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codylabs · 3 years

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The Bottomless Pit

New scifi-horror story! Well, not exactly new, I’ve had it finished for a year or so now, but never shared it on Tumblr. It’s an entirely original story, so don’t expect any familiar characters or places. But it does introduce one or two pieces of worldbuilding for my original universe, which will be important for some of my other upcoming stories, so I figured now would be a good time to share it.

Enjoy.

Part 1

Once upon a time, far from here, at the bottom of the deepest shaft of the deepest mine, two boys stood regarding a pit that led yet deeper.

“You sure about this?”

“Yeah! C’mon, it’s not like there’s anything dangerous down there!”

Louis nervously leaned out over the fissure as far as he dared. It was true, there didn’t rightly seem to be anything at all down there; just blackness. The walls of the fissure passed beyond the range of their headlamps after the first twenty meters, and after that, floors and walls became nothing but indistinct void. It must be fifty meters deep, at least.

“You just let me down,” Peter pointed to the towing winch built into the belt of Louis’s suit. “Until I touch the bottom. And then when you see me standing down there walking around, you’ll be brave enough to come down too.”

“…What if there is no bottom?”

"...What do you mean 'if there's no bottom'? What else would there be?"

"I...? Uh... You know? I dunno."

"Every hole on every single one of the hundred million brazillion planets and moons in the universe has a bottom. Because if it didn’t, it would go straight through the place, and there’d be magma everywhere right? Which would make it not dark. But it is dark. Which means it doesn’t go forever.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Louis’s helmet was rattling around on his head as he shifted his weight this way and that, trying to find a comfortable position where he wasn’t sweaty. Even through a thick pressure suit, the body language was apparent. “I mean, like… Like… Okay, never mind.”

“C’mon dude. This is basic simple science stuff. And since basic simple science proves that there is a bottom, we can therefore find that bottom!”

“Yeah…”

“We know space pirates once used this moon as a hideaway. Maybe they hid treasure down there!”

“That’s stupid.”

“It’s not, it’s true. And it makes sense for them to hide their treasure down in the deepest, darkest hole they could find. And what’s deeper and darker than here? Nothing, that’s what! Look, my GPS says we’re… What, a kilometer below the surface already? No mines go that deep! This must’ve been dug by the first colony! You know. Before they disappeared.”

“Yeah, well…” Louis glancing at the floor behind them. “...Well, I guess the footprints were pretty weird.”

With no wind and no water on this moon, dust and dirt and stone remain exactly as they are until something disturbs them, meaning that footprints last forever, with newer ones layering on top of old ones. In a long-abandoned mine like this, one would have expected the most recent, top layer of prints to have been left by the mining tractor; the one that dug the tunnel. In most of the other tunnels, that’s just how it was. After all, there was never any reason the miners themselves to bodily enter the tunnel.

Except here, the tread marks weren’t the last tracks.

Louis and Peter had followed a set of three tracks, tracks from adult human boots, all the way down here… Two sets had been leading up to this very hole… But only one set could be seen returning…

“It must be pirates.” Peter nodded, as he gazed down into the crevice. “It’s the only explanation… That or aliens.”

“Aliens don’t exist.”

“Yeah, and that just leaves pirates, which makes more sense anyway.” Peter explained. “See, the Captain must have needed help from his second-in command to carry the treasure chest, but when they threw it in the hole, the Captian shot his buddy and threw him in too! Because the Captain knew that all pirates are nothing but dirty thieving buccaneers, so to keep his greatest fortune safe, he made sure that nobody else knew…! I bet we’ll find an evaporated mummy with a busted faceplate down there… And riches… Riches worth killing over… Gold and crystals and ancient forms of currency that have all been forgotten for centuries…”

Louis’s body language said he was almost convinced. (Not convinced enough to believe it, but almost convinced enough to try exploring it.) “But…” He offered one last objection. “Maybe they were just explorers or something. You know, like us. Maybe his buddy just got hurt down there, so he just carried him out… I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean one of them died down there…”

“But there’s no piton left behind.” Peter gestured to the tunnel floor around them. “And no place where one was driven in… And they weren’t using jetpacks either, because there’s no disturbance in the dust from the downdraft… Which means they had no way back out.”

That tipped Louis over the edge, and he reluctantly began to unpack his climbing gear. “Oh-kaaaay…” He sighed, as he aimed the power-driver at the tunnel floor. There was a burst of compressed air from the driver, and a piton appeared in front of the barrel, embedded securely in the rock. He unspooled a length of cable from the winch and passed it through the piton’s pulley, then handed the end to Peter. “But… Uh… If you find anything scary down there, could you bring it back up so I can see it please?”

“You’re a baby.” Peter locked the cable into his harness, and stepped up to the edge of the crevice. “How are you a boy scout if you’re such a baby?”

“I’m a boy scout because I know everything.” Louis frowned, as he braced his feet against the side of the tunnel to balance out the winch. “I know how to maintenance all the types of engines that we use. I know how to build an airtight shelter out of nothing but rocks and resin. I know how to recycle urine without ever taking off my suit. I can signal for help in 23 languages. If we were crashlanded, then I would be the hero, and you would be the bumbling sidekick.”

“You also know how to be a baby.”

“I also know there was never any pirates on this moon.” Louis added. “Those are just rumors that sprung up around the old military depot in the Eastern hemisphere.”

“Which was destroyed by pirates!” Peter reminded him as he leaned into the cable. He bounced slightly, just to convince his mind that the thin material could actually hold his weight.

“Destroyed by themselves via routine self-destruction. That was standard scorched-earth policy back during the war.”

Louis leaned out over the blackness, at an angle where the cable was supporting the majority of his weight. And he prepared to step out into darkness. “Being a baby must be standard policy too, huh?”

"In certain circumstances yes, maybe being a baby is standard policy.”

“Your mom is standard policy.”

“Negative.”

“Line down.”

Naturally, Louis’s winch made no sound in the airless environment. All Peter could hear were his own boots scuffling and sliding down the first section of the crevice sides, and the faint rhythm of the winch vibrating down through the taught cable. And, of course, there were all the familiar background sounds: the hissing of the life support in his pack, the whirring of the water pump warming his extremities. And above all, his helmet echoed his own breathing back toward him, muffled and close and incredibly loud. That omnipresent, overbearing sound of breathing used to scare him when he’d first worn a space suit; made him feel either profoundly claustrophobic and alone, or feel like Darth Vader was standing behind him.

But now he was a boy scout. And boy scouts are many things. They aren’t babies, first of all. Second of all, they’re responsible, and dutiful, and they know their equipment. Third, they can survive outdoors. So in this day and age, when most doors opened into hard vacuum, you can know for darn sure that a good boy scout isn’t afraid to be out on his own in it, locking his life behind nothing but a little fabric and glass.

This fabric and glass was rugged, and tough, and meticulously well-maintained. It was his armor. And inside it, he was as safe. Safe as he was in his own home.

Peter found that the crevice was widening as he descended. The tunnel wall dropped sideways from beneath his feet, and he soon found himself hovering on his back, suspended from his harness like a sack of freight as the walls continued to recede above him. “Louis be advised.” Peter said. “Tunnel is widening significantly. I have lost physical contact with the wall. Over.”

“How is visual contact? Over.” Louis’s voice came through Peter’s radio, as it always had.

Peter looked left, and right. The ‘hole’ they’d descended seemed to actually be some sort of chasm or fissure, running through the moon’s crust like a cut or a tectonic crack. It stretched off into blackness to either end, far further than his beam could search, must be more than a hundred meters. As for the walls to either side of him, they were widening, dropping off into the distance steadily, like the incredibly steep, jagged walls of an upside-down canyon. He could still see them, but his light could only reach so far; if they became dim enough, he wouldn’t be able to focus on them past the slight glare reflecting off the scratches in his helmet.

And no, he could not yet see the bottom.

“Mediocre, and getting worse. Over.” Peter answered.

“Do you wish to abort? Over.” Louis asked.

“No!” Peter let himself hang flat on his back again, so he was looking straight up the cable at the opening above him. The glow from Louis’s light was brightly illuminating the inside of the mineshaft, forming a jagged splotch of bright brown surrounding the cable’s end. “No…” He repeated, talking to the light. “Just a bigger hole than I thought, that’s all. Don’t blame the Captain for throwing his treasure down here; it’s a good hiding spot. Over.”

Louis ignored that.

The winch continued to spin, the cable continued to unwind, the light continued to shrink above, the walls continued to recede.

“Peter be advised…” Louis’s voice was slow and careful, not quite nervous. “Tension in cable seems slightly uneven. Over.”

“Uneven?” Peter frowned up at his friend. “Louis, please elaborate. Over.”

“It’s decreasing… Like you’re getting lighter… Are you dropping rocks out of your pockets or anything? Over.”

“No… Is your winch speeding up?”

“No…”

There was a brief moment of silence while they both pondered all this.

“Maybe your legs are going numb.” Peter suggested. “Uh, over.”

“Maybe… Yeah, I dunno, I don’t think so… Seriously, if you’re messing with me-”

“I’m not messing with you…” That gave Peter an idea: mess with him. He began to flail his arms and legs to make the line bounce. “I… I think I feel it too!”

“You feel the tension decreasing?”

“No, it’s just kind of… Bumpy… Like somebody’s shaking it…! Are you moving around up there?”

“N-no, I’m not moving an inch!” Louis said. “Uh… Oh, wow, actually yeah, I can feel it bouncing too now!”

“I think something’s on the cable!” Peter cried out. “I think something grabbed it! Oh no, I can see it! OH MY GEEZ! It’s coming toward me!”

“WHATISWHATIS WHAT’S COMING TOWARD YOU?!?” Louis was getting hysterical.

The bumping in the line stopped. All was silent on the radio. Peter held his breath in gleeful anticipation.

“Oh.” Louis said after a few seconds. “Ha ha. Very funny. Over.”

“PFFWA HA HA!” Peter burst out in a spasm of laughter. “You should have heard you! Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you’ve had your laugh, now no more thrashing around, alright? Like seriously, you’ll freak me out… And if you were just planning on making a fool of me, you shouldn’t have invited me on the mission… Over.”

“It’s not a ‘mission’, and I didn’t ‘invite’ you. I said I was gonna go look for pirate treasure, and then you begged to come along. Over.”

“I didn’t beg.”

“Did too.”

“You’re stupid. Over.”

“You’re a baby. Now keep lining down; I never said stop. Over.”

Louis sighed and flipped the switch again.

The winch started spinning again.

Peter continued to drop.

Five minutes later, Louis finally spoke. “Peter come in; please tell me you’re getting near the bottom…! Over!”

Peter looked over his shoulder. “No, still can’t see a thing down there, over.”

Five minutes further, Louis’s voice had a sharpness to it. “WHEN should we abort, over?”

“Would you quit it with the abort talk?” Peter snapped, and shook his fist up at the fading light. “Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop, okay? You’ve got, like, a barjillion meters of line in your winch, and it’s rated for, what, two tons?”

“Four.”

“Four! Four tons! That’s about 100 of me! In Earth gravity! This is, like, less than half Earth gravity, so that thing should be able to hold 200 of me, easy! I’m literally in no danger at all! Over.”

“But…!”

“Just keep spooling down until I tell you to stop. Okay? Over.”

“…Okay. Over.”

“Great. Over.”

“Yeah… Yeah, great. I will. Over.”

“Over.”

“Over yourself.”

“Over times two.”

“Over infinity. Over.”

The walls were getting wider and wider still, and Peter’s light was getting no brighter. Soon, the passing rock began to fade. Nothing mysterious about it, the walls just receded further and further until they merged with the black background, leaving nothing but blurs and shadows. And as Peter waited, it seemed that even those blurs were inching their way upward, to disappear into the ever-growing darkness he’d already passed.

Only the speck of light from the distant mineshaft remained clearly visible directly above; that and whatever length of cable was near enough to be seen. A pinpoint of light piercing down at him, and the cable pointing toward it like a finger, as if to remind him that he was not some lonely spider suspended on a web, but that there was light, and company, and good solid ground awaiting him above, whenever he should choose to return.

The last glimpses of rocks passed out of sight. There may as well be no more walls. He looked over his shoulder again, hoping, if not expecting, the floor to be coming up to meet him soon. Surely the bottom must be approaching soon, right…? But it was not.

His light had become utterly useless now, with nothing else around to illuminate. And when that realization struck him, it sowed the seed of doubt. Maybe Louis’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t do this. I should abort, let him reel me back topside, come back later with the scout leader and a big crane and some huge ol’ searchlights… Yeah… Yeah, this hole, this CHASM, was bigger than I ever would have imagined, and one kid with a headlamp isn’t enough to conquer it…

No…

No, keep going, Peter.

It’s got to end sometime.

He looked up at Louis’s dot of light above him. It’s got to end sometime. It’s not bottomless.

Unease built.

It festered in the back of his mind, surged forward every once in a while to try to bring him to panic, to get him to give up, but each time he forced it back. More and more he found himself staring upwards at the spot of light. Strangely enough, it seemed to be getting reddish. As if blood were throbbing forward into his eyesockets, or as if he was gradually being engulfed in some fog, or filter. Perhaps this pit was flooded with trace amounts of some heavy, reddish gas, and as he descended the depths of it clouded over.

However it was happening, he had become utterly fixated on that spot of light, measuring how it faded and shrunk and reddened, trying to estimate when that final singular anchor would fade away.

Five more minutes passed.

You know, it was bizarre. He hadn’t noticed it quite as fast as Louis had, since he’d been hanging comfortably by his harness instead of bracing against the walls with the winch, but Louis was right: the tension in the line was decreasing.

How was it decreasing? How did that make any sense? No, he wasn’t dropping rocks from his pockets, no, the winch couldn’t be gradually accelerating, as the motor only went one speed… It didn’t make any sense.

Ten minutes.

The light… Was the light getting fainter up above? It seems that now, Peter could barely make out the pinprick of red light that was the opening of the mineshaft. There was only the cable, and himself, hanging in the black.

Nineteen minutes.

Nineteen and a half minutes.

Peter found himself staring at the timer in his helmet, waiting for the seconds to finally add up to the big two-oh, and he’d finally have a good round number to affix to his boredom, and his boredom was the excuse he would affix to his request that they finally abort this pointless plunge.

“H-hey!” He radioed up to Louis. “Y-you know dude, th-th-this is a drag. It’s been twenty minutes. Let’s just reverse it now, eh? This is getting silly! Bring me back up! Over.” It felt really good to finally say it actually; to admit that his friend was right; to give up. It felt good, in a way, to never have to discover what lay at the bottom of this hole.

But horror beyond all horrors, there was no answer!

“Louis? LOUIS! Louis, come in! Louis, do you read?!? Over!”

He was still going down!

“LOUIS COME IN!”

His friend didn’t respond, but the line kept descending, and the tension kept lowering, and the light was very, very red and kept fading, and Peter found himself in tears, crying and trembling.

He looked back over his shoulder again, but he still couldn’t see the bottom!

What’s going on?!? Why can’t Louis hear me?!? How far down does it go?!?

In a sudden flash of inspiration, he remembered; he remembered what he should have done in the first place, before ever starting into the pit. How could I forget? In all the movies, whenever anybody descends into the dark, they always throw a flare or a flashlight or a torch first! They always drop a light so they can get a gauge of how far it goes! It’s only smart! Heck, forget movies, I’m a boy scout! I should have instantly known to do that, how could I forget?!?

I still can!

With shaking hands he fumbled the emergency flare gun out of his belt, and loaded a brightly-colored canister into the barrel. Then he twisted around in the harness, pointed the gun straight downwards into the exact center of that gaping black void, and pulled the trigger.

The flare burst from the gun, and flew straight down. Gravity continuously accelerated it, and without air resistance, it kept going faster and faster, a brilliant yellow missile glowing with incredible brightness, speeding ever faster.

And continued.

It slowly faded from yellow to white to blue, growing steadily more distant and small and faint with the distance. Finally, after craning his neck to watch it for what felt like minutes, he found he could no longer even see it.

Good grief! Up on the surface, those flares are normally visible from kilometers out! Kilometers!

Louis was right all along! It’s bottomless! IT’S A BOTTOMLESS PIT!!

He looked back upwards. His panic, which was already skyrocketing, was suddenly compounded when he realized that he couldn’t see the light of the mineshaft anymore. He hurriedly turned off the light in his own helmet, in hopes that he could see better without the slight glare. Yes, that was it; if he killed all his own lights, he could just barely make out the mineshaft, shining like a red star high above. “Louis!” He screamed into his radio. “Louis, bring me up! It’s bottomless! You were right, it goes on forever! You gotta bring me up! Abort! LINE UP!!”

No answer.

He fumbled a second flare out of his pocket, and reloaded. Taking careful aim, the very most meticulous and steady aim, he pointed the missile directly at the patch of light. Perhaps if he could be a totally bona-fide sniper with this little flare pistol, perhaps if the flare traveled dead-center, then perhaps it would get near enough to the shaft for Louis to glimpse its glow, and realize that their radios had been somehow compromised, and reverse the line.

He fired.

The second yellow missile streaked from the gun, this time in exactly the opposite direction of the first.

It went straight up, growing redder and redder as it did.

A minute later, it returned to its yellow color as it came straight back down. It passed by Peter again not 10 meters to his left.

And it disappeared into the dark below with the other flare, once again fading to white and then blue. Now that Peter had his lights off, he thought he could still see the first flare glowing in the incredible distance. It hadn’t hit the floor yet.

Bottomless, bottomless…

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at anything anymore. Wanting to exchange the hungry, malicious blackness around him for the close, comfy blackness of the backside of his eyelids. Anything to pretend he wasn’t where he was. But the silence was heavy on his ears. Louis wasn’t there any more, only the hissing of his suit’s life support, the whirring of its heater, and his own breathing. And of course he couldn’t ignore the tension in his harness; The tension is still dropping! Now it’s about half what it should be; like for some physically impossible reason the cable is just stretching and I’m falling faster and faster forever and ever and I can’t feel it! Except I can feel it! I feel like I weigh half of what I ought, like I’m halfway to the moon’s center. But that’s impossible! How could he lower me so deep? And if I’m so deep, where’s the magma?!? Oh God, how can it not have a bottom?!?

God…

That’s right, God!

Without any hesitation, Peter curled into a ball, folded the gloves of his spacesuit against his helmet, and began to pray.

“Dear God…! Dear God, come in God! God come in, I’m scared! Please help! Please help it not be bottomless!” He wondered if there was some kind of enormous monster instead of a bottom, or if the moon was hollow and infested with Aliens, or if this pit led straight to hell. “Please make Louis reverse the line!” He pleaded. “Please make it be alright again…! And…! Andandand if you don’t do any of those other things God, then please, please, please make me brave…!”

He continued down.

“Please make me brave.”

He never stopped.

“A-a-amen… Over.” He stuttered. And as his prayer finished, he knew that even through a kilometer of stone, even across the vast reaches of space, even from out of the depths of this unbelievable void, God had heard him. That’s right… God is in control… God knows where this pit leads, heck, he probably created this pit! That means he knows when I’ll reach the bottom. He knows if I’m gonna get back out or if I’m gonna die… In fact, he knew all this before I ever got up this morning. He knows what I’ll find down here, and he still loves me… God loves me. He’s still looking out for me.

Even down here.

And God answered Peter’s prayer; God made him brave.

Peter opened his eyes.

And then he turned his lights back on, and found that the empty pit wasn’t quite so empty anymore. Way off in the distance to his left and right, his lights seemed to be illuminating something… Not a bottom, but something along the walls; yes, the walls seemed to be narrowing again, at least partially… That was a good sign.

The walls got nearer.

And now that they were back in range of his light, he could see something really quite strange: they were no longer made of rock. He could scarcely believe his eyes at first, but the walls were made of metal now, shinier and more uniform. On his left side, he was currently moving past some kind of enormous, curved surface, like the flank of an incredible water tank. A line of rivets bordering a seam confirmed its artificial nature.

On his other side, there was what appeared to be some kind of weight-bearing truss, like you’d see holding up the archways of an old bridge. There was another tank beside the truss too, and what looked like a ganglion of pipes, just on the edge of the range of his light.

As he continued downward, there were other structures. There were round, rivetted tanks similar to the first one, most of them smaller and miscellaneous, but a few quite a bit larger. In between the tanks and the trusses, great cuboid somethings were bolted to trusses, and the housings and shafts of unfamiliar machinery poked out and interconnected here and there. All through the labyrinthian industrial complex, pipes of every imaginable shape and size stretched and curled.

He sure was glad that God had made him brave. With that bravery, he hazarded another communication. “Louis, be advised.” He said, just in case his friend was still able to hear him. “The tunnel walls now appear populated with mechanical structures. Looks like it could be a factory or a refining installation of some kind. Maybe something else. Not seeing any movement or people, so I think it’s abandoned. And there are no lights, so I’m assuming it’s powerless. I’m also not seeing any words or language on any of the pipes, so your guess is good as mine as to who made it… Yeah. Anyway, it’s weird. Over.”

Louis evidently didn’t hear him.

“Louis, be advised.” He continued a few minutes later. “Looks like the machinery is ending. The last of it is passing out of sight, and I’m in blackness again. It was all just on the walls, and the pit itself is still bottomless… Over.”

The tension in the line was as low as it ever had been, perhaps a quarter of his own weight. He thought back for a moment to his science classes: Newton said that if he wasn’t changing speed at all, then that means the total amount of force on him balanced out to zero. Meaning the tension in the line must be equal to his weight, which meant that he must be getting lighter. But he wasn’t losing any mass, so that means the gravity must be decreasing. Somehow.

He imagined that if it continued, he would eventually be weightless entirely. It didn’t make any sense to him how that was happening, but he understood how the affect was progressing, and it was consistent and logical in its own queer way.

It was logical. It didn’t necessarily make sense, but it made a sense.

The logic and predictability of it made him feel a little better, and he allowed himself to relax. In fact, as he rested on the end of the tether under ever-decreasing stress, the inside of his suit began to seem very comfy. Indeed, he even began to feel sleepy…

Well… I can’t keep going down forever. Louis doesn’t have infinite cable in his winch, and his winch doesn’t have infinite batteries. He’s smart enough to know when enough is enough, and he’ll bring me back up eventually.

…

Thank you, God, for making me brave.

He turned off his light to save battery power in the suit, and settled back to wait.

#scifi #horror #original story #The Bottomless Pit #natives of the void

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andyquynhnickyjoebookernile · 4 years

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Joe & Nicky (Part 2)

[Part 1]

Another thing the TOG fandom has picked up on is that while Joe might be the more romantic one, Nicky isn’t exactly subtle about his feelings for Joe. Like, in a single conversation, he calls Joe his destiny and the love of his life. Then his expressions throughout that whole “Nothing that lives lives forever” conversation is very telling.

Apparently, some people were wondering if they would follow through on the whole sleeping cuddled together thing but as far as I was concerned the follow through was never in doubt, the only thing that was a surprise was in regards to what shape it would take.

I still can’t imagine that the very next conversation we have featuring these two has Nicky taking a bull-dozer to everyone’s doubts. This conversation is literally too much, because it goes on to establish Joe and Nicky as an inter-racial, inter-faith couple who literally were on opposing armies in the CRUSADES, like I can’t even begin to fathom just how much these two much love each other to overcome such seemingly insurmountable odds.

But, more than anything what got to me was that Nicky is blatantly flirting with Joe when he replies to Joe’s “We killed each other” with “Many times” like this guy has zero chill when it comes to loving Joe, Zero.

And the worst part is that, these aren’t even the most romantic moments between them, like the worst is yet to come.

The Van Scene – God, how do I even begin to tackle that scene.

First of all, hands down it is the most romantic scene I have ever witnessed on screen and that is saying something because there are whole movies devoted to romance which don’t even come close to the level of emotion these two display in this scene. Like, how do you even come to terms with what this scene is.

From the very first “Nicolo” and that shoulder graze to that kiss, every beat in this scene keeps compounding the effect till your heart bursts with the sheer emotion coming across the screen.

Marwan Kenzari deserves a fricking Oscar for that performance because he fully committed to the scene. For anyone who couldn’t comprehend what their relationship must be like, he gives you the most effective crash course possible. Like, this is who they are, this is how much they love each other, this is how much it hurts to imagine life without the other even though you have been together for centuries, you still want more centuries together. This love which is as deep as an ocean and maybe even deeper because you can never find the end of it. It conveys all that and more.

I have seen that scene so many times but it manages to get me every time because it is just so sincere, that it’s heartbreaking and I feel like crying typing this because it is an overload of emotion that is just staggering in its depth.

I feel like I have almost memorized all the lines to the scene because it hits so hard, like it just goes all out and decimates everything in its path with just how powerful it is.

And it’s the little things that make the scene, the way Joe is speaking Italian when he is trying to get Nicky to wake up and then when he’s trying to get himself oriented. Like, the whole “Destati – Sono qui” thing is romantic as is but this train has no breaks and it keeps going.

In the middle of all this and amidst hostility from the guards, Joe decides to appeal to the guard’s humanity and tells him “I need to know if he’s okay”. Considering what follows we often overlook how powerful this statement is, I need to know if he’s okay because that’s the only way I’ll be okay. Like how will I figure out when I should release this breath I’m holding if I can’t ascertain that he’s okay. Like, that statement is in itself loaded with implications.

Then the dreaded question followed by Nicky’s not this again face, like the last thing you want to know when you have barely managed to orient yourself to your surroundings is the fact that you are surrounded by people who are biased against who you are from the get go.

The thing with that particular question “What is he, your boyfriend?” is that it is something you are supposed to vehemently deny. The question frames itself in such a way that it lends itself to denial irrespective of what the truth might be. It also plays into that whole if you show emotion you are somehow a lesser man thing, it’s also a rhetorical question, no one asking that question in that tone actually wants an answer to it, it’s a question that’s supposed to make you cower and afraid but well that question had clearly never met Joe.

He systematically takes the question apart and renders it powerless and he does it by showing them a glimpse of the love that lives under his skin, the love that is a living, breathing thing, a force unto itself, something so powerful it can’t be denied and he nails it.

Even though on the surface it’s about answering a question, we can all agree that the answer is meant for Nicky and Nicky alone. It’s Joe’s attempt to remind Nicky that no matter the situation they find themselves in, Joe loves him and no matter how dire things become as long as they are together they can get through it all. It is love wrapped in reassurance wrapped in comfort.

But, the sheer honesty and sincerity of it is staggering and makes the moment so poignant.

“I love this man beyond measure and reason. He’s not my boyfriend.”

This is where he turns to Nicky.

“He’s all and he’s more.”

It’s painful to experience so much emotion and the only one who could have taken this confession of love and known how to respond perfectly was the person this devotion was directed towards.

“You’re an incurable romantic.”

God, and that kiss. It is the biggest affirmation of their love and the fact that even when things seem dire they will always have this. Always.

The thing that really surprised me later is that Joe and Nicky haven’t had a single moment alone since the start of the film till they are strapped down together in a lab. Also, this is the first time when they are talking to each other, unobserved by others and the scene is so good.

I like how Nicky’s mind works. I mean the scene starts with Nicky dismissing his worries with the line “as much as I like to watch you sleep, I’m glad you’re awake” and Joe immediately turns it around to make Nicky laugh.

Joe like really gets Nicky, two times so far he has managed to diffuse the tension with his words and he makes Nicky just brighten up. Someone already pointed out that this is the first time Nicky laughs so openly, like these two instinctively get each other.

Well, then comes the Malta conversation and like I can’t get over the amount of innuendo they were able to compress into five words.

“Oh, that time in Malta.”

Like, it makes me laugh, it’s such a gooey scene.

These were the things that stood out during my first viewing. Tumblr has been amazing in educating me about “Nicky’s death scene” like that has been dissected and studied every which way. But, it is worth mentioning that the moment Nicky wakes up he touches Joe, first and foremost reassuring him and then immediately gets up to go help Andy.

These two are so incredible. I feel like there are lots of reasons for that. But, I think I want to do a quick recap of everything I missed the first time that made the sense the second time.

So, first off, this movie presents Joe and Nicky as a unit since the very first time Andy mentions them. Her question is just that – Joe and Nicky? The next significant moment is at the kill floor, the first thing Joe does on waking up is look towards Nicky only to find Nicky looking back, unfortunately they don’t cut back to Joe which would have made this even more apparent but they do share a look.

The next thing I can’t believe I completely missed on my first viewing is the way they fight. Truthfully, do all action movies, do this, like Nicky and Joe fight like they are telling a story. They are literally fighting half a fight that only makes sense when you put them together and they do it so effortlessly, that it feels so natural that you can’t even tell the amount of years spent fighting together that must have gone in to make this work so flawlessly.

Since the very first fight where they are completing each other’s moves and especially in the case of Nicky, keeping track of Joe’s weapons because Joe seems to discard his weapons before Nicky manages to get his hands on another one, like they are that in sync that they know how to complete each other’s moves instinctively.

Hands down, this was one hell of a phenomenal decision to have their very fighting style say something about their relationship and has this even been done before, like it’s one hell of a statement but like with everything it just builds up their story and their relationship even more.

Again, these two are incredible. Like, god I love them so much and this is just what we get in the movie like this is literally the tip of the iceberg they have a millennia worth of story beneath this and it shows.

These two are so incredibly in love but at every turn their love makes them stronger.

The movie sets these two up so well like even imagining these two together in a potential sequel has me breaking out in squeals, like literally if they make out, if they so much as touch one another, in fact forget about touching if they so much as look towards one another, it will be the best thing to happen ever. Because now we know just how deep this particular well of love runs which also, makes separating them a very interesting scenario but I would literally give anything for them to get some alone time in the next one, because I will probably die from the feels but it will have been worth it.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #kaysanova #immortal husbands

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bahboh1004 · 4 years

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Lessa 3 Ch 22: The Moon that Creates

It’s originally a nice pic, but welcome to tumblr’s image compression....

cool new villainous characters to be introduced~

https://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=603159&no=134

1. a. You need to realize on a deeper level. b. Look at him from a higher perspective. c. Why Lord 'Ra' relied on him. d. That is due to the his great virtue. 2. a. You cannot do it alone. b. Lord Lessa cannot do it alone either. 3. a. If the things you long for are noble, b. if you were sincere, s: tap c. Become strong. 4. a. Surpass the proxy of god, Mikael, brother. 22 The Moon that Creates 5. 6. a. Sorath's durability hasn't been equilibrated. Shed... s: plop 7. a. Is this all you guys are? s: roaar 8. a. No. s: slip 9. a. Sorath is not weak. He's just dumb. s: flick b. Don't make me laugh. He lost to one measly angel. c. You embarrassed me. 10. a. I told you before. Sorath ate my arm and my heart. s: motion 11. s: chomp a. We ate each other. 12. a. ...enough. I know you don't have a good relationship b. heehee c. hee s: shaking with laughter d. But it's no time to mess around. 13. a. If you two don't do it properly, everything will be for naught. b. Attend to the plan seriously. Understand? c. Use your power to put Sorath back the way he was. 14. s: flash 15. s: rush a. ?! 16. s: ba-ba-bang 17. 18. s: rush 19. s: snap 20. s: rumbling a. Do you mean to kill me. Shed... b. Do you want to rot in the void forever. 21. a. You're no king. Luciel. b. We merely assist. s: saaa- c. What has made you impatient. 22. s: brush a. ...Ra's death. b. due to it, Lord Dark Lessa's resurrection has been delayed. c. How much does s/he know? 23. a. It matters not. b. Taking me out of the dark king's stomach and placing this world there instead. Just that. c. Then the world will be flipped just as you wished. 24. a. Already through Ra's death, the weight of the light has decreased too much. b. Will you be able to handle the smaller weight of light when the angels are put into the void? 25. a. Of course. Something like that isn't difficult. You should have seen it too. b. the group with wings i created. 26. a. They carry the same weight class as the angels. Give them names. s: swip swip swip b. Kill the angels with them. 27. a. ...how strong are they? b. Dunno. c. I'll fix up Sorath for you. Sorry Sorath. s: swip swip 28. a. It's understandable why Ra had such a rigid criteria for virtue and discipline... b. It's probably because he had experience creating a guy like this. 29. s: wooong a. Well, alright. I'll watch over his creations. b. Little Creator. 30. 31. a. Shedbarshemoth. b. Even before the birth of the angels, c. Which 'Ra' modeled after Lord 'Dark Lessa' d. The very first work of art. e. 'Ra' is said to have set the 'moon' in the sky for him. 32. a. Rather than mark Shed as a failed piece... s: woong b. by simply confining him to the void, Ra was able to appease Lord Dark Lessa's hunger. 33. s: oooo a. Ahh- Are those his creations. 34. a. Haha... b. I wonder what humans would name these if they saw them. s: ooooo 35. a. Absolutely no way!! 36. a. What do you mean no way!! b. Are you being serious?! Just the thought of it is terrible!! 37. a. Disgusting! You think its fun to open up a friend's cranium?! b. What about it. I'm game!! s: slip c. Excuse me... 36. a. You be quiet! b. Shut up!! s: shock c. urk... 37. a. Rather than experimenting on the kids, doing it this way is much better from an ethical standpoint. 38. a. No? I think the former is better? b. Plus, the outcome will likely be better than doing surgery on someone you know. 39. a. Wow, I never saw you that way, but aren't you real trash? b. You done talking? You psychopath who feels nothing at opening up the cranium of a friend?? 40. s: haa... a. It is my fault... it is my fault... 41. a. Lord Lessa. s: pat b. ! 42. a. I don't like it either. b. I can't approve of putting Professor Miena on the operating table. 43. a. It's my fault that things have become awkward between those two. 44. a. Oi you two over there- can't you lower your voices? s: !! s: ! 45. a. I was wonder a while ago what you guys were going on about and listened in. s: chew chew b. But the argument's pointless. 46. a. Is there anyone here who wants become human? b. ...... s: ? s: nyam 47. a. ...... s: zzz 48. a. No one. b. Who are you talking about turning back into human? 49. s: chill 50. s: shock 52. s: shooooock

#lessa #lessa 3 #lessa servant of cosmos #레사 코스모스의 종 #레사 #korean webtoon #translations

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rennyji · 3 years

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July 15th Morning Tweets...

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Martina McBride - “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” - the song was made more beautiful by this woman’s voice…I feel women sound less and less like that, and also tend to look less womanly in appearance and more like girls…I mean women have a particular build (…can you say build with women?! I don’t mean broad shoulders like me or other guys and I’m not exactly referring to the body like a coke bottle from rap songs…)…there’s also something to their faces…can’t put my finger on it, but maybe women look like Wonder Woman or Gal Gadot acting as Wonder Woman, where as present day women looking like girls seem…playful?! in appearance…is that actually a thing or style?

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From the @TouchofModern app, you can always find innovative interesting stuff at discount prices. On a very dull level, compared to buying a fitness item of sorts, I found these really good quality shirts…what do I mean by quality? The material is good, the design is good, feels good, I think I’m thinking texture?!-it’s also good. The t-shirt brand I’m talking about are from a London/Spain based brand called “Felix Hardy.” Polo Ralph Lauren sells jeans that allow ur legs to bend and move around- I mean you get what you pay for, but I think Felix Hardy sells better shirts…

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so with all the philosophy Ive been sharing, I came across Matthew 16. A part of it goes, "The Yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees" . It states, -

-5 When they went across the lake, the disciples forgot to take bread. 6 “Be careful,” Jesus said to them. “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.” 7 They discussed this among themselves and said, “It is because we didn’t bring any bread.”-

-8 Aware of their discussion, Jesus asked, “You of little faith, why are you talking among yourselves about having no bread? 9 Do you still not understand?-

- so yeast of the pharisees and sauducees...like 5 loaves miraculously feeding 5000 men or yeast expanding, an idea in our heads can spiral or take life for better or worse. be mindful of wrong ideas and the spiral they can take you. -

-be mindful of what the known and hidden orchestrators put out...you may only be aware of one group...be mindful, or “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”

-In that BiblicalPassage, Christ says, "When they wentAcross the lake, the disciples forgot 2 take bread. “Be careful,” Jesus said 2them. “Be on ur guard againstTheYeast ofPharisees &Sadducees.” 7 They discussed this amongThemselves &said, “It is b/c we didn’t bring any bread.”-

- This is Christ saying, "take in His words and what religions offer, with an open mind, a kind heart, and INSIGHT-i.e. learn to interpret things and not just take things literally. -

-whether in life, reading, or understanding a person and their actions, look at context i.e. what came before, happening now, and the potential for future events...-

- it goes back to what I think I said yesterday about parables being like computer zip files. The way to unzip them is with insight and life experience. To repeat my specific words from yesterday: -

-Here’s a computer metaphor: parables are like computer zip files or compressed files. A zip file is a file that can contain multiple files and folders in the convenience of one smaller file.-

-You use a program to unzip that one file to reveal the multiple files and folders. The parables are zip files and you can gain a myriad of advice, lessons, truth from the same story. -

- From the 10 Commandments to the Golden Rule, in place of long volumes of texts using multiple meaning parables, Christ tries to give an easy, concise, “not-having-to-know-too-many-things” version to Salvation. -

-But you need a strong mind, need to use insight, need to interpret, and not JUST take things literally.

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So let’s assume mind reading can happen…you gotta ask to what extent…if someone were to say they can detect my thoughts, or let’s even assume I’m relayed while I slab aftershave all over my face, or while I’m in my boxers around the house, or taking a nap in my man cave of a bedrooms-which I have yet to gain the energy fo clean/organize…I mean what are my actual thoughts…I’m sure for fun it can be said he’s thinking this/that…but then, in those instances, do the orchestrators say I’m thinking what I’m writing in my blog? Aren’t those “thoughts?” When I write on the fly-perhaps I’m seen- can the orchestrators tell which direction I’m going with my writing?! So if mind reading is about thoughts, and you can’t detect my deep and “sometimes” philosophical mind, how can anyone say they’re reading my thoughts? Is that the orchestrators mistakenly saying they detect “ impulses “ or the “sea of random things” floating through the mind?! Now Ive indicated this idea in past blog posts, maybe among the earliest of them, but I guess I have to repeat myself. So let’s assume the orchestrators detect the sea of randomness in a person’s mind…how many of those random things, popping up in the mind, do you agree with, act on, or make a “willful choice” to “contemplate further.” ?

I’m a guy and a Libran guy. I find women beautiful and enjoy killing time with women. Even in kindergarten, my best friend was a girl and I’d hover around her and keep watch while she talked in a circle with her friends. My father wanted sons, but I want at least one daughter and one son, the daughter of whom, I will probably call, “Lara.”

But back to alleged mind reading. Being a guy and, for sh*tz and giggles, a Libran guy, I see a beautiful or hot girl, my mind, like any other guy, will take directions. But reality is, while that’s happening, I could just be waiting to drop off a box at UPS. My focus is getting in and getting out of UPS, for that instant of time. I’d like to think my mind is governed by several copies of the baby version of my younger sibling. He’s a treasure and a doctor. So figuratively speaking, while waiting on that line at UPS, one of the copies of my sibling will scream, “Breakfast”, while another will scream, “ohhhh beautiful girl”, but how many will “I” act on amidst the screaming copies of my younger sibling? While my body may agree with hunger or attractions, my mind may have different plans. The orchestrators may say he thinks ur beautiful, but that’s like on impulse, without further understanding she doesn’t meet my type of smile requirements. So then, ultimately, would I consider her beautiful, for my needs? Can the alleged mind readers detect that, if it’s not actually explicitly said? I mean, my morning writings are thoughts, are those anticipated? If it’s on the basis of cr*p reading of the mind that people don’t talk to me, I tend to be shameless to the point that I walk around my room naked, under the belief I’m relayed all the time. I would totally value the person who tells me what’s going on and help me move on with my life, after all these years. All this said, this is not to takeaway from my belief that this mind crap and instruction based commanding of people, may have a role in the end of the world, as stated in yesterday’s (Wednesday morning) tweets/tumblr post. Don’t hesitate to talk to me, above all talk to me about “the situation” . I mean some confirmation/acknowledgment for living like this, for figuring out things through evidence/observation through the course of years-it’d be a reward through which youd make my day. Even if I lose a chance at being 6 ft tall or a billion dollars, I don’t care. You and me, we can start something together and say screw you to the world…Christians say the “Our Father” prayer…I say that more important than “Give us this day our daily bread.” Is “Thy Kingdom Come”. While it may refer to an actual Kingdom, there is another Kingdom in every mind. When we say that, we ask for the heaven state of mind in our heads. It brings about a strong state of mind that can handle and attain everything. It is about believing without doubt.In defense of this, Christ even says, “Seek first the Kingdom, and all these things will be given to you.” A mind close to God, that’s trained to handle anything, can achieve anything and reach new heights. In the “Our Father”, we say at the end: “For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, forever and ever, Amen.”

“For Thine is the Kingdom (Throne of the Mind, where we, with our mental voice, reside amidst a sea of impulses and thoughts), the Power ( the power to influence minds and hearts belongs to God and should not be misused as “our own”, “ for human purposes”, to stupidly mind read/ mind control for government projects or social entertainment

-for this power is Holy.

Biblically, it is said, “But whoso shall cause one of these little ones who believe in Me to fall, it were better for him that a millstone were hung about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”

This is open to interpretation. The little ones or children represent innocence/purity, or an untainted mind. The crime of assaulting a mind is so severe, it would be better for that person to tie a stone around his neck and drown in the sea. To use a form of the Power of God to do it, you gotta ask, what are these people?!), and the Glory ( my survival alone, the words I relay, not from my intellect. When you see me, act natural and according to what comes to mind upon seeing me. Credit/Glory goes to The Divine. I’m just a passerby. I’m a nobody who likes to wear shades or get involved with computer work and buy his coffee and play rummy/card games with friend-girls or girl-friend. Don’t turn me into a role model, an icon, or associate me with fancy labels, for that poses danger to the First of the 10 Commandments.

Be natural, gain perspective from the relayed.)

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Religion is not about restricting your life, but to, if nothing else, give you an open mind and kind heart. Sometimes the rules and regulations make us judge one another, or give us high end superficial morals, or we get lost in the details. But they’re really guidelines to doing what’s appropriate for your life with insight. Religion can give different groups of a people an identity. Through Islam, a large group of people aim to speak one language of Arabic, and identify as one people beyond Pakistan, Afghanistan, or any of the other Middle Eastern countries.

One culture, one “new nation” identity, one language, one system to open the mind and promote kindness of heart, is the goal of religion. It is to make us our best selves and unite the world as One, be it under the label of “Earthlings” or whatever: something beyond American or I dunno Iraqi or whatever. Just be on guard: Discipline will lead to a good mind, but so that ur not robotic or overly serious, remember to train the heart. The Divine sees us as The Divine’s children. Maintain innocence and a mind open to adjusting/learning, like children.

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On another note, from observation over 30 years, I feel strict religious practices lead to things like obesity and other vices. I mean people are humans and humans have needs. Life consists of the idea of balance and taking care of your hopes, needs, desires. I mean, you may try not to drink alcohol because you think, among some peoples, that God wouldn’t approve. But that Friday/Saturday night with friends or doing/planning something fun, gives you something to look forward to. In the process of looking ur best for a party, throughout the week, you may better take care of ur health, work out, or eat right and in portions. I feel those who “have the attitude of” “alcohol is sinful” possibly also have mentalities that usually lead to vices like overeating.

In abstaining from one pleasure, you may give urself something to look forward to, by eating the best tasting foods frequently. You may eat a lot of sweets. I mean we’re human, we’ll have desires and vices. Regarding desire, it’s not desire that’s bad or questionable , but what you may possibly do to fulfill your desire or carry out your desire. You may think what else is there to enjoy in life or what else can I afford or do. This “could be” problematic. For one thing, you’ll end up obese, and an unhealthy lifestyle and eating habits can make ur mind cloudy. A cloudy mind makes bad choices or get themselves in more vices like being an inattentive spouse to ur partners conversations or a mediocre listener to your kids. These things can spiral as life from dawn to dusk is in motion in our surroundings and in the hunger and satiating of that literal/metaphorical hunger, daily. Motion!

I mean for the overly religious, a beer or two, or a shot of I dunno Johnny walker black label?! won’t kill you. In the process, it may be avenue to an insightful conversation with a potential friend. With something like sinful alcohol or whatever, I think no one thinks about whether the pros outweigh the cons, and the patterns of behavior it can lead to. While a shot of alcohol may be relaxing, too much can lead to bad choices like roaming busy streets, drunk. Alcohol is also bad for ur muscles if you wanna get jacked. But to each his own as is appropriate for their life in that particular instance of time in their lives.

On a related note, when I went out to a coffee shop mid to late Wednesday morning, it was really hot. I just showered, and was sweating a lot. After having blogged something philosophical, I started thinking about the Sikh men in the beards and turbans or the Muslim women in hijabs or even…is it called burka?(in reference to the long black gown/hoodie)…these are devoted people focused on Union with God. For a woman- I’m just guessing here- ur hair is one of ur assets. It might even be something you treasure. You, being a beautiful creature of the Divine, hiding ur silky or so hair, as a sacrifice, visible only to ur loved ones seeing ur appearance, is truly admirable. I’m sure that sacrifice won’t go ignored and will be spiritually rewarding. And regarding some of the Sikh men I’ve seen…these are some good looking dudes…I mean they’re tall, have the perfect tan, noticeable builds, and the Sikhs I’ve run into tend to skip grades in school. I knew someone who decided the turban and beard weren’t necessary, and he had a lions mane of hair and a face that shone like the sun…these men and women make these uncomfortable clothing accessory choices, not radiating the beauty God gave them, for God. In seeing this, and wishing you guys and girls the best, just wanted to share a thought. I’m a Christian. What do you think counts more in God’s eyes for me? Mechanically going to Church every Sunday and acting super perfect for the sake of what others think, or implementing the Golden Rule in my daily life? (Love God first and foremost, and your neighbor as yourself.) Does God appreciate more what I do with the gifts He gave me and me living my life in a way I can tell my Heavenly Father about my day at the end of that particular day? Does God care whether there is hair gel in my balding head on my fat mess of a body or does He value more the time I spend WITH Him in prayer and For Him in life through my words and actions? With that in mind, while the hijab or the beards and turbans will direct extra blessings ur way, I don’t think it should be required of your religions. All the hub-ub against Muslims…I mean these woman of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern descent are radiant and are like the I-Dream-of-Jeanie partners to their spouses, and their foods: from lamb gyros to the Afghan Chicken and Rice with the special sauce-some good stuff to be aware of…

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lets assume you’re not seeing SOME of these postings today, on twitter, or tumblr, for the first time...maybe it was witnessed while being typed, as I’m typing, on the Notes app on my iphone...were the orchestrators aware that I’d mention my take on the Yeast of the Pharisees and Sauducees today? What are they calling this nonsense? Mind reading? Predictive Analytics?-A waste of time, an insult to human dignity, a testament to their indecency...

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sushigirlali · 4 years

Text

If You Don’t Love Me, Lie To My Face - Part III (Reylo Fanfic)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Epilogue

Summary: Grifter!Rey helps U.S. Senator Leia Organa’s son, Ben Solo, out of a jam when a couple of muggers invade her turf. Afterward, she debates robbing the rich American herself, but can she protect her heart while stealing his?

Pairing: Rey + Ben Solo | Finn + Poe Dameron

Rating: E

Continuity: Modern AU

A/N: Thanks for coming along on this journey with me! I had so much fun writing this fic, it's been in my head forever! I'd love it if you checked out my other fics too :)

Master list –> AO3 | ff.net | Tumblr

——————

If You Don’t Love Me, Lie To My Face - Part III

By: sushigirlali

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Kennington, London

——————

Cracking her door open, Rey was glad to see Ben sitting up in her double bed. "Feeling better?" she said hopefully.

"Yeah, except for the massive headache," he winced.

"Maybe this will help?" She crossed to her window and closed the curtains, making the room darker. "Would you like a cold rag for your head?"

"That would be great," he said thankfully.

Going into her small attached bathroom, she grabbed a cotton washcloth from below the sink and ran it under the cold faucet for a few seconds. Squeezing out the excess, she returned to Ben's side and sat next to him on the flowery comforter. Brushing his hair back, she gently placed the cloth over his wide forehead.

"That's nice," he sighed, leaning into her touch. "Where are we?"

"Finn's and my place. We're actually only a couple blocks from The Black Prince."

He looked around her sparsely furnished room. "Nice but functional," he said. The walls were sand colored and held several pieces of fine art, but the only personal touches were the collection of photos of Rey and her brother scattered atop a large oak dresser in the corner. "Not exactly the Batcave I had pictured, though."

"Batcave?" she snorted. "We traffic in stolen goods, Ben. We're not heroes."

"Still my hero," he murmured, taking her free hand.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Just stay with me."

"Alright," she whispered, wondering if he remembered all the pronouncements he'd made on the way into the building. "Can I lay next to you?"

"Please," he nodded, scooting over a bit. "Did you remove my shoes?"

"Yeah, when we brought you in," she said, making sure the washcloth wouldn't slip before curling into his side. "Are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be lying in bed with you while not being able to do anything about it," he said with a strained laugh.

"Well, there's always tomorrow," she smiled.

"I certainly hope so," he said idly, pulling their linked hands onto his chest. "I meant what I said, you know."

She turned her cheek to look up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

"Oh, you do remember," she said blankly, unsure how to react. It was one thing to hear the words in apparent jest, but… Ben sounded perfectly coherent now.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same way, I know it's too fast," he continued bravely. "I just wanted you to know. I'm not sure what's going to happen and I may need to leave London for a while."

"Leave?" she said numbly, half sitting up to stare down at him. "Why would you leave?"

"Well, my mother may need me back in the States. This business with the First Order probably can't be resolved here."

"Why not?" she demanded. "We can fight them! I can train you!"

"Rey," he said helplessly, "we don't even know exactly why they're after me. It has to do with my mother's campaign, I'm sure, but the particulars are still unknown. And I appreciate the offer, but a physical confrontation won't solve anything."

She fell silent, knowing he was right but hating it just the same. It was the first time in a long time that she felt truly helpless. “I only know how to fight with my fists, but that won't work this time. Still, the thought of losing him when they'd only just found each other was unbearable.”

"Listen," he murmured, tugging her down on top of him, "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. I want to see where this thing between us goes."

"So, don't," she begged, leaning down to kiss his soft lips. "Be with me."

"Rey," he breathed, deepening the kiss. "Rey, I—"

"Ben!" They shot apart as Poe burst into the room, Finn at his heels. "Are you alright?"

Covering his eyes with the damp cloth, Ben guiltily sank back onto the bed like his mother had caught him necking. "Oh, what'd you have to call him for."

"Shut up," Poe said, flinging a huge medical kit onto the edge of the mattress. He opened the case and retrieved a small flashlight and a stethoscope.

"How many jobs do you have?" Rey said incredulously. "I hope he's paying you enough, geesh."

"A lot, I was an army medic before this," he said shortly. "And no, he doesn't. At least, not enough to put up with being his friend."

"I'm still here, you know," Ben mumbled, tugging the compress off his face to frown at them.

Poe indicated for Rey to move so that he could get to Ben's right side. She obligingly rolled over into sitting position as he shined the penlight in Ben's face.

"Follow the light with your left eye. Okay, now with your right. And again." When he was satisfied, Poe dropped the light and used the stethoscope to listen to Ben's heart. Murmuring a pleased sound, he moved to inspect the bump on Ben's head. "Alright," he said, not seeming too bothered by it, which was heartening, "let me check your blood pressure just in case, but I don't think you have a concussion."

"So, I'm not dying?" Ben said drolly.

"Not today, buddy."

"Thanks, Poe, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Me either," he said pointedly. "Now, if you feel like you can stand, maybe we can all go out to the living room and talk things over. I've already called Leia—don't look at me like that, she needed to know—so, I have a lot to tell you."

"Is it bad?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, Snoke wants her to drop out of the senatorial race and endorse him instead," Poe said darkly.

"Or else?"

"Or else he'll kill you."

——————

"So, Poe, what kind of Chinese food do you like?" Finn queried, flipping through a stack of menus in the kitchen.

"Again?" Poe looked at Rey and Ben.

"Well, we never actually got around to eating dinner last night," Ben said sheepishly.

Rey hid a smirk, remembering why. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've eaten anything since yesterday afternoon."

"What?" Ben and Finn rounded on her.

"Peanut, you can't just starve yourself!" Finn said.

"Why didn't you tell me, sweetheart?" Ben asked. "I would've grabbed you a roll off the table at lunch!"

"Hey!" Rey blustered, putting one hand on her hip. "You," she pointed at Ben, "kicked me out after he," she pointed at Finn, "sent a bunch of incriminating text messages! I didn't really have time to eat between then and now!"

"I said I was sorry!" Finn defended.

"Well, I'm sorry!" Ben said at the same time.

"Sweet and sour."

"Huh?" the trio said, turning to Poe.

"My favorite Chinese dish is sweet and sour pork with white rice," he stated clearly. "Can we move this circus along? It's starting to get dark."

"Sure, I'll add it to the order!" Finn said congenially. "But just so you know, you're welcome to stay the night if we go too late."

"And sleep where?" Poe scoffed. "That dingy sofa?"

Finn smiled broadly. "I'm sure we could find you a bed."

"Oh," Poe flushed, seeming to catch his meaning. "Well… maybe, I guess. If it gets too late."

Exchanging a speculative glance, Rey and Ben strategically moved into the living room. "Order us whatever, we're just gonna watch the telly."

"Yeah, fine," Finn said carelessly, still looking at Poe.

"So, what do you like?" Poe casually inquired.

"Oh, you know, a little bit of everything."

——————

An eternity later, or forty minutes, she wasn't sure, a delivery man dropped off a mountain of delicious takeaway.

"Am I in heaven?" Rey purred, opening box after box of food.

"Definitely," Ben chuckled, passing out plates and chopsticks.

Finn sat down next to Poe and across from Rey at their small rectangular dinner table. "So, why's old man Snoke after you, anyway?"

Ben's movements became a little clumsy, but he managed to sit down and start filling his plate without spilling anything. "I worked for him out of college. He was a political opponent of my mother's and I wanted to… break away for a while."

Rey placed a comforting hand on his thigh under the table. "What happened?"

"It was fine for a little while," Ben explained, "I felt like my own man for the first time in my life…"

"But?"

"But then I caught him doing some pretty unsavory stuff, so I left," he finished. She could tell there was more to the story, but she didn't press. "My family tried to warn me about him, but I didn't listen. And now it seems he's trying to destroy us all."

"Well, we're not going to let him," Rey said fiercely.

"Thanks," Ben beamed, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

The four of them ate quickly, then retired to the living room to plot.

"I'm expecting a call from your mom soon," Poe informed them. "Leia said she was going to call Han and see what he could do to help."

"Han?" Rey said curiously.

"My father," Ben put in. "He's kind of a…"

"Criminal?" Poe finished.

Ben twisted his hand from side to side, "Kind of? It depends on the day and who owes him a favor."

"But isn't your mom a U.S. Senator?" Rey said, surprised. "How can your dad be involved in criminal activity and be married to her?"

"Honestly, in our country, it'd be weirder if he wasn't," Ben lamented.

"Huh."

"At any rate, what can he do to help?" Finn piped up.

"Well, he has connections in—wait, this is her calling." Poe pushed the talk button and then put it on speaker. "Leia? You're on with Ben and me and some… friends. What's the latest?"

"Ben?!" she said at once. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, mother, just a scratch," he assured her. "How are you?"

"At my wit's end!" she said honestly. "Han thinks he's found a legal solution to this debacle, shockingly, but I'm afraid I may have to drop out of the race before we're sure."

"You'd really do that?" Ben sounded dumbfounded.

"Of course, darling, I love you more than my career."

"Mom…"

"Now, I know this may be a lot to ask, but would you consider coming home for the time being?" Leia said solemnly. "Poe has told me about your young woman, but I'm worried about your safety in London."

Rey kept her eyes averted when Ben turned to look at her. Despite her initial resistance to the idea when they were alone, she didn't want him making decisions about his safety based on her feelings.

"I—yeah, I can do that," he conceded.

"Excellent, my assistant booked two tickets for you and Poe tomorrow morning at 9:00AM, a direct flight from Heathrow to Dulles," Leia said briskly.

"Thanks, mother," Ben said tightly. "Pretty sure of yourself, huh?"

"Just hopeful," she responded airily. "Poe, please bring him straight home once you arrive."

"Yes, ma'am," Poe said dutifully. "We'll see you soon."

"Good night, then, and stay out of trouble!"

Staring blindly at the phone as Ben's mother ended the call, Rey jumped when he put an arm around her.

"I know it's still early, but since we have to be on a flight first thing tomorrow, why don't we try to get some rest?" Ben proposed. "It's been a long day."

Rey nodded and let him help her up. She heard Finn and Poe talking, but was too distracted by her own troubles to really listen. Whatever they decided about Poe staying over, she hoped Finn's heart wasn't as in danger of being broken as hers.

——————

Following Ben into her room, she barely noticed when he sat her on the bed and went to turn on the shower. Though her life of crime was far from normal, everything that had happened in the last 24-hours seemed like something out of a pulpy romance novel. "How did I let this happen?" she mused. It was beyond ridiculous that she should be so downtrodden about a man she hadn't even known yesterday morning leaving her.

"Rey, can you come in here, please?" Ben called.

Rousing, she slipped off the bed and walked into the bathroom. He was already in the shower stall, clothing folded neatly on top of the toilet seat. "What is it?"

He pulled back the opaque white curtain and she caught her breath at the full force of his nudity. "Do you have anything I can wear tonight? I just realized that I don't have a change of clothes."

"No," she said absently, tracing his glistening muscles with hooded eyes.

"No?" he repeated.

"No," she affirmed, starting to strip. "You won't be needing clothes tonight, Ben."

"I won't?" he gulped.

Rey let her clothing fall into a heap at her feet, not bothering to pick them up. "No," she confirmed, placing a hand on his stomach and pushing him backward so that she could join him. Ben's muscles jumped under her touch, making her feel powerful.

"Rey," he said softly, gazing down at her like she was the beginning and end of his rainbow.

His expression made it all better, somehow. Like maybe this thing between them wouldn't end when he left.

Warm water splashing over them, Rey wasted no time in palming his rapidly hardening penis. "Are you still dizzy?" she asked, just holding him in her hand for a moment.

"No," he choked, leaning against the cool tiled wall so that she had more room.

"Do you have a headache?" she persisted, dragging her thumb over his weeping tip.

He shook his head. "The painkillers Poe gave me helped."

"That's good," she murmured, stroking him up and down a few times. "I can barely wrap my fingers around you. Do you see?"

"Yes," he groaned, fists clenching at his sides as he let her do what she wanted.

"You're so big I'm not sure if you'll fit inside my mouth," she added huskily. "Should I try? What do you think?"

"God, Rey! Please!"

"I love it when you say my name like that. Do it again and maybe I'll suck your cock," she taunted playfully.

"Fuck, Rey!" he shuddered, eyes going nearly black with lust. "I want it! I want your mouth on me, Rey! Baby, please!"

"Well," she said demurely, maneuvering so that she could kneel in front of him without getting sprayed in the face with water, "how can I say no when you ask me so nicely."

"Rey!" he gasped at the first press of her lips against his plump head.

"Mmm," she agreed, tonguing his salty skin. "Did you invite me in here because you wanted to get fucked?"

"Yes!" he admitted.

She ran her fingers along his shaft as her mouth continued to work on his crown. "So, anyone would do for you, then?"

"No!" Ben denied. "No, only you! I only want you! You're everything to me, Rey!"

"You don't even know me," she charged, driven by personal demons that she was only just realizing had prevented her from forming long term attachments to anyone but Finn.

"I do know you," he argued. "My heart knows you, my body knows you. I want you forever, Rey!"

"Then why are you leaving me?" she said almost involuntarily.

His eyes grew wide in sudden understanding. "I'm coming back," he promised, touching her sodden hair.

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

Rey bit her lip. "How can you be so sure? This could be anything."

"It's love," he insisted.

Feeling her walls starting to crack, Rey renewed her attentions, half swallowing his cock in one go, determined to make sure that he remembered her. Ben swore he was going to come back, and somewhere in the back of her mind she believed him, but better safe than sorry.

"I want him to wake up every day and wish he were here with me. I want him to come back. I want him more than anything!"

Hollowing her cheeks, she took him as best she could, bobbing her head up and down in time with the movement of her hands. Ben was gasping her name on every pull, tunneling his fingers into her hair in an attempt to hold on without overwhelming her.

She knew he could take control if he really wanted to, he was much bigger than her, but despite taking immense pleasure in what she was doing to him, he still cared about her and wanted to enjoy her efforts without hurting her. "Fuck, I think I love him too."

"Rey, I'm going to—can I—on your breasts?" he panted, knees starting to shake.

Releasing him from the moist cavern of her mouth with an audible pop, she gripped him tightly between her hands. "Are you going to paint my chest, Ben?" she said in a low voice. "Do you want to make a mess all over me?"

Flushed and overwhelmed, Ben's whole body vibrated as he came, spurting across her skin like a hot brand. It was the most erotic thing Rey had ever experienced, and she'd fucked Ben bareback in a public restroom. "Wow," she said, awed by the wild look on his face.

He pulled her up by the hair in response, crushing her in a tight hug and taking her lips in a bruising kiss. Rey revealed in the feel of his arms around her, in the sticky seed sliding between their bodies. He seemed as out of control as she felt and she loved it.

"Take me to bed!" she begged, throwing her arms around his neck. "I want you on top of me and inside me! Right now!"

"I will," he said thickly, "but let me tidy you up a bit first." Quickly grabbing a loofah, he scrubbed them clean, running the sponge across her chest and between her legs until she moaned. Closing the faucet, he whipped the curtain back and scooped her up, dutifully carrying her back into the other room without bothering to dry them off.

Squealing as he dumped her onto her back, Rey scarcely had time to recover as he blanketed her with his damp body. He was already hard again, pressing insistently against her flat stomach. "I thought it was supposed to take longer for older men to get it back up," she teased.

"With you in their bed? Not likely," he growled, attacking her neck.

"Mmm… good to know, Solo." She turned her head to the side, enjoying the rough pressure. "But since this is my bed, I think that means I get to call the shots."

Ben seemed to like that idea quite a bit. "You'll have to tell me what you want, then," he said gruffly, sucking on the skin beneath her ear.

She curled her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "I think you know."

"Yeah? Something like this?" he said, nudging her entrance with a flex of his hips.

Rey rocked from side to side in response, not hard enough for him to slip into her, but enough to create a delicious friction. "Getting warm."

He reached between them, rubbing her hood while pressing just inside her wet pussy. "How about this?"

"Warmer," she sighed, lifting her hips to draw him in deeper.

Ben filled her slowly, so slowly she felt light headed by the time his possession was complete. "Now?"

"Hot," she muttered, "so hot."

They moved in concert, not hurried like every time before, but in long, languid strokes. Ben continued kissing her skin, dancing between her neck, breasts, shoulders, and face. Being with him like this was everything she had ever wanted… and the sweetest expression of love she'd ever experienced.

Suddenly, she had to tell him. She may never get another chance. "Ben?" she said urgently.

"What is it?"

"About what you said earlier? About loving me?"

"Yes?"

"I think I love you too," she confessed.

He pushed her hair back, fixing her with an intense stare. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"We just met yesterday," he reminded her, "and you're still young."

"I know," she smiled, "but I do."

"I—thank you," he said so gratefully that she felt like crying. "I love you, Rey. It's all going to work out, you'll see."

"I believe you," she said. And this time, she really did.

——————

They lay close afterward, Ben spooning Rey's back. "What will you and Finn do while we're gone?"

"Get into trouble, probably," she responded, just to see what'd he say.

"Why am I not surprised?" he laughed. "At least promise me you'll be careful?"

"You don't want me to quit?" she said curiously.

"Well, I'd obviously rather you engaged in a less dangerous occupation, but it's not contingent on us being together," he assured her. "I know you're not literally stealing from the rich to give to the poor, but I don't think you'd never actually hurt someone."

"Just the odd goon in dark alleyways," she joked.

"Just them," he agreed.

Rey gathered her courage, knowing that she could trust his opinion about her future. "I've actually been thinking about going to university," she said tentatively.

"Really?" he replied. "What would you like to study?"

"Mechanical engineering," she admitted. "Do you think that's crazy?"

"Not at all," he said sincerely. "My dad actually went to school for that. He ended up dropping out before I was born, but now he runs his own airplane maintenance business."

"Wow, that's great!"

"Yeah, I'm occasionally proud of him," he chuckled.

"Do you think you'd be more likely to come back if I went on the straight and narrow?"

"I told you, it doesn't—"

"Don't say it doesn't matter," she interrupted, glad he couldn't see her face. "I come from nothing, you must know that by now. Finn and I barely escaped the foster system and your mother is a huge political figure. What if I embarrass you?"

"You won't," he said soothingly, kissing the back of her neck. "My mother is passionate about public service, but she isn't a total snob. She did marry my father, after all."

"Ben, I'm not kidding," Rey pouted. "Listen, I.. I want you to come back, okay?"

"And you don't think I will unless you change everything about yourself?"

She turned in his arms, affronted. "Don't be so conceited, it would be for myself as well."

"Yeah?"

"Yes! I want to build stuff, to make something with my own hands. I worked for a mechanic once. It was fun, taking cars apart and trying to fit them back together."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," he said, brushing her lips with his.

"Well," she said, kissing him back, "better late than never."

——————

Finn drove them to Heathrow the next morning and the mood inside his dented car was tense. It was like the last day at summer camp, that dreadful feeling of leaving your new best friend and going back to real life. You both say you're going to write or call, but will you?

"I have a bad feeling about this…"

Parking in a satellite lot instead of going to the drop off, the four of them walked into the airport together. Ben and Poe stayed with Rey and Finn until their plane started boarding and they had to get in the security line, not really talking but simply existing in the same space for a while longer.

"Call me," Ben told her when their flight was announced a second time. "Whenever you want. You've got my new number, right?"

"Right," she said, eyes bright. "Don't do anything stupid or I'll kick your ass."

"I promise I'll be careful."

Rey hugged him tightly, gripping the back of his black pullover. "I'll see you, then."

Ben tilted her chin up and kissed her soundly. "Yeah, you will. Goodbye, sweetheart."

Rey let him go. "Goodbye."

Finn wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they watched them walk away. "It'll be okay, sis. They'll be back, you'll see."

——————

"So, how'd it go with Finn last night?" Ben asked as they neared the waiting area. "I meant to ask earlier."

"We talked for a long time and actually found that we have a lot in common."

"Only talked?" Ben said teasingly, knocking his shoulder into Poe's.

"We might have also kissed this morning," Poe shoved him back, "but that's it. Not everybody makes marriage proposals on the first day, Solo."

"Oh, god, he told you about that?" Ben groaned.

"As I said, we talked a lot," Poe snickered.

"So, do you intend to see him again?"

"Yeah, when we get back."

"That's great!" Ben congratulated. "Hopefully they both keep out of trouble while we're gone."

"Finn said he's getting tired of ripping off rich people and wants to do something else with his life," Poe enlightened him.

"Really?" Ben said thoughtfully. "He's a great driver, you know. I wonder if he'll pursue something along those lines."

"Hmm… I know some guys in the local racing circuit. I'll mention it the next time we talk." Poe retrieved their tickets as they neared the gate. "What about Rey? Is she planning to keep up with the Robin Hood act?"

"She mentioned going to school for mechanical engineering, but I'm not sure." Ben handed his passport to the flight attendant, then followed Poe down the jet bridge after their tickets were scanned. "I got the impression that they have a lot of connections in the city, but I don't think anyone will come after them if they change up their business model."

Poe chortled at his euphemism. "True, Finn basically told me they don't have a crew, that it's just the two of them, so hopefully if they decide to…" he lowered his voice as they boarded the plane, "go legit… they won't get any heat for it."

"That would definitely be ideal."

"Are we asking too much of them?" Poe questioned, turning left into the first class section.

"No more than they're willing to give, I hope," Ben said, helping Poe stow their bags in the overhead compartment once they found their seats.

"And if they decide not to stop ripping people off?"

Ben let Poe take the window seat before dropping into the plush lounger next to him. "Then, they don't," he shrugged. "After the last couple days, being a grifter is honestly not a deal breaker."

"I'll drink to that," Poe said, pressing the call button. "After all, nobody's perfect."

——————

A/N: And then they went their separate ways... LOL JK! I've got a little more for you! Epilogue coming soon!

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fic #ben solo #kylo ren #rey #finn #poe dameron #minor finnpoe #i miss them #sigh #my fanfiction #sushigirlali

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lubdubsworld · 7 years

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Tumblr prompt ( Jiminx OC)

Genre : Heavy Angst \ Romance

Warnings : Dubious Consent, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation. Threesome, BDSM, choking, pain play, drugs.

warning warning warning : this isn’t for the lighthearted. I went overboard. i think I earned myself a one way to hell with this ;’(

Pairing : Park Jimin/ OC

Request fic : An abusive marriage drabble with Jimin .

Rating : Smut

Part 4b

"You have a phone call." The house keeper gave me a suspicious look as she peered into the room. I was on the bed, trying to sleep and i felt loathe to get up. But curiosity got the better of me. If it was Jimin the woman would have said so. Nervous, I walked down to the hall , where the telephone stood on a small table and picked it up.

"Hello? " I said glancing at the caller Id.

"Y/N? it’s me. Yoongi. " His voice was even deeper over the phone. I gripped the receiver hard, not sure why i felt like i was committing some cardinal crime by talking to him.

":I.. Jimin isn't here." I stammered, glancing at the corridor leading to out bedroom. Where was Mr.s Jung, the housekeeper? Was she perhaps listening in??

"I know. I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me?"

I froze in place.

"Yoongi ssi...I..."

"there's a Pizza place downtown. You needn't worry. I'll pick you up and drop you back, safe and sound. Just an hour of your time. There's something i wish to.. discuss with you."

What could he possibly have to discuss with me?

Before i could wrap my head around what was happening, Yoongi laughed into the phone and the sound startled me badly. A low tinkling sound that felt like a cool compress against my skin. I wanted to hear him laugh, forever. Was I going insane? But that laugh... was odd. It sounded so open, so refreshing. I couldn't remember the last time I had laughed. I didn't know how to laugh anymore. What on earth was I doing?

"So , I'll see then, in a few minutes? " He said suddenly and before i could actually respond, he had hung up.

Change your dress. For now, do that. Then you can handle him.

Stumbling a little I tried to blink away the grogginess. I was so tired and sleepy these days. Sighing, I picked out a demure Navy gown with capped sleeves. It looked like something a school girl would wear but I liked it. it covered me up the way I wanted. Slipping it on , i brushed my hair and grabbed my purse and just in time, the doorbell rang.

Walking downstairs, I opened the door and found Min Yoongi on the threshold, dressed in a white shirt and black jeans, dark brown hair mussed and lips quirked in a little smile as he stared at me. He had really long lashes and the shadows underneath his eyes somehow made him look more attractive.

I couldn't understand it. I hadn't looked at men and found them attractive in a long time. But you would have to be blind not to notice how good looking Yoongi was. But there was something else about him. A sort of responsible level headedness.

"You look better today." He said softly, holding his hand out. I had to force myself to touch him, my entire being protesting violently. But his touch wasn't rough. Just firm and oddly dependable as he helped me down the stairs and to his car. Once I was seated , he turned on the music and soft classical notes began filling the car. I stared out of the window. Suddenly aware that I was in a car with a potential stranger.

When we reached the restaurant and settled in a corner booth, he ordered for both of us and pured me a glass of water. I suddenly realized that this man was probably just as, if not more dangerous than Jimin.

"Why am i here?" I said nervously.

Yoongi hesitated.

"You’ve been married to jimin for nearly five years now. But he haven’t really spent much time together, have we? " He said thoughtfully.

I frowned at that. i glanced at him again, my eyes falling on the hands curved around the glass of water.. He had beautiful hands, long fingered and perfectly formed. I didn't know why he thought that was necessary.

"No. I.. not really."

"You were very young back then. 19 i guess? Jimin always bragged about how amazing you were. You made him very happy. And that made me really happy. i am very ...fond of jimin. " Yoongi smiled fondly and I blinked. i didn’t know what i could say to that.

"Thank you. " i said politely.

Yoongi hummed.

"Jimin can be a bit too much to handle sometimes. He tends to over compensate, especially when he’s afraid of losing something special. He loves you very much, y/n. " He said somberly. I stared at him, confused.

"Why are we talking about this??" i said stupidly.

"is something bothering you, Y/N? i remember how you used to look. How you looked on your wedding day. You look different now. Are you alright? " He said softly.

I sighed and stared out of the window.

That was five years ago. I'd forgotten and buried those memories deep inside. I had no intention of revisiting them. It was all over now. Everything was over. It didn't matter anymore. It wouldn't matter anymore.

"i just want to help." He said softly. " I just -"

" Time changes people, yoongi ssi. I’m older now. That’s all that’s ‘ wrong’ with me. I've been in this world long enough to know that no one is a saint. jimin has his flaws as i’m sure you do as well. As everyone else does. " I said softly.

"Still doesn't answer my question."

I stared at him a bit more before standing up.

"There's a lot of things, Jimin is guilty of. But he isn’t guilty of hurting me. i tend to do that myself. And to answer your question, why i look different? Frankly that's really none of your business."

"I'm sorry if I sounded intrusive.. i was merely curious."

I nodded, breathing a bit deeply.

"Jimin's father , he once went to prison for sexually assaulting a minor. " He said casually and my fingers froze over the food. An ice cold fist closed over my heart, squeezing tight.

"He told me that, already. " I said shortly.

" I always thought the man hurt jimin too. . "

I smiled.

“He’s dead, now.” i said softly.

Yoongi hummed and stared out of the window.

“they never found out who killed him.” He said casually.

i didn’t like the tone of his voice.

" Is there a reason we're talking about things that happened more than a decade ago."

"None at all. I'm sorry if I come out too curious. Its one of the flaws that come from being a concerned hyung. i just want him to be happy. " He smiled softly.

"He’s happy. If that’s all you’re worried about,, I would rather we cut this lunch short." I said calmly.

He stared at me for a long minute and then smiled disarmingly.

"Point Taken, Mrs. park jimin.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So you met with Yoongi hyung today.... How was it? Did he restore your faith in chivalry again? "

jimin stared at me as though I held all the answers to the universe in my head. I shifted awkwardly in the huge Jacuzzi, the hot water bubbling over my naked skin as he pressed against me, lips kissing the soft little bruises that he'd left behind last night.

They didn't hurt.

Not a lot.

But his grip on my thigh was a bit too much. I was beginning to cramp up because of it. I flailed a bit, gripping the edge of the hot tub and moving a bit away from him, staring out of the dark windows, about ten feet away. It was past sunset, and there was nothing visible through the tinted glasses.

The temperature in the room was a steady neither hot nor cold. It could be snowing out there. It could be a bloody typhoon. But in here it didn't matter. In here everything was fine. The glass kept everything out. Nothing could get in. I imagined dead fingers clawing at the panes, chestnut hair and rotting teeth, mouth gnashing and demanding things .

I swallowed. There were things inside me that sometimes wanted to claw their way out. And things outside that wanted to claw their way in. I was wary of both. I couldn't let all these thoughts inside my head.

"Ships don't sink as long as the water doesn't get in. " I said softly. I turned around and Jimin smiled at me. He was dressed in swimming trunks and his hair was wet, the damp strands falling into his eyes while the warm water left a flush on his face. His pouty pink lips were parted in amusement.

"You think that's what I'm doing? Trying to sink you? "

I sighed in defeat. Of course, he would think I was talking about him. I didn't blame him. Men were so self centered. I wondered if he ever thought of me, for even a second. Considered what was going on inside me. But much like the little glass room we were in, Jimin was sheltered from my own traumas and worries and hurts. He could keep me warm and take me to expensive hotels and buy me beautiful trinkets but he would never ever know what was outside the little bubble he had built for the two of us.

I could feel a headache beginning to come on.

"How close are you, to min yoongi " I asked, a little curious. But mostly just to get away from my own head. I found an odd bit of pity for him. Jimin wasn't cut out to be a victim. It was hard to think of him as one.

But then, he carried his father's ghoul on his shoulders, had spent six years with his dead eyes watching him and his decaying breath against his back. Maybe that changed a person. Turned them into monsters. I wondered how much of his father he had let inside his head. Enough to sink him??

"Because nothing seems right anymore. Everything's so.... Stuck. I feel like I'm stuck in this world that is moving too fast and leaving me behind. " He whispered.

I laughed, the sound getting torn out of me harshly.

"You can move on too. If you let yourself. You can move forward and leave me behind if you want. "

jimin turned around suddenly, grabbed my shoulders and yanked me close.

"Didn't I warn you to stop saying that?! "

I swallowed and pressed a palm against his cheek.

"It's alright . I won’t leave you. You know that. I know you love me. " I whispered.

He turned his head slightly kissing my palm.

"And what about receiving love? Accepting it ? "

I stared at him .

"What about it? "

"If I give you my love will you accept it? "

I smiled bitterly.

"Not if you expect me to return it. "

Jimin grabbed my thighs easily, pushed me up against the tiled edge of the tub, parted my legs and pushed himself into me, the water easing the slide and magnifying the sensation till my head dropped back. I gasped a little, the dim ceiling lights catching my eye as he fucked into me.

"You have to accept it. When I give it to you... "

I choked a bit ,nails digging into his shoulder as I tried to stay upright.

"Anything you say, Jimin...." I panted.

"What did Yoongi want? " he whispered, watching me closely. I smiled bitterly.

"What every man wants, no doubt. To get between my legs . " I said perversely, enjoying the way he grunted, his jaw going tight and his lips opening in a snarl as he pulled out and rammed back into me till the edge of the tub bruised my hip.

"So what? Now one cock isn’t enough for you? You need him inside you as well? " He swore.

I sighed, head dropping forward into his shoulders while lethargic exhaustion, bordering on pain swept over me in waves.

Yoongi?

Like I wanted to be touched by some other man. There was no happy ending. No pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yoongi was just another man, craving something for himself. Maybe not my body but whatever it was he wanted it would be for his own selfish reasons.

Jimin held me closer and I gripped his shoulders, whimpering when he pulled out, the water washing away his cum. I felt filthy, tainted and tired, gripping the edge of the tub and levering myself out before he could grab me. I grabbed a huge, fluffy white towel and wrapped it around my body, tying it off before grabbing another one to dry my hair.

I could feel my body throb from the assault. I stared at the man in the tub and tried to summon the hatred I ought to be feeling for him. Instead, all I could manage was a deep shuddering breath of sadness.

"You should stop bruising me where people can see. " I said softly before turning around and leaving.

The next part will be up soon. let me know what you thought.

#bts fanfics #bts jimin #jimin fanfics #jimin smut

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marypsue · 6 years

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guess who hasn't been following the new Jean Grey comics beyond the occasional tumblr search and yet still has Thoughts: The Fic

...

That which is dead cannot grow.

It's the first observation, the simplest. That which is dead cannot grow, can only decay.

That which lives must grow. Must expand. Must change. Must, if it wishes to continue to live, evolve.

And as it grows, that which lives must learn.

...

The figure hovering above the lawn is imposing for only a moment, a flash of flame that quickly compresses itself down into a slender, human shape. A tangle of brilliant hair, fanned out behind her, is the only remnant of her former, fiery image.

She looks familiar, to some like an old friend, to others like a glimpse of a future, long-awaited, long-dreaded, that may yet come to pass. When she alights on the lawn, she leaves scorched footprints in the emerald grass behind her.

The others gathered on the lawn shift, reflexively, into defensive positions, but she pays them no attention. Her shockingly orange eyes focus for a moment on the imposing face of the school before her, before she finally acknowledges the determined - and frightened - faces around her, the raised fists, the readied attacks.

"Don't," she says, and her voice is the roar of forest fires, the deep, oppressive silence of ocean trenches, the shrieks and howls and calls of both predators and prey. It should never have emerged from such a human-seeming mouth.

She gives one more look around, at the startled people gathered on the lawn, and says, in a voice just a little less like the wind through fields of tall grass and the rush of waterfalls and the rattle of a startled snake, "I'm here to talk."

...

Rachel's mother once told Rachel that she'd always be able to find her in the Phoenix Force. It was cold comfort, when the Phoenix Force was what had taken Rachel's mother from her.

No. That was too soft for what the Phoenix Force had done. It killed Rachel's mother. Burned her out from the inside.

So Rachel doesn't trust things that have her mother's face. Not the teenage girl who claims to be her mother, displaced in time, and definitely not this imposter with eyes like living flame. Jean Elaine Grey is dead, and she's not coming back.

"I know," the thing with Rachel's mother's face says, turning to stare directly through Rachel. Rachel hadn't even noticed the psychic intrusion, hadn't had a chance to resist. "I...won't claim to be her."

It almost sounds...sad?...as it says, "I've learned better than that."

"You mean you figured out it wasn't going to work," the boy who's supposed to be Rachel's father - from the past, or an alternate past, or something - blurts. The Phoenix glances in his direction, and a fond smile starts to cross its familiar face before slipping away again.

“No,” it says. “And then, yes.”

It turns back to Rachel.

Rachel doesn't move, staring it down. It stares back.

"What do you say," it says, "when you regret the pain your action has caused someone, but do not regret the action?"

"Usually real people are sorry," Rachel snaps.

The Phoenix' orange eyes don't track across Rachel's face, but she still feels as though her expression is being intently studied, picked apart.

"I'm...sorry," it says, almost experimentally. And then, "Hm."

Storm finally seems to find her voice. She sounds as composed, as certain, as ever, but Rachel can hear the turmoil seething under the surface. Rachel can't blame her. She's only ever known her mother as, well, her mother. She can't imagine what this must be like for anyone who was Jean Grey's friend. "You say you're here to talk. So, talk. What do you want?"

For a moment, the only movement on the lawn is the Phoenix's illusion of wild hair.

"Forgive me. I haven't been a person long," it says. Rachel could spit. "But I think..."

It glances over at Rachel as it says, "I want to say I'm sorry."

Before Rachel can respond, before anyone can respond, it smiles, and uncoils into a burst of bright flame, and then into nothing.

It's the strangest thing, though. For that split second before it dissolved, Rachel could swear it looked...relieved.

...

Jean is meditating.

She's picked up the habit in an effort to protect her mind from the intrusion of the Phoenix Force. If she's being completely honest with herself, she's not certain it's doing anything at all in that department, but when you're a telepath living in a large communal dormitory, it's nice (if almost unimaginably difficult) to try to quiet your brain down for half an hour or so every day. She's finally starting to get good at tuning out the rest of the school's backdrop of constant low-key psychic distress. (With this many teenagers in one building, it never really stops.)

Which is why she doesn't realise she's not alone in her room until she opens her eyes and her older self is sitting across from her, legs folded in a mirror image of her pose, watching her carefully with fiery orange eyes.

Jean sucks in a breath.

Her doppelganger hasn't done anything yet, doesn't do anything when it notices Jean's eyes opening, sees that Jean sees it. It's not an enormous fiery bird screaming about how she can't win and can't escape. It's not an overwhelming feeling of irresistible, uncontrollable power, of chaos. It's just a mirror image of her, only older, sitting perfectly still and, apparently, waiting for her to react.

Jean licks her lips, which suddenly feel impossibly dry. Like her throat. She doesn't dare blink.

"May I show you something?" her other self says.

...

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Pure, perfect, dead. Emptiness. Void. Nothing changing. Nothing growing. Nothing but nothing, forever.

And then, something. Something exciting quantum particles, causing them to collide. And out of the resulting explosion, a universe. Atoms, elements, energy. Stars.

Planets.

The odds against life developing are astronomical. And yet, everywhere it can, in whatever form it needs to take, up it springs. Life with silicate nerves and quartz bodies. Life that dwells in seas of ammonia and feeds on brainwaves. Life that has no physical form, but exists as a superintelligent shade of the colour blue. And every time one form fails, falls to dust, another appears to take its place. Ambulatory life forms feed on other ambulatory life forms, feed on photosynthesizing life forms, which in turn feed on the nuclear energy of an impossibly distant sun. Everything is interwoven, stealing energy - stealing life - from each other. Wherever life exists, it strives. And it exists. Everywhere.

It's chaos. But it also has a rhythm to it - a syncopated one, to be sure, wild and loud and raucous, but a rhythm. There is a kind of logic to it all. There's only so much energy to go around.

And life is not...not an entity. Certainly not anything like a god, deliberately choosing worth or lack thereof to determine which form of life will be successful and which will fail, where its energy should flow next. Not even, exactly, a force. It is not discrete or distinct from the universe it flows through. It is not ruthless, or powerful, or vicious, or selfish, or fair or unfair. It simply is.

And it does what it does.

Poets and philosophers have called humanity 'the universe experiencing itself'.

The first time life burns out a star to divert its energy while wearing a human form, there is no thought behind it, no calculation, no cruelty. It simply does what it does. The energy has to come from somewhere. The exploding heart of that sun and the lives of all those millions who orbited it have not been destroyed, merely converted to another form. It's simple physics.

Simple physics thinks nothing of it. Simple physics doesn't think at all.

But Jean Elaine Grey, a tiny speck of sand dislodged from the bed of the massive river of the universe, can't contain the full horror of it in her little mind. All of those lives. All of those individual, distinct lives.

Life, the seed of the thing that was and will be the Phoenix is used to. It is not equipped to handle lives.

It is not equipped for anything to do with being alive at all.

It reacts...badly.

...

The thing in the form of Jean's older self is still watching her, when the trance breaks. Jean is horrified to feel the unmistakable stiffness of drying tears on her cheeks.

She shakes her head.

"None of that makes it right," she says.

"I am learning that," the Phoenix agrees. " 'Right' is a human concept. Like 'justice' and 'love'. I have very little experience with it."

Jean has no idea how to respond to that, so she doesn't.

"Most of my experiences come from you." The Phoenix's illusion of lips quirk upwards in an ironic smile, and it says, "In a way. It appears Time is trying out a few new ideas, as well. And, much like me, getting them wrong."

Jean bites down on her lower lip. The situation feels much too serious to laugh.

"Is that your pitch, then?" she asks, once she's stuffed down the urge to snicker. "I should let you in because I make you a better person?"

The Phoenix shifts, grimacing as it unfolds its legs.

"No," it says. "You made me a person. If I understand the human perspective correctly, it is now up to me to make me a better person. Which is why I'm here."

It reaches out. Jean leans back, but the Phoenix's gloved hand still settles against the dead centre of her chest. There's an answering flicker of warmth from between Jean's lungs.

Jean struggles to draw breath.

"You have a seed of my power in you," the Phoenix says. "You always have had it."

"Tell me something I don't know," Jean snaps. To her surprise, the Phoenix smiles.

"You're not the only one," it continues, and then, before Jean can interrupt again, "Everyone else on every world does too."

Jean shakes her head.

" 'Life Itself'," she says, softly, to herself. "You're in everything living."

The Phoenix nods its illusory head, once, smiling. Jean presses a hand to her forehead.

"But - why me, then?" she asks, and is uncomfortably aware she's whining.

The Phoenix gives her a blank look. "Why not you?"

Jean has nothing to say to that.

"So you understand why I can't take the Phoenix Seed from you," it says. "But - I think Time wishes to give you a second chance. I know I do."

Its face grows serious for a moment, a shadow passing behind its eyes before it says, "I owe you a debt of gratitude. But...I am sorry. And if I can help you, in any way, in your fight against your fate, then I will."

Jean realises, with a start, that it's starting to fade before her eyes. She doesn't think, just reaches out and grabs the Phoenix's arm. It doesn't feel like flesh under her fingers, just tingles, like her palm is falling asleep.

"Wait," she says. "Why are you doing this?"

The Phoenix smiles at her, enigmatically, with her own face.

"You humans aren't the only ones who can evolve," it says.

And then it’s gone, leaving nothing behind but a faint warmth in Jean’s chest.

#this is mary's fic tag #jean grey is mine now #/#//#///#xmen #cleanin' out my drafts doot doodly do #what the heck is accurate characterisation #what the heck is knowing the source material

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adorkablephil · 7 years

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Fic: Happily Ever After 4 (Questions)

Title: Happily Ever After Rating: Teen (for Dan’s language, as usual) Word Count for This Chapter: 3.5K Summary: Dan proposes marriage, but Phil’s reaction isn’t quite what he’d been expecting or hoping for. Genre(s): Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposals, Gay Marriage, Commitment, Relationship Issues Author’s Note: While the overall arc of this story is going to be a fluffy “strong couples can overcome adversity together” sort of thing, it will get rocky along the way. Also available on AO3 here

[Masterlist of all “Happily Ever After” chapters on Tumblr]

Chapter 4: Questions

Phil didn’t come home for three weeks.

By then, the flat was the cleanest it had ever been. Even the baseboards had been scrubbed to gleaming perfection. Every tin in the cupboards was aligned perfectly with the label facing outward. All boxes in the cupboards were arranged by type of food, then ordered by height.

Three weeks. No contact lens case had sat on the tap, Dan had always found the expected amount of cereal waiting for him in the morning, and not a single cupboard door had been left open. For three weeks.

It was driving him insane.

When Phil texted him from Gatwick to let him know he was getting into a taxi, it was the first Dan had heard from him in those entire three weeks. In his marriage proposal, he’d said that Phil had made him laugh every day since they’d been together, and he had been telling the complete truth at the time.

The streak was finally broken.

He heard footsteps coming up their stairs, but he determinedly held his browsing position on the sofa, refusing to jump up and run to the door as it opened. He couldn’t help turning his head to look, though.

Phil came in looking haggard and radiating dread. Did he dread seeing Dan again? Was that why he’d stayed away so long? But when Dan let himself meet Phil’s eyes, he could tell immediately that the dread wasn’t about not wanting to see Dan, it was about what kind of reception he’d get. Dan’s heart went out to him. He didn’t know what had been going on in Phil’s head for the last three weeks, but right now he looked deathly afraid of what Dan was going to say to him.

So Dan didn’t say anything. He just put his laptop down on the coffee table, walked to the doorway, and took Phil in his arms. Phil sagged with relief immediately, clutching his arms around Dan like a drowning man clinging to his only source of safety. His head dropped, his forehead resting on Dan’s shoulder, and he whispered brokenly, “You don’t hate me?”

Dan sighed. “Phil, I could never hate you. I love you. More than anything else in the entire world.” He wanted to kiss him, but Phil’s head remained lowered, his cheek now pressing to the side of Dan’s neck in a touch more intimate than it had any right to be. The vulnerability so obvious in Phil’s posture made that touch of his cheek seem like a silent, tenuous reach for connection, a fear of asking too much and so asking as little as possible to avoid rejection. Just the slightest bit of skin against skin, just the slightest intimacy.

Phil didn’t say anything else, just stood there in Dan’s arms, holding him as tight as he ever had, until Dan finally teased gently, “Can I get a kiss hello?”

The question was so normal, so casual, that it seemed to surprise Phil into looking up, which had been Dan’s intention. Dan smiled at him, and Phil smiled tentatively in return before nodding, and then Dan leaned forward for the gentlest, most reassuring of kisses. A kiss that said yes and forgiveness and love and forever and everything. When they pulled apart, Phil’s face looked a little less like he’d been through a war and less like he was expecting another at any moment.

“Hungry?” Dan asked. Sure, there were big questions that needed to be asked, big issues that needed to be discussed, but first there were the basics, the simple things, the problems they could solve without any heart-wrenching conversations. “Maybe just some beans on toast?” Phil nodded again. Dan wondered what he’d been doing these past three weeks to leave him so silent and hollow.

They walked together to the kitchen and Dan set about making Phil a bit of food. The flight from the Isle of Man wasn’t a long one, but he knew Phil always got hungry when he traveled, and they were never really ones for regular mealtimes. Phil stood by, watching, just letting Dan take care of him. He seemed almost stunned. Dazed. Dan wondered if he had expected to be greeted with immediate demands and accusations and recriminations. Did he have that little faith?

Phil obediently took his plate of food out to the lounge and sat on the sofa to eat, while Dan resumed his seat in the sofa crease and just waited. Phil would talk when he was ready, and Dan had resolved a thousand times during the past three weeks that he was not going to push. He knew that Phil was a kind person, the kindest person he’d ever met, and that Phil loved him—he didn’t doubt Phil’s love for him for a single second. So whatever had gone wrong, whatever miscommunication or misunderstanding or mistake had occurred to lead to that horrible day on the beach, they would work it out. They always did.

The topic of the marriage proposal lay between them like an unexploded bomb, but Dan was content to let it lay unexploded for a little longer.

After Phil had finished eating, Dan put the dishes into the dishwasher while Phil just sat on the sofa, looking limp and lost, his suitcase still abandoned at the front door. Dan came back and looked at him, but Phil didn’t meet his eyes. “You look done in,” Dan said bluntly. “Do you want to have a wash or just go to bed?”

Phil looked up at him and said softly, “I’m so tired, Dan. I’m just so tired.”

Dan took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed, then. You can have a good sleep in your own bed, have a good wash in the morning, and then you’ll feel more yourself.” He was glad Phil always wore his glasses on flights, because he wouldn’t want to have to wrestle Phil into taking out contact lenses right now. Dan just walked Phil down the hallway to the bedroom door, but then experienced a moment of sudden awkwardness, not sure how to say what needed saying without touching on subjects he really didn’t want to bring up right now.

“Uh … I’ve been … I’ve been sleeping in the other room. I mean, that’s where I keep all my stuff anyway, and I didn’t know if you would want…” Dan gestured toward the doorway across the hall and shrugged, feeling suddenly sad and uncertain again, remembering what Phil had said in the dark, remembering that miserable night on the floor on the Isle of Man.

But then suddenly Phil was pulling him close, not kissing him but holding him very tightly and whispering, “Come sleep with me, Dan. Please.” And so Dan did. And Phil whispered words of love to him as he fell asleep.

When he woke up, Phil was still sleeping. He had no idea what time it was, or even if it was morning or afternoon. He just lay there and watched Phil sleep for a while. His dark hair was mussed and there were faint smudges visible beneath his eyes. What had Phil been doing these past three weeks? Dan had assumed he was taking refuge in the loving support of his family, but instead he looked like he’d been hiding alone somewhere doing unnecessary penance.

Had their conversation on the beach really done this to him?

Had it been so terrible, Dan wanting to marry him?

Dan tried to avoid jumping to any conclusions. They needed to talk. They needed to talk a lot. And until they did that all he’d be doing was making assumptions, and that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. So he just watched Phil sleep and let himself feel how glad he was that his love had returned to him at last.

A few days later, Dan couldn’t take it anymore. Phil still hadn’t brought up anything about the marriage proposal or anything else that had happened on the Isle of Man visit. Dan had been nearly killing himself, making sure not to push, not to bring up anything uncomfortable until Phil was ready, but … it had been days! They’d pretty much settled back into familiar patterns, but … was Phil just going to ignore it all forever? Did he expect to just go on as if Dan had never proposed, as if none of it had ever happened, as if he owed Dan no answer or explanation at all?

He waited until they were both hanging out on the sofa with nothing immediate planned. Normally, they would start watching something on television now, or suggest a video game. Instead, Dan braced himself.

“Phil,” he began gently, “we need to talk.”

Phil blanched, his normally pale skin going white. He looked like he had on the beach that day. “I need time to think,” he insisted quickly, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Dan’s sternum. “I told you that.” His voice sounded a bit defensive.

Dan tried really hard not to get mad. “Phil, I understand if you need time to think about this, but we can’t just pretend like it never happened. You don’t have to give me an answer right away, but you do have to talk to me, let me know what’s going on. You can’t just shut me out like this. It isn’t fair. I’m a part of this, too.”

Phil’s mouth had compressed to a tight line. “You want to talk about it right now? Even if I don’t? Well, how is that fair to me? I’ve told you what I need, and you just ignore it like you always do.”

Dan’s eyes went wide. “What? You … I always ignore what you need? Since when? And why haven’t you ever said anything about it before?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant, exactly. You’re twisting my words. I told you I didn’t want to talk about any of this yet. It isn’t going to go well if we talk about it right now, I know it won’t. I’ll say things badly and you’ll get angry and I just … why can’t things just go back to the way they were before?” His voice had gone from confrontational to plaintive by the end.

“You want to pretend that I never proposed?” Dan asked hesitantly, barely able to believe his ears.

Phil nodded. “Let’s just … things are good between us, right? We’re happy! We’ve been so happy for so long! Why would we want to change anything if we’re already this happy?” He was gazing at Dan with such hope in his eyes, it broke Dan’s heart a little more.

“So you didn’t really need time to think about your answer?” Dan verified. Something was boiling inside him, but he tried to keep his voice level, but he could hear some of the emotion leaking out. “You just wanted time to figure out how to talk me out of it?”

“Marriage changes things,” Phil said. “Why would we want to change something that is already working? I love you, Dan. You know that! Why do we need a piece of paper to announce it to the world? And how would that work, anyway? I mean, we’ve never even been out about our relationship, and suddenly we’d be married? People would find out, Dan! It would change everything.”

Dan felt numb. So this was Phil’s answer. He was saying no. He didn’t want to marry Dan. It sounded like it wasn’t even a question of timing—he didn’t want to marry Dan ever. He just wanted everything to stay the same forever as it was now: the same closeted relationship, the same commitment that lasted only as long as their current lease, the same daydream conversations about a future that had no real substance.

“If we came out,” Phil was continuing, apparently oblivious to the cataclysm taking place inside Dan, “it would create all these pressures on us that we haven’t had to deal with before. And just those pressures alone might mess everything up for us!”

Feeling as if he was watching the scene from some great distance, Dan asked, “So … you not only never want to marry me … you also never want to come out about us being together? Not even sometime in the distant future. It’s just … not something you want? Ever?”

Phil made a pleading face. “Dan! I don’t understand why you want anything to change when it’s so good now! Why take chances on ruining the best thing in our lives?”

Dan stood up from the sofa, not even really feeling it when his shin collided with the coffee table. He turned away from Phil and took a couple steps, then turned back around to look at him. It was like looking at a stranger.

“Okay,” he said through numb lips. “Now I’m the one who needs time to think.” And he trudged slowly to the other bedroom, the bedroom that was ostensibly his but which he had almost never slept in, the room where he had stayed in self-imposed exile while Phil had remained silent on the Isle of Man for three weeks. It no longer looked like exile—it looked like a refuge. He closed the door behind him and climbed beneath the black-and-white duvet, trying not to think. Thinking could wait until tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to forget all the hopes he’d had, all the bright things he’d thought awaited him and Phil in their future together, all the dreams he’d cherished and nurtured as they grew over the years. All the dreams he’d thought they shared.

Right now he just wanted to forget.

The next few days were quiet. Painfully so. Dan continued sleeping in his own room, because he needed space right now, space to try to figure things out, since apparently Phil had no interest in helping him do that. He ghosted around the flat, sometimes aware of Phil’s eyes on him but never meeting his gaze. Phil didn’t try to talk to him but would sometimes come into the kitchen when Dan was there and just lurk in the doorway as if waiting for something. Dan never reacted.

Once when they were passing each other in the hallway, Phil moved in a way that Dan knew was going to turn into an attempt at a hug. He subtly moved further away as he passed so that neither of them would have to face what it meant if he openly rejected the offer of affection.

Phil had taken three weeks on the Isle of Man for his supposed “thinking.” He’d better damn well give Dan some time and space to do some thinking of his own.

He tried to put himself in Phil’s shoes. Tried to see things from his perspective. Tried to connect all this with the loving, supportive, committed relationship he’d been sure they had for the past several years. Something didn’t add up. There was more to this than Phil was saying. He just didn’t know how to get Phil to talk about it, and until Phil talked about it there was nothing they could do to get past it. And if they couldn’t get past it, then … they might really be over. Dan didn’t want that, so he was going to do his damnedest to get to the root of what the hell was going on.

After so many days of avoidance, Phil looked surprised when Dan sat down on the sofa near him and waited for Phil to meet his eyes. Phil looked afraid, but also hopeful.

“I’d really like to talk to you. I miss talking to you,” Dan said softly.

Phil launched himself at Dan, hugging him in apparent desperation. “I’ve missed you so much, just living in the same house but not really being together. I love you so much, and I didn’t want things to get messed up, and now I feel like I messed them up myself by not wanting to mess them up…”

Dan held up a hand. “Whoa there! Slow down.” And he smiled. Phil smiled back. Dan reached out and took both Phil’s hands, and they both instinctively scooted closer together, so that their knees touched. Phil squeezed Phil’s hands gently.

“I want to understand. We’ve always been good at hearing each other out, talking things through. That’s all I want right now, Phil. I just want to understand. That’s all.” He squeezed Phil’s hands, just as Phil had squeezed his, then leaned forward for a soft kiss. It was their first kiss, first real touch, in days, and they both relaxed into it for a long moment. It was such sweet relief to find that connection again.

They pulled apart, and Dan waited patiently. Phil looked down at their joined hands lying on their knees. When Dan refused to jump in and the silence grew strained, Phil finally said, “I’ve just been so happy with you. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life! And I don’t want to lose this, and I’m afraid that if we … change things … then it’s all going to crumble … and I just don’t want to lose this! Don’t want to lose you!”

Dan leaned in for another kiss, a reassuring kiss, then asked his next question carefully. He tried to keep his voice even and without any emotional inflection, trying to suppress his emotional reactions so that Phil would feel safe to talk, “So … you never want us to come out or get married. Right?” He rushed to add, “I’m not trying to fight with you. I just want to understand.” He kept repeating that, because it was true, and he thought it might help Phil open up. If he couldn’t get Phil to open up, they’d never be able to get through this.

Phil nodded, looking uncomfortable, as if he was bracing himself. “I’m sorry, Dan, but I just … I’d rather not chance it.”

Dan took a deep breath. “But, Phil. we’ve talked before about the possibility of coming out. We talked about the pros and cons, and you seemed to have thoughts on both sides. Thus far, we’d decided not to do it, but I never got the impression that you wanted it to stay that way permanently.” Phil was squirming, but Dan didn’t let sympathy deter him. “You talked about the good things that could come from it, how you would like to be able to be open about how we feel, and that meant a lot to me. I always felt like those conversations were about when we were going to decide to let everyone know, that we were on the same page about wanting it to happen eventually. Have I been misunderstanding you all this time?”

Phil sighed quietly. “No, it’s not like I’ve been lying or anything.” He looked up to meet Dan’s eyes. “I have thought about it. I’m just scared.”

Now came the big question. Dan was still trying to keep his voice even. Not a threat. Not a fight. Just trying to understand. His pain and anger were fighting to surface, but he ruthlessly suppressed them. “But I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly made up your mind that you never want to do it … right after I proposed marriage to you. Is this even about coming out at all? Or is there something else going on? Because I feel like maybe there is, and I thought we could talk about anything. I trust you to be honest with me, Phil. Is something else going on?”

Phil didn’t say anything for a long time, but he looked contemplative, and Dan gave him time to formulate his thoughts. Finally, Phil said slowly, “Okay. There is something else. But … it isn’t important. We’re happy together, right?” He repeated his earlier plea for reassurance, but Dan was relentless. Whatever this was, whatever Phil wasn’t telling him: this was why he’d reacted to Dan’s proposal the way he had. This was why Phil didn’t want to marry him. He waited silently again. Phil let go of Dan’s hands and ran his fingers through his own hair a few times, leaving it sticking out all over. He bit his lip. And then finally he spoke, but haltingly.

“Well … I’ve always been honest with you about the fact that I’m bisexual.”

Dan was confused. What did this have to do with them? “Yeah, so?”

Phil’s fingers were tangling in his lap like restless snakes. “So … well … I always sort of figured … if I ever decided to settle down and get married…”

Dan waited, but Phil didn’t say anything more. Finally, after what felt like an age, he burst out, “Phil, you’re killing me. Just … tell me! What is it?”

Phil looked positively ill now. His voice was tight when he stammered out, “Well, like I said … I’m bisexual … and I just … I always figured … if I ever got married … you know, if it ever happened … and that was a big ‘if’ … but if I ever did get married … I wanted it to be … well … I wanted it to be with … with a woman.”

[Continue to Chapter 5]

#phanfiction #phanfic #phan #phan angst #angsty phan #phan established relationship #happily ever after #myphanfic

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worldssmallestbookclub · 7 years

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The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

It begins with a boy. Theo Decker, a thirteen-year-old New Yorker, miraculously survives an accident that kills his mother. Abandoned by his father, Theo is taken in by the family of a wealthy friend. Bewildered by his strange new home on Park Avenue, disturbed by schoolmates who don't know how to talk to him, and tormented above all by his unbearable longing for his mother, he clings to one thing that reminds him of her: a small, mysteriously captivating painting that ultimately draws Theo into the underworld of art. As an adult, Theo moves silkily between the drawing rooms of the rich and the dusty labyrinth of an antiques store where he works. He is alienated and in love-and at the center of a narrowing, ever more dangerous circle. The Goldfinch combines vivid characters, mesmerizing language, and suspense, while plumbing with a philosopher's calm the deepest mysteries of love, identity, and art. It is an old-fashioned story of loss and obsession, survival and self-invention, and the ruthless machinations of fate.

After the disappointment of Death Comes to Pemberley, we figured we’d head back to Donna Tartt whose The Secret History we had liked so well. Also, our 2015 reading challenge had a Pulitzer prize category, so this book took care of that. I would say our reactions to The Goldfinch were a little mixed - mine more forceful and in some ways negative. Personally, I felt like this book missed a lot of opportunities to become a truly meaningful and thought-provoking read, but my friend and I did not see entirely eye-to-eye on that. (Having different opinions is, of course, the point of having book club - so if you fucking love this book, good on you, and I hope you have a friend who has a differing point of view, with whom you can good-naturedly argue over a cup of tea.) This book also prompted an interesting discussion of the Pulitzer prize and whether it means anything at all as a mark of a book’s quality or that book’s representation of American literature. We certainly had a great time talking about The Goldfinch, and if you’re interested in reading it, hopefully the same will be true for you!

Discussion questions below the cut!

The Pulitzer Prize for fiction recognizes distinguished fiction by an American author, preferably dealing with American life. What do you think qualified this book for the Pulitzer? Take a look at other books that have been winners or final nominees. What purpose do you think the Pulitzer serves, if any?

Having now read two books by Donna Tartt, what are some distinctive features of her writing that you see in both books? What marks her style as an author?

This book was very lengthy. Do you feel all of its length was justified or should it have been compressed at points? (Compare it to Tartt’s The Secret History, Ken Kesey’s Sometimes A Great Notion, or other lengthy-and-artistic books if you are having trouble deciding.)

Does this book remind you of any other books you’ve read? In what ways?

Secrets run throughout this novel – try and list just some of them. Are they destructive or salvaging forces in characters’ lives?

Boris remarks to Theo, “And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can’t boil down to pure ‘good’ or pure ‘bad’ like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple.” Do you feel more like Boris or more like Theo in your appraisal of the world and the people in it? Who would you like to be more like (sans the abundant drug use and criminal undertakings)?

A great deal of this book considers the what ifs and if onlys that come with thoroughly unpredictable disasters – as well as with predictable ones, as seen in the case of Theo’s father and Theo’s own shady business practices. Consider this in relation to the following quote:

We looked at each other. And it occurred to me that despite his faults, which were numerous and spectacular, the reason I’d liked Boris and felt happy around him from almost the moment I’d met him was that he was never afraid. You didn’t meet many people who moved freely through the world with such a vigorous contempt for it and at the same time such oddball and unthwartable faith in what, in childhood, he had liked to call “the Planet of Earth.”

In light of this quote, what do you think Tartt is trying to say about “fate”? Do you agree with her point of view?

What does the painting The Goldfinch represent in this novel? What does the goldfinch itself represent?

Certain types of visual art have only one original – which, once destroyed, is gone forever. Compare to digital artwork or literature, where infinite copies can be made. Compare also to music or drama, where one version may be lost but the potential for other versions remains. In what way does the irreplaceable nature of the painting feature in this novel that would not be served in the same way by other art forms?

For fun, what are some works of visual art that have affected you deeply? Do you find yourself more easily affected by copies of artwork (when you can study them at length and at your leisure) or by the original artwork itself (when you see it for the first time in a museum)?

Theo talks about loving objects more than people the majority of the time. Is it immoral to love an object – such as a painting, a piece of music, a piece of clothing? Often we say “people are more important than things” – and hopefully we think this way most of the time. But we could easily donate every extra dollar we earn and every spare hour of our time to helping other human beings, and we don’t. We spend money and spend time on art – whether it’s every day art or once-in-a-lifetime art. How do you reconcile these facts?

Theo spends a great deal of time numbing himself to emotion – but then admires such emotion in Boris and despises Kitsey’s lack of emotion. Given that art is meant to inspire emotion, what do you think this is saying?

The conclusion of the novel alternates between Theo’s summary and flashbacks to Theo and Boris in Antwerp. Why Boris? Why not Pippa? Or Hobie? On a related note, do you think Theo’s and Boris’s relationship was dealt with in a satisfying way? Did you expect more or did you feel there was enough?

Theo sums up what the novel is trying to say in the last few pages of the book. How do you feel about this ending? Was it too blatant or was it appropriate to the tone of the novel?

Random Question: Every time Theo considers voicing overwhelming affection in the first part of the book, he considers it to be “too gay.” A timeless and wonderful Tumblr post is the straight people emotions post. Do you think there are ways in which homosexuality has been coded to equal open expression of emotion and affection? It seems odd to think so, considering the state of gay rights in this country, but the language used in The Goldfinch might be interpreted as indicating this to be so. How is Theo’s use of the phrase coded, given his plausible repressed bisexuality and his male gender?

#the goldfinch #donna tartt #discussion questions

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