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gongju-juice · 4 years

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8. Once Upon a Southern Night

The Wrath of Nature

Warnings: Fighting, the usual, language

It was a cold, damp morning when they arrived. Nature seemed to acknowledge the supernatural army’s presence, for not even a bird or cricket made a single chirp in the golden morning. Beside you, Jasper, your family, your friends, Zacarias, and the wolf tribe stood. You held your boyfriend’s hand, trying not to tremble from pure fear and the billowing wind that was so oddly cold this late in the spring.

And when you saw her, your terror quadrupled.

Her olive skin lightly sparkled in the morning rays, thick, black hair cascading elegantly down her bare, uncovered shoulders. She was dressed like she could be headed to Florida for vacation instead of the chilly environment that was Washington. Her piercing red eyes found yours, and your heart quivered in response.

Preston was even more unnerving. His hair had been let down, straight and free which covered his ears. He wore a long black coat that stopped at his mid-thighs as well as a wide-brimmed hat and leather black boots. He was eerily relaxed for a person who intended to go to war.

Behind them were the newborns. They sauntered in the shadow of the trees, their glowing eyes full of hate and pure instinct. Some were young—looking no older than the age of fifteen. Others appeared to be in their late twenties. But none were over the age of thirty.

“Friends,” Maria called, but her voice was barely loud enough for you to make out. She was having a private conversation with the wolves, one she did not intend for you to hear. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of your faces. You, especially, Jasper. It’s been—what? Just over a century now.”

“Take your newborns and leave,” Jasper advised. “We left on a mutual agreement that you supported my search for tranquility. Does that agreement no longer stand?”

She tsked. “Jasper, Jasper, ever the romantic. You never liked violence, did you? I may be immortal, but a hundred years is still a long time. And besides, the Captain made such a tempting offer.”

Preston walked a few paces forward, his heels crunching in the soft grass. “I’ve waited forever for this. I thought my Camille was gone forever, that is, until I heard of a little baby being born in New Orleans. You wouldn’t believe how fast news spreads in the Crescent City.”

“So why didn’t you take her then?” your mother demanded. “Before I adopted her, before she had the chance to fall in love with Jasper, her mate?”

“I had to get my thirst under control. Living completely unrestrained is so satisfying, but when it comes to associating with humans, it’s impossible to stay decent. I didn’t know at the time that witches could change, but if I did, trust me, you or any of you rotten Cullens would have gotten to her first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. And to think this man had known about you along.

“That’s right, Jasper,” he chuckled, much to Jasper’s dismay. “I was watching from afar—every birthday, every school dance, and every vacation. You think she belongs to you? I know her inside and out, 19th century and 21st century. And when I was finally ready to bring her back with me, you just had to interfere.”

“You disgust me,” you spat. “You couldn’t win me over properly, so you had to become a perv. I will never love you.”

He lifted his head in the air, his dark eyes closed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

The newborns behind him began charging, and those around you met them, alabaster limbs meeting alabaster targets. The young vampires were faster, stronger. But the Cullens and your friends’ combined experience forced them back until they could be dealt with individually.

In front of you, Zacarias and Ava worked hard keeping the waves of bodies back. It was then that you noticed the small, determined girl standing in between Maria and Preston. She looked no older than ten, someone who must’ve been easily manipulated to do their bidding. But one thing for sure, she was definitely a witch. And a powerful one at that.

“I should do something!” you cried. “I’m a witch, I can fight!”

Jasper held you back. “Your skills are not up to par. If you go out there, you’ll be killed. Or worse, Preston will get to you.”

Suddenly, a pale white arm came flying past you. Emmett barreled near carrying a decapitated body. His bulging muscles sparkled from the effort.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have him ‘em all in no time.”

But that’s when Maria broke out of her formation. She wrangled Alice by her throat, her dainty legs swinging in the empty air.

“If you won’t face me, then I’ll make you come.”

“Alice, no!”

Jasper sprung towards them, his lightning speed barely registering in your mind. Alice’s face was contorted, the sickening crack of her neck like shattering glass. Maria smiled menacingly.

But before he could get there, his body was gripped in an invisible force that froze him in place. His amber eyes were completely overcome with a blue glow. Zacarias and Ava both worked to free him—Ava concentrating on Maria’s steele grip and Zacarias focusing on the tiny witch’s magic.

The hair behind your ear fluttered, you felt his cold breath in its stead.

“I told you. You are mine, you will always be mine.”

You tried to propel yourself away, but he snatched you by your arm, pulling you across his shoulder like a sack of rice. It was futile to fight like you did, to beat your fists on his back and kick your legs. But nevertheless, you struggled in vain.

“Y/N!” your mother called, but she was thrown down by a newborn so hard, her torso shattered from the force. And Ava, she tried to get to you, but the little witch wrapped her in blue light, her powers and range of mobility completely incapacitated. Meanwhile, Zacarias tried to hold the front for both the vampires and Maria.

This is it, you thought. Back to your chains. Preston would not give up his tirade. His muscles tensed and you sensed he was preparing to run. Before he could do so, however, a line of sun-tanned bodies emerged from the thick throes of the forest.

He stopped, his eyes widening in rage. “No! No! We had a deal!”

The first one to speak had long, gray braids covered in beads and ribbons that fell down her back. Her skin was golden brown and covered in elaborate tattoos which stretched down her arms.

“The deal was that you’d take care of the girl, restore her back to her proper time. That was the only reason we allowed Maaliyah to come with you. But then we learned your true intentions—and no witch would ever bring you back to the 19th century.”

He shook his head, placing you on the ground beside him. “We belong together, Queen Lovie. In the 1860s. Help us restore the timeline, we don’t belong here.”

“No,” she said, “you do. You’re a vampire, you aged as a vampire should. But she was de-aged and taken to this time and century. She will go back, but you will stay.”

She waved her hand, and you were blinded in white light.

You looked around and you were standing in the Oakleigh mansion’s library. A wall of books lined the wall, silk curtains fluttering from the afternoon breeze. In the corner of the room was a crumpled American flag on the cherry wood floor, and up on the wall was the red and blue Confederate flag proudly displayed on the wall.

You approached the glossy desk, examining the thin papers covering the surface. A broad newspaper, The Mobile Press Register, sat on one of the open bibles. The date at the top read, December 25, 1862.

“It’s you,” you whispered, lifting your eyes. “You’re my mother.”

She was dressed in a servant’s dress, her thick hair unmoisturized and unkempt due to the hard years of work in the fields. But she looked just like you, and she resembled your sister, Ava.

“For years I’ve watched you from the spirit realm, watching you grow and mature under the care of a stranger. I watched you do things your father and I only dreamed we could see come true.” Reaching forward, she brushed her calloused fingers against your cheek.

You were filled with memories from another life—playing in dirt-floor shacks, braiding the other little girls’ hair with flowers and twigs, singing songs by the riverside on Sunday mornings. It was your life on the plantation, a happy, pleasant life. Your happiness did not solely revolve around Preston, and for years, the two of you encountered a rift from the ages of ten until fifteen.

It wasn’t until his sixteen birthday did he start looking at you in that way, and it was only because his friends and male family members did it first. He wanted his own girl to call his own, something he could completely control and possess outside the realm of fancy dresses the daughters of wealthy girls flaunted when they visited the estate.

He never loved you—not the way a real man loves a woman. If his desire had a color, it would be blazing red. But Jasper. Jasper’s love was tender like lavender. Gentle and light like cornflower blue.

“I won’t let them undo what I sacrificed my life for,” she promised. “I knew they would try this eventually. That’s why I cast a spell, forever keeping you in the future. I won’t let you come back to this place, I won’t ever let you experience that pain—the pain you felt when my grandchild was lost.”

She waved her hand, and the view of the room began to fade.

“Please, Mama!” you cried, falling to your knees and the skirt of her dress. “I will never see you again! I lost so many good memories of you. . .I don’t even remember your name.”

She kneeled down, placing a feather-like kiss on the top of your forehead. Together, you cried in the receding reality of the room. She was sending you back home.

“Nothing—not time nor man—could take you away from me, baby. I will always be in your heart, even if you can’t quite remember it all. I would rather you hold on to the feeling, the love we had, rather than the details. Take that love and give it to Carmine, to the Cullens, and to Jasper.”

You opened her eyes, and she was gone. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth.

“That damned woman,” Queen Lovie laughed mirthlessly, her hands resting on her hips. “She just don’t know when to quit—even after death. Well then, I guess if the Goddess would have it so, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But what about us?” Preston shouted. “The deal we had?”

“There is no deal, don’t you see? If she would have you, then by all means, I wish you a happily ever after. But it seems she hates you as much as you hate yourself,” Darla, Queen Lovie’s attendant, snapped. “And the witches have nothing to do with that.”

Maria’s grip failed, and Alice came bouncing to her feet as she ran away. Now the playing field was unequally matched. The newborns, in the meantime, were slaughtered by the Cullens and friends, it was just Maria and Preston on the opposing side.

“It’s over,” you said. “You lost. Accept it, and move on. Life isn’t over, Preston. You have centuries to change your ways.”

He hung his head, fists curled at his side. He lunged.

You held him in mid-air. Your meeting with your mother completely empowered you. You were not some scared little girl. He did not own you, and he never would.

“I could kill you. Nobody would ever miss you. Nobody would ever care. But your life is not mine to claim. Every creature is subject to the wrath of nature, and you will meet that same fate.”

He shuddered violently before his eyes transformed from its vibrant crimson to their river gray. His brilliant pale skin became darker and darker until it was naturally tan, and the inhuman strength once residing within him gradually drained away.

“What. . .what did you do to me?”

“I made you human,” you explained. “To reflect on your actions. No matter what, if a vampire ever tries to turn you, not only will you die, but they will die too. You’re going to spend the next seventy or so years of your human existence regretting ever threatening my family. Since you blame Jasper so much for your vampiric life, you can thank him for delivering you back out into your second human life.”

He fell to the ground, coughing at the sudden impact. Maria’s wild eyes flashed at you, weighing her options. But you knew and she knew; she couldn’t get away.

“But you, bitch, I’m sending you straight to hell.”

When it was over, everybody rushed to their loved ones, throwing their arms around them, holding them close. The emotions were too much, you cried into Jasper’s chest as he cradled you. You refused to put him through the pain of killing two of the closest people in his lives. Yes, the Major would relish in their deaths, but Jasper—your Jasper would feel their pain. He would never be the same.

He didn’t have to say anything, but he professed his love for you as he held you quietly in the midst of the celebration. You were finally together, obstructed by no one or nothing. He reciprocated your emotions which multiplied twice as much, which then came back to you once again. It was a never ending cycle of love and joy, you felt high off of it.

“She really is the most powerful witch there is,” Zacarias said, breathlessly. “Her mother passed on her powers. She. . .teach me for crying out loud!”

Your mom, Carmine, wrapped you and Jasper both in her strong embrace. You didn’t feel the loss of a mother, but the addition of another. One to watch you on Earth and another to watch you in heaven.

One more chapter left and it’s sMuT.

Be safe mah bois, and remember: Black Lives Matter

@frozenhuntress67

Part Six Part Seven

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie cullen #alice cullen

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rivjudephoenix · 5 years

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Observing the darkness in his work, it’s tempting to look for its source in his personal history. It wasn’t long ago that he was still being referred to as “the second most famous Phoenix,” his name associated most closely with the death of his cult-legend brother, River, in 1993, which Joaquin witnessed, along with sister Rain, in front of the Viper Room on Sunset Boulevard, then co-owned by Johnny Depp. The public memory of his brother has faded enough that Joaquin is now the most familiar Phoenix, but the tragedy is never far for Joaquin himself.

[...] In part that’s because reporters never stop asking him about it. But he was also deeply influenced by his brother, and by his death, even if he remains reluctant to draw a straight line between his unusual background and his private tragedy and his talent for inhabiting the morose, damaged, violent, and otherwise anxiety-riddled characters he takes on—roles he seems vividly made for. “I try not to fucking think about that,” he says, with that half-comic ambiguity. “Why am I doing this fucking interview? You’re going to ruin my acting.”

Last July, Warner Bros. previewed Joker to a select group of journalists at a screening room in a West Hollywood hotel. After watching Phoenix as the maniacal creep Arthur Fleck, I went outside to discover my rental car had been towed—the rookie move of a non-Angeleno. It was 8:30 at night, just in time for a prescheduled phone call from Joaquin Phoenix. “Where are you?” he asked, offering to come to my aid. There was an uncomfortable moment as I told him the location. In an uncanny and unfortunate coincidence, it was directly behind the Viper Room. Phoenix paused, then said: “I know that’s on Sunset, but what’s the cross street?” [...]

In 1991, River famously told Details magazine that he lost his virginity at age four, which seemed to cement a narrative about what happened inside the cult. “You really believe that?” says Phoenix. “It was a complete and total joke. It was just fucking with the press. It was literally a joke, because he was so tired of being asked ridiculous questions by the press. My parents were never negligent,” he says. [rivjudephoenix: It wasn’t a joke, friends have confirmed it]

As River’s fame grew with Running on Empty, about a family of ’60s radicals on the run, and an Indiana Jones movie, playing a young Indy, Joaquin wasn’t getting any appealing offers and took a break to hang out on a beach with his dad in Mexico, learning Spanish and riding motorcycles. After he returned to the States, his brother was shooting the indie classic My Own Private Idaho with director Gus Van Sant. River began tutoring his younger brother about cinema. “My brother came home and he was like, ‘We need to watch this movie called Raging Bull.’ And I’m like, ‘What?’ Prior to that, I watched Caddyshack and Spaceballs. And Woody Allen comedies.”

[...] Not long after, he recalls his brother making a strange prediction. “He suggested I change my name [back to Joaquin] and then, I don’t know, six months later, whatever it was, we were in Florida, we were in the kitchen, and he said, ‘You’re going to be an actor and you’re going to be more well known than I am.’ Me and my mom looked at each other like, ‘What the fuck is he talking about?’ “I don’t know why he said that or what he knew of me at the time. I hadn’t been acting at all. But he also said it with a certain weight, with a knowing that seemed so absurd to me at the time, but of course now, in hindsight, you’re like, ‘How the fuck did he know?’

Phoenix says that he and his siblings were not frequent denizens of clubs like the Viper Room. His brother had gone there in 1993, and reportedly stayed in hopes of playing music. “I don’t think it was typical. To be honest, I don’t think it was really—I don’t think it’s what he would have wanted to have done with his night. He’d, just before that, spent time just playing me new songs that he’d written.” [...]

The family grieved in private for months. The first time any of the Phoenixes emerged from the Costa Rica compound was when Joaquin and his mother flew to New York so Joaquin could try out for a part in Gus Van Sant’s latest film, To Die For, starring Nicole Kidman. (The casting assistant on the film, Meredith Tucker, still says his audition was the best she has ever seen.) When he arrived in New York, Phoenix hadn’t acted in three or four years. “As soon as I saw him, I started crying,” Van Sant says. “I didn’t realize that would happen but it was pretty sad.”

[...] His role as [Johnny] Cash defined him as an actor with an uncanny power to subsume himself in a role. “I think I had this realization that the experiences I was having as an actor were deepening, becoming more profound to me,” he says of that role. “There is this revelatory feeling, and it feels like every step you’re dancing closer and closer to the thing.” Phoenix emphasizes that “the thing” is not his brother’s death, not some Rosebud, as in the childhood sled that unlocks the psychic secrets of Charles Foster Kane in Citizen Kane. “It’s one, it’s one of the Rosebuds,” he says, “but it’s not a Rosebud in the way that people think. At all.”

But the topic of River remains sensitive. Not even Phillips, who became good friends with Phoenix over the course of making Joker, ever felt comfortable enough to bring it up. At one point, after I ask a question about the Viper Room incident, Phoenix says, “You’re such a great, decent human being. That sounds like I’m being sarcastic. I am.”

This year, on the anniversary of River’s death, Rain (to whom Joaquin affectionately refers as a “fucking hippie”) will release an album called River, inspired by his memory and legacy. Before recording the album, which includes a duet with Michael Stipe, she sought the blessing of the family, including Joaquin, whom Heart calls the “patriarch” of the family, to address their private tragedy in public. He understood her need to communicate her experience. “She was right there, also, and so I think there was a lot that was put on me,” he says. “Then I was like, don’t fucking put that on me. Just fucking—I’ll let you know if there’s anything on me that we’re talking about.”

At the sushi joint, the magazine writer makes an uncomfortable error, inquiring about Phoenix’s dad: Where’s he living nowadays? “He lives in heaven,” Phoenix says flatly. Wait, where’s that? Costa Rica? “No one’s ever been there,” he says. He’s alive, right? “Oh is he? Oh cool, great,” he says sarcastically. “Let’s talk to him.” In fact, Phoenix adds, his father died four years ago of cancer, a development that didn’t make the news. “Suddenly, there’s a lot of holes in your research,” he says.

“I was going to say I wouldn’t joke about that, but I actually would joke about something like that. But I’m not joking.” But he considers the entertainment value of maintaining the ruse. “That would be so fucked up!” he laughs. “I could also just keep it up—‘I’m just fucking with you!’” Later, in the parking lot waiting for the valet to swing the Lexus around, he gives it another go: “I was just kidding before. He’s still alive.” I wait a beat. “Really?” “No, he’s dead. Sorry.” (In fact, he did die.)

— Vanity Fair, October 2019

#river phoenix #joaquin phoenix

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justjessame · 3 years

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Double Shot Chapter 20

The security system that Jensen put in at Clay’s request was simple enough to get used to. Explaining the need for it to my employees, a little less easy. Keli was staring at me with a look of shrewdness that almost caused me to squirm, but I couldn’t tell her that Clay and the others were fucking assumed dead black ops, and that my dad and his two butthole buddies were gunning for them, could I?

Baking, creating new sweet treats, kept me mostly sane, and almost nightly visits from Clay helped too. Actually the nightly visits more than helped, but I was worried about when the other shoe would drop. Matthew and Alex Xavier along with my biological sperm donor wouldn’t just go away on their own, not with Clay and his group still working to bring them down. Even with Clay keeping my bed warm and the rave reviews I was getting from customers for the newest pastries I came up with.

Time seemed to keep slipping by, and I lost track of the date, even while keeping the inventory and ordering schedule on track. I was crouched behind the counter, checking out the supplies that we kept there, when Keli nudged me with her knee. I almost tapped her leg back, but then I heard her mutter out a greeting to Davey and George. Shit.

I nearly smacked my head on the counter as I rose to my feet, fuck shit fuck. “Hey!” I offered, sounding high pitched and slightly freaked out. Way to go, Char. “I didn’t realize it was time for you two to visit.” A call would have been nice, a postcard, a fucking email. I walked around the counter so my two uncles could embrace me between them. My two sweet, loving uncles.

“When did you put in the security system?” Davey asked, as he pulled away and smiled down at me. “Didn’t think our little town was a hotbed of criminal activity.”

My smile felt forced, because it definitely was. “The fire across the street, I told you about it, remember?” George tsked and pulled me back into his arms. “I’m alright, Uncle George.”

“Has the donor been by lately?” Davey looked like he smelled and tasted something disgusting which was apt, since my father was pretty fucking gross. I shook my head, not since the last time, thank God.

I sighed. “No, but my two favorite officers have started to come in every other day.” Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum I called them in my head, which was a hell of a sight better than some of the nicknames I heard Keli mutter at them. “I completely forgot that you guys were coming,” even if you come every single fucking year around the same fucking time. “How’s Florida?”

Davey and George had kept their house in town, so while I was expected to have dinner with them almost every night, we weren’t all squished into my apartment upstairs. Once I locked up that evening, I went upstairs to change into something more comfortable so I could drive to their house, completely forgetting my new routine. When I heard Clay’s soft knock, it hit me that I hadn’t told my uncles about the new man in my life. In fact, I hadn’t told them anything about Clay or the others. My fucking life had been in complete upheaval for months, so give me a break, would you?

“Hey,” I offered, after I killed the security system and unlocked the door. He was staring at the dress I’d pulled on, my hair down from the topknot that was part of my unofficial uniform for work.

“We going somewhere, Char?” He and his team hadn’t been in for their daily dose of caffeine so I hadn’t been able to tell him that Davey and George were visiting, and now- Shit.

“Dinner with my uncles,” I bit my lip, wondering if I should call and tell them I was bringing a guest. “Give me a second, I want to make sure they made enough food for four.” He shook his head, but was smiling, so I knew that he probably knew I’d forgotten to tell them he was coming along.

I called and told George that I’d be adding a plus one for dinner. He chuckled and said he’d heard from Keli that there was a certain someone. After assuring me that he assumed that my guy would be coming along, and so they had more than enough, especially if the rest of my gentleman’s friends wanted to tag along. Shit, Keli was just a little sharebot wasn’t she?

“I think it will just be the two of us,” I answered, smiling as Clay’s eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Let me make sure though.” Holding my hand over the mic, I asked him if his team wanted to join us.

“Jensen has another date with Carrie,” he offered. “Pooch went home for a furlough with his wife and son. Cougar is doing what Cougar does. Just you and me, Char.”

Confirming with George that it would just be the four of us, I told him we’d be on our way soon. Clay’s arms were around me as soon as I hit END. “This is nice,” I leaned back into his chest.

“But,” he kissed the top of my head, “we have to go.” Ugh, the thought of not climbing Clay like a tree was repulsive to me, but he was right. “Come on, Charlotte, let’s go so I can meet your family.”

Davey opened the door and his face broke out into a wide grin at the sight of Clay practically wrapped around me from behind. “Oh, Charlotte, this must be Clay.” I guess a part of me was happy that Keli had told them Clay’s name and not his ‘nickname’. “Come on in,” he stepped back and let us in. I shook my head as I saw my uncle look Clay over from top to bottom and then back up again. Who could blame him? “George is in the kitchen,” he offered as I walked toward the scent of my favorite meal. “Clay, come into the family room, Char is heading toward her happy place.” I was grinning over my shoulder reassuringly at Clay as I moved with purpose to the one person who understood my love of baking and cooking.

George shook his head when I came through the swinging door of the kitchen. “You have a man with you and you’re going to come hang out with me, I thought I taught you better.” He was smiling too, and I knew that he was teasing. “I made your favorites.”

“I know, I could smell them through the front door.” Hopping onto a stool at the island, I watched as my uncle moved around his kitchen with the same confidence that I did in mine and the cafe’s. “You know, I completely forgot-”

“That we were coming?” His eyebrow arched perfectly, making me jealous of his natural aptitude. “I think your mind was on other, far more pleasant, topics.” From an arch, both eyebrows waggled, causing me to giggle. “Not to mention Daddy Dearest deciding to touch base. Fucking asshole.”

I stole a bite of food and nodded. “Yeah, it was different.” I wanted to know what the twins and my father had brewing that would cause him to show up now. The town wasn’t huge, so the fact that we hadn’t bumped into one another at all until recently told me far more, but not nearly enough. “How long are you guys staying this time?” While my uncles came home yearly, their stay lengths varied depending on what else they were planning. A cruise shortened one trip to a week, but another year they stayed almost a month.

“We’re playing it by ear,” his eyes met mine and I knew this was a sudden choice. One made when they learned that the cops were becoming regulars. “I want to see how harassing the police are, Char, and there are a few things Davey and I want to discuss with you.” Shit.

Dinner, once we all gathered in the dining room, was a hell of a lot less awkward than I’d thought possible. Davey and George included Clay in the conversation, and for his part, Clay honestly seemed to enjoy himself. Dessert was one of my own recipes, one that George told me was a favorite among their circle in Florida, and while rushing away so we could be alone was tempting, we didn’t.

Sitting in the family room, surrounded by family photos, with me as a center focus, I listened as my uncles regaled Clay with stories about my younger years.

“There she was, covered head to toe in mud, glaring at Carrie’s big brother Chris like she was going to throttle him and it was all we could do to not laugh.” Davey was chuckling at the memory. “I swear, I can still see her almost steaming from her rage.”

“He called me a dog,” I muttered, “and not a female one. Just a dog.”

“How old were you?” Clay asked, eyes twinkling and dimples deep.

“Sixteen,” George laughed. “She was sixteen and contemplating murder because an eighteen year old was being a douche.”

“He tossed me in a mudhole that could have fucking drowned me,” I glared, the memory coming back fresh. “And said even dogs were cute with mud on them, but not me.”

Clay pulled me into his body, kissing my head. “Carrie’s brother sounds like a blind asshole.”

“Didn’t he marry the Costello girl?” Davey asked, his smile widening and I giggled and nodded. “Talk about unattractive.”

“Davey,” George admonished, but his chuckle ruined it. “That’s not very charitable.”

“Charity was marrying that girl.” Davey muttered, offering to top our drinks off, but I begged off. “That’s right, you need to get home so you can wake up early.” His eyes landed on Clay’s hand running down my arm and I shook my head. “Get at least a little rest, would you?”

We said our goodbyes, my uncles hugging both of us and telling me that they wanted to talk to me at the cafe about something important, we left.

“Davey and George are pretty great,” Clay was holding me, our naked skin pressed together, the well earned exhaustion pressing down on both of us. “Thank you for taking me to meet them.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for coming with me.” His finger traced my lower, kiss swollen lip. “They like you.”

“Good,” he pulled me up so he could replace his finger with his lips. “I-” I heard him swallow hard. “Char, I think I-” I pulled back so I could see him a little better in the dim light that was coming through the lace curtains. He looked hesitant and unsure, not at all Clay-like. “Shit.”

I smiled and kissed him. When I pulled away again, I shook my head. “Trying to say you love me?” I heard him gulp again. “Took you long enough,” I mumbled, nipping at his bottom lip. “I love you, Franklin Clay.” Then chuckling I broke the tension that seemed to be radiating off him. “Does that make me a necrophiliac?”

#Franklin Clay x OFC #The Losers (2010)#alternate universe #Smut

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godsofmonster · 5 years

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Florida Kilos ≽ Finale

Reader x Bangtan- Drug Cartel

Word Count- 7.7k

Warnings- drugs, guns, blood, prostitution, violence, abuse, sexual content, betrayal, character deaths, ect.

≽ Links to previous chapters can be found on my masterlist in my bio because Tumblr sucks now! You can also click on the ‘Florida Kilos’ tag!

That is where this story ends...

Yoongi’s hands were locked on my waist, his fingerprints marking my body, all his strength focused on keeping me as close to him as humanly possible. His lips trailed a sloppy line down my jaw, breath heavy on my skin, my eyes could only shut savoring the feeling- a feeling I would forever dream of. There was no pair of lips that I could kiss without tasting him. There couldn't be a day that passed by me without thinking of him. After everything, he still managed to remain deep in my veins, keeping the absolute authority over my better judgment. He could be on the other side of the world and still be in control of me, simply because I loved him.

I tilted my head to the side and allowed him to lose himself in the storm of passion. My eyes fluttering open and slowly located my handbag on the nightstand.

I was visibly melting at his touch and so much strength within me was required to dominate my feelings and desires. Shivers formed on my skin as his tongue ran over the tender areas of my neck and shoulder. I reached down to caress his head of hair as my right hand carefully reached in search within the bag.

Yoongi had his raspy voice praise and mutter sweet nothings against my heating skin. His hands were reaching to undress me as I managed to grab a hold of the revolver from the side of my purse.

I glanced down at him, to find that his eyes were not visible to me as I brought the gun down the edge of the bed. I took in a breath, one step at a time, I said to myself. The metal was cold against my blood-rushing body, my palms growing damp, as I went to cock the hammer.

My skin froze as the click disturbed the silence in the room.

Yoongi suddenly grabbed both of my arms and forced me off the bed. My back hit the floor instantly, falling with Yoongi directly on top of me, with his large hands pinning me down. I screamed as his hand pressed down on my still healing bullet wound under the bandages.

“What the hell- do you think you’re doing (Y/n)?!”

He shouted down at me with his eyes black and hollow as they stared at me with rage. All lust had left his body, a mood change supported by the grams of cocaine that replenished him. My arms fought against his restraints, the cocked gun being held tightly, but he had the upper hand.

“You think you can fucking kill me?!”

I thought fast, bringing my legs up and locking them over his shoulders in order to push him off. He fell back and landed with a grunt, his legs were still entwined with mine as I sat up. I brought my hand over to my wrist, trying to get an aim on his leg before he recovered. He was fast, though. He ducked and lunged forward grabbing onto my wrist again and steering my aim away from his body.

His single hand was strong enough to grip my entire hands, he used his other one to hold the gun from its barrel. We began to stand to our feet, fighting for the gun, my heart racing as it was slipping through my fingers.

Yoongi managed to tear it from my palms with a loud grunt before stepping back breathing heavily. He tossed the gun behind him, I flinched as I thought it would surely go off. When it didn't I quickly stepped back, Yoongi's body tensed with anger, his chest rising and falling, in the image of an angry bull. He followed my step and in the same breath, he raised his hand and struck me down.

I almost fell over from the impact. My face flushed and burning in my hand. My head dropped as I tasted blood, the ache spreading over my skin and inside my head. My vision failed me for seconds, within them, Yoongi stepped toward me once again. His hands wrapping around my neck, my feet stumbling, while he forced me against the glass door beside us.

“You fucking bitch. You’ve finally lost your goddamn mind!” He growled through clenched teeth.

My mouth hung open as he cut off the circulation of oxygen from my body. I desperately attempted to take air in but to no avail. His hands were clutching harder with each passing second, the drugs fueling his anger, as my only reaction was to fight harder as my voice strained. I couldn't even properly gasp while my body entered a state of complete panic, in which I could not think nor react.

Yoongi’s arms tensed with such strength, I couldn’t break his hold, he was much stronger than I was. His eyes were vicious and burning holes over my face, where his gaze reside practically condemning me to hell. That portrait brought pure terror to my consciousness.

My body began to fall weak against my own will. I was dangerously lightheaded and black spots dotted my hazy vision. I made useless attempts against him, claw at his skin with my fingernails. I left, long, deep scratches along his cheek and neck. They were deep enough to draw light drops of blood but they still fell in vain.

My body grew severely numb and my head built with pressure. Yoongi showed no intentions of loosening his grip and I was sure that he would not.

This would have been my final moments, the final image before my eyes shifted into a never-ending blackness. I always imagined death would be like being lost in the night. Yoongi had always been my darkness and my light and perhaps this was the way I was meant to remember him- with his hands wrapped around my neck so tight with nothing but love.

Maybe it was strange- but I thought that dying by the hands of someone you loved- wasn’t such a bad way to go.

A gunshot went off. Yoongi’s face of rage was broken by a pain that caused his hands to release my throat. I gasped for air as he gasped in a scream, his body falling against the edge of the bed. I practically coughed my lungs until they worked again. Though my vision was blurred, my eyes darting over by the door just barely making out a slim figure- a body that could only belong to Park Jimin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Yoongi screamed.

I continued coughing, my eyes scanning over the bullet wound that had punctured through Yoongi’s kneecap. Jimin lowered his gun, picking up my own weapon off the floor before walking over in my direction. His lips moved but his voice was taking a second to become clear in my ears. I shook my head lightly, only then was I able to make them out, his voice was saying,

“Are you okay?”

Yoongi was cursing at us in the background but I was still trying to understand Jimin's unexpected appearance. It could have easily seemed like a blessing but I knew better than to trust in someone other than myself. Jimin took a second and was distracted by Yoongi’s aggressive barking, at that moment I reach for my gun and pried it out of his hand. Even with the strength slowly coming back to me, I didn't hesitate to point it at him.

“Calm down, (Y/n)-”

“What are you doing here?” I asked with a raspy voice.

“I could ask you the same thing- this wasn’t what Taehyung and you agreed on.” He said showing me his hands, trying to avoid giving me a reason to shoot him. I felt like a dog that was cornered. My heart was still pounding against my chest, death was leaving my body. After a thousand times I've tempted death, a thousand times I've managed to escape, I was still terrified. “Then again… I didn’t think it was like you to agree so easily.”

“What the hell is he talking about, (Y/n)?!” Yoongi shouted, his teeth ground against each other as spit formed in the corners of his mouth.

“Just shut up!” I yelled louder than him. I didn’t take my eyes away from Jimin. He wasn’t threatening but I still felt threatened. I was in this alone and I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. “You made a mistake coming here Jimin. I’ll give you a chance to leave alive but you have to go- now.”

“What are you planning on doing?” He asked and I pulled the trigger, purposely shooting just beside his head. The bullet blowing a hole through the bedroom door.

“I said now! If you want to leave with your head attached.” I didn’t want to hurt him. There would be enough bloodshed before the end of the night. Jimin, however, remained unfazed by my threat.

“You can’t run away from Taehyung,” Jimin could read me like a fucking book. Only now I realized how much that angered me. He knew that there was no way I would ever surrender my life to a man I did not love. I would never trade the love of my life- for a man who only lusted over my life. “Not alone at least.”

His words caught me by surprise but even so, could I believe in him? In my mind, Jimin would always be loyal to Taehyung. There was nothing that could make me believe otherwise.

“You wouldn’t help me,” I said keeping my aim still.

“Give me the chance to prove it to you.” Then, without meaning too, I thought back to the night before, as he was undressing me, what Jimin had said,

“There has always been something about you that’s made me question my loyalty. I... don't trust myself around you.”

Maybe it was foolish of me. Maybe I was so desperate and gave up my logic for wishful thinking. His sand-colored hair was pushed backward and he licked his full lips as he did when he was anxious. And when I looked into his eyes, I could find nothing in them, that made me question him- for now at least.

“You want to help?” He slowly nodded his head, doing the same, while bringing his hands down to his side. I figured he could at least help me buy some time, “Get Hoseok- tell him to get everything out of the safe and wait for me outside.”

“What should I tell him?” He asked as I lowered my aim.

I sighed, my eyes glancing at Yoongi whose blood was leaking all over the side of the bed. His chest was rising and falling as he held his limp leg. It was a remaining image of the torture between him and I.

“Tell him…that I will do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

Jimin nodded his head, following my gaze and looking over to Yoongi. I imagined that in his own head he said his good riddance to Yoongi. Giving his condolence to the dead man sitting before him.

“You don’t have to do this.” He reminded me, but he didn't know that I did have to.

“I’m the only one who has this right,” I said as Yoongi’s hate-filled eyes locked on me. I looked back to Jimin, indicating it was time for him to leave, I wanted to be alone. “Go.”

I watched Jimin leave the room and just as he went through the set of double doors- he turned to give me one last glance. I could only describe it, as the type of look a friend gives to you before you make a great mistake.

I understood his look- his worry- this wasn’t a choice you could take back, try again, or ever forget. Maybe I didn’t truly understand the consequences but I would soon be faced with them. I was always the one who surrendered to his love, the one who suffered without a reason, and the one who managed to preach without any blessings. Yet here he was, with his life in my hands, and only I could decide his fate. I would never be the same and I was okay with that- because this was the life that we had chosen, therefore this is how we would have to die.

And so, Jimin shut the doors behind him, leaving us to have our final conversation.

“So, it seems that you’ve made your arrangements,” Yoongi scoffed, his hands still resting on his disjointed kneecap. He knew me better than anyone, and so, he knew that once my mind was set- there was nothing in the world that could change it.

I sighed quietly, resting myself against the glass door he had me pin against earlier, my eyes not looking away from him for a single moment. I studied his form- his skin, his breathing. Every cut, every scar, that made him who he was. His cold black eyes that once warmed me like the very sun itself. “Am I going to die not knowing why?”

I used to think of Yoongi as my own intimate sun. He was my source of light and warmth, he kept me alive. You see, I had always been like the moon. I was cold and dull, and without him, I surely would die. But somewhere along our way, the roles switched, Yoongi was now cold and bitter- while I grew and outshined him completely. Our love had turned into one that could cut deeper than a blade. Still, I remained with my head in the clouds, up in the sky, chasing after a dream that seemed so real.

“Knowing isn’t going to make things any easier, maybe, it’s best if you don’t know,” I advised him. Sometimes being clueless was the best option, it saved you from driving yourself mad with questions of how it could have been different- even when it couldn’t have.

“I’m sure you’ve justified yourself with some heroic reason,” He mocked, hissing and shutting his eyes as he shifted upward on the bed. “Am I the bad guy, (Y/n)? Is that what you are telling yourself?”

I smirked to myself softly, it was a smirk that held a lot of painful memories. There were parts of Yoongi that have never changed. I shook my head softly in his direction.

“This isn’t a movie, Yoongi. This is real life and we are all the bad guys here.” He let out a laugh that held anger. I watched the skin of his cheeks ball against his eyes, making them appear smaller, as the taunting sound left his mouth.

“You won’t make it without me, baby.” He shook his head, using his bloodstained hands to push away the strands of his hair. The cranberry substance painted the yellow hair on his head with abstract versions of his fingerprints. “Whether you want to accept it or not, we're connected- forever.”

“Of course," I smiled. His eyes flashed a shine of light that came from the amusement of my words. "That’s why only death could keep us apart.”

If there was one thing Yoongi and I could agree on- it was those very words. I knew that, even after everything that happened, Yoongi wouldn’t leave me- just like how I wouldn’t leave him.

That may have been the true reason behind my decision because I didn't want to have to choose between him or me, after all, we were supposed to be one. But our love was caught between a crossfire and I needed to get away from him.

Except, I knew couldn’t live my life knowing he was out there somewhere- without me. Maybe it was wrong, obsessive, or even sick of me, to think that way but I knew the feeling was mutual.

“So is this how you are choosing to leave things between us? No questions? No middle ground? Not even a final kiss?” He asked surprised, even though all of those things were going through my mind, I don’t know if I dared.

“What do we have to gain from speaking the words of your betrayal into this moment of peace?” Perhaps it was my own way of dealing with things. After all of the laws we've broken, the lives that were sacrificed, I just wished to have a little bit of control over this moment. I wanted the perfect moment.

“I’m bleeding out, (Y/n). I could feel the lack of blood ice over my body- there is nothing peaceful about this moment.” He insisted on getting everything out of me.

We could only exchange glances as I thought to myself. I was never known for holding my tongue, there was no real reason to start now. Yoongi knew who I was, knew what I was capable of, hurting his feelings shouldn't be on my list of things to worry about. With his deep stare, his naked chest, there was no other way out.

“I thought that you were a fool, Min Yoongi,” I began, standing apart from leaning against the door, as my emotions took control of my better judgment. “I pitied you more than anything; every time you drowned yourself in a kilo of cocaine, every time you lashed out in jealousy and rage, every single time you bonded with Taehyung- not knowing that he prayed for your downfall more than anything in this world.”

Yoongi frowned, not savoring the aggression in which I spoke them, and not understanding what I meant with my last set of words.

“That’s right.” I nodded my head at him, taking a step closer in his direction. “Taehyung has always wanted me but you were always in his way. After you disobeyed my orders in New York, getting Jungkook killed and letting the DEA get a track of his records, they linked our organization back to Florida. You bet your sorry ass- that was plenty of reason for the Kim Brothers to want you dead. Do you know what was the only thing that could have kept you alive? Me!”

I spat my words closely at him, his face contouring in a deep anger and disbelief, “But you had already sold me out to the Kim Brothers, the second you got home, which left me helpless in Taehyung’s hands. He asked me to marry him, in exchange for Hoseok's life and mine but- he was an idiot to actually think I would agree to such an offer.”

That look in Yoongi’s eyes was exactly what I was trying to keep him from. The anger, the humiliation, of the events that took place around us. The worst part of it all, those feelings would only morph into regret, in vain of not being able to change what has already happened. The exact feelings that I had been hauling around all alone.

“But the real shame, the real fool in all of this, is me...” I felt tears brim the corners of my eyes as I grew overwhelmed and my voice cracked, “Because I would have forgiven you for everything Yoongi- everything! For talking down to me- for laying your hands on me- for fucking that whore and any others- even for getting Jungkook killed!!”

I was practically yanking my own hair as I ran my hands through them. The fact the very words left my mouth was enough to disgust me. To think that I loved him so unconditionally, that I was going against my very morals and logic, boiled a self-loathing heat inside of me. This is why I had to draw the line, even knowing, that it would be drawn in his blood. “But you betrayed me, Yoongi! You were reckless with our lives! You didn’t care if I or Hoseok got killed! And If I couldn’t leave you for my own sake then- I have to do it for him! I couldn’t live with myself if Hoseok died, just like Jungkook, all because I was so weak...for you.”

Yoongi’s faced had softened while I released my demons and shame. It wasn’t because his emotions had simmered down- it was because he was dying from blood loss.

My eyes stared angrily at him, tears making a mess of my sight, as I was heartbroken to see him in such a state.

I turned to the nightstand where my bag remained. I set the gun beside it as my hands rummaged through the junk, getting a hold of my carton of cigarettes and my lighter. I sniffled, tossing the box back into the bag after getting a hold of a single one. I walked back in his direction, holding the cigarette close to his mouth for him to take, and he did slowly. I snapped the cheap lighter with my thumb a few times, also bringing the flame to the sticks end, allowing him to absorb it in his cheeks and breathe in the nicotine.

I stepped back against the glass. My head fell back against the frame as I tried to clean away the stains my tears left. Yoongi was holding out each drag he took, deeply relishing, what was his last cigarette. I continued to watch him, admiring the structure of his face, even if it was all dead and sunken in- he was still gorgeous.

He finally took the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his index and middle finger, that were drenched in his blood, as he licked his lips to utter a few words.

“I think the real shame is... that you’ve forgotten how much I love you.” I felt a shiver run down my spine. He blinked at me and wore no particular emotion on his face while letting the smoke come out through his mouth as he continued to speak. “It is true- that at some point, I began to resent you but that never changed the fact that I was crazy about you. Even through all of the addiction, rage, jealousy, and mistakes- I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“You can’t be surprised about how I feel- if all you’ve done is be ungrateful to my poor heart,” I said as his words brought more tears from my eyes. Why did it have to be now when he started to act like his old self. Why was death the only time that his pretty black eyes shined a path to warm my heart?

“Maybe I am the bad guy then but I know that I was not the cause of our downfall,” Yoongi said with ease, taking in another hit, as I turned my head at him. “You know where the true mistake remains- the real reason that everything went to shit.”

Goosebumps erupted across every inch of my skin as soon as I realized what he spoke of. I bit down on my lip, nodding my head indicating that I agreed with him.

“We should have just died that night.”

But we didn’t. We cheated death and thought ourselves lucky. When in reality, we just doomed ourselves to suffer double for what we had done. Death treats all alike, whether rich or poor, in love or alone, she- was just.

“You’re right.” I stepped back toward the nightstand, reaching for the gun that had remained loaded, I looked back to Yoongi who was just finishing up his cigarette.

We could have died together- happy and in love- with not a single regret to weep over. It would have been a tragic story between two lovers who fought together, until the very end.

However, it ended up like this, a tale of a toxic relationship, that only ate off each other's souls, and turned them both into people they despised.

If I knew, that day, what tomorrow would bring- I would have never spoken out in the first place.

But it was too late for that- Yoongi would die here, alone and in vain, by the hands of who loved him the most. While I, would have to spend the rest of my life carrying the weight and absence of him everywhere I went.

“Now this is the price we have to pay.”

I said and kept the gun at my leg as I walked up to him, he sucked the last bit of tobacco that the cigarette bud had to offer, as I leaned over him. He only kept himself up on the single arm he rested on, he tossed the bud somewhere across the room, before he met me halfway and captured my lips.

It was our final kiss, and with it, we settled any sins.

Once we broke apart, partly breathless and speechless, I looked into his eyes once again. There was a fire burning in them. Looking at him now, resembled the feeling I had, the first time I ever laid eyes on Min Yoongi. We both just knew.

I stepped back away from him. Once again, I cocked the hammer of the gun by pulling it down with my thumb, the same click sound almost echoed in the silence of the room. Yoongi smirked at me.

“Remember your stance, doll.” He said with a slight chuckle as I readjusted the position of my legs and firmly gripped over my hand. I allowed myself a deep breath as I took aim, Yoongi’s head lining up with the barrel of my revolver.

“You see that Hobi? (Y/n) is better than you already.” I glanced behind me to Hoseok who was sitting on a nearby log. He wore a presently surprised look, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. I snickered and stepped back to point the gun at Yoongi. He raised his hands up and smiled, a sight that I didn’t see very often, “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

And then, I pulled the trigger,

Bang!

I gasped. The gun fell from my hands just moments after. My eyes watched as if in slow motion, Yoongi dropped back against the bed sheets. The adrenaline sent shocks throughout my body- cries formed from my lips in the rhythm of waves. It was as if I lost all sense of breathing, the wind knocked out of me, and I blinked tears out of my watering eyes as I stood there frozen. A murderous voice shrieked at me, in my head, proclaiming that I was now nothing but a black widow.

As I automatically stepped toward the bed, catching the slightest glimpse of Yoongi, his eyes were like a sunset in its final moments. As his soul left his body with the final breath that split his lips, I felt my world break in half. Blood poured out of his third eye, the warm liquid pooling rivers in the sockets of his eyes. It resembled him crying red tears and those tears became rivers. The world seemed so different when he wasn't by my side, now he was beyond my reach.

The scene looked like something I would have only seen in my worst of nightmares. His blood seeped into the sheets of our bed, where he had made love to me countless of times.

I could have laid there beside his body, screamed, and damned God for always allowing me to end up this way. My lost faith left me with a wound, even after I put my all, it still was not enough and nothing would comfort me without him.

The thing about taking someone's life is that it did something to your soul, it fed it the most rotten of fruits that tainted any good that was held within. Though, killing the love of your life- that was the lack of your very soul.

He was the man of my dreams, who kept me living in a fantasy, believing that all we needed was love to be perfect. I foolishly tried to plant a flower that would never bloom, in a dream that could never come true. He had become a part of my essence, to the moon and back, is where he would stay. Just as I imagined- his departure left me feeling so empty and cold inside, that I almost felt nothing at all. With his spirit leaving his body- finally opening my eyes- waking up from a lucid dream.

And even after everything Yoongi had taught me over the years, the one thing he never showed me, was how to live my life without him.

I stepped through the front door of what was once my home. And inside of it, remained the memories of those who no longer suffered the curse that Death had marked me with. Once closing the door behind me it was never for me to open again.

I spotted Hoseok and Jimin standing over his car, exchanging words of aggression to each other before they noticed me. Hoseok pushed Jimin’s hand off his shoulder as he had been trying to keep him from coming inside. Hoseok met me at the bottom of the shallow stairs, where I could see the worry and fear shaking his body in complete anxiety.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)? What happened?” I stared at him blankly. The more Hoseok rambled the more he answered his own questions. “I heard gunshots- where’s Yoongi?”

Maybe he saw it in my eyes, the little life that reflected in color of my vision, but I think he felt it in the pit of his being. I wasn’t the only one Yoongi had left an impact on. Hoseok and Yoongi were like brothers, the only family he had ever needed- Hoseok knew very well. It showed the moment his eyes shifted from my eyes to the upstairs window of the third floor.

“No…” He shook his head, wanting to convince himself otherwise. He ran his hands through his hair while his eyes glossed in pain, “(Y/n)- what did you do?!”

I watched how his breathing fell into a deep, inhuman, kind of rhythm. He broke down into a sob that brought him down to hug his knees. The details of his hurt were concealed by the blackness of the night. His raven hair and the tears that streamed down from his face where the only things that reflected the light from the moon above us.

Jimin approached us as if he wished to lend a consoling hand, except I stopped him with a gesture. He halted in his tracks and kept his distance from us. I stepped down to meet Hobi’s level on the ground. I squatted beside him, my hands reaching to up to his slim face, that tainted with tears.

“If we don’t leave now- we’re going to be killed- do you understand what I’m saying to you, Hoseok?” I used the back of my fingers to clean up the tears from his mug. He hesitated, studying my face, seeking to understand why- what had let me to such actions. Even though the answer was complex out of his judgment, there was still a part of him that knew I hadn’t let him down yet and so, he still had faith in me.

He nodded his head, as I kept my hands on him while we rose back to our feet. Unexpectedly, I pulled him into my arms, resting his head on my shoulder. Without being able to utter the words to him, I apologized, over and over again in silence. Before pulling away and smiling up at him,

“I can’t lose you too.”

“Where will we go?” He asked me as I took him by the hand, leading him to his own car that was parked behind us.

“We have to leave the country- it’s the only way to remain out of the Kim Brothers reach-” We stopped in our tracks when we were faced with Jimin once again. “We’ll take your boat to Havana.”

I said leaving Hoseok standing behind me, walking toward the car, where the duffle bag sat beside the back wheel. I placed the bag on top of the trunk, zipping it open to reveal what was packed away. I pulled out our passports, flipping open each one and setting aside Yoongi’s and Jungkook’s, in search for just ours. Hoseok quietly walked over to me, his eyes locking with Jimin, as an obvious pout rested on his lips.

“What about him?” He whispered quietly to me, even though, I was sure Jimin could hear him. “Do you trust him?”

I pulled out one of the two caliber 45s, checking the full ammunition, and handing it to Hoseok along with his passport. I looked up at Jimin who was watching us from a scanty distance.

“I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly, not bothering to keep it a secret, as I tucked away the second 45 in the belt of my jumpsuit.

“Do you really think that 80 miles is enough distance between Taehyung and you?” Jimin asked approaching us. I knew that Jimin was making a valid point, 80 miles was not enough, but it was the only shot we had. We couldn’t leave the state from the borders, the Kim Brothers had connections that would stop us from getting anywhere near state lines. Staying in their territory wasn’t a smart move over all and crossing enemy lines into the Mexican cartel territory also wasn’t ideal. I continued to look in the bag, pushing aside and inspecting, a single ounce of pure cocaine and $50,000 in cash. “I can get us a plane ready while we make it to the runway.”

“We?” I asked, stopping my movements and looking at him from head to toe. I then heard Hoseok cock his gun beside me. He took a clear aim on Jimin, stepping around me and closer to him.

“That sounds like a plan too well thought out.” He said and I had to agree. Jimin rose his hands up defensively.

“My uncle is Taehyung's pilot,” He explained as I quickly shut everything back into the bag and swung it over my shoulder. “I honestly believed something like this might happen-”

“Get down on your knees!” Hoseok demanded and Jimin followed his orders. I could see Hobi’s hands shaking to keep steady. He was afraid and lacked the capability to trust anyone due to the situation at hand.

Still, I had to make a choice, our lives were on the line and we didn’t have much time. This wasn’t about good or bad luck- we couldn’t afford to take those chances. “What are your orders, (Y/n)?”

Hoseok asked as he exchanged glances with Jimin and I. The choice was like having salt in one hand and sugar in the other; there was nothing within me that gave me a reason to doubt him nor believe him.

“(Y/n)...I made the same promise to Jungkook, just like Hoseok.” My eyes locked with Jimin, even in the dark and with a gun pointed at him, he still managed to wear a poker face. “He asked us to take care of you- and I have no intention of breaking that promise.”

I glanced at Hoseok, who had seemed to believe in his words, his arms weren’t as tensed as he continued looking my way. Jungkook and Jimin held a true friendship in their short time together. Jungkook had trained under him for months- he wanted nothing more than to be stronger- always. The thing about strength is that it wasn’t proven by how high one could fly, it was about learning to take the fall and still being able to get back up.

“We’ll see.”

I said before tossing the duffle bag in the back seat of Hoseok’s Tesla. Hoseok lowering his gun and taking it upon himself to confiscate Jimin’s cell phone. I took the keys from Hobi’s offering hand and hopped into the driver’s seat. They went into the back seat, keeping an eye on each other, still not enough trust between them. Pulling the car into reverse, with a single U-turn, we heading down the long brick driveway.

“Be careful Jimin,” Hoseok warned softly, avoiding the words to fall to my ears, “(Y/n) can endure a lot of things, mistakes, and humiliations, but betraying her- she was capable of killing the love of her life.”

Even though I hadn’t explained to Hoseok, what exactly had happened, he knew me better than I gave him credit for. I’ve always tried to make the right decision and did so with minimal regrets. I’ve taken risks and I’ve taken losses but that’s how it had to be- for us- who were good negotiators.

The rubber of the tires burned against the pavement as I made a harsh stop. We pulled up to the same private jet Jimin and I had landed from hours ago. I kept an eye on our surroundings, looking in the rearview mirrors, as Hoseok and Jimin got out of the car.

“Anyone of these employees here can contact Taehyung about an unauthorized takeoff.”

Jimin said grabbing a hold of the duffle bag. Hoseok helped me out of the car, as the doors to the jet opened up and revealed the stairs for us. I followed behind Jimin as Hoseok followed behind me.

“We have to hurry.”

The engine was roaring and the bright lights of the runway were our only hope. Just as Jimin made up the stairs to meet with his uncle, there was a loud bang aimed towards us. Hoseok and I dodged instantly, looking over my shoulder to see three black Hummers pulling up behind us. They had shot at our car, making its alarm go off, as I grabbed a hold of Hosoeks arm. I pushed him in front of me to get him in the protection of the bulletproof jet.

I drew the caliber from my waist, aiming to shoot that the wheels of the car as they were still in motion coming toward the plane. Jimin was doing the same, together, we managed to blow the two front tires of the closest vehicle. It halted harshly as the two behind it had to move around.

“Come on!” Jimin grabbed my arms, pulling me up the stairs, as I continued to shoot.

I almost slipped on my heels as I made it to the top, reloading my gun, as a yell came from outside.

“Jimin!” We both looked back to see Taehyung stepping out of one of the black Hummers. Taehyung was right, I was always two steps ahead of him.

His eyes were wide, as he looked up at us from a distance. He licked his lips and the breeze blew his yellow hair back. Men then poured out of the other cars, all of them hold AK 47s, lined up behind Taehyung. I cocked my own gun and had a clean shot on Taehyung's head as he held a stare with Jimin.

Without leaving his eyes, Jimin’s hand grabbed a hold of my wrist, pressuring me to put the gun down. I looked up at him confused but he still only looked at Taehyung,

“Get in your seat.”

He instructed me quietly. I was about to protest when Hoseok came up to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me away from the exposure of the open door. We both watched as a Jimin just stood there, there was no words between them, just the sound of the jet engine and wind. Then Jimin shook his head,

“I warned you- didn’t I, Taehyung?”

Jimin’s voice wasn’t cocky, nor was it upset, he was just bedding a farewell to a lifelong friend. Only then, did Jimin jump away from the door, hundreds of gunshots ricocheting off the metal and glass. He pressed the automatic button to close the door, yelling at into the cockpit to start taking off. We all got in our seats as the jet wasted no time in moving.

I sat by the window, getting a last glimpse of Taehyung and his men, he just stood there watching as the jet made its way down the runway. He could have stopped us but he didn’t.

Once we were in the air, no one had said anything since we took off. We were all emotionally and physically drained. There were big changes coming our way and we could only reflect on what had led us to this place.

Hoseok was sitting beside me, his head leaning against my shoulder, as he remained with his eyes shut. Our relationship had always been one of siblings, I saw in him, everything that I lost in Jungkook and Yoongi. Hoseok was the only family I had left.

I watched Jimin walked passed us, into the back of the jet where he pulled something from the bagging area. Hoseok raised his head at the loud thump of Jimin plopping a duffle bag in front of us.

“What’s this?” I asked and he said nothing, only gestured me to open it, and so I did.

I unzipped the bag, Hoseok peeking over my shoulder, as it announced to hold nothing but money. I immediately recognized it as being the second bag that Jimin had packed from New York. Hoseok’s mouth dropped and he sat up as well to get a better look.

“How much is in here?” He asked Jimin.

“Just about 5.3 million dollars.” He said with ease. Any doubt that I might have had about Jimin was completely out of my mind. He really did expect something like this to happen, so much so, he stored this money for us on the jet. He was a smart man, who seemed to only want the simple things in life. I don't know what his story was with Taehyung, what had pushed him to betray his best friend in that way. It was clear to me that the only reason we made it out alive was that Taehyung didn't want to have to kill Jimin. I thought back to those last words he had said to him, that held so much weight to them.

“What did you mean- when you told Taehyung, ‘I warned you’?” I said leaving the stack of hundreds back in the bag.

The question seemed to make him uncomfortable. He avoided eye contact with me as he took a seat behind him. The tension grew between us as I waited to hear an explanation. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh as he found the words he needed to speak,

“Do you remember, that day, Taehyung was in between choices,” Jimin spoke of the day that we were suppose to die, in Taehyung’s office, all by a mistake of Jungkook’s. The fact he brought the day up sent shivers down my spine. Jimin was about to make a confession that changed the way I saw things, “At that moment, I whispered something in Taehyung's ear. I told him- that you would betray him...”

And yet, Taehyung didn’t listen- now he would probably regret it for the rest of his life. It was only upon hearing that confession that I knew, truly, how smart Jimin was. He knew before even I knew myself. He knew before I became who I was in that moment. His word was now the value of gold to me.

Maybe things were meant to turn out this way? Maybe there were more things out there for the three of us? Or maybe, just maybe, we were a couple of people that continued to cheat death...

I stared off into the sky, that little by little, was becoming gray. The gray hour was always the time of day I imagined myself dying, it brought me back to the faintest memories of my childhood.

From the time that I was a little girl, I was raised in poverty and the cold streets. I was always the girl, who was humiliated and yet had to beg for forgiveness. My past was unjustified and my sentence seemed to be terminal. Until one day, after hearing the news that my only brother was gun down, I decided that my adulthood would be different.

As a result, I made my way down to Florida, where the environment was inviting and the money was tempting. Miami was a city built on cocaine money and so, I began to both make and deal cocaine, along the side of my first love, who was the man of my dreams. I was honest, happy, and tried my best to be good. I only put my life in the hands of those closest to me. We shared our dreams, our bodies, our business. I was in a drug cartel with responsibilities and a lot of talent. I took the advice I wanted to take and found myself making dangerous partnerships, million dollar deals, and a lot of money.

It was a matter of circumstance but at the end of it all, this is the life we had chosen and therefore, this is how we would die. The world we were born into was cruel and it cost us greatly to merely breathe its very air. I foolishly tried to plant a flower that would never bloom, in a dream that could never come true. And though I would never forget the hardships and poverty I left back up North. Nor could there ever be a beautiful melody that wouldn't resemble Min Yoongi to me. I finally understood the importance of pain. In life, there had to be struggles and hardships to overcome, and not many do, but those that could, were the leaders of their own destiny.

“(Y/n),”

Hoseok stirred at my side, I looked down to him, as Jimin also brought his attention to the sleepy male beside me.

“Where are we going?”

I found myself surprised by not knowing the answer. I was so caught up in my thoughts and past events, that I hadn’t even stopped to bother. I looked up, my eyes shifting to Jimin, who was already awaiting my gaze with an answer.

“I already picked our destination...I have contacts, people that can help, and Taehyung won’t dare to step foot there.” He explained, shifting in his seat and running his hands through his long dirty blond hair.

“And where is 'there'?” I asked, pulling the blanket down to my waist, sitting up, my interest peeked by our destination.

“Busan- my hometown.”

That is where this story ends and where a new one begins.

≽ Masterlist in bio for your convenience!

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darkblacktea · 5 years

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the magnitude of anger and giving two shits about law.

Today I fucked up. I always practice impulse control, meditation, etc. Typically, I’m medicated and I can go about my daily life with little to no worries about majorly fucking up. The past three weeks, I stopped taking my Xanax; for my own reasons. The memory gaps of having to chew three bars a day had become overwhelming, I hated the robotic tone in my voice, blacking out and losing hours of time, not being able to focus on my work - so I stopped taking them. It was a stupid decision, against medical advice, and trust me my therapist will be pissed when I inform him that I discontinued. At work today, the errors in my actions made themselves extremely apparent after I got into a beef with a client. She was furious, livid, overwhelmingly enraged that our practice wouldn’t fill her heartworm medication without a test. In reality, she didn’t understand that not taking a yearly heartworm test and dosing a dog with heartworm pills can kill them, in the event that they do have worms in the heart. She had pointedly told me that her dog had been off his heartworm meds for three months, which is a major risk considering Florida’s mosquitoes are on steroids. As such, when she declined the test, we declined filling her meds. Hell broke loose. I did my best to calm this woman down, my temperament null and neutral - a screaming client is far from enough to push me over the edge. The more I spoke, the angrier she got, because she demanded we fill the medication. I continued to explain why we couldn’t, and then she spit in my face. I snapped. I saw red. Everything went quiet, her voice a drowned out echo, I could practically feel my pupils as they constricted - focusing on her ugly fat mouth that was now spouting silent words. In an instant, not even a few seconds after, I cracked her across her face. It was instinctive, and the look of horror when she realized what I’d done - as the world came back to me and so did sound ( I really couldn’t hear anything. ) I realized she was pulling out her phone and bitching over and over, playing the victim, “I’M CALLING THE COPS, YOU HIT ME.” I cleaned my face in a sink outside of the room, explained to my boss what had happened, pulled the security footage, and officers arrived. Fortunately for me, she assaulted me first - yes, spitting on someone is assault. One way or another. I didn’t get arrested, and they vaguely warned her that technically she could be the one to get arrested given she started it. My boss of course declined her arrest, after asking me if I wanted to press charges. I was tempted, still furious myself, and shook my head in a silent no before I went about absently cleaning surgical tools in our treatment area - anything to placate my mind, to bring me back to reality. How could I have done that? I struck a client in the face - I didn’t just hit her, I slapped her so fucking hard that I almost knocked her onto her ass. Someone who was easily forty years older than I was. I knew this was because I haven’t been taking my Xanax. My “normal” drug. My “act like a decent human” drug. The drug my doctor has warned me more than once that if I were to discontinue, my risk of ASPD symptoms flaring up were at an all time high. Xanax is a benzo, and without getting into medical jargon, it levels you out and makes your neurons not “spit off so hotly”. So maybe, just maybe, had I been on my Xanax, I would have simply walked out of the room and not slapped that stupid grotsy bitch with the reality check her entitled ass needed. My boss is on my side, vouching that I’ve never had a mishap with a client in all my time there, but this is a corporate facility. So now, my job is on the line, and I know its because I didn’t take my meds. Without my meds, my impulse control is absent. It just doesn’t exist. Law doesn’t matter to me. I feel invincible, untouchable, even when I know that isn’t true - in the moment, I believe it. I acted on instinctive rage instead of breathing and walking away, like the better person would have. This is when the anger someone with ASPD experiences impacts your life. Something that was, undoubtedly, disgusting and low on her part, instigated a reaction from me that may now cost me my job. I feel like a fucking idiot, am a fucking idiot. Yeah, I’ll find a new job if I lose it, of course. The officers told me even if she pressed charges they’d be thrown out in court, because after all, she assaulted me first - their words. We have security footage and all. But it was a dull reminder; a buzzing gnat in my ear that won’t go away no matter how much I slap the air. I’m a threat to people when I’m not medicated to the point of stupidity; to the point of being so pilled out that you barely know what’s going on. I’m faced with the eternal reality that if I ever want to remotely blend in as a normal placid member of society, I have to stay medicated. I loathe that fact, loathe that impulse control is my weakest asset. Tomorrow I’ll find out if I still have a job. Ironic, considering I acted in self defense, even if it was fueled by anger. The worst part is, deep inside, I know I don’t really give a shit. That’s where the anger, the symptoms, the believing you can do whatever you want, impacts your life and defines having the disorder. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten into trouble, and it won’t be the last. I wonder what will happen when someone makes me really snap. Will I kill them? Will I keep beating them without being able to stop myself? I’m not even trying to be edgy, its something I have to think about and meditate on every day. If I’m a threat to society, to people around me, because I have no control over myself, maybe I do deserve to be in prison.

#aspd #sociopath #actually aspd #life #fucked up my job #symptoms #psychopatic #violence #snapped #rage #vent

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yogaadvise · 7 years

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What Does It Really Mean to Live Mindfully?

While paying attention to an episode of 'On Being', the podcast held by Krista Tippett, I came across an impressive meeting with distinguished travel writer Pico Iyer. The acclaimed writer, who penned The Art of Tranquility: Experiences in Going Nowhere, doesn't claim to be a spiritual educator. As Tippett said, 'He has ended up being one of our most precious as well as significant translators of the contemporary discovery of inner life.'

So you can picture my surprise when Iyer revealed that he does not meditate, at the very least not in the conventional feeling. Instead, he invests a lot of his life 'in the middle of nowhere'- that is to state, untangled from a lot of the distractions of contemporary life. He lives practically totally devoid of technology in a two-room home in Kyoto, Japan, immersing himself in stillness.

' ... I awaken, I have breakfast, I make a five-foot commute to my workdesk, as well as then I just sit there for a minimum of five hours aiming to sift as a result of my distortions as well as illusions and also projections and also find what is real behind the numerous points I'm lured to state,' he said in the interview with Tippett. 'And also I assume an author remains in the blessed placement due to the fact that, in some methods, our work is to rest still as well as to practice meditation for a living. Although I don't have a formal spiritual meditation method, I do invest a lot of my life in the center of no place, stationary. And also I'm really thankful for that.'

For those who are intimidated by seated reflection, or feel they don't have time to dedicate to exercise, this kind of conscious living could seem like an attractive course to quality. However what happens if you do not live in such a peaceful setting and your everyday life is taken in by caring for children or handling 2 jobs? When silence is limited, is it feasible to exercise Iyer's approach to meditation?

A Closer Look at Mindfulness

' [Mindfulness is] concerning focusing on what's going on,' says Judson Brewer, M.D., Ph.D., supervisor of research study at the Facility for Mindfulness at UMass Medical College. 'When somebody's living mindfully, they're truly being there, rather than half-there or multitasking or paying interest to 3 points at the same time.'

As humans staying in the modern age, we're bombarded by a constant flow of attention-demanding stimulations. Mindfulness is actually about directing your focus in a focused means to make sure that you're not being pulled along on autopilot.

' It's seeing that impulse to draw away, yet not repeatedly acting upon it,' Brewer adds.

Living in such a way pays off on a variety of levels. According to the American Psychological Organization, mindfulness is connected to minimized anxiety, boosted memory, boosted immune performance, and more.

Kristen Race, Ph.D., founder of Mindful Life, includes that mindfulness in fact enhances the neural wiring in the prefrontal cortex of the brain.

' That's the component of our brain that aids us be much more participated in our relationships,' she claims. 'It aids us assume much more clearly. It helps us resolve issues.'

Using Everyday Tasks to Live a Conscious Life

For individuals that don't have a formal reflection regimen, informal mindfulness methods are very easy ways to raise understanding. It turns out that our best educators can really be mundane, normal tasks.

In a recent study from Florida State College, scientists located that washing dishes in a mindful means dramatically raised motivation and decreased anxiety. All this called for was for the individuals to take notice of the sensory encounters of the task (the smell of the soap, the warmth of the water, and so on).

According to researchers, approaching any kind of activity in a willful way disrupts the mental chatter that uses a loophole in our heads. As opposed to brooding over the past or fretting about the future, present-moment recognition permits us to be in the now.

' Typically you arrive someplace and also you have no idea just how you arrived due to the fact that you were psychologically inspected out the whole way,' says Race. 'Rather, see your atmosphere. When you're strolling your dog, hear the birds. Make use of all your detects to be totally aware of the present moment.'

Perhaps mindfulness professional Jon Kabat-Zinn put it best: 'When you're in the shower following time, check and see if you remain in the shower,' he told '60 Minutes' in a 2014 interview.

Translation: Be entirely present for the experience.

' When you remain in the shower next time, check and also see if you're in the shower.'

Being Mindful with Our Emotions

Mindfulness in 'real life' exceeds day-to-day tasks. Refining our understanding also relates to our emotions and also, in turn, our interactions with others.

' It's actually concerning aiding to see when we're getting in our own way, when we're taking something directly or obtaining captured up in something,' says Brewer. 'When we can focus and notice when we're getting captured up, we could much more conveniently release.'

In recent years, I have actually managed short-term durations of anxiety. When it obtained its claws into me excellent, I would certainly spiral into a full-on anxiety attack. The only thing that has actually assisted me transcend this has been present-moment awareness (a.k.a. seeing anxious feelings when they occur, after that exercising mindful breathing until they pass).

Swap out 'anxiousness' for rage, judgment, or competition ... mindfulness aids us familiarize our very own adverse idea patterns, which directly shapes our reactions to them. The domino rollovers into just how we engage with those around us.

' It's like the X baseball group being better than the Y baseball group,' claims Maker. 'Someone can have that view and also it can trigger a great deal of suffering, as well as suggesting with the various other baseball follower most likely isn't really mosting likely to help the world be a better location.'

Being Mindful with Our Relationships

One key advantage of mindfulness is that it improves our compassion. A 2013 research released in the journal Psychological Science discovered mindfulness practices to boost both empathy and also social harmony.

' I assume that when you have a mindfulness practice, you are much more aware as well as delicate not only to your personal sensations, yet to the feelings of others,' states Race. 'We're far better able to acknowledge exactly how our activities are being regarded. We're far better able to read circumstances and participate in problem-solving in a more efficient method.'

When it involves connections, arguments are just foregone conclusion. Just what if rather of excavating in your heels as well as sticking to your point of view, you enabled your companion to feel just what they're really feeling without passing judgment? What happens if you expanded a thoughtful ear, loosening your hold on the need for you to be ideal and them to be wrong?

Give it a try throughout your next argument with your companion. Chances are, you'll have a more productive discussion.

' When we feel psychological or triggered or during dispute, it goes back to us running from the survival mechanism in the mind, or exactly what I call the alarm system component of our brain,' Race adds. 'When we're feeling caused like that, that's not the most effective time to fix issues because that alarm bypasses the prefrontal cortex. It makes it tough to even listen properly.'

Remember, exercising mindfulness strengthens the prefrontal cortex, making us far better able to weather these storms. It likewise aids us acknowledge that one more person's anger/resentment/hostility-which are all kinds of suffering-aren' t points we have to personalize. However, they're feelings that are pleading for compassion.

Mindfulness can also be a transformative parenting device. Take a trip to any neighborhood park as well as you'll likely observe a dominant fad: Children using the play ground while their moms and dads peck away at their mobile phone displays. Being conscious with our children is something that's as simple as placing away the electronics.

' Notice if you're caught up in your phone, then see if you could place your phone away and also look your kid in the face when they ask you an inquiry,' says Brewer. 'Frequently, simply that quantity of interest is enough for them to recognize they're still liked because minute.'

Mixing Mindfulness with a Formal Contemplative Practice

While casual mindfulness techniques are without a doubt important on their very own, supplementing these initiatives with a formal reflective practice isn't really a bad idea.

' It's hard to just exercise informally. It's actually tempting as well as sounds terrific and also very easy, but it's hard,' claims Race. 'If you could take the time to invest five or 10 minutes resting on the pillow and also exercising conscious breathing, you'll really feel much more present and engaged throughout the day.'

A routine reflection practice will only enhance your initiatives to be much more mindful in your everyday life. Race adds that it also tops the brain to ensure that conscious living comes a lot more quickly. If a formal practice appears frightening, begin with baby actions. Just a couple of minutes a day could set the phase for more intentional living.

#meditation #spiritual #spiritual meditation #vinyasa yoga #yoga

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queenkaramel · 7 years

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Across Time :: Chapter Seven

@juliakaze this is my favorite aesthetic she created!!!

Posted On: AO3 & FFN

MasterList

YEAR 1982

LOCATION: FLORIDA

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clock behind the counter mocked Kara, as the quiet sounds of the contraption echoed in her ears. This wasn’t how she expected to spend her Friday evening, let alone Christmas Eve. Kara had become fond of this holiday, but staring at the pasty off-white wall wasn’t exactly the best way to spend it – there were a million other ways she could have celebrated the night but her stubbornness had resulted in her sitting in a dingy booth in a small diner.

Christmas was a religious holiday on this world, about the birth of the son of God. Friends and families gathered together to celebrate the anniversary of his birth, and spread cheer and joy, and give each other presents. Kara knew better though, having lived on this planet for more than two centuries, that the gifts, parties, and other unique attributes associated with Christmas nowadays was an afterthought, conjured up by people wanting to make money off the season of festivities. Kara occasionally took part in the holiday, though not for any religious reasons. Rather, she gave gifts to her co-workers, and friends she had made throughout the years, and sometimes even drank and partied like any other red-blooded American during the festive season.

Currently, she was on quest to re-start her life. She had lived in Seattle for almost twelve years and she couldn’t keep the charade of having an amazing skin regiment, or genetics to the fact that she never aged. It was once again the time to restart her life, and her new destination was Florida for more than one reason. But now she was discovering reason that she didn’t even know about.

Rao always has a plan, a voice echoed in her mind.

A plan? If this was Rao’s plan it must have been the most convoluted, messy, and disastrous plan he had ever concocted. Otherwise, why would she sitting in a diner – alone – with a cup of coffee that was turning cold by the second, listening to the infuriating sound of time passing as she watched Mon-El walk around and serve customers with a stupid fucking smile while he refused to give her a second look!

The entire diner was almost empty, but Mon-El still refused to talk to her, let alone look at her. He was happily serving the only other customer in the diner while skillfully avoiding her. He would walk past her booth occasionally to refill her cup of coffee, but wouldn’t say a goddamn word. And if he wasn’t going to say anything, she wasn’t going to either. Two can play at this game!

Kara had been sitting in this booth since noon, and it was almost nearing midnight. Other customers, and even some of the staff had given her questioning looks throughout the day, but once she saw Mon-El she had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to leave this establishment without giving him a piece of her mind. What she hadn’t been expecting was him being a stubborn fool and refusing to even interact with her. Kara was half tempted to leave, but she already committed to this task, and was going to see it through.

“You stupid bastard,” she murmured under her breath, and for the first time this entire day Mon-El actually looked at her. Annoyance and anger pulsed out of his eyes, and his glare intensified. Good. She was glad he heard her, “you know it’s true,” she whispered again while holding his gaze.

Mon-El composed his face again and started talking to the last customer in the diner.

“How was your meal Winn?” she picked up their conversation through her enhanced hearing.

“Wonderful as always Mike!” her eyebrows perked up. Was it Mike now? “Although I am still looking forward to those crepes you promised me!”

Mon-El laughed, and Kara began to seethe in her booth. He was happy without her, how dare he?

“When Megan lets me in the kitchen again, I will definitely make you those crepes.” He can cook now?

“Well, I best be heading home. Lena had to work the late shift tonight so she could get Christmas Day off. And we have to go to her house for Christmas morning. More snide comments from Lilian and Lex. And us working overtime doesn’t work well the family. They don’t see the beauty of the Challenger yet, they just expect another failed mission. You should be happy you don’t have in-laws yet.”

“Don’t worry Winn, they might not see it, but I definitely do. And so does the rest of the world.”

”Ya…ya Mike. I don’t need another Space the final frontier speech from you.”

“Well, you will keep getting it until you begin to believe you.”

“Trust me, Lena and I see it. It’s just the rest of Luthors that are a problem. See you tomorrow night?”

“Of course!”

“Make sure you bring some Christmas cheer! And tell Megan to not make the dipping sauce spicy again…only Jon can handle that spice.”

“No guarantees Winn. Good night…and Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas.”

She saw Winn slam some money down on the counter, and pick up his coat and head off. He had friends, and he had life here in Florida. A life without her. Granted, she had a life without him in Seattle, and in Rio, and in New Zealand…. but seeing that he moved on as well hurt a lot more than she thought.

With no left in the diner besides Mon-El and one other server, he had to talk to her, even if it was ‘We are closing soon, you need to leave’.

But the minutes went by and nothing happened…. He swept the floors, bused the tables, wiped the counters all while whistling a tune that Kara had never heard of. Listening to the clock tick was bad – but this unknown tune was literally setting her ears on fire.

“Hey Mike!” another server came out the back room, “It’s pretty dead tonight, and it’s Christmas Eve, I don’t think the diner needs the both of us. I’ll finish up cleaning, and maybe even close early. Why don’t you head out?”

“Megan, it’s no trouble at all,” huh, so this was Megan, “I don’t mind staying…”

“Mike, I’m being serious. It’s literally dead. Just go home,” she playfully slapped a towel at him. And tried to shoo him away with her hands.

“Well in that case. Why don’t you go home, and spend Christmas Eve with Jon and the rug rats and I’ll close up shop,” his eyes snapped to Kara for a brief second, “and I’ll maybe shut down the place an hour early or so…?”

“Mike, I can’t –”

“You can, and you will!”

After some very good insistence on Mon-El’s part, Megan finally relented and gathered her stuff and left. But not without telling Mon-El how exactly too close up the diner: make sure the dishes are clean, the open sign is turned off, and the meat is placed out to defrost, and so on. It certainly gave off the impression that Megan was the owner of the diner, based off the way she fretted over it. Mon-El finally placated her, claiming he has closed the diner many times and she had no reason to worry. And now that Megan was gone, Kara was sure they were the only ones left in the entire establishment.

“Oh shit, I forgot to tell her about the dipping sauce,” Mon-El bemoaned, “Winn’s going to have a fit.”

“It’s not the only thing you forgot,” she hissed at him. Not even bothering to whisper, they were the only ones left, who cared?

“Do you have something to say?” he shot back.

“Me, have something to say?” she said incredulously, “What-ever made you think that I do? Was if me sitting in this diner for fucking twelve hours your first clue? If not, you Daxamites must be really daft!”

Mon-El crossed the room towards her in a rage, ready to give her a piece of her mind. He was pointing an accusatory finger at her and his body was visibly shaking, and Kara could practically feel the pure fury that he was emitting off of him. Finally, she thought. But no words were spoken again. His jaw clenched down, and he pushed his accusing finger back into his fist, “Not worth it,” he gritted and turned to walk away.

Now it was Kara’s turn to be irritated. Not worth it? What the hell was that supposed to mean? All of her pent up irritation finally came bursting out, and she chucked her completely filled coffee mug in his direction, missing him and hitting the counter in front of him.

“What. The. Hell. Is. Your. Problem!” Mon-El clenched his fists tighter, and Kara could his arm muscles ripple and strain due to the additional tension he was exerting.

“My. Problem. Is. You.” she responded in kind.

“Right. I’m the problem. Just doing my job, and I’m the problem. Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Kryptonian,” his words cut her deep, reminding her of the day they crashed landed. Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Kryptonian? It was like they were the old Kara and Mon-El back in 1754. Strangers. Enemies. Not the ones who had spent 150 years together building a strong friendship that Kara hoped would lead to more one day. Well, it was so close to leading to something more. That ‘something more’ was almost in her grasp, it was so close and she still let it slip away. And now? All the progress, all the memories they had created together were slowly disappearing in front of her.

Mon-El began cleaning the glass shards of her coffee cup from the counter and the floor, “Why are you even here?”

How was she supposed to answer that? She felt like the biggest idiot right now. Twelve hours she had spent in this diner and she hadn’t even thought about what she was going to say to him. So she did the only thing she could when people are losing an argument, “Why are you here?” she mocked him.

He chuckled. He actually chuckled. But it wasn’t the laughter she was used to hearing, laughter that was usually jovial, sweet, and warmed her heart. It was a cruel laughter, and she felt ridiculed by it, “Why am I at the place I fucking work at?” Her eyes bulged, in all her time of being with him she had never once heard him curse out loud, “Are being serious right now Kara?”

She was too stunned to say anything. Oh Rao, where did it go all wrong?

“But you? You come into this diner, you see me working here and you sit your pretty little ass down in a booth for twelve hours. So it seems to me you have something to say more than I do, so why don’t you spit it out already and leave?”

“I don’t take orders from you,” she sneered. How dare he speak to her that way? This wasn’t the Mon-El she knew, not the kind and gentle one that literally treated her like the apple of his eyes. But things change, right? And Mon-El definitely did.

“Well then, why don’t you sit down in that booth and let me finish my work if you have nothing to say?”

Kara huffed, she had cornered herself into a sticky situation. Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. Her stupid ego had gotten her into this mess, and now there was no way out. She picked her poison and sat down in the booth and watched him continue to clean and re-arrange the lobby by stacking the chairs on top of each other. All the while, Kara thought about her new game plan. The clock ringing in her ears once more.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The more she thought about how she could attack him, the more befuddled by the situation she became. She hadn’t even given it a second thought as to why Mon-El was working in a diner. He was held two military positions before, was a sea captain, an ambassador, an engineer, and a stupid journalist…and now his new line of work was a bus boy server at a dingy diner? That made no sense. Kara wondered if she should shelve her anger for just a moment so she could ask him why? And how?

No. No, she couldn’t flatter. She came in here with a mission, and she was going to fulfil it. Maybe she could use his new found profession to rouse him, and maybe she will finally elicit the response she craved form him. Finally she could shout at him till her was heart was content. She didn’t want a one-sided argument where he could just take the insults she threw at him. No, she wanted him to try defend himself, she wanted him aggravated so when she delivered the final blow it would bring her satisfaction, and he would run away to lick his wounds while she could finally be free from what happened thirty years ago.

“So how is it working at this fine establishment?” her voice filled with malice, hoping he would respond and be caught in her trap and she could attack him like a rabid lioness, with accusations, and declarations and make him feel guilty about his actions.

“It pays the bills,” he responded simply, showing no hint of falling in her trap. Crap, she needed to find another way.

“And this is the line of work you picked? What happened to the brilliant mechanical engineering that was my one and only hope for getting off this planet?” she wanted to get under his skin, she wanted to provoke him. Just take the bait dammit!

But he kept continuing with his ministrations. He moved to turn off the neon red OPEN sign by the entrance, and then walked towards the cash register. Kara followed his movements with narrowed eyes, waiting for his response.

“Like I said, it plays the bills,” he said after a full two minutes. Mon-El was mulling over whether he should engage her or not. He picked the latter, and choose to repeat his previous answer.

Kara grumbled. But then she picked up on his murmuring – apparently he couldn’t hold his anger back either and the words flowed out his mouth and to Kara’s ear, “Thought she would be smart enough to know why…”

This was such a childish way to fight, words exchanged in hushed tones, each one trying to get the last word in, and trying to bait each other into a fight.

“Smart enough,” she stomped her away to the register. He would have known that she would pick up on whatever he said with her enhanced hearing so he clearly wanted her to respond, “What does that me?!”

“I think you know. Or at least the Kryptonian in you should know, right? Why don’t you sit down and give it another thought, huh? Maybe you might be able to figure out why I am working in the diner in the middle of Cape Canaveral Florida!?”

Fucking shit! The entire time she was trying to get him to take the bait, and here she was taking his bait. It had completely blown up in face and she hadn’t realized it until it was too late. But the argument had finally started, and at least that was a win.

“So why don’t you explain it to me huh? Since I am so dumb, stupid and too much of an idiot to understand,” her body was shaking with rage, and she was just waiting for the right moment to unleash it on him. But this wasn’t the right time, she needed to hold in a little while longer.

Mon-El slammed the cash register drawer shut, “Kara I know this isn’t what you want to talk about. So can you stop beating around the goddamn bush and get to the point, so I can get on with my life. You know, if that’s possible for you….”

“No! You started it, so why don’t you tell me what I don’t understand right now. Clearly I can’t understand it myself, so why don’t you help me?”

Kara knew that how immature this fight was getting. It reminded her of the arguments she and her cousin Kal would frequently get into, where they would shout anything and everything at each other until something finally stuck. And once something stuck, neither of them would move on until the argument got bigger and bigger and root of their problems was uncovered.

“Kara, I don’t have time for this,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Clearly, Mon-El was more evolved than Kara and her cousin were. Whereas they loved to egg on the fight, Mon-El was trying to diffuse it.

“You were the one to call me stupid, so don’t start something you can’t finish,” and then Kara murmured, “Although it seems to be a wonderful habit of yours.”

Again, with the words muttered under their breaths.

“Cape Canaveral, Florida, Kara? Where the goddamn Challenger is supposed to launch at the Kennedy Space Center. Ring any bells? This ‘brilliant mechanical engineering that was my one and only hope for getting off this planet’ is trying to keep his ears opens to learn how far these humans have progressed. And this ‘dingy diner’ is a lovely hangout for those scientists, and I even made friends with a couple of them. So now that you know why I lowered my standards and became a fucking server could you please leave? And the next time you see, I would appreciate it if you just walked in the other direction.”

Kara cowered away. She was an idiot. The reason she had picked Florida as her new location was because it was slowly becoming a hub for space exploration, and the second challenger was due for takeoff next month. That was the reason, well primary, reason why she had decided to settle in Florida. And if she hadn’t let her ego get in the way, she would have known that Mon-El was thinking the same. Her cheeks flushed red with embarrassed.

“Oh, and don’t worry. Once I get the right technology to fix our motherboards, I’ll find you. Cause unlike you, I like to keep my promises,” he remarked snidely.

All the embarrassment and humiliation she had felt a moment ago had vanished. His steel-gray eyes cut her like shards. The allegation that she wanted to make, the allegation that she was trying to build up to, he had said them. But what standing did he even have to say that? What promises did she even break? It was Mon-El who did the breaking, not her.

The rage built up in her again, “I don’t keep my promises? You’re the one to talk. You’re the one who broke his promise. Don’t try to make yourself the victim, when you really are the villain,” she seethed.

“Me? Me?” he asked shocked, “I kept my promise Kara. But you were too busy making money and getting fame to keep yours. Now I know what matters to you. Fame and fortune, so don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your path. ”

“What the hell does that mean!?” she yelled. Mon-El wasn’t even making sense. It was like he was trying to manipulate the entire conversation to his side, but she wasn’t going to allow that, “You’re the one you didn’t come back! You’re the one didn’t come back to me! You’re the one you didn’t keep your promise! I waited. For Rao’s sake, I waited for two years! Every day after the war ended I waited for you to come through those door. I waited to see again. I waited for your touch again. I WAITED! And you never came….for two years. I felt like an idiot, the most gullible naïve girl in the universe. You used me, and you never came back. And now, after all these years I can finally tell you how much you hurt me, how long it took for me to move on, and how there is this dulling pain in my heart, and you’re standing there saying was all my fault? How dare you!?”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“You really know how to paint yourself as a victim Kara. Bravo,” he clapped his hands, insulting her even further, “I never fulfilled my promise? The moment I got off that ship, the moment I came back to the States, I went to that small little club in the North Carolina port to see you. To hold you, to touch you, to kiss you again,” Kara’s breathe hitched, “To keep my promise. After months of not seeing you, after months of dreaming about you, I went back to the club to see that you weren’t even there Kara. You left. You were gone. So I thought, maybe you went to work somewhere else in town, maybe you found another job? Letters get lost in the war so many times, maybe I missed the one telling of your new profession. So like a fool I searched the entire city for you. I mean, how hard could it be to find a Kara Danvers. It was a unique enough name, right? For months I looked, and I came up empty handed. And then years later I heard of this beauty in New York City that was headlining for a popular club, and she had the most wonderful voice in the world, and her name was Kira Dixon. I didn’t even know that it was you until I saw your photo Kara! You had found money and fame and forgot me.”

Kira Dixon. She had forgotten that when was ‘discovered’ in the small club in North Carolina, they had told her to ditch Kara Danvers for a different, stage appropriate name, and Kira Dixon was born. But if that was Mon-El’s explanation of the events, then he had lied to her. And once again was trying to manipulate the events in his favor.

“Don’t lie to me, Mon-El,” he was adding insult to injury. Taking pride in rubbing salt in her open wounds, and he thought she wouldn’t notice, “If you had really gone to the club we wouldn’t have been in this position.”

“Kara. I’m telling you the truth. And if you can’t handle your mistakes, I’m not here to coddle you. I don’t even know why you are even here? You left me, so why do even care anymore?”

“NO YOU DIDN’T! I didn’t leave you, YOU LEFT ME! If you had do gone to the club, like you claim you did, you would have found me!?”

“YOU WEREN’T THERE KARA! HOW WOULD I HAVE FOUND YOU?”

“I LEFT YOU A LETTER!”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“I left you a letter,” she whispered as the burden of her feelings that she had been carrying over the last thirty years tipped over, “I knew letters got lost in the mail. Sometimes you would respond to every third letter I sent you. I would go months without hearing a response and I didn’t want to risk telling you about my new job for it to only get lost in midst of the war. So I told the owner that when a Michael Matthews stops by, to give you the letter telling you where I was so you could find me again. But you never did, Mon-El,” her heart was shattering, and the dulling pain began to pulse red hot over her skin, and it felt like pins and needles all over. It had taken her years to glue herself back together, and now it was taking just minutes for her too fall apart again, “but you never did.”

“I never got a letter….”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Kara couldn’t breathe. I never got a letter. He never got a letter. He was lying again, he had to be lying again. No. No. No. His steel blue eyes looked softer now, his face less strained and his demeanor shifted to look like a defeated man: shoulder dropped, and head down. No. No. No. He was lying again. Lying. But his voice held such sincerity, and the change of his behavior told a different story. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t the vile man she had painted him to be for thirty years. Her heart didn’t ache, she hadn’t felt so lost and broken because he had left her – no – it was because of lack of communicate. A small little mistake that had cost them both more than she could have imagined. It had cost them a life together.

All that hurt, rage, and pain that she had held onto for all these years, all of which fueled her to confront Mon-El, all of which gave her the courage to speak to him again, so she could finally lay it to rest felt so inconsequential, and disconcerting. She had nothing more to say. She had no more cards to play, no she didn’t even have a hand to begin with.

She had sat down in this diner holding onto something that wasn’t even real, and she lashed out at him. She had started it, she had accused him, she had ruined what they had. What was left now? At this moment, she wished the earth would open and swallow her whole because those soft steel blue eyes that help such contempt for were now melting, but she couldn’t face it. Not after humiliating herself like this. So she did the only she could think of, she turned to walk away.

She heard Mon-El shuffle behind her, “KARA WAIT,” his voice the most kind it had been all night. Definitely not pleasant, but there was no animosity, “don’t go.”

Kara gripped the handle of the door tightly, thinking whether she should stop and hash things out and fix what was broken. Oh Rao, she really wanted to fix everything.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

She opened the door and walked out, ignoring Mon-El calling after her.

Her heart was screaming at her to turn around and walk back through that door. It was tugging, pulling at her, but her mind wouldn’t listen. After that entire debacle it was ashamed, mortified and she didn’t have the courage to turn around and face him. The anger she had held onto for thirty years taunted her now. She had acted like a fool, duped by her own emotions. So she continued walking, and after she was clear of that one yellow car in the parking lot, the tears began to pool out of her eyes and she super sped away, without even looking back.

She tried to zone in her ears to listen into what Mon-El was saying – if he was saying anything — in the diner but all her ears could focus on was the rackety clock that was hung being the counter on the pasty off-white wall.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

She was too afraid to listen, she lacked the bravery, the valor to face the consequences. How do you move past a thirty year old grudge, one that she instigated?

Coward, her heart yelled. Yes, she was a coward.

Hope you guys like it! As always - please ignore mistakes and an edited on will be posted on Ao3 soon

ONE CHAPTER LEFT GUYS!

#my fanfic #across time #karamel fanfiction #karamel fanfic #karamel #karamel fam #mon el

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westywrites · 7 years

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The Teller of Stories and Keeper of Secrets

Chapter 5 - Christopher Marcel

First - Previous - Next

Warning for bullying, violence, and murder

Last but most definitely not least, in fact, I'm tempted to say that I saved the best for last in this case, we have Christopher Marcel. The second son of a very rich businessman, in Florida, U.S.A. Early in his life he was always the quieter of the two sons and Christopher spent most of his young life hiding in the shadows of his older brother, who took after his father and was heir to the business. Christopher however, took after their mother and was very meek child, he hid his face when the press were near and rarely spoke louder than a whisper. He was too shy to even say that he preferred being addressed as Christopher rather than Chris which is what everyone ended up calling him. Now he would've liked to have taken after his mother in height too but he did not and is at least 6'3", making it very hard for him to hide or blend in with a crowd, so he grew his black hair long and lets it fall over his eyes, giving him a feeling of being protected from the world. Given his quieter nature he was always the subject of the neighbourhood kids jeers throughout his childhood, and that's where we start his story. On a fine afternoon in spring when he had just turned 16 years old.

Christopher sat silently on the swing in the old playground behind the ball park, in the distance you could hear the sound of his older brother's baseball team playing a game they were sure to win. He sat and slowly moved back and forth, the swing creaking. He was in a different place in his mind, the place he goes to escape when he feels down. He had been going there more often lately as his brother was graduating and it was such a big deal everyone forgot Christopher's birthday a few weeks before. Christopher sighed, the game would be ending soon, he should leave before the rush of other teens come back to celebrate the win with all their beer and noise. As he went to get up he saw something under the slide across the playground. He froze where he was as the two worst people in Christopher's life, other than his brother, came out laughing and totally drunk.

"Oh my gawd." Hannah's mouth fell open. Everyone knew Hannah, her dad was a lawyer and no one messed with her, she was also a total jerk. Especially to Christopher. "You were totally watching us, you perv!" She fixed her shirt really quickly, making a horrified face that was framed by her always messy brown hair.

"Chris, dude. Let me teach you something, here." Patrick, the famous surfer's son, started walking towards Christopher. "You don’t watch people when they're going at it under a slide."

"Yea, really. What's wrong with you?" Hannah slipped on her sweater, which was too big for her and had a huge pink butterfly on its hideous purple background.

"So you listen up," Patrick was close enough now that he reached out and grabbed Christopher by his hair, "never do this again. Freak." Hannah was giving Patrick this googly eyed, head over heels look, and he looked back at her and winked, flicking his shaggy blond hair. The other teenagers from the neighbourhood were out of the game now and were starting to make their way back to the playground.

"What the hell's going on here?" One of them asked and suddenly Christopher was bombarded with insults and threats as Patrick explained his version of what happened. They yelled at him, calling him horrible things and he tried his hardest but he couldn’t help crying. As the first tear dripped off his chin, they laughed.

"Ah, you poor big baby." Patrick stuck out his bottom lip, his eyes shining. "Are you crying for your mommy?" Everyone fell silent as Christopher looked up with rage in his eyes. "Oh that's right she's dead." Patrick finished his joke and it fell flat in the silence. Christopher stood up, towering over Patrick and kicked him. Hard. It landed but Patrick just stood there and everyone started laughing again. Even though he was so tall, his kick wouldn't move a fly, at least that's what they said. They jeered and laughed. Christopher cried, sitting back down on the swing as they mocked him.

"I betcha he can't even look at a girl."Hannah said her nasal voice piercing his mind. "Come on, baby. Come on you freak." Hannah started hitting his head, shouting out insults. "Pathetic." Patrick joined in. "Nerd, hah you're just a joke." Drunken meaningless words that stung Christopher down to his very core.

Patrick put a hand on Christopher's shoulder. "A shame to your family name, your mother is probably crying out of disappointment this very second." Christopher felt heat bubbling through his body and he lifted his hands towards his face, stopping half way. His breathing was heavy.

"SHUT UP." He shouted, twisting his upturned hands sharply and as he did with his hands, so did their heads. There was a horrible snapping noise, and blood sprayed everywhere. Hannah and Patrick fell to the ground, limp, their heads twisted backwards and their necks snapped. The blood ran pooling at Christopher’s feet, staining Patrick’s white shirt red. The others were frozen for a second and he looked up at them, his hair out of the way for the first time anyone had seen, and his eyes were like green flames, filled with rage and sudden confidence. They ran. All of them gone, screaming back to the ballpark, the ones who had been at the front were covered in blood. Christopher stood triumphantly over the bodies and he smiled for the first time since his mother had died 10 years before.

Christopher quickly walked off into the woods a little ways behind the playground, taking a shortcut through to town. Before he left the shelter of the trees he ditched his black hoodie and made sure no blood could be seen on his pants, face or hands. He strutted down the street standing straight and smiling. A store caught his eyes, just a simple tailor shop, one of the ones his father’s company owned. Christopher waltzed right up to the front desk and demanded a suit, just a simple casual suit. The man behind the counter was confused at first and had begun to ask Christopher if he had any means of paying, but then it struck the man. This boy was Christopher Marcel, unlike anyone had seen him before.

"Quickly now." Christopher demanded again sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

"Yes sir." The man scuttled off. They already had Christopher's measurements, for they were making a suit for him to wear to his brother's graduation, so it was done within ten minutes.

"Do come again Chris." The man said as he handed the bag that now had the suit within it to Christopher.

"It's Christopher." He slammed the door behind him on his way out. The feeling of talking to someone like that gave him a rush. He ducked into a small cafe and changed in their washroom, as he walked back out people gave him strange looks and he didn't care. For the first time in his life he didn't care that people were watching, he didn't care that someone was taking a picture on their cellphone. He could kill anyone of them with a flick of his wrist, and he was happy.

"CHRIST, CHRIS WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" His father came storming down the stairs when Christopher had opened the door.

"I found myself, father." Christopher smiled looking up at his dad. "I found myself in the death of those two jerks."

His father’s steps faltered. "Chris?" Confusion was painted all over his face and he ran a hand back through his greying hair.

"Christopher, father, my name is Christopher." Christopher walked past his dad up the stairs, patting his dad on the shoulder as he passed.

"Christopher?" His dad was frozen on the stairs completed shocked at the change in his son.

Christopher was up in his room now laying on the bed laughing, he just laughed and laughed. Laughed at the look on his father's face, laughed at the people in the cafe, laughed at the tailor, and most of all he laughed at all those other teenagers who would probably need therapy for a good, long, time. He layed there and laughed for an hour or so and then he slept. Who knew killing people would tire you out so much.

Over the next few weeks Christopher's father said he was proud of Christopher about a thousand times, took Christopher with him instead of his brother onto 3 different T.V. interviews and payed off the parents of Patrick and Hannah, and threatened to police and media so the whole murder thing got dropped. Christopher had moved up the social ladder at school and now everyone was at his feet doing whatever he wanted, including most of the teachers. No one messed with him. Except one stupid kid who had been there that day following Patrick around with a camera and ended up getting the whole thing on tape and putting it on youtube. Of course that kid was never heard from again and the video was taken down, but there was enough internet attention that it was affecting business on a high enough level that Christopher's dad agreed to sending him to therapy to get the public off their backs. Christopher didn't protest and smiled and waved at the cameras as they drove off to the nearest, cheapest form of therapy, at a cheesy little place called "WALTER'S HAPPY CHILDREN'S HOUSE!"

#west's words #original fiction #ya fiction #writers on tumblr #fantasy #TSKS #final kid #now on to the story :)#again please tell me if you're liking this #or even just reading it #give it a like or something and I'll be overjoyed

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nimblermortal · 7 years

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Right, time for a Lewis theology liveblog masterpost

Health is a great blessing, but the moment you make health one of your main, direct objects you start becoming a crank and imagining there is something wrong with you. You are only likely to get health provided you want other things more - food, games, work, fun, open air.

The wife may be a good wife, and the hotels and scenery may have been excellent, and chemistry may be a very interesting job; but something has evaded us. - STOP TREATING WOMEN AS THINGS.

This section on Christian charity seems blindingly obvious to me; but then, I remember it being a bit of a marvel once. (The idea is a sort of ‘fake it til you make it’ about liking people; that if you dislike someone, and do them a good turn, you trick yourself into liking them better; and that it’s important to do this for everyone.)

And secondly, we might try to understand exactly what loving your neighbor as yourself means. I have to love him as I love myself. Well, how exactly do I love myself? Now that I come to think of it, I have not exactly got a feeling of fondness or affection for myself, and I do not even always enjoy my own society. - I, for one, consider ‘wanting myself to improve’ to be a fundamental part of loving myself; but there’s also the aspect of loving my teenage self, with all her faults and bigotry and idiocies, with a deep and overweening fondness; and by extrapolation, I must feel the same about myself. But that doesn’t preclude noting my own flaws and trying to make them better; and I think that just so, though this is not the point Lewis is making, you love the people around you while valuing the flaws that make you wince. Or flinch. And there’s an aspect of this that I do not, in fact, want to get into on tumblr; on the preceding page in fact. But nyah-hah, mortals, you don’t know what book I’m reading, much less what page I’m on.

I’m going to have to make a photo post or two, because I don’t want to transcribe all of this.

-----

(As Screwtape to Wormwood)

They are animals and whatever their bodies do affects their souls... Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by their success in producing the desired feeling; and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment. - He’s also talking about praying for charity vs manufacturing charitable feelings for themselves, praying for courage vs feeling brave, praying for forgiveness vs trying to feel forgiven; I do not entirely follow here, but I think it may have to do with feeling for oneself vs the ‘on behalf of others’ that started the prayer. Or maybe just saying you have to focus on God for the prayer, which seems silly to me, especially given the entire section toward the beginning on what prayer is.

Never forget that when we are dealing with any pleasure in its healthy and normal and satisfying form we are, in a sense, on the Enemy’s ground. I know we have won many a soul through pleasure. All the same, it is His invention, not ours. He made the pleasures: all our research so far has not enabled us to produce one. - He goes on, but I don’t care to just now.

Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to this fact? All virtues are less formidable to us once the man is aware that he has them, but this is specially true of humility. Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, “By jove! I’m being humble,” and almost immediately pride - pride at his own humility - will appear. If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of the attempt - and so on, through as many stages as you please. But don’t try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humor and proportion, in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed.

By this virtue, as by all others, our Enemy wants to turn the man’s attention away from himself to Him, and to the man’s neighbors... You must therefore conceal from the patient the true end of Huility. Let him think of it, not as self-forgetfulness, but as a certain kind of opinion (namely, a low opinion) of his own talents and character... By this method thousands of humans have been brought to think that humility means pretty women trying to believe they are ugly and clever men trying to believe they are fools.

Joy... is of itself disgusting and a direct insult to the realism, dignity, and austerity of Hell.

Fun... promotes charity, courage, contentment, and many other evils.

A thousand bawdy, or even blasphemous, jokes do not help toward a man’s damnation so much as his discovery that almost anything he wants to do can be done, not only without the disapproval but with the admiration of his fellows, if only it can get itself treated as a Joke.

[Flippancy] is a thousand miles away from joy; it deadens, instead of sharpening, the intellect; and it excites no affection between those who practice it. - At first I was going to say that he’s quite wrong here, and then I thought a second longer and decided against it, and noted that it rather strongly resembles my observation that being critical of something is a very easy way to feel clever and witty and powerful; it’s extremely easy to look cool by degrading something. Oscar Wilde was clever, but largely because he made fun of things. It’s actually something to avoid. Unless discussing Texas or Florida.

Because what she wants is smaller and less costly than what has been set before her, she never recognizes as gluttony her determination to get what she wants, however troublesome it may be to others.

-----

What they are always thinking of is the mark which the action leaves on that tiny central self which no one sees in this life but which each of us will have to endure - or enjoy - forever... Each [in his anger] has done something to himself which, unless he repents, will make it harder for him to keep out of the rage next time he is tempted, and will make the rage worse when he does fall into it. - This has been scientifically proven, actually; for anger and depression, at least. Each time you succumb, it carves deeper, clearer channels in your brain for those neurons to fire down the next time, and so each successive rage or depressive episode can be longer and worse than the last.

Christ takes it for granted that men are bad. - Ordinarily I would hate this; the assumption that men are bad in particular. It implies we should despise them, in both senses of the word. But when you say Christ does it, it does not mean he thinks less of people, but that he accepts this is a fact, and that every motion you make in the other direction is a delight and a thing to be proud of. Of course, Lewis is going in a different direction - saying you have to continually recognize that people are bad. I assume so that you yourself can find ways to improve; for what’s the point of saying ‘broken’ if the corollary is not ‘how do I fix it?’

We must distinguish between two degrees and kinds of work - the one wholly good and necessary to the animal side of the animal rationale, the other a punitive deterioration of the former due to the Fall.

Laziness means more work in the long run... The cowardly thing is also the most dangerous thing.

A husband and wife chatting over a fire, a couple of friends having a game of darts in a pub, a man reading a book in his own room or digging in his own garden - that is what the State is there for. And unless they are helping to increase and prolong and protect such moments, all the laws, parliaments, armies, courts, police, economics, etc., are simply a waste of time.

Interjection: Lewis does, occasionally, reveal himself as a misogynist and a homophobe, and says things like ‘if a man does not work, he does not eat’, and he will keep saying things about other faiths that are along the lines of ‘Christianity is like mathematics. There is one right answer, but there are some wrong answers that are more right than others.’ He also keeps saying that you have to take all of Christianity, that the weight of two thousand years outweighs any little arguments you can come up with, you can’t pick and choose, etc; and all of these are things that I cannot agree with, but he will keep bringing up that last bit.

Oh, and he says things like For some people, perhaps especially for Englishmen and Russians, what we call ‘the love of nature’ is a permanent and serious sentiment. On the other hand, the rest of that section, describing how one loves nature, is another thing I find blindingly obvious - the need to exist in nature and feel oneself dissolve into the flow of it. Not that he goes that far.

There is indeed a peculiar charm, both in Friendship and in Eros, about those moments when Appreciative love lies, as it were, curled up asleep, and the mere ease and ordinariness of the relationship (free as solitude, yet neither is alone) wraps us round. No need to talk. No need to make love. No needs at all except perhaps to stir the fire.

The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.”

It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semiarticulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision - it is then that Friendship if born. And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude.

All who share it will be our companions; but one or two or three who share something more will be our Friends. In this kind of love, as Emerson said, Do you love me? means Do you see the same truth? - Or at least, “Do you care about the same truth?” The man who agrees with us that some question, little regarded by others, is of great importance can be our Friend. He need not agree with us about the answer. - This strikes me as very Marauders, frankly. And I think it may solve the Problem of Peter Pettigrew.

The Friends will still be doing something together, but something more inward, less widely shared, and less easily defined; still hunters, but of some immaterial quarry; still collaborating, but in some work the world does not, or not yet, take account of; still traveling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side by side; their eyes look ahead.

We are under no obligation at all to sing our love duets in the throbbing, world-without-end, heartbreaking manner of Tristan and Isolde; let us often sing like Papageno and Papagena instead.

Divine Gift-love in the man enables him to love what is not naturally lovable: lepers, criminals, enemies, morons, the sulky, the superior, and the sneering.

By a high paradox, God enables men to have a Gift-love toward Himself. There is, of course, a sense in which no one can give to God anything which is not already His; and if it is already His, what have you given? ...He has nevertheless made [it] ours in such a way that we can freely offer it back to Him.

---some discussion of sex in this section---

The sexual act, when lawful - which means chiefly when consistent with good faith and charity - bleh, etc. This is an interesting phrase which, I think, might contradict Lewis in other places; I’m interested to see. I’m also... well, now I think about how Lewis has defined charity earlier, that makes sense as well. I think the ‘good faith’ is meant as it initially appears, and so precludes e.g. rape; the ‘charity’ has to do with previous paragraphs about how charity is wrapped up in love of mankind, oneself, one’s neighbor, and generally feeling that love for everyone around you. I think I did put something about that above. And so it pulls in earlier commentary about Eros and how it is tied up in a bit I did not transcribe about falling in love - A man in this state really hasn’t leisure to think of sex. He is too busy thinking of a person. The fact that she is a woman is far less important than the fact that she is herself. He is full of desire, but the desire may not be sexually toned. If you ask him what he wanted, the true reply would often be, “To go on thinking of her.” So this sort of emotional attachment to the act. And now I /have/ to go and finish the sentence that started this, because I’ve no intention of condemning one night stands &c - it ends can, like all other merely natural acts... be done to the glory of God, and will then be holy. I am not sure what ‘done to the glory of God’ means, but it may have to do with the discussions of love, and divine/Gift-love, and turned outward rather than inward...

The monstrosity of sexual intercourse outside marriage is that those who indulge in it are trying to isolate one kind of union (the sexual) from all the other kinds of union which were intended to go along with it and make up the total union. The Christian attitude does not mean that there is anything wrong about sexual pleasure, any more than about the pleasures of eating. It means that you must not try to isolate that pleasure and try to get it by itself, any more than you ought to try to get the pleasures of taste without swallowing and digesting, by chewing things and spitting them out again. - But then, we do have wine tastings. And coffee tastings. And, if Brooklyn 99 is to be believed, which it probably is not, pizza tastings.

---End discussion of sex---

[All Churches] regard divorce as something like cutting up a living body, as a kind of surgical operation. Some of them think the operation is so violent that it cannot be done at all; others admit it as a desperate remedy in extreme cases. They are all agreed that it is more like having both your legs cut off than it is like dissolving a business partnership or even deserting a regiment. - which makes it sound like an occasionally necessary medical procedure, which I like; and draws some really nice parallels to abortion, which... frankly seem appropriate.

I much approve of merrymaking. But what I approve of much more is everybody minding his own business. I see no reason why I should volunteer views as to how other people should spend their own money in their own leisure among their own friends. It is highly probable that they want my advice on such matters as little as I want theirs. - Oooh, he’s cranky. (This section is titled ‘Christmas and Xmas’, but seems to be developing into a diatribe on commercialism, and the prose is much more emotional than the preceding two hundred pages.)

I did not find the frontline trenches or the C.C.S. more full of hatred, selfishness, rebellion, and dishonesty than any other place...My memories of the last war haunted my dreams for years...I’m not a pacifist. If it’s got to be, it’s got to be. But the flesh is weak and selfish and I think death would be much better than to live through another war. Thank God He has not allowed my faith to be greatly tempted by the present horror. I do not doubt that whatever misery He permits will be for our ultimate good unless by rebellious will we convert it to evil. But I get no further than Gethsemane*; and am daily thankful that that scene of all others in our Lord’s life did not go unrecorded.

*where Jesus prayed while his disciples slept, the night before he got crucified. If I recall my childhood lessons correctly, it’s where Jesus did a bit of a ‘Do I have to, it will hurt’ about the whole business.

Almost the whole of Christian theology could perhaps be deduced from the two facts (a) That men make course jokes, and (b) That they feel the dead to be uncanny. - A funny statement, but presented honestly; he means that we find our own animality either objectionable or funny and that we expect to be a weird chimera, in the Fullmetal Alchemist sense, of spirit and matter, which is not weird to any being that is wholly one or the other, but as a centaur stuck in between, we find the idea of being either wholly spirit (a ghost) or matter (a corpse) to be uncanny and objectionable.

Huh. Now he is saying that the Bible rejoices about the prospect of judgment because judaically we sit as plaintiffs in this court, and in the modern school of thought we fear it because we are in the defendant’s seat. We are the small man with a watertight case who, if he can just get into the court, will have everything granted to him; and Judgment is to put us in that court.

My favorite imagine on [the matter of Purgatory] comes from the dentist’s chair. I hope that when the tooth of life is drawn and I am coming round, a voice will say ‘Rinse your mouth out with this.’ This will be a Purgatory.

#Nimblermortal liveblogs #this post will update #oh Lewis do keep talking about Friends #you could write a book about Friends #fine by me

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justjessame · 3 years

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Double Shot Chapter 20

“When did you put in the security system?” Davy asked, as he pulled away and smiled down at me. “Didn’t think our little town was a hotbed of criminal activity.”

My smile felt forced, because it definitely was. “The fire across the street, I told you about it, remember?” George tsked and pulled me back into his arms. “I’m alright, Uncle George.”

“Has the donor been by lately?” Davy looked like he smelled and tasted something disgusting which was apt, since my father was pretty fucking gross. I shook my head, not since the last time, thank God.

Davy and George had kept their house in town, so while I was expected to have dinner with them almost every night, we weren’t all squished into my apartment upstairs. Once I locked up that evening, I went upstairs to change into something more comfortable so I could drive to their house, completely forgetting my new routine. When I heard Clay’s soft knock, it hit me that I hadn’t told my uncles about the new man in my life. In fact, I hadn’t told them anything about Clay or the others. My fucking life had been in complete upheaval for months, so give me a break, would you?

“We going somewhere, Char?” He and his team hadn’t been in for their daily dose of caffeine so I hadn’t been able to tell him that Davy and George were visiting, and now- Shit.

“Jensen has another date with Carrie,” he offered. “Pooch went home for a furlough with his wife and son. Cougar is doing what Cougar does. Just you and me, Char.”

Confirming with George that it would just be the four of us, I told him we’d be on our way soon. Clay’s arms were around me as soon as I hit END. “This is nice,” I leaned back into his chest.

Davy opened the door and his face broke out into a wide grin at the sight of Clay practically wrapped around me from behind. “Oh, Charlotte, this must be Clay.” I guess a part of me was happy that Keli had told them Clay’s name and not his ‘nickname’. “Come on in,” he stepped back and let us in. I shook my head as I saw my uncle look Clay over from top to bottom and then back up again. Who could blame him? “George is in the kitchen,” he offered as I walked toward the scent of my favorite meal. “Clay, come into the family room, Char is heading toward her happy place.” I was grinning over my shoulder reassuringly at Clay as I moved with purpose to the one person who understood my love of baking and cooking.

Dinner, once we all gathered in the dining room, was a hell of a lot less awkward than I’d thought possible. Davy and George included Clay in the conversation, and for his part, Clay honestly seemed to enjoy himself. Dessert was one of my own recipes, one that George told me was a favorite among their circle in Florida, and while rushing away so we could be alone was tempting, we didn’t.

Sitting in the family room, surrounded by family photos, with me as a center focus, I listened as my uncles regaled Clay with stories about my younger years.

“There she was, covered head to toe in mud, glaring at Carrie’s big brother Chris like she was going to throttle him and it was all we could do to not laugh.” Davy was chuckling at the memory. “I swear, I can still see her almost steaming from her rage.”

“He called me a dog,” I muttered, “and not a female one. Just a dog.”

“How old were you?” Clay asked, eyes twinkling and dimples deep.

“Sixteen,” George laughed. “She was sixteen and contemplating murder because an eighteen year old was being a douche.”

“He tossed me in a mudhole that could have fucking drowned me,” I glared, the memory coming back fresh. “And said even dogs were cute with mud on them, but not me.”

Clay pulled me into his body, kissing my head. “Carrie’s brother sounds like a blind asshole.”

“Didn’t he marry the Costello girl?” Davy asked, his smile widening and I giggled and nodded. “Talk about unattractive.”

“Davy,” George admonished, but his chuckle ruined it. “That’s not very charitable.”

“Charity was marrying that girl.” Davy muttered, offering to top our drinks off, but I begged off. “That’s right, you need to get home so you can wake up early.” His eyes landed on Clay’s hand running down my arm and I shook my head. “Get at least a little rest, would you?”

We said our goodbyes, my uncles hugging both of us and telling me that they wanted to talk to me at the cafe about something important, we left.

“Davy and George are pretty great,” Clay was holding me, our naked skin pressed together, the well earned exhaustion pressing down on both of us. “Thank you for taking me to meet them.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you for coming with me.” His finger traced my lower, kiss swollen lip. “They like you.”

#Franklin Clay x OFC #the losers (2010)#alternative universe

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