flames licked at her skin, and an acid taste pressed against the back of her throat but she swallowed it down, kneeling in front of the scared witch, so pulled into herself that she barely noticed another presence until now. Her beaten stare flashed in recognition, and fear, and something else entirely that Hope couldn’t read.

She whispered, soft “Now, I think you and I can make a deal.”

“I’ve heard stories about you.” The stranger swallowed the dirty taste on her tongue “I think I’d rather risk my luck in the quarter. I don’t need your protection.”

Hope gave a wolfish grin, fighting back a bitter laugh. Even now, even crouched low coated in every kind of grime that the Louisiana swamps had to offer, she refused her. It made an odd bout of pride swell in Hope’s chest because the stories had lived on and so had her presence in this town seeping with the history of her family.

“You took something from a bloodletting frenzy of homicidal witches. Like hell, you need my protection.”

The girl gulped in the same air that Hope had when she first entered the small shop. She stared at her supposed savior, at Conrad Drew, and a stranger leaning close enough to the shelves to clear them entirely. She felt the hot floor against her knees and tasted the waters of the swamp she had waded through, and though it was slight, she could pick up on the magic of a woman entirely too patient to compete with the fairytales.

She conceded “What kind of deal?”

#lizzie saltzman #hope mikaelson #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #hizzie fanfiction #Legacies #legacies fanfiction

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sunnydawn444 · 6 years

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New Post has been published on Sunny Dawn Johnston

New Post has been published on http://sunnydawnjohnston.com/blog/numerology-report-the-gift-of-marchs-3-vibration/

Numerology Report - The Gift of March’s 3 Vibration

I always love an overview of what the energy of the coming month looks like. It gives me an opportunity to set intentions with more focus and clarity based on the energy of the coming month. Karen has put together this numerology report with that purpose in mind. Take some time to read through this and see what it inspires and activates within you – SDJ♥

Nurture Your Relationship with Your Inner Child – The Gift of March’s 3 Vibration

March whispers … come out and play … Yes, it’s time to reconnect with that beautiful, sparkly kid within you.

We’re in the 2 energy of relationships all year long. Last month, February (also a 2 vibration) was strongly suggesting that you start cultivating a better relationship with yourself. Become your own best friend. Be kind and patient with yourself.

Now we slide into March and the delightful 3 vibration. Ahh, that number 3 energy beckons to the child within us all. The number 3 is associated with Self-Expression, Self-Nurturing, Artistic Creation, Joy, Light-heartedness, Fun, Humor, Enthusiasm, Having a good time, Pleasure and Passion, Pampering, Communicating, Socializing, Sensuality and being in your Body.

Being in your body is so important. Not just this month, but every month, every day! Yes, really being present in your body, experiencing pleasure, receiving messages from your gut and heart, being grounded, igniting your connection to your creative expression … and your inner child.

Yet you might want to escape being in your body because of judgments you have or feeling uncomfortable with how you feel. I get it. Sometimes it is really hard to be in your body. Emotional pain, physical discomfort, traumatic memories, incessant comparison … they all take a heavy toll on your capacity to thrive and fully express yourself.

And yet …

Your Inner Child is your portal to your creative essence and to the potentials and possibilities that await you. These things do not come from your beautiful head. Nope, the innocence and wonder of the inner child is a wide open connection to your Source and your authentic self-expression. Uninhibited and unedited.

The domain of your inner child is the gut area of your body. The seat of a powerful source of intuition: instincts and gut feelings. And you miss out on its bountiful contribution to your life if you aren’t present in your body.

The Inner Child I am referring to here is the pristine inner child of your soul template. You could imagine it as an archetype if that helps, or a younger version of you who is still filled with wide-eyed enthusiasm and for the world and its mysteries.

True, your inner child might lash out in dysfunctional ways, or make decisions for you when you do things on auto pilot. Especially if you’ve shut down your relationship with this inner kid. Really, what kid wants to be ignored or made to sit quietly? The wounded child does exist. That part of you could definitely use some nurturing, reassurance, love, and acceptance.

When you nurture your relationship with your inner child, you begin seeing with new eyes again. You can let go of having to be right, or fearful of failing or being judged, and instead, be open to exploration, discovery and playing with different ideas. Your Inner Child also remembers what you wanted to do before a boatload of crap got shoveled onto your sensitive psyche! Your child within can help you reconnect to more authentic parts of yourself. Things you might have forgotten or thought you lost along the path of growing up. Nope, they are still in there, waiting for you.

Here are some ways you can reconnect with and nurture your inner child:

Go Play

Do things that are fun

Dance around your house for no reason

Sit (or lay down) outside and watch the clouds go by, let your imagination see different shapes and creatures in the cloud formations (this was one of my faves)

Look at the night sky and wonder about the stars and what kind of beings might live out there in space

Giggle till your sides hurt

Skip instead of walk (I often skipped down halls in my corporate job … and yeah they thought I was a bit eccentric. And they were right!)

Play dress up

Twirl in a circle till you get dizzy or laugh out loud

Color

Paint

Finger paint

Play with clay or play-dough

Make something, anything

Make up silly songs

Sign

Laugh … a lot!

Take naps

Look in the mirror and say “I love you” or “I think you rock” or “You’re perfect just the way you are” or “You’re so Awesome!”

Imagine anything you like

Rewrite your story with more fun and happy endings … and chocolate

Dream

Eat ice cream, savoring every lick (be sure to get some smeared on your face!)

Write a story, poem or limerick

Tell silly jokes (be sure to laugh at them too)

Pretend you are an action hero, movie star, fireman, Yoda, princess or whatever you desire … how would your life be different? What might you do or think or say?

Buy yourself a toy or game and then play with it

Pretend each finger on your right hand is a different person or creature and have a conversations with them … see what insights you might get from this.

Eat with your fingers

Play with your food

Make water balloons and then go play with them (remember to have fun and harm no one!)

Water pistols!

Splash in a puddle … or splash your hands in a sink full of water

Play in the dirt or mud

Take an art class

Ride a bike or skate board if you dare

Get messy … on purpose

Swing on the swings at a playground

Observe other little kids when they don’t know you’re watching them … learn something new from this

Explore a new place or a familiar place with new eyes

Close your eyes and allow your other senses to tell you what is going on (what do you hear, smell, feel on your skin, sense)

Expect miracles every day

Clearly I could go on and on and on. Instead I’ll leave somethings to your own imagination and ideas that your inner kid sparks within you. Then, please share your favorite things to do that inspire your inner kid in the comments below!

Have fun!

Before I change topics here, I want to share another cool tool.

Play the “Wonder Game”

This is one of my favorite ways to engage my Inner Kid and also open myself up to the possibilities that exist … and I am totally unaware of. It is so easy to do. In fact, I often start my morning this way to lift my energy up. Especially if I feel in the crapper that day … I can either Wallow or Wonder.

The point is to just send these Wonderings out to the Universe. And then be open to noticing the Divine Breadcrumbs that show up. Your Inner Kid is excellent at noticing and following these hunches and glimmers. So pay attention 😉

Start with “I wonder what…”

I wonder what happens today that totally delights me. (And something always does when I wonder this!)

I wonder what I do differently that opens up great new opportunities for me.

I wonder what my soul would like to express through me today.

I wonder what my creative spirit might like to play with today.

I wonder what I create today.

I wonder when this fabulous new job shows up.

I wonder who I meet today.

I wonder what I do to enjoy my work more.

I wonder what happens that brings more fun into my life today.

I wonder what happens that allows me to receive more joy (or good, or love or money) in my life.

You get the idea.

So this month, play the wonder game and see what starts showing up for you. And invite your Inner Child to play with you and poke you when they notice something that you’re not seeing because you’re not expecting miracles and they are!

Oh, another cool game similar to the I Wonder game is the “What If” game. It helps me when I get stuck in a rut or belief about something. “What if the opposite is true?” What if things are actually working out for me, even if I don’t see it yet?” “What if the miracle I seek is right around the corner?” “What if there is an easier way? I wonder what that might be.” (See, I just combined the two games!)

Another theme of the 3 vibration is communication and self-expression. So by all means, if you want to write or communicate in some way, this is a good month to dive in.

However, since we will be living with planet Mercury playing with us in March, might I suggest that whatever you want to create, communicate or express is something you had thought about doing before now. This is because Mercury Retrograde periods frown on starting new things.

Mercury is the planet of communication. It is named after the Roman God who was the winged messenger. So when it goes retrograde, it seems like it is going backwards to us on Earth. Things slow down, communications and technology glitch, plans get messed with, delays happen, and confusion pops up. It is a great time to revisit things and rest. Take it slower than usual. Cultivate patience. Double check stuff and take care with your communications of all kinds.

Mercury will be in Retrograde from March 22 to April 14. Yep, right through tax time, so take some extra care there as well.

Now although the full effect kicks in around the 21st of March, you will be under the influence of the Shadow of the Retrograde beginning on the 8th. The shadow effects are in place for a couple of weeks before and after the actual Mercury Retrograde period. So you might want to make note of this in your calendars!

Mercury Pre-Retrograde Shadow: March 8 to 21; slowdown begins

Mercury Retrograde: March 22 to April 14; exercise caution in communications, with your electronics gear, and with any large purchases or legal dealings

Mercury Post-Retrograde Shadow: April 15 – 30, delays, miscommunications still occur

OK, now back to the essence of March:

Lighten up. Be silly. Go play. Do things that are fun. Connect with and nurture your sparkly, brilliant, wise and playful Inner Kid. Be creative. Sing, dance, write, draw, express yourself any way you can. Take time to hang out with people that make you feel good. Do thing that you enjoy. “Wonder” and “What If” your way through your day.

Laugh, giggle, imagine, become inspired and feel alive.

From my inner kid to yours,

Lots of love with awesome sauce and fairy sprinkles.

Mwah.

Karen M. Winkelman

Intuitive Consultant and Pathfinder, Speaker, Writer, Numerologist, and Past Life Guide

Karen works with her “Celestial Spirit Posse” and yours, blending intuition, wisdom and spiritual teachings with practical guidance, compassion and a wickedly playful sense of humor. She’s a creative with a strong business background in marketing. She empowers other creatives and heart-centered professionals to find clarity and direction, gain insight, bust through blocks, get unstuck, take back their power, and shift the shit that gets in the way of owning their gifts, stepping out and thriving. She has helped many people face their fears, heal old wounds and transform their life. Karen is on a mission to help others to learn to love and accept themselves, exactly as they are. She is available for private sessions and speaking engagements.

If you’d like to know your personal numerology forecast for 2018 or if you’d like some support with whatever stressors you are dealing with, I’d love to work with you if we’re a fit. You can contact me here: www.TheLifeCraftingGuide.com and https://www.facebook.com/karen.m.winkelman.lifecrafting

#affirmations #angels #appreciation #energy #healing #intuition #love #numerology #psychic #psychic medium #spirit #spirits #spiritual #sunny dawn johnston

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themadlostgirl · 7 years

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Not Dead Yet (Part 18)

*I have been staring at this chapter for days debating with myself over the development. But you all have given me such love and I like this chapter too much to change it. Hope you like it too!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

“Wakey wakey.” I shook Pan awake the next morning. “We have a lot of walking to do.”

“For god’s sake woman, why do you have to get up so early?” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Stop complaining. You’re the one that wanted to get to a town so let’s go.” It seemed to take him a moment to remember what had happened yesterday. When he came to he gave me a dirty look and spent the next ten minutes grumbling about getting us stuck in this situation.

“So, Pan, any idea on how we’re going to find a way back home?”

“Hit up the black markets and dodgy parts of town. We’re bound to find something sooner or later.” he shrugged, “Also, it might be safer for you to stop calling me Pan when we’re here.”

“Why?”

“Enchanted Forest. I’ve made some enemies, most of them from here. If they were to catch wind of me being here with no way to escape then it could prove rather bad for us.”

“What do you want me to call you? Andrew? Robert? Eugene?”

“Peter will suffice.” he rolled his eyes, “Don’t look so giddy, it’s just my name.”

“Yeah, but you never let anyone call you by your first name.”

“Details, details…”

“Well, glad to have the non-honor, Peter.”

He shoved me but I could tell it was in good spirits. I knocked him back and we kept shoving each other like that until I ended up body slamming him to the ground. He stared up at me in shock before an oddly calm grin took over his features. “You are gonna pay for that one, Lost Girl!”

“Only if you can catch me!” I took off running and he followed after me. When he did catch up he tackled me to the ground. “Nice one, Pete.”

He turned me over and cocked an eyebrow up at me. “What? Don’t like Pete?”

“No.” he said in a very serious tone that made me chuckle. “Something funny?”

“No, no...you just got so serious.” I teased.

“Come on,” he pulled me up.

“I guess I can’t call you Petey then either, huh?”

At this his eye started twitching. “Calm down I was just joking. You need to find yourself a sense of humor.”

After a couple hours Peter and I found a town and using some money I pickpocketed got a room in the inn. Sleeping outside was no problem but it was freezing here. One small room with only one bed and a hard wooden chair created some issues. It took some serious arguing on my end to get him to even allow me to stay in the room. According to him since it was my fault we were stuck here I should have slept on the floor but I reminded him that we only got this room from the money I pickpocketed so I deserved it more. In the end we ended up having to share the bed which, let me tell you, wasn’t easy!

“Keep your feet on your side!” I shoved his freezing feet away from me.

“Well I would if you didn’t hog all the blankets!”

“Maybe you’d be warmer if you put a shirt on!”

“I can’t sleep with a shirt on! You’re not wearing any pants!”

“Cause they’re caked with mud!”

“For the love of--” he yanked hard on the blanket, pulling more to his side.

“I don’t have any now!”

“How about you complain about it more, I’m sure that’ll warm you up.”

“Fine, I don’t need a blanket. My seething anger will keep me warm.”

“Sounds good to me.” he rolled over so his back was to me. I curled into myself trying to retain some body heat and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The ringing of bells woke me up the next morning. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and realized I was alone in the room. Where had Peter gone so early in the morning? As if he knew I was thinking about him Peter strode back in with a bundle of clothing and wearing something that wasn’t his. “What’s all this?”

“If we’re going to be stuck here we need to blend in or else the townspeople are going to think we’re nothing but bandits.” he threw me some clothes, “Get dressed.”

“Alright.” I stood up and stripped out of my old worn shirt and into the dress Peter had found me. “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“Stop complaining.” he tossed me my dagger. “Also keep that concealed, nothing screams suspicious than a girl with a bloody knife.”

After we were dressed we left to get some breakfast and look around the village. It was a rather large village bustling with activity and a castle way up on the horizon. I wonder whose kingdom we were in?

We went around to some seedy shops looking for some form of magic to get us back home. Everywhere we looked though the seller either tried to pass off junk to us or simply didn’t have anything magical.

“This is getting tedious.” I groaned, “I know I’m not well versed in magical objects but even I could tell that was just some crudely painted piece of wood.”

“Oh no, Y/N, it was a rare charm specially made to find magic beans out in the wilds.” Peter grinned and I found myself smiling back. “But in all honesty we are being shown nothing but junk it seems.”

“What do we do now?”

“Care for something to eat?”

“Yes please.” I snuck some coins off a passerby and we grabbed some bread and cheese at a stand.

“Hey, I have a serious question for you.” Peter broke off some bread I was holding.

“What’s that?”

“Do you really not know what a camel is?”

“What?”

“When I was telling you about the spinner women I mentioned one of them had a lip that drooped like a camel and you said--”

“Okay, I get it. No, I do not know what a camel is. What’s a camel?”

“It’s an animal, kind of like a horse but with a longer neck and their back has these large bumps on them.” he explained, “I can tell by the idiot expression you aren’t getting this.”

“Here,” I pulled a wanted poster off a wall, “Draw me a picture.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Draw me a picture of a camel.”

“Fine.” He pulled me into the inn and we sat down near the fire. With a piece of charcoal in hand he set to work as I nibbled at the cheese we bought.

“So focused.” I tried to peer at the paper.

“You will wait until I’m finished.” he blocked it from view with his arm.

“Ugh, you artists.” I rolled my eyes. A minute later he slid the paper across to me. “I’d say it looks just like the real thing but y’know…”

“Thanks,” he snatched the paper back.

“But for real, you can really draw.” I stood up and grabbed another wanted poster off the wall and turned it over for him. “Draw me something else?”

“I demand pay for my creations madam!” he said in an overly grandiose voice.

“Then you shall receive it kind sir.” I tossed him a silver coin. “Now give me a drawing worthy to hang on my palace walls!”

“As the madam wishes, I will draw you the most beautiful portrait of my career.” I tried not to laugh as he set to his drawing. While I waited for him to finish I grabbed a book that was laying on a nearby table and began to read. I hadn’t had to read in so long I was afraid I might have forgotten.

The night grew late and I felt myself starting to nod off. “Hey, Y/N,” Peter tapped my arm perking me awake again, “Your grand piece of art.”

“Done?” I took the paper. His hands were covered in charcoal smears and there were charcoal shavings from him sharpening it. “You really put a lot of work into this didn’t you?”

“Of course. I promised my best work.”

“Then let’s see this…” my words trailed into nothing as I took in the drawing. It’s...it’s me. I didn’t look in mirrors all day but the likeness was uncanny. It was my profile staring down at something with focus.

“You drew me?” I sought his face. He was already looking at me when I faced him. Those hard green eyes were softer and his cocky smirk was replaced with a gentle smile.

“Yeah. Well you were sitting right there reading and the way the firelight was casting the shadows it…” he dropped my gaze like the act burned him, “I drew you. So what?”

I looked back down at the drawing. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t anything.” he shrugged. “I’m going to get a drink, you want one?”

“Oh no. It’s late, I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” I folded the drawing and stuck it in my skirt pocket. “If you get drunk though and bring up some floozy I will throw you out the window. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” he gave a mock salute as he wandered toward the bar.

I don’t know what it is but since leaving Neverland Peter was nicer. He was nice to me enough when we weren’t trying to kill each other but here things were different. It felt easy. Walking around town, joking, talking, and whatnot. That was the only way I could describe it. Things were easy. I felt like a wall had been torn down after years of chipping. He was still my leader and the boy that has tried to kill me numerous times no doubt, he was still Pan. Just watching him saunter over to the bar while I climbed the stairs to our room felt blissfully mundane. A part of me almost wished that we wouldn’t find a portal back to Neverland if it kept this lull of peace going on just a bit longer.

I went back to our room and changed out of the dress and back into my traveling shirt. At least I don’t have to fight for the bed tonight. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and was soon asleep.

Peter was true to his word and didn’t bring any floozies up to the room in a drunken stupor. What I did wake up to though was far stranger. He was back in the bed with his head laying on my chest and an arm wrapped around my middle fast asleep.

Okay...how do I get out of this?

I started to peel his arm off me then stopped when I caught a look at his face. He looked so peaceful. Everything about him was intense all the time that to see this was strange. Without realizing it I had brought a hand up to his head, running my fingers through his hair.

“What am I doing?” I whispered to myself and slid out from underneath him. The movement woke him up and he sat up. He gave me bleary glare.

“Why do you have to get up early all the time?” he flopped back against the bed.

“Habit.” I pulled the blanket off the bed. “Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

He begrudgingly got out of bed and the pair of us went back into town for another day of searching. I didn’t mention the fact that I had woken up intertwined with him. I doubt it would have gone over well and he probably would have just found a way to tease me with it.

After our failure yesterday we weren’t too optimistic on our chances of finding a magic bean or some other kind of realm jumper today. After the first dozen of rotten back alleys Peter was cranky and I was hungry. We went back to the inn early just as the sun was starting to dip on the horizon.

“I’m starving.” I moaned, “Got any money for food?”

“No, but we don’t need any.” he pulled me up off the bed. “I heard wedding bells ringing earlier and the inn was bustling with activity. I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if there are two extra guests at the reception.”

“We don’t exactly look like we’d fit in at a wedding reception do we?” I gestured to our stolen clothes and dirtied faces.

“Easily remedied.” he waved his hand and the pair of us were cleaned up. Peter dressed in a white shirt, green coat and black pants with matching black boots. I looked down at myself and saw that I was now wearing a red velvet gown embroidered with golden ivy leaves at the sleeves and neck.

“Really?”

“You love it you know you do.” he smirked back at me with a proffered arm. “Now, shall we?”

I rolled my eyes but took his arm and we went downstairs to join the festivities. We must have looked like we fit in quite well as others came up greeting us with smiles and offering us drinks and food. We sat down and filled our bellies with hot chicken, fresh bread, buttery potatoes and sweet cake, not to mention a good amount of wine and ale.

Music pulsated through the inn and everyone was dancing jubilantly. Well almost everyone. Peter and I sat away from the dancers, content to sip wine and chat amongst ourselves. Everyone looked to be having such fun though…

“Excuse me,” one of the young men from the bridal party approached us, “Care to dance miss?”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Peter said before I could answer.

“Yes, she would.” I stood up taking the boy’s hand, “Just cause you don’t dance doesn’t mean I don’t have to.”

“Y/N…” he warned.

“Like you were ever going to ask me.” I rolled my eyes and let myself be led out towards the other dancers. The boy held onto my waist as we started twirling to the music. I let out a wine induced giggle as the stranger and I danced.

The song ended and another began to swell anew. A different boy came up to me looking for a dance but was intercepted by Peter who pulled me away. I was pressed into him before being spun out and back in. “What’s this about?”

“Me asking you for a dance.” he shrugged.

“You didn’t ask though.” I reminded him.

“Details…” He held tight to my waist, spinning me so my feet scarcely touched the ground. Maybe it was the wine or the party or a combination of the two but we danced the entire night through, drowning reality with fantasy. Anytime someone tried to cut in Peter pulled me away with a cold look at whoever came near. I knew none of this would last. We were just playing pretend until we found a way back to Neverland. That was even if Peter still wanted me to come back once we did find a way. Until then I was content here dancing with him, tipsy and carefree.

It was like a dream. One of those dreams where everything feels so real and you’re so happy but the moment you wake up it fades into nothing leaving you empty in a way you can’t explain. That’s all this was, and I was dreading the moment when we finally woke up.

A line dance started and everyone was stomping their feet and shouting with good cheer making me forget my worries once more. One by one couples went down the line starting with the newly married couple. Peter and I ran down the tunnel of people, hands tightly intertwined and brows glistening with sweat.

Skipping, spinning, twirling in and out along with the wild frenzied beat until the song struck it last triumphant note and Peter and I were pressed flushed against each other breathing deep and smiling wide. His gaze flickered to my lips before leaning and pushing his mouth against mine. I could taste wine and sweat as I kissed him back. It was by no means a pretty kiss. It was hungry and gasping and passionate and fervid. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck so to get a better angle.

His hands wandered down to my hips. The music was drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding hard in my ears. He pulled away from my lips to nuzzle his face into my neck. His hot breath puffing like fire against my already scorching skin.

Then the dream came crashing down.

“Peter?” We froze and Peter pulled away. There was a girl with powder blonde hair and a worn pink dress staring at us with disgust. “You--you--!”

“Ah, Scarlet?” His voice sounded deeper than it did earlier.

“Giselle!” the girl screeched.

“Right...uh...how have you been?”

“Impatient, waiting for my dear lover to return with the ring he promised me!” The noise of the inn lowered as the others stopped to watch the scene.

“Oh my god…” I snorted.

“You! You’re the one that defiled my daughter!” A very large man approached us, murder in his eyes.

“Uh Y/N, I think it’s time for us to go.” He pulled on my hand and we made a shot for the door. We ran out into the town square and stumbled down into an alley out of sight. When it looked like we weren’t being followed we both broke out laughing.

“I thought that inn looked familiar.” he was doubled over, tears in his eyes.

“I cannot believe you! You are such a whore!” I couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard.

“So this is my fault?”

“It is! It is entirely your fault!” I took in a deep breath. The dreamlike scenario already flitting away into obscurity as rational thought tried to regain control over my wine addled brain. “Well, casanova, where are we supposed to sleep now that we can’t go back to our room?”

Peter seemed to be having the same problem and had to take a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “We’ll make camp out in the forest. Not anything we’re not used to right?”

“Right.” we left the alley, leaning on each other as we escaped the town and found a clearing in the forest. Peter changed our clothes back to normal which I was only a little disappointed in. I wouldn’t admit it but playing dress up for the night had been fun.

We pulled some branches together and made an impromptu shelter for one. The other would stay up and keep watch. “Get some rest.” Peter sat next to the fire he had conjured.

“No, I can take first watch.” I tried to answer but he just shook his head.

“You’ll nod off, especially now that you have about a dozen glasses of wine swimming through ya. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But wake me up in a couple hours for my watch.” I yawned as I laid down to sleep on the chilled forest floor. Strangest night ever.

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#hooboy did I love writing this!#Pan why you gotta be such a manwhore?#my adorable plastered children #peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #neverland #ouat #peter pan x reader #slowburn #peter pan imagine

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gamesmakers · 7 years

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A Worthwhile Investment

A/N: Abusive relationship.

The way the critics write about Ren these days, one would think he had splashed a bit of himself on the canvas to make his masterpieces. Only Hux understands how accurate that interpretation truly is.

"You said you were looking for investment works. This guy – he's something special. He's gonna be big."

Hux followed him into the gallery. "So far today, you've shown me the work of three artists, all of whom are apparently something special and certain to balloon in popularity in the next two years."

In another life, Silas Kanzer might have been a grub. Balding, with sickly pink-grey skin that looked filthy even after being scrubbed raw, it was all too easy of a comparison to make. And yet he had managed to become one of New York's premiere art dealers. One had to wonder what the world was coming to. The smile he gave Hux, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "I've been saving the best for last. Trust me." Finally, they reached the last room of the exhibit.

Stunning. Nearly three meters across and perhaps two meters high, the painting dominated the room. The others – attractive pieces, he was certain, and perhaps they showed some artistic merit as well – could not hope to compete. It… he couldn't begin to explain. Dark and deep, blue and red on black, hot, masculine, a fight played out in color. Brilliant. And like all brilliant, beautiful things, it had to be his.

"Should I get the paperwork started?" Kanzer must have smelled the sale in the air. A disgusting man, but Hux supposed he did have his uses.

He nodded, not bothering to look away from the painting. "And Kanzer."

"Yes?"

Hux dragged his eyes away from the painting to the plaque beside it. "I would very much like to meet this Kylo Ren." Though Hux had traveled extensively over four continents, the name still felt foreign on his tongue. But collectors were collectors, whether it was wine or art or geniuses, and he could not let anything as bright as Ren slip through his fingers because of a few eccentricities.

"I can arrange that."

Artists, in his experience, were poorly-adjusted creatures. Social niceties often seemed beyond their comprehension, and Hux had wondered once or twice if most of them might be happier living out in the forest somewhere as modern-day hermits. Though, he supposed, that would limit their audience. And many, possibly most, absolutely required an audience. Prima donnas disguised in suits of brilliance was all they were.

No landlady or doorman had greeted them when they rang, and nobody had come when Kanzer forced the door open and let Hux inside. Breaking and entering seemed to be hardly a punishable offense in this neighborhood. It wasn't as though there was anything to steal. The best a burglar could hope to make out with were fleas and a few otherwise-eradicated diseases. He was careful not to touch the handrail as he followed Kanzer up the steep, narrow staircase. Perhaps this was the new face of masculinity. After coming back from the war, men hadn't bothered to wipe the mud from their dungarees before settling into their new lives. Polished steel and noble honor replaced by the weapons of industrial warfare and the near-slaves who operated them. It was no wonder the world was in such sharp decline.

Standing in the landing before Ren's door, he felt quite the relic of better days long since forgotten. The intensity of the sensation only increased when Kanzer's knock was answered. What lay beyond was a jungle of open paint cans, sheets spread haphazardly to protect the floorboards, half-eaten meals left to rot on their plates, and standing before it, a dark figure that seemed as likely as his flat to fly apart into total chaos. The man was tall, at least a couple inches taller than Hux, who was certainly not a short man, and his shoulders were broad enough that he took up most of the doorway. "Who are you?"

"Ren, my boy! You haven't forgotten me, have you? I said I'd be dropping by with a friend today." Kanzer smiled, and Hux did not envy Ren as its intended recipient. The man made his flesh crawl.

A moment's confusion passed. "Is it Thursday already? I thought it was Wednesday. I thought I'd get the place cleaned up a bit before you came." Where, precisely, one could lose a day was rather beyond Hux. What had he been thinking when he'd suggested this meeting? A moment's insanity; it must have been. Now that he had found himself again, it would be simple to extract himself, to pretend as though none of this had ever happened. Art, no matter how powerful, wasn't worth this. "Come on in." An order, not a question, for Ren sounded as though he would not hesitate to fetch the kitchen knife Hux spotted on the table behind him should they choose to do otherwise. Perhaps this was the way the man always presented himself. Rather a large part of Hux suspected he did. Such idiosyncrasies did make for an interesting specimen.

A minute or two wouldn't hurt, and he couldn't very well back out now, and so, Hux found himself stepping into the lion's den. Two steps in, he stepped on a stray paintbrush, leaving blue on the bottom of his boot that he was sure would prove impossible to remove. Three steps in, he could have sworn he saw something small and black skitter between a plate left on the floor and a pile of old newspapers. "This is Brendol Hux. Mister Hux is the man who made such a generous offer on the piece in the Charles Egan Gallery."

He peeled his eyes away from the newspapers to give Ren a tight, forced half-smile. It would have been polite to shake hands, but Hux had no desire to soak his hands in bleach after this encounter.

"What do you think of the work?"

"I think it'll make a lovely decoration for my living room." A deliberate barb, and one that any self-respecting artist could hardly ignore. Ren's reaction should at least prove interesting.

"Three hundred dollars is a lot of money for a decoration." Not the type to stand down, then, even to his betters. Hux rethought his earlier assessment. Perhaps he could work with this man. If the works behind him were any indication, the risk was well worth the reward.

"I would be very interested to see what else you have been working on." Hux was more interested than he could admit to while retaining the upper hand. A rather unfortunate position, but one that with even a modicum of luck, would go unnoticed.

"I'll take you around. See if you can't find any more decorations for your living room," he sneered. "But guessing by the way you've been studying everything you can see in here, I think we all know you're going to walk out of here poorer than you walked in."

And despite Ren's hostility, he did, for the only thing that wounded Hux's pride more than being shown up was losing a masterpiece.

The terms they negotiated were generous: a hundred and fifty dollars a month for a year, by the end of which he would have a mural-size painting for the entryway of his townhouse. In addition, Hux would be allowed to select his ten favorite pieces of Ren's from that time period for himself without additional payment.

Ren had not hesitated to sign the contract Hux's lawyers had made up, but that did not stop him from defying its every clause. No, defy was too mature of a word, for it made it seem as though Ren had some well-reasoned argument for why the demands upon him were unreasonable. The man was a child about even the most reasonable requests. How dare Hux ask to see the progress being made on his paintings? It was absolutely preposterous that a man would want to know that the labor he was paying nearly two thousand dollars for was truly being completed. Every phone call ended with Hux swearing at the disconnected line, and Ren hadn't returned any of the weekly telegrams and letters he sent inquiring as to his progress.

But Hux did not employ some of the best lawyers in New York for nothing, and three weeks before his painting was due for completion, he stood outside Ren's apartment again, impatiently waiting for his appointment. Any reasonable person would think, given that Hux had essentially paid all of Ren's bills for the last several months, that the man could at the very least be on time. As was so often the case with Kylo Ren, the reasonable individual would be wrong. Fifteen minutes late already, and still no sign of him. At least a young couple – unmarried and disheveled, classless – had been kind enough to let him into the building. The apartment itself proved more of a challenge.

He had tried knocking. Twice, actually, and to no avail. More from frustration than any real hope that Ren would respond, he knocked a third time, pounding hard enough that the door bucked on its hinges. "Be quiet!" a muffled voice came from inside. Seconds later, a very upset Kylo Ren appeared. "What do you think you're doing?" There was alcohol on his breath and a slight slur to his words, but Hux had come to expect that from Ren.

"What do I think I'm doing? Showing up for the appointment we made weeks ago. The one where you so graciously agreed to show me the progress you've been making." He did not even try to keep the acid out of his voice. Hux did not require gratefulness, but a bit of respect would not be amiss. It seemed he had come to expect too much of today's artists.

Ren's lip twitched, and he waited several seconds too long before moving out of the way and allowing Hux inside. The apartment was no cleaner than it had been the first time he'd visited. The floor served as a giant ashtray for dozens or even hundreds of cigarette butts, paint boot prints tracked everywhere, and something dark was smeared over one of the walls. Hux could only hope it was paint or food.

Only a few items had managed to escape the curse of filthiness that rested over the apartment. Thankfully, one of them was the canvas he had supplied for the entryway piece. Eight feet tall, twenty feet wide, and by some miracle, it had been left pristine. Perfectly white, still, and completely untouched. "Your progress is astounding."

"It'll be done on time."

"There are three weeks until that needs to be perfect and hanging in my foyer. You've had the canvas for months." Growing up, Hux had always been more afraid when his father was quietly angry than when he shouted. Now, he found that same tone to use with Kylo. Mixing money, influence, and anger made for a very dangerous concoction.

"That's not how art works."

"And how is it that art works? Does it just appear out of nowhere fully –" He was interrupted when Ren grabbed his paintbrush and put a huge splatter of red paint onto the otherwise blank canvas. Hux's mouth dropped open as the crimson paint dripped down the canvas. After what must have only been a second, though it felt like an eternity, he snapped his jaw shut. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Ren narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to force me. And this - " he dipped the dirty brush into another can of paint and sent more paint splashing onto both canvas and wall " – this shit is what you get when you try to force art."

"I paid for that."

"You're paying for the mastery, not the supplies." The man was drunk. He could see the half-empty bottle of whiskey, as well several empties scattered about. He shouldn't be able to keep up with an argument, much less win one.

"I am paying for your so-called mastery and your materials. My money is what keeps you alive, Ren. You would do well to keep that in mind when addressing me." Heat was spreading underneath the collar of his coat, creeping up his neck, and Hux's heart pounded in his ears. Anger, yes, but pure anger was not so invigorating. Hux was not an old man, but it had been years since he had felt young. The passion, the feeling of youth, all of it had abandoned him too quickly, but this… this was marvelous.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore. Come back in three weeks to collect your work."

He had no right to dismiss him, and Hux normally would have pointed that out, but the brush was still in Ren's hands, and his coat and boots were both only days old. So, he summoned up the most chilling smile he could and nodded. "I look forward to your attempts to apologize."

"And I look forward to never having to see you again."

Petty, petty. Any real opponent could do better. But nobody else he had come across made this quite so enjoyable. Life was a game of sacrifice, wasn't it?

He kept away for a week and a half. Hux was not sure what brought him back. He told himself that the reason was simple: he needed to check on Ren's progress, make sure that there would be a painting in time for the dinner party he was planning for the night of May fourth. If asked, though, Hux would not have denied that he was looking forward to another argument with Kylo Ren.

Over these last ten days, he had made a point of learning a bit more about the artist. Information on Ren was not difficult to find. Wading through the web of exaggerations, half-truths, and downright lies that surrounded the artist to piece together a basic biography was much harder. Eventually, though, Hux had managed to glean several interesting insights into Ren. He was not, as Hux had assumed, a lower-class boy just lucky enough to avoid a lifetime spent tending a factory line. Rather, Ren's maternal grandfather had been Senator Bail Organa, whose integrity in office had been unheard of both during his lifetime and afterwards. Hux may not have agreed with Organa's policies, but time and time again, he had heard people his parents' age and older speak fondly of the man's genuine caring for his constituents and unwillingness to play the games of the party. Organa's daughter had made a less-than-advantageous marriage to a suspected pirate, the result of which had been Kylo Ren. Or, as his birth certificate claimed, Ben Solo. Hux had been unable to find the story behind the name change. It must have had something to do with some sort of family infighting, for several sources suggested that the Solos and their only son no longer communicated. In any case, Ren had burst onto the art scene four years prior, a dirt-poor twenty-five-year-old with no family ties or formal training but a brilliant talent. Whether he had been sober a single day since moving out of his parents' house was entirely up for debate.

Knowledge, Hux's father had often lectured his son, was power, and armed with this new weapon, Hux raised a hand to knock on Ren's apartment door. No response came, but then, he hadn't really expected one. Even if he did happen to be in, Ren didn't seem one to welcome visitors. Respect and a firmly engrained set of social niceties made him wait a minute or two before knocking again. When the second knock went unanswered as well, Hux grabbed his pocket knife and used the blade to jiggle the lock open. Though he didn't like that his art, his investments, were being stored in such an unsecure location, it did make it easy to check on Ren's progress.

Ah, it seemed the man wasn't home. Their argument would have to wait for another day. Hux's hand froze on the doorknob when he laid eyes on the painting. It was not finished, not even close, but already, it was brilliant. Anger coiled within it, pressurized to the point where one could imagine thick, viscous rage erupting, volcanic, from the thick-caked paint. He wanted to find a better spot from which to view the work, but Hux's options were very limited, for the canvas only barely fit in Ren's apartment. Ren's lumpy mattress had been pushed all the way into the corner to make room for it, and still, there was no room to walk between the bed and the edge of the painting. Still, he moved around what little furniture Ren had, trying his best to fit the entire work into his field of vision. He could examine every detail later; for now, he wanted the full effect.

He had only just settled for standing on Ren's bed, boots still on, for it wouldn't make any difference with the mess the man had already made, when he heard the roar. Animal, furious, and certainly Ren. Every stair groaned as he sprinted up them, and Hux thought for a moment about moving away, but where would the fun be in that?

"How'd you get in here?" A lock of Ren's too-long dark hair was glued with sweat to his forehead, and his brown eyes were wide with anger.

Hux looked down at him from his perch on the bed. "It wasn't difficult to open the door. I'm disappointed in how poorly you've been protecting my investment, particularly in this neighborhood."

"You have no right to be here."

"Legally, no, but I pay for this apartment. I can come and go as I please. As much as you don't want to admit it, you need me, Ren."

"Get out!" His ears rang at the words shouted so close to his face, but he did not move.

"Manners," he scolded.

Hux had suspected that Kylo Ren's breaking point was close. He had not realized just how dangerous of territory he had entered. The board connected with his side with enough force to send him tumbling over. But years of military school had not been for nothing, and before he hit the ground, he was rolling into the fall, and by the time the next strike came, he was ready. Dodge, scan the room for a suitable weapon, lunge towards his opponent. These were the steps to their dance, choreographed for the two performers alone. And as Hux executed a swift kick, the first blow he'd landed, it came to an immediate halt. He could not have harmed Ren, at least not seriously, for he knew what a forceful kick felt like, and this had had little power behind it, but the man did not move. His eyes, though, his eyes never left Hux's. And though he knew Ren could speak, for he'd caught his leg, not his chest, the man said nothing.

"Get up so I can hit you again." The man did it without question, and Hux felt a surge of power that he hadn't since his time in the military. He waited until Kylo was straight before again lashing out, this time with a swift, solid punch to the stomach.

Ren hissed, and he clutched a hand to his abdomen for a minute or two, but soon enough, he straightened. "Another." A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Hux knew where he would aim next.

It was wrong, not what he had been looking for at all when he came to Ren's apartment the first day, and dangerous, but that made it all the more powerful. Hux pulled off his gloves and set them neatly down on the bed, folded over each other just as they should be. Ren's cheekbones were sharp against his hand, and the slap probably caused him as much pain as Ren. Watching him take the pain, asking for more, it brought up feelings that he had suppressed for years, ones that he would have been happy enough to never consider again. Hux had been lucky to get away with those times with the other boys during boarding school, and now, he had far more to lose. One could forgive a teenager, struggling with new desires, who spent their days with only other males for company. For a grown man, acceptance would be far harder to come by.

But yet, here was Ren, willing to stand there and accept every blow he gave. It was impossible not to consider what else he might be willing to take.

"Hux?" One word, quiet, but it was enough to make up his mind. Hux pulled Ren down by his hair for a kiss that was more teeth than lips, and Ren began to tug at his clothes, ignoring the buttons and clasps in an attempt to get them off as quickly as possible. For the first time in years, Hux allowed the tidal wave of teeth, nails, and skin to drag him under.

Later, once his heart rate had returned to something near normal and they had made cursory attempts at cleaning themselves up, Hux found he could no longer keep quiet. "I certainly hope you don't think you're going to be paid extra because of this."

Ren smirked at him around the cigarette he held between his lips. "We'll call it artistic inspiration." He was more muscular than Hux would have expected, and he found himself watching how Ren's abdominals tensed as the man groped around the floor by the bed for his lighter. "Care for one?"

"Yes, thank you." They smelled cheap and dirty, and at this point, he probably did too. It was freeing, to smoke in bed and not care if a bit of ash dropped onto the sheets, to be able to grind the butt into the floor when he was finished.

Kylo spread out, and Hux wasn't certain he liked the feeling of the other man's bare skin touching his own now that the need of the moment had died off. Still, he did not move. Laziness, perhaps. Possibly a lingering bit of afterglow. He chose not to consider any other possibilities, and unlike Ren, he had the discipline to abide by that decision. "How long do you estimate it will take for the painting to be completed?" Business or pleasure, never both. A rule to live by, and one he would have to hold himself to a higher standard on in the future.

Ren shrugged, and the movement of the muscles of the other man's arms against his chest sent goosebumps all the way up and down his body. "Three days? Eight? Depends."

"On?" He had to search for that hint of annoyance. Usually, it was so easy to summon.

That smirk again. Lopsided, perhaps a bit too large to be proportionate to the rest of his face, but yet, attractive all the same. "Artistic inspiration," he laughed, and Hux's stomach twisted in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

"It is an incredible acquisition on your part."

"Thank you. I agree. Kylo Ren has promise." Praise from Snoke, long considered the most discerning art critic of the new era, was nearly unheard of.

"I would say that promise has been well developed under your patronage."

Hux raised his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag as he basked in the compliment. The other guests had been impressed – naturally, for he did not make a habit of bringing fools into his home – but none of their thoughts had behind them the taste to compare with Snoke's opinion. "He has grown in the last year, certainly. I am interested to see what he creates going forward."

"As am I." Snoke leaned in closer to the painting. Mural, in its final form, was incomparable. Hux would admit himself biased, but not even the work of the old masters could compare with the flat but expanding mass of paint. With their brushes, they had created altars to their saints and gods. Ren had created a monument to art itself. It was a piece best viewed by one or two, as its sheer size lost its impact when one stood with a group, and now, with just Snoke for company, Hux regained a sense of its grandeur. It was a pity that the others had not stayed to admire Ren's work longer. But having finished their cocktails and given the necessary admiration to the work, they had migrated upstairs to the formal dining room, and Hux could no longer put off joining them.

He snuffed out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. "May I show you upstairs?"

Snoke nodded, and together, they joined the rest of the party in the dining room. Rooms fit for a party of thirty were few and far between in Manhattan, but Hux would have nothing but the best. The parties he held here had long brought the very best of New York's upper class together, and the noise of two dozen voices that he heard from the other side was to be expected.

Still, he felt something was out of place, and when Hux opened the door, his suspicions were confirmed. The beautifully paneled room, the crystal chandelier, the massive fireplace… he cared little for the design itself, but he would not allow someone else to have better. And only feet away, Ren stood, urinating into the fireplace and ruining everything Hux had worked all his life to build. His blood went cold, and the muscles of Hux's jaw clenched as he fought to keep himself calm.

"I see he still has much to learn." After his earlier praise, Snoke's words stung even more, and they forced Hux into action.

"Excuse the two of us. I hope you'll enjoy your meals." With a nod to Datoo, who stood with his mouth hanging open, he pulled Ren from the room. "What were you thinking?" he hissed once the door had slammed shut behind them.

Ren shrugged. "I needed to go."

"You animal. I'd do well to beat some sense into –" His words were cut off when Ren pushed him into the wall.

"You have no right to speak to me like that."

"You embarrassed me and yourself in front of the most important art critic in the country, not to mention twenty-five other dealers and collectors."

"I hurt myself more than you, then." His face was red, more from liquor than anger, Hux thought. What had he been thinking to allow Ren all the alcohol he could drink at an event like this? No, what had he been thinking to allow a child to spoil such an important moment?

"Do you understand what you've done?"

"I know very well –"

"Be quiet. Just be quiet and listen to me. You're a child. A fucking spoiled brat who thinks they can go through life treating everyone like toys and trash and never have to make up for it. You think they'll forgive you for it because you know how to paint." Ren had gone terribly silent. Good. "Is that what happened with your parents? You pushed them far enough that even they couldn't love you anymore?"

"Stop it. You don't know anything." Hux could make out the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

"Oh really? I think I'm coming too close to the truth for you. They did decide they hated you, then. And I know what you did then. You screamed and shouted and had a goddamn temper tantrum over the whole thing, and you still won't admit to anyone that it was all your fault in the first place. You're the reason for all of it."

"I said be quiet."

Hux forced himself to relax. "I think I've left you with quite enough to think about. We won't be expecting your company at dinner." He adjusted his suit, smoothing out a wrinkle that had developed over one shoulder.

"I'm leaving."

"No, you aren't. We still have much to discuss." He plucked a bit of hair – dark, long, almost certainly Ren's – from his jacket. "I'll give Datoo orders to make sure you don't leave this townhouse." His eyes met Ren's, brown and steady and full of as much hate as one person could muster, and though he felt the threat there, he did not back down. "There's a powder room down the hall. I suggest you make use of it to clean yourself up or if any other urges should strike."

With the other guests safely gone, now was his opportunity. "You're in no state to be going home. Stay the night. I'll have a room made up for you." If he sounded gentle, it was only in the way a snake might seem while luring its prey into its hole.

Ren huffed. "I'm not staying here." The depth of his voice could not disguise that they were a child's words.

Hux grabbed him by his collar and pulled him down an inch or two so they were eye to eye. "That was not a suggestion."

He was braced for the blow that followed. He knew, now, to expect the warmth that flooded his system along with it, but Hux didn't yet know how to prepare for something strong. How could he? He'd never encountered Ren's – no, Kylo's – particular mixture of anger and brilliance, and it sent him over an edge he hadn't known existed.

That didn't mean his shoulder didn't hurt where Kylo's fist had connected, or that he didn't want to cause Ren just as much pain in exchange. A punch to the side of the face, then. They had both rather enjoyed that last time. He got a bit more ear than cheek, but the grunt was the same, and the stirrings in his stomach were now almost familiar. The slightest of smiles began to spread across his features as he wound up for another blow.

"Oof." Ren wasn't being gentle now. He followed the strike to the Hux's ribs with one to his stomach that made Hux collapse to his knees, gasping for breath. He curled in on himself to shield off another blow. A drunk man should not be able to do this to him. But that was what made him interesting, wasn't it?

Ren kneeled down beside him. With surprisingly gentle hands, he rolled Hux onto his back and pulled his knees away from his chest. "Are you trying to kill me?" Hux said, his voice weaker than he wanted.

"Not now." He felt well enough now to sit up, but when he tried, Ren pushed him back down. Ren's eyes traveled up and down Hux's form, and he felt like nothing so much as a specimen pinned down and ready to be cut for the vivisectionist's enjoyment. "You're interesting, General."

His title on Ren's lips sent blood rushing to his groin. He had never told Ren of his time in the military: of that much, he was certain. Perhaps Kanzer had mentioned it to Ren, or perhaps Ren had researched him in much the same way he had Ren. In either case, now wasn't the time for questions. Hux reached up to grab Ren by his hair, pull him down for a kiss, but Ren stopped his hands, pinning them above his head with one hand. The other roamed freely over Hux's body, starting by ruffling his neatly-styled hair and continuing down over his chest and shoulders to linger around his erection. "You like this. You like me."

"This. Not you."

"This?" With one hand, he ground down on Hux's erection with enough force to be painful. Over Hux's groan, he added, "No, you could get sex out of anyone. You have enough money to pay off some boy to let you fuck him, to be as rough as you want and keep him quiet about it. But you come to me. Why?"

"Cheaper." He earned a backhanded slap for that one.

"The real reason."

Hux wanted to answer, but deep inside himself, he had to admit he didn't know. Ren waited a moment for a reply, but when none came, he stood. "I'll have Kanzer bring over the paintings later this week so you can take your pick of them." With those words and a final kick to Hux's abdomen, he was gone.

He hadn't known the article in Life was coming. The magazine wasn't one of his regular reads, but when he spotted Ren's name on the cover while he was waiting for an appointment, he had to give it a look. "Kylo Ren: Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?" Just above the title, Ren posed with his work – something new, not one Hux had seen before – cigarette in mouth and smirking, smug as ever. The last three years, it seemed, had not had much impact on the man. Same too-long dark hair, same strong build. Hux had little doubt that the floor, had it been pictured, would have been covered in Ren's trademark filth.

After checking that the receptionist wasn't watching him, Hux stowed the magazine in his briefcase. He waited until he was safely in the back of his car and being chauffeured home to retrieve it. Smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from the page, he soaked up every word. Brilliant, genius, violent, hyper-masculine… he had said it all before. The rest of the world, down to the uncultured idiots Life catered to, was finally catching on. Vindicated, he leaned back in his seat, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. Then, something outside caught his eye. "Datoo, pull over here."

The traffic in Manhattan was a nightmare at the best of times, but from three-thirty to seven on weekdays, it approached perfect gridlock. Still, Datoo knew his place, and so without question, he maneuvered around half a dozen yellow taxi cabs, horns honking all around them, to allow Hux out directly in front of the magazine stall.

Five minutes, twenty-four magazines, and five dollars later, Hux slipped back into his seat. That night, he stowed one of the copies in the bookshelf closest to Mural and one in his nightstand. The others were given to Datoo with instructions to personally see them delivered to a Mr. K. Ren.

Dead at thirty-seven. What a waste. Of life, certainly, for Ren hadn't even summoned the self-control to limit his self-destruction to himself. The poor girl would go down as the footnote attached to Ren's name in the history books. He should have known better than to drive in that state. She should have known better than to get in the car with him. And in the end, Hux supposed, they had both deserved what came to them.

More importantly, though, what a waste of talent. He still came down sometimes, on evenings like this one, when he was alone and the sun shone red-gold before it disappeared, to sit, drink, smoke and admire. Mural – Ren must have thought himself clever when he'd named the painting, and now that he was gone, Hux had to admit he had been – was best viewed in this light, and melancholy tasted best mixed with a good brandy. The way the critics wrote about Ren these days, one would think he had splashed a bit of himself on the canvas – blood, piss, semen, the dirtier the better - to make a masterpiece. When the idiots turned back to poetry from criticism, their romantic notions would seem less insipid.

The anger, the unbridled rage that was Ren, did live on in the painting. That much, he would cede. The black streaks could as easily have been the cuts of a saber digging deep into the wall, and the red spatters that joined them required no explanation. Fascinating, really, and a bloody mess. Just like him.

Mural would turn him a tidy profit if he ever deigned to part with it. Hux supposed that was one bright side of being dead: it made you worth far more. Pity Ren wasn't here to see it.

Tonight, even the brandy failed to sweeten his palette, so he set it aside and reached for the cigarette case in his pocket instead. The case, ebony, monogrammed, and expensive, always held the finest cigarettes money could buy, but he'd made a habit these last few years of tucking a few cheap smokes in there as well. He picked up a Marlboro and held it between his lips for a few seconds before lighting it, savoring the flavor before it burned away.

#kylux #star wars #i'm going to be posting some of my older things on here #i like the security of having things stored multiple places #loosely based on the life of jackson pollock #and his affair with peggy guggenheim

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