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ivy72376 · 11 months

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NEW BEGINNINGS, MAY 1-31, 2023

A discerning ear... According to some bio-medical sources, the sense of hearing is the first of the five senses developed in a human being, starting even while as a fetus in the womb, and the last to go at the point of physical death... And for one primarily visual learner like me and many of us, it is one where the input is quite difficult to remember for a long time too... But I noticed that in the Word, this sense is far more talked about regarding our God than the sense of seeing... For we are taught more often that 'God hears', especially sincere and humble prayers of a contrite and repentant heart (not mouth, meaning our deepest desires, cares and sorrows, even unspoken)... And this seems to be key in how we obey His command to love our fellowman too, as in, when we 'play-by-ear' what other people are feeling, saying between the lines, their situations and conditions, before we even utter a word... Much like the sounds of joy and weeping could not be distinguished in our story today, so too often it is difficult for people to sense from our words whether what we say are spoken out of pride and arrogance in our perceived seniority and superiority when we give advice or admonition, or genuine care and concern... But humble hearts are wise and pour forth wisdom... May we then strive for humility and meekness, that as we gain discernment of people, hearing what they are not saying, or trying to say but they cannot, we can always communicate in ways that build up and encourage, that blesses and inspires, that gives the right answer, that brings life and hope and peace...

#HappyMay312023

Unless the Lord builds the house... of your life, all your professions and proclamations of faith are in vain... Because the one whose life is built upon His firm and sure foundation has no need to doubt and fear about what happens tomorrow, for He is already there; and what we must do today is to do good and give our best in everything--in our labors, in faith and worship, in our relations with others... That manifests that indeed we believe that we have a God who blesses and restores, who both guides and leads in wisdom, and who gives due reward of mercy and peace to those who wait on Him, in whatever way, whenever...

#HappyMay302023

Seeing beyond... Means to have hope that in spite of life's present troubles, a better future still awaits... With the pandemic-turned-endemic, wars and disruptions, life for many has turned uncertain and dim, hopeless even, if statistics and surveys on how many young people around the world see their future be considered... Yet, we can still believe that as long as there is life, our Creator and Savior gives us a chance to do better and achieve greater things; as long as we can still wake up, and tomorrow becomes today, we are still given something to put our efforts to, to dedicate our energies and talents on, on becoming better people, and on making this world a better place...

#HappyMay292023

Because our God is not a God of miscommunication... Two millennia ago, on that fateful Pentecost holiday, the Word recorded one of its rarest miracles; that actually can be expained biologically if we take the time to marry science into faith, because young infants can actually communicate with each other regardless of race and language if put side by side... By speaking in tongues here do not mean the gibberish that some fake uttering in order to impress that they have felt the presence; but actually real, conversational and structured languages and dialects of different tribes and nations around the Jewish one... And much like today, if we claim to abide by the faith named after our Savior, we cannot use language nobody in their logical mind understands; we cannot preach fables and anecdotes, fantasies and conjectures, nor gloom-and-doom hearsay and prophesy but real issues... Because everyday life is terrible and horrific enough for us to create monsters in the minds of others; but loving our fellowman is and should be as real, tangible and true as our love of God... Gibberish mumbling does not manifest a baptism of the Spirit, but rather exhibiting the fruits thereof to one and all--faith brethren or not, favorite kin or annoying neighbor not withstanding... And we wait for the Spirit, we wait on it, not scream and conjure it into existence, until we feel tingling sensations (when accompanied with hoarseness of voice might actually very well lead to colds or flu rather than the 'Holy Spirit's Presence')... And when we appropriate the Jewish holiday of Pentecost, likewise, when the tongues of fire were sent to manifest that salvation is made available to all mankind--regardless of race and gender; then we fulfill its purpose when we open our lives to be poured out along with our Savior's streams of living water; that love, mercy, grace, forgiveness, reconciliation and eternal life be showered to all...

#HappyMay282023

Life is incremental and insidious... Because we do not find meaning in great breakthroughs and grand revivals, nor in sudden spurts of inspiration and bursts of courage and conviction; but the patience and persistence of living through and conquering our inadequacies and life's uncertainties everyday and each moment... Like what Zechariah reminded ancient Israel, may we not despise small, quiet efforts that build faith and resilience; because the lives we make are built on each little unrecognized task for the glory of our Maker, in the still, small voices of heartfelt and silent prayers, in the quiet help and support extended to those who need and are less capable, not in screams and shouts of vain and selfishly proud, yet empty adoration and fake praise...

#HappyMay272023

The wild card and the tactician... Was how one beloved drama nicknamed two of its fiercely competitive characters... In life too, we may often do our best to plan what we want, to strive to get what we believe is best, to carefully and judiciously curate what we present to society because we want them to believe we have perfect lives; but there is always a wild card... In Daniel's book and in the lives of His friends, it is the presence of God, His deliverance and care against the machinations of the enemy... If we worship and believe in the same God, we too can trust in this wild card; so that we can have the courage to break free from the chains of our pre-programmed and puppeteered existence into the wider, more unfamiliar, scarier and more challenging world outside... For in our weakness, He is our strength; and in our doubts, anxiety and uncertainty, He is our guarantee, our sure hope and confidence, our security and peace...

#HappyMay262023

The good neighbour... Seems to be the one commandment of our Savior most of us love to disobey... But truly, even when most of us consider wealth to be a measure of success, it is loving and being good to your neighbour, and living in peace with them--from your nearest housemate or kin, to those living around your abode--which is self-actualization for those of us who proclaim ourselves to belong to the faith named after our Savior... Instead of being rich and of high status in society, may we instead strive everyday to be good neighbors, and so do the will of the One who called us to eternal life, who told us to, "love our neighbour as we love ourselves"...

#HappyMay252023

March of the monitor... Another one of the things I truly miss living in the province is the regular sounding of the monitor lizard; which a former retired office mate said that every "tuk - ko!", means the pay has already been credited to the bank (lol)... Seriously though, because of urbanization and climate change, these creatures' habitat has steadily been degraded... On the spiritual side though, there is much to learn about the faithfulness of the monitor lizards in keeping time and seasons; unfortunately however, such is not the case when we monitor each other's personal or spiritual, mental and psychological performance and achievements... In the Word today we learn that each of us is accountable directly to God for our actions, whether that be to our lifestyle and preferences, how we treat others and make them feel... For a life full of anxiety and effort to prove our worth is vain; and unless you are a monitor lizard, don't monitor other people's life but your own... You can always pray for your concerns and fears, your doubts and inadequacies; and if you are concerned about others, it wouldn't impoverish you to lend a helping hand; and much

more, it enriches your soul to pray for others too...

#HappyMay242023

Different skreeks... One of the joys of living in the farm, which I miss so much living in the city, is the sound of critters at night... I've gotten so used to it that short of fully understanding what these guys are saying, and without looking at a watch, one would know what time of night it is approximately by the pattern of skreeks: few hours before midnight, they make, "skreek-skreek-skreek!" sounds repeatedly... After midnight, the pattern goes: "skrook-skreek, skrook-skreek, skrook-skreek!"... Those are just my interpretations though, as not being an entomologist, I still do not understand "bug language"... What's amazing though, is that our God and Creator has given us the bugs to coexist with, to remind us that if we keep pace with the earth through our daily endeavours, they too mark time and seasons, milestones and breakthroughs on their own terms and manner of communication... May we always learn to appreciate life and all creation, and do our part to preserve it and be the good stewards we were meant to be...

#HappyMay232023

Expecting rudeness... There are certain places and certain people from whom, because of involuntary observation, prior experience and knowledge, one can only expect rudeness, ignorance, tactlessness and entitlement... Which isn't surprising since the ancients, and even the Word, prophesy many people in these days to be so... But as a lifetime observer of people and seeing many time-honored and worthy values degenerate over time, one understands that there are still a few good people who exhibit acts of nobility, grace and kindness, but since they are treasures, are hard to come by and require much discernment... Thankfully, we have a God who triumphs over history and makes sure that our run in it will be filled with His presence and love, that we may manifest these to others too...

#HappyMay222023

Prayer is never intermittent... Probably because I am never a fan of diet and exercise, the word "intermittent", is not exactly one of my favorites (since I have already and will for a long time, associate it with a diet fad)... Just like being healthy starts with the ingrained habit of accepting your body shape and size, age, the effects of gravity, the accumulation of blessings and good things, diet should be preceded by the word "healthy"; and an everyday, every moment, unconscious habit... So I believe it is with prayer and communication with our God and the people He sends our way too... Because life goes on, and for as long as we breathe, as long as we still have the right and capacity to life, we also still have the obligation and ability to pray--not loudly for show or to influence and impress others, but silently, in still small voices that manifest the presence, the stillness, the peace and confidence of faith in a God who is everywhere, who is always willing to listen and respond in His own amazing ways...

#HappyMay202023

God's not deaf... That's worth repeating countless times to ourselves, until it becomes a default part of our system... As we diligently go through the rest of our lives living simply yet generously, in humility and respect, in freedom and fairness... That we have a God who hears our most silent prayers and wishes, and to whom we do not need to shout or scream for acknowledgment like spoiled brats, nor badger and nag repetitively for impact... When we give Him time to talk by being quiet and at peace, by slowing down and listening, He hears and answers, and gives us discernment to learn and understand about the good things He sends our way... May we keep that to heart, and be encouraged and strengthened for the rest of our journey...

#HappyMay192023

Grandparents' pet... Anyone who grew up close to or raised by grandparents can attest to how loving, soothing, and more understanding they are... Like a neighbour's kid this morning, who was crying and screaming because he doesn't want to go to school, but with a few soothing words from grandma, calmed down and reluctantly went ahead with his mom to prepare himself... Maybe that should be our great lesson in life too, as we are besieged by anxiety and worry, insecurity, OCD, PTSD, ADHD, and various other mental health conditions we deny and falsely attribute to us trying to make life perfect and whole... Because we can never have the perfect life with our own efforts; even how much we struggle to project our best; that can only come from the confidence and peace in knowing we have a God who appreciates us, who can relate to our struggles and tolerate our idiosyncrasies, but who always understands and is willing to give us a hand...

#HappyMay182023

Seen and valued... For many of us, it is a sad fact that we only value and recognize people from whom we believe we can reap benefits; but distance ourselves when those same people are in need themselves, not even bothering to give time to ask about their issues and concerns, their priorities and goals... And hurtful as it may seem, but that is normal human nature: to take advantage of people and situations, sometimes even inconveniencing them in inopportune moments, but discarding them when they have been bled dry... But thankfully we have a God of justice and provision; Who always looks out for the good of His people; who gives strength to the weary, deliverance to the abused, recompense to the disadvantaged, and hope and strength to the depleted... May we learn to value others as He values us; that in all situations we may be a blessing, not a burden; that we may be good influences, not burdensome hitchhikers...

#HappyMay172023

We know no one, not even ourselves... No, not our friends who only tell us what is good about their lives, who may share their struggles and hardships but only from their points of view, nor the influencers and online follows who only show their curated lives on socmed... But thankfully, we have a God and Creator who knows us inside out, who is fully aware of our potentials because He planned it, and who can equip us in every way even when we doubt our capacities... May we learn to tap into that eternal source of hope and strength, as we live the rest of our days manifesting His love and wisdom, His grace, generosity and mercy to all...

#HappyMay162023

You can't make a leaf, but you can be vertically aligned... It seems that the trouble for many of us is we think we can do anything we want if we put our mind to it... Quite the contrary though, for there are far too many things that other people do that we can't, nor can we even have control over our own bodily functions... Sometimes too we think we know everything, but are ignorant of even simple history, of people's personalities, and the workings of the cosmos... And so there is nothing left better for us to do than to humbly accept our shortcomings; and for the rest, to look up and trust that the One who designed and ordered the universe will also consistently put our lives in order... So that we do not subscribe nor compare our milestones and achievements with others; for to each of us is given grace each day, and a chance to do good and great with the lot given to us... That is, when we can't even create a living matter from non-existent ones, when we can't even understand how things and people came to be, what we can do is be vertically aligned to the One who gave us life, and to be horizontally in tuned with others, especially those whom He sent our way...

#HappyMay152023

The maternal instinct... Is what defines true motherhood... To care and nurture, to feed with food and wisdom, to teach and lead well, and to guide in humility and love... And not necessarily having your own physical kids... For there are those who have given birth, yet compete with their children for attention and affirmation, in acting childish, immature and clueless themselves... While there are those who haven't birthed with their bodies but with their hearts, in their wide and deep capacity to understand, to relate, to embrace diversities and quirks, in the love and acceptance they shower upon the difficult, the unlovable, the grumpy, the sarcastic, the bitter and depressed, the know-it-all... For we are all kids by heart, exploring ang journeying through life none the wiser... But for the rest of us who have learned to accept the good and bad while remaining joyful and hopeful, they are the mothers in us; and even with much or bereft of commercialism and trade, deserve to receive a worthy and heartfelt thanks and greeting: Happy Mother's Day...

#HappyMay142023

Non-dissimulated... Lately, as I got older, I have one other favorite Cebuano rendering of a rather deep word, one that I parroted from my late maternal grandparents, "dissimular"--to pretend to do something, but actually having different intentions or ulterior motives... And it seems our story and text today tell us that in order to live the proper life, we have to avoid that; although sadly, a lot of brethren seem to engage in that deplorable habit in a kind of hypocrisy, just to be called religious or holy, but underneath are full of envy and insecurity, fear and anxiety... It is good to heed the words of the apostle; for love indeed, cannot be manifested with fakery; and the false and pretense will always leak out and be discovered... May we be authentic people, in how we love and care for each other, in how we share our God's grace and goodness to one and all...

#HappyMay132023

Anger reveals who we are... This message really hits close to home, especially for the many of us who struggle with our tempers and patience... Because no matter how good we think we may be, how smart and accomplished, how wealthy, how strong in faith and convictions, how high in status, the moments that try our patience and tests our temper bring out the real us... And it is quite easy to feel superior and rant on others when we think they come up short, when we feel they block our way to getting what we want, when we think they commit a social or moral faus pax, than to see that the issue is us--or rather, our lack of understanding, patience, our carefully-masked up insecurity and fear, our photoshopped hypocrisy, that is tethering on the brink of a catastrophic reveal because someone 'got our goat'... May we understand that life is too short to waste energy on getting angry and forcefully demanding to be treated the way we think we deserve, but rather to be patient and appreciative at each little moment we are allowed to breathe, and to enjoy and do good with our short, vapor-like existence in the whole course of history and human interactions...

#HappyMay122023

How the birds and ants see... Is as different as night and day... Like seeing from the 91st story of a tall skyscraper, birds can see a lot, even the whole picture, but may miss the details... Much like people who often generalize things but fail to understand and be empathetic to the needs and issues of others... While those who see like ants can nitpick at the tiniest details, but can't even see what's beyond the corner, unless they have as keen a sense of smell as these our little creature friends... Thankfully we have a God who can see in both manners and beyond; so that even if the world neglects us, fail to see what we are really going through, uncognizant of our situations and the issues we face, He is always attentive to our needs, and desires that every day, in every way, we are at peace, and we enjoy all the love in His presence... May we have the humility to perceive, and the stillness and patience to wait on Him and His leading...

#HappyMay112023

We are only as good as our word... And we show whom and what we worship by how we deal with others through our words... Such is the case of our story today, of stolen amulets and figurines believed to bring good luck; of the sincerity, respect and consideration of our talk; and the manner in which we pray... For we do not serve a God that we can hold physically in hand, nor is He deaf and blind, nor His knowledge of languages limited, nor does He need us to touch amulets and figurines to invoke Him, nor for us to shout to the top of our lungs to call on Him or show the world that we worship Him... For He who created us is everywhere, and He did not manifest Himself to Moses from winds and the storms but through a gentle whisper... Likewise, we can only pray in secret, from the bottoms of our hearts; and we can only perceive Him as we obey His Word to do good to our fellowman regardless of who they may be, or whether they do good to us in return... Our God is Creator, He is in creation; He can never be held nor stolen nor adored and fellowshipped with exclusively, but in wisdom, in love, in peace and order amongst the chaos, in humility and grace amidst life's harassments and tragedies...

#HappyMay102023

Who knows us... A famous leadership expert says that in terms of promotion, it's not whom you know that's key, but who knows you... Funny, considering that in the workplace and in society, a lot more people would suck up to the powers-that-be, even putting others down just so they could rise up... Good thing to know that in the eyes of our Maker and Savior, it is His knowledge of us that ensures our endurance and deliverance... I never fail to get amazed at certain people whose prayers seem to always get good answers, and realize that indeed He is attentive to their cries, no matter when and where, and of whatever kind... Are our lives known by our God? Can He distinguish us inside out? Are our actions to Him and others distinguishable and marked with His presence, love and grace, and not for the likes and impressions we crave from people and faith brethren?... Even if we are incognito and irrelevant, unknown to the rest of the world, may we find confidence and peace, in the daily effort and connection, in the daily grace and privilege that we are known by Him...

#HappyMay092023

Vincit omnia Veritas... Is a famous quote made a motto of one of our local fraternities, as also plastered by them around the city's walls... And indeed, much as many unscrupulous and notorious people throughout history have tried to bury and cover it up, to falsify and smokescreen it, to change the narrative, it always comes out, delivering a hard comeuppance, determining and changing the course of history, discourse, civil, political and spiritual society... And when our Lord and Savior declared Himself to be the Truth, may we realize that a fake faith too does not pay; fake goodness and principles built on lies only lead to a sorry end, and a filtered, curated life is vain, joyless and devoid of peace and contentment... May we uphold the truth, be sincere and authentic, be discerning and profound, as we remain humble and understanding, generous, courteous and kind; for these are the ultimate manifestations of our love for our God, our love of our fellowman, and our love for life and creation...

#HappyMay082023

More than fellowship and human companionship, but His presence... That is what we need for right worship and relationship with our Creator, and that brings us salvation and inner healing... Like true friends who may be apart for decades but remain close at heart, so is our unseen God to those who truly love Him--unperceived by the physical senses, yet firmly convinced that His power and glory, His mercy and love surround and fill us each day... So that no matter the hardships in life, we do not need to manifest our own strength and power, we do not need to feel superior and rule over others, we need not accumulate much wealth and status; because if our faith is true, and our obedience in Him faithful and pure, He fills us with His presence, His strength, His wisdom, His humility and greatness in every situation... Indeed, a life truly reformed and transformed, a life destined for greatness even beyond the grave, starts here now in faith, in patience, in understanding, unassuming and humble, yet kind, courteous, tactful, magnanimous and real...

#HappyMay072023

Thankfulness is a lifestyle... And as such, it manifests God's Spirit in our lives... We can give thanks through words; but we can give thanks through deeds, especially when we pay forward, when we free ourselves from greed and pride, when we strip ourselves of vanity and envy, when we are generous and understanding, when we remain humble, helpful, resourceful and hopeful; knowing that because our God has dealt with us so graciously in the past, He is going to do more so now and in the future; and the thankful heart expresses and lives that attitude even now... Let's always give thanks to our God, and to the people He sends our way...

#HappyMay062023

Fruits borne by grace... We believe we have been saved from the death of our souls through the grace of our Maker and Savior... Pre-Jesus' time, Moses also experienced such when he repented of his murder, and self-exiled from civilization to live the nomadic life... And when such grace comes true in our lives, regardless of what we are and what we believe in, we become less selfish and judgmental, we become more giving and understanding, we stop imposing our own beliefs and convictions on others, we stop thinking we are better just because we attend church regularly, we have more degrees, we are more entitled because we have more connections, we have accumulated more friends and family, status and wealth... Grace bearing fruit in us is like that of Moses: transformed, reformed, stripped bare of the sandals of vanity; for in the Holy place of God's presence in our lives, there should be room only for listening to His will and plan for us, obedience to His leading, and doing greater things not by our intellect and strength, but by His power, and for His glory...

#HappyMay052023

The inner weapon... Is best, and manifests well in humble confidence... That in spite of our daily realities, a better life awaits, greater things lie ahead... And whatever may be our status in life, irrespective of wealth or language, a heartfelt prayer to our God and Maker is the most human and humane thing to do; acknowledging our mortality and dependence, and giving us courage to do good, to face life's challenges, to be a source of hope and inspiration, and to be a force for good to others... May we always be prayerful in any situation...

#HappyMay042023

Keep on walking... My late maternal grandpa reached 94 in relative good health due to a virtually stress-free disposition, exercising in his latter years through daily neighborhood hikes... And I just learned from a drama show that when drunk, taking a hike helps sober people up... One realizes that life indeed is challenging and burdensome; but a hike, a stroll, a regularly-cadenced stride helps to calm our nerves and alleviates anxiety, with the movement of which even modern-day doctors say is one of the most effective ways to prevent and cure inflammation, which they say is the leading cause of diseases... Yes, at whatever age, especially in our advancing years, as long as we keep to the safe paths, and watch out for falls and slips, steady, regular walking helps us achieve a good and healthy life... So it seems in the spiritual too: even with tiredness and disillusionment, diminished capacity and resources, discouragements and setbacks, as long as we keep on the right path on the journey and be careful not to give up, give in, slip up or fall down hard, we can hold on in hope and faith... Tiredness and sore bones are only temporary predicaments, not final judgments; we are tired and sore because we have done something, we have exerted our effort; but what should keep us on and help us endure is because we are doing, we are exerting, we keep on walking...

#HappyMay032023

Tuck Everlasting, and family... Was a fun read and an eye opener too... For many of us want to live and stay young longer; so much so that we do everything we can, and pay as much in procedures and for food and fad diets and exercise to do so... But taking it from a family who was always on the move because they wouldn't want to call too much attention on themselves when they never grew old and their neighbors did, would mean that such desires for immortality is alienating and insular... For our God has ordained that life and time take their course and toll on us, to develop and make us grow in wisdom and acceptance; and true beauty is manifested in us when we gracefully embrace our age, our status, our diminished capacities; because that would mean we are ever closer to Him in dependence, in spiritual and physical presence... Yes, the gray hairs and wrinkles, the wobbly knees and aching backs are bothersome, and friends and loved ones may leave, neglect or abandon us to move on to their next exciting life-phases; but if we can find confidence and hope that our Savior had prayed for us and loves us so much, and He intends in every way to provide and care for us, then the advancing and twilight years are more than welcome... The farther we go and the longer we spend in life means the closer we get to our ultimate victory in His kingdom...

#HappyMay022023

That one candle stand... In the church of the sectarian school I teach, there is a religious icon assemblage of a half-naked Christ, fronted by rows of 12 candlesticks, with 5 directly in front of the icon, 6 in the next row, and 1 alone in the third... I realize that it depicts the disciples after the Lord's death and resurrection; particularly after the treacherous one, Judas, committed suicide, and was replaced by Barnabas the Encourager... And so we learn that in our faith and life journey, we get into our breakthroughs, we persevere and endure not only of what we are, what we have and what we believe in; but because our God sends "Encouragers" - - friends and family whom we do not realize become our real life coaches, and who and with whom we share our faith and reason for hope... May we not let the spirit of fear, pride, discouragement and disillusionment make us lose sight of our life's purpose and goal; may we be sensitive to the needs of others and not just say in words but act to encourage and inspire; while we open ourselves up to the encouragement of those who truly care for us, to guard ourselves well, yet to not forget the lesson from those who seek to belittle, insult, oppress, abuse and take advantage of us... For no matter what we encounter in our journey, we are confident that our Savior who finished His work for our salvation, will also complete His work in us as we live that gift and grace throughout our lives...

#HappyMay012023

0 notes

mielesis · 3 years

Note

Hiya! Uhm so I believe Apollo is reaching out to me however he is the first ever deity to really reach out with me and I’m not sure where I should start or do and I was wondering if you had any tips or ideas?

[English is not my first language, I am a self-taught person, please understand this goes with my greatest effort from the bottom of my heart and will probably spend hours writing this very carefully for you, thank you <3]

Hi dear, of course, I will be pleased to help you

“I believe Apollo is reaching out to me”

I am deeply happy to hear that, I bet he is -for sure- trying to reach out to you and -I must say- it is truly wonderful to start recieving signs from deities, specially from Apollo as the first deity since he’s really sweet and caring for his children.

“I’m not sure where I should start or do and I was wondering if you had any tips or ideas?” Of course, it is always a pleasure to help.

So let’s start with the basics:

Research ! I recommend you to research about him as much as you can (e.g stories, domains, symbols, offerings, etc.) with that done, it will be easier for you to spot more signs. Research sometimes is the best way to connect with a deity and also that allows you to let them know you are interested in them as well.

Whenever you feel ready for the next step, I suggest you to tell him properly that you accept him in your life, this can be done by making a playlist, writing, playing an instrument, drawing, etc in his honor (e.g if you chose a playlist, set the intention that the playlist itself is going to be in Apollo’s honor, made with particular songs that reminded you of him or his energy only), I consider that it is important to present yourself as well ! he presented himself to you but you haven´t yet so you can talk to him mentally or out loud (or even when doing something in his honor) and tell him your name and about what you like to do, how you felt with the signs, etc. In my opinion that is a wonderful activity to do.

Again, only when you feel ready and sure about it, you can begin to create his altar (it can be physical or digital, don´t worry) and it is not necessary to be aesthetically pleasing or buy super expensive things because your altar will be the place where you will leave offerings to Apollo, sincere offerings coming from the bottom of your heart (e.g play a song from spotify that reminded you of him, a flower you picked up from the park, a drawing you made thinking of him, etc.) Therefore every altar is unique, we all make the devotional acts we feel good with and we know that will connect us with Apollo in some way or another. In the case you don’t know where to start with the physical altar, I suggest you to choose a place you feel good with and clean it physically and spiritually, I always tend to choose the north but you can choose any other direction. After you have that done, you can place a table or use a desk, a box, whatever you want or already have that you can use. Choose the things you would like to fill your altar with, (e.g a yellow candle, statue/pictures of Apollo, an offering bowl or anything that could complete the same function, sun/lyre/sunflower imagery, etc.) and then you will be filling it with more offerings such as poetry, drawings, music pieces, medicinal plants, etc. because Apollo usually make his children re-connect with art, joy and self-care, medicine principally.

About the devotional acts you can do for him, I will leave you a list:

- Say goodmorning/goodnight to him

- Sunflowers

- Bay leaves

- Humming/ singing a song you like (it doesn´t matter if you don´t sing on tune, he will be happy with you performing in his honor)

- Writing poetry or spoken word

- Playing an instrument

- Reading his myths to him

- Take care of yourself !! he loves when his children take their medicines or care about their health in general

- Take a walk under the sun

- Talk about him

- Make him a playlist

- Bake some lemon/orange/honey cookies

- Apples

- Honey

- Sun water

- Olive oil

- Lyre/archery imagery

- A swan decoration

- Donate to local artists

- Take a mini first aid kit with you

- Listen music you love next to his altar

- Dance in his honor !! (again, it doesn´t matter if you don´t know how to dance, just move, jump, move your hands, whatever you feel comfortable with but - feel the music, free your body- he will love that !!

- Leave him some sunstones and crystals related to him

- Read about him, research about him, talk about him, he loves when his children give him attention hehe

- Give him chocolate (other devotees agree he likes it)

- Hydratate yourself !!

- Always treat yourself with kindness

Now it´s time to list the ways deities can use to communicate with us:

- Thoughts, sometimes deities will reply to you through your own mind as crazy as it sounds !! you only have to trust your intuition as well

- Dreams, if you dream about Apollo or any symbol related to him, a message or something you feel it was from him, believe in it !!

- Meditations, some deities use meditation to communicate with us, as well as in dreams, they send us images, symbols, words, etc.

- Pendulum (I personally don´t practice it yet) but you can search here on tumblr

- Tarot, same as the pendulum, sorry I can´t provide you properly information about this one

- Candles flames, this was the second connection I had with him and how he told me to take care about my lungs, it is really easy to learn but also have to believe in your own intuition !!

- Animals/symbols/songs/etc, sometimes Apollo connects with his children through animals or songs, he usually sends crows

- Emotions, in my personal experience I had something called “emotional numbness”, I couldn´t feel any joy nor sadness, I was like a robot but since I connected with Apollo (and also did my shadow work !!) I feel happiness in everything, I go out and feel deeply happy under the sun, I re-connected with art and even overcomed my major depressive episode, so yes, Apollo is really caring and sweet with his children

- People, sometimes deities connect with us through other people, specially healing people, happy people, etc or even a stranger who feels the necessity to give or tell us something that can be considered as a message from Apollo

I think I wrote everything I wanted you to know !!

I hope this was helpful to you and as a final advice: do as you feel like it, everyone is unique and will recieve unique signs, at unique times. I wish you the best in this new journey !! and I’d for sure love to have an update from you !

With lots of love,

Miel <3

#apollo devotee #apollo devotion #apollo worship #apollo #apollo deity #deity worship #deity #hellenic worship #hellenic pantheon #hellenic devotion

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easily-infatuated23 · 4 years

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The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

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

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x professor!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter #harry potter au #hogwarts #slytherin #malfoy manor #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #scorpius malfoy

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monster-bait · 4 years

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Monster Match: Torben the Werebear, NSFW

For @monstersandmaw I’m here for big squishy monster bois - werebears or werewolves or whatever takes your fancy when you get the chance in the new year.

The morning sky was clear, pink-threaded golden light enveloping the valley between the trees, glittering across the lake’s surface. Noisy bursts of birdsong split the air from the tall curtain of pines that ringed the lake on one side, and you sucked in the crisp air. Breath...hold...exhale.

You would be fine.

After all, you’d taught this class before, for weeks at a time: had spoken in front of groups larger than this, had walked more people through the steps of sawing and filing, explaining the different flames of the soldering process, the difference in dapping and doming. To children, to teenagers. Never to adults, never to other creators…Teenagers who possessed more experience than this lot, you remind yourself. The intermediate class, teens who had been taking advanced classes in poetry and horseback riding in tandem, who had long since mastered the basics of your trade.

You would be fine.

Are you a tradesman of a dying art?

Would you like to extend your creative repertoire?

We’re seeking hands-on artisans for an immersive ten day retreat

Teach your craft and learn from your neighbors!

The flyer had been hanging on the community board of the small, arts-focused school where you taught silversmithing to teenagers privileged enough to attend a school like Putnam, where “experience and collaboration unlocked the doors to the future.”

You’d made a promise to yourself that year: that you would start making you a bigger priority, that you would do a better job protecting your mental health and feeding your happiness. You loved learning new things, you loved travel, and you absolutely loved being surrounded by nature…

The job at Putnam was a good gig and you were lucky to have found it—the kids were mostly great, the administration treated the guest artists like visiting celebrities, and most importantly, it was flexible and paid well enough that you could definitely afford to fly across the ocean for a ten day retreat in the Canadian wilderness.

Now you were here and today was the day—you’d be standing in front of the room, showing other professional artists the basics of silversmithing. You still weren't sure if being assigned to teach your class on the first day of the retreat was enormous luck, or if you’d pulled the short straw, but it was too late to dwell upon it now. Gripping the rawhide mallet you’d been swinging, you turned away from the lake. It was time.

What if no one shows up? What if you trip over all of your words? A jumble of nerves tripped and climbed over each other as you walked back to the cabin where your class would be held; the same fears you’d had as an anxious seven-year old, waiting to see who would show up to your birthday party, the pony-shaped cake ordered for the occasion placed in the center of a long, rainbow-festooned table.

The door to the cabin opened as you plugged in the slow cookers full of pickling solution, interrupting your panic. A tall man ducked under the door frame, shouldering into the room and stopping your spiraling thoughts in their tracks.

You’d noticed him the night before at the welcome dinner: ruggedly handsome and somewhat outsized, wedged between the organizer and the woman who wove intricate baskets and wreaths from long strips of tree fiber that she shaved directly from a large stump. He flashed you a lovely smile, even and white and beaming wide, before he took a seat near the front of the room.

You wouldn’t have minded him being the only attendee, you thought, appreciatively eyeing his wide shoulders as he settled in the too-small chair.

The fears of your seventh birthday proved to be unfounded, as the door opened again. For the next five minutes, a steady stream of participants flooded into the room, filling nearly every seat. You’d brought just enough material, you realized with a relieved sigh.

After a brief introduction, you told the group a bit about your background in a voice that only shook a little, when you made eye contact with the big man in the front. His eyes were like pieces of bittersweet chocolate, dark and shining, and his full lips raised in a small, encouraging smile as you straightened and pressed on, buoyed by the confidence his smile lent you.

You’re a teacher, a master craftsman. This will be a piece of cake, you assured yourself, meeting his eye fleetingly once more.

“Do you need a hand with these?”

He was hovering in the doorway, pointing at the crockpots of pickling solution, the last person in the room after your workshop.

“I would love that.” You beamed, craning your neck back to make eye contact. Broad shouldered and barrel-chested, he was as tall as a tree.

“You were really great, I learned a lot. I didn’t even melt the copper to my thumb! I’m Torben, by the way.”

His thick, dark hair was close-cropped on the sides and left longer on top, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, again showing off that even row of white teeth as you laughed. He’d been attentive and studious during your workshop, asking you the kinds of questions that indicated his experience, to a decent degree, with the tools of your trade.

You sagged against the wall in relief as he dumped the steaming pickle solution down the utility sink’s drain.”I was so nervous,” you confessed. “When I signed up for this, I was so focused on the travel aspect that I forgot I was going to need to actually teach! I’m glad to hear I wasn’t just rambling...you seem to have a bit of experience, though. What class are you instructing?”

You learned, as he walked with you across the sun-dappled campus, that he was a glass blower, with a small studio right there in British Columbia. You’d unconsciously walked back to the commissary, you realized, smiling as he held the door open. When you’d left your small cabin that morning, you couldn’t have possibly imagined that you’d be practically strolling arm-in-arm with the handsome man you’d spied the night before, and wondered what the cost of such dumb luck would be.

Torben took his coffee with cream and two sugars, knowledge that seemed insignificant but strangely intimate, and you tucked it away as he chuckled at your dismayed reaction to the tea selection.

“So what’s the plan for the afternoon?” he asked, after sipping from his steaming cup. You’d followed him to a picnic table outside the commissary’s doors, and the sun warmed your back and glinted off his sable hair. “Are we gonna do the fabric dyeing or the…” he glanced down at the schedule before him, cocking a full eyebrow, “...bread dough sculpting?”

We. Maybe it was forward of him to assume you’d be amenable to buddying up for the afternoon, or, you considered, maybe you were just reading too much into his words. You were, after all, in a rather small group, clusters were bound to form. He’s just being friendly.

You sat beside each other at a long wooden table just a short time later, once more huddled around crockpots, as a serious-faced hulder explained the different colors one could achieve through soaking their wool with onion skins and madder root.

“I forgot to mention,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that you were able to feel the heat of his skin, woodsey pine notes curling around your nose, making your pulse flutter, “I’m red-green color blind. This is gonna be fun, eh?”

You were given free rein to attempt creating your own colors for small bundles of processed wool, and your stomach bunched and swooped every time he leaned in to deliver some self-deprecating quip or exclaim in horror that he’d skipped a step in the instructions.

“Maybe we should have done the bread sculpting,” you tittered, barely able to hide your giggles behind your hand, as the scowling hulder examined Torben’s fabric swatches, which had all come out the same indistinct, muddy color.

Fabric dyeing was followed by a late lunch together, where you learned he preferred the peace and quiet of the wilderness to the non-stop hecticness of Vancouver, where he lived in a small apartment.

“I come out here every chance I get. I live in a really cool area, there’s always a lot to do—lots of galleries and concert clubs, great restaurants, but it’s just non-stop. Noise, crowding, traffic...it’s nice to get away. I guess becoming a woodsman is my secret ambition,” he laughed.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sighed, lamenting that free time during the day was sparse. “I’m fortunate to live outside of the city, I can pop off to be outside whenever I want. I wish we had the chance to check out some of the trails here, but I guess that’s not what we signed up for.”

"We have free time at night," he cut in, a bit cautiously, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction. "I know this area like the back of my hand. If you wanted to go for a walk tonight, we could."

Butterflies trembled through you at the thought of spending time with him, secluded in the dark. More than just being friendly, maybe...You had no reason to doubt his sincerity or his intentions, you decided. All day he’d been funny and personable, talking about himself freely, never making you uncomfortable with his questions or nearness. He was friendly, he was disarming, he was...dead sexy.

You bit your lip, unable to disagree with yourself. He was solid and thick-set, with a wide back and powerfully-built arms, if the stretched-taut fabric of his shirt was any indication. His big, dark eyes were framed by a thick fan of lashes most women would be thrilled to have, and you had the feeling that snuggling with him by a fire would be the coziest thing imaginable. Feed your happiness…your internal voice was right, you decided with a grin. This trip was about doing what made you happy, and you hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d hung behind after your class that morning.

“That sounds excellent.”

He had giant hands.

You’d been remiss in not noticing earlier, you thought, watching the enormous span of them as he shaped the wet lump of clay on the potter’s wheel. Every time he dipped his thick fingers into the bowl of water, a fresh layer of the oozing clay would cascade down the side of his hands, cupping the sides of the spinning heap, carefully guiding the shape to take form. You’d felt the span of them the night before, the thickness of his fingers and the strength of his grip, but seeing them now, covered in clay, nearly took your breath away.

It was the fifth day of the retreat, the halfway point, you noted with a pang that morning, saddened that the relaxing time in the woods was nearly at an end. The camaraderie of the shared meals and the interesting workshops...and the time with Torben.

Your supposition that he’d be an excellent cuddler had proven true.

That first night, he’d told you about the wildlife in the area as you walked up the dark path, gripping his sleeve as the moon disappeared, once you moved into the treeline.

“Bears?” you’d murmured nervously, gulping. There were no bears in the wild in the UK, but you’d seen them in zoos before. They did not seem like the kind of animal you wanted to wonder upon in the dark forest.

“We can watch them, if you want.” His voice had been a whisper, one that you’d felt shiver up your spine as he pulled you carefully through the darkness. “Nothing will hurt you.”

You’d been clinging to him when he led you carefully to a rocky outcropping, overlooking the twisting river. Below, illuminated in the bright moonlight, was a bear and its cubs, nosing at the water’s edge. You’d watched, spellbound, until the trio ambled back into the treeline, amazed that Torben had seemed to know exactly where they were in the great pine forest.

He’d proudly produced a box of Yorkshire Gold at breakfast the following morning, to your delight, before once more consulting the schedule for the day. Your cheeks had been warm as he read off the day’s different offerings, butterflies once more flapping a riotous frenzy within you.

On the third night, you’d blurted the question that had been bobbling in your mind for several days at that point.

“So are you part-orc or something?” You’d been pressed to his side, your arms wrapped around the thick tree trunk of his own arm, absorbing the heat and smell of him, feeling cozy and drowsy and turned on all at once. The rocky ledge had become your spot together, and you’d walked through the dark trees each night before sitting quietly to watch whatever animals visited the river below. He was huge, you thought dreamily, feeling the enormous strength of him against you...huge and strong and incredibly sweet. Dead sexy. He made your own curves seem positively dainty, a feeling you appreciated. Thickly built with solid, well-insulated muscle, heavy limbed, impossibly tall...being part-orc seemed a likely possibility, and the words left your mouth before sense could catch up with your vocal chords.

His laughter had been a deep rumble, echoing down the rockface and raising the hairs on your neck. Torben held out an arm, examining it under the moonlight. “I can usually see green okay, but who knows?” He laughed again when you buried your face against his arm, groaning in mortification. “Not an orc. Wow, this is easier than I thought it would be...I’m a were–”

“A werewolf? You’re a werewolf?” You interrupted with wide eyes. You’d always had a thing for werewolves, had gone out with one a few times back at home. The butterflies took wing once more as you waited expectantly.

“Not...exactly. A werebear. I guess you probably don’t meet too many of us taking the tube into London.”

Your eyes, if it was even possible, had widened even further. It made sense, you thought—his immense size and solid physique, his cuddliness...you hadn’t planned on kissing him at that moment, but once again your brain was left out of the equation as you leaned in, gripping the fabric of his shirtsleeve for leverage as you lifted yourself to his mouth.

Torben’s full lips were soft and warm against yours, a gentle pressure as he returned your kiss, again, then again. Your breath caught when he sucked your plump lower lip between his own, holding it there before your mouths broke apart. The soft sounds of the forest—the slight rustle of small animals in the underbrush, the wet lapping of the river—reigned in the comfortable silence that followed.

“And you? Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

You gasped in mock offense to his question, amused that he’d been wondering about you too. His rich laughter echoed down the canyon, stilling the animals in the brush. “I’m a plant witch,” you clarified haughtily. “And all that means is that I have a way with green things and I know how to use them. No broomsticks.”

“That’s a relief, I’m really not a fan of heights.”

Dinner the next night had once again been a group affair, and you’d met the wise-cracking lich who would be running the pottery workshop. He’d sat next to you, keeping the whole end of the table entertained with his stories of the little boy who lived next door to him who thought he was the grim reaper, and how he fed the theory by leaving dead plants and pet-less leashes on his terrace and peering menacingly through the blinds, while the bespectacled basket weaver had been on your other side, asking endless questions about arts education in the UK and the school where you taught.

Throughout, your foot had rested comfortably against the ankle of the werebear across the table, as his chocolate eyes sparkled.

After promising you’d be at Jerry the Lich’s pottery workshop the next afternoon, you’d excused yourself from the table, Torben close behind. There’d been less preamble before your mouths met under the moonlight once more. His tongue was hot against yours, and your hands appeared doll-like against the massive expanse of his broad chest.

“You know,” you’d said thoughtfully, once the heated kiss had broken off, “I’m starting to have my doubts that you’re actually teaching anything this week. You got wax everywhere.”

“You’re the one who wanted to be a chandler! I wanted to do arrow fletching!”

Your laughter was muffled by the fabric of his beleaguered button-down as your hands smoothed down his heavily-built torso, wondering how far you were willing to allow this little forest-bound fling go. You could easily envision yourself astride his hips, dragging your nails down his bare chest as he moved within you. Feeding your happiness...Heat flooded your face as you squeezed your thighs together, your sneaky, independent hand rubbing circles down his stomach...when Torben’s head raised sharply.

In an instant he was on his feet, gripping your wrists. “Don’t move.” His voice was practically a growl, gently pressing you to stay on the ledge. Your breath stuttered and stopped as he stepped away, staring intently into the impenetrable darkness of the trees.

You heard it then, somewhere in the distance: the snap of twigs as something heavy moved through the brush, followed by a snuffling grunt. The other sounds of the woods had abruptly ceased, the small animals holding their breath alongside you, as the huge creature lumbered closer. Torben echoed with a similar sound of his own, before the night air was rent by the sound of a huge paw slapping the earth. To your shock, Torben glanced back with a grin.

“C’mon,” he whispered. “The cubs are probably nearby and she wants us gone. Mama bear is not impressed with our canoodling...wait, what do you call it? Snogging?”

“This is not an angry bear in the woods conversation,” you’d hissed, allowing him to grip your hand tightly and steer you through the trees, moving off the trail and away from the threatened bear.

You saw the vague shape of her, slapping the ground in warning again as you pressed through the darkness. Your heartbeat had been thunderous when you’d arrived at the stoop of your small cabin, adrenaline racing like lightning through your veins, dragging him down by the collar, meeting his lips and tugging him inside, once again leaving sense behind.

His giant hands had completely encircled your waist, pushing the thin jumper up your body, as you made quick work of his buttons. Your thudding heart seemed to be everywhere at once—in your fingertips as they dragged through the dark line of hair that moved down his chest, jumping in your neck when he sucked at your pulse point, pouding behind your eyes as his lips moved over your breasts, teeth catching on a pebbled nipple. The bedding bunched in your fists when his hot tongue pressed between your open thighs, lapping at the wetness that was already there, making you arch when his full lips puckered and suckled at your clit.

This trip was about feeding your happiness, you reminded yourself after you’d come against his tongue, the ebbing pulses of your orgasm still quivering through you.

You intended to be a glutton.

“This is the cheapest condom in North America,” he laughed, after you’d produced the prophylactic that had come in the little first aid kit you’d bought at the airport. “We could wash the dishes with this thing.”

His cock was heavy and thick, slapping against his belly when you freed the swollen length of it from his boxers, stretching you deliciously when you lowered yourself, a knee on either side of the wide expanse of his body. The image you’d had in your head earlier couldn’t compare with the reality of actually fucking yourself atop him, the press and squeeze of his girth making you moan in a way that might have been embarrassing, if it hadn’t felt so bloody good.

When he began to lift his hips, meeting your shallow rolls with a depth your short legs were unable to achieve, you came again, clenching around him, feeling like you were flying.

The pillow was a plump cloud as your head sunk into it when he’d shifted your positions, rutting into you with fast, powerful thrusts, chasing his own release. “I’m close,” he panted, his hips still hammering against you, “but I can’t come in this thing. It feels four inches thick.”

He didn't protest when you pushed him up, even though the press of your palms against his shoulders was tantamount to moving a brick wall, rolling to his back once more. In contrast to his, your own small hands and stubby-seeming fingers barely fit around his heavy cock, and you were obliged to use both hands as you pumped him. The reverberation of his deep groan of pleasure could be felt against your lips when you bent to suck him, moving your tongue over his swollen head, his big hips jerking.

Another groan, a telltale throb, and then your mouth was flooded, his release running over your knuckles as you continued to pump him through an endless orgasm.

The circle of his arms was impossibly warm and cozy as you tucked against his side afterwards, his huge body completely filling the small single bed. You’d wondered, as you’d drifted to sleep against him, if Putnam would be amenable to giving you off for the winter months, allowing you to come hibernate in the Canadian wilderness.

Torben’s pot was surprisingly well-formed when it came off the potter’s wheel, perfectly formed by his huge hands, which was more than you’d been able to say about the misshapen cup you’d thrown. He’d laughed gleefully, gloating that he’d finally done something well.

“You’re going to go home with so many presents!” he exclaimed cheerfully, as you laced your fingers with his, uncaring of what other attendees might gossip. “Two expertly-dyed bundles of brown wool, a blob-shaped candle, and a really nice bowl. And you can take that condom back and wear it as a rain hat. Your hair will never be wet!”

Your outraged laughter made the hulder, just ahead, turn back curiously as you swatted his arm. His workshop was the following afternoon, and you couldn’t wait to see him in action. There were only five days left to enjoy his easy laugh and sparkling eyes, four nights to spend wrapped in his arms...but then there would be texting and video calls, future trips across an ocean that didn’t seem all that big, not when you compared it with the way he made you feel.

Your happiness, you decided, had never felt fuller.

Monster Matches available on ko-fi

... booking for February now!

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dropsofletters · 4 years

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the fader

title: the fader pairing: lee minhyuk/reader genre: traveler!au/strangers to lovers!au/one time love!au summary: there he is, the angel with a devilish smile, the new guy in town that has everyone talking. seated on the hood of his car, exchanging a few looks with her as she talks to her friends outside her workplace, she wonders if this is what the start of those romance movies feel like. minhyuk is here to stay, he promises her, time and time again. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor/suggestive word count: 18,812 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Not only a collector of material beings, she is, for there is something she also prides herself in: her collection of memories.

Not because of her intelligence, for the life of her she has never considered herself to be such thing, but because she can grip every bit of information from stories and myths, a lover of history over anything else. Complicated is the absolute opposite of it all, the town is not big enough for it to be a complex set of historical matters, and the people in there are not as much of a big group for her not to know what is happening. If anything, the whispers around the town could be heard everywhere, the greetings are loud, clear...everything is exposed, nothing left for imagination. If someone is bad, everyone knows it. If someone holds the rainbow in their smile, everyone notices.

The small city is the only placed she has ever been in. God forbid she ever goes to one of the places she has studied history from; planes sound like a flight to death and that irrational fear would never leave her bones. Nonetheless, she doesn’t complain, much less when Sundays come by and she is free from her job with Miss Hwang.

Sundays have always been eventful for her, welcomed by the diner that the individuals in this town often frequent. Rugged, old, full of memories and nice meals, enough for her to burn her tongue whenever she takes a bite of her food, delicacy in the form of home. Only when the youngest of the town heard her tell the tales of horror that went around the town did she get some company, for before anything happened, she would only grab a bite of food and look around for her friends to accompany her. Nowadays, or more like since a year ago, children of the town drag their friends over and sit down in the same table as her, some on seats, others on the floor, others standing, wanting to hear the new story that she has investigated.

Her talking skills are entrancing, she can say, she is good at storytelling, at giving away the necessary bits and keeping the uninteresting to herself. This routine has led her to feel more fulfilled, connected with her roots more than ever, waking up early in the morning simply to re-read over her favorite history books of her town, all courtesy of Miss Hwang. The dusty pages, the chatter of the children, the trip towards the diner every single moment of mid-day to grab some lunch. Everything made her feel useful, a new badge of memories added to her story.

Her feet are moving frantically at this point, knowing that lunchtime was just arriving and she had gotten quite lost in her own textbooks. The dust of the old streets flickers up at the mere weight of her shoes, nonexistent for someone who has grown up in such a place, the heat coming from the sky falling upon her skin and doing nothing more than warm her up. This is her daily life, the reason why she would never want to leave such a place—more than her home, it is a part of who she really is.

The first one to greet her is one of the old men that stand in front of the diner, a cigarette in between his lips that would never match the soft smile that comes from David. He lifts his hand in a salute, typical of him when he calls her name sweetly. “Haven’t seen you here in a long time.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling at the sound of the man’s voice as she presses her back to the entrance door, only needing a push of her weight to open it. “I’ve been cooking, you see. Besides, I was here last Sunday—”

“I feel betrayed,” David adds exaggeratedly, earning a few laughs from his group of old people. The over seventies club, she likes to call them inside her head. “You know there’s no food like the one my family makes.”

“I know,” She adds, a pout on her tone when she places her hand over her heart. “I won’t do it again. I sincerely missed your food.”

“Don’t worry.” The old man finishes, taking a drag of his cigarette and smoking a cloud into the air. As if the town is not heated enough, he plays part in the contamination of the world. Nonetheless, David has never been short of a good man—when times were the toughest, all caused by her adored yet non-giving job, he’d offer her free food. Something along the lines of ‘you’re like my daughter’ is his excuse. “Ask for whatever you want. It’s in the house.”

“Thank you.” She says with a big smile on her face, pushing the door open with her butt before stopping on her tracks. Her fingers point inside, a quirked eyebrow highlighting her statement: “Are the children waiting outside?”

“When are they not?”

“Sorry.” She apologizes, a hiss in her tone when one of David’s friends shake their head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He starts. “This place has never seen as much life as you give it.”

Upon entering the diner, she realizes she couldn’t lie to herself—this is what she loves the most, pleasing people, being praised for her hard work, and most importantly, giving out something to this difficult, somewhat impressively tough world. The wood by the walls are covered in family pictures...David’s great-grandfather, his grandfather, his father and so on and so forth. Much to the adoration of this place, it was now in the hands of David’s daughter, the cause of her filled stomach on Sunday days. The chattering of people is tranquil, some embarking on their food trips, other finishing off with a cup of coffee and on her usual table, the one with the torn red leather seat, there are a group of people already waiting for her. Mostly her closest friends and the children of the small town.

She rests her book down, letting out as sigh of delight when she receives greetings. How can one be lonely in such a place, where voices are always heard, love is always felt? She doesn’t know. The thought has never crossed her head. “Stop making a fuss,” She tells the children, the youngest—the sweet young boy around five years old—is the first one to keep his mouth shut. “We’ll make the other people here feel annoyed. Come on.”

Emily, the mother of the five-year-old, and one of her closest friends, speaks as she twirls her son’s curly hair in between her fingers, her glasses lowering when she gives her a tired glance. “You’re the one that started with this kindergarten slash elementary club. I’m sure everyone in town knows they love you.”

This is one of the reasons why she continues to read, continues to look for myths and the truth of this town. She doesn’t want anyone to ever feel embarrassed of where they came from—she wants art to be worshipped, loved, taken into consideration. This can only be fulfilled by teaching the youngest, which is why she plops down on her seat, extending her hands on top of the table. “I’ll go order and then, I’ll tell you guys the story of why this town is called the way it is.”

Something beautiful grows within her when she realizes that no number of negatives in her bank account could ever take this away from her: her memory. Even with her eyes closed, she could recognize the food from David’s diner. Even with her soul taken away from her body, she’d always go back home, ready to go out on Sundays—at twelve sharp, wanting to tell the story of such a place. She remembers how in her first years of living, the dusty streets had been the cause of her allergies, but she continued playing. How, sometimes, she wished she could live stronger winters, wished to touch the snow with the tips of her fingers, but she found beauty in the colors of yellow and orange that surrounded the city. Young, old, whoever passed by that town would know that it is impossible to grasp it away from you, to pluck the seed inside their heads that tells them everything here is real.

A small community, surely, but beautiful in its own way.

Excitement is what she tries to speak with, it need to be taught that way. History teachers, and even general instructors in life such as family members and friends, rarely have that tone when speaking about something. Being emotional about something that a person can like is seen as stupid—no one can speak their thoughts out without being judged. This, masked as insecurity or shyness, has destroyed the originality of life. It shall be lived in spoken words, in trials and errors, in grasping the reality that has made them and turning it into the future.

Only two hours later does she get to go outside, wondering if she should undo the button of her jeans to fight her bloated stomach. Nonetheless, she doesn’t, instead meeting up with Emily and her group of friends near the street. The curly haired woman is watching her son talk to David with ease, repeating the story that she had oh-so-happily said.

Her back rests against the red car that Emily owns, too old to even move properly, but hers nonetheless. “I can’t believe you’re able to make my child be interested in history. That’s crazy.” Emily utters, not taking her gaze away from her son, an incredulous smile plastered on her face.

Another one of her friends, Liz, shakes her head while laughter bubbles up her throat. “I tell you; she was the one that was supposed to get married, not you, Emily.”

She brings a hand up her chest, widening her eyes at the sound of Liz’s voice. “Oh, hell no. We’re not having that talk.”

While teaching younger individuals about the beauty of their town, she doesn’t think she could deal with anything like a five-year-old at the moment. Too much work, too little income in her bank account. “I’m serious.” Liz continues, moving her black hair behind her shoulders before shrugging. “You take care of everyone so well, it’s so insane.”

Biting back, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Yeah, Liz, why don’t you have a child instead?”

“Oh no, sweetie,” Liz says, a smile on her face that highlights the piercing on her bottom lip. “I want to keep my vagina intact. Look at Emily, she always complains about how saggy hers is—”

Emily finally tears her gaze away from her child, placing her hands on top of Liz’s mouth to stop her speech. This reminds her of the times they used to be in high school—Liz, the troublemaker, more often than not having her tag along and Emily, the one that would cover them had they gotten in trouble. “I—Liz, we’re in public!”

The woman in question takes her friend’s hand in between hers, pulling it away from her mouth before sighing. “Alright, I won’t talk about your vagina. I’ll talk about hers instead.”

She chuckles at her antics. “Stop saying that word.”

“Oh, come on,” Liz complains, taking the time to pull her long hair away from her face, tying it up in a quick bun before releasing a big sigh. Something about her was always too honest, nowhere near as uptight as Emily was, the main reason why Liz is always in the mouths of the people around town. Gossip goes around here quickly. “I’m going to call it spoon from now on.”

“I don’t see where this conversation is going...”

“...Because we need to talk about this.” Her straightforward friend adds, just in time to take her by the shoulders and move her until her line of vision is casted towards what had captured Liz’s attention. The woman’s breath ghosts over her ear as she whispers, a smile practically displayed on her words when she says: “That unknown city boy has been looking at you ever since you got out of the diner and if you don’t go talk to him and get a piece of that ass, I might.”

The sentence rises a chuckle from the depths of her being, unaware of how in the world Liz can come up with such sentences, such honest and yet, somewhat dirty personality. All thoughts are cut from her head when she lifts her gaze, wanting to see who this ‘unknown city boy’ could be. After all, such eventful place is rarely visited by foreigners, travelers, lovers of interesting passports and tourist spots.

Nothing could have prepared her for the smile that was given to her—no, not exactly the smile, but the man himself. Mysterious, not only because of his apparent existence in a place that people rarely visit, but in the way he looks at her. His facial structure is unlike anything she has seen before—polished, eyes with faint lines under them, a straight and slightly rectangular shaped nose, lips in a natural pucker, almost like the wind is kissing him. No one has ever looked quite like an angel more like this man, from his lanky form to the dip of his waist as he leans back on the hood of his car, chin tilted down, sharing a tight lipped smile with her that lifts up to a full on grin, she wonders where in the world someone like him was crafted.

Was he made out of pure stardust?

Was he the great-great-grandson of some monarch in the past?

And also…

“Do you think he’s lost?” She asks Liz in a low tone, unable to fight the smile that appears on her face, one that she returns out of formality. Her eyes can’t pull away from him, an electrifying stance in between them when he ruffles the strands of his bleached blonde hair and finally looks away.

Liz pats her back at that, a giggly laugh escaping her lips. “Why don’t you find out? Go talk to him!”

Though, throughout her life, she has always liked being the nice person—the one to talk first, the one to help someone stand up...she finds herself looking at Emily for some kind of reassuring stance, only to earn a rapid nod from her most serious of friends. “I’d say to go ahead. He...I mean, only if you want to.”

People forget that it doesn’t take courage to talk to someone first, it takes sentimentalism, an open heart, to be somewhat touched by the graceful existence of charisma. The feeling of her feet moving towards him had not captured his attention, not until she stood by his side, finally getting a good glimpse of this new man in town. Something about him goes past his mysterious stance, as if it is just a thin layer that she craves to look past.

To be quite honest, with herself and with her subconsciousness, she hasn’t actually seen someone of her interest in a while. The downside of living in a place in which she knows everyone is that her options get cut short; those whom she wanted and had the opportunity to date were already in her past, leading her to stand with little to no options. Not that she minded, she thought that whatever she could have in another person, she could seek in friendship, in herself…

But she’s not made of stone. She’s appreciate of people, knowing that what she sees is a recollection of memories and stories, crafted by life, put together by perfectly and yet imperfectly threaded knots.

“Can I help you out with anything? You seem to be a bit lost.” She adds, missing the chuckle that she lets out at the end of her sentence, bounding her hands together in front of her body and if she looked over her shoulder, she’s sure she’d see her two best friends sparing her glances, though not very discreet. The bleached blond turns his attention towards her, lowering his foot from the front of the car until it lands on the floor once again, tilting his head to the side as he speaks.

“Actually, yes, I look lost because maybe, I am.” He speaks, toying with the bracelet around his wrist before he extends his hand forward. Miss Hwang always told her to look at people’s hands and to fall in love with someone with rough, calloused, perhaps a bit thicker hands—this meant that said person was hardworking, someone who would try their hardest at their job and hence, work along with her. This man, the one in front of her, sports delicate and long fingertips, clearly a soft pair of hands, cladded in rings that do not receive much of her attention when she has to lift her gaze up to look into his eyes as he talks. “But before you help me—I’m Minhyuk, nice to meet you.”

She introduces herself, shaking his hand just in time for her to add a comment, one that leaves her lips far too soon, not noticing how hypnotized she is under his brown glare. “You’re the first Minhyuk I meet.”

“The first is always the best.” He comments, bringing laughter up with her as he takes a paper out of the pocket of his leather jacket, one that is far too hot for the weather in this town. The more she looks at him, the more she realizes he does not belong here. Once he extends the piece of paper, she feels his presence looming by her side, creating shadows that he’d never notice when she stares at his profile, only looking at the piece of paper when he starts speaking. “I can’t find my apartment’s address. I just got here this morning and I’ve been driving around trying to find it but I can’t.”

She takes the paper in between her fingers, not missing the way his chest pressed to her arm as he reads over the paper at the same time as hers. “It says fourth street here, not eighth. You’re in eighth right now.”

“Damn it,” He curses, rather loudly, a whine in his tone that catches her off guard. “You don’t have signs that read this here, though. How am I supposed to know?”

“You count from the first street towards the south. The first street is the one that includes our welcome sign,” She starts to explain, turning to him just in time to see him wetting his lips. The glistening brown in his eyes, the stance he holds, the smell of that perfume that is nowhere to be found in this cheap town...everything about him is uniquely pure, enough to make her feel dizzy. “Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” He nods, mind completely concentrated on her and she doesn’t miss the heat on her face. Not caused by the warmth she is used to.

“So you count from that street. One, two, three...like that. The fourth one is four streets away from here, then.” She explains, though her hands move in motions to further indicate the direction to him. “It’s the only building you’ll find there, pretty small, nothing out of the ordinary. At the corner of that street you’ll find a yellow house with black gates and all.”

“Alright,” Minhyuk closes one eye, the sun hitting directly into his face when he pulls away from her, a smirk displayed on his features. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not been here.”

“You’ll never be able to find out.” She adds, innocence in her tone though she’s playing around, his shoulders shaking with laughter, running his hand over his forehead as if dusting off fake sweat.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he was really sweating with that leather jacket, heavenly but yet nothing like what is expected to be used here.

Maybe, this was a sign. He is nowhere near someone like her.

“Thankfully.” He replies to her words, only to take his keys out of his pocket while looking at her. “No one got close to me and I didn’t know who to ask already.”

She feels the soft, warm wind moving her hair as she speaks. “Yeah, it’s like that. People in this town are not used to people coming here for tourism.”

His keys fall to the floor, all thanks to his lack of concentration on the task at hand, kneeling to take them in between his hands before humming. “You’ll have to get used to me, then. I’m here to stay.”

She doesn’t know why that brings a sense of purpose inside her body, like she has battled the wondering questions that go through her head asking if she’ll be able to see him again. “I’ll have to see you around, then.”

“Is that a promise?” He asks, teasing her as he walks towards his car. He opens the door then, leaning against it when waiting for an answer.

“It is.”

“Good, I’ll see you later.”

With that, she sees his car departure, not without honking at her one last time and leaving her with a smile. When she gives one step forward, she feels something underneath her shoe, making her scrunch up her nose and look at the content underneath her weight. A glistening silver bracelet sits there, belonging to the man that is now long gone to the fourth street, dancing around her fingertips when she picks it up. A collector, she is, and she recognizes beauty when she sees it—an M, probably from his name, and a few dangling pieces that show a variety of flags from different countries he must have gone to.

“What did he say?!” Liz is the first one to approach her, excitement all over her tone meanwhile, she can only concentrate on the bracelet in between her fingers, a smile plastered on her face.

The only question that roams her head is how could an angel like him decide to fly to this side of the world?

The question shall remain unanswered for now.

###

Sometimes, she wonders if she stays at her job because of the intricate details of her craft or because she believes in the renewal of styles, of unknown memories, of being someone else for a night.

Throughout her lifetime, she has met quite a handful of people—and like collectables, she is able to grasp pieces of them, and physical ones, that would always stay with her. Connecting with a memory sometimes includes touching or feeling a material that takes us back in time. That is what happens with costumes—you take someone else's story, wear it over your skin, and you want to be able to have fun while also giving the benefit of recollection to other people.

Miss Hwang is the one in charge of sewing, threading the pieces of fabric together to create the costumes of immensely amounts of characters, some more vague than others, while she is in charge of the details. The part that tears it apart from a simplistic copy and puts it in an artistic way—a redemption, a reminder of what makes that character so important. While she is not a lover of books, per say, just history ones to be exact, she has had to do endless amounts of studying to nitpick every lace decoration, burn a few pieces of make them more rugged, so on and so forth.

It’s either that or pinching her fingers every time she tries to sew. This is what she is good at—giving it that believable factor.

Not that they sell much, when not crafting or it’s not Halloween, the store is mostly empty, leaving her to be accompanied by her boss and the two dogs that constantly roam around the store. Miss Hwang is a woman over sixty-five years old, with hair so white it resembles snow, but her candidness when speaking—that motherly nature that is so hers, is what makes her someone so important for this town. From crafting her daughter’s, Heejung, wedding gown before she went to the city and bringing the most normal of fabrics to be elegant, there is no doubt that her talent exists.

She taps her fingers against the wooden, rugged table of the store, looking around to see the jewelry, the collectables, and she trails her gaze down to the bracelet that rests around her wrist, one that had stayed there for the past few days ever since the encounter with Minhyuk. It fits, to think about him, when Miss Hwang has some kind of romantic song playing from her vinyl, getting a sigh out of her lips that goes unnoticed when she looks at the flags on the pendants.

Thus, her knowledge doesn’t come from travelling, but from studying from those history books instead—

The elegant France is in there.

Three colors, yellow, blue, red. Colombia is in there, as well.

Belgium.

Japan.

Ireland.

Minhyuk must be a man of wealth, able to afford all these trips...he looks like the type to have gone to all these places. The thought can’t be taken away from her head, not when one of Miss Hwang’s dogs, starts barking excitedly, only reasoning for someone to be there. She never does anything lazily, lifting her gaze in excitement, waiting for anyone to be buying a costume out of nowhere—it happens sometimes, in her defense—but when she gives a few steps forward, always from the shelves and hangers that hold their costumes, she sees the person that she would have least expected to be there.

Sometimes, she thinks of people as worlds...but Minhyuk ressembled more of a ghost to her. One day, he appeared, smile on face, lost in this small place, and then, he left. People around town spoke about him, she had heard once or twice when visitors came to the shop or when she went out with her friends to sit by the streets and bask on late night conversation—Lee Minhyuk, they call him, so charming they don’t trust him. That leather jacket had been suspicious to some, just like how he says to have wanted to travel there…

You know, it’s quite weird—for someone who could go anywhere, why would he want to end up in that small town? The love of her life, it might be, but definitely not anyone else’s.

There should only be one bell by the door, enough to dingle when someone comes in, but what has made her feel so at home in Miss Hwang’s costume shop is the fact that, just like herself, she likes to collect matters. All those bells, some from the day of her marriage, others ones that she had collected when younger, ring the moment someone comes in—they create their own music, stopping her in her steps when Minhyuk finally connect gazes with her.

And she can’t help but smile, too.

Liz says it, speaks it into existence, turns it into a reality: she loves history, so to have the unknown right in her hands makes her feel excited. She’s artistic, absentmindedly, seeking for that gleam in his eyes, the brightness of his hair, today covered by a hat, now forgetting about his leather jacket and sporting a black tank top. Something about him is stylish, he definitely knows better than most people there, and she can imagine most of the teenagers swooning at the sight of the man...yet, the moment he closes the door behind him, reaching down to pat the two dogs, she knows that there is more to him.

Minhyuk is either a chameleon, ready to become invisible and match with the background of any place he goes to, not going unnoticed but instead, highlighting parts of him that match each part or he is simply just an overall interesting man.

“Huh, so you really work here...”

She hums, nodding just in time to his statement. “Why? Were you asking around to see where I work in?”

Minhyuk stands up at that, balancing his weight on the back of his feet before tilting his head to the side. A teasing smile appears on his features just then. “Do you think I would?” Answerless, more like speechless, she presses her lips together and shrugs her shoulders. “Your friend let it slip, actually. I was talking to her at my workplace and asked about you, she said you worked here. A good friend you’ve got there.”

Emily is always busy with her son, however, the sun of her life, the only reason the smile on her face has gotten bigger. Liz, with her love for cheap alcohol and her hair practically rough at the amount of times she has dyed it black, is another story. That means that it most definitely came from Liz’s lips. “...That was Liz, wasn’t it?” Minhyuk hums, making her clap her hands together as she accepts this moment. Actually, if he had gone through her head so much the past few days, she may as well take this into consideration. “Well, that’s good. You’re my first client of the week...and the day. That means you get to have me all for yourself. What are you looking for in a costume?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen, taking his hat off his head and showing his disheveled blonde hair. He perches it up nearby, speaking as he does so. “Wait, you sell costumes?”

Chuckling is the least she does, she straight up laughs at his antics as she points around the place with an instructive glance. “This may look like we collect stuff and sell it, or that we sell antique items, but it’s all done by us. You can find the most intricate of costumes here. You want to be a devil? Go ahead. A Disney prince? You’ve got it.”

Minhyuk’s boots click against the floor, kicking fake dust as he gets closer, smiling as enchantly as he is used to. There is no way people could ever believe the rumors that go around about him—angelic features, sweet voice, everything about him is taken from heaven itself. “I’d be whoever you want me to be.”

She walks further into the shop, not trying to show the way embarrassment clings to her features—the line is tacky, he even smiles at his attempts, but she hears him follow closely. “...I’m serious, what are you looking for?”

Her fingers rake through the pieces of clothing in the male’s section, though Minhyuk is also looking through the selections. “I actually wasn’t planning on getting a costume, so I don’t know.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Really, what would you want me to be? You know, to get your attention.” She licks her lips at that, looking to the side to see him resting his weight against one of the shelves, fingertips threading through his own hair when he juts his chin forward. “Got you speechless?”

“I can say I’ve never been told that, yes,” She chuckles, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at him. “So, you’d become anyone just to get my attention?”

“I could be anyone you want, you know?” He says, fingers threading through the fabrics of clothing he can find nearby, taking a long brown fabric and wrapping it around his head, a vest placed over his shoulders in a hassle as he speaks. “I could be a pirate if that’s what you’re into.” Rapid, he is, almost like he wants to prove his point, reaching for a hat and placing it over his head. “Maybe Indiana Jones? Is there a suit here, can I be James Bond?”

Unbeknowst to her, her hand comes up to slap at his bony shoulder, laughter bubbling up from her body when she lokoks at him, now with a tie wrapped around his neck, a vest, a hair as well as some bandana wrapped around his head. No one that she has gotten to know would ever do such a thing—this only goes through Minhyuk’s head, probably trying to make her feel more at ease. “None,” She says, wrapping her fingers on the hat and putting it down, continuing with the tie and the bandana, shredding the accesories away. “I want to get to know you. As in you, Minhyuk. I want you to be yourself.”

“Is that really what you want?” Minhyuk asked, shrugging the vest off his shoulders and releasing one of his softest smiles, as if he had not expected such answer. “With what you’ve been hearing from me around this town, you probably think I’m some asshole.”

“They’re not saying you’re an asshole,” She defends, crossing her arms over her chest, soon after putting her index and thumb together to indicate ‘a little bit’. “Maybe a little bit, but I don’t believe them.”

“I’m not a bad guy.” He says. “I just like travelling. There’s something so necessary about being somewhere new for me. I need to discover more places for me to feel like myself—”

She imagines him, in trains and in planes, always getting ready to go to his next place to call home. Does he even consider anywhere home? The question roams through her head, but she pushes it to the side to ask something else instead: “Why here?”

Looking through the costumes, he quirks an eyebrow. “Why here what?”

“This town...I love it, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s underrated for how warm and solid it is as a community, but...” Her fingers hook around the bracelet that is wrapped around her wrist, unfastening it and holding it up his face once he looks at her. “You forgot this when you went to your apartment that time we met and seeing all these flags...and if it’s how I’m thinking and you went there, it just doesn’t make sense for you to come here. This...small town.”

Minhyuk takes the bracelet in between his fingers, holding an atlas in between them almost, like he has the world upon his fingertips and maybe, his beauty is enough for her to consider that, eventually, if the flirty remarks get somewhere, he could have her world as well. Romanticism is historical, just her taste. “I wanted something different,” Minhyuk constructs his train of thought, licking his lips before extending his wrist forward and giving her the bracelet. “Put it on, please?” He asks, and she listens, roaming the skin of his wrist with careful movements, only hooking the jewel before letting go of it. “Last place I was in was Prague and—”

“See? That has so much more to discover and—”

“And I had to move out. I’m in constant need of looking for something different. If I have a life, why not spend it travelling?”

“Because planes are damn scary.” She answers in between a scoff, though her features show how enchanted she is with the conversation, the tranquil shop serving for background noise for the two of them.

“Ah, come on, birds fly every day and it’s okay. Why can’t it be okay for us?” Minhyuk retorts, putting the vest back in place before chuckling softly. “Wait, have you really never travelled by plane?”

“Or by train, or by car. I never want to leave this place.” Aware of how attached she is, it doesn’t surprise her when Minhyuk asks:

“Why?”

“...It’s my home. You never leave home.” Her sense of humbleness and loyalty breathes through her body, smiling enchanted at the shop, the place that didn’t give her much monetarily but gave her a lot of knowledge. “I’d be too drowned by nostalgia if I did. I wouldn’t be able to be like you.”

“I respect it, but I mean it. Travelling is so fun.” Minhyuk says, captivating her attention when he speaks loudly, with fervor, excitedly as well. “You—You never know what to expect, you meet new people and it’s almost like...like you evolve. You’ve got a new set of things to do, it’s crazy.”

“I can imagine.” She replies, looking at him before clapping her hands together. “Uh, you know, since we’re on the topic of getting to know each other and I don’t have any clients...do you like pastries?”

“What kind of question is that?” He trades as an answer. “Of course I do!”

“Then, let’s eat some.”

Only a few facts she gets to know about him as they eat some of Miss Hwang’s favorite pastries, all courtesy of the two bakers in town. His lips sometimes get creamy when he speaks about his first few years in Gwangju, his growth and his love for travelling, how he had learned starting sentences of a few languages and then, went from them on to want to travel. His excitement is palpable—he talks about his first trip, to Osaka to be exact, his nights in Santo Domingo, his trip to New York City...she doesn’t miss the way she speaks about her much less interesting lifestyle, though happy on its own, in the way she always felt like she was accompanied, as if her family was in the community she lived in.

Miss Hwang doesn’t interrupt them for more than asking her to continue with her job in a few pieces of clothing and he does so much as helping her, body looming over hers when he watches her sew the lace pieces in place, putting some buttons in, fixing some fabrics, tearing some in effects to make it look more rugged. He’s fascinated to say the least, wanting to try it out even though he is not good at it—

Minhyuk is just made for trying new things, and she wishes for this renewal of something good to be experimented by him.

When a client finally gets in, she hears the sound of Miss Hwang’s voice calling out for her. Minhyuk pulls away from her, pouting out when he speaks:

“I should leave, then.”

“Probably. Let me walk you to the door, just in case.” She replies, a giggle in her voice just before she watches him take off his bracelet, putting it on top of her hand just as they are walking out.

“For the time being, until we get to see each other again, keep this.” He tells her, taking his hat from the hat-holder in the room to place it over her head, not missing the way he smiles brightly when he finishes off by saying: “I don’t want you to forget me, you know? Not that you could, but...it’s never bad to make sure.”

“No, Minhyuk, keep them. They’re yours and they are probably worth some money—”

Minhyuk laughs, opening the door and leaving it ajar, the rays of sunshine seeping through the slot. “That’s the thing. I’d give you the world if it meant getting to see you smile for me again.”

She scoffs at that, rolling her eyes at his words though the compliment is well received. This is the kind of thing she likes to hear. “Alright, suave guy, I’ll see you some other day.”

“Sooner than later?”

“Sooner than sooner, even.” She retorts, making him snap his fingers before pointing at her.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

And just like that, he is gone, but possibly to return to her. Something tells her that Minhyuk may have something deep within him that is interested in her, and she can’t help but cling to the hat on her head, to the bracelet pressed to her chest.

What does this man have that makes her so giddy?

###

On the second time Minhyuk visits Miss Hwang’s costume shop, he asks her to go out—as friends, apparently, but his tone says otherwise.

To forget the presence of him in his car would almost be impossible, he makes do for what he has, keeping the automobile with the scent of his perfume, some of his favorite polaroid pictures dangling from the mirror at the center, greeting her with the most gorgeous of smiles when he goes pick her up in her home—not that long of a drive, this town is small, after all—and finally gets a good look at her. The demon and the angel on her shoulders (Liz and Emily if she is getting technical and pointing them out individually) had different thoughts on how she should dress on this supposed ‘friendly encounter’ with none other than Minhyuk. Liz proclaimed a deep neckline would be perfect, matched with jewelry and high waisted pants; meanwhile, Emily said to go for comfort.

Maybe, she should have listened to Emily instead, for apart from his usual perfume there is something else in the air.

“Is that food?” She asks, Minhyuk’s glance finally breaking away from looking at the gorgeous blouse on her body and her baggy pants, white and beige to be exact, now looking towards the backseat to show what seems to be a picnic basket. He leans back on his seat once again, starting the car with a grin on his face.

“You see, there are not a lot of things to do in this town—and I already get to hang out with dancing, singing and drinking people in my workplace every night, I needed something different.” That is something she had gotten to know through rumors but had only been confirmed by Jessica, owner of the biggest bar in her homeplace. As it turns out, Minhyuk is a skilled server—not that good with making special drinks, but he’d be charismatic enough to have anyone in. She doesn’t blame her for believing so.

After all, it’s difficult to get over the sight of him right now. With the pink hues of the sky, indicator of the late afternoon, that cast down on his sculptured features, kissing his tender skin, making him look more like an angel. This is something Emily agrees with…Minhyuk is the main role of whatever romantic movie they had watched when they were teenagers and had expected from then on; the type of guy that swoops her off her feet and makes her feel like there will never be someone like her in this world. Liz, on the other hand, says there is a hidden demon beneath him. And that’s the magic of him, not knowing which side is the one that remains truthful.

His white shirt and denim jeans look expensive, even when they are simplistic, something about him has always been…incomprehensible. How can he get to travel so much? She doesn’t know, but one step at a time, she will discover every layer of him.

“Wait, you didn’t tell me you cooked.” She replies, not noticing how she hooks a leg under her thigh, turning to look at him as he drives. Ring-cladded fingers, he always changes in between the ones he wants to wear, matched with that blonde hair that she loves—messy or kempt, it didn’t matter.

“I get by,” Minhyuk says, chuckling at his own words. “Rice. Eggs. Sandwiches. I think I made the most complete of dinners.”

“The college student dinner, I get you.” She bites down on her bottom lip, laughing at her own words when he looks to her side and she can’t bring herself to look away. He returns his gaze to the road, though with the apples of his cheeks lifted by his grin. “Not that I went to college, either way. I really didn’t.”

“…Because you’d have to leave town? There’s only one university program here.”

“Not because of that,” She answers, reminiscent of the problem child days of her youth. Not that she was problematic, per say, just extroverted, ready to get attention, wanting to have fun with her friends or getting a laugh out of the teachers. “Well, kind of, I would have gone for something history related had it been available here, but then again…leaving is the scariest thing I can think of.”

Minhyuk leans his head against his hand, driving with only one of them. “Speaking of…what is your favorite place in this entire town? I want somewhere nice for us to have dinner.”

Mostly, their town consists of simplistic houses, diners, restaurants, nothing out of the ordinary. The climate is also not made for spacious gardens or lakes, but a momentum of her lifetime crosses her head when she remembers when exactly she had started to become the headache of the elementary school teachers. “Actually, if you go to the second street and turn to the left, there’s this elementary school, right?” Minhyuk says, already driving to where she is pointing at. “In front of it, there is this really pretty park. I used to love the slides that were there so I would always stay there for a bit longer during my break in elementary school.”

He coos at that, eyes gleaming with excitement to hear the people-pleaser that is her saying such things. “What a badass, look at you!”

She nudges his side, a sense of heat up her features. “Hey, it was badass for me! I was a trouble student.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” She complies, only to raise her eyebrows. “Were you even worse?”

“Not in elementary…but in college,” Minhyuk continues, chuckling at his own reminder as he pushes the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose up to rest on his head. “I went to college in Ontario and boy, I didn’t pay attention once.”

“Why?”

“…I don’t know, I picked whatever was in the pamphlet and just invested in it. At the end, I didn’t like it.” The spontaneity of him is interesting, somewhat attractive, alluring in its own way when she hums at the sound of his words.

“You’re really unexpected sometimes.”

“Hey, even I surprise myself with my decisions.” His honesty is palpable through his words, swallowing before letting out a short laugh. “That’s the fun part of me, though—Lee Minhyuk, the guy no one can ever figure out.”

…She thinks she can figure him out, though, perseverant she is.

To have him in the same lifetime is a blessing on its own, seated in front of her in the half concrete made and half ground flooring, a fabric in the typical plaid red and white color welcoming them once the sun sets. He even made sure to keep a light in between them as they eat and chat. He can’t keep still when eating, she realizes then, always needing to make a comment—tease, talk thanks to every movement of his tongue. She is not far behind, following after the conversations of their favorite films, he even tries to teach her languages that he is not fluent in himself. An entertainer, he is, with a smile that brings her closer and closer, speaking about her secrets…the ones that are not so secretive in a place like this.

At one of those points, she is walking alongside him in that field, hands tied behind her back, feeling the warmth of him by her side. Her lips can’t stop moving when she recalls the image of her as a child—she’d hide behind the monkey bars, giggling as the teachers went over to pick her up. She loved the attention, for some reason that she can’t quite know, but it wasn’t meant to be malicious. Most of the time, she didn’t even get in trouble.

Trouble, such a big word, Minhyuk even admits he had gotten in some of those in his life.

In between those words, when they have to go back before it gets even darker and mosquitos start biting them, she hears him as he is inside her car. Minhyuk shows that side of him that is mischievous, knowing that he does it simply to tease, to bring laughter beneath himself and the group of people. Trouble, he says he isn’t—but he has been involved in drama, in people that get too attached to him, something that has her keeping the conversation even when he offers to get her back home. If having a cup of coffee late at night in his small apartment just to get to know him is enough to see his presence as a person, she’d do it.

Minhyuk’s apartment is exactly what she should have imagined—it’s messy, for starters, the bed is very near to the kitchen and the bathroom door is open, but he closes it once they get inside. His usual leather jacket is thrown over his bed, but what is the highlight of the room—too filled with anything to ever consider it vintage or modern—is the wall that he left completely abandoned to fill it with a board of sorts. A world map is nailed into the wall, some adhesives in the form of x’s placed on top of the countries he had gone to.

“Shit, you’ve gone to these many countries?” She asks, aware of the cuss that left her lips as she lets her bag fall to the floor, inspecting the big map in front of her, big enough to take the entire space of the wall. Minhyuk chuckles at her reaction as she lets her fingers trail over the continents, even the islands by the Caribbean.

“And I still have more to explore.” Minhyuk says, turning his back and walking over to the coffee machine before starting it, leaning back against his counter to look at her. “Is it that impressive to you?”

“As someone who has only gone as far as the first street, yes.” Admittedly, she stops tracing the map to look at him, biting down on her bottom lip. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Wherever I am in. While I’m there, those places become my home so…” He lets his voice trail, pushing his weight forward before quirking an eyebrow at her. She can feel it deep within her bones, in the way his eyelashes flutter in his blink when his rosy lips part to breathe into the thin air: “Right now, my favorite place is here, with you.”

“Thank you.” She compliments. “…But I’ll get to know your real favorite place—”

“Actually, in all honesty, I don’t have any.” Minhyuk’s long legs move with ease when he stands by her side, giving her a glimpse of his elongated neck and his hair messed up by the wind of their picnic, resting his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “I’m obsessed with travelling, I can admit that much.”

“Huh, so you think you won’t stay here?”

“Time will tell.” He compliments, rushing towards his bedside table and opening a small box that rests on top of the surface, getting out a few pictures that he must have taken himself. Once by her side again, he gives them to her. “For the moment, though, I can give you a glimpse of every place I’ve gone to.”

The pictures are shown in front of her, and when she turns them around they have the name of the city he was in for the picture. “…Are those all your travelling pictures? No way!”

“That’s impossible,” He says, shaking his head before doubling over in laughter. “These are my most memorable adventures. The one time I got bitten by a scorpion, my first trip—Osaka, some of these are here.” His tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his lips, enticing her when the smell of coffee is not far enough for her to wake up from this dream that is him. “For your little collection of me though, I’ll give you this one.”

The picture shows him seated on a table, coffee brought up to his lips, hair a darker shade, face visibly younger—mischievous, per usual. Once she turns it around, she reads Paris, along with a month and a day. “…Paris?”

“The typical place of love.” He comments, making her stifle a laugh before nodding.

“Yeah, it makes sense coming from you.”

Laughter and conversation becomes too much, sleepily driving her back home at one in the morning, making sure that the coffee on their systems are still electrified when she waves at him goodbye. Inside her apartment, she takes off her shoes, along with her shirt, placing it neatly inside her closet before she sees those two things that scream his name—his hat and his bracelet, not accompanied by a picture of him. She doesn’t miss the way her fingers trace the outline of him, smiling to herself.

Maybe, he really is as angelic as she thinks he is.

###

Windows had never been a sight to look out from, not in this boring town, but with him…she awaits for the moment he comes back.

With her chin propped up on her fist, she looks away from the dogs that normally accompany her, though still petting their furs with one hand, letting out a sigh escape her lips. Another week and Minhyuk has not called back, only giving her a few greetings by text or waving his hand from affair, sometimes pressing a kiss to her cheek in a hassle before returning to his rendezvouses, getting to know more people in town, having more rumors created about him. She feels as though she awaits for a moment of fun; not that she doesn’t have fun with Miss Hwang—quite the contrary, but it is different…it’s the first time she has been interested in someone, the first man that has made her feel like there is more to this world than this town, that there is history in other places that are not only perceived in the books she reads, but past that.

The sound of small heels clicking against the thin flooring barely cuts her away from her trance, the voice of Miss Hwang cutting through the thin air. “Darling, I’m sure he’ll come back. Don’t be waiting there like a poor damsel in distress.”

She puckers up her lips, not liking the term ‘damsel in distress’. “No, grandma,” She says softly, aware of how Miss Hwang would probably give her an earful had she called her other name. “I’m no damsel in distress but—” Once she turns around, she releases yet another sigh. “…He could’ve called. What if he didn’t like our little date?”

“He likes you, of course he does!” Miss Hwang retorts, wrapping her knitted scarf around her neck to see if the costume is coming out greatly. Her eyes are inspecting her figure, the rosy material beautiful against her skin, unbeknownst to her. “That boy has been going around town starting trouble with talking too much but David has not stopped telling me how much he talks about you.”

She lifts her gaze at that, before scoffing softly, her cheeks pressing to the material of the scarf. “…What if he’s all talk?”

“I don’t know.” The reality of her ‘grandma’ is that she is honest. Much like someone of this world that had not gone through motherhood, though Miss Hwang had practically adopted her after her daughter’s departure to another city. “But Minhyuk reminds me of the first love I had, and I had plenty of them.”

“Grandma—” She groans, a smile appearing on her face when the scarf is dragged away from her body, fluffing out her hair.

“I mean it. He was the only man that had me changing my vision—everything was suddenly electrifying, I felt free, I wanted nothing more than to get lost in him.” The way she speaks is so romantic, moving through the place with a smile on her face, almost dancing in her steps before halting them with a finger raised in the air. “Be aware, though, I got so lost in him that I lost me.”

Always interested in a story, she asks: “How so?”

“Ah, just your old lady talking.”

“Come on, grandma, you know your stories are the best.”

A smile appears on Miss Hwang’s face, rolling her eyes soon after. “Says the storyteller of the town.”

“Please, tell me!”

“He was a typical troublemaker. Had him fighting with one of my brothers and that was the end of it. I went against everyone just to get him…and then I realized he just wanted me to change entirely.” The old woman spits out easily, no longer bleeding from her wound before she moves towards the window. She spares a look outside, a tiny smile appearing on her wrinkled face. “But that not may be your story, darling, because a certain young man is getting out of his car and waving his hand here.”

Not in slow motion, but quite the opposite, she turns her head until she is looking out her window, widening her eyes and smiling brightly as she waves back at Minhyuk, not even detailing him past his face when she gets off the stool and gives a kiss to one of the dogs on its face. Rocco, the son of the oldest dog—Nani, wiggles his tail at the attention. “Rocco, your girl is going out.” Before she could put on her coat completely, she looks over her shoulder to see Miss Hwang. “Are you okay with closing and going home alone, Miss Hwang?”

“It’s never alone when Nani is with me.”

“I could always take you back home now and—”

With a push to her shoulders, Miss Hwang takes her out the shop before speaking loud enough for Minhyuk to hear. “Take that girl somewhere nice. No man is fun here!”

Minhyuk laughs loudly at that, waving his hand at Miss Hwang. “I will. Have a nice night, Miss Hwang!”

“You, too, Minhyuk!”

Once in front of her, she gets to be whisked away by the sight of him. Minhyuk is radiating sunshine, the one that is barely just setting at this moment of the afternoon—their typical time to meet, that is. The graphic t-shirt cladding his body is the epitome of beauty on him, this cinematic edge making her be pulled towards him, the sharpness of his personality suddenly seen when she says: “Now that you’ve finally decided to show up…what’s the occasion?”

“You know Jessica,” Minhyuk says, opening the door to his car and extending his arm as if to show her to get in. “If I’m not serving at night, she has me preparing the place in the afternoons—I just got out right now.”

When she gets on the passenger seat, she stops him from closing the door with an extended hand. “You don’t work tonight?”

“It’s my free night.”

“And you’re spending it with me…because…”

“Because it’s billiards night in the bar, and while I may not be working, I get to enjoy playing with you.” Minhyuk retorts, taking her hand in his with a gravity pull, interlocking them together before resting her palm on her lap. “So, if you could put your hand in so I don’t end up crushing it with the door and you could actually be my match for the billiard night, I’d be very happy.”

She does as he says, watching him go around the car before settling himself on the driver’s seat. In the matter of seconds, Minhyuk is starting the car again and going in reverse, hearing her speak with glee. “Jessica rarely hosts billiard nights anymore. It gets quite…frisky in this side of town.”

“How so?” He asks, interested in the way he briefly looks at her before continuing driving. It’s not that long of a ride, really, but he may as well be used to bigger cities in which he needs to use his car—yes or yes.

“People get competitive,” She acquires the memory rather quickly, ready for her storytelling ways. “Actually, before he sadly passed away, Miss Hwang’s husband used to be an excellent player and frequented the billiard nights. One time, he really got into a fight with one of the oldest men here—there were beer bottles thrown and all.”

“No way!” Minhyuk says, widening his eyes before his lips part surprisingly. “And here I was thinking this town was always tame.”

A content sigh leaves her lips when she continues to look at him, his profile hypnotizing but more than that—his talkative ways, the teasing ones, the essence of him existing in the same time as her captivates her. “We’re a tame town, you’re not wrong.” She adds. “But that’s the beauty of my town. There’s art everywhere—in the streets, in the people, roaming these streets when I was a kid was…” She trails her voice, looking out the window to see that, indeed, they are nearing Jessica’s bar. “One of the best memories I hold on to.”

The man in question promises to twirl her world around when he says. “Maybe, you should acquire some more memories.”

“…Should I?”

“I’m here to give you a new set of best memories, actually.” Minhyuk prompts, the car coming to a halt when he pats her knee lovingly, though too quickly, before sending a smile her way. “Let’s go.”

The bar is probably the most modern of spots in the entirety of the town—the old wooden counters are gone, now exchanged for pristine black ones, the tiles in the same color, the colors of blue in the decorations and the walls sported with such clarity that it almost looks like she is in an aquarium, illuminated to utter perfection. Minhyuk’s presence is behind her, leading her on with a tender hand on her waist, pulling her towards the gaming place, billiard tables mostly taken place on, if not for one that is completely empty.

“Do you know how to play?” Minhyuk asks, getting the equipment out and done before she gives him a chuckle.

“Kind of. Liz and I would bet when we were like nineteen, trying to get some money, you know…but I haven’t done it since.” She adds, leaning her weight against the table before quirking a smile up at him. “But you can always teach me, I know what kind of game you’re playing here.”

“…I’m not that good either,” Minhyuk continues. “But we can learn together, have fun.”

“We will, that’s not up to question.” She replies, looking over the stage of the bar to catch a glimpse of the voice that is speaking into the microphone. A poet, releasing their art into the thin air, and that she purely recognizes. “Do you like poetry?” She asks Minhyuk, trying to get to know more of him.

“I hate poetry.” He answers. “What about you?”

“I don’t get it,” She says, turning to him to see that he is concentrated on starting the game. “But there is this poet that I really like…he’s not that well-known…Nunu? I think that’s his pen name.”

“He must be good if he captures your attention.” Reminiscent of the pieces she has gotten to see online, she shakes the thought away before pushing her weight forward to start the game.

Fun is the most she has.

At some point, Minhyuk is the one trying to teach her, arms sprawled over hers, fingertips tracing the outline of her fingers when he helps her just get the hit just right. His abdomen is pressing to her back, height looming over her, lips almost so close that she could feel him speak and instead of pulling away, she gets closer, wanting to feel his perfume engulf her, to feel the warmth of his breath over her skin. Anyone in there could realize that there is something going on in between the two and the best part of it all is that she doesn’t care. She may be a people-pleaser, indeed, but this is the moment she gets to live at her will.

Praises leave his lips—the ones that sugarcoat her and have her up in the clouds, the taste of cotton candy resting on the tip of her tongue, Minhyuk is that…a sweetener, the one in her coffee, in her favorite pastries, the one that has her addicted, in some way or another, of being just as dulcet as him. Only when they are getting out of there, the promise of a long night filled with conversation long gone when she remembers she has to get up early the next day, does she hear her name being shouted over the sound of music, the poet long gone from sight:

“Don’t listen too much to pretty boys,” One of the drunken women there says. “They never care!”

She actually chuckles, sending her goodbyes to the woman that she knows by name but once seated in the car, conversating with Minhyuk as he takes her home, she wonders if there is some reality to it. If he is just one of those gravitational pulls of life that will only keep her tied to the ground, if she is choosing the devil to dance with in a world of angels. This is out of her head when she is front of her door, Minhyuk’s footsteps haltered in front of her when his mind makes out the sound of the woman’s voice at the bar.

“Listen,” He breathes out, hands looming over her shoulders before they press down. Once in there, they trail up her neck to cup her cheeks, staring into her eyes when he speaks, rather quickly. “Listen to me when I tell you…I really do care about you.” He nods his head, forehead a bit wrinkled under the weight of his words.

She leans into his touch, because no one has ever made her feel as unique as him—in this small town, she feels bigger than ever when with him. She seeks for him, wants him to fill her lungs, much more when she breathes out a small: “I know. I care about you, too.”

“I’m going to voice it out better…” Minhyuk says, body growing closer to her, her back now softly colliding against her door. His voice lowers at that moment. “From the moment I saw you in front of the diner, I thought I needed to talk to you. Now that I get to know you better, I know I like you.”

Perhaps, it’s the fact that she has not been in this situation for a long time, or it because it was meant to happen for her to like Minhyuk that her lips go over to his in a trip of fervor, wanting to get all of him through an energetic kiss. His left hand ends on her nape, deepening the kiss with a bit of sloppy nature, quite rushed in his matters, as if he needs to feel her in every part of his body. His neck extends, her back bending a bit backwards as she traces her hands over the collar of his shirt, not caring that anyone could see them at that moment. Freedom is all she needs, the treacherous stance of being with him suddenly intoxicating when Minhyuk bites down on her bottom lip, hands trailing downwards on her back before she pulls away with a soft pat on his chest.

“Not…tonight. I can’t take it any further” She tells him, aware of how she only wants to give him the best of the best, savor him as a person the most she could before getting him all for herself. Minhyuk’s eyes open at that, lips glistening as he tries to concentrate again, her lipstick smeared on the corners of his lips when he nods his head.

“Yes—”

“I’m sorry, I probably ruined the mood.” Apologizing is what she does, fixing her sleeve that had gone down her shoulder when Minhyuk presses a soft kiss to her lips, though she continues to feel bad. “I haven’t done it in a while and I don’t really want to rush—”

“It’s only good and correct if both of us want it,” Minhyuk whispers, ruffling her hair with his free hand. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s normal.”

So much enchantment could fill her chest and it feels like it hurts from the adoration she feels towards him at that moment. “T-The kiss was good, though. I loved the kiss.”

Minhyuk actually cackles, nodding his head before giving one of his infamous smiles. “Yeah, I—Okay, yes, the kiss was great. Sorry it was so sudden.”

“I was waiting for you to do that, hush.” She says, feeling their interlocked fingers let go softly, earning a smile from him.

“I’ll be off, then. You have to work tomorrow. Thank you for the night.” And he doesn’t judge her, the reason why she considers him an angel—whom she has always wanted to have, as he gets inside his car and doesn’t forget to honk just as she is waving towards him.

Whenever he comes back, he makes her feel as if all she can breathe in is happiness.

###

“You mean to tell me there is a book,” Minhyuk says, only after plopping down another snack in between his lips. “A book in this town that talks gossip about everyone and I haven’t gotten my hands around it?”

She is making sure the latest costume she has tried to fix is looking great just before she answers him. “Yes, but no one ever looks at it. I mean…we’re all written on it at least once, but I don’t engage myself too much on it. It’s bad for everyone’s mental health.”

Minhyuk jumps on his seat, a long whine leaving his lips. “I want to see it—!”

“Minhyuk, come on, I’m doing it for your health!”

“I’m a tough guy, I’m sure I can read some comments about myself!”

To have the notebook lent to her was not the most difficult of tasks—after all, she is someone the entire town trusts, enough for her to be left only a few days after this conversation in the costume store, back pressed to Minhyuk’s chest as they share a seat, the old, brown notebook resting on her lap, almost burning her thighs as she feels every breath that leaves his chest echo through the place. Minhyuk thinks this is lightweight gossip, as if this town is not filled with people who love stories—the drama, the twisted endings, the laid off details to leave nothing to the imagination. This notebook, a headache when she had read a comment made about herself, is the nightmare of anyone dares read it and the glory who writes on it.

She plops one of the strawberries they are sharing inside his mouth, watching the juicy treat be bitten by him before he speaks again. “I know you’re trying to distract me by looking at me with the cutest face, but trust me when I tell you I’m strong enough to read some old ass book.” He tells her, reaching over her lap and opening the pages. Eye to eye, she realizes then the importance of Minhyuk in her life for the past month—that pop of color that has come in this void town, the lightweight feeling that comes with him enough to drowsy her. Minhyuk is such a bright figure, a traveler to match her storytelling ways, it would be heartbreaking to see him wanting to leave this place for the obvious rumors that go around about him.

“I just don’t want you to be sulky,” She says, resting the back of her head in his shoulder as she hears the sound of Rocco snoring somewhere in the store. “These are pretty tough.”

“Tell me what was said about you.” And his hands expand over her arms, enough to take her breath away. Why is it that every time she is around him, she can’t help but feel like he may just be the end of her romantic life? He feels the necessity of a dot, the ending, the reason as to why she would never look at anyone else the same. Perhaps, she’s attached—she only knows the version he is now and not the man that had wandered around the world, being a chameleon just like he said in one of their first few meetings. “…So, I can complain because you’re an absolute angel.”

She chuckles at that, playing with the first page of the book, hundred of more welcoming them with different handwriting. “It should be somewhere in here. It said that I had something along the lines of a hero complex. I wanted to be the center of attention…save everyone…you know the drill.” She replies, no longer hurt for those words, mainly because she knows that is just part of her personality. She cares for people, wants them to be their happiest, what’s the sin in that? “I haven’t thrashed this book because the younger generation are attached to it. I think it’s malicious.”

Minhyuk ruffles through the pages until he lands on the last ones, looking through the names written at the beginning of the sentences. “Lee Minhyuk…Lee Minhyuk…”

“Hey, I mean it. This is nothing more than gossip.”

“I know, I just want to know what people say about me!” A brief ‘aha!’ left his lips when he finds his name written in cursive, reading over it in a loud voice, typical of him. “Minhyuk is clearly an irresponsible guy. I can’t imagine what he’s running away from.” Minhyuk chuckles lowly, tapping his finger against the end of the sentence even when she feels her heart palpitating too fast. “Question mark, is he part of some gang, question mark.” He reads out, making her grasp his finger in between her hands.

“This is not—”

“Lee Minhyuk is obviously using the town’s storyteller for a thrill.” Minhyuk continues reading, her heart starting to pump too rapidly as she closes the notebook on a hassle, capturing his hand in between the two portions.

“Minhyuk, I don’t want you to read things that are not true.” She replies, though her mind can only as her if she knows if they are not true, indeed. She knows the man for a month, much less than she has known anyone else in this town, and the thought of him always pointing out how obsessed with travelling he is could only be a red sign. Maybe, he is really trying to run away from something—not a gang, but something he never wants to tell her.

A soft breath leaves his lips, now noticing how his gaze has darkened, placing the notebook down on the counter of the store before spreading his legs widely, leaning back on the seat with a hand pressed to his forehead. “Well, fuck, it’s quite ironic…but I didn’t know it was going to be this tough.” He chuckles a bit to himself, one hand splaying across her waist when she stands up to push the notebook away.

“I told you not to read it, Minhyuk.”

“It’s nothing, though—”

“No, it’s not nothing.” She finishes. “You shouldn’t be criticized for being more cultured than us in matters of travelling. It’s really not okay for people to ever treat you like this, and for us to be judged—”

Minhyuk puts a strawberry inside her mouth, making her roll her eyes when she bites down on it, only to see him smile. “We’ll talk about this some other time. Let’s just eat these strawberries, return that fucking notebook and forget it even existed.”

Perhaps, he really is running away, wanting to fade to black, needing to be breathed out like a memory instead of a reality. Minhyuk is suddenly affected, trying to mask it with his usual jokes and his smile, not even sparing the owner of the notebook a glance when she delivers it. The toxicity of it all has her wondering who had made such assumptions and what did they see that she had not seen in him? Everyone thought he was some kind of demon, a man made to annoy and destroy, but what she feels for him goes past that. A feeling of needing nothing more than protecting him, as if she wants to make a home for him in this town—no, in herself, she needs him to stay.

But he has never stayed, she thinks, when she is opening the door to her home and his head is hidden on the crook of her neck, planting soft and sweet kisses to the juncture there. Minhyuk even has said it himself; he gets tired of places, events and people, sometimes he simply needs a change. Perhaps, he could find this type of…person, someone like her, in Bangkok or Rome, a waist to hold, a neck to kiss, a life to grace with his mere existence, a tongue that talks his ears out with how much she wants to tell him, but he goes around the subject when he tries to talk about himself. Not the Minhyuk in Paris, not the one in Prague, but the one that had decided that travelling was better than staying.

Even when they are in her room, watching TV, and he really tries not to have a silent moment—much like his personality—she wonders if this is permanent, if Minhyuk will stay or not. This has her pressing the side of her face to his shoulder while seated on the sofa, wanting to pull away but feeling so entranced in him. The only man that is unlike other, her dot, her ending, and yet so much like a beginning; she’d call him her first love had she not had one of those in the past, but this is the first time she feels fear of losing someone.

Losing is even stronger when it is a decision, not a movement of the game that is life.

So she breathes it into the air, insecure at its finest, something that had made her feel so miniscule when she had always thought of herself as big in this small town. “Minhyuk…” She whispers, earning a hum from him, looking at the reflection of him as he looks at the TV screen. “Are you ever going to leave?”

Minhyuk’s face hardens, looking over at her before quirking an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, is it because of that notebook—?”

“No, no, just a genuine question!” She excuses herself, only to hear him sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I can be curious about you, you know?”

“I know you can—”

“Then, answer.” She pushes, knowing fully well that this puts him in a position that he dislikes. Yet, she can’t bring herself to think of anything more than Minhyuk leaving. It would hurt, so much that it would feel as though she is burning alive.

His hands take her face delicately, cupping her face just like in that first kiss they shared, before letting out a few words that she did not expect: “Baby, I won’t ever leave you.”

The promise flutters on her chest, blooming inside her with hope, the one that comes out as a bit childishly when she voices out: “Is it a promise?”

“You can say so, yes.” Minhyuk says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, somewhat sleepy, like he wants to take all the stars and implant them in her heart for them to shine brightly. “It’s a promise.”

###

She knew her life before his arrival. Her place. Her time. Her dreams. They had always been low—what she sees is what she gets, only imagination suffices. And lord, that had changed exponentially.

But in its entirety, in the conceptualization of the verb know (in gerund: knowing), she doesn’t think she can live up to it. Minhyuk shows himself in a present matter, pretending he doesn’t know there is a part of him that hides—the one that is not always laughing, when he doesn’t know what to say, when he is sincerely a person more than pure entertainment. The thoughts roam through her head through every single date, none leading to seriousness, definitely leaving a bitter taste on her mouth. Talking to her two best friends about this is starting to get boring; they know how much she likes him and for that, they hype her up when she says she wants to continue down this path…but maybe, she needs wisdom. For one day, she wants to think with her head, not her heart.

The curtain that divides the store from the sewing room is pushed and she is welcomed by the sight of Miss Hwang seated in front of her sewing machine, wearing her thick glasses, concentrating with her face a little too close to her craft. She lets out a sigh that could have shaken the entire room if it could, moving over to where Miss Hwang is sewing at and kneeling in front of the device just to talk to her.

“Grandma…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can I talk to you about something? I want some advice.”

Joyful laughter is the one that follows soon after, motherly, like everything Miss Hwang does. The woman doesn’t stop sewing, however, simply looking up at her with a glint behind her eyes before continuing with her craft. After all, she is working on the few commissions they get for pieces of clothing other than costumes. She shakes the fabric, gets back to working and places a piece of thread in between her lips. “I haven’t heard that since Heejung started dating her husband, Leo.” She tells her, voice filled with nostalgia for her mechanic daughter. “…But yes, yes, darling, I’m all ears. What is the matter?”

For a moment, she wants to say nothing is the matter. She is not like that, though, the type to hide what she feels—it is shown clearly by the way she looks at Minhyuk, after all. Why is that her thoughts are always filled with him, either way? Drowned in everything that she adores about him. “So…you know I’ve been seeing Minhyuk. Well, not seeing, but yes, we’re not officially dating…but like, everyone knows we’re practically something. Yes, that’s it, we’re something.” She rests her chin against her forearm, watching the needle pinch through the fabric as it glides across it harshly. “…But, he has always spoken about how he is obsessed with travelling and he never stays anywhere for too long and this scares me.”

Miss Hwang stops sewing, then, looking at her and lowering her glasses to say: “Okay, go on.”

She stands up, a jumpy movement in her steps as she continues speaking. “And it has me anxious, grandma! It’s not only that he could leave, that’s something I worry about on its own, but I get mad because I don’t know the root of this. Every story has its beginning, what made him so eager to run away?!” She asks, noticing the edge of her voice when she widens her eyes like a madwoman.

The patience in Miss Hwang is impeccable, blinking softly at the woman’s antics before humming. “Then, investigate.”

“What?”

“Ask him about it. Don’t go around the subject,” Miss Hwang says, going back to her sewing just in time to click her tongue repeatedly, almost condescendingly. “This is unlike you. You’re always curious, yes, but you always investigate, as well. So, do so.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to pressure him into telling me something he doesn’t want to, though…”

“Then, he can give you a reason as to why he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Miss Hwang complies. “Communication, honey, that’s all that there needs to be. You guys talk too much, but you don’t communicate.”

“Huh…” That day, she learned the difference between talking and communicating, one void, one filled with everything that there needs to be done to maintain any kind of relationship. To remember someone’s birthday is not important if you never know the depth of the celebration, their least favorite one, if you never see them struggling to keep a smile on their face as people sing them in their day. That is only one of the main examples of a bond, one so profound and deep that it runs through her, the one she feels like she has with Minhyuk but needs to be fixed. “I’m going to help you out instead of just talking about Minhyuk all the time.” She says, dragging her seat closer and helping out with cutting the fabrics and sewing the smallest pieces, not excellent at it, but always making up for her enthusiasm.

After all, that is her trademark…what makes her, well, her. In poverty, in love with art, able to do something that would never have an outcome just because it makes her happy. Sadness is not for her, it has never fitted her—not like a costume, not like a lifestyle. It is then that she opts to dress up the slightest bit to go to Jessica’s bar, always breathless when she enters such place only to be engulfed by the water aesthetic, reminiscent of exactly what is lacking in her hometown.

Most of the time, the bar is not filled with poets—and yes, she continues to read the poems of the barely known Nunu, anonymous poet—, but most of the time it has someone singing, most likely the local band, and that’s the case for that night. Though with the movement of her legs, she greets a few people, as normally, moving towards the bar to see Minhyuk leaning on the counter, talking to one of the members of their little society, completely interested in the conversation, as always. He gives it his all to keep it alive.

Just like she wants to give her all to keep him there.

Troublesome, some had called him around town, from what she has heard directly told to her face when the subject of Minhyuk comes up. He is the type of personality no one wants to unfold—they believe that what he shows, youthful and annoying, is all there is to him. She doesn’t. Talking to him has been an eye-opening experience, so much that when he lifts his gaze and smiles at her, she can’t bring herself to believe that Minhyuk is a heartbreaker. The one that gets off on the thought of building a personality, having people fall for it and then, leaving. He says so himself, he can’t even finish something that he begins…but she holds onto hope.

She realizes just how much of him is around her now, in the bracelet that weights on her wrist, on the pictures she has in her room and the ones they have taken together, his habit of writing the day and month behind them once they are revealed just his own way of portraying his existence in her life. The closer she gets, she realizes she doesn’t even have to look at him to remember his features, the marks under his eyes, the protruding bottom lip, the moles around his face, though barely there.

“Minhyuk, hi.” She breathes out, sending a wave to the person he was talking to and earning a drunken nod in response. Minhyuk leans over the counter, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips like he is not embarrassed—boisterous, exhibitionistic in some way, he tends to be…or maybe, really honest with what he feels currently.

“What are you doing here?” He says after saying a greeting, hands already looking for a beer and taking the lid off for her. She takes the cold bottle in between her fingers, not paying attention to the burning sensation against her fingertips, taking a brief swing of the drink, the fuzzy feeling on the pit of her stomach…probably from the drink, but also from her nervousness.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Pushing her weight forward, her elbows resting on the counter as half her body is pressed down on the chair she is seated at, she looks into his eyes before quirking an eyebrow. “Is that okay? I know it’s probably an odd time, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I didn’t talk about this with you—”

Minhyuk’s lips quirk up in a smile, his hand extending to rest over hers. Weight, gravity, everything with him has been so natural…so meant to happen, that it would be impossible for it to just become invisible in the blink of an eye. “Hey, hey, there. What’s so wrong? Is there anything going on in that sweet head of yours?”

With shaky lips and another swing of the beer, she stops thinking about pleasing everyone—about only being of everyone’s liking, and with soft spoken thoughts, she clears her throat. “I’m just so…curious as to why you don’t ever tell me anything about your past.”

Minhyuk rolls the sleeves of his blue button down, matched with black pants that hug his slim hips slightly. “…Oh, come on.” He says, prideful and confident in the way his chest puffs out. “It’s not like I haven’t told you anything. I told you everything—”

“You barely tell me anything about your past…or why you like travelling so much.” She says, plopping the drink down on the counter and looking around in case everyone is listening to them. They are probably pretending to be ignoring them, but this conversation would probably end in the gossip around town. “The biggest part of your life, the most important thing for you and I know nothing about it. Does it seem fair that I barely know anything about you when you know everything about me?”

The man in question goes around the counter, taking her by the wrist and dragging her towards the hallway that leads up to the bathrooms. “Let’s not have this conversation in public.” The annoyance in her voice is what keeps her rambling.

“What even has you so embarrassed? It’s always like this, you find an excuse and never tell me anything—”

Once in the hallway, Minhyuk turns around, shrugging his slim shoulders when he says: “I don’t know. I have never done shit like this. I barely even stay for this long, okay? Just get me here—!”

She stops drinking from her beer, resting it down on the floor before sighing. “How can I even get you when you don’t tell me anything, Minhyuk? I need to know where this running away thing started.”

“It’s not running away.”

“It is! Moving around from country to country is not even normal!” She explains, hands bound to her waist when she sees him rolling her eyes. “And how do you even find the money?”

Minhyuk’s eyes widen at that, running his hands through his bleached hair and gripping at the strands. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re hinting at that stupid rumor of me being a gang member or something.”

Petty, tired, perhaps acting up in whatever feelings of love she holds for him, stopped by the reality that he barely shows a glimpse of who he used to be, she wants to get to know the raw version of him and if this is the way… “I don’t know, you tell me!”

Minhyuk rests the weight of his back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling almost as if making a prayer, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I am doing this…” He breathes out and before she could speak, he starts speaking. The way he holds himself is not a stance of giving up, it’s one of fighting back harder, against whatever it is that it bothers him, perhaps. “You know, not all of us had a good little community to talk to. Not all of us were friends with everyone. Some of us had pretty rough childhoods, for example, or we never found a place to call home…you want to know why? My parents were always working when I was growing up. Is that what you wanted to hear?” The defenses are up now, though his voice only heightens slightly, the sound of music in the background drowning their conversation. “Day and night. Day and night. I would get up at five in the morning just to get to eat with them…and sure, they did it for my favor and I am thankful, but I wasn’t truly…at home when all I was…was alone.” He replies, finally getting off from that stupid wall and nearing her, because all she wants to do is cradle him in her arms and tell him that all her love is his, that if she is there, he will never have to be alone. “Every penny I got from them, I saved. I had enough to travel and I said from then on: hey, I like travelling, and I have always been alone, it’s not that difficult. I’d much rather be alone in an exotic place than just have to think that my own home is not even mine to start with.”

“Minhyuk—”

“Excuse me for having a running away complex. I just work for some bit in the place I am in and then I move on to another. I want to live my life without thinking of the reason behind my actions. Not all of us have a story they want to tell, you get me?”

“Sorry for asking…” The empath in her speaks, reaching forward for him when Minhyuk simply stays in place, not caressing her like he normally does. “I just never want you to run away from me…you’ve been—”

“I’ve been here far longer than I’ve been anywhere else for the past eight years, that should be enough.” He complains, only to have her wrapping her arms around him, resting a kiss on his collarbone, then his neck, his cheeks, wanting to feel like he is at home.

“Because you’ll always have a home in me…” She whispers, only to have him chuckling. Uncomfortable.

“Don’t say that stuff like that, don’t…say stuff like that. Please.”

“I mean it.”

Minhyuk finally wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before finally, for the first time since they’ve met each other, talking seriously. “I know…” Knowing another part of him and loving it just the same just voices out, to herself, what she already knows. She adores, no, loves this man. So much that she doesn’t even believe that rapidness of her heart or the bad that people see in the good that is him. “Just, I told you, don’t talk about this again, okay? I travel because I just do.”

“It’s our little secret.”

Somewhere she had heard that if nightmares are spoken into the air, then they never come true. She’d rather keep this promise of him staying there in between the two, silent, so she can hope for a future…for a happy ending, one where she doesn’t feel the knot in her throat that tells her.

He’s running away.

From you. From everyone.

###

Sometimes, people forget to turn off the lights. She’s home, feet tired, mind vacant, eyes sleepy—but she needs to stay awake. She craves for that television device that blinks at her…it tells her ‘just another episode’, and she lets it. Before she knows it, she has pushed all the important things of life away, falling asleep to the light flicked on. An exchange for sunshine, it had become, because she imagines it shines just as bright…it does the trick. Sometimes, someone is enough to bring that feeling to life—she’d rather have him as his light, illuminating her days with just his radiant presence, than turning off the light. Tuning them out, living up to that expectation that screams at her, just at anyone, that this is not forever.

She forgot, or forgets, that lightbulbs are not meant to last forever. Even the Sun is not meant to live forever, some say. One day, when she least expects it, the lightbulb will flicker and turn off. She can try to fix it, nothing bad could happen with that, and it’s something people do…but it will never work the same amount of time that it did. It won’t shine as brightly, just leave a dim glow over her skin, but she’d feel it—that companion and brightness she has grown to love. Once it stops working again, she’d try to fix it…

She has a problem with letting go, as it seems. No one has ever left her—her breakups caused by herself, and still, she gets to see her exes on a daily basis, most of the time.

But the problem is, eventually, there will be another source of light and holding on to one lightbulb, generally asking it to illuminate her forever…that’s something she has never done, for she is not selfish, and there she is, doing just what she had never imagined.

Five months. Five months of being here and Minhyuk already looks drained. She wants to make him feel better, seated on his usual spot across from her at her typical diner table—that seat is filled with children, seated by his side, the youngest one (Emily’s son) seated on his lap as Minhyuk really tries to be in his zone, to be playful and talkative, but something is stopping him. Indifferent, he is, to the sound of her voice telling another story, to the children that ask him for opinions only to get a brief joke, not even receiving his usual laughter.

And still, they don’t have a title. She likes to believe he is truly her first love, in the way he sits there and fixes the curls on the five-year-old’s head, making sure that they are put in place before Emily loses her head on the fact that her son can’t keep a hairstyle for the life of him; that, he is, her first love that isn’t really the first.

To capture his attention, she pushes her weight forward, letting out a sigh through her lips in this Sunday midday, puffing them out before speaking into the thin air. “Actually, I have one more story for today.” She says, not missing the way the children perk up at the sound of her voice, nodding their heads and speaking between themselves to hurry her in the story. “Did you know that…five centuries ago? There used to be a couple in this same town. Well, not a couple—lovers.” She points out, only to have Minhyuk staring up at her, a tight-lipped smile given when she connects gazes with him. “You see, the man was a sailor. He had gone around the world…all through waters, of course. Until he landed nearby, walked and walked until he got here. This was different from anything he had seen. No water, no lakes. No sea.” The sound of her voice goes directly to Minhyuk, as if to convince him that this story is about him. The man’s face is touched by a smile, thankfully. “One of our townies, a woman, tried to help him get back home…but he didn’t have a home.”

Emily’s son is the first one to gasp at that. “How so?”

“The world was his home. Everywhere and anywhere. He liked to have different homes.” She explains, leaning forward to pinch the youngest’s cheeks. All that naivety was heart-warming.

One of her listeners asked. “So, what did the woman do?”

“In light of this man—tall, skinny, almost like Minhyuk right there,” She says, extending one hand to point at her example only to have him posing slightly to her words, earning laughter from the students. “Not finding a home. The townie tried to make a home out of the people here, out of this place.”

“And did he stay?”

“He did,” She replies, watching Minhyuk’s smile fall as she gives him a weak one. “He stayed. He found a home where he least expected it. The sailor no longer sailed after that, at least, not alone.”

But what is the magic of believing that the light will always stay turned on? How can she invent this sailor inside her head, running in imagination, when the first thing she sees in Minhyuk’s apartment once they enter is that wall that he has covered with a map? She gets closer, the shuffling of fabrics being heard in the background as Minhyuk takes off his denim jacket, and she takes the time to look at the map. New spots are not surrounded by red circles, indicators that they have probably caught his interest and in lack of X’s, she recalls that he may have not visited them on the first place.

The reason why they are there is because Minhyuk wanted for them to spend some time together, perhaps in tranquility, in the silence that basks them on the unspoken. The truth that falls on the fact that even Minhyuk doesn’t know if he’ll stay a long time, if he is just at the verge of needing to leave—a necessity, will she ever be powerful enough to battle such thing?

It takes her a few strides to get where he is, taking his face in between her hands and kissing him with fervor, like he wants to take every question away from his brain, feeling his lips jotting against hers almost immediately. A soft breath leaves her lips because nothing will ever quite compare to how it feels to kiss someone she actually loves, but she can’t have. His hands always rest on the small of her back, dipping her weight forward until their chests are pressed together, caressing his soft skin when her fingertips go up towards his hair, catching it in a soft grip, moving a few steps back and instructing him to follow her when she continues to kiss him…like everything is going to be okay, and there is an ‘everything’ to start with.

His jaw goes down slightly, panting breaths leaving his lips when she throws herself on his bed, hair highlighting her features, almost like an angel when she smiles at him. Minhyuk’s fingers glide across her arms when he kisses her again, soon after extending his palm on top of her abdomen and she feels like he controls her breathing, has done so from the moment she met him, letting his mind go off towards the unknown when he kisses her more deeply, the sound of her lips joining together contrasting the dull sound of his empty apartment.

Something about the weight of his body, his legs that rest in between hers, the feeling of his long fingertips toying with the edge of her shirt makes her feel like she has burned herself finding a source of light, and she can’t return this adoration—this love she feels for the man. Can’t give it back for anyone else to feel other than herself. Minhyuk’s soft lips go down her lips, her jaw, her hands working on taking off his shirt and tossing it on the side of the room, inspecting his body, going up and up until she rests her gaze on his, letting out a little giggle when she wraps her arms around his waist, resting fleeting kisses on his collarbones before speaking up:

“Let’s—”

Minhyuk’s hands, that had been resting on her thighs and almost cry at the mere sound of his voice, leave her body when he utters out a small: “I can’t.” That voice of his is so tiny that it doesn’t sound like him and the way he closes his eyes has her confused, already having taken off her shirt when he said those words.

“…You can’t?”

“I don’t—It’s not that I don’t want you, because yes, you’re gorgeous and I’m so…I think you’re spectacular and I like you more than I could ever voice out, but…I can’t do it.” For the first time, Minhyuk is out of words. She reaches for her shirt, putting it up her body in a hassle before looking at him in worry, seeing him standing up and walking from one end to the other.

“Minhyuk, hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured. I just—”

“You didn’t,” He whispers, stopping in his tracks before looking at her. “I just need you to kiss me, okay? Let’s not talk tonight, I need you to kiss me and we’ll think about what to say later.”

She never imagined there would be the day where she kissed a fragile Minhyuk, one that barely seemed like a shell of himself when his lips pressed to hers softly. Hi brightness had dulled…and maybe, it was because of her.

###

“Jessica!” Her footsteps are quick, running through the streets with her phone tightly pressed to her hand, possibly continuing to call Minhyuk endlessly. Her heart-rate must have gone incredibly high, to the point she can hear the beats of it inside her ears, boiling hot, her head done so much of a mess that she feels dizzy. No amount of oxygen could ever make her feel like she has been breathing in enough, and when she finds her voice screaming again, she is surprised at the roughness of it. “Jessi! Jessica, please stop!”

The woman in question halters her steps in front of her bar, looking behind her before widening her eyes in surprise. Never had she been so unpoised, so messy with the way she spoke, bringing worry to the older woman’s features quite immediately. “Hey, breathe. What is going on—?”

“Where is Minhyuk?”

You see, waking up one day and not getting a text from him is one thing. That had happened, and he had probably fallen asleep. Calling him and not getting a response is also something that could happen to anyone, but when she didn’t see him for the rest of the day, the other day, the day after that…she started to get worried. So much she went to his apartment, running just like how she was doing right at this moment, and knocking his door so incessantly the landlord had to help her get in. Vacant, empty, not even his map is there anymore, not even a note or a box or anything that could tell her where he is.

It hasn’t downed on her, knowing that Minhyuk could have left. Maybe, he had to do something. Perhaps, he wanted to move out to a house instead of that small apartment, but the only person that could give her answers is the one that employed him.

Jessica’s features soften at that, swallowing thickly just at the mere sight of her and she swears she can see tears forming at the corner of her eyes, had they been placed there beforehand? She can’t recall. Her hands are resting against her chests, nails clinging into the fabric of her shirt in hopes of stopping the itching ache there.

“Where is he…?” She speaks softer, moving her legs quickly and feeling her breathing start to pick up. Her eyes can’t concentrate anywhere, looking for answers somewhere when Jessica sighs deeply.

“He quitted a few days ago. I didn’t know he was going to leave; he just left a box with me and I never checked it. He said to look for the name on top of it.” Jessica replies quickly, taking her warm hands in her palm to drag her inside the closed bar. Once inside, the aquarium-like place suddenly reminding her of the existence of Minhyuk, how he used to talk to people behind that counter and enjoy every moment of it…she feels her resolve breaking, letting out deep breaths from her lips to calm herself down. “I mean it, just breathe. I am sure he wouldn’t want you to pass out or die because of this. There must be—”

“A motherfucking reason? That he wanted to leave me since the moment he saw me, that’s that!” She exclaims, seated in front of the counter as Jessica rummages through Minhyuk’s workplace.

“No, honey, he really cared for you—”

“Then, why did he leave?”

“…I don’t know.” Jessica hisses softly, placing a wooden box in front of her before pointing at the small paper taped to the top of the lid. “But this is for you.”

No one prepares anyone for being abandoned, ghosted, much more when it’s out of the blue—as if nothing had ever mattered, and sometimes she blames herself for holding on to the collectives she has of him. In days after his departure, even the same night she had gotten that box, she had worn his hat over her head and she had been unable to take off that bracelet that showed all the places he had been to, a pendant with the flag of her hometown suddenly there. It feels as though her heart is broken in half, calling out for him, wondering why he had never accepted the home she had made just for him…in her arms, for him to stay and never feel like he is alone.

Some battles need to be fought alone, Miss Hwang says to her as she is crying on her lap, three days after Minhyuk’s abandonment and still feeling like the wound is even more open. Sometimes, she feels like she can’t breathe—like the devil has stolen her soul in the form of an angel, as if a part of her always knew that he was going to take her happiness away, own it and make it his before leaving with it. The other part of her wonders if Minhyuk felt bad the last night they met, the reason why he wanted to kiss her endlessly but couldn’t have the only thing they hadn’t shared—as if he didn’t want to promise to give all of him, when he really couldn’t play with her feelings entirely.

Salvaging him, even when he had done the worst thing he could have done in their situation, is something that she can’t find herself doing. Hands rest on her head, licks from the dogs making her feel more at ease the more sobs that leave her lips, unable to be stopped even days after, but at least she is not crying alone…like how she feels right now, even when she had not felt that way in the entirety of her life.

Something inside her tells her that she’ll get over this, but that she’ll never get back the part of her that had fallen for him.

The lights had turned down, just in time for Miss Hwang to tell her to check that box—see his side of the story, even against what Liz and Emily had said about him being an asshole. A shaky breath leaves her lips, pushing her weight off Miss Hwang’s body to tap the lid of the wooden box, reading the handwriting that represents her name before opening it softly.

A downpour falls upon her, watching the pictures they had taken, all revealed and faded into nothingness, showing the details of his hands on her waist, his lips on her cheek, her arms wrapped around him, smiles on their faces. Love. Love. Love. She always thought it had been love in between them…but maybe, she had thought wrong and watching him, that bleached blonde hair that he took so much care of, that smile that made him look like there was always something up in his brain, something to do…

The last picture is the one that takes her off guard, one of her that she had never actually seen, seated by her usual table on a Sunday, the diner is clearly seen in the background and it is not the most beautiful of pictures—she is talking, mouth open, but when she turns it around, expecting the paper to have the day and month it was taken in, she sees something else. Not quite the paragraph, really, Minhyuk has always been an endless talker…but when it comes to serious matters, he comes short. He doesn’t believe in romanticism, maybe.

“Forgive me, I really tried. I love you, be happy. You’ll always be my home.”

But how could she believe in the existence of their love when he had left? She asks, wanting nothing more than to rip the picture to shreds and forget about him, but for some reason, she presses it to her chest, wanting to capture the person she used to be and mixing it with this endless love she feels for Minhyuk. Someone who had never truly known how to stay home, how to stay even through the dullness of their reality.

…Someone who wanted to fade, but would never be invisible to her. Not when she met the real version of him.

And hopefully, she’ll always be his home.

#minhyuk scenarios #minhyuk #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #kpop scenarios #writing #minhyuk au #minhyuk fluff #minhyuk angst #monsta x au #monsta x fluff #monsta x angst #the anti-love club #traveler!au

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jimmyflemion · 3 years

Text

Hi everyone. The Spiritual album is here. Damaged Goods / Sinned in Reverse. Out now! Finally. Our album that has been talked about in interviews & the works for the last 30 years. Today digitally available everywhere. Always had it in mind for this to come out as an album in album form (who knows, maybe someday?) but now that it has been finished this seemed the perfect time for its release. Over the last 9 years all the song versions were listened to meticulously, chosen, vocals & instruments added & recorded, the theme of the story & running order placed in a schematic theme, mixed, mastered & the artwork went through several renovations until today as it stands in its completed form. Whenever it seemed like it was finished & patience had given out, there was that voice saying that when the time was right it would be ready. Why are any of us here? Our spirits, our souls, the learning, the forgetting, the remembering. What is my purpose? Is it something other than what I think it is? Am I supposed to be helping in some other way? I often ask myself these questions. Music always has given me hope to figure out these things & be good with myself & my choices, helping me to make sense. I often think of my sins & sins of omission words I feel I should have said or shouldn’t have said. The life I’ve led, previous lives. Being honest with myself & others & communicating my feelings freely & openly. Reflecting how my life would have changed dramatically. Often pointing the finger & not owning up to my own part in things. We all play a part in the communion. I’ve judged so much in my life. Through my own faults perceived through my own judgement, I become more & more conscientious & conscious & not so much on autopilot. For those I’ve hurt through my own neglect, I offer my sincere apologies. To be good with yourself & your pure refection brings peace. Myself & my brother were The Frogs. We grew up together, played & wrote songs entwining a world revered & a world despised & quickly scribed them with quill, in the end giving you the listeners your own choice in choosing where your heart aligns. From seeing both sides of characters as well as taking an honest look at ourselves, there began an introspection as to who we are as humans & it made its’ way into the work. We uncovered a society of depravity we had no intention of joining. Although given somewhat of a view of the music biz here & there from a ringside seat, in fact we were never invited to the party for we posed a threat in seeing through your false idol’s bullshit. We were different, we didn’t fit in & in retrospect a very good thing to be, working in our favor. But alas however cool or punk or whatever someone might think that might feel it took on an aura of loneliness. We were outsiders, who still in a way wanted for our ego’s sake (remember this is show biz, it takes some sort of ego to continue on, year after year) to be appreciated or make some sort of a living at this game. However, looking at things now, there really was never anything we missed out on, knowing how proud he was of me & I of him & what we set out to do through our creativity. I am reminded by a beautiful princess who once upon a time told me, we are all frogs. We are God’s children that keep getting turned into frogs & under the spell of the witches. The Frogs, the band represents all the frogs of the world. The Frogs, the band are the narrator, the storyteller as in the fairytale. The Frogs have their sweet revenge by flipping, showing the people thru song their own judgements of what beauty, evil, cruelty & perception of what is truth or not. You are the judge. It’s always been up to the listener of the message what they were to receive from it to learn or unlearn. Like a lot of music itself, it’s multilayered, multidimensional, the listener gets to decide what it means. We are all frogs, right & wrong, good & bad, ugly & beautiful, loving & hateful, mean & kind. We have a choice. Thru our own experience, we can heal & help to shine our light or to stay in the darkness & continue to judge all of it or accept & return to all that is within us which is love. & somewhere within all that we must not forget what they do to frogs in school’s biology class, cutting them open, dissecting removing parts showing children that it is ok in the name of science & men who eat & destroy the lives of children. Becoming comfortable with these ideas as if it’s cool or gross, not really understanding what they are doing. That which was once life, God’s creation lie there on the table, it represents us thru the fairytales. Being manipulated, being blinded from the day of our birth that we should be okay with all this and yet that is the great big lie too. The world you, we know/knew & the people of it that revel & cling to darkness remain at that vibration until they subscribe to the light. The light is for all yet some have an allergic reaction to it due to their disposition & judgement of the collective creation. The Frogs, myself and my brother spoke the truth about everything the 3rd dimensional world holds & ascending dimensions above. Together we were not puppets, poseurs, plagiarists or frauds, follow the long lost line of money, our trail is short. Those who hijack the heart will find & attract those of like. There remains nothing to be taught or learned for the kingdom of heaven is within, pretty simple. It’s easy to innerstand, if one makes a concerted conscious effort to spread love as opposed to their fascination with fear & pornographic obsession with death, which spoiler alert walks hand in hand with life. The music we created has nothing to do with “satire”, in fact at times there is no rhyme & reason & in times needed there is rhyme & reason. A fool auditions for a song, a wise man dresses up in costume, the world’s zoo comes to life & appears & disappears in illusion or what some call magic or a critic appears on notice to define art. There is a floodgate of material & songs to peruse & at times it makes the most sense to corral them conceptually. I used to be so concerned on being comprehended correctly to my liking but matters not. If I must spell it out, see how the Phoenicians, use their created language & words in plain sight, with the word spell to cast spells. In conclusion, the words with respect to the music are laced with wisdom. There is no other way. The goal, the direction, the soul purpose being co-creating beautiful sounds, energy & vibrations with the maker. In appreciation of creation. The heart beats, the world turns, the divine nature of the soul is changeless, without wavering, it answers the call of protecting & nurturing the mutual life force. Love avoids competition as it stands in its own sovereignty. ‘Tis the very common ground we all share & vibrate to. No one else can control our destiny, that which we were put on this plane, planet earth to fulfill. There was a shared mission only Dennis & I shared. The understanding & meaning that music in the right hands transforms the soul. Caging people, labeling, putting them in boxes, thinking these monsters own you is the absolute antithesis of love. The angels provide the roadmap, speak to them, I’ve spoken in song about freedom, having loved the show “Born Free” growing up under the Leo sign. I pray someday people that are real will find like minded humans & the fake actors satisfied with their empty empathy will have a true awakening. Judge much, yes but ‘tis a lonely world full of ghosts. So on a lighter note, as we float higher, what have I learned in all these years later 9 since Dennis has passed. What I’ve always known that I am so beyond blessed & grateful to have had him as my brother, how much love, care & detail he put into every moment of his life, how much he gave & how everything was a gift, how much he cherished life & being in everyone’s presence. His heart was always in the right place. An angel. Finally this album is the final Frogs album (the spiritual album that has been promised for years) 32 tracks, (number 5) Dennis & I were both number 5’s in our life paths. “damaged GOoDS / sinneD in Reverse” Damaged Goods / Dennis in Reverse In reality this album could not have been completed without the help of our dear friend Bjorn Thorsrud (additional production, mastering & editing) Dennis always wanted to have Bjorn work on this album & when he offered to help it was a GODsend. I devoted my heart & soul into this record & when I finally completed it on the final playback, I broke into tears, my only wish was for Dennis to be proud & happy with this record as a testament to The Frogs legacy. This album is in 432 hertz, the highest energy that governs the universe, vibrates with the earth’s heartbeat, the golden ratio, divine proportion. We made music because it brought us joy & made life such a wonderful experience. The telepathic musical communication Dennis & I shared is innerstood, felt inside. With regards to words they would have you say understood, but none of us is beneath or under where any other human soul stands, we are all equal & equally divine. I love Dennis with all my heart, always have & always will. I am so happy & thank creation so much that I was able to be here on this day to fulfill Dennis & my dream for you to hear this our final Frogs album. This album is for you all the fans who drove all over the country to come to our shows, stood in line, supported us at our merch booths. We started out having fun playing music together in the garage, writing songs in our bedrooms, had absolutely no idea any & all of this would have happened, well it couldn’t have happened without you our fans, we love each & every one of you for showering us with your love all of these years. This album is dedicated to the fans. Love, Jimmy

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eccentricpony · 4 years

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juza dating hcs? thank you !!

Hey all! I received quite a few requests for Juza headcanons, so I tried to hit a few aspects of the relationship with this one.

Mostly gender neutral but some fem!reader towards the end.

First Date

· Firstly, don’t be insulted that you’re going to have to ask him on your first date. If you’re too high on your horse to take the initiative with this shy boy, you ain’t going anywhere.

· It’s not that he doesn’t like you – quite the contrary, he likes you too much and when you’re around, the already limited amount of pleasantries which he uses to converse is reduced from level 3 (Short, yet complete, sentences) to level 1 (Single words, often times mumbled).

· “Hey.” “Yup.” “‘s okay.”

· Unfortunately, “Want to go out with me sometime?” is at least level 4.

· To your great relief, despite his furrowed brow you received a whole two words response of “Yeah, sure” when you asked if he’d like to go out with you sometime. The faintest of blushes painted his angular cheeks, and he could probably feel the heat in his face because he deflected his gaze to the pavement.

· You decided you’d meet at a pretty casual local restaurant for dinner on a Saturday night. Well, more like you suggested it and he nodded, but he did consent.

· The actual dialogue of your date was abysmal.

· If Tsuzuru read the manuscript of your verbal exchanges, he would think a bot wrote it.

· A very poorly programmed bot.

· BUT

· His body language belied the staleness of the conversation.

· He tried not to chew on his thumb nail, but he kept his elbow on the table, hand close to his mouth. He’d look around the room wishing that someone would throw him a cue on what to say next, and every so often, his eyes would fall on you and he’d smile cautiously. It was one of those crooked grins that hooked up the side of his pretty mouth, made his eyes squint slightly. And when his cheek lifted it made his high cheekbone even more defined. Normally, you weren’t this quiet, but whenever he smiled like that it made your motor skills seize.

· Still does, actually.

· The night ended cordially, and unsurprisingly anti-climactically. You didn’t get a goodnight kiss but really just be glad he showed up at all, he was terrified. With a little patience and guidance, he’d make it up to you later in the relationship.

Romance

· Despite many of his fellow classmates finding him very scarousing, they either never built up the nerve to ask him out, or they tried to ask him out but they gave up when they discovered they’d have to carry the entire conversation, probably forever.

· Hey, their loss is your gain.

· It’s true that you’re probably never going to get Homare-level flowery speech from O High’s reluctant neo-gangster, but he finds his own ways to show you how he feels.

· And talk is cheap anyway! You’ve come to love Juza as a man of few words, but many actions. It may not seem like he’s listening to you due to his lack of responses, but he absorbs everything you say like a sponge.

· Case in point: Juza picks up some drinks for you both from your favorite coffee shop to surprise you, and you’re astounded that yours is perfectly customized to include all your preferred “no __” and “extra extra ___” even though he hasn’t heard you say it for a few weeks. Maybe all the line memorization has improved his overall information retainment, but know that anything to do with you receives priority storage in his mental notepad.

· You allow his actions to speak for him, without making him feel badly for it. And it sure as hell pays off.

· He knows that if you seem upset, he can lay next to you and pull you carefully into his chest without worrying that you’re going to make a big deal about it. You also won’t be angry at him later for his not verbally consoling you. He trusts that if you need to talk about it, you will, and you trust that every action he makes is sincere and from his heart.

· Juza really loves skinship. It allows him to speak to you without using words.

· Sometimes in public, if you’re shopping for groceries or sitting on a park bench, he’ll curl his fingers around the back of your neck and gently stroke your spine, gazing down at you with fondness.

· If you do happen to ask the reason for the sudden affection, he’ll just smile more widely.

· “Just thinkin’“ he replies succinctly, but dripping with tenderness.

· It’s not even accurate to say that he has an opinion on PDA because he doesn’t really behave differently to you in either situation, whether you’re around others or not.

· He takes your hand in his all the time, without apology, regardless of location or surroundings, lightly stroking your knuckles and squeezing your hand on occasion to emphasize a softly spoken statement.

· At the same time, he knows what to qualify as universally unacceptable in public forums. And those things he reserves for alone time.

Alone Time (mildly NSFW)

· This boy may have the face of a sinner, but he has the romantic experience of a saint.

· I mean, he’s had a couple of awkward, clumsy juvenile makeout seshes but certainly nothing heart-stoppingly passionate or memorable.

· That is, until you enter, stage left.

· Juza isn’t a complicated man. You need not worry about layers of manly posturing, disguising what he really wants or needs, because he will just make it plain. As best as he can, at any rate.

· He’s handsy, without question, and usually any sexy time that he initiates will begin with a subtle transitory finger glide. The hand across your back creeps steadily down your collarbone. The fingers along your knee trail seductively up your thigh.

· Once in a while, if he’s really wanting you while you’re in public, he’ll hold your hand innocently, then find a way to “accidentally” brush the backs of his fingers across your butt. Or if he’s growing really restless, he’ll find a way to nestle your clasped hands in the dip of your lap, and then twitch and reposition that hand persistently until you get the hint. Grinning at you all the while with a fiery stare that could melt a metal bar, as though you were the only other person in the room.

· You didn’t expect this kind of mischief from stoic Juza, but hot damn, you’ll take it.

· Juza has also mastered the coy eyebrow raise. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but what he intends to be simply his manner of questioning your interest in a tumble is drenched in such a lusty smolder that you’re instantly seduced every time.

· He’s not overly vocal when it comes to intimacy (surprise, surprise), but his functioning vocabulary includes an essential set of words that influence you to slow down, go faster, or just basic terms of affirmation and praise.

· That’s the functioning vocabulary.

· The non-functioning vocabulary, when you manage to flip a switch that turns stony Juza into steamy Juza, includes some unpredictably dirty words that evoke even dirtier thoughts, which ultimately crescendo into a Juza that is reduced to guttural groans that resonate like soft purrs through his heated body. His sweaty, taut, heated body.

· Since this wasn’t a NSFW request I’ll stop there, but have fun with that imagery.

Relationship

· He said ‘I love you’ first.

· To be more precise, he said “Love you.”

· It seems completely improbable, I know, and you never would have believed it when you first started dating, but despite the chiseled poker face, Juza Hyodo is brimming with passion.

· It was evident to anyone in Autumn Troupe who had witnessed his unyielding persistence as a fledgling actor. He was determined to improve his theatrical abilities, and that same steadfast devotion applies to everything in his life to which he is extremely loyal.

· One such thing being you.

· Case in point: riding the crimson wave.

· “Hey Juza, umm… I need to pick up some, ahh… girl stuff.” Juza just stared at you blankly, expression unchanged.

· “So if you want to go wait in the car, it’s okay.” You added, blood rising into your face.

· “Why‘m I doing that?” he countered with a blank stare, wondering if he did something to piss you off. This was challenging, and not entirely unexpected, that you had to explain yourself more plainly. You were still working on emphasizing your verbal nuances, and maybe you didn’t make your objective obvious enough.

· “You know, in case you don’t want anyone to see you buying feminine products-”

· “You think I care about them?” He held your hand tighter, resolutely, looking back down the aisle like a man with a purpose. “C’mon, let’s go get your stuff.”

· He made you stop by the pain reliever aisle as well, in case you needed anything for your cramps.

· And he bought you a carton of ice cream, just in case you thought you might have an emotional craving for some later (okay, he had every intention of eating some, too)

· The TL;DR is you were a work in progress like any other happy young couple. You were, and are, patient and never forced him to chatter needlessly. And in turn, you have a partner who is sincere, resolute, and loyal to a fault. Sure, it took some time for him to adjust to a partnership (namely communication), but now you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

#a3!#a3! actor training game #a3! imagines #a3! headcanons #a3 x reader #a3! juza #juza x reader #juza hyodo #juza #a3 juza #a3 headcanons #a3 imagines

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cherryblossomwatts · 4 years

Note

U should read Bree essrig’s statement abt Shane on twitter

i have! i found it very interesting to read.

i’m not familiar with bree at all, but i’m glad she’s taking some accountability now for her past actions, and that she’s speaking out against shane. i find it very interesting that she explicitly calls shane ab*sive. this also seems to make sense and line up with peter monn’s previous run-in with him and his friend group.

(transcription of the above statement is under the cut.)

[ BEGIN TRANSCRIPTION: “Let’s talk about racism in the YT community... Let me begin by saying this: I was part of an extremely toxic friend group from 2010-2012. The leader of said friend group, let’s call him Plane Pawson (that’s how he likes to publicly talk shit about people so it’s fitting), was (and I’m assuming still is) an actual monster. I could speak about my own experiences & mistreatment but the world doesn’t need any more white tears right now. This is about his flagrant racism and disregard for Black people as well as other POC. I witnessed him ruin the lives and reputations of two of “our” Black friends. He literally ran my friend at the time Qaadir Howard out of town, & said so many nasty and horrifically racist things about him (& countless others) & whenever he was called out about it, would quickly blame his childhood trauma as to why he was the way he was. I left the group shortly after the abuse of Qaadir. Not soon enough, unfortunately, and I’m deeply ashamed to have been part of a friendship that hurt so many people that I deeply cared for.

“The way abusers like Plane work is they treat you like you two are best friends to your face, like you’re the most special person on earth, & the second you turn around, tell everybody how awful and horrible you are. The constant shit talking (about EVERYONE, especially his friends) & the lies led me to believe that he wanted to get help, get better, and ultimately I thought I might be able to help change him for the better. My constant call outs were frequently met with “wow, you really can’t take a joke” & “my audience loves this and they’re mostly people of color”. I’d like to take this moment to apologize to Qaadir who is entirely right about the fact that I was not the best ally at the time. I knew this behavior was wrong but still gave Plane the benefit of the doubt [because] he was one of my best friends. My silence at the time WAS complicity & I take full responsibility for that. I was too afraid to publicly speak out due to my deep depression but I did tell everybody who we both knew privately about his behavior.

“Even though almost everybody took his side at the time, I’m confident it was [because] he was manipulating them like he did me. I’m not giving everyone in the group the benefit of the doubt though. Many continued to embolden his behavior knowing how much he hurt certain people. He even made a video lying about why our friendship ended & I was bullied, DOXXED, & received many death threats & [rape] threats from his fans. I was the one who ended the friendship due to the toxicity of the group. I didn’t like who I was at all, I said many horrible things about many people at the time & I still feel terrible about that. I haven’t spoken to anybody from that group in 8 years & have done so much anti-bullying work, have unlearned so many toxic traits, and am still learning how to be a better ally to Black people every day. Every time Plane’s name trends on Twitter I get deeply triggered, but it’s high time I put my own fears aside to be the best ally I truly can be.

“Plane Pawson is a racist, manipulative abuser & doesn’t deserve the level of success & power he took by using POC, especially Black people for his videos. I’m embarrassed I ever participated in any of his videos where he portrayed a racist character, let’s call her Shanina. I knew it was wrong but I put my own dreams & ambitions first & I sincerely apologize for participating in any project that contributed to mocking any POC. I have and will continue to do better & I am not asking for anyone’s forgiveness. I was part of the problem at the time. 100%. I am truly sorry. If you know him & you’re still defending him, just know that he doesn’t respect you & has talked a massive amount of shit about you behind your back like he does everybody. If you don’t know him but are still defending him, I implore you to take a moment to consider all the other creators out there who are not racist and are incredible people. Thanks for hearing me out. I know there [are] 3 sides to every story, mine, his, & the truth, but I beg you to take a look at the full picture, believe anyone who comes forward as a victim and even consider how many times he has apologized over the years but then continued on with the same behavior.” END TRANSCRIPTION. ]

#screenshot #bree essig #tw abuse mention #tw rape mention #tw death mention #twitter #shane dawson #liv rants #an ask #anonymous

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islamicrays · 4 years

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ٱلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ‎ I'm sorry to ask something while it's Eid celebrations. I've been in a relationship and have become vulnerable. I have broken up but sometimes we still talk. I am scared. I don't know how to stop. I have even spoken haram with some people online. I am very guilty and scared. I feel like my istigfar is fake. I want to erase the past but I know I can't. People think good of me, but I've been bad online. How should I stop?I have betrayed my future spouse! How to purify? Sorry

Walaikum Assalaam,

Cut off your contact with him. If you can't get married then stay away from each other. Distract yourself and work on your relationship with Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala. Do productive things that will help you in the hereafter as well. Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala has already written our spouse name. It’s just matter of time. So don’t compromise your values and lead a life pleasing to Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala. Abstain from haram relationships. If something is meant for you then you will eventually get in halal way in shaa Allah. We are not perfect and we may make mistakes so rectify it and try your best to abstain from haram.

First we need to attach ourselves to Allah then we can easily detach from others. We need to balance the love of Creator and the Creation. Keep the love of the creation in your hand and the love of Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala in your heart that’s difficult to do but with time you will learn. For this we need to make dua and love for the sake of Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala

“Call on your Lord when your heart is brittle, that is a time when it’s in pieces and the Light of Allah can fill the gaps. That is why Allāh is with the broken hearted.”

-Shaykh Hamza Yusuf

“The fastest way to heal a broken heart is to find someone better to love, and love more. Know that sometimes heartbreak happens just to push you to Allah.”

-Yasmin Mogahed

Fix your prayers and ask Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala for the help. Always remember that Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala plans are better than our wishes. Make lots of dua and while asking Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala always say “if it’s good for me” because we don’t know what’s good for us only Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala knows.

“But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah Knows, while you know not.” (Quran 2:216)

Advice from Hadia Alia on moving from a ex boyfriend

“Moving on from an ex-boyfriend can sometimes be very complex. Every situation is uniqe and will require different actions. Here are a few tips to get over him:

Cry. It is ok to cry if you want as it feels better when you let all the emotions out instead of keeping them bottled up inside you forever.Talk to someone you trust. Sometimes you just need someone to listen rather than offer advice. Even you cannot understand why it happened, talking about it can help you accept that the relationship is over.Get the help you need. A breakup can have serious negative effects on your mental and physical well-being, especially if you find that you are still dwelling on it months later. Breakups have been associated with weakened immune systems and an increased risk of illness. People who have not gotten over a breakup within 16 weeks can even experience physical changes in their brains that reduce their motivation, concentration, and emotions. A therapist can help by listening to you, encouraging you to confront your feelings, and teaching you new ways to do with your pain.Remind yourself to let go. There are variety of behavioral techniques you can try to stop thinking about your ex. All of these techniques rely on your ability to recognize when a thought about your ex enters your mind and to take a specific action to stop that thought from coming back. Remember that these techniques are to be used for obsessive thoughts only! If you have not yet dealt with your feelings and taken the time to grieve, you should not try to suppress your thoughts.

– You can try wearing a rubber band around your wrist and snapping it each time you think about your ex.

– You can write down the thoughts you are having about your ex on a piece of paper and then throw it away.

– You can try a visualization exercise, which requires you to visualize a specific scene whenever a thought of your ex occurs to you. For example, you could think of a stop sign in order to remind yourself that you need to stop what you are doing. If you do this consistently, the association should become automatic.

Focus on taking care of yourself. In order to boost your mood, it’s important to practice healthy habits. Make sure you exercise regularly and get plenty of sleep. Committing yourself to a healthy lifestyle will not only make you feel good, but it may just offer you the escape you need from thoughts about your ex

– Start praying five times. It will help you to regain your positivity and let go of the stress associated with your breakup.

Remember, you are strong and can get over him if you really want to.”

Always remember this:

“No amount of guilt can change the past and no amount of worrying can change the future. Go easy on yourself for the outcome of all affairs is determined by the decree of Allah. If something is meant to go elsewhere, it will never come on your way, but if it is yours by destiny, from you it cannot flee.”

-Umar ibn al Khattab (Radi Allahu Ta’ala Anhu)

On healing broken hearts:

If you are trying to get over a person you can’t be with, treat it like an addiction:

1. Cut yourself off from the drug completely: Cut off all communication and reminders–even if that means blocking numbers, emails, a Facebook profile, and stop checking their Facebook! This is your detox.

2. Replace it with something better: Increase in your thikr (remembrance of Allah) and get closer to Allah. If you aren’t praying your daily prayers, fix that. Pray all and pray on time. Pray qiyam in the last third of the night (just before fajr). Make duaa, tawbah (repentance), cry, plead to Allah. This is your treatment.

(Yasmin Mogahed)

Unlawlful love before marriage…

Ibn al Qayyim al Jawziyyah (rahimahullah) mentions in regards to unlawful love before marriage (i.e. haram sexual relations, or love for someone who you are unable to marry).

“And the cure for this deadly illness (i.e. unlawful love before marriage) is for the person that is afflicted to realise that this love is only due to his/her own delusions and ignorance.

So upon such a person is to first and foremost strengthen their Tawheed and reliance upon Allah, and secondly to increase in worship and busy themselves with it, so much so that they do not have any spare time letting their minds wander and think about their beloved.

And they should call upon Allah to protect them and save them from this evil, just as Prophet Yusuf called upon Allah and he was saved. And they should do as he did, be as he was, in terms of ikhlaas (sincerity) and remembering Allah in abundance.

This is because if the heart is filled with ikhlaas for the sake of Allah, there will be no space left for any unlawful love to be present, rather this only happens to a heart that is empty and has no ikhlaas whatsoever.

And let such people remind themselves that whatever Allah has decreed for them is only in their own best interests, and when Allah commands something it is never to cause harm or misery to His slaves.

And let them also remind themselves that their unlawful love does not benefit them, neither in this world or the hereafter! As for this world then they will be so preoccupied with their love that it will cripple them and will cause them to live in a fantasy world. And as for the hereafter then it will cause them to be preoccupied with the love of the creation instead of love for the Creator!

These people need to be reminded, that the one who is submerged in something will never see it’s ill effects, neither will the person who has never experienced such things. The only people who will be able to relate to them are those who have experienced the same thing but have been saved. Such people can look back and realise how evil it is.”

I hope it will be helpful. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala guide us all to the straight path. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala grant you a righteous spouse who will be the coolness of your eyes.

Allahumma Ameen

#question

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omnipah · 4 years

Text

Okay so. Since I brought it up before and also @campanulaflora has been Encouraging me I’m gonna go ahead and yell about The Communication Of It All cus. it’s good.

So like. obviously this is another one of those things that develops over time cus when ur nd and communicate in ways people consider annoying or nonstandard, it’s gonna take some learning even if u are Also nd. But this is why it’s so cool to me that wwx is actively trying to understand, and of course it goes both ways, though it takes lwj a while to notice that that’s what wwx is actually doing and trust that it’s sincere, but it ends up being the foundation of their relationship. Like, wwx consistently shows affection by infodumping or just bothering people, cus his love language is primarily about giving attention, while lwj is the kind of person who’s like. if he thinks ur cool he’ll just. be near u until he doesn’t want to any more. And by the time the timeskip happens, both of them have kind of learned to adopt each others’ love languages (like, lwj finding things he think wwx would like is his way of showing attention, and I think the way they play music together is another way of just Spending Time together that doesn’t leave wwx unfocused and fidgety), while also accepting that even if they express it differently, that’s the intent behind it.

But there’s something very sweet and earnest about seeing the two of them be a bit abrasive and make communication mistakes in the beginning, cus its pretty clear that there’s no like. nd network for either of them to pull understanding from, and all their later understanding is based on that very active intent to empathise and meet each other in the middle.

And like. a decent amount of the flashback stuff is also pretty good communication-wise, the exception mostly being whenever they talk about their own feelings about each other. When they’re actually doing something together, there’s an implicit understanding of how to function as a unit, because they have the previous experience to tell them that they’re working towards the same goal and they understand each others’ strengths and weaknesses, while also presumably being just. very good at reading each others’ body language. And when they’re talking about political stuff, they’re both pretty clear and well-spoken. The only time when it starts to break down is when wwx is being deliberately obtuse to push lwj away, which is both a misguided attempt to keep him safe and an expression of his fear that lwj doesn’t actually approve of him the way he’d started to let himself think he did.

Like, as far as I can tell, 90% of their communication issues stem from wwx being in a bad mental place and misinterpreting lwj because lwj doesn’t use his words, and normally lwj can trust that he’ll be understood by wwx, which is why he doesn’t really seem to know how to handle it when wwx starts like. projecting. That’s another thing tho, that he seems to have picked up on after the fact, cus all the times he sees that wwx needs unambiguous validation or clarity post-timeskip, he makes sure to use words when he probably wouldn’t have before. And that confirmation is part of what allows wwx to see his other gestures of affection as they’re intended, cus lwj making the effort to speak his language gives context for the larger pattern of behaviour.

Both of them do seem to just. decide to understand each other at some point, though, presumably cus it matters to them that their second chance doesn’t go to waste – the second time round, there’s no hesitation or shying away from vulnerability, and they both pay active attention to each other. Like it’s very cute and funny that they’re always staring at each other and/or gently clinging, but I think there is an extra layer there that they just. really really don’t want to miss something important that the other is expressing.

Which brings us to. the expressions. Cus lwj is such an excellent case-study in how autistics can be incredibly expressive, but completely ignored because their methods of communication are things people aren’t used to paying attention to. And like, we, the audience, are encouraged to understand him, cus the camera’s always on him when we need to notice that he’s reacting to something, and how, and it always shows us his reactions on his terms, which is usually a matter of where he holds tension or whether he’s relaxed. But it’s easy to see how someone who doesn’t care enough to pay attention, like jc, or someone who’s actively interpreting in bad faith, like su she, would miss those things if they didn’t bother to learn that those were significant to him.

Like. I get soft over lwj’s microexpressions as much as the next guy, but those are very much a part of a bigger picture. A lot of how he expresses himself is through his actions, which is most obvious when it’s something like just moving out of the way when he doesn’t want to be touched, but with him it’s also about potentially months-long patterns of behaviour, like how he consistently chooses to be around people he likes and avoid people he doesn’t. And there’s that delightful meta post about his speech patterns as well, which is super interesting for other reasons as well obvs, but also very much works as an in-depth analysis of how he’s clearly autistic, cus what it comes down to is that he’s super formal (i.e scripted), well-spoken and has a good vocabulary, while also being essentially semi-verbal, especially when he’s stressed. And like, combining that with the fact that he doesn’t move his face unless he has something specific and probably relatively extreme to communicate, he doesn’t make eye contact, and has suuuper strong morals, it’s. Very Very easy to see how someone who already doesn’t like him would use that to call him rude, or stubborn, or arrogant, and other people who are more neutral might just. decide he’s too much effort to get to know properly. Which is why wwx is so special to him, cus he not only made an effort (despite his own insecurities and unacknowledged nd needs) but he also helped lsz to understand how to get to know him in the same way.

And wwx kind of has the same problem for the opposite reason, cus his face is so mobile and he uses so many words, that people often miss the subtleties of like. what comes up a lot for him, or what he’s doing while he says stuff, or even just why he does or says the things he does. Like, in the same way as with people assuming lwj is arrogant because he prefers to observe and listen before expressing himself, people often say the exact same thing of wwx because he’s ‘too’ quick to express himself, especially when it’s a moral thing; people are always accusing him of virtue signalling or whatever instead of genuinely believing what he’s doing is right. I think, again, the fact that wwx spends so much time around lwj, combined with the fact that lwj cares enough to learn what he’s about, means he often sees a side of wwx that people don’t tend to, and he learns to read between the lines of what he’s saying. There is also the fact that wwx just kinda seems to be a pretty good actor, and generally knows how to make people overlook the things he doesn’t want them to see, so it takes some trial and error before lwj realises how unhealthily selfless he is, among other things.

#the untamed #cql #autism #adhd #zero thoughts #apparently i write meta now #usually this is the kind of thing id keep to private conversations but yknow. when ur quarantined and hyperfixated and bored #yknow how it is #also theres probably stuff i forgot to mention but its cool #ill just add it on if something someone else says reminds me of it lol

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casualpaladin31 · 4 years

Text

Second Chance (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Requested: No

Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and mild language.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Beginning(n): late 12c., "time when something begins;" c. 1200, "initial stage or first part," verbal noun from begin. Meaning "act of starting something" is from early 13c.

Beginning. From where I stand right now, the beginning seems so much more tame than what I know now. Spencer would usually tell me some sort of fact associated with the ‘beginning of the world’ if he were here right now. But he’s not. If only foresight were real. And I had it’s full power of never saying what I did. Never pushing him away. But I guess hindsight isn’t 20-20. And words can’t be taken back.

~~~

April 12. Seems like a regular day to anybody. But not to me. Not to Spencer. He and I have been in what feels like an endless storm of arguments since Christmas. He and I had always been each other’s rock. Our anchor with how stressful our jobs are. I was there for him when the cases got rough and he was my shoulder when a case got way too personal. We just fit. That is, if you didn’t count the small little quirks in our relationship. One of which being my tendency to be like Morgan and jump into situations without too much thinking.

I won’t lie; he absolutely hates it. Case in point:

“Spence, come on, I can walk on my own now. The swelling’s gone down.” I complained, groaning at my tall and lanky boyfriend who was currently forbidding me from standing up from bed. So, maybe I might have gotten my ankles fractured and twisted by an unsub when I had tackled him prematurely and he and I went tumbling into traffic. No biggie. Other than the fact that one of the BAU’s SUVs ran over my ankles. Hotch didn’t see me. I don’t blame him.

Spencer rolled his eyes as he pushed me back into bed as I tried for the fifth time that morning to get up to go to the damn kitchen and eat something. “The doctor said you need three weeks of bed rest. It hasn’t even been two yet.” Spencer reasoned, tucking me into the covers of our shared bed before I could protest.

“Spence, I’ll be fine going to the kitchen. It’s not that far away.” I tried again, sitting up from the bed and pulling covers off of my body. “I promise I’m fine.”

Spencer shook his head and gripped my hands, trying to lay me back down. “Actually there is plenty of space between here and the kitchen, Y/N. The inflammation and swelling process is to remove the damaged tissue from your fractures. Your ankles can’t heal until you let the swelling complete its course. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just waited for me.” Spencer sighed again, the end of his words having a bit of a jabbing tone that sparked a sharp ache in my chest.

“What?” I asked, with half a laugh and half disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After all the things you’ve done without orders? Don’t make me list them, Spencer.” I hissed, half pissed that Spencer would even bring this part up. Sure, Hotch had given me a few weeks off due to my injuries, and I had gotten a case of major cabin fever since that included bed rest from the doctor. But that seemed to be forgiven by everyone. I still got calls from Penelope every few days to check on me for the rest of the team. But I guess this was still an issue. Even after we already had this argument.

Spencer grunted as he stood up straight again, seemingly towering over me in all of his 6’1 glory. He may be making me mad right now, but he was still my tree. And I his squirrel. If that makes any sense.

“Don’t start this please, I don’t want to argue with you on this.” Spencer tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I gritted my teeth and scoffed. “Then why bring it up? Especially the way you did? Why, Spencer? Why? Cause I’m itching to know.” I instigate. Not the best move on my part. As Spencer’s eyes flickered with anger. It was clear he really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. But he should’ve thought about that.

“Y/N do you really have to do this? Can’t we have one day without an argument?” Spencer huffed, running a tired hand through his hair. I roll my eyes in anger and I plant my feet against the hardwood.

“You started this Spencer, not me. I just want to know what the hell you meant by what you said.” I retort, trying to reel back my anger. This argument wasn’t going anywhere. We hadn’t been communicating. It didn’t take a profiler to see that. And it seemed all that miscommunication was coming back to bite us in the ass.

“You want to know what I meant? I’m tired of you throwing yourself into danger like that. Morgan does it, yes, but that does not mean that you should follow in his footsteps, Y/N.” Spencer says in a half accusatory tone and half calm. How the hell does he stay so calm when we argue? Even when I know he’s angry?

“Oh, so Morgan does it better than me or something? If it’s so bad, Spencer, then go scold Morgan too why don’t you? Maybe you’ll actually get somewhere with him.” I jab at Spencer, instantly regretting my comment.

Spencer is grunting with anger as he tries to formulate a response. “This isn’t getting us anywhere, Y/N! All these arguments? They never end well for either of us! If you hadn’t been so reckless maybe we wouldn’t have to be having this argument!” Spencer finally quips back at me. I widen my eyes and I furrow my eyebrows after a few moments. I open my mouth to respond before Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door a bit harshly as he does.

I scowl and scoff as I unwillingly roll back over into bed. I was so done with this constant arguing. What had happened to that spark we used to have? That perfect routine where everything just fit?

After a few minutes of sulking in my own anger I sigh. This was ridiculous wasn’t it? Sure. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. At least Spencer has another day or so before he’s gotta get back to the BAU. I can apologize to him before bed tonight. Can’t go to bed angry.

I couldn’t help but remember a poem that Spencer had read to me previously. It was on the tip of my tongue. I remember he had a collection of them that he liked to leave for me whenever he got home before me. Or if I left before him and I was expected to come home early. Especially when he had to work and I didn’t. It was just something we enjoyed. Well… used to anyway.

The poem was Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelly, I think. Yeah. That was it. I can only remember part of it though.

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?

What happened between us? What did we do to get this far away from our paradise that we had made together?

I sighed as I recalled the poem, shifting through my nightstand and finding the small notebook paper that he had left for me on my pillow months prior. Was this relationship even salvageable? Would we ever get back to this point of love between us? Or would this rift grow ever larger, and keep us apart?

I let out a tired exhale and began to slowly get up from my prison. I hissed as my ankles began to wobble from the sudden weight. I gripped the nightstand for dear-life before I found my balance, and I started to wander into the apartment I’d been kept from for the past week and a half.

I wobble my wounded and swollen feet into the living room, gripping onto everything that I could to get there safely and without a fall. Knowing Spencer’s state of mind it would probably feed into another argument. But though all odds were against me, I made it to the couch. I plopped down and picked up a forgotten book that laid next to me. La Divina Commedia. Why am I not surprised Spencer’s been reading that?

Before I could pick the book up and even attempt to read it in it’s natural text, I hear the plop of a ready back by the front door. I sigh. Of course there’s a case. A case while I’m down for the count. My fault, I guess.

I sigh and put the book down. “So you’re leaving?” I question, trying to sound at least remotely sincere.

Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge that I’d even spoken, too busy with his bag. At least he had the manners to respond. “Yes, I am. Three women were abducted in Oklahoma. It will probably take a few days.” He says, his usual tone of sorrow for having to leave absent from his voice. Almost like he was thankful for this break from me.

I bite my lip nervously and fight the urge to sigh yet again. “Well… Tell the team I said good luck.” I say as audibly as I can without giving away the hurt pounding in my chest.

Spencer at least nods before he grabs his now full bag and exits the apartment. Not even looking at me once.

Kidnapping case, huh?

~~~

Spencer’s POV

Spencer can’t help but notice the seething anger he was emitting as he walked into the bullpen to set his stuff down before the case briefing. Morgan and Prentiss both gave him looks as he set his bag down and tried to gather what he would need for the case at hand.

“Hey kid, something… going on at home? I can feel your anger from over there.” Morgan prompts, pulling Spencer into a half head lock with his arm. Spencer sighed and pulled away from Morgan’s attempt at communicating.

“It’s fine, Morgan. Really. Did you know that couples find themselves fighting about household issues about seven times each month? A survey of 2,000 Americans, commissioned by a furniture company, found couples wind up averaging about 72 spats each year over home improvement particulars.” Spencer starts to ramble, unable to hold back his concern for the topic. At least his attitude and overall tone wasn’t deteriorating from where it had been before he left.

Morgan nodded, suddenly understanding where the conversation was leading. “Ah, so you and Y/N having some trouble in paradise? She getting cabin fever yet?” Morgan teased, poking Spencer in the shoulder.

“I don’t believe there’s ever really paradise in a relationship. A study proposed by the company Eharmony suggested that although 64% of couples are happy in their relationships, that other 36% isn’t. But that number continuously changes. And relationships end everyday over small things.” Spencer rambled again, his hands being shoved into his pockets as Morgan began leading him into their meeting room.

Morgan shook his head. “Man you got it bad. Just try to make it up for her when you get home, alright? You don’t wanna go to bed angry, you know what I’m saying?” Morgan suggests. Spencer sighed and went silent as they pushed through the glass doors and took their seats at the round table to let JJ announce their newest case.

"We've got three missing women in Oklahoma city, all from low socioeconomic classes. Danielle Jones, Katie Hurtz, and Cassidy Weirton were all last seen by their boyfriends at a party they all attended yesterday. Their cars were found dumped into the nearby river with signs of chains digging into the paint. Almost as if they were pulled into the river." JJ explains, turning to face the team.

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "Don't they all look a little like Y/N? You know, h/c, e/c, s/c?" She brings up, slightly catching Spencer’s attention. Spencer looks up and looks at the photos currently on the screen. Emily was right. They did all look like her.

Morgan nods in agreement. "Yeah, they kinda do. I'm kinda glad you ran over her ankle, Hotch. She might've had to deal with Mr. overprotective here if you didn't." He teased, gesturing his thumb to Spencer.

Spencer raises an eyebrow and looks at Morgan in a bit of shock. "I don't follow." He asks. Prentiss shook her head and gave Spencer a knowing look.

"Come on, Spencer. We all heard it from Y/N herself when Garcia called her. You're giving her cabin fever by keeping her in one room all day long." Emily points out, teasing him a bit along with Morgan.

"Why is this important? She needs approximately 3 weeks of bedrest as determined by her doctor. I'm just trying to make sure she heals right." Spencer expressed in annoyance. Although Prentiss was definitely right. Y/N had been showing him signs of just wanting to move from the bed to the couch so that she wasn't bored from her surroundings. But she still shouldn't be moved all that much. Especially since she didn't have any sort of cast or boot to help with the healing. Only a brace.

"She isn't coming with us on this case, so there isn't any reason I need to worry, is there?" Spencer reasoned, growing tired of the teasing.

Morgan raised his hands up from where they had been resting on the table. "I guess not. But kid, seriously. Take it from a man who knows: don't fight her on this." Morgan encourages.

Maybe he was right, Spencer thought.

~~~

Three days had passed since Spencer had gone on the new case. I was absolutely and completely, lonely. And it was almost suffocating.

Thankfully Spencer had left me an apartment full of food, so I needn't worry about having to cook or, god forbid, have to go grocery shopping in my condition.

But I was tired of the four bare walls of the main area of my and Spencer’s apartment. I could only bear them for so much longer before I completely combusted from boredom and fourth stage cabin fever. So… I went out to go get a few books. What? We had crutches from the hospital. And taxis exist. So I was fine.

Besides, I knew Spencer hadn't read books from this author yet. And I was partially hoping that he would take them as mostly an apology gift and the rest just a gift. I wanted to try and get back into the swing of our relationship. Try and just maybe get back into a somewhat normal routine. Even if I was incapacitated.

I clobbered around the bookstore, my more injured foot swinging as I used the lesser to get around. There were so many books I just didn't know which ones to get for Spencer and just how many I wanted to get for myself.

One I picked up reminded me of a case that had come across my desk. The case was actually in Quantico. An unsub was kidnapping women around the ages of 20 to 35 and the bodies were found dumped into the river, raped and mutilated. But there were only two victims at the moment, and the period between them was months, so it hadn't seemed like one to worry about. I heard the unsub left a letter to each of the families of the victims. Almost taunting them. Weird how you can make connections like that in real life compared to your second one.

But eventually I hobbled again over ro the counter and heaved about 5 books up into the clerk's view. The clerk looked me up and down and smirked.

"Rough day?" He asked, beginning to scan the books into the system. I groaned and chuckled slightly.

"More like rough life." I reply, heaving myself back onto the harsh arm rests of the crutches. The man nods in understanding.

"Very true. But hey, I'm sure you'll get off of those soon and get back to your normal routine." He says, telling me my cost.

I fumble through my wallet and pull out my credit card. I hand it to the clerk. The clerk then takes it and swipes it for me.

"Do you want to sign up for our rewards program? You get a book free with every purchase." The clerk prompted. I raised an eyebrow at the sudden offer. I'd never gotten this offer when I'd gone here before. Was it new?

"Not today, sorry." I begin, taking my credit card back from the clerk and beginning to put it back into my wallet.

"It's something new we're trying. Get more customers interested in reading and stuff. And… I kinda promised my boss I'd get at least one my next shift. I'd really appreciate it." The clerk prompts again. I sigh. Would it really be that bad? Spencer might appreciate it. Getting more books for only a quarter of the price? He'd like that. Hell, I'd enjoy that. Why not?

I shrug and I nod. "Alright, alright. You need my number and stuff?" I ask. The clerk nods.

"Uh huh. Just name, number and address." The clerk says, beginning to type into the computer at the counter.

"Y/N L/N, 555-555-5555, (insert random Quantico apartment address here)." I list, piling the books up and putting them into a bag the clerk handed me.

As the clerk finished up I smiled at him. "Have a good day sir." I say as I begin my hobble back towards the door.

"You too."

~~~

I wobble on the crutches as I clop back to Spencer and I's shared apartment. I sigh as I begin to fumble with my keys. My phone drops out of my pocket as I do.

I grumble and lean over to grab it. I turn it on out of curiosity. No new messages. Nothing. Not a single 'How are you?' text. Kinda pissed me off a bit.

But instead I sigh and just type a quick, and small text.

Y/N - Hey, can we talk when you get home? I wanna make it up to you. Please.

I sigh and shove it back into my pocket. I'll deal with it later, I think.

I finally unlock my door and shove it open. When I do though, I find a letter shoved under the door. Couldn't they have put it in the mailbox?

I pick it up and shut the door behind me. I hobbled over to the dining room table and put the bag of books down, along with the crutches as I began to investigate the letter.

I don't even get the chance to fully open the letter before I'm grabbed from behind and a cloth is shoved into my mouth. Chloroform.

I try instantly to cough and spit the rag out, but by the time I do, I've already begun to breathe the gas in, and my vision began to grow cloudy and spotty.

The only thing I hear as the lights begin to fade and my capture begins to drag me away is "Good… go to sleep now."

~~~

Spencer sighed as he sat on the plane in mid thought. They thankfully were able to capture the unsub and bring him to justice before he could kill any of the girls. But something had struck him as they had finished up the case. Y/N had texted him, wanting to talk. He'd tried to reach her that night by calling her cell, but it went straight to voicemail. He didn't think much of it. She was probably sleeping. As she should be.

But still. She was right. They both needed to resolve this. Nothing was going to improve if they didn't try.

"Hey kid, whatcha thinking?" Morgan asks, taking a seat next to Spencer as the plane got ready to land.

"I think I'm going to talk with her tonight. See if we can come to an understanding. A compromise maybe." He sighed, fumbling with his fingers.

Derek grinned. "Alright, Spencer, my man!" He exclaims, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Good. I'm proud of you, kid." He says, prompting Spencer to smile.

"Thank you Morgan. I just think we'll find a better normal is all." He agrees, unable to focus on the current case report he'd just written.

Prentiss wanders over and takes a seat next to Spencer as well. "I'm glad you've decided to tame the beast, Spencer." She teases.

Rossi's ears perk up at the conversation. "Are we talking about Y/N here? Cause she's untameable." He expresses, pulling a smile onto Spencer’s face.

She really was untameable, Spencer thought. Maybe that was a good thing.

~~~

Spencer stretched his arms as he walked to his apartment. After the long and hard case they had, he just wanted to hold you and pull you close. Those girls looking so similar to you had messed with his head.

Spencer exited the elevator, ready bag in hand as he turned to head down the hallway with his and Y/N's shared apartment. When he finally stopped, he noticed the door was ajar. Weird. Y/N always had a quirk about insisting he close the door behind him whenever he entered or exited a room. So why would she leave the door open?

Spencer cautiously entered the room and saw the lights all completely turned off. Maybe she was in bed, he thought.

He flicked on the lights and noticed a bag of books on the table, and a half opened envelope laying there as well next to forgotten crutches. Spencer rolled his eyes as he noticed the books were newly bought, guess Y/N couldn't stay in bed while he was gone.

That's when he noticed the letter again. He opened it up and began to read the complete horror that met his eyes.

Hello.

I'm glad we share an interest in books. I've always liked reading. Did you know that? I've also loved (h/c) haired girls. All my life. When your (e/c) eyes met mine, I knew you had to be mine. So, please don't fight this. All I want is for us to be together. Forever.

I promise I’m not like him. Your boyfriend. I won't leave you alone on weekends with fractured feet.

Just obey me, and you'll be happy. I promise.

Love, Z.H.E

Spencer felt tears building up in his eyes. This man, this--this Z.H.E had taken Y/N. Taken his girlfriend at her weakest. And he wasn't here to protect her.

Spencer thrust the letter onto the table and dropped to his knees. You were gone. Out of his reach. And there was no telling how long you'd been gone. How long you've been in this unsub's hands. So there was no way to know if you had any chance.

Spencer clutched at his shirt and tie as he began to quicken his breathing and his heart began to pound faster. He had to do something. Anything.

Then he felt his phone vibrate. That was it. He had proof. This wasn't Y/N's handwriting. They had a case. They just had to get permission.

Spencer shook his head. Fuck the permission. He was going to find Y/N and put the bastard who took her in prison. They didn't have much time, but he was going to find her. Dead or alive.

Spencer pulled his phone out and immediately began dialing Morgan’s number, tears still streaming down his cheek.

He was going to find you. He had to.

After a few rings, Morgan finally answered the phone. "Reid? Kid it's like 11 o'clock at night. What's wro-" Morgan groans.

Spencer immediately cut him off. "Morgan, Y/N's not here. Some-someone took her. Th-they left a-a note and u-uh… they signed it Z...Z.H.E." Spencer rambled and stuttered, his voice almost inaudible from his tears and his voice growing faster with his nerves.

Morgan’s response was to be expected. "Wait, what? You serious kid? Hold on, I'll call Hotch. Bring anything Y/N might've had with her the day she got taken with you back to the BAU. We'll meet you there." Derek ushered, the sound of a TV being shut off in the background.

Spencer tried to calm his breathing, but it only got faster and harder to control. "O-okay… got it." Was his only response as he hung up the phone and pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and began searching the apartment for any sort of sealing bag he could put the letter in for evidence. If the bastard wasn't wearing gloves, they needed to be able to find fingerprints. Not just his own.

Once he found something, he slid the envelope and the letter into the bag and sealed it shut. Once he had it, he grabbed the bag and the bag of books and began to carry them out the door.

~~~

I groaned as I lifted my head up from where it had hung for I didn't know how long. My neck ached from the change in position, and I heard a few painful pops as I moved it. I felt my head pounding. Seems like that head wound is finally giving me trouble.

I tugged at my arms, feeling rope dig back into my skin in retaliation. I gritted my teeth and began to try and use my fingers to attempt any sort of chance this asshole decided to leave the knot in close range of my hands. But alas, he didn't.

My legs were tied to the chair as well, almost tighter than my arms were. I sighed. It had been 4 days since this asshole had taken me. And it wasn't pretty. I had a large gash on my cheek, and bruises that scattered my torso and thighs. This guy wasn't subtle in his obsession with me. He needed to see me multiple times a day. And if I didn't do what he asked, he whipped me. And the guy got off from it.

I sighed, at least he decided to move me from the dangling chain prison he'd had me in the first three days. The first one he just needed to see all of me. I was just unlucky enough to wake up prematurely.

I'm glad I wasn't awake for most of it. It still hurts. Every time I close my eyes I try and focus on Spencer. His hazel eyes looking down at me with love in them, telling me it'll be okay.

But when I open my eyes again, I'm back in my own personal hell.

I sigh and look around, hoping the blood that was pooling above my eye didn't drip down into my eye where I couldn't see. I'd already viewed this whole room dozens of times. But it was something to do while this asshole lived upstairs with his wife and their young daughter. And they do nothing about it.

My eyes find the only window in this hell of a basement and I see that the light is brighter than usual. Must be noon. I can't tell. That can only mean he's going to be here soon. Gonna take another piece of me that I'll never get back.

"S-spencer…" I whimper quietly, squeezing my eyes shut as a tear builds up in my eye. If I hadn't gone out like he told me this wouldn't have happened. I'd still be in our apartment and I would've been there to welcome him home. Not here. Not with death looming over my head.

"Oh, poor baby. You seriously want him? When you have me? You've got all you could ever want and you never accept me. Why?" The most disgusting and smoke-induced sounding voice echoed into the basement.

I turn my head and glare at my capture, my right eye squinting as the blood from my forehead began to drip over it. I don't answer him, afraid he'll just beat me again for my answer. He'll beat me anyway.

He growled and pulled my face towards his, holding it harshly as he spat into my face. "Answer me, bitch! That's all you are!" He yelled, pushing the chair against a beam. I cough as my head collides with the wood.

I shake as my head slowly lifts to look at him again. "I… I don't want you… I w-want to g-go home…" I stutter. He wants an answer. But I don't want to play into his game. I feel disgusting.

He then launches a punch to my gut, causing me to cough up a spat of blood and begin to groan from my bruises. Add another bruise to the pile.

"WHY?! I am a better man! THE better man! You are mine! Accept it!" He spat, tossing the chair aside along with me. "It's like you don't even like me!" The man growled.

I groaned and began to shrink as much as I could into the chair. Why? Why me? He had a wife and a kid upstairs. A perfect normal life. Why couldn't he just settle?

The man shook his head and growled. "No. No we're gonna show this 'boyfriend' of yours just how good I am to you." He insists before he fishes through the clothes that he had torn off of me and pulled out my phone. I could only hope that Garcia could track its location fast enough.

~~~

Spencer gripped his hair tightly as everyone was scrambling to try and find some way, some connection to bring them close enough to be able to find Y/N. But they had nothing.

So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints on the letter that Spencer or Y/N hadn't left themselves. And the bag was obviously only carried by Y/N. So they were stuck until they could get another piece of information.

Morgan sighed as he watched Spencer go over the letter for what he knew was about the twelve hundredth time that night. He really didn't deserve this.

Morgan took a seat and tried to get Spencer’s attention by lightly grabbing his wrist. Spencer jumped from the sudden contact, sighing slightly.

"Nothing… After 5 hours of searching we have found nothing. All we have is a reminder of how terrible I was to her." Spencer sighed, his esteem having grown drastically low in the time that he had spent reading the letter over and over again.

Morgan sighed. "Kid, you were not terrible to her. Come on. She loves you, man. Seriously, I can see love. And she's got it for you." Morgan insists, nudging Spencer’s shoulder. Reid sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Still, the last thing I did with her was argue over her being reckless. That might be the last thing she ever hears from me." Spencer expressed, clutching harshly at his chest.

Derek sighed again and nudged Spencer once more. "Come on, kid. We'll find her. That won't be the last thing you say. The last words you ever say to her will be on your shared deathbed kid." Morgan teased. "Come on, the girl got you five books when she was supposed to be resting. If anything that tells me she loves you more than the pain she feels." Morgan chuckles, gesturing towards the bag of books on the evidence table.

Reid shrugs and looks down for a moment before it hits him. He stands up suddenly and starts shifting through the plastic bag for the receipt.

"Woah, kid. Did I say something to set you off or-?" Morgan asks suddenly, confused by Spencer’s sudden movement.

"The books! She-she would've taken the b-books out if she had been home l-long enough to put them away-" he rambled, searching and flipping through each of the books, desperately trying to find the receipt and to find some sort of indication as to when she was taken.

"Right, but Reid I don't-" Morgan starts again.

Spencer shook his head. "Just-!" He exclaims almost exasperatedly. Then he finds it. Deeply nestled into a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's greatest poems, was a receipt for four days ago at a bookstore a few miles away from their apartment.

"Found it." He whispers, smiling happily. Maybe he had a chance of finding Y/N after all.

Morgan widened his eyes. "Does it got a date on it, Reid?" He asked, getting up from his chair in a quick haste to know if they had a new clue.

Reid nodded, a few tears building in his eyes. "Four days ago. She's been with the unsub for...for four days…" Spencer sputtered, forcefully putting the small receipt down so he didn't crumple it more.

Morgan gave Spencer a sympathetic look and opened his mouth to speak.

"You're gonna wanna see this, Reid." Garcia came onto the screen, pulling Spencer’s attention to it.

"Hold on baby girl," Derek says before he rushes to the glass door that connected the council room to the rest of the bullpen. He opened the door and called in Hotch, JJ, and Rossi. Prentiss came in as she was coming down the hall.

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked as he came in, settling into the room and looking at the screen she currently showed her face on.

"Okay, but this is kind of… gore-y. You might not want to see this Reid-" she began, trying to warn Spencer of the video's contents.

Spencer shook his head. "Show the video." He insists. Garcia sighed, but clicked play.

On the screen showed a much less clothed Y/N and a hooded figure in the room. A single light bulb was hanging from the ceiling.

"Since princess here can't accept me, let me just show you what I've done to your precious girl." A distorted voice echoed through the video speakers.

Spencer’s eyes were wide as he was forced to watch the screen for more information on where his (nickname) was.

The hooded figure then pulled out a knife and advanced towards Y/N. Y/N herself bit back a quiver and a whimper. Spencer knew it by her bitten lip.

The figure then used the knife to cut a long gash along Y/N's left arm, before grabbing the right and cutting his initials into the soft skin that was there.

"You're mine, now. What boyfriend would want you now with another man's claim on you?" The figure growled at Y/N.

Y/N took in a shaky breath and looked into the camera. "I-I can take it. I-i p-promise. S-spencer," mouthing one word before the figure slapped her across the face for doing so.

"You bitch‐!" The figure growled. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and looked away from the screen. He could barely make out what she mouthed. Basement.

Hotch looked to Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Did you catch it? The word she gave?" He asked calmly, understanding Reid's need to look away from what this man was doing to the love of his life.

Spencer shook in terror for a few speechless moments before he was finally able to lift his head back up.

"She… s-she said basement, Hotch. She's in a basement." He announces, keeping his eyes away from the screen.

"Meaning this guy could have a complete other life. And that nobody knows what he's doing downstairs." Morgan infers, Prentiss nodding towards him in agreement.

JJ speaks up next. "Sorry to burst the bubble here, but I think I found the case this unsub is connected to." She says, dropping a very thin case file onto the table.

"Two women, between the ages of 20 to 35 were taken from their homes in the mid afternoon. Yet no one saw or heard. At each of the scenes, a letter is found that is similar to the one we found at your apartment, Spence." JJ informs, sighing. "Each of the women were found two weeks after their capture dumped into the river and stripped of their belongings. With sighs of rape and mutilation." JJ says sorrowfully. Spencer’s fist tightens at his side, his eyes squeezing shut again.

He could've been there for you if he hadn't taken that case in the heat of his anger. He would've kept you from going out and attracting the attention of this unsub. But he was more focused on his anger.

"Reid, do you have anything new?" Hotch asks, jotting down a few notes to be able to refer to later. Spencer sighed and nodded.

"Y-yeah. I found the receipt from the bookstore she went to. Four days ago. It's called Zander's Stories." He says, looking up to face Hotch for a moment.

"Good. We'll head there and talk with the owner, see if we can find any employees with our profile. And if they have cameras we'll check to see who checked Y/N out." Hotch informed. The rest of the team nodded and began to get back to work.

Spencer stood up and stopped Hotch for a moment. "H-hotch, what is the profile? If you don't mind my asking." He asked shakily, his hand grasped at his sleeves nervously. He had been so focused on the letter and understanding the handwriting that he only had a portion.

Hotch sighed. "Reid. We're looking for a man most likely in his thirties or forties. Has a history of being flirtatious, almost creepily so with customers. Most likely has a wife, maybe a child as well. But never wears his wedding ring. Almost wanting to lure women closer to him. He probably talks mostly of himself and his own accomplishments than those of his coworkers. Takes every conversation as a chance to turn it about himself." He answered, giving Spencer a sympathetic look. They all wanted to find her. But they had to be careful.

Spencer nodded as he took the profile in, taking a mental note to think of any people he might know. Anyone who might've been watching them before now. But he found nothing.

"The handwriting seems to be gleeful almost in tone. A-almost as if he'd finally gotten what he wanted. Like a child sending a thank you letter to Santa for the presents they got for christmas." Spencer expressed, picking up the letter to point out the darkened graphite marks on the letter page.

"Interesting. He might've been watching her before. Have you and her been out before this? Perhaps gone to this bookstore before Christmas?" Hotch asked, gathering together the papers he had written on.

Spencer searched his mind for a moment, trying to reach as far back as his photographic memory would go to help him remember if he'd ever encountered a man that matched the profile.

"For Christmas she did get me a-a new poem book. A-and a book on philosophy. She might've visited the store then." Spencer informed, his hands gripping tightly and his knuckles turning white.

"That's it. He watches them for months in advance. He seems very organized. He kidnapped her without much fight. Even with her being injured she would've been able to fight him off if he simply grabbed her. He planned this." Hotch then grabbed his things and rushed out the door to join the others.

Spencer felt his body still as he tried to figure out what he could do. What he could say to help find another clue as to where you were. All he could think of was to try and come up with a geographical location from the different victims and the profile.

He just hoped they wouldn't be too late.

~~~

Again I opened my eyes exhaustedly. It seemed I'd been here ages. I didn't know the times between when I'd wake and when I'd pass out. But those times between when I'd wake and after I'd fallen asleep were the best. I got to see Spencer. In all his gentle and warm light.

"S-spencer… I'm scared…" I whispered, not hearing any echos of breath in the tiny basement this man was keeping me in other than my own.

I almost imagine him replying; Why? I'm here.

I choke back a tired sob. "I-i'm afraid… a-afraid I'll never s-see you again…" I whisper in a reply so hoarse and tiresome.

Again I can imagine his response, almost hear it. Don't give up. I'll see you soon, sweetheart.

I swallow a choked sob and close my eyes once more. My hope was almost gone. I'd been here so long. I knew it was at least 4 days. Maybe 5 at the most. I don't know how much I can handle his beatings. Or his possession.

I sniffle and clear my throat as I hear footsteps above me. He's coming again.

The door to the basement slams open and I jump from the sudden noise. His feet pound against the wooden stairs as he rushed down the stairs. I squeezed my eyes shut as he came into the light, unable to face him.

"You didn't tell me you were fuckin' FBI!" The man yelled, slapping me for good measure. I bite my lip and hold onto my whimper. I swallow harshly, not replying to his obvious question.

The man snarls, raising his hand to slap me once again before he stops himself. I almost let myself think that maybe by some miracle he'd grown some sort of conscience. That maybe he'd show me a little mercy. But of course, I was wrong.

The man pulls out his knife and cuts my bindings, pulling me off of the chair abruptly. He grips my wrists so tightly I was sure he'd break them if he squeezed any tighter.

He stayed silent as he dragged me across the floor, digging his nails into my wrists. He hoisted my body up like a ragdoll and enclosed my damaged and rope-burned wrists into chains, allowing me to hang there limp and tired.

"See this, this is what happens when you lie to me, bitch!" He yelled, picking up a long piece of wood he kept in the basement and thrusting it against my stomach. I sputter and cry out before I could even attempt to silence myself. I could feel my insides aching and throbbing. And the nailheads sticking out of the wood bruised my skin, almost breaking it from the force.

The man pulled the wood back and thrust it against my legs, making me whimper from the pain. The nails dug into my calves and my thighs, drawing blood from the wound. I was losing my resolve to fight and to push through the pain.

The man then brought it back to my torso, and thrusted it against me. I felt my ribs cracking and popping. Pain throbbed from my chest, and it grew stronger with each thrust I endured.

Again and again he beat me, the wood and nails digging into my skin and bruising it well. Moments later I found my eyes slowly falling closed as each thrust collided with my body.

Before my eyes could close completely I felt the wood thrust against my back, causing tremendous pain to my spine. If I had the ability I would have crumbled to the ground.

"You're gonna pay for this. You were supposed to be mine. You are not his. Mine, and mine alone!" The man growled, pointing a finger at me. I look away, only for him to force my face towards him.

"I think it's time you went to sleep, sweetheart~" he purred just as he thrusted the butt of his knife against my head, sending me back to my dreamscape.

~~~

Spencer found his phone once he heard it begin to ring. He'd been eyeing it since he'd finished the geographical map. He could only hope and pray that whoever called him would have some sort of good news. She had been missing for four days. Five now. And they weren't any closer to finding her.

JJ had gone on TV for a press conference. Try and bring the unsub out since most like to inject themselves into the investigation. Spencer had been against it. He'd seen time and time again what happened to the agents that unsubs found out what they were. Prentiss had gotten a beating for it while Reid had to stand back.

But this was the best course of action, according to Hotch. And Spencer had no choice but to agree with him for now.

When his phone began to ring, Spencer jumped in his seat and immediately answered, having seen it was Hotch.

"H-hotch, tell me you've got something." Spencer begs, not even trying to hide his worry anymore.

"Zander Harrison Edison. He's the owner of the bookstore. The employees all agreed to him fitting the profile. He has a wife and a daughter. And has been reported to flirt with a majority of the female customers." Hotch reads off. "I got Garcia working on an address now. But we need you down here. Just for when we have one." Hotch informs, his speech a little quicker than normal. He was probably hurrying out of the book store to get to the SUV.

Spencer let out an audible sigh of relief and his hand finally loosened it's tight and tense grip. "Yes, o-of course Hotch. I got a geographical pinpoint I can send her before I head out." Spencer offered as he began to gather his things in a haste to get to Y/N as quickly as possible.

"Reid, calm down. She's going to be alright. And sure. That'll help her get the address narrowed down for us. Just hurry, we don't have much time to lose." Hotch agreed with Spencer, the sound of a car beginning to start sounding in the background.

Spencer took a shallow breath and nodded. "R-right...r-right I just gotta… j-just gotta calm d-down…" he says with uncertainty. He hangs up the phone and immediately begins to head towards Garcia's office with the geographical pinpoint he had narrowed.

Spencer's feet couldn't carry him any faster than they did as he hurried towards the technical analyst's cave. Spencer hastily knocked and pounded on the wooden door much harder than he intended to, bringing an impatient Garcia from her office.

"In case you haven't heard, we're a little busy right now with a kidnapped-" Garcia began to scold before he noticed Spencer’s hurried and worried expression. "Oh, Reid. Sorry you don't...don't usually knock that hard. I'm finding the address as we speak-" she starts.

"I-i've got the geographical location, Garcia. It-" he sighed, messing with his tie nervously. "It'll help." He says, as his eyes wandered around anxiously.

Garcia nods and gestures for Spencer to go ahead. "Alright then, lay it on me my love." She prompts, turning her chair around and swerving into her desk.

Spencer nodded hesitantly and then began to detail the geographical pinpoint. "Try around the downtown Quantico area. Specifically the more suburban areas. This guy has a basement he's keeping her in." He lists off, pulling back his fingers from his fists as if counting each detail.

Garcia smiles slightly as she types. "Perfect, just imput the owner and/or the renter of the home and-" Garcia trails for a moment. "There, (Random Quantico suburban address here). Go get your Princess, Reid." Garcia insists, handing him a sticky note with the address.

Spencer took the note with no hesitation and spun on his heels towards the exit of the building. "Will do." He replies as his paces grow wider and he finds himself run-walking down the stairs instead of the elevator.

He was going to find you. You were going to be okay.

~~~

I was unlucky enough to wake up only an hour later. Thankfully, he was gone. And I was alone. I hung from the ceiling like a pig in a slaughterhouse. It certainly felt that way too.

My ankles were thankfully not chained. The cold metal digging into my wrists was enough.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, and tried to imagine Spencer once more. Maybe fall asleep again. Seeing him again seemed like a lost cause now. Maybe he'll find someone who doesn't jump into situations without thinking like Morgan. Maybe she'll bring him more happiness than I ever did. And maybe she'll get along with everybody better than I did. Maybe he'll want to marry her too-

Before I knew it tears were cascading down my cheeks. No. No, I couldn't give up yet. We've found people who've been missing for weeks. Though of course that's a rarity. But it still happens.

I'm still alive. As long as that's true, there's hope for me yet.

I heaved as air desperately tried to enter my lungs from this position. Everytime I tried to pull up enough to breathe, the harsh and rusted metal cuffs dug farther into my skin.

I hissed as the cuffs felt sharper around my wrists. I recalled the pictures of the other two victims. They too had deep abrasions on their wrists. Guess they got this treatment too.

I gripped the chains loosely, trying to give my wrists a break from the harsh edge of the cuffs. I dreaded his return. Knowing it was just going to be more torture. He'd gotten his taste of me. Now he just wanted to see me bleed.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for whatever he had planned for me next. But that's when I heard the thud of a door being kicked in. My heart skipped a beat as I heard it, hoping for the love of God it was who I thought it was.

Then the footsteps got quicker and they pounded against the floor above me. I heard a hurried turning of the knob to the door of the basement, before another thud was heard and a plethora of curses followed it.

My chest got painfully tighter with the hopefulness that I was saved. That maybe… maybe he'd come for me. But the pain was worth it.

The knob was turned hastily and the door opened. I still couldn't help but lose my breath for a moment. This could all be a misunderstanding. He could be coming down here to kill me.

But then I saw the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes turn the corner and break at the sight of me hanging from the ceiling.

"She's down here! I need a medic!" Spencer called back up the stairs. He then raced to my side, trying desperately to undo the cuffs.

"Y/N… Y-Y/N s-sweetheart…" he whispered, looking at me heartbroken. I swallowed hard and gestured towards the desk in the corner of the tiny basement.

"O-over th-there. T-the keys…" I whisper hoarsely. My voice must've died on me from all the screaming. Spencer nodded and quickly spun around and grabbed the keys from the cluttered desk of weapons the man used on me.

Spencer swallowed harshly as he took in the tools that lay against the wood of the desk. Many of them still had blood on them, previously used. It ached deep in his heart. He turned his head away from them and focused on her. On the only one who mattered right now.

Spencer brought the keys back towards me and quickly unlocked the cuffs. I fall into his arms and he wraps them around me tenderly. "Y/N...t-thank God…" he whispered. His large hand raised up and cradled my head. "I-i'm sorry… s-so..so sorry…" he whispered into my ear, crying as he held me.

I, although exhausted, found a smile pulling at my lips. "F-for what? F-finding me?" I teased, trying and failing to put my feet on the ground.

Spencer slightly chuckled and pulled me up farther into his arms. "N-no… not that…" he sighed, pulling me as close as his arms and my body would allow. "Don't put your feet down. Your ankles are still fractured sweetheart." He slightly teases back. I let out a small, tired laugh.

"S-spence…" I whisper. "P-please… did-" I begin to ask hesitantly. He nods. "He's been taken care of, Y/N. He's in our custody now. I promise." He says, gently caressing my cheek.

I lean into his touch and sigh in relief. Soon after, Morgan comes down into the basement and almost scares the shit out of me.

"Thank God…" Morgan sighed in relief upon seeing me. He then turned to Spencer. "Reid, help me carry her up to the paramedics." He insisted. Spencer nodded and began to hoist one of my arms over Morgan’s shoulder to help carry me. "I got you, baby girl. You're safe now." He assured me. I nodded weakly as my eyelids began to fall from exhaustion.

They carried me up the stairs and helped to lay me onto the stretcher that was brought into the house. The paramedics then brought me out to the ambulance. Spencer was by my side the entire time.

The paramedics hoisted me into the ambulance and began to work on me and my injuries. It was by around now that I began to really fall asleep. Finally able to sleep without the fear of waking up to a beating.

One of the paramedics looked to Spencer as he watched Y/N as they began to prepare to head to the ER. "You coming?" He asked. "We don't have long for her."

Reid looked to Hotch, hoping to be given leave enough to be with Y/N in the ambulance. Hotch nodded. "Go on, Reid. We'll take care of it from here." He assures.

Spencer smiled at Hotch without another word. He turned around again and entered the ambulance, sitting beside Y/N as the engine started up and they began to drive away.

Spencer leaned farther and closer towards Y/N, feelings of both relief and sorrow washing over him. He had her back. She was safe. She wasn't dead. She was very much alive.

~~~

Hours later Spencer sat in the waiting room for an update on Y/N. He had been separated from her immediately once they arrived, having no news of her afterwards. Anxiety was all he knew as he dreaded what the doctors were going to say about her injuries. Just how much pain Zavier had caused her. What he did to her.

JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan all flowed into the waiting room, smiling as they found Spencer bent over with his face deep in his hands.

"Hey Reid. So… any updates?" Morgan asks, trying to give his friend some space. Spencer rubbed his face tiredly and shook his head.

"Nothing. Not since we got here." He says with a hard sigh. Emily frowned and caressed his shoulder.

"She'll be alright. We'll get the evidence we need and she'll only have some scars. I'm sure." Emily assures, giving Spencer a gentle look.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose but nodded. They were probably right. "Probably…" he says softly, looking around once more in hopes that the doctor would come through the door.

Each opening of the door into the actual ER got Spencer worked up. He kept thinking it was the doctor or a nurse calling him back to see her. To see Y/N. But alas, it was not. Time and time again, each and every turn of the knob wasn't for him.

JJ sighed. "I should've taken this case more seriously when it came across my desk, Reid. Especially when the girls looked like Y/N…" she apologizes, looking down at her feet in shame.

Spencer looked up and shook his head. "There was nothing you could've done that would have kept him away from her, JJ. Or prevented him seeing her. He'd already had his eye on her and-" Spencer took a deep breath. "My point being that it isn't your fault. Alright?" He promises, looking up at JJ from where he sat.

JJ sighed and crossed her arms, holding her sides uncomfortably. "I still don't like this. He literally kept her down there and his wife did nothing. This is reminding me of Janice and Cameron Hooker all over again." She groaned, looking towards the hospital entrance as Hotch and Rossi entered.

"How is she?" Hotch asks, standing next to JJ and next to where Morgan sat.

Morgan answered for Spencer in a matter of seconds. "No news yet. They still got her back in intensive care. They'll let us know when she's stable, I guess." He shrugged.

Spencer sighed again and ran another hand through his hair. Hotch noticed this and spoke up.

"How are you handling this, Reid? I can give you a few days off with her after she's out to get settled. If that'll be alright." Hotch suggested. Spencer felt unease begin to grow in his belly. He almost spoke up on it until Hotch finished his portion of the conversation. "Afterwards I plan to arrange for her to work at her desk and help Garcia. To put both of your minds at ease." Hotch assured. "We cannot have either of you constantly worrying about the other's well-being while on the job for the next few weeks."

Spencer’s uneasiness immediately faded and was replaced with a feeling of relief once more. He let a small smile find its way onto his face and nodded to Hotch's suggestion.

"Y-yeah… I think I'd like that." He says softly.

Not a moment later the door opens and a nurse begins calling for Reid. "Is there a Dr. Spencer Reid here?" The nurse calls.

Spencer rose to his feet in an instant, biting his lip anxiously. "T-that's me." He answered.

The nurse nodded. "Alright, well we just finished her surgery. She's got a few cracked ribs and one fractured one. She also has some minor damage to her spine. But other than that, just a medium concussion. She's asking for you, by the way." The nurse announces, smiling gently.

Spencer again couldn't help the smile that teased at his lips when he heard Y/N was asking for him. He followed the nurse back into the ER and towards the recovery room. His heart slightly pounded as he wandered closer and closer to Y/N.

Then, he saw her.

Laying in a hospital bed angled slightly up to support her spine, laid Y/N. She looked up at Spencer with tired eyes, smiling at him instantly.

"Spence…" she called. Spencer was glad to answer to it. He found himself placed at her side immediately, pulling her gently close so as to not damage what the doctors had fixed.

"Y/N… sweetheart…" he called in a soft whisper, kissing the nape of her neck gently. She hummed softly and held her arms limply around his neck.

"Spencer… I-I'm sorry… f-for the a-arguing. I j-just-" she began, pulling slightly away from him, although she could not find anything else she feared more.

Spencer shook his head and pulled her into a full kiss, cupping her bandaged and bruised cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped away her incoming tears and caressed her cheek lovingly. She pressed her lips against his moreso, relief flooding her senses.

She let herself collapse into his embrace and his kiss, ignoring the pain that came with moving too far forward. Spencer laid her back against the bed to prevent any more injury before he continued to kiss her gently. He'd wanted this for a week. And now he had it.

After a long moment, Y/N reluctantly pulled away from the long-overdo kiss. She let Spencer’s touch remain on her cheek as he continued to hold her. "Sweetheart, none of that matters to me anymore. You're alive. You're breathing. That's all I need right now." He says sweetly, kissing her forehead as tenderly and as gently as he could.

Y/N let out a soft giggle and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Dr. Reid." She teased. Spencer chuckled softly in return.

"I love you too, Y/N."

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