#went the extra mile for me as to thread my shoe for me? they were gorgeous

[pleasantanathema]

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk​ 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer! 

           There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

           The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

           You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

           He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

           So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

           And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

           “So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

           “Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

           “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

           “Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

           You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

           “Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

           “Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

           “Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

           Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

           But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

           You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

           Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

           Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

           “Have you guys opened presents yet?”

           You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

           “No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

           Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

           “I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

           “Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

           “I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

           Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

           “Is that…?”

           “Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

           The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

           You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

           “I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

           You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

           You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

           “Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

           “Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

           “Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

           The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

           You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

           “Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

          You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

           “I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

           “No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

           Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

           He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

           “What are you gonna name her?”

           He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

           “I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

           “Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

           “Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

           “She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

           “I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

           You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

           There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

           You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

           But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

           Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

           You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

           And you still felt like you were missing something.

           Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

           But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

           Jean: You awake?

           Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

           You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

           Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

           You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

           Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

           Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

           Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

           Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

           You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

           You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

           You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

           If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

           But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

           You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

           You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

           Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

           You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

           The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

           “Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

           “Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

           His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

           “I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

           “You’re not wearing pants.”

           “I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

           You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

           He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

           His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

           “Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

           You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

           “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

           You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

           “Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

           A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

           You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

           You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

           “You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

           “Y-yes, feels so good.”

           His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

           You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

           Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

           Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

           “Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

           “You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

           Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

           “Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

           You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

          You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

          His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

          “Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

          “Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

          Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

          It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

          “Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

          There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

          Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

          You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

          It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

          “D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

          But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

          Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

          “Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

          “Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

          He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

          “Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

          “I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

          “I’m full of surprises, baby.”

          You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

          With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

          “Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

          “God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

          It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

          All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

          “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

          “I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

          “Oh fuck. Good girl.”

          His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

          He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

          “Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

          “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

          Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

          Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

          “So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

          You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

          Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

          “Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

          You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

          His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

          Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

          “Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

          Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

          The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

          “I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

          God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

          Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

          You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

          When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

          “Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

          His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

          “Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

          “Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

          He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

          “Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

          You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

          You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

          “What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

          “It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

          Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

          “I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

          “You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

          “I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

          You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

          “Yeah, I’d like that.”

          No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x you #aot jean #aot jean kirstein #snk jean #snk jean kirstein #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #snk #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot #jean aot #jean kirstein fanfic

[earlgreydream]

traveler.

| loki x reader | fluff | 

summary: you and loki cross paths on a rainy day

warnings: only the slightest bit of steam if you squint

a/n: I needed something sweet and soft, and I miss the rain

You were walking along the cobblestone path to the tiny coffee shop you loved. The town you lived in was small, but you loved it and had lived there your entire life. It was quaint, with a vintage feel and sweet little cottages. 

Clouds hung heavy overhead, and the air smelled like rain. You pushed open the shop’s door, hearing the familiar chimes of his bell. 

“Hi, Y/N! Your usual?” The barista called. 

“Please!” You said with a smile, leaving your card on the counter. She grabbed it and nodded, taking the order of a customer who walked in behind you. 

You sat down on the faded yellow couch in the corner, opening the novel you’d brought along, soothed by the smell of coffee. The barista placed a steaming london fog on the small table beside you, setting your card down with it. Soon, your novel was forgotten as you sipped the tea, watching customers come and go. 

A man walked in that you didn’t recognize, catching your attention. Bright blue eyes stood out on nearly white skin, and he was wearing black jeans with a dark green shirt. He definitely stood out against the locals, but he didn’t pay any attention to the girls and guys who turned to watch him walk. 

The shop had gotten busy, all the tables full. He looked around, and you sat up, pulling your legs off the couch and pointed to the other side. He smiled and walked over, setting his bag down. 

“May I sit?” He asked politely, and you nodded. 

“Of course. I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself, sticking your hand out. He shook it, a bright smile crossing his face that made your insides erupt in butterflies.

“Y/N,” he repeated, “that’s a beautiful name. I’m Loki.” 

You blushed, laughing shyly at his unexpected compliment. 

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve never seen you around here before,” you commented, curious as to where he came from.

“No, I’m traveling through. I, my car, broke down on the edge of town, and I had to leave it at the shop. I walked here for a drink.” He explained with a defeated chuckle.

“Oh, that’s terrible, I’m so sorry.” 

“Having coffee with a stunning girl isn’t exactly the worst detour.” 

You bit your lip and looked up at him, warmth spreading through your face. He was incredibly charming and by far the most attractive man you had ever met. You shook your head, hiding the warmth in your cheeks. 

“So, where did you come from, Loki?”

“New York.”

“New York? You’re a city boy,” you giggled, earning a soft smile from you. 

Loki thought that your laughter was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard, and he found himself wanting to be the cause of it.

“I guess so. And you? Are you from here?” He sipped on his black coffee, leaning back against the couch and looking at you, studying the way your nose squeezed as you smiled, trying to bite back the giggle he wanted to hear.

“Born and raised. I love it here.”

“I hear the girls in this town are charming.” He teased you and you grinned at him before sipping your tea. The two of you kept talking, and he learned that you liked to read, just like him. You both loved poetry and classics, and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as you passionately talked about the novels you loved. He quickly discovered the two of you had quite a bit in common, and he could’ve sworn he was dreaming. 

“I’m so sorry, it’s the auto shop,” he smiled apologetically as he answered the call he received on his phone. 

“Mr. Laufeyson, we won’t be able to fix your car until tomorrow. The radiator is blasted, and we need to get the piece from the next town over. We’re so sorry for the inconvenience.” The owner apologized, and he sighed.

“It’s alright. Thank you.” He sighed before hanging up.

You took note of the frown on his face.

“Bad news?”

“I’m stuck here for the night, my car isn’t an easy fix. Is there accommodations here?” He asked you, and you nodded before a thought occurred to you. 

“There is, it’s a bed and breakfast, but it’s right on the other end of town. It’s nearly three miles, and the weather is bad. I live close and I have a guest bedroom. Why don’t you stay with me?” You asked, surprising you.

“I could be a serial killer.” He pointed out, making you burst into laughter.

“Serial killers don’t read poetry about love.” You pointed out, making him smile.

“Fair enough. At least let me cook you dinner, for the trouble.” He begged, and you smiled with a nod. 

“Come on, we can run to the market.” You stood, slipping your book into your bag. The patrons of the shop watched the two of you leave together, and he followed you out and across the street to the market. He bought ingredients to make a fancy pasta that you struggled to pronounce the name of as you tried to repeat it after him. 

As the two of you walked back to your house, the sky cut loose, rain pouring down from the clouds. You shrieked at the cold rain, making him grin. You grabbed his hand and broke into a run toward your house, thankful the ingredients were in a waterproof bag. The two of you were soaked by the time you pushed open the door of your small yellow house. 

“It’s so cold!” You squealed, laughing as you kicked off your shoes inside and dropped your bag. Your hair stuck to your face, and his once-perfect hair had now fallen in dark waves. He set the ingredients on your table, and you tried to speak through your uncontrollable giggles.

“Give me your clothes, I can toss them in the dryer.”

“I haven’t got anything to change into,” He admitted and you shrugged.

“It’s fine, you’ll never dry like that, though.” You pointed out, pulling your own dress over your head, leaving you in tight black boy shorts and a matching bra. He admired your confidence, and you reached your hand out for his own clothes, a blush creeping across your face as you caught him looking at you for an extra moment. He kicked off his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing toned abs, and making you bite your lip. 

You took your clothes and tossed them in the dryer before lighting a fire in the fireplace. You grabbed a towel for him, and wrapped one around you, squeezing the moisture from your hair. 

“Your home is cute,” Loki said as he began to boil water for the pasta and he turned on the stove, making the sauce from scratch.

“Thank you!” you said proudly, earning a smile from him. You sat on the counter beside where he was cooking, watching the way his muscles moved as he expertly cooked. 

“Where’d you learn to cook?”

“I went to culinary school for a year.”

“Why’d you leave? Are you secretly a terrible cook?” You teased, kicking your feet and bringing a smile to his face.

“No, I wanted to study literature.”

You opened a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses that you drank prematurely while he cooked. You had returned to your place on the counter, watching in fascination as he made the meal. He described the process of making the dish as he did it, and you were enamoured by the gorgeous man. 

“Dinner, darling?” Loki inquired, serving two plates of the elaborate dish.

“Please!” You slipped off the counter, following him to the table. 

“Loki, this is incredible.” 

He thanked you, and you ate and he recalled horror stories that led to him leaving culinary school. He listened to your sweet laughter at his stories, finding himself laughing along with you. It was impossible not to with your contagious giggles. 

“I’ve never eaten a fancy dinner in a towel.”

“I’ve never cooked and eaten in a stranger’s home.” He confessed, making you grin at him.

You insisted on doing the dishes since he cooked, but he protested, not wanting you to feel like he was making you. You promised that you were happy to, and you turned to see him watching you with stunning blue eyes that you could drown in. 

“Y/N,” he said your name, taking your hand and pulling you closer to him. You smiled, biting your lip as you blushed. He leaned down and gently kissed you, and you melted into his touch. His touch was like electricity, and you reached up and threaded your fingers into his dark hair, deepening the kiss. 

He gently tugged at your towel and his, letting them fall from your bodies. He lifted you onto the counter, moving to stand between your legs as the two of you made out. 

You were blushing wildly as you finally broke away for air, and you gazed up into his blue eyes. 

“Finally.” you teased, and he laughed, kissing you again before moving down your jaw and your neck. His lips ghosted the column of your throat, and down to your chest, and you tangled your fingers back into his hair. You shivered at his touch, chills erupting on your skin at his light, erotic touches.

A soft whimper escaped your lips and he slid your bra straps down your arms, unclasping the back and letting it fall from your body.

“Gorgeous.” He murmured, making warmth spread through your chest. You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him carry you to bed, kissing him deeply.

| + |

Thunder rolled through the dark sky, and you stirred beside Loki. Opening your eyes, you saw it was early, too early to be out of bed. You studied the man beside you, who was still sleeping peacefully through the storm. Your hand rested on his chest, tracing light patterns against his skin. 

You leaned over him and lightly kissed his chest before slipping out of bed, pulling his now-dry t-shirt over your head. You went to the kitchen, making pancakes for breakfast, listening to the rain and thunder outside. 

You jumped with a small squeal as arms wrapped around my waist from behind. You back against his chest, and he buried his face in your shoulder, leaving gentle kisses up your neck.

“Thought you’d want breakfast to wait out the storm a bit before going back for your car.” You explained, and he kissed the back of your head, nodding. 

The two of you ate, and once the rain lifted, you walked him to get his car. He held your hand as you walked through the town, your fingers intertwined. You found yourself wishing he wouldn’t leave. 

You stood on the tarmac and watched him pull his car into the parking lot.

“You’re going, then? Off to your next adventure?” You asked, tears threatening to fall. 

“What if I stayed?”

You were shocked, and your eyes grew wide.

“If you’d have me.”  He spoke, getting out of the car. You ran to him and threw your arms around his neck, nodding fiercely. 

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #loki fanfic #loki au #loki smut #loki oneshot #loki series #loki friggason #loki #marvel #marvel au #fluff #smut #fanfic #god of mischief #traveler

[justcourttee]

hiiiii i don't know if you take prompts or requests or anything, but would you maybe consider writing a sequel to A Moment Too Late? maybe with a happy ending? i love your writing!!

I tried for what I’ll call a happy-ish ending, but I hope you still enjoy it! 

*WARNING* This piece and part 1 mention attempted suicide and can be difficult for some. Please, please, please be sure you feel comfortable reading about this topic before clicking below the title. 

In The Nick of Time

Damian took his first step into the city of love at 4:00 pm.  

He had a general idea of where to begin, but the combination of no sleep and jet lag was taking its toll. He had tried reaching out to her several times on the flight over, but she ignored his every effort. It could have just been the fact that she was in her classes. She may have been suicidal, but maybe she still took her education seriously?

It wasn’t likely, but it helped put his mind at some ease, hoping he still had time. His first order of business was renting a car. Technically speaking, his father had a villa on the outskirts of the city with a multitude of cars to pick from, but seeing as no one knew where he was, he wasn’t eager to tip them off.

He gazed over the taxis lined up, eagerly looking to take advantage of the tourists piling out of the airport behind him. He didn’t want someone to eager, he just needed someone who looked on the brim of exhaustion. His eyes landed on a poor man propped against his car, his eyes drooping like Tim before his first cup of the day. Perfect.

“Excuse me sir, but I’d like to rent your car from you for the day.”

The man peeked one eye open as he glanced warily over Damian.

“Scram kid, it’s a package deal, me and my car. You can’t just rent one or the other-”

Damian smirked as the man snatched the bundle of money from his hand, popping off the taxi light that stood on top of his car. As Damian slipped into the driver’s seat, he motioned for the man to step back over.

“Here’s a couple of extra bills to catch yourself a taxi home.”

The man’s mouth gaped as if he was searching for air underwater. Damian didn’t even bother to see if he would step back from the curb as he pulled off. The one benefit of the agonizing six-hour flight was Tim’s laptop. Damian had managed to hack into each of the high schools around the city until he narrowed it down to three Marinette’s. After looking at approximate ages and distance, he assumed she had to be the first; one Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Her family owned a bakery a little less than a mile from the high school and on the off chance she hadn’t stayed for any clubs or activities, she should be arriving there at any moment. Damian tapped the address into his phone ignoring the multitude of messages he had between his father and Dick.

It was a simple fifteen-minute drive from the airport.

Damian exhaled sharply as he sped down the exit. Fifteen minutes was enough time. It had to be enough time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .

“Welcome to the bakery! Is there anything I can interest you to today?”

The woman’s face wore a mixture of fake smiles and exhaustion. It might’ve been enough to fool the average customer, but to Damian, she simply looked one gust of wind from collapsing.

“Uhm, I’m looking for Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Is she here?”

Instantly her fake smile dropped and the exhaustion settled into the creases of her face. There wasn’t even a hint of worry at the mention of her daughter’s name from a stranger’s mouth. It irritated him.

“Look, whatever she did now, we don’t have any money for a settlement. Maybe you can work out a deal with her, but we have nothing more to give.”

The woman offered him a half bow before pointing him to a small door at the back of the store. He assumed she meant for him to go through it and without another word, he stepped past her. As he made his way up the countless stairs, his irritation only grew.

He was well aware that there were parents out there indifferent to their children, but his soulmate wasn’t supposed to have one. She was always so happy and carefree when they were younger, abusing the bond whenever she could. He assumed it was because her parents had drilled into her that it was within her right too. But after that short interaction, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Finally, a white door came into view. Hesitantly, he reached out the knob twisting without resistance. Inside was a moderate flat with what appeared to be an attic access. As first impressions went, he thought it seemed like a warm and gentle place to grow up in. Very different from the windowless stone building he began in.

He slipped out of his shoes, placing them beside a pair of light pink ballet flats before taking his first step. Someone was home and by the looks of it, it should be his soulmate. Damian contemplated on whether to call out or not. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he thought it might be worse if he just opened random doors instead. Finally, he settled on attempting their soulmate link once more.

“Marinette? Are you there?”

There was no answer, but he couldn’t be sure if that was just the continued strike from his earlier efforts. Tentatively, he took another step forward, his eyes scanning the apartment. It was pretty much an open concept, so he could see everything quite easily. The only thing that eluded him was the staircase leading above.

That had to be where she was.

“Marinette? That’s how you pronounce your name, right?” Damian sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to hit himself. No matter how he intended it, he sounded like he was some stalker here to kidnap her. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just wanted to talk.”

It didn’t sound any better. Maybe he should've stuck with a gentle introduction through their bond. Speaking out loud only reminded him how terrible he was with people. Animals were easier. Everything that needed to be said could be expressed through body language.

Biting the bullet, he decided it couldn’t get any worse than barging straight up the staircase into the attic. As he pushed open the access, the first thought that crossed his mind was-

“A mess,” clothes were strewn across the floor, remnants of paper scattered within the piles. The walls were a soft pink at one point, but it looked as if someone had taken a paint scraper to them, mere flakes hanging on by a thread. For such a well-put-together apartment, the room almost seemed abandoned.

Pulling himself into the room, Damian left his legs to dangle, his toes longing for the security of the stairs just below him. It didn't seem that she was in here either. He remembered passing another floor, perhaps that was also part of their apartment? Just as he decided to plant his feet back onto the sturdy steps, his fingers brushed over one of the scraps of paper he had seen earlier.

Instinctively, he pulled his hand away from the floor, his eyebrows furrowing. Damian was fairly certain that wasn’t how paper should feel. Reaching back out, he gathered a few nearby scraps. Turning them over one by one, a picture began to form. A group of girls, all laughing completely lost in a moment of time. His curiosity bested him as he pulled himself into the room, gathering each of the scraps he could find.

A half dozen photos was all he could form by the time he collected the larger pieces. Most were group shots, but two were of a blonde guy. Upon further analysis, he determined that he was the son of the fashion dictator Gabriel Agreste. He had seen the boy at a couple of Bruce’s international parties.

Perhaps she thought he was attractive? After all, the photos seemed to be ripped from a magazine, unlike the other four. As he glanced around the room once more, he felt like he had finally found a straw to grasp at. A reason she dropped so far, so fast.

But as much as he gathered from her room, he still had no idea as to where she might be. Her shoes were at the door, but it didn’t seem as if she was anywhere in the apartment. Standing slowly, Damian took a step back toward the access he had entered through when a breeze tickled the back of his neck.

His entire body stiffened as his hand moved slowly to where he kept his emergency kunai.

“Is that you, Marinette? If so, you’re pretty good at masking your presence. I didn’t even sense you approaching.”

There was no response, but now that he knew she was there, it was easier to pick up on her shallow breathing. In one swift movement, Damian flicked his wrist backward, ducking to avoid any retaliation.

A soft grunt earned a glance backward, his eyes widening a bit at the sight. She hadn’t even tried to dodge it. Lodged into her right shoulder was his kunai, and just below it, centimeters away from her heart, was a pocket knife. A bright pink light blinded him and instinctively his arms darted out. When he could see again, a petite figure rested against his frame.

“Marinette?” She was unresponsive, a deep ruby dripping from her wounds. “Marinette!”

What was this panic he felt rising? He’d seen comrades die on the battlefield before, wounds more deadly than this. So why couldn’t he move? Logically, he knew he had to act fast, but his body wouldn’t inch.

“You’re her soulmate, right? Do something!” Damian’s head snapped up, but he couldn’t find where the voice came from. Whoever it was, it was enough to break whatever daze he had fallen into.

“Okay Marinette, I have basic medical training and I can patch you, slow the bleeding, but I can’t remove either blade. Do you understand? I’m going to have to move you, quickly and as stable as possible.” Her breathing was shallow, but her eyelids flickered in what he hoped was a response. As gently as her could, he lifted her into his arms, attempting to avoid moving either stab wound. Her soft grunt pulled at his heart. “Hold on a little longer Marinette, please, I need to apologize.”

The stairs were one agonizing moment after another and as he laid her into the backseat of his rented car, he felt winded himself. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Damian quickly pulled out his phone, cursing as it slid through his hands.

“Dammit, where did it fall?” He frantically searched, his heart rate rising with every passing moment. Was this the world’s way of punishing him? He killed and fought and argued every passing moment of his life. He pushed her away and now that he thought he was making a change, he could just waltz back into her life as if nothing had happened? He wasn’t going to make it.

“Just drive, I’ll guide you.” Had he finally lost it? It was the same imaginary voice he had heard before. Perhaps it was his subconscious, a guardian angel? Could he really trust it? “Drive boy, take a left at the stop sign.”

He couldn’t afford to wait another moment so he did what felt most logical; he drove. The drive was killing him, each painful breath becoming slower, a dagger to his heart as they escaped from her mouth.

“Just leave the car in the front, save my friend.” The only thing keeping him going was the voice.

Damian had barely parked, his feet already slamming on the pavement before the engine had stopped. Gathering her into his arms, he burst through the sliding doors, the fear rising in his throat.

“Help! I need help!” He knew his French was rusty, but he had to try. The nurse tentatively approached him, her gasp needing no explanation. A stretcher was rushed, and as they ripped her from his arms, Damian couldn’t help the anger he felt.

“Be careful with her! She’s going to die if they shift too much!” A security guard stepped over, his hands raised as if he meant to calm Damian. He took another step forward, trying to grip Damian’s arm. “What are you doing? I need to be with her! Marinette I’m right here! Can’t you hear me? I need you Marinette! Please don’t leave me!”

Damian watched as they placed the stethoscope on her chest, grim expressions hastening their step.

“Don’t look at her like that! Help her! Please!” It felt as if his lungs were collapsing, his vision blurring. Why was he reacting like this? He barely knew her. In fact, this was his first time ever seeing her.

“Sir, please calm down. They are treating your friend right now, the best thing you can do for her is sit and wait.”

The man led him to a couch where his legs finally caved, his back sinking into the chair. Damian lifted his hands to his face, wiping the tears he hadn’t even realized he had cried, but it only left his cheeks damper than before. Slowly, he pulled back his hands, his stomach plummeting. There wasn’t an inch of skin left uncovered by the red.

“Oh, oh,” Had he really not noticed how much blood she had lost? He was so focused on getting her here that he didn’t even consider if she would make it. “I thought I could make it, I thought I still had time.”

Damian recognized this feeling rising in his chest. It was the same as when he collapsed on the roof, the same as when he heard from her after so many years of silence. Was this what his mother meant by a soulmate bond being a distraction?

He had never understood why people took the insane challenge of fighting his Grandfather for a chance to leave the league in search of their soulmate. If he was honest, he thought it was a pointless endeavor and he couldn’t begin to imagine how someone believed they could pull it off. But, as his chest tightened with the rising waves of nausea, a realization washed over him.

A soulmate bond was so powerful that even if you just met them, you felt the need to protect them, to care for them. You became vulnerable for them, scared to lose them, terrified of how the world would be without them. It was a terrible weakness and a strong ally.

“Can you walk to the bathroom?” Damian felt his head stir, but it was as if it were being pulled by strings, out of his control. “I’ll explain everything if you could just meet me there.”

How could this voice be so all-knowing? Hadn’t it just surfaced from his subconscious as a way to kickstart his movement again? Yet, if that were the case, why did he find himself rising, stumbling toward the bathroom in a daze?

He slipped into the closest stall, collapsing against the door, the minute it locked. Why did he feel so drained? It was less than 500 feet.

“Do you need to sit down? I know that this must be hard on you.”

Damian’s eyes scanned the stall in search of a source for the voice, but alas, he came up with nothing. Sliding to the ground, he chuckled to himself, his hand clutching his shirt.

“I’ve finally lost it. Todd told me this day would come, but how could a dumbass like him even know?”

“You haven’t lost anything, I’m right in front of you, you just have to push through the veil.”

Damian perked up, squinting his eyes at the space directly in front of him. Slowly, but surely, his eyes focused on a red blur until the floating object came into full view.

“Holy shi-” Two paw-like things pressed his lips together, a disapproving look monopolizing its small face.

“Can you keep it down? And what’s with all this foul language? I can’t say I approve of you being my Chosen’s soulmate with a mouth like that.”

It floated a few inches away, crossing its arms as if trying to push the point across. Damian tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He was positive that he hadn’t had anything. Perhaps this was one of those sleepless hallucinations that Drake constantly rambled on about?

“I know that look, I’m not a hallucination, I’m a kwamii! My name is Tikki and I am Marinette’s partner. Together, we merge to become the superheroine of Paris, Ladybug.”

Ladybug? He had heard Bruce mention a Parisian team. They asked for any heroes to stay out of Paris as their villain was one that manipulated emotions, turning his victims into puppets of his own bidding. No wonder Bruce and Dick were blowing up his phone. They weren’t just worried about him running off, they were also worried about him breaking an international treaty.

Damian blinked slowly as he processed the image in front of him. Kwamiis. He had heard the legend of them back when he was apart of the League of Assassins, but he had no idea they truly existed. Why was his soulmate in possession of the most powerful being in the world?

“It’s a long story soulmate of the Chosen. I have traveled long and wide and have had many wielders before, but never one as capable as Marinette. When I first found myself as her partner, she was clumsy and shy, but so friendly and kind, always going out of her way to help people. Together, we defeated the original Hawkmoth, but in the battle, his kwamii was reclaimed by one of his partners and a new Lady Hawk emerged.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The kwamii shot him a questioning look as if the answer was obvious.

“I’m trying to give you the full picture of where it all began. You blame yourself as the catalyst, but you were only a small stepping stone in her downfall, almost not worth mentioning.”

Damian felt an odd swelling in his chest. It almost felt like, relief? Had he really been this worried that he had pushed her down this path? A lonesome tear trickled from his eye, but he was quick to snatch away.

“Marinette had friends, a boyfriend even. She wasn’t completely lost without a soulmate. After all, her parents weren’t soulmates, and her best friend was rejected by their soulmate too. She was happy.” The kwamii paused, her smile reminiscing before it slowly morphed into a frown. But it all changed when a wretched girl transferred into her middle school.”

“Just one girl changed everything?”

The kwamii nodded, small tears forming.

“She was the real catalyst. The reason everything fell apart.”

Damian lost track of how long he sat listening to the small God. When he stood to return to the waiting room, he couldn’t help but clench his fist in an attempt to calm himself. Marinette had to pull through, she just had to. Damian had to show her that there was more to life than this shitty one in Paris. He had to rescue her like his family had for him.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was 36 hours before he was allowed back to see her.

She had been lucky, the knife had missed her vital organs and even though it had punctured her lung, she seemed to be on track for a full recovery, one that she needed to take slowly. Damian dealt with the police on her behalf and thanks to Tikki’s information, he was able to help them identify the mugger.

Tikki had gone ahead to talk to Marinette and to give him time to freshen up. He didn’t have much, but the little he had packed at least got him fresh clothing, clothing not stained with her blood. Alfred would not be happy with him once he returned.

Damian was unsure how to approach her. He had found some flowers in the gift shop he thought were nice and some chocolates as well. But as he stood in front of her hospital room, he realized he hadn’t figured out the first thing he should say to her.

I’m sorry? No, that sounded too arrogant after everything she had been through. My name’s Damian, I saved your life? No, that would be condescending. God, he really hated talking to people.

“Are you going to come in or just sit outside all day?” Her voice sent shivers down his spine. She hadn’t always been this cold, but he couldn’t blame her.

Hesitantly, he reached out, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. She looked angry, slight red emphasized on her pale skin, the dark circles under her eyes protruding as if they dared him to comment on them. There were a million and one wires and tubes poking out in different directions, some hooked to machines, some to random bags of fluid.

Yet, despite all of it, she still looked absolutely stunning.

“Well, sit down or something. You’re creeping me out just standing there.”

Damian shuffled awkwardly to the opposite side of her bed, his legs wobbling as he lowered himself into the chair.

“Uhm, I brought you some flowers-”

“I hate the color white.” Damian felt his eyebrow twitch, but he tried his best to hold back the expression he felt. Gently, he reached back, setting the flowers on the windowsill.

“I-Uhm-I also brought you some chocolat-”

“I’m on a liquid-only diet for the next two weeks.”

Damian could feel the red rushing to his face as he breathed deeply. He knew there was a chance that she would be spiteful, but he hadn’t been completely ready for it. His fuse was short, even if it was his soulmate, he wasn’t sure he could contain the explosion.

“Are you feeling any better?” Marinette scoffed, her eyes never leaving her hands.

“Did you fly all the way to Paris for small talk Damian?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing his next words might be his last. “Ask what you really want to. Like why did I detransform before trying to face the mugger? Or why have I tried to kill myself multiple times even if each time ended in failure?”

“I-”

“Ask me why all my friends left me. Ask me why my master chose the easy way out, forgetting everything before passing on weeks later without even a single message about his death from him or his girlfriend. Ask me why I hate life so much that I just don’t see the reason in living anymore. Ask me if I think you’ll change my mind! Spoiler alert! You won’-”

“God woman, do you ever shut up? Give me five damn seconds to get my thoughts together.”

Damian instantly felt the eyes of Tikki fall upon him, the anger draining from his body only to be replaced by his rising fear. He felt the apology building up, but before he could even let the first word spill out, a bitter laugh cut him off.

“Yeah, I do shut up. But only sometimes. I figured Tikki told you everything. I also figured you’d have questions. I’m not interested in telling my sob story over again and I’m not interested in some knight in shining armor swooping in to save me, Got it?”

Damian tried to speak, but it was as if his voice were caught in his throat. What could he say to her? He wasn’t trying to be her knight? He didn’t need her explanations? Everything sounded so thoughtless, but he couldn’t string together one coherent and earnest sentence to save his life.

“What I am interested in is your nonsensical shouting. You ‘need me’? You just met me, how do you know that you need me?”

If he wasn’t already as red as a tomato, he was certain that was how he looked now.

“I,” he cleared his voice, praying to whatever was listening to keep the crack away, “I just had this feeling swell up in my chest seeing you like that. I was terrified and it scared me. It scared me to feel that way about someone who I had just laid eyes on. I had heard about soulmate bonds and how they affect you. They can strengthen you, but they can also be your downfall. I needed to get to know you, to know how our bond would affect me.”

He paused, the feeling of her eyes on him choking him up.

“I, uh, I know it’s selfish, but I couldn’t let you die. You don’t have to believe me, you don’t even have to listen to me, but I have been where you are before. But before I could even make my first attempt, I had a group of people come into my life, people who lifted me up and saved me. I was scared that you didn’t have that and I arrogantly believed I could do that for you. I’m truly sorry Marinette,  but I refuse to apologize for saving your life. If I could, I would do it over and over and over again as many times as it takes until you decide to keep living.”

The silence was deafening. Even if she just yelled at him and told him to leave, he would take it over this quiet. He didn’t dare look up, he barely felt the urge to breathe. It was as if everything fiber in him was holding their breath, waiting to hear her response, any response.

“You’re really not gonna leave me alone, huh?”

Her voice sounded tight as if she were holding back tears. The urge surged through him to reach forward and pull her into a hug, but he contained himself, defaulting to a simple nod instead. Again, the silence followed, but he was patient. He would wait all day if it meant hearing her speak again.

“Fine. I’m not guaranteeing a damn thing, but I can offer you a start.”

“A start?” Damian risked a small glance up, his heart racing at the sight. She was smiling, a genuine smile. It looked out of place among her tear-stained face, but he would be lying if he didn’t say it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

“Yeah, apparently I’m going to need someone to stay by my side 24/7 when they release me. Someone to take care of me. A stay-at-home nurse if you will. So, I nominate you, Damian. Your response?”

“Absolutely, it would be my honor.” His reply was instant, his smile unwavering even after she chucked her pillow at him, cussing him out in a manner that Todd would be proud of.

Yes, it was just a start. Yes, it didn't mean anything was fixed. But, there was one thing that put his heart at ease.

He wasn’t too late.

No, in fact, he was just in time to save her life. And at that very moment, he vowed to never wait till it was almost too late again.

Despite everything that had happened, he decided he could live with that.

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#marinette x damian #maribat #daminette

[lanamemories]

red mist | self para

This was a dream.

Or maybe just a reality where the colours looked kinder. Softer, somehow. Like they wouldn’t cut your fingers to reach out and touch. Blurred at the edges, whipped up that way by an abnormally large whisk. 

She didn’t know it, though. Didn’t know anything, in this place, only that the wind was on her cheeks and she was floating way up high, legs flailing without a resting point.

“What is it that you want, Lana?”

The voice was familiar, but no matter how much she craned her neck, she couldn’t see a source. Only blue. Clouds that looked painted onto a canvas by a delicately bristled brush.

She was alone.

“I don’t know,” was all she could come up with for the time being, too consumed by the texture of the breeze beneath her hands to think about anything else. If she pressed just right, the howls of air felt like fingers. She couldn’t stop trying to grasp them, even though they weren’t grasping back. Even though they weren’t real in the first place.

“You do know, you just know that you can’t have it.”

Letting out a scoff, Lana flipped onto her back, eyes on a giant gumdrop sun. It was simultaneously ablaze and melting, dripping globs of purple into the sea below at every passing hour towards sunset. By eight P.M., it would have come apart enough to sizzle holes through her limbs, collapsing over the entire world and engulfing everything in one.

For some reason, the prospect didn’t scare her.

“Way to be totally cryptic. Feel like I’m in, like… one of those weird little fortune teller tents. The ones with shitty lighting, and cloths draped over everything. With a crystal ball.”

“You’re scared.”

Hands coming together on top of her stomach, she locked her fingers with her eyes on the two-dimensional sky. It looked like a piece of wrapping paper plastered over the lid of a shoe box. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could even see that the corners were dog eared and drooping, contemplating a divorce from the Blu Tack. But everything looked that way, if she really paid attention.

Everything was falling apart, when she took a close enough look.

Instead, she shut her eyes.

“Bit hypocritical, coming from someone I can’t even see. What are you, hiding behind a curtain like the Wizard of Oz? Crouching in a dark cave in the corner, like Gollum? Sounds like you’re the scared one, to me. Like… Got you there. Check mate, or whatever people say. Check… Is that right? Check mate? Whatever. Chess is boring.”

“You can see me,” the voice replied, calm and composed like an ancient deity.

“Can’t. I just tried. Can you, like… I’m trying to relax, a little. Sun bathe, and stuff, so--”

“Open your eyes, again.”

Prying her fingers loose of their formation, Lana pushed upright with her elbows on a surface that wasn’t there. All around her, now that her eyes were open, she could see tiny flecks of red mist. Palm upturned and fingers splayed, she lifted her hand to sift gingerly over the closest patch, combing through with the tips of her middle and index. It felt like dragging your hand through a clump of finely woven thread, except that you never got tangled.

He wouldn’t want her to get stuck.

“Tommy, that’s not funny,” she immediately spat out, wriggling backwards and frantically swiping her hands down on the red striped white of her gym socks, staining the elasticated border.

She’d had the same ones pulled up around her calves on the morning she got the call, sixteen years old and hand clutching the receiver like it’d been super glued that way, unable to feel real enough to be able to use her limbs yet.

“It’s kind of funny,” said the voice, and she could almost hear his grin in it. How not a single tooth was crooked. The way it caught a glare like the flash of an old camera, so white you had to blink a few times to acclimatise.

“It isn’t, Tommy. It isn’t, you just always had a shitty sense of humour. It isn’t funny,” Lana insisted, and when she did, the mist seemed to part around her feet. Then her thighs. Then her shoulders. Then, in a blink, the entire sky was raining except for on her. “Can’t I see your face, instead?”

“This is the last way I was, though. I can’t do anything about that, and neither can you.”

Tugging her knees to her chest, Lana perched her chin on top as she hugged them close.

“He doesn’t let me say your name, you know.”

It went without saying that she was talking about her brother Caleb.

The air seemed to go colder, at the thought of him alone. Like Tommy could sense how sad he was, without him, and he didn’t know what else to do about it other than shiver.

“I know.”

Lana wasn’t sure when it happened, but the sea had risen enough that she could stretch a toe and soak the end of her sock with it. Doing so felt like someone had spooned a clump of clotted cheese on top of her foot, weighed down slightly with the water, but she didn’t mind. If she shut her eyes again, extra tight, she could pretend it was Tommy clutching it inside of a big hand. He’d done that, once, when he was trying to tickle a laugh out of her. She’d accidentally bucked her leg out like a wild donkey and clipped him in the side of the head.

It was one of her favourite memories to live inside.

“I want to say it, sometimes. I want--…” The words felt like crushed glass that she was trying to hack up out of her throat. Like she’d have to spit them out in pieces, with her lips left shredded in the aftermath. Stringing down her chin. “I want to say that I miss you, too.”

“I know,” the voice said again, slightly softer this time. “I know you do.”

Small smile perking her lips at the edges, Lana cleared her throat. Doing so turned on a few stadium spotlights around her, heat boring down like a Hollywood set for a scene that was meant to be sunny. It wasn’t quite natural, though. It didn’t feel warm.

“What did you ask me, earlier? I can’t remember. But I’ll answer, now. I’ll answer, now that it’s you.”

“Knew you had a crush on me.”

Spluttering out a laugh, Lana’s eyes shot open and she flung a glare around her, at no fixed point in particular.

“Shut up, I did not!”

“You did, but it’s cool. A lot of people did. I was sort of a catch, that way.”

Lana rolled her eyes but hugged her knees a bit tighter. She wanted to say something funny, to say that she might have missed him, but she didn’t miss how much he was full of it, but her tongue wouldn’t let her lie.

The truth was, she missed all of it. Even the bad bits. Even the bits that got him in trouble.

“Yeah, you were. Think--… Think Caleb always thought so, too.”

The mist stilled.

Then, the voice answered back.

“We don’t talk about that. You know he can’t, yet.”

“I know,” she replied -- her turn to repeat the phrase, this time. “Yeah, I know.”

“What is it that you want, Lana?” There was a long pause, stretching on forever like a tireless string of elastic, until eventually the voice snapped back and pinged her on the nose. “That was the question. You said you’d answer it.”

Sinking down onto her back, Lana gently pressed the back of her head against the water’s surface, scalp tingling with the fresh onset of cold. She couldn’t see it, but where she’d touched the water, it had started to ripple out shadows, tinting the entire surface for as many miles as the eyes could see.

Darker and darker.

Darker and darker.

No matter how brightly the stadium lights blared.

“I want… to close doors at night, and have Caleb open them the next morning. I, um… I want to wash my hands and feel like they’re clean, you know? I want to forget about all the things they’ve touched. Just once. I want… I want Zeke’s brain to get better, like magic. I want to wave a special wand, that’s, like… red, with a gold star on the end, and have it undo everything. Everything bad I’ve ever done. And I--... I want Teddy to be happy, and I want it to be--... I want it to feel okay. I want it to feel okay, that he’s never going to be happy with me.”

Stretching a hand up into the air above her, Lana dappled fingertips through the layer of mist that marked her own personal barricade. She stirred through the damp like she was sifting through sand, searching for a special piece that she’d only know when she saw it.

The most Tommy piece.

The piece that used to come together with a hundred others, before they were all blown apart into thousands.

The bits that made his hands.

“I think I want to feel clean, or something. I’ve never really felt that clean.”

“Maybe other people are the dirty ones. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“No,” she answered a little too fast, swallowing something down that felt rigid and round, as hard in her throat as a fallen acorn. “No, that isn’t it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Lana shot right back, hand still drifting to test the mist’s texture like she was intent on making something whole out of what was left. Like she wouldn’t stop searching, until she’d found him.

“You’re not telling me what you really want. I think you know that.”

Her eyebrows pinched; expression indignant.

“I’m not lying.”

“No, I know you’re not. You don’t do that, a lot, you just skirt around the truth. You admit smaller ones, that hurt less. Give people an inch so they won’t take a mile.”

“Feed a scrap to a stray dog so it won’t eat your entire arm,” Lana provided another explanation, small smile unfurling like a clenched fist that had finally gone loose. “I don’t know how you do that. You always, like… You see everything. You always did.”

“Yeah, Lana,” the voice spoke again, sounding a little sad to be doing it at all. Like he was waning, slightly. Like she was about to wake up. “I saw everything. I think Caleb did, too. And I think you know that, but you don’t want to admit it. Because then, it was real. Then, it really happened.”

Arms laid flat either side of her on an ocean that had turned entirely black, Lana revelled in the wet licking up her elbows, her knuckles, ankles, backs of the knees, spine. Any part that she’d given over to the water.

“You’re scared.”

“God,�� Lana exhaled suddenly, wrenched upright so that she could sit and stare, talking to the air like a wire in her brain had been pried loose, if anyone else was watching. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“You’re scared,” the voice repeated, making something inside of her squirm.

“I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You’ve always been scared.”

“Okay. Okay! Okay, I get it. I get it, Tommy, I’m scared. I’m scared. Is that what you wanted me to say? I’m scared. It’s--… It’s fine for you, isn’t it?” came as she threw a glance around, watching the way the red mist wobbled, unsettled by the gust of a strong breeze. The sun was only a few globs away from setting. A thumbprint next to her hip bone had been worn straight through, burnt away with a drop of liquid sun until you could have leaned close and pressed your eye to it, stared through like it was a stone cut looking glass or a pirate’s telescope. “It’s fine for you, because you’re not here. It’s fine for you, because you’re just gone. You just get to float, and you don’t even have to--… You don’t even have to do anything, because you’re just gone. Do you, like…” trailed off, exasperated breath escaping. “Do you get what it’s like, being here?”

“I know, Lana. I get it.”

“You don’t. You took him with you, you know. You took him with you, and I’m here on my own. And people--… People are bad, all the time. People are bad, and I’m on my own. I’m--… I’m on my own.”

“I know.”

Hugging her knees close again, Lana clenched her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at any of it. Not the gumdrop sun that was seconds away from collapsing. Not the black ocean she was sitting on without sinking. Not the red mist that a piece of live ammunition had detonated Tommy into as soon as he set foot on top of it.

It felt like a long time before she spoke, again.

“Can we just… Can you just stay, a little while? Just until I wake up. I just like… I just like to hear your voice, I think. I think I just like to hear your voice.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Lana. You know it doesn’t. You’re going to wake up, soon.”

Staying extra still like the slightest jostle would make it true, Lana kept her eyes squeezed shut, so tight that she was sure her corneas were about to burst, explode with juice like a grape beneath the heel of a socked foot.

“I would’ve spat in Danny’s shitty little face, you know,” the voice mumbled, retreating up to the sky again like a bird due south for winter, setting course for a long hibernation. He sounded amused, at the thought, until suddenly, when he next spoke, he didn’t. “I would’ve been there.”

“I know,” Lana whispered, eyes still closed as her lips muffled against the caps of her knees, held close and so tight that her elbows were starting to tremble. “I know, but I need to wake up now, right? I know, but you weren’t. You aren’t.”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered, barely audible above the howl of the wind that was swallowing him whole. Blowing the mist away, where she couldn’t keep touching it.

The sun had melted.

The ocean was black.

The sky was painted blue.

“Yeah, you need to wake up.”

#self para #death tw #grief tw #injury tw #trauma tw #this ws genuinely......so depressing bt i jst randomly gt struck w inspiration to write like. a dream sequence lana had abt #her brothers best friend so!! #flings this n then runs to shower bc i hav to head to a friends

[ryujinrk]

-.✦･｡ﾟMGA season 5: episode 5, kyung’s outfit (lyrics + line distribution)            performing block b “jackpot” with @rkjaemin & @rksuwoong 

They look absolutely ridiculous in their brightly yellow outfits that makes them all look like some giant bumble bees but honestly, Ryujin does believe that if they are going to have a fair chance to win this whole thing they need to walk the extra mile that she reckon some people will skip. It should be more than enough to gain attention though, and part of her love, love, love, that they are actually about to be this extra about the whole concept. They aren’t only covering the song, they are stepping into the roles with the same enthusiasm as Block B.

Considering how the week started it’s almost unbelieveable how comfortably Ryujin sit next to her partners, SUWOONG in particular, their first impressions of each other so turbulent it even resulted in the teen experiencing her very first migraine attack that sent her to the infirmary. If it wasn’t for JAEMIN then the trio would likely have been doomed because truthfully, the dynamic between them was just that bad. They call themselves the Golden Trio and are the very last to parform today; saving the best group for last, is what she like to believe. 

There are so many strong song choices this week but for some reason, she is confident in her own group. It’s a familiar trait for her to be convinced of the fact that her stages are good but it isn’t just her this time, Ryujin has such strong faith in the Golden Trio because they have been through both good and bad together, they have bonded in a way that she think has brought the three of them closer. The performances start off strong, some certainly more interesting than others, and she looks forward to the group that she shared practice room with.

Ryujin is beyond excited when they head down to ready themselves to perform, the eyes that she has felt piercing through her the entire month suddenly don’t feel so scary anymore since the truth has finally been brought to the table. CHAERYEONG, NAKYUNG and WOOJIN step away from the stage and leave it empty, ready for the very last group to perform. She walk out with the males that she has worked with for seven days straight, a cheeky grin playing on her lips as she know that they look silly. They introduce themselves, THE GOLDEN TRIO. 

“I’m Lee Suwoong, I’m Na Jaemin, I’m Shin Ryujin - And we are the Golden Trio!”

Not necessarily because they are the best, though she believes that SUWOONG would argue that they most certainly are-- she too, honestly, but the group name means something more to complete their concept. As they shift into their positions she know that they are starting quickly, and she has to hit the beat, which has yet to be a hinder for her. They look stiff like dolls, which obviously is by purpose, their whole posture revealing what they are aiming for. Tense shoulders, bright smiles, head moving from one side to the other as Ryujin voice the first line.

0.00 저 오빠들 이상해 Those oppas are weird

She almost can’t contain herself when SUWOONG screams, that alone setting the mood for a great performance, but she remain professional and instead of laughing she grin genuinely as she move behind the elder as she and JAEMIN pose as the current backup dancers. They are swiftly and playfully shifting between who carry that particular role, depending on who’s in front doing their part. JAEMIN is the first one out with a proper verse, the two others dancing slightly differently to him before they hide behind him, only to pop out soon after to each his sides.

His rap is flawless in Ryujin’s ears and she is proud, in one way, to see him perform something like this. He’s quiet and usually keeps to himself, so that he agreed to such an energetic stage definitely took her by surprise. It’s fun though, they are having fun-- she thinks, at least. She is preparing herself for for the next part of the song, the first verse that she has been assigned. It suited her perfectly, being able to pretend for a moment that she is the famous P.O of Block B-- he’s not a dancer, they don’t have that in common, which makes it so much more fun.

Fit한 턱시도와 Brand new shoes Fit tuxedo and brand new shoes 여비서와 Well-being food Female secretary and well-being food 근사하게 외출준비, Fabulously get ready to go, 눈떠보니까 꿈이야 opened my eyes and it was a dream

난 지금 레이스중 I’m in the middle of a race 내 출세가 남에겐 Bad news My success to others is bad news

Midways into her verse the males position themselves perfectly to each her side, SUWOONG kneel in front of her to the right side while JAEMIN stand suspiciously to her left. The former is supposedly, through acting, kicked away and at the same time the latter is knocked to the very opposite side. The first part of the rap lacks dancing from her side as P.O refrain from it during the original choreography, but when she moves into the short part of dancer and rapper U-kwon she get a chance to do both herself. The song has a short pause, before the refrain.

SUWOONG comes in strong as he always does, during a part that requires a power vocal. It’s potentially risky picking a song with such power vocals but Ryujin has faith in her partners, the very least she can do is believe in them as they have practiced their asses off for seven days straight to make it through. He and JAEMIN share most of the refrain as well as the bridge, she only has one line in there but that’s okay, she is about to deliver a full verse soon after anyway. High kicks, twirls and giddy moves shift into the puppeteer dance from the intro.

While the males stood in front during that particular part Ryujin slide effortlessly in, in front of JAEMIN and lead the march of dolls until another playful fighting scene takes place to introduce her next verse. One apparent hit from one male, another from the other, twirl a few times and then JAEMIN kicks her off into the spotlight again. She absolutely loves this song, there is so much happening although there is a obvious red thread throughout the whole masterpiece. She grins broadly, the others waiting in the background for their choreo to start.

Aight- 나이를 먹어도 Even though I age 지갑은 탄력 넘치겠지 I bet my wallet will become very flexible 헛스윙 날려도 나, Though I make a bad swing, 나이스샷이라는 Caddie “nice shot” says my caddie 나를 무시했던 놈들에게 I will shake the hands of those who ignore me 복수대신 악수를 건네네 instead of getting revenge 조심해 넥타이와 손목시계는 Be careful, my necktie and wristwatch 목줄 또는 수갑으로 변해 becomes a collar and handcuffs

During the fourth line she swing her hand as if holding a baseball bat, the others pretending to watch the imaginary ball fly away. Part of her can relate to the lyrics that she’s assigned, from the very start to the end. These oppas are weird, they most certainly are. Fabulously get ready to go, opened my eyes and it was a dream, she was ready to debut but suddenly she was cancelled. I will shake the hands of those who ignore me instead of getting revenge, she is better than a certain someone who most definitely deserved revenge.

The beat shift slightly during her verse and while the origianl choreography calls for two girls, as backup dancers, and a somewhat suggestive squat, SUWOONG and JAEMIN came up with an alternative that they were both comfortable with. Ryujin follows the original choreography as the dance itself is rather basic, she’s only moving her free hand, lowering her body at one time, and then getting back up just in time for SUWOONG to lead her out of the spotlight like a cop and a criminal so that JAEMIN could step into center. They walk casually back and behind him, as to effortlessly claim the roles as backupdancers once again.

Refrain comes, refrain goes-- bridge and finally, the final act of their show. SUWOONG, along with Ryujin, pretent to fight in a silly manner. One hit, another hit, Ryujin pretends to grab onto the other’s blazer before JAEMIN breaks them apart as he then lead them into the final refrain and thus the ending part. Ryujin was looking forward to this bit the most, the entire stage has been practiced to fit perfection but this last scene was something that they came up with all by themselves. SUWOONG, in fact, but she loved the idea so she went with it. They all share a line here and a line there, performing around one another just like practiced.

And then...

When JAEMIN voice that they have hit the jackpot they begin to toss out a bit of chocolate coins to the audience, like they are sharing their wealth with everyone else. It’s hilarious that they are the final group on the stage performing, having this ending to the whole lineup-- the coins complete the act, in Ryujin’s eyes and she feel amazing as she close up the stage. Her eyes meet some random pairs in the audience, they meet the judges, and Ryujin is goofing around while having fun. 

라라라 라랄라, uh, Luxury Luxury life Lalala lalala, uh, luxury luxury life 라라라 라랄라, Get that money money Lalala lalala, get that money money get that right get that right 라라라 라랄라, Luxury Luxury life Lalala lalala, luxury luxury life Anyway we’re playing hard to get lucky Anyway we’re playing hard to get lucky

NOTE!! please pretend like ryujin is as energic, joyful, playful and expressive as they are in the original performance stage. i know i didn’t get to write that obviously bc i’m short on time :(

#rkmga5 #rkmga5trios #rkjaemin #rksuwoong #~*(wc: 1437;)

[jungkookienoona]

The Meme and His Tutor

Part 30: The Day The Surprise Was Revealed

Co-written with @tragicshadows

Recommended Song: DNA by BTS

|All Chapters|Masterlist|

Summary:

The wait is finally over.

Genre: Fluff, comedy

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count:  3579

Length: 30/?

You woke with a yawn and languidly stretched before rubbing your eyes and sitting up. Once again you had woken up feeling refreshed after Jungkook had sang you to sleep. Getting out of bed, you stumbled into the kitchen while trying not to trip over the mess that was the floor. Since being accepted into university, you'd began packing for real. Boxes and bags were everywhere you looked.

Jungkook had suddenly gained some extra free time. Something about your surprise being ready so he no longer has to suck up to Bang PD-nim. Excitement had been bubbling up inside you for days after you found out. You thought you were going to burst! Yet, you still didn't have a damn clue what he had planned. You hoped to god it was a visit. Scenarios of him turning up outside your door had replaced your nightmares. It was cruel of fate to put such distance between you when your relationship had just begun.

You took a seat at your kitchen table, resting your head in your hands as you waited for a mug of milk to heat up in the microwave and a slice of toast to pop out of the toaster.

The words 'I miss you' couldn't even describe how you felt towards Jungkook any more. It was more than that. Skype calls were no longer enough to satisfy your need to see him. You wanted to hold him again. To hug him, kiss him, share a bed and watch anime with him. You wanted cute outings and coffee shop dates. But you couldn't have that while you were in different countries.

It hurt.

The ding of the microwave almost made you fall out of your seat in shock. Taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart, you went over and took out your milk. Once the toast was complete, and you'd buttered it, you went back to your bedroom and took a seat at your desk. You were waiting for an email from the accommodations team about where you would be spending a year of your life. You really hoped you got a room on campus with good housemates. And an en-suite.

You tucked into your breakfast as your laptop booted up. The whirling of the fans had steadily been growing louder over the past few days and was making you worry. You really couldn't afford a new one at the moment. And your laptop was your precious baby, it was full of your memories. You urged it on, tapping the keyboard gently and let out a cry of joy when it finally showed your sign-in screen.

After logging in, you navigated to your emails. Since results day you were regularly receiving news from different companies and services. If your university wasn't trying to update you on progress, some clothing brand was trying to convince you to 'stock up on uni essentials'! But living by yourself meant you already had all the essentials.

Refreshing the page, since it didn't do it automatically sometimes, you were met with an email entitled ‘Congratulations’... from a Korean university. What? You opened the email, mouth falling open in shock at it the header that greeted you.

'Congratulations on your acceptance to Seoul National University! Here's what to do next...'

Again, what? That couldn't have been right. You double checked your name. Yep, there it was clear as day. But you didn't apply to any Korean universities. You couldn't afford the move or living costs- Suddenly, something Jungkook said after his fashion show echoed through your thoughts.

'Cause you always get mad at me when I spend a lot of money on you.'

'I promise a lot more love went into this surprise than money.'

Your lips quirked into a smile as you chuckled in disbelief. Ha! What did that mean? That he applied for a Korean university on your behalf and now you had been accepted? He wouldn't...would he? Then again even when you first started giving him tutoring sessions he was on about you studying in Korea. After that, he brought it up on both occasions you visited the country...

You scrolled down the page and skim read the advertisements for events happening at the university before the term started.

There was a link, the text above it reading 'View My Profile'. You clicked it and were taken to a log in page. Fuck. You needed to call the little shit of your boyfriend and find out if what you were assuming was correct or if this was some strange prank. You opened up the Skype app on your phone and immediately entered into a call with him. It took a couple of rings before he answered. His hair was messy and forehead kind of sweaty. You could see gym equipment in the background. He had been working out.

"Noona?"

"Am I being pranked?" He frowned, confused, so you continued, "I have an email from Seoul National University saying I've been accepted-"

"You got in? Fuck yeah!"

His whole face lit up while yours stayed serious.

"Jeon Jungkook. Am I being pranked or did you actually apply to fucking university on my behalf?!"

"I promise it's not a prank." He ducked his head, his free hand going to the back of his neck. "It's just... I know how much you want this job, Jagi. And even you said studying over here would speed up the process. There would be so many more opportunities available to you and the university would probably have connections...and we get to be together..."

You couldn't hold on to any of the anger that had initially built up. He was just trying to help and close the distance between the two of you. But there was still one thing.

"How am I going to afford it? I doubt the government will pay my student loan internationally. And then there's the visa and finding somewhere to live. Not to mention the living costs..."

He smirked, "I'm way ahead of you Jagi."

You gestured for him to explain.

"The way this will work is kind of a two way deal and it's completely up to you if you want to go through with this, okay? There's no pressure." He paused and you nodded in understanding. "I spoke to Bang PD-nim a few months back and came up with the idea that BigHit would fun your university course and accommodation costs, if you would tutor the other members and the trainees English."

Was that why he had been so busy sucking up to Bang PD-nim? To get him to agree to basically sponsoring you?

"That sounds fair... but what about daily living?"

"I'm giving up a percentage of my earnings so that it can go towards you as an allowance instead.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line and shook your head. "Kookie...that's your money. I can't let you give up some of your earnings-"

"Noona, I hate saying this, but I have too much money. I don't need it. I don't need the expensive clothes and shoes and accessories..." You watched as he tilted his head slightly with a smile. "But I need you. I love you and I want to do this for you."

You couldn't help smiling back. "I love you too. I can't believe you've done all this for me. I'm not that special."

He huffed. "Not true. You're very special. You're my Noona, my tutor, my friend and nae sarang (my love)."

"Thank you," you mumbled around the lump forming in your throat. Fuck. He always made you so emotional. "Really, thank you so much Jungkook."

"So...that's a yes?"

You sniffled as your eyes became teary.

"Of course, pabo."

He smiled brightly, jumping up and down on the spot. "I'll finally be able to hold you again! I'll be able to see you whenever I want! Ah, I can't wait! So don't cry Noona."

Another sniffle.

"I'm crying because I'm happy."

He giggled, throwing his head back for a moment before looking back to you with a grin so wide it looked comical.

"Good. That's the only time I ever want to see you cry, when you're happy."

"But they're gonna get puffy and I still have to tell my family and Chubs," You said while wiping your eyes.

He nodded. "Call me back once you've done that. I'm sure the members will want to know."

"Will do. And thank you...again."

He blew you a kiss with a wink. "Anything for you. Enjoy your day, Noona."

You blew a kiss back and waved, "See you later, then."

With that you ended the call, leaning back in your chair and staring at your laptop screen. A part of you was still processing the day's turn of events and it wasn't even the afternoon yet.

Placing your phone aside, you turned your gaze back to the email that started it all. A grin slowly took over your features as you read it again. You'd have to ask Jungkook for the log in details later on so you could review your application and learn more about studying there.

Who would you call first? Your mum or Chubs? You pondered on it for a little while before deciding that your mum deserved to know you would be leaving the country first.

You opened your contacts, thumb hovering over the call button beside her name. How did you word it? Barely an hour ago you were going to the uni you'd dreamed of attending, and now you were flying thousands of miles away to study.

Fuck it. There was no way of describing it in a way that didn't make it seem surreal. You'd just have to come out and say it straight. Tapping the call button, you brought your phone up to your ear and waited patiently for your mother to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

There was a pause. "Oh! Y/N! Sorry, I didn't recognise your voice for a second."

You scowled. "Didn't you check the caller ID before answering?"

"...No... but you hardly ever call. What's the occasion?"

You ran a hand through your hair and sat back in your seat. Here went nothing.

"I'm moving-"

"Well, obviously-"

"To Korea. I'm moving to Korea."

There was a beat of silence. Then she spoke.

"What? What about uni? Are you giving it up for that boy?"

"No. Of course not. I'm going to uni there."

She hummed in understanding. "I don't remember you applying for a Korean university."

"That's because I didn't. Jungkook applied on my behalf as a surprise."

Another bout of silence.

"That's... that's strange."

You glanced down at your lap where you fiddled with a thread on your pyjama top.

"I think it's sweet..." You explained how BigHit would pay for everything if you would let them hire you as a tutor.

"That's not the point, Y/N. You've only known this Jungkook for 6 months and he's already making you move to the other side of the world! That's not right!"

"He gave me a choice!" You said raising your voice. "I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for me, my education, my future career!"

"But... it's so far away... what about your family."

You sighed. "I need to make my own way through life. Do you know how hard it is to escape the shadows of 4 older siblings? I'll do whatever it takes to make my life in this family worth noticing."

The past anger from your childhood raised it's ugly head. The jealousy towards your older siblings who were always celebrated while you were forgotten.

"Y/N..."

"Don't. It's too late for whatever you're about to say. I forgave you because I wanted a relationship with the little ones, to make sure you weren't treating them like you were treating me. At least I can say thank you for being decent to them."

More silence. You hated the silence.

"I'll Skype after I leave, I don't want them missing me too much. And I'll try to stay in touch with Daniella and James. The other two will remain out of my life but you don't care since those two aren't your kids."

"And what about me?"

You shrugged despite her not being able to see. "Someone has to set up Skype for the children. Please don't fuck them up. They deserve better."

"... Okay... Just please... Make sure this is what you want and be safe."

"I will. Bye Ma."

With that you hung up. Was it really that hard for her to be happy for you for once?

You groaned loudly, taking off your glasses and pressing the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You stayed like that for a minute to let all your emotions disperse until you were ready to call Chubs. You already knew she wouldn't give you a hard time; she wasn't like that. Taking a deep breath, you once again went through your contacts and tapped on Chubs. The phone barely rang once before she picked up.

"Hey...everything okay? You never usually ring."

"You'll never believe what Jungkook's surprise turned out to be."

You swore you heard her squeal in anticipation. "What did he do?!"

"He only went and applied to a Korean uni without me knowing and set up living arrangements for me in Korea. And, I got into the fucking uni!"

A beat of silence passed. "Are you fucking serious?!"

"Dead."

You nearly threw your phone when she screamed, practically deafening you.

"Yah! I like my hearing thank you!"

"I'm sorry!" She yelled. "I just can't believe- no, I take that back. I can believe it."

You chuckled. "I don't know what I'm going to do with him."

"First things first, explain everything to me."

"So apparently after my last visit Jungkook has been working his ass off to convince BigHit to pay for my tuition and accommodation. He managed to strike up a deal where they would as long as I tutored their idols in English. And he's also giving up part of his pay so I'll have a living allowance!"

She gasped. "Woah~ That's insanely generous of both Jungkook and BigHit. I bet you didn't quite know what to say."

"I teared up a bit. The idiot always makes me cry...in a good way."

"Any ideas on how you'll thank him yet?"

You took a moment to try and think of something. But your mind kept coming up blank. It was such a big gesture on his behalf that you couldn't match.

"Uuuh... not really..."

"I have a suggestion."

"Uhm, okay..."

There was a second of silence before she yelled, "SUCK HIS DICK!"

You chuckled awkwardly. "It's too soon for something like that... And stop suggesting that I suck his dick. That's your answer to everything."

"Only because it's a guy's answer to everything." You could almost hear her smirking down the line. "I'm just saying..."

"I don't think so, Chubs. If you'd spent the first few months of your relationship thousands of miles apart from your boyfriend would you suddenly suck his dick when you meet him again?"

"..."

"Oh my god! Seriously?!"

You could practically hear her shrug. "You've been together for two months. I'd say that's been a long enough wait."

You groaned. "You're impossible."

"You love it. You'll miss me when you're gone."

Tears began to form in your eyes as you were reminded of the friends you'd be leaving behind.

"I'll still message you over KKT. And I'll Skype you at least once a week!"

You hoped she couldn't hear how strained your voice was.

"Don't cry or you'll set me off!" She sniffed. So much for hiding it. "I'll miss dodging your attacks when you try to hit me for calling you cute."

"Now I'm going to have to deal with a muscle pig calling me cute!"

She chuckled, sniffing some more. "But you also get to cuddle your precious BunBun whenever you want. Instead of being thirteen hours away via plane, he'll be a short car drive or walk away."

"Oh god, I'm gonna end up being suffocated aren't I? He was very cuddly before we were even dating so I can only imagine how much more so he'll be..."

She awed loudly down the phone.

"He'll probably want to make up for the past two months. You make sure you give him cuddles. I don't want him messaging me saying he's deprived or something."

You shifted slightly in your seat. "I don't know if I'll be able to share a bed with him again now that I know that he knows I write stuff that isn't innocent."

She sighed. "All sucking dick jokes aside, I'm sure you'll find your own pace. It's not like you'll be living together."

Living together? Well he hadn't exactly said you'd be living separately...

"But what if we will be?!"

Chubs hummed in thought. "You said they would pay for accommodation, and I'm sure that doesn't mean in the dorm. And I highly doubt Jungkook would move out. So maybe you'll be in a university dorm. Or maybe have your own apartment!"

That was something. Though you had to admit, the thought of staying in a dorm where there was a high likelihood that no one spoke your first language terrified you. You were still learning Korean after all. You secretly prayed to have an apartment in that moment.

"Anyway," Chubs continued, noticing you'd gone quiet. "Don't worry too much. I'm sure he'll reveal all the details to you soon enough."

"He better because I'm not going to Korea unprepared."

She chuckled. "That's the last thing you need. I'm sure he'll tell you, one surprise is enough."

"I'm wondering how he comes up with these elaborate plans."

"Hmm, maybe the members help him out. To be honest, I didn't expect him to be so romantic when you told me all he's done for you.”

You chuckled because honestly, neither had you... but then again you didn't think he loved you until he kissed you in the airport.

"I'll ask him tonight about my accommodation. I want to know everything before I go. Although I doubt he'll tell me everything since he likes surprises and all."

It was her turn to chuckle, "True. I have to go now, I need to go to work."

You sighed, "You're always working."

"I know. But at least now I have a reason to save up so I can come visit you."

"Save up for uni instead! I'll see you later okay? I won't be leaving the country just yet."

"We'll have to do something before you go."

You agreed then hurriedly said goodbye as she desperately had to leave.

Hanging up, you got up and flopped onto your bed, feeling exhausted. Rolling your head to the side you eyed the cardboard box on your nightstand that you had been packing books into to take to university. You'd probably have to go through almost everything you already organised again since you weren't sure what you could even take to Korea with you. But then again, if you got your own apartment you could pretty much take everything with you. Not like you were in the position to leave much behind in the first place. You'd have to ask him. There was too much you didn't know to make any decisions yet.

You led there beside your shark plushie from the aquarium, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the fuck Jungkook had managed to keep the surprise from you for so long. You were still trying to process it. You might have told some people the news already but that didn't mean it had sunk in.

Jesus fuck, you were going to Korea. Finally close to Jungkook.

How would it change the dynamic of your relationship…? Maybe that's why you had the sex talk a month ago... maybe he was planning to take the next step when you arrived. Oh god. You weren't ready for that. A squeal slipped through your lips as you rolled over and pressed your face into the shark's belly.

Flashbacks to your time in Korea filled your head and made your chest clench in excitement. Being friends had come so naturally to the two of you, even when the distinct line of platonic love blurred and you'd wake up cuddled up together with only a cushion separating your bodies. Being in a relationship and together shouldn't be any different.

Your fingers ghosted over your lips as you tried to remember the sensation of being kissed by him. That was definitely one thing that would be different, no doubt about that. And with your elbow all healed he wouldn't have to help you change. Or feed you. God, you hated being spoon-fed. Though you let him, knowing that he was only trying to look after you and treat you as a Princess or a Queen...and now you were a Goddess. That's how you suggested he'd treat his girlfriend if you, a friend at the time, were royalty. You hoped he'd forgotten and didn't start calling you it. Kitten was enough. Well, Kitten, Jagiya and Noona was enough. You hoped he would stick to those three nicknames.

You sighed as anxiety and excitement battled it out in your tummy. You got the feeling their little war would last until you were finally reunited with Jungkook again.

A/N: So we’ll be taking a two week break as I need to focus on my uni work for a bit and @tragicshadows will be going on vacation with her family. We’ll be back as usual on the 1st November!

This work of fiction is copyright © JungkookieNoona and protected under UK and international law. All rights reserved. Any unauthorised broadcasting, copying or reposting will constitute an infringement of copyright.

#boop #tmaht #jungkook #jungkooknet #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jeongkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan scenario

[farmhandler]

Anger

Rating: T

Pairing: Jack/Johnny, aka “Samruai Bravo

Summary: Over his time in the world of Aku, Jack developed a temper. 

A/N: This was inspired by the latest episode. I really like seeing other sides to Jack’s character and I wanted to explore this a little more.

Anger is often quick to rise inside Jack. It has always been a point of hidden shame for him, sitting inside him long after he finally defeated Aku and found his way to this timeline. He thought he had left behind his rage, meditated enough to cast it off, but as he settled into his routine with Johnny, it quickly became clear that that was not the case. 

He loves Johnny, and he loves this town. But in some ways, it is maddening. 

The people are slow, yet impatient. They move as though the world is ending, but rarely do they make room for others. They are selfish, concerned only for their own well-being.

In the other future, the people were quick to give him a fight, an outlet for his anger at the Aku and his world. Here, he is a slave to the master of time, waiting, waiting until the people move. His fingers tighten on the bars. He want to scream and run over the laughing teenagers crossing the street.

Jack has learned to drive an extra mile towards a quieter route. 

He expressed these feelings to Johnny once, unsure how it would be taken, only to be given a quick dismissal. 

“Everyone ‘round here’s a bad driver, Jack,” he’d said, swirling his spoon through his cereal. Jack watched him bring it up to his mouth and chew, impossibly loud. His fingers tightened their hold on the dining table.

“Perhaps you are right,” he replied, loudly enough to drown out the sound.

Johnny did not understand. He still does not understand. There are plenty of irritants that bother most people, but sometimes Jack will be struck with a rage so acute for something entirely undeserved that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

There is an old woman who lives near them. She crosses the street every morning to swim at the local pool. She is slow and cumbersome, and it hurts Jack to admit that as she crosses, ever so slowly, on occasion he squeezes through the small opening she creates. One morning, when Johnny offered to drive them to the local part, Jack had to wait for he to cross the road entirely. 

It should not have angered him. Such a small, simple thing--the span of a few minutes. Yet his temper flared inside him as he waited in agony until he could bear it no longer.

“Must we wait until she reaches the end? It feels like it’s been hours!”

Johnny glances at him, raising a brow at his outburst.

“It’s the law. And you know I can’t get another ticket, Jack. If they take my license away mama will kill me.”

This appeased Jack, but only a little. He was still angry. 

Once they finally moved, his anger dissipated, and he barely remembers why he was angry in the first place. 

He knows it’s a problem, but he does not know how to overcome it. No amount of meditation has cured him of this ailment. On his attempts to complete a traditional tea ceremony, with its steps and instructions, a strange impulsiveness overcomes him, and he inevitably fails. 

Have my sensibilities abandoned me? Jack wonders one morning, staring at his sword hanging up on the wall. He has not told Johnny much about the sword or his past, and he doesn’t want to, lest Johnny’s opinion of him change. Johnny sees him as a pillar of tranquility and good morals. It would crush him to know that Jack has not been living up to those expectations. 

So Jack tries to deal with it. He shoves down angry remarks when small things irritate him, and takes longer rides to clear his head. It doesn’t really help, but he does get quite good at hiding his anger. 

Until one evening when he comes home and Johnny has left his shoes in front of the door. 

This is something they have spoken about, once or twice. Johnny is faithful and lives a very active lifestyle, but sometimes he is very lazy. When he comes home from work, he prefers to step out of his shoes and move into the house without a second thought. Jack has expressed that he would prefer if Johnny put his shoes away in the closet so that he might not trip over them. 

It should not annoy Jack that Johnny has defied his wishes. After all, it has only been a handful of times that it has happened. 

But they have talked about it. They have talked about it. 

Jack stumbles over them as he’s stepping out of his sandals and slams his shoulder into the closet door. The doorknob bites into his side. Anger that has been simmering all day bursts up into his throat; fire licks at his lips, and he is shouting, calling Johnny out of the kitchen before he can even give it a second thought. 

“Jack? What’s wrong?” he asks, innocent, wide eyed, an apron wrapped around his waist. 

What’s wrong. It makes him want to laugh. He is not just angry now, he is furious. Jack’s lips curl back into a snarl and he points to the shoes. 

“What have I said about leaving these out, Johnny? How many times have we spoken about this?!” 

His voice rings loudly in the small apartment. Rage flows through him, and he feels powerless to stop it. This is the first time he has spoken to Johnny like this. 

Johnny’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he speaks. Jack counts every one. 

“Sorry, Jack, I’ll--” 

“Just once, is it so hard to put your shoes away?” Jack picks them up and tosses them into the closet, with more force than is necessary. “I am not your babysitter, Johnny!”

“’Course not, Jack. I--” 

“And another thing!” Jack whips around to look at Johnny, only to stop dead in his tracks. What he sees makes his voice fail him, his anger fade. 

Johnny looks frightened. For all his width and muscle he looks impossible small, his shoulders hunched inward. To top it all off, he’s looking at Jack as though he’ll swallow him if he makes one wrong move.

Jack’s anger is instantly replaced by shame. 

“Johnny, I...I am so sorry. I should not have yelled at you.” He reaches out, hesitant, intensely relieved when Johnny doesn’t pull away. “That was silly of me. They are just shoes.” 

Maybe if he repeats it enough in his head, it will finally stick. He will stop feeling like this. 

“No, I get it,” Johnny says. “I mean, I knew it would make you mad, but I was really tired. Just didn’t feel like it. I should’ve--” 

“No,”Jack interrupts, cupping Johnny’s cheek, forcing him to face Jack. “My reaction was unnecessary. I should not have raised my voice like that.” 

His voice cracks at the last word. Jack feels like he’s going to crumble. He used to wake up every morning prepared for a battle or a fight, letting loose his feelings in a barrage of bullets. Now he is stuck inside himself, nursing his anger without realizing how much like a festering wound it has become.

“I am so sorry, Johnny. Forgive me.” 

“You know I do, Jack,” Johnny says, holding onto his arm. “Something’s up. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Jack winces. If Johnny, one of the most oblivious people in this world has noticed his behavior, then truly has become paper thin. 

“I do not want to burden you,” he whispers. “It is foolish. Old hurts that I cannot escape.” 

“I want to be burdened,” Johnny insists. Jack cannot resist him; he melts in the face of his sincerity.

“Lately, or for a long time, I have become...angry.” 

“About the shoes?”

“No, not the shoes. This specific anger has been with me since Aku. I...perhaps we should sit down.” 

Johnny nods and leads them to the couch, but not before Jack slides out of his shoes and sets them aside with care. Johnny tosses his apron on the kitchen table and turns down the oven, allowing whatever is inside to simmer. 

“All right. So you’re...angry?” 

Jack bites his lip. It is difficult to explain how normal it feels to be enraged. Even now he feels threads of irritation building as Johnny soothes his thumbs over Jack’s fingers, movements that were once comforting. 

“It is a long story. I’m not even sure where to begin.” 

“C’mon, you can tell me anything, Jack. Just start from the beginning.” 

He hesitates, but ultimately decides that it is time. 

“All right. You deserve to know, so I will tell you.” 

He does. He describes his tail from when he entered the future, skipping past most of the guts and gore in favor of the feelings. 

“I had never been so angry,” he says, staring down at his hands, recalling the feelings that particular memory triggers. “Aku destroyed the last portal, my last chance to go home. That rage was what led me to lose my sword.” 

He tells him of Ashi. How she helped him defeat Aku, and conquer his feelings. For a moment Johnny looks jealous, his lips curling at descriptions of the woman, and a strange relief washes over Jack. It becomes easier to talk about it, and before he knows it, he’s reached the present. 

Once he’s completely finished, he gives Johnny time to absorb the information. It wasn’t easy to live, and it certainly isn’t easy to hear. 

“I understand if you need time to think,” Jack offers. 

“No, I’m fine. Just--thinkin’ real quick.” Johnny leans back, drumming his fingers against the arm of the sofa. 

Jack waits, patient, almost meditatively. It amazes him how good he feels now that it’s out in the open. 

“I think we should see a doctor.” 

Jack raises a brow. “Doctor?” 

“Er, brain doc.” He cocks his head. “Psychiatrist. Therapist. I mean, I’m no expert, but my dad, he--” Johnny swallows. “Long story short, he had a lot of issues and never went to see anybody, and eventually mama made him leave.” 

“Not that you’re anything like that!” he hastens to add. 

Jack smiles colorlessly. “But I could be.” 

“That’s not what I’m sayin’. I just mean...I don’t want you to feel like this all the time, and I don’t know what to do about it. I could try, but...”

“No.” Jack sighs, folding his hands over Johnny’s and pulling him close. “You may be right. I have never seen a...therapist, but I cannot continue to let this consume me.” He raises Johnny’s hands and kisses the knuckles. “Not if it ends up hurting the ones I care about most.” 

Johnny goes beet red, hands twitching like he’d like to pull them away. 

“Shucks, Jack.” He rubs the back of his neck, a grin forming on his face. Then his gaze narrows, and his expression turns sharp. “You’re important to me, too, you know that, right?”

Johnny is not as free with his affection, but it never fails to make Jack amused to see him so concerned.

“Yes.” He slides closer, then climbs onto his lap--a move that Johnny loves--and peppers his face with slow-given, soft kisses. “I love you, Johnny.”

Johnny wraps his arms around Jack’s waist, fingers creeping towards his ass. “Love you, too, Jack.” 

Jack leans in for a kiss, and feels a well of love and contentment rise inside him, washing away the negative emotions lying dormant. 

It is by no means an immediate solution, but to have Johnny in his corner is a huge relief. The weight of what he was carrying has risen off of his shoulders. 

Thank you, he thinks, trying to direct his thoughts into the space between their lips. 

Johnny smiles, inexplicably, and pulls him closer.

#samurai bravo #samurai jack // #johnny bravo // #my fic #fic #this could become a thing #hmmmm #maybe #just felt like writing u know #and it's been too long #also: how the fuck does anyone end these things #gaaaahhh

[jennycalendar]

Imperfections (20/?)

this might be the last update for...a while. or not. who knows. posting this chapter early because it’s fuffy day and it. kind of has some faith/buffy? lowkey? i don’t know. i want to contribute Something at least

and it kind of works as a oneshot i guess? clearly i have no idea what i’m doing

ao3

The whole candy thing actually got solved pretty quick. Faith helped save the babies, and Buffy set Lurconis-the-baby-eater on fire with a gas pipe, and then Buffy made out with Faith for her amazing baby-saving skills. Except that last part was mostly in Faith’s head, but Buffy did hug her, so, you know, that was basically making out. As close as Faith was gonna get, anyway.

It was only when they were exiting the sewers, all slimy and gross, that Buffy said with some concern, “Faith, where are Giles and Ms. Calendar?”

“Huh?” Faith was still kinda riding the high from that hug.

“We left them at the factory, but they were gone by the time we were heading to check out the hospital.” Buffy bit her lip. “You think they’re okay?”

“That Ethan guy said the candy should wear off by tomorrow,” said Faith, “and beside which, if Jen’s apologizing to me, she’s definitely not the kind of teenager to murder someone or do some reckless shit that’ll land her in trouble. She’ll keep an eye on Giles.”

“Ms. Calendar was apologizing to you?” Buffy frowned quizzically.

Damn, Buffy was cute. Faith had a feeling that that was the reason she answered honestly. “I was kind of awful to her,” she said, “the day before the candy kicked in, and then when I went to check up on her she was awful to me back. And then she apologized for that outside the factory, which was pretty nice of her. Considering how awful I was.”

Buffy hesitated. “Look,” she said. “I—I don’t know the whole situation, but I think you’re really—” She blushed a little, looking down. “Cool,” she said finally. “And I’m sorry you and Ms. Calendar are having a hard time. You guys seem really close.”

“We’re not—” Faith stopped, blinked, thought about Jen signing forms to buy candy she didn’t need. “Yeah,” she said.

Buffy looked pleased. “Good,” she said. “Because I like having you here in Sunnydale, and it’d suck if you got in some big fight with Ms. Calendar and left or something. It’s nice to have another Slayer in town, you know? You did some great baby-saving tonight.”

“A girl doesn’t hear something like that all that often,” teased Faith. Then, before she could stop herself, “Hey, you want to go grab a milkshake? There’s this diner place that I think is open till two.”

She was expecting B to blow her off. She was already kicking herself for asking. But that soft, almost unconscious smile spread across Buffy’s face, and she tucked a slightly muddy hand into Faith’s. “I’d like that,” she said. “I just hope we don’t get ick all over the diner seats.”

“Hey, their only policy is no shirt, no shoes, no service,” Faith quipped. Her heart was doing jumping jacks at Buffy’s hand in hers. “And we got ‘em all. They can’t turn us away.”

“Diner,” said Buffy happily. “Wow, a milkshake sounds so good right now. Or a hamburger. Or five hamburgers.”

Faith laughed. “Late night dinner with the prettiest girl in town,” she teased, even though she knew she was pressing her luck. She guessed she just had a thing for risk. “How lucky can I get?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Buffy, her smile fading a little.

“Hey, you know who I didn’t ask?” Faith let go of Buffy’s hand to throw an arm around her shoulder as they walked. “Any of the loser boys in your loser high school. Boys are losers, B, and you’re the best thing in that sad, sad, lonely, sad little place.”

Buffy laughed, nose crinkling. Faith felt like she’d just won the lottery.

“Big Dipper.”

“I decided to call that one Big Ladle.”

“Why?”

“Mmm.” Janna shrugged noncommittally, shifting onto her side so that she could rest her head on Ripper’s chest. They were lying together on the hood of Jenny Calendar’s car, looking up at the stars. “I didn’t get why anyone would call it a dipper. Ladle makes more sense.”

“Dipper,” said Ripper, frowning. “Haven’t you ever heard—some people call ladles dippers.”

“Who?”

“Dunno. Some people.”

“I could call you Dipper.” Janna smirked. “Rhymes. Plus, you’re kind of a dip.”

“I don’t like you,” said Ripper, and pulled her on top of him. Janna felt a full-body shiver at the way he was looking at her. “Not,” he kissed her, “at all.”

“Are we going to go back?”

“Mmm. We have time.”

“It’s getting late.”

“It’s early.” Ripper tucked Janna’s hair behind her ear, and she smiled. “Stars are still out. We can stay out here.”

“What if it’s cold?”

“California climate,” said Ripper, and made a face. “Nothing like London.”

“Maybe I’m cold.” Janna made a face back at him.

“Maybe Jenny Calendar keeps a blanket in her car.” Ripper sat up on the hood of the car, hopping off to head to the back and hunt through the trunk. Janna waited, rolling onto her back and looking up at the quiet, twinkling early morning sky. “Hallelujah!” she heard Ripper shout with a laugh. “Bloody hell, Janna, you come prepared.”

“That’s Jenny Calendar, not me,” Janna corrected.

Ripper came back over with the blanket. Janna sat up, and he jumped up to sit down next to her, draping the blanket over her shoulders. “Jenny Calendar is you,” he said with certainty.

“Debatable.” Janna leaned into him.

“Well, then, Miss Smarty, don’t you think Jenny Calendar would say you’re her?”

He had a point. It was weird and roundabout, but it still made an annoying amount of sense. Janna laughed and lifted the blanket up so that it was around Ripper’s shoulders too. “Fine,” she said. “Fine. You win. I’m Jenny Calendar, and she’s me, and I come prepared to every occasion.”

Ripper grinned, looking very pleased with himself, and wound an arm around Janna’s waist, pulling her in for a long kiss. “Tell me more of your constellations,” he said in a low murmur when they’d pulled away.

But the memories seemed dulled, somewhat, not as easy and accessible as they had been a few minutes ago. Janna looked up. “That one,” she said, pointing to a cluster of stars, “that’s Janna-and-Ripper-should-totally-make-out-on-top-of-this-car-right-now.”

Ripper laughed and threaded his fingers through Janna’s hair, kissing her again and again until everything became sensation and feeling. Usually Janna’s mind was working a mile a minute, but Ripper tethered her firmly to the now with the way he was touching her, his hands tugging cautiously at the hem of her shirt. Janna raised her arms over her head, untying her hair from its ponytail as she did so, and let Ripper slide her shirt off.

Ripper paused. “Are you—”

“I’m good,” said Janna, and meant it. This didn’t feel impulsive—it felt natural. And she remembered Rupert now, a little more clearly than she had before, so why not, right? This teenager thing, whatever it was, was looking like it might wear off sooner or later, but Jenny and Rupert cared about each other just as much as Janna and Ripper did. Definitely more, actually. No risks to take here, which felt like a first for Janna and Jenny alike.

Ripper smiled, hesitant in a way that belonged to Rupert, and he kissed her. Janna stopped thinking about names.

“Two milkshakes,” said Faith, glaring at the waitress when she looked dubiously at Buffy’s sewer-splattered clothes. “Vanilla for me, strawberry for the lady.”

“How’d you know?” Buffy looked delighted by this.

“You seemed like the type,” said Faith. Her cheeks felt hot, but she kept her smile bright. “That all right by you?”

“Extra whipped cream,” Buffy said hopefully to the waitress, who rolled her eyes and headed behind the counter.

“So.” Faith propped her chin up on her hand, studying Buffy’s face with casual interest, even though the question she asked was anything but. “Any new guys in your life?”

“Hardly,” said Buffy with a rueful laugh in her voice. “I’m not sure if guys are really my thing right now.”

Faith thought she might want to set the entire diner on fire, because she knew what Buffy meant, but it sure sounded different. What she said was, “You’ll change your mind sooner or later, I bet.”

Buffy shrugged. Then she said, “So, how are you liking Sunnydale so far?”

“I like Sunnydale a lot,” said Faith. “Best place I’ve been in a while.”

“You think you’re gonna stay?” Buffy asked, and Faith could hear the thinly disguised hope in her voice. “Not just on a temporary basis—on a real basis?”

“Yeah,” said Faith. She thought about Jen, who was probably off having some wild and crazy adventure as her teenage self, and smiled. “I’m staying. Too many good things in this town to leave behind.” She wasn’t just talking about Jen, this time, and directed a very pointedly flirtatious look at Buffy. Straight girls never picked up on things like that.

Except—Buffy blinked, then smiled, blushing a rosy red, and directed her gaze at the tablecloth. “I like Sunnydale too,” she said. “I mean, the night life’s not exactly lively, but, um, there are a lot of nice people who show up in town sometimes when you don’t expect them.”

Well. Here was yet another thing that might not be as unattainable as Faith had first thought. “Yeah,” she said. Screw it. Time to put all her cards on the table; if it worked with Jen, maybe it might work with Buffy too. “Listen, B—”

Their milkshakes showed up at exactly that moment. Faith wasn’t super sure how she felt about that. A little relieved, maybe. She took a sip of her milkshake instead of finishing her sentence.

“Yeah?” Buffy prompted.

Faith swallowed. “Just really happy we’re friends,” she said. It felt weird to say shit like that, but also nice. She thought maybe she’d tell Jen that when Jen got back from…wherever she was. “Also, you think maybe we could have a study session in the library sometime?”

“Oooh, you should hang out with me and Willow at lunch!” said Buffy excitedly. Her smile faltered. “What do you do at lunch?”

“Not much,” said Faith, who usually spent lunch in the library with Jen and Giles. Giles was always giving her this semi-worried look, like he thought she should be somewhere else but didn’t think it was his place to say. “Might be nice to hang with you and the crew. Guess I just wasn’t sure whether or not I was a member.”

Buffy looked down, biting her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said. Faith felt a little guilty. “I’ve been kind of distracted lately. I hope I—I didn’t make you feel like you couldn’t be a Scooby.”

“No way,” said Faith emphatically. “We’re cool, okay?”

“Okay,” Buffy agreed, not sounding all the way certain.

“You’re cool,” Faith added playfully.

“So are you,” said Buffy, and damn if Faith wasn’t smiling like an idiot at that.

Faith stumbled home early in the morning and took a long, luxurious shower, enjoying the way it felt to be in a bathroom that she knew really well. The sink was squeaky because Jen had tried to do some weird shit to fix it instead of calling a plumber like a normal person, and there were three toothbrushes in the little toothbrush cup thingy. Faith brushed her teeth and smiled in the mirror, playing with the ends of her wet hair.

She came out of the bathroom to see that Janna and Ripper had come back, both of them fast asleep on the couch. Janna was lying on top of Ripper’s chest and snoring ungracefully, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Faith found them a blanket and threw it over them as casually as possible before giving in and tucking it more securely around Janna. Jen.

She felt a little weird about going to sleep and leaving them out in the living room. Like—if a vampire broke a window or some shit, there might be glass all over the place. Or something. Faith settled into the chair next to the couch, resting her head on her arms and closing her eyes.

She woke up with someone tucking a blanket around her. Faith kept her eyes closed for a little longer than she needed to, which turned out to be a good call, because then she felt Jen gently smoothing down her hair in that way she’d always wanted a little.

Faith opened her eyes.

“Hey, sleepy,” said Jen with a small, wry smile. “Should I start with how embarrassed I am or how sorry I am?”

Faith felt a lump in her throat, pushed off the blankets, and hugged Jen, hard, burying her face in Jen’s shoulder.

#i kinda like this chapter but. idk when i'll get back into the swing of writing this #this one's an old one that i wrote a While ago #fic #imperfections #fuffy #calendiles

[beedujourblog]

A visit to Chateau de Versailles or Palace of Versailles is a must when visiting France. It is a 30 minute train ride away from Paris and lies on the outskirts of the neighbourhood of Versailles. The palace is a treasure trove that houses the very finest and best of French history, art, architecture and style upon every inch and mile. Prepare to be inspired.

What is the Chateau de Versailles

The Chateau de Versailles was assigned and built as the retirement home of the infamous Roi du Soleil or Sun King Louis XIV of France. King Louis XIV was  known for his extravagance had made France one of the most fashionable, prosperous and on trend nations in all of Europe. Concepts for fashion, landscaping, architecture and culture were refined and presented through the monarchy, and the Palace of Versailles was to be the ultimate icon of it all.

No longer wanting to hold residence in the Louvre Palace, Louis XIV decided to rebuild and extend this once humble hunting lodge of his father’s in the small village of Versailles. The lodge was located near a forest, once abundant with game and natural life. Louis XIV decided to remake it into a grand palace along with one of the largest and most magnificent gardens in Europe. New urban planning was implemented to turn Versailles into a town. The whole village was destroyed to make it what it is today.

  King Louis XIV  moved his entire court and government into Versailles. The decor shows off the decadent Baroque style, the opulent and excessive design characterised during the 17th and 18th centuries. It shows the nation’s prosperous economic times and wealth obtained by the monarchy during this time.

When to go

Well, I’d obviously suggest off peak season, however not everyone has that benefit. Ideally, I suggest you go very early and if you are going during peak tourist season, get your tickets online. Those queues are mental.

I highly recommend Spring, Summer and Autumn as you can enjoy the beautiful garden and surrounding nature. The palace is closed on Mondays. Even though you cannot enter the building, the gardens are open and empty. Amazing for photo opportunities.

As I lived in Paris, I was fortunate to visit Versailles twice. This first time I went on a Monday when the palace was closed, but my friend and I got to explore the beautiful gardens. No crowds, peaceful and just a nice day to spend outdoors in early summer. The second time I went was on a first Sunday, when entrance is free. It was packed, but I wanted to explore the actual palace this time.

A Look into the Home of the Sun King

Everything from the gates, the roof, interiors and even the Kings bed are inlaid with gold. It’s n’importe quoi. For me, it was a visual overload and I was overwhelmed with so much beautiful design. There are so much details to take in.

The entrance is led by beautiful monochrome inlaid marble. To the right lies the King’s private chapel.

The main area on the second floor leads directly to the infamous Hall of Mirrors. What makes this hall so famous was that the glass was cut to a new size to fill the entire hall. The hall leads down to the King’s throne where he would receive guests and hold events.

Life in the court of the Sun King Louis XIV in the early 17th century was not all glamour. In fact, life for the royalty was made entirely for public display. King Louis XIV, referred to himself as the Sun King as he felt the entire world revolved around him. The belief was that kings were ordained by God, and Louis XIV made sure everyone knew it.

Les Salons de Versailles

There are hundreds of rooms, as the palace housed thousands of people who made up the King’s excessive court. I found each room filled with its own unique character and décor.

Court Life at Versailles

The bedrooms of the King and Queen are filled with rich patterns and inlaid gold. King Louis XIV’s had his bed facing the East, so that he would always face the rising sun. His entire bed was made in gold, including the drapery and bedding. The fabrics were inlaid with gold thread, making it extremely heavy. The bedroom and decor were designed by the King himself. It is also the bed in which he died after a reign of 72 years.

The King’s bedroom

The Queen’s Bedroom

 Every morning the highest ranking members of his court would assemble in the King and Queens chambers to behold the waking up ceremony. The king and queen had to undress, get washed and even relief themselves before the audience. Their first confessions for the day had to be recorded by the priests.

King Louis XIV held plenty of social events at Versailles. Dress and appearance was everything for those who graced these halls.

The Palace of Versailles was also once known as the Palace of Perfumes as the king had ordered perfume to be dispersed throughout the palace daily. Why? Well in the 17th century, there was no plumbing. There were also no hygiene standards and most people didn’t consider washing a necessity. In fact Louis XIV, had a hidden potty seat underneath his throne. He would actually sit on it and relieve himself even in front of guests. He considered in an honour for anyone to even witness it. It is from here that the joke ‘sitting on the throne’ originated.

Les Jardins de Versailles

The gardens are breath-taking to say the least. Please visit the Gardens from late Spring until early Autumn. Its true beauty shines when it is in bloom. I felt these glamorous gardens hold so many stories and secrets of the once thriving court. These gardens were made for leisure for the royal court, take advantage of its true purpose!

In summer the Palace holds outdoor fireworks evenings that are accompanied by an orchestra.

Here are the gardens in early summer:

The Versailles gardens in the Autumn:

Le Trianon

The Trianon is a smaller residence built to the North-West of the main palace. It is still a part of the palace grounds and was built as a private retreat for the King. Louis XIV lived in grandeur, like no other French king before or after him. The Grand Trianon was also a place for him to relax during the summer to hold private parties. I didn’t get to explore this palace sadly. There just wasn’t enough time.

Le Petit Trianon

Within the Grand Trianon’s gardens lies the picturesque Petit Trianon. It contains a small chateaux along with gardens, rooms and lake. This chateau was originally built for the infamous Madame Pompidou or Madame du Barry. She was the mistress of Louis XV, the successor of the Sun King. It eventually became the home of the famous Queen Marie Antoinette. It was designed for inhabitants to have as little interaction with the servants. The whole building was designed for privacy.

A portrait of Marie Antoinette by the artist Elisabeth Vigee le Brun and her herb garden in the courtyard of the Petit Trianon.

The surrounding gardens were later updated by Queen Marie Antoinette who added the Temple of Love or Le Temple d’Amour and the Belvedere overlooking the chateau’s lake.

Further on, you can walk about the Queen Marie Antoinette’s Hamlet, which she ordered to be built to remind her of her home. Marie Antoinette went on to have this little hamlet built for her own pleasure and costs over a million Francs. She insisted on this little pleasure regardless of being aware that the people of France were starving and that its economy was bleeding over the wars in America.

Tips for enjoying Versailles

Visiting Versailles will be a day-long outing. Regardless of the season, it will be exhausting and busy. Here are some tips to get the best of the experience:

Wear comfortable shoes. Also, try and avoid black or dark coloured shoes, as the lime stone gravel that makes up the paths will stain them.

I highly recommend getting the electronic tour guide to help give you context of the rooms and art works inside. It works really well and knows exactly which room and work you are looking at.

Pack a light lunch. After viewing the main palace you can enjoy a small picnic on the pristine lawns and rest your feet. Goods are ridiculously overpriced.

Enjoy the gardens. From the golden and bronze fountain sculptures to the maze of carefully sculpted trees, the gardens of Versailles actually offer amazing photo opportunities in themselves.

First Sundays are free at Versailles. I went on a free Sunday, but the lines are long and extra full as you would expect.

The Palace is closed on Mondays, however, the gardens are open.

Pre-book your ticket online. This will save you a lot of time and you can skip the lines.

A bientot

Bee

PIN IT!

Chateau de Versailles #versailles #travelblogger #visitfrance #france #travelphotography A visit to Chateau de Versailles or Palace of Versailles is a must when visiting France. It is a 30 minute train ride away from Paris and lies on the outskirts of the neighbourhood of Versailles.

#chateau de versailles #france #made in france #nikon photography #palace of versailles #paris #tips for visiting versailles #travel blogger #versailles

[ryanjtrimble]

On the Value of Missed Shots

A friend or a photographer, I don't remember who, once told me, "Don't worry about the shots you miss. Those are the shots that stay with you forever."

This is true.

When I was in high school there was a used tire shop on Lehi's State Street called Victor's. I think it's still there, though now remodeled. Back then it was a dilapidated white shoebox of a building on a gravel lot and teenage hippies and stoners would go there when they needed new rubber on their early-model Subies and Hondas and VW buses.

There was joy in going to Victor's, even though it sucked having to remedy a car that had failed a safety inspection or gone flat in Provo Canyon. Going to Victor's meant you were growing up. You cashed a hundred-dollar check from your after-school job, convinced your friends to throw in another $15 a piece, and then scuttled into the tarnished garage to learn about tire sizes and tread patterns and expected mileage. And there amid stacks of black rubber and hissing compressors and ratcheting wrenches you'd negotiate with the honcho, a gruff and taut man that was at least part Latino, maybe full, and who resembled Randy Macho Man Savage. His hair hung down his back, and he chain-smoked cigarettes, spoke in hoarse staccato. Often he wore tank tops, and he never removed a pair of impenetrable blade sunglasses that adhered to his brow like the visor of motorcycle helmet.

I can't recall the honcho's name now. It might've been Victor, or it might've been Tito. Whatever it was or is, it had a certain gangster ring to my seventeen-year-old Utah County ears. In any case, I remember standing with Victor on the banks of that gravel lot and settling the details of shoeing my car with new gently-used rubber, mano a mano. Victor took each customer as he or she came, which was reassuring, and, for me, evoked a kind of self-confidence I didn't actually possess. The feeling was sublime.

But here's what I remember most about Victor's Tires. One day I'd gone there with a girlfriend to help her get her car sorted. After swapping her tires, Victor beckoned us into his office to settle up. The office was long and rectangular. Shoddy aluminum blinds draped over west-facing windows. At one end of the room was a metal desk, the kind you see in machine shops or schools and government buildings. Corners of papers and manila folders poked out of its drawers, slopped over its edges. My friend and I stood at the other end of the corridor-like office while Victor sat at the desk and filled out a receipt with a Bic pen. It was late in the day and sunlight was seeping through the cracks in the blinds. Victor held a lighted cigarette in his teeth while he wrote, his black sunglasses still affixed to his face despite the dimness, and smoke purled lazily in the room, which the sunlight illuminated like milky threads of cosmos.

The scene enveloped me. I saw in my mind a photograph of incomparable mystique, a decisive moment, as Cartier-Bresson calls it, a space in time where man and nature combusted into a picture of inexplicable beauty. And I didn't have my camera. So I stood in awe, whispered to my friend, asked if she saw it too. Then Victor stood and the impression vanished, as though a ghost had left the room.

The shots you miss stay with you forever.

I once took a road trip through Oregon, traveling the Pacific Coast Highway from Port Orford north toward Portland. One afternoon, while driving through those towering pines riven by the 101, I saw a dirt turnoff that ran deep into the woods. Next to that turnoff stood a mailbox. As I approached at 50 miles per hour, I saw a young girl, maybe five or six, bounce on the balls of her bare feet down the dirt road and up to the box. She stood on her toes, opened the door, and peered inside as though she'd just found grandma's jewelry chest. She wore a white sundress, which flitted eastward in a coastal gale. Her untamed hair, too, as bright and iridescent as the flesh of a blood orange, flickered in the wind. There on tiptoes, with one hand on the mailbox door and the other reaching into the abyss, a chasm of sunlight lit her up like a meteor on a movie screen.

My camera was in the backseat and I tried to hit the brakes, but it was too late. I saw in the shadows of that forest all the omnipresence of God concentrated into a single frame, and in a second it flashed. I rolled past the scene, gawking, and the tiny fireball went dancing up the unpaved and shaded driveway, parcel in hand.

The shots you miss stay with you forever.

Sometimes, however, in order not to miss the moment, you must forego the shot. A couple years ago I solicited an old man of his time, for I believed time alone with this man would prove illuminating. He is, after all, a poet of 50 years, an educator, a father and husband, a performer, a gadfly and veritable Socrates, a true and living philosopher. Months passed before he agreed. We'd bump at the coffeehouse and I'd remind him of my interest, which was, roughly, to shadow and profile him. I left out the part about wanting to steal his wisdom and test it in life. He finally ceded not because of pressure, but because he needed photographic services. That was a year ago. We've spent hours together since, and I always approach time with him journalistically.

I recently visited the man at his home and before approaching his door I flung my camera over my shoulder and turned on my audio recorder. Forty-five minutes later I clicked the recorder off, set my camera down. And wouldn't you know that's when the conversation and the light turned interesting? The man and I stood in his garage, afternoon autumn sunshine leaking into the open space, and he stood there reflecting on his art, leaning on the broom he'd just used to sweep up the mess we'd made. (We'd been cutting sheetrock in order to fix a plumbing leak.) I wanted to make a photo, but refrained because lurching for my camera would've derailed the ensuing moment. Instead, I watched, noting the man's long and thick fingernails, the strands of white in his beard, the way his suspenders squeezed the sides of his belly, and the words he spoke. He said to me, when I asked him whether he ever doubts his creative impulses, questions his poiesis, "No. I take it as a given."

As a gift.

The shots you choose not to take stay with you forever, too.

You don't have to do photography to see and remember such images; you don't have to miss or forego a frame for it to stick. The heart alone makes snapshots, does so without warning or intention, and records them indelibly on the soul. Each of us has a few dozen or thousand floating around the psyche, occasionally replaying. A tickle or tremor arises when they do. I'm told that upon dying they play in succession and in full, across closed eyelids, like a film. Perhaps this is why photographs are considered memento mori, reminders that we die. One has to wonder whether images captured in the heart alone will outlive the body, as our feeble prints will do. And if they do, where do they go?

I've often thought about reconstructing those missed shots, about duplicating snapshots made by the heart. I could hire models, scout locations or return to them, same time of year, same time of day. I could use fans and reflectors to mimic weather conditions and lighting. I'd have my camera ready, light meter dialed in, extra rolls of film in my pocket. The image, of course, would be a lie, but only in the sense that a novel is a lie. Every story, after all, tells a truth. And every story, actual or not, is fabricated, posited by the one who tells it. So why not reconstruct these missed shots, tell the story? Alas, I'm made alive not by the photographing but by the seeing. The former serves the latter, not the other way around. I'd rather find in the world existing examples of the story I want to tell and be a witness, rather than fashion the story from scratch. Besides, it's difficult to construct a good lie.

Nearly everybody has a camera these days, and their cameras are more technically capable than those of yesteryear. They're quick, work in the dark, completely automated. One could document his entire life with a cellphone camera if inclined. But in the end, he'd still miss something. Life, after all, is little more than missed shots. A person can take only one path, and in choosing it he negates every other possible path. He must watch the infinitude of potential living go by for the sheer fact he can't be in two places at once, can't go back in time, can't know then what he knows now, can't capture what he might've by missing or foregoing or forgetting to document life, make the shot. For every time you point the lens, you lose what you might've felt or known had you not.

[restlessjourneyor-blog]

A PCT through-hiker, a hippie family, and fellow a Hoosier

After I dropped Mom off at the Medford airport at the conclusion of our 4-day road trip Oregon-bound, I came to realization that for all intents and purposes, I was slightly, kinda sorta…. homeless. My future field partner and I had been looking for places to live in Medford, Central Point, and Talent, in hopes of finding a month-to-month place to live for the 4-month duration of our job. I quickly learned that finding housing, at least in southern Oregon, was HARD. Fresh out of college, where you walk down the street and see almost every house/apartment for rent, this was a wake-up call.

I knew of hostels in Ashland, another nearby city in my area. I fortunately scored a bed for two nights in the Ashland Commons, a SWEET, tidy, mural dotted hostel located in the heart of Ashland. After exploring downtown Ashland for a bit, stopping by a farmer’s market to stock some fresh strawberries in my cooler (my only food supply) I parked in the hostel parking lot for some reorganization time. My car was a mess after having lived out of it for 4 days…

At the conclusion of “gear Tetris” in the Hyundai, I chilled on the top bunk, decompressing after hours of traveling. I meandered out into the kitchen after I heard the tell-tale clanking of dishes and thud of footsteps.

**I should take this moment to point out the fact that I am a hopeless romantic (I place 90% of the blame of Nicholas Sparks, whose books I read as though they were the only form of writing that existed back in the early 2000s). So, when I decided to stay in a hostel I had written my love story in my mind, one involving mysterious (and attractive, of course) world traveler who was also stopping by that hostel for a night’s stay, whom with I would then fall madly in love and the rest of days would be spent traveling the world together. Needless to say, my life is NOT a Nicholas Sparks novel, so instead of meeting my soulmate, I met Rambler.

A PCT through-hiker, Rambler was a wealth of knowledge about the dos and don’ts of the trail, as well as the gear that was the best. He was also full of stories woven by threads of humor, heartbreak, and advice (if one chose to see it that way). From Rambler, I learned (or was reminded) that life is hard, and Nature offers a unique comfort to sadness in a its vast forests and miles and miles of trails. He was on his 2nd time through the PCT, driven to the outdoors by divorce, as he searched for an outlet for his pain. He also taught me that $1.50 mosquito nets from Walmart are just as good as $30 mosquito nets from a name brand, and that the plastic used for window covering in house projects, works as a perfect mat to protect your tent or sleeping bag. I find that most things in fact, are this way: less complicated and not as they seem.

As a PCT trail hiker, minimal is maximal. Meaning, the less the better. Rambler was too the point of cutting tags out of his clothes just to save that extra 0.05 ounce, because it all adds up and it’s useless anyways, right? The duct tape trick involves putting pieces of duct tape on all of your pieces of gear, only to be removed when the gear was used. What a simple lesson to remind us to get rid of the duct taped things in our real lives (90% of my taped items would be clothes).

If I ever find myself near the Bishop Hostel in California, I know to forego the high-class dinner (or in my case McDonald’s) and head to the bowling alley instead for a lobster dinner…who would have thought?

I dropped Rambler off at one of the PCT trailheads outside of Ashland (saved him a 14-mile walk). It was great to get to know him, and I wish him the best of luck on what I have learned to be a rather treacherous PCT this year.

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As I was chatting with Rambler another hostel inhabitant entered the conversation. Seemingly in an unspoken competition for the most interesting “divorce stories” I learned more about these people than I asked to. And I have found that to be a common theme among the people I speak to. I, myself, am the opposite. More often than not, I avoid any “self-topics”, or personal professions that clue the fellow conversationalist into how I think, or what has happened to me during my life.

Yet, there I was, sitting at the kitchen table, more or less an observer of these people’s seemingly tragic life stories. The other hotel inhabitant was one of three guests in the same family. She, her son, and her boyfriend (the boy’s father). The mother was the sweetest women. One of those types of people who wears the smile of someone enjoying life every second of everyday. Aside from divorce stories, she also bent my ear with tales of the adventures she had been on, and the places she had lived. Her boyfriend (a spitting image of one of the contestants on Survivor from this past season), had one of the most piercing gazes I have ever experienced. On a side note, I felt as though he was analyzing your soul instead of just listening to the words I spoke. I never saw the man wear shoes. In a traditional hippie fashion, he was shoe-less 24/7. These people were the salt of the earth, and I was sad to s e them go. They left me with a pleasant hostel experience and the recipe for the best almond pudding.

                                                       ----

Upon returning to the hostel on my first night I met the new guest, with whom I also happened to be sharing a room. She was only staying in the hostel for a couple of nights as she had decided to keep her belongings in a storage unit and to camp instead of spending money on other housing (super badass). Weirdest part…. she was from Indiana. She went to IU and had spent most of her life in the Midwest (seriously, what are the odds). However, she had called the west her home for the past couple years, working seasonal environmental science positions. We chatted science and biology, as we strolled through the famed Lithia Park. Forestry her specialty, she pointed out trees and plants for me to learn.

We chatted about traveling, and the places we had been. As we swapped mountain backpacking stories we pondered what it would be like to overcome the ‘veil of disbelief’ that is traditionally our involuntary response to seeing a sight that takes your breath away, and renders you unable to  cannot fully comprehend its reality. I spoke of standing at the edge of Black Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park, in disbelief, as we overlooked the “photoshopped” snow-covered mountains, plunging gorges, and pine forests, as the strength of wind held my body up. My inability to completely fathom what I was seeing almost inhibited my ability to enjoy it, or to even convey it to those who were not there in the moment. She surmised that if we were ever able to “overcome the veil of disbelief” it would be an otherworldly experience. I fear that we might never be able to achieve this feat. Good food for thought…I might argue that any attempt to achieve this goal of overcoming the veil might be futile, as the more we see, the more we wouldn’t be able to believe that is was possible for all of this to exist.

[thisisre4llife]

“What Is Poverty?” Jo Goodwin Parker The following selection was published in America’s Other Children: Public Schools Outside Suburbs, by George Henderson in 1971 by the University of Oklahoma Press. The author has requested that no biographical information about her be distributed. The essay is a personal account, addressed directly to the reader, about living in poverty. [1958 words] You ask me what is poverty? Listen to me. Here I am, dirty, smelly, and with no “proper” underwear on and with the stench of my rotting teeth near you. I will tell you. Listen to me. Listen without pity. I cannot use your pity. Listen with understanding. Put yourself in my dirty, worn out, ill-fitting shoes, and hear me. Poverty is getting up every morning from a dirt- and illness-stained mattress. The sheets have long since been used for diapers. Poverty is living in a smell that never leaves. This is a smell of urine, sour milk, and spoiling food sometimes joined with the strong smell of long-cooked onions. Onions are cheap. If you have smelled this smell, you did not know how it came. It is the smell of the outdoor privy. It is the smell of young children who cannot walk the long dark way in the night. It is the smell of the mattresses where years of “accidents” have happened. It is the smell of the milk which has gone sour because the refrigerator long has not worked, and it costs money to get it fixed. It is the smell of rotting garbage. I could bury it, but where is the shovel? Shovels cost money. Poverty is being tired. I have always been tired. They told me at the hospital when the last baby came that I had chronic anemia caused from poor diet, a bad case of worms, and that I needed a corrective operation. I listened politely - the poor are always polite. The poor always listen. They don’t say that there is no money for iron pills, or better food, or worm medicine. The idea of an operation is frightening and costs so much that, if I had dared, I would have laughed. Who takes care of my children? Recovery from an operation takes a long time. I have three children. When I left them with “Granny” the last time I had a job, I came home to find the baby covered with fly specks, and a diaper that had not been changed since I left. When the dried diaper came off, bits of my baby’s flesh came with it. My other child was playing with a sharp bit of broken glass, and my oldest was playing alone at the edge of a lake. I made twenty-two dollars a week, and a good nursery school costs twenty dollars a week for three children. I quit my job. Poverty is dirt. You can say in your clean clothes coming from your clean house, “Anybody can be clean.” Let me explain about housekeeping with no money. For breakfast I give my children grits with no oleo or cornbread without eggs and oleo. This does not use up many dishes. What dishes there are, I wash in cold water and with no soap. Even the cheapest soap has to be saved for the baby’s diapers. Look at my hands, so cracked and red. Once I saved for two months to buy a jar of Vaseline for my hands and the baby’s diaper rash. When I had saved enough, I went to buy it and the price had gone up two cents. The baby and I suffered on. I have to decide every day if I can bear to put my cracked sore hands into the cold water and strong soap. But you ask, why not hot water? Fuel costs money. If you have a wood fire it costs money. If you burn electricity, it costs money. Hot water is a luxury. I do not have luxuries. I know you will be surprised when I tell you how young I am. I look so much older. My back has been bent over the wash tubs every day for so long, I cannot remember when I ever did anything else. Every night I wash every stitch my school age child has on and just hope her clothes will be dry by morning. Poverty is staying up all night on’ cold nights to watch the fire knowing one spark on the newspaper covering the walls means your sleeping child dies in flames. In summer poverty is watching gnats and flies devour your baby’s tears when he cries. The screens are torn and you pay so little rent you know they will never be fixed. Poverty means insects in your food, in your nose, in your eyes, and crawling over you when you sleep. Poverty is hoping it never rains because diapers won’t dry when it rains and soon you are using newspapers. Poverty is seeing your children forever with runny noses. Paper handkerchiefs cost money and all your rags you need for other things. Even more costly are antihistamines. Poverty is cooking without food and cleaning without soap. Poverty is asking for help. Have you ever had to ask for help, knowing 6 your children will suffer unless you get it? Think about asking for a loan from a relative, if this is the only way you can imagine asking for help. I will tell you how it feels. You find out where the office is that you are supposed to visit. You circle that block four or five times. Thinking of your children, you go in. Everyone is very busy. Finally, someone comes out and you tell her that you need help. That never is the person you need to see. You go see another person, and after spilling the whole shame of your poverty all over the desk between you, you find that this isn’t the right office after all-you must repeat the whole process, and it never is any easier at the next place. You have asked for help, and after all it has a cost. You are again told to wait. You are told why, but you don’t really hear because of the red cloud of shame and the rising cloud of despair. Poverty is remembering. It is remembering quitting school in junior high because “nice” children had been so cruel about my clothes and my smell. The attendance officer came. My mother told him I was pregnant. I wasn’t, but she thought that I could get a job and help out. I had jobs off and on, but never long enough to learn anything. Mostly I remember being married. I was so young then. I am still young. For a time, we had all the things you have. There was a little house in another town, with hot water and everything. Then my husband lost his job. There was unemployment insurance for a while and what few jobs I could get. Soon, all our nice things were repossessed and we moved back here. I was pregnant then. This house didn’t look so bad when we first moved in. Every week it gets worse. Nothing is ever fixed. We now had no money. There were a few odd jobs for my husband, but everything went for food then, as it does now. I don’t know how we lived through three years and three babies, but we did. I’ll tell you something, after the last baby I destroyed my marriage. It had been a good one, but could you keep on bringing children in this dirt? Did you ever think how much it costs for any kind of birth control? I knew my husband was leaving the day he left, but there were no goodbye between us. I hope he has been able to climb out of this mess somewhere. He never could hope with us to drag him down. That’s when I asked for help. When I got it, you know how much it was? It was, and is, seventy-eight dollars a month for the four of us; that is all I ever can get. Now you know why there is no soap, no needles and thread, no hot water, no aspirin, no worm medicine, no hand cream, no shampoo. None of these things forever and ever and ever. So that you can see clearly, I pay twenty dollars a month rent, and most of the rest goes for food. For grits and cornmeal, and rice and milk and beans. I try my best to use only the minimum electricity. If I use more, there is that much less for food. Poverty is looking into a black future. Your children won’t play with my boys. They will turn to other boys who steal to get what they want. I can already see them behind the bars of their prison instead of behind the bars of my poverty. Or they will turn to the freedom of alcohol or drugs, and find themselves enslaved. And my daughter? At best, there is for her a life like mine. But you say to me, there are schools. Yes, there are schools. My children have no extra books, no magazines, no extra pencils, or crayons, or paper and most important of all, they do not have health. They have worms, they have infections, they have pink-eye all summer. They do not sleep well on the floor, or with me in my one bed. They do not suffer from hunger, my seventy-eight dollars keeps us alive, but they do suffer from malnutrition. Oh yes, I do remember what I was taught about health in school. It doesn’t do much good. In some places there is a surplus commodities program. Not here. The country said it cost too much. There is a school lunch program. But I have two children who will already be damaged by the time they get to school. But, you say to me, there are health clinics. Yes, there are health clinics and they are in the towns. I live out here eight miles from town. I can walk that far (even if it is sixteen miles both ways), but can my little children? My neighbor will take me when he goes; but he expects to get paid, one way or another. I bet you know my neighbor. He is that large man who spends his time at the gas station, the barbershop, and the corner store complaining about the government spending money on the immoral mothers of illegitimate children. Poverty is an acid that drips on pride until all pride is worn away. Poverty is a chisel that chips on honor until honor is worn away. Some of you say that you would do something in my situation, and maybe you would, for the first week or the first month, but for year after year after year? Even the poor can dream. A dream of a time when there is money. Money for the right kinds of food, for worm medicine, for iron pills, for toothbrushes, for hand cream, for a hammer and nails and a bit of screening, for a shovel, for a bit of paint, for some sheeting, for needles and thread. Money to pay in money for a trip to town. And, oh, money for hot water and money for soap. A dream of when asking for help does not eat away the last bit of pride. When the office you visit is as nice as the offices of other governmental agencies, when there are enough workers to help you quickly, when workers do not quit in defeat and despair. When you have to tell your story to only one person, and that person can send you for other help and you don’t have to prove your poverty over and over and over again. I have come out of my despair to tell you this. Remember I did not come from another place or another time. Others like me are all around you. Look at us with an angry heart, anger that will help

#poverty #reallife