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#it must mean he has a wonderful support system and that his friends and coworkers are better

gayreligousfallout · 8 months

Text

Unless you're up for some barely coherent unedited thoughts, feel free to ignore.

TW for religious trauma and light homophobia

Do things need to be the way they are? We made everything up. We made up what is and isn't a family. We made up what is and isn't a job. Money, language, gender, community, church, government, religion, nations, borders...

I mean it's all just made up right? So what if why does it feel so viscerally wrong for things to change. I want to shout to the void without scaring my friends so I made this account.

The good we have right now won't last. I never had lasted in the past and it won't start lasting now. In a way that's what makes it special. The beauty of the finite. I want to enjoy this because one day, before I'm ready and without my consent, it will end and it will hurt. I know that. So if the hurt is coming, I might as well enjoy it as much as possible until the hurt gets here.

I love my job, I get to make a safe loving community for people who have been cast out of their family and church because of their gender identity, sexuality, or romantic attractions or lack there of. I get to run D&D games for them, cook them dinners, listen to them share their emotions, fears, hopes, and jokes. I get to meet over coffee and sandwiches. I write lessons for them about how to heal, build relationships, and communicate with others. And I don't have to ask them for anything in return. I just get to help them. They mean so much to me. They are my best friends and I love them.

But the money is drying up. The people supporting my work will eventually find out that my great Christian missionary journey has changed from religious fundamentalism and Evangelical nationalism into loving queer people and giving them permission (that they shouldn't need) to question the bible and God.

My wife's job is grinding her into the dust and she needs to leave, but I can't support us. Hell I can't even support myself with the money the mission agency sends. I might have to get another job. Go back to writing code to make ends meet at the cost of my mental health, joy, and all my time that I could be using to help my friends.

I don't want to work for myself. I don't want nice things, I just want to help my friends. I want to love them as well as I can. To show them that love is worth trusting and that they deserve to be loved. But I have to provide for my wife and myself. We have to eat, pay for our roof, and get medicine.

Sometimes I wonder if I could run this whole thing by myself. My coworkers are even more pressed by life to find new jobs than I am. But I don't know how to run a non-profit.im awful at paperwork and administrative tasks. I don't want to have all that authority and power. That's how/why pastors become insane control freaks who sexually assault their members, shame them into hiding, and steal their money.

Is it possible to do this without structure. Is it possible to just be a group of friends without any formal documents and legal recognition? It has to be. That's how it must be in other nations.

I don't want to stop doing this, I don't want to get another job, I don't want my community to disband. But it will I think. It will all end. Even if we make it 10 more years somehow. I'll get too old. People tell me it's possible to stay young and keep doing this work, but I've never seen those people stay young and do it.

I asked where all the 40 year olds were before I started. The pastor handwaved away the questions and promised it was a lifelong career. Well he had the system rigged in his favor and was lying through his teeth.

The system is rigged in my favour to I guess. I feel bad for taking people's money and using it to do what I do. They want some holy warrior to stem the tide of the culture war for Jesus and America. They want me to "fix" gay kids as if there was anything wrong with them. But still they give me money and I take it under false pretenses.

They pay me to study the bible, Christian tradition, Jewish history, 2nd temple writings, rabbinic discourse, church debates, theological nuances, Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek.

Well the deeper you look the less certain things are. The closer I look the more I see the scared, hurting, imperfect people who wrote these letters, poems, and court documents. I don't see a grand plan designed and orchestrated by an all seeing all knowing God, I see what may be a god of limited power interacting with a people group and struggling with their own emotions or it may also be a people group rationalizing their own struggle and success through a god. I've done that more times than I can count.

I think I still have faith, but it's not what it was. It's a softer, kinder, less sure, but more welcoming faith. Maybe that disqualifies me. I don't know. But I love my friends. And they love me. If I deserve to be cast out of Christianity at least I'll get to be cast out with them. If I am cast out of gods grace at least I'll be cast out with them.

I'm not going to give up trying to keep my work going, but I also want to give up the idea that if it ends I will have failed. All things end. That doesn't make everything a failure.

god if you're out there, my people are hurting because of "your people". Please do something.

I can't imagine why someone would read this but if you did, thanks for witnessing me and my life, my anxiety & peace, my hope & hopelessness, & my processing.

#church trauma #religion #christianity #deconstructing christianity #queer christian #queer community #processing

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1kook · 4 years

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EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed.

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple.

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this.

This type of mission has never been his.

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers.

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen.

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it.

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians.

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were.

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see.

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is.

And then he’s off.

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about.

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam.

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet.

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying.

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles.

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on.

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes.

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor.

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature.

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own.

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes.

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane.

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe.

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle.

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches.

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you.

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence.

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding.

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general.

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days.

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar.

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together.

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride.

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you.

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one.

You loved it.

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home.

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through.

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels.

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge.

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home.

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car.

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think.

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was.

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur.

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at.

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature.

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night.

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts.

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself.

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list.

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance.

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer.

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?”

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain.

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?”

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.”

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you.

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand.

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that.

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand.

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say.

He is not sure if he believes you.

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay.

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him.

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later.

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes.

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back.

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age.

Or so he says.

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit.

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time.

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion.

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees.

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass.

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory.

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you.

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside.

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once.

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that.

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.”

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world.

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh.

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade.

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it.

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks.

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.”

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance.

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer.

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question.

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband.

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep.

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state.

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber.

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance.

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen.

And then he’s thinking.

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room.

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7.

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself.

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did.

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities.

Until now.

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know.

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off.

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe.

He was in trouble.

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week.

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times.

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you.

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind.

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other.

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity.

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official?

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there.

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign.

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart.

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features.

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well.

For now.

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings.

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too.

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off.

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears.

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa.

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment.

He wants to be like you.

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day.

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you.

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden.

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

He wants to remain beside you.

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon.

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away.

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved.

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of.

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once.

So he spills it all out to you.

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it.

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean.

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe.

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort.

Instead he sits in silence.

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits.

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that?

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears.

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out.

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously.

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?”

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head.

The day drags on.

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log.

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him.

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out.

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more.

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage.

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?”

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today.

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?”

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?”

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails.

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask.

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you.

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?”

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?”

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.”

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away.

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden.

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d.

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile.

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?”

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar.

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills.

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state.

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over.

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough.

In the end, both of you are drenched.

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today.

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen.

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses.

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you.

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.”

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up.

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms.

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by.

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point.

There was a lot of weight behind that.

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine.

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart.

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully.

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed.

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe.

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap.

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.”

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there.

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional?

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him.

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently.

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.”

Your face burns.

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside.

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing.

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it.

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you.

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.”

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye.

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body.

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so.

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his.

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck.

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time.

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way.

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours.

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan.

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him.

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you.

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features.

Sheer and utter adoration.

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you.

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch.

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with.

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds.

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine.

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is.

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes.

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again.

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes.

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop.

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow.

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight.

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close.

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth.

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively.

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again.

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline.

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest.

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours.

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere.

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly.

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look.

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal.

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed.

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze.

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?”

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver.

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge.

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges.

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you.

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push.

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy.

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot.

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob.

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time.

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with.

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups.

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down.

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart.

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet.

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers.

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out.

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in.

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets.

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react.

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area.

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you.

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies.

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet.

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #alternative ending by rumu omits the last paragraph and we all pretend to live happily #but im evil so we suffer together #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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rogueyami · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu!! Fic Recs

I love reading fanfics, and I have so many bookmarked that I want to share. Hope you all enjoy and give these writers all the love. All of these are completed works, and they are a mixture of one shots and multi chaps.

Kagehina

where the night goes by bigspoonnoya (M)

Summary:

When their bond loses the immediate context of volleyball, they're left to consider why it's still so vital and important.

Meeting again, by chance, six years later.

Somewhere to Belong by Esselle (E)

Summary:

Once a year, all the villages that follow the way of the sun offer up one of their own to be taken to the sun god's divine temple. Kageyama Tobio, an orphan and loner, never wanted to be chosen—and until the sun god appeared, no one ever wanted to choose him, either. All Tobio wants is to find a place he fits in. What he actually gets is another story entirely.

by this time next year by reeology (T)

Summary:

"I got offers from two universities," Kageyama announces, pointing at his chest with his thumb. "I'm going to play volleyball at Keio this spring."

"You still have to pass an exam, even if it's an easy one," Takeda-sensei hurries to add, although he is beaming and bursting with pride at his fluffy little crow chick taking off to play volleyball at a university level.

"I'll pass," Kageyama says with the same kind of confidence he uses when he tells Hinata he'll get the toss to him. He looks straight at Hinata, and Hinata jerks and turns red, wondering if maybe Kageyama knew he was daydreaming about something as stupid as the way Kageyama talks to him during a game. But then Kageyama just points at him and says, "You'd better get in, too."

Hinata, stupid, naive, idiot that he is, grins wide and nods and says, "Yeah!"

He doesn't know what he's in for.

Not Alone by seconddaysea (E)

Summary:

"I'll visit you," Hinata says. "So you're not allowed to get lonely, you got it?" He turns so they're facing each other, hands warm against Tobio's back. "I'm already lonely," he replies quietly, and he presses his face against Hinata's heart, squeezing his eyes shut, because if this is a dream he doesn't want to wake up.

maps, from me to you by tothemoon (T)

Summary:

This is a (non-chronological) account of the memories they make out of millimeters.

Iwaoi

we can do better than that by spaceburgers (M)

Summary:

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

we shine like diamonds by whiitemists (T)

Summary:

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

here comes your man by newamsterdam (T)

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s left his cell phone on the bench, and while Suga keeps his gaze away from Iwaizumi the phone lights up with a new message.

Iwa-chan, it reads, Have a good day today! Good luck! <3 <3 <3

Suga chokes. It’s hard to imagine anyone calling the scowling and fierce Doctor Iwaizumi “Iwa-chan.” But marriage probably comes with all sorts of liberties.

Mrs. Iwaizumi must be quite the doting wife, Suga thinks. Delivering hand-made bentos and sending along loving messages.

No one really knows much about the new surgical resident, Doctor Iwaizumi, other than the fact that he's married. Suga's determined to find out more, and make a friend of him in the process.

just hear me out by loveclouds (T)

Summary:

To stimulate Japan's low birthrates and take most of the guesswork out of dating, a beeper system was biologically developed in people's wrists, an audible confirmation to show romantic compatibility.

Iwaizumi's beeper has been going off for Oikawa since they've been kids. Oikawa's has only ever been silent.

Call Security! by DeathBelle (T)

Summary:

Oikawa Tooru is attractive, charming, and irresistible.

He thinks so, anyway, until he meets the mall's new security guard.

In which Oikawa has a crush, Iwaizumi has no interest, and a chain of shoplifting incidents brings them together.

Bokuaka

(Don't) Touch Me by DeathBelle (E)

Summary:

Akaashi has always had an aversion to human contact, but earlier in his life it had been bearable. It isn't until his last year of high school that it becomes intolerable. By the time he enters college, any skin contact has the potential to send him spiraling into a breathtaking panic attack.

He reconnects with Bokuto in college, and he seems to be the only person with the ability to calm Akaashi down. He finds himself relying on his old captain more and more, especially when Bokuto deems himself Akaashi's own personal guardian. Despite their connection, he can't touch Bokuto, either; no matter how badly he'd like to.

Upstairs by yoogiboobi (E)

Summary:

Bokuto first sees his neighbour at the supermarket, three days after he's moved into his new place.

[...]

For about a second, a heartbeat, he's met with a pair of dark, piercing eyes, with what is probably eyeliner, looking back at him. It really is just a split second before his hand knocks down three cereal boxes that hit him square in the head, effectively making him break eye contact and drop his groceries to the floor.

In which some of the first things Bokuto learns about his upstairs neighbour are the colour of his eyes and the sound of his moans.

bang! now we're even by Authoress (E)

Summary:

Akaashi only has two rules when it comes to his profession. One, complete the job as swiftly and cleanly as possible. Two, never trust anyone who smells like blood.

Rule three is to shoot Owl Eyes in the face should he ever come across him, but Akaashi never tells anyone about that one.

Crisis Converted by valiantarmor (E)

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji is just a normal cop with a penchant for getting himself into trouble, when quite suddenly he finds himself with a big promotion and a brand new partner.

But his habit of finding trouble hasn't gone away -- if anything, it's only gotten worse.

cracks in the pavement will lead you home by deusreks (M)

Summary:

Bokuto often thinks about Akaashi, especially when he’s running. It’s like his legs know where they’re supposed to take him. He grows into a habit of running a lot, just to keep that feeling going. Cracks and holes in the pavement aren’t fun to jump over if the final reward isn’t seeing Akaashi’s face.

An alternate universe with a little bit of magic and a lot of growing up.

Ushiten

died in my dreams by MTrash (Makaria) (T)

Summary:

If anyone asked Ushijima how it came to this, he wouldn’t be able to formulate a proper answer.

Ushijima likes his quiet, his order, and his solitude. That is, until a loud, talkative and a little chaotic cyber tech convinces him that that's just plain boring.

while i nodded, nearly napping (suddenly there came a tapping) by pseudoanalytics (T)

Summary:

Of course if there was one thing that could be counted on, it was Ushijima’s blunt, total honesty. “Do you think Tendou is attracted to me?”

Reon froze. “T-Tendou?”

“Yes.”

Tendou was notoriously hard to read, but Reon kind of figured that he wasn’t the type to be anything less than painfully overt with romantic affections.

“I... I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I think if Tendou was attracted to you, he would let you know,” Reon said. “I'd guess he just considers you his best friend.” He hoped his answer would satisfy whatever frenzy the guy had worked himself into so Reon could finally take advantage of his last precious hours of sleep.

But instead, Ushijima visibly deflated in front of him. “Yes. That’s what I thought too,” he said miserably.

Oh, Reon realized. Oh no...

Executive Excursion by DeathBelle (E)

Summary:

Tendou is fun, quirky, and interesting.

Ushijima is none of the above.

It's no surprise that Ushijima is drawn to Tendou's magnetic personality. What's surprising is that Tendou seems to like Ushijima, too.

With a little support from his coworkers, Ushijima decides to take a chance and ask Tendou on a date. The results are better than expected.

fascinating facts about geckos by miracleboysatori (T)

Summary:

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

That’s the coach’s name. And he’s the new biology teacher on campus, so not only is he incredibly beautiful, he's also smart as hell.

Tendou can tell he’s completely doomed.

Affection, and other Quantifiable Actions by badbavarois (T)

Summary:

(He's a monster) Ushijima Wakatoshi isn't a monster.

Misc/ Other ships

but not for spring to well up by tookumade (T) OsaSuna

Summary:

After ending a relationship with a fiancé, Suna returns home and tries to heal from heartbreak. Here, he finds friends in the form of the Miya brothers, and learns patience, forgiveness, and what happiness means to him.

the more things change by deadseasalt (E) OiKage

Summary:

“So let me get this straight. You went to the Meiji-Chuo game and saw your old crush and after watching Meiji bring Chuo to a crushing defeat, you realized you were still crushing on him big time?”

Kageyama wishes he could spit in Tsukishima’s drink. “It’s not a crush.”

Tsukishima laughs. “You poor dumb fuck.”

Third Impression by DeathBelle (E) Kuroo x Semi

Summary:

If Semi has a type, Kuroo isn't it.

After their first meeting, Semi concludes that Kuroo is smug, presumptuous, and a little too flirtatious for his own good. Their second encounter doesn't change his mind, and Semi does his best to avoid a third.

Kuroo has other ideas, and Semi finds himself tricked into an impromptu tutoring session with Kuroo himself.

It doesn't go as badly as Semi expects.

Mannequin Men by surveycorpsjean (E) BokuAkaKuroTsukki

Summary:

The modeling world is full of hungry wolves, constantly clambering over the other, snarling and desperate. They fight, and they kill, trampling over anything in their path.

In this case, Akaashi fell in love with the wolves.

Efflorescence by h_lovely (E) MatsuHana

Summary:

"Are we flirting?" "Do you want to be?"

[Efflorescence (n.) a state of blooming, flowering, and development.]

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medical-gal · 3 years

Text

Death by a thousand cuts

I have been thinking about writing this for months now. Even before I decided to quit the residency at my previous job.

COVID has been kicking our ass, true, but that was (is) true for most healthcare providers all around the world.

No, my struggle started a bit before that actually.

First some background, I have been working at one of the biggest most famous ID clinics in central Europe. The clinic is in a different country than I am originally from so there was a bit of cultural accommodating at the begging. But we were a big group of ID interns/residents/fellows and specialists.

I don't actually remember that much from my first year working there. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I read in some study that when u experience a high dose of stress and/or sleep deprivation for a long time, your brain kinda stopps being able to transcribe short term memory into a long term.

I was working 100hours/week, sometimes less, sometimes more. After a year and a half, when the last half I worked in the ID ER for five months, I always stayed after working 24 hours, sometimes over 36hours, and I would see and treat 70ish patients. Nobody from the older docs would help me out, nobody from other interns either bc usually they would have their own kind of hell to take care of.

The fact that basically, inexperienced doctors are taking care of patients never really phased my ex-boss. Her mantra was that if there was a problem that you cannot resolve, you can call her and she would advise you. Which most of the time was true, I must say that.

But we all have been young docs, barely out of our medical school garments, and sometimes as it happened, we could not recognize there IS a problem that maybe needs a more experienced opinion.

I am often confronted with this idea or more like a culture, of pretending that once you are an MD you don't need help and asking for it is a kind of weakness and that then you are forever on the list of WEAKLINGS.

And let me say this only once.

That's absolute bullshit.

Anyway, the first time I decided to quit I worked there for about a year and a half, I went for a long-expected holiday, I took three weeks off, had interviews and talked with my bf about my options.

Second thing...my man, bless his beard, would support me no matter what. He is almost 10 years older than me, so he has more work experience and I find it reassuring to discuss stuff like this with him bc I know he will not sugarcoat it. He said that I should dig my heels in and last at least one more year till the end of my "internship". As a "resident" who worked at this specific department, I wouldn't have a problem finding another job. We r basically the equivalent of a french legion of medical professionals (when u work in this specific department and everyone knows it, I will come back to that later).

So I took his advice. Thankfully as a part of our training, one of those parts is a year-long internship at the internal medicine department, which I did shortly after we had that conversation and guys, that was a revelation of how medicine and just...work and life can be experienced. There were enough docs for a floor, an attending who had the time to manage and advise us. I´ve grown that year as a doc so much. Other internships were mandatory so I could have become (equivalent of) a resident, and it was a general surgery, anesthesiology, radiology, microbiology etc. But I did them all and became a resident.

The moment I came back to our clinic, my boss would put me in our outpatient department. Which I have never worked on before. The head of the department has quit a few months before, and I had no idea what to do there, bc it's a very different type work. The only thing my boss told me when I spoke of my concerns were "you will learn".

Thankfully the previous head of the department was a good friend of mine and she would always answer my questions and requests. Suddenly I no longer had to deal with the hectic life of an ID floor or ER, no sepsis, meningitis, etc.

Most of my patients were the chronic type...Lyme, chlamydia, mycoplasma... let's say it literally drained the life out of me. But I managed. Also, I started to work for their outpatient office which takes care of patients with chronic hepatatis. That I enjoyed more.

I also started to dip my toes in vaccinology, either planned like for travel but I started to be more interested in preventive care in the immunocompromised and my own phantasmagoria was to make a palliative care team in our hospital. Bc, we had none. And then a wonderful thing happened, other docs, older experienced, great at their work, started to refer their patients to me specifically.

There were more examples of the utter a complete FUCK U(s) which were kindly provided either by the system or by the head of the department or the hospital.

Then covid hit and the shit hit the interstellar space.

I still can't make myself remember the first few months bc it actually causes me to go into a rage fit, and honestly, I am done with that kind of negativity.

I hold out for a year. Year of such shitty treatment from the chief and our hospital head. No thank you- s or you are doing a good job or we r all on the same ship.

No.

People will say that I quit bc of the money. And that's not true, tho it did irk me a bit. All the other ID specialists working at different hospitals would get covid bonuses every month. We got jack shit. Again, the best biggest most know ID clinic. We were the first and oftern the ONLY ones who would test for/diagnose/hospitalize/treat a patient who had covid FOR MONTHS in the beginning.

I mean, the medical community is small, the ID community even smaller so yes, we were able to compare and contrast the work at different ID departments in other hospitals bc our friends worked there. And all of them would go speechless when they would hear from us what we were living thru.

At one point at the beginning of the pandemic, ALL the ambulances would go thru our ER department and we were supposed to decide where the patient should go.

AN EXAMPLE

Ambulance with a woman who has known colon cancer, had a fever, stomach as a rock and is projectile vomiting. I was supposed to decide where she should go and the surgeon would be super pissed when I said that I don't think she has COVID but without PCR I can't be sure but I think there is a bigger pressing issue. I remember him saying:

"well if anyone else gets infected at our department and dies, it's on you."

fun.

There were other examples of seriously stressful episodes which I and my coworkers lived thru, for which we were not trained for, advised, or properly supervised. At a certain point, I started to take anxiolytics before and during my all-nighters bc I didn't know what I would do with all that stress which was so callously shat on me and my coworkers.

For a few months, I stopped working nights, only thru the mercy of my coworkers who saw how exhausted I was and would take my shifts.

Anyway, after only two months I had to start working nights bc I needed the money. The basic pay for docs was just not enough without the extra from night shifts. Talk about exploiting.

The moment however when I decided to QUIT, when I was DONE, when I actually heard my heart break, was the moment at the end of the previous year. They decided to start vaccinating in our tiny small vaccination centre. Let's say a "shit storm" brewing is the light version of events that ensued.

But basically, as I was trying to discuss with my boss that we are all exhausted, that this wave is not slowing down and that throwing more work at us, the docs and nurses and other staff, who are overworked, is not a good idea,

What she basically said to me is that who says things like that is lazy and that if she can handle it everyone must be also.

The thing is..most of us were at the bring. Some would handle it with casual and calous sex, drugs (legal or not), a bottle of wine before sleep. A coworker ended up with antipsychotics.

But u know,

we were all lazy apperently.

I realized there is no way out of this other than quitting. I could not continue being so tired and sad all the time. I took two weeks off, really thought about it. Had diarrhoea and nausea for a week as I realized I will have to quit :D

On a Monday I came back, handed in my notice. Basically what she told me and how she reacted made me realized how right the decision was.

I had to stay there for another three months bc that's the law, but my mood changed significantly.

I got another job in a smaller ID department, working with amazingly kind people, but that's another story.

But that was the only interview I actually looked for and did. I, however, did get several job offers from different types of medicine. From heads of different departments in my old hospital to smaller general medicine chain offices who are looking for ID specialists, to insurance companies.

Like I said, french legion.

Or Runway and your boss is Miranda Pristley. Once u survive that, u survive anything.

But at my old work they would keep hitting you with wave after wave of passive agressive comments about how if u quit, u wont be able to find anything as"prestigious" as this.

There were many other exmaples of a shitty and questionable situations which were treated as "normal" but there is not point on getting on that rage train.

Contrary as it might seem, I am greatful I got to live thru this, good and bad, bc now I know what I am and am not willing to sacrifice for a job. No matter how much I might love it.

#sorry this is long #but goddammit it needed to be said #suzy's adventures in id

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 26: Parental Moxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 26 - You can’t see shades of your soulmate’s eye color a certain color until you meet [your soulmate] and look into each other’s eyes for the first time. (I misread the prompt! Whoops!)

Content warnings: mentions of lousy foster system, orphanage, implied past abuse/neglect, social workers, aro/ace character, past minor injuries (pet inflicted), mentions of anxiety and PTSD.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: Not beta-read

Patton never doubted the fact that he was lucky.

His heart always went out to those who were missing colors like green, and blue. It must be horrible, he thought, to be missing out on the hue of a grassy field or the sky forever being grey, even on clear days. But then again, meeting your soulmate after seeing nature as dismal shades for years must be amazing; trees suddenly lighting up in brilliant emerald and water becoming as crystal blue as a diamond. So he was grateful, because he was missing a color that was surprisingly rare to find in nature, if the shocking lack of grey was enough of an indicator. Grateful, because that meant he wouldn’t be missing out. Grateful, because Patton didn’t want a soulmate.

It had taken him years to realize why he was so adamant about actually finding his soulmate. Everyone, from his middle school class to his university study group to his coworkers now, had frequent conversations about the topic. Common ice breakers amongst groups were “what color are you missing?” and “tell us about the first time you saw ‘insert color name here’” and just anything else that reminded Patton of how little he wanted all of that. He was happy with his friends, happy with his family-- both blood and chosen-- and the idea of… romantic relationships just made him uncomfortable. He hated that it seemed to be the rest of the world’s main drive in life. Every time he explained his ‘predicament’, had to explain to someone that he was aro/ace and just didn’t want all that, he was met with pity looks. No one believed him when he insisted that it didn’t make him sad, he wasn’t just waiting for the right person, he just didn’t want it and that was okay.

That didn’t explain why he was missing a color, though. If it were up to him, he’d spend the rest of his life content with the way it was going, not searching for a so-called “better half”. He wished that soulmates weren’t a thing, in full honesty. Because then he wouldn’t be reminded every time he looked at a dull lilac bush that no, the universe had paired him up with someone and it was only a matter of time until he was subject to meeting them. It was the thing he dreaded more than anything else.

These were the thoughts going through his mind as he fiddled with a pen between his fingers that appeared as grey to him, absently wondering what ‘purple’ actually looked like. The door to his right opened and he looked up, a bright smile spreading across his face.

“Hi, Mr. Sanders. My name is Deborah, I’m one of the social workers here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Patton said, his heart almost beating out of it’s chest. She took a seat across the desk from him, placing the file in her hands onto the pristine wood. He laid the pen back on the desk where he’d taken it from.

“So,” Her tone was all business, but her eyes held a distinct sparkle that could only be taken as a good sign, “I’m the social worker of one of the children’s profiles you flagged on the adoption website. Do you remember a ‘Virgil Storm’?”

“Absolutely!” Patton remembered the picture of the kid well. A small boy sitting cross legged in a sandbox, looking at the camera with an expression that could only be described as disdain, hands buried in the sand. He was noticeably separated from the group, the hood of his black jacket pulled over his eyes despite the shining sun. After reading the small blurb about him, and immediately growing attached to the toddler that had been tossed around four foster homes in the single year he’d been orphaned, he’d clicked the small smiley face in the top right corner with no hesitation.

“I was given your file, and after discussing it with your social worker, we’ve decided you two might be a match.”

Patton nearly dropped on the spot, trying in vain to hold back his huge grin, “I thought they said that could take up to a year!”

“That is our usual estimate. While, unfortunately, the adoption rate is a lot lower for single men, you were put through faster due to your profession. You being a therapist definitely pushed you forward in the right direction.”

Opening the file, she pulled out a stack of papers and a single picture, handing them to him. The picture was the same as the one on the adoption website, so his eyes turned to scan the printed profile.

“This is all his current information. Known family history, allergies, education level, etcetera,” The social worker continued, gesturing to the file, “That picture’s a bit old. He just turned three. He’s had a… pretty rough go of it so far. The information about his parent’s passing are in his file, if you want to give the whole thing a read when you have the chance.”

Patton tore his eyes away from the photo, “And he’s a possible match?”

“Yes, he is. He needs a stable home environment with no pets and no other children, and due to the trauma he experienced, has severe anxiety. Him developing PTSD as he ages is a large possibility. He’s a bit of a tough nut to crack, but we believe he’ll thrive with you.”

He took a deep breath, nodding mutely along with her words. He didn’t trust himself to speak right now, not with the odd mix of pure heartbreak and elation flowing through him. The poor kid…

“You can take the file home, take some time to think about it-”

“No,” He said quickly, “I mean… I don’t need to think about it. How do you determine if we match well?”

Deborah blinked a couple times, taken back by his abruptness. “Well… chemistry after a first meeting, judging if the child’s uncomfortable with the other, and meeting with the child and parent weekly for the first three months, then bi-weekly for the next three. After a six month residency, we can get the adoption legalized by the court. Both your social worker and I will be there every step of the way to answer any questions, help with the adjustment process, and just support you both.” She looked to Patton with a raised eyebrow, “Are you sure you don’t want to take some time?”

“I’m very sure.” He’d flagged many profiles on the website, feeling an unexplainable amount of guilt every time he didn’t, but Virgil’s had stuck with him more than any other. The idea of a kid already riddled with social anxiety and trauma had hit him hard, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to help him through it.

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Yes please,” He said before she had even finished speaking. She gave him a small smile and headed to the door, warning him it might be a while to convince the boy to come with her, so to just sit tight.

When she’d closed the door behind her, Patton turned his attention back to the file on his lap. He might as well read it while she was gone, anyways. It didn’t take long for him to read the few pages of information, committing Virgil’s birthday to memory. A small part of his brain advised that that might not be the smartest thing to do, already getting attached to a child he hadn’t even met, but his heart broke reading over the history of someone so young, still a toddler, undergoing trauma that no one should ever have to go through. The poor kid watched his parents die, and they were pretty awful people to begin with.

He’d read the file twice over when the door reopened. At first he thought she’d come back alone and his heart sunk, until she shifted to the side and revealed the small boy who’d tucked himself behind her. He wasn’t touching her, not holding the hand she had offered to him, just following steps behind, like he was equally scared of her as he was of everything else. Pulled over his head was the same black hoodie as in the picture, looking a size too small now. It took a lot of tugging for him to hide his hands in the short sleeves, an anxious sign that Patton recognized immediately. Though, it wasn’t hard to narrow down, not with the way he was absolutely shaking.

Patton slid off his chair with no hesitation, smoothly lowering himself to the ground so he was closer to eye level with Virgil. Still, the young child pulled his chin even closer to his chest, adamant on not meeting the man’s eyes.

“Hey kiddo,” Patton cooed gently, “My name’s Patton. You can call me Pat if that’s easier, okay? What’s your name?” He already knew everything about him, obviously, but it seemed a smart choice to let the kid introduce himself; avoid spooking him.

“Virgil,” he whispered back, mouth half covered by the collar of his hoodie.

“That’s a real nice name, kiddo.”

Finally, the small boy looked up, dark brown eyes barely peeking through his equally dark bangs. His head tilted to the side, not unlike a curious puppy, as he studied the man in front of him, the man who was willingly sitting on the floor for him. None of his foster parents had done that before, and he highly doubted his parents would have ever considered it. Thinking of his birth parents caused him to shrink in on himself slightly.

“How would you feel about living with me, Virgil?”

He looked down, wrestling his hands free of the dirty sleeves to fiddle with his zipper. “Like a foster home? I don’ like foster homes.” His speech was slow and fumbly, like he was working with new words.

“No, not like a foster home. For good.”

“With other kids?” Hands flat, he pushed his bangs out of his face and ended up letting his hood flop back. “In my last foster home, there were four kids.” He held up four fingers to emphasize his point.

“Nope,” Patton chuckled, leaning over to reattach the velcro on Virgil’s sneakers, “It would just be you and me. But I live really close to a park, so we can go play with other kids any time you want. And I have some friends with kids your age, and whenever you feel ready, you can meet them.”

This seemed to send a flurry of mixed emotions across the toddlers face. He glanced at the social worker, who had taken her seat and was watching the meeting with rapt attention.

“Do you have pets?”

“Nope. Why, do you like pets?”

He shook his head with clear fear, ruining all his hard work of pushing his bangs away as they fell right back into his eyes, “No pets.”

“Well, then it’s good I don’t have any.”

Virgil gave him a hard look and Patton was silent, letting the child scrutinize him with all the intensity of a rocket scientist. Watching the elder’s hands carefully, the kid dropped to the ground in front of him, slowly meeting his eyes again. Patton couldn’t help the wide grin that stretched across his face.

“Welcome to the floor, kiddo.” And oh, it was a blessed day, because the tiny smile he got in return was enough to make his heart melt. “Tell me, Virgil, what’s your favorite show?”

“Paw Patrol.”

“Ah, a classic! Do you have a favorite pup?”

“Rubble,” He mumbled after a moment of consideration, scratching at the rip in his jeans, right over his knee, “He’s funny. He falls in the elevator, and he says ‘Rubble ooon the double!’”

“You don’t like pets, but you like Paw Patrol? Why’s that?” He couldn’t help his own inner therapist coming out.

Virgil shrugged, “They don’t bark loud, and they’re little. And they don’t make big messes or bite. Dogs are cute but I don’t like them. Dogs are too loud and they leave a mess.”

He felt there was probably a lot to unpack there, but that could definitely wait for another day. Deep inside, he knew there must be some trauma buried with that sentiment. “Do you like cats?”

“No. They scratch and bite and hiss too much,” He held up his hand to Patton, showing him the light scars on the backs of them, “We had a cat named Whiskers and he did that. He’d come in my room at night and bite me.”

“Just as well. I’m allergic to cats anyways.”

“I’m allergic to peanuts.”

Patton giggled, and a relieved expression crossed the younger’s face. “What about fish? They’re pretty quiet, and they for sure don’t bite. Do you like fish?”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment, before shrugging again, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Maybe if you like fish, we can get some. How does that sound?”

Virgil perked up, his leg starting to bounce from where it was crossed under him, “Really?”

“Yeah, kiddo. We can also get you a new hoodie, since that one seems a bit small.” Of course, he meant to buy him more than just a hoodie, but he might as well start small. The very idea of getting a fish seemed to almost overwhelm him.

“I like my hoodie,” Virgil’s voice dropped and he curled in on himself, wrestling to pull the sleeves over his fingers again.

“Oh, that’s okay! You can keep that one, but we’ll get more, just so you can wear them when this one is in the wash.”

His eyebrows scrunched together adorably, his back relaxing. It hurt Patton, to think that having such basic needs met was a shock for him.

“If you two don’t mind, I’m going to talk to just Virgil for a little bit,” Deborah spoke up, causing Virgil to flinch. “Is that okay with you, sweetie?”

He nodded reluctantly, and Patton took his leave, sending Virgil one final supportive smile before closing the office door behind him. He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, before taking a seat in the waiting room. It would be a lie to admit he wasn’t already enamoured with the little kid, but the final decision wasn’t up to him. Ultimately, it would be Virgil and the social worker who would deem it a match or not. Knowing that’s what was happening on the other side of the door was enough to make his leg bounce nervously.��

He passed the time by pulling out his phone and sending a vague update to his friends. The onslaught of messages he got in return, mostly ecstatic, was enough to distract him as he waited to be called back in. Of course, not all the responses were enthusiastic, mainly from his parents and sister, asking if he was sure he was ready for this. Those, he just left on read. Because yes, he was ready. He had been for a long time.

When he was called back into the room, Virgil was sitting in the much too large chair in front of the desk, his feet pulled up under him again and looking between him and the social worker. His hood was back on his head, sleeves covering his hands once more.

“From what Virgil and I discussed, it seems we are ready to begin the process of moving him into your house, and beginning your residency period.”

Patton tried not to whoop at the news, grinning wider than he had all day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this utterly elated, so light on his feet.

They agreed to show Virgil the home, just to get him used to the layout before finally moving there, and he would come visit during the days for the next few weeks, still spending his nights in the orphanage. It was a gradual transition, one that Patton hoped went smoothly, because oh gosh he couldn’t believe this was happening.

As he led Virgil out of the building, the small boy hesitantly reached up and took his hand, head tucked to his chest. He was so scared. Patton squeezed his hand a little, heart equally shattered and melted, as he walked to the social worker’s car and let her buckle him into her carseat. They agreed to meet at the house, and Patton pulled onto the main road, music blasting to try and drown out the indescribable joy bubbling in his chest.

If he hadn’t been so distracted, he might have noticed the pen he’d placed on the desk back in the office, would now have been a shimmering purple in his eyes.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #parental moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #ts soulmate au #sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau #ts adoption au

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beanie-beebo-writes · 3 years

Text

Call for Action

Chapter 6

You rolled over at around 2 AM for what seemed like the millionth time. Despite having no nightmares, you were plagued with hourly panic attacks that tore you from sleep. You didn’t even know what could have caused them; you had been doing so well since your last incident weeks ago. You felt so hopeless, and wondered if it was even worth the effort to sleep. Yet every time you tried to stay awake, your eyes drifted on their own accord. Without thinking too much of the consequences, you reached over and grabbed your phone and called Jensen. You were met with a series of grumbled responses. Before you knew it, he was at your door.

“Jensen, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t know what else to do.” You said, half crying at your possible mistake.

“(Y/N), never be sorry for needing someone. C’mon, let’s lay down.” He said, putting an arm around you.

“Could we go on the couch for a bit instead? I kind of need to get away from my bed.” You asked.

“Sure.” Jensen said.

And there the two of you sat for several hours, until the sun broke across the horizon and the birds began to sing. You had both ended up falling asleep in what had looked like not the most comfortable positions, but it couldn’t compare to the restful sleep you had gotten. Your alarm in your bedroom woke you up around 5 AM, causing you to half stumble off the couch as you were intertwined between Jensen’s limbs. The small struggle caused Jensen to come around, waking up a little more when he saw you return from your room. You rubbed at your eyes and let out a large yawn.

“I know you’re gonna protest, but I think you should take the day off. You look like you could use it.” Jensen said, still on the couch.

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jensen. I just started working here.” You said.

“Well, maybe I could pull some strings for you. I could talk to Bob for you. I think he’d understand if I explained it to him briefly.” Jensen said.

“That’s the last thing I need is him knowing what I’m going through. He’ll probably let me go when he finds out.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I can spare the details. You just need a break, that’s all.” Jensen said.

After some thinking, you realized he was right. The past few weeks had been rough on you. You were basically running nonstop, and it had finally caught up to you. And boy did you feel it.

“You don’t have to call Bob, I’ll do it myself.” You said. “You’re right, I’ve been running myself ragged. I just know as an adult, I have a responsibility to myself and my coworkers. I can’t afford to take time off etcetera etcetera.”

“That may be true but as Jared has told me, you can’t put an oxygen mask on everyone else if you don’t put one on yourself first.” Jensen said.

You sighed. “Damn, you guys are like Buddha.”

“It comes with experience, trust me.” He said.

After you called off for the day, you and Jensen spent the day watching whatever was on daytime TV, Netflix, and napping in between. If you could do this every once in a while, you wouldn’t complain. The refresher was nice and you even got some bonus time with Jensen. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces; always comfortable around each others’ presence. It was something you hadn’t felt in a while with someone.

Around noon, Jared stopped by with some fresh lunch. You had been snoozing at the time so Jensen took it upon himself to answer the door for you. The two of them had been talking for a little bit before you finally woke up to the steaming aroma and the sound of talking.

“Remember when this was happening with you a long while back? It’s all I can think of.” You heard Jensen say.

“Yeah. She’ll pull through though, just like I did. I haven’t known her for that long, and I can already tell she’s one to reckon with.” Jared said.

You groggily opened your eyes and looked over to Jensen and Jared standing in your kitchen. The TV had still been playing quietly in the background, playing some infomercial on jewelry. You inhaled deeply and sat up, letting out a loud and satisfying stretch. Doing so caused the guys to look over. You clicked off the TV and stood up slowly, your joints cracking as you stiffened them.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jared asked, still holding a large paper bag.

“Honestly? Like I could still use another nap.” You said humorlessly, still chuckling lightly.

“I bet. I brought you guys some food; figured you could use a nice hot meal.” Jared said while holding up the bag slightly.

“Thank you, maybe you could join us?” You asked, walking over to where he stood.

“Well, I didn’t bring enough for three.. But that’s okay, I just had lunch not long ago. Sure, why not?” He said.

He held the bag out for you to take, and you gladly accepted it. You set it on the counter and looked inside. Inside were two fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, the ones held together with a toothpick and an olive. You smiled up at Jared, grateful to have found another good friend to confide in. Or at least, you hoped.

“Well Jensen, I say we dig in before it gets cold.” You said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jensen said.

The three of you sat at your small kitchenette (Jared had to pull up an extra folding chair from whoever knows where you had it stashed), just happy to be in each other’s presence. You giggled as you observed Jared’s large stature cramped to the confines of the small-ish chair.

“Oh like you’ve never seen a giant man sit in a chair half his size before.” Jared snarked playfully.

“Actually no, I haven’t.” You said in between chuckles.

Jared smiled at you alongside Jensen. “It’s good to see you smile.” Jared said.

“I tend to agree.” Jensen said.

“Hard not to.” You said, mouth half-full of sandwich. “I don’t mean to intrude in any way, so let me know if I am. But earlier, I heard you guys talking about Jared going through something a while ago. So you’re telling me you both of you have gone through something similar?”

“Yeah actually-” Jared said, sitting back into his chair. “-And you’re not overstepping at all, don’t worry. We wouldn’t have talked about it with you around if we thought it was something you didn’t need to know.”

“What he said.” Jensen said. “And yeah, Jared went through a bout of depression about five years ago. It happened when we were on set, actually. He has no shame on sharing it with others, but isn’t really ready to let everyone know about it just yet.”

“What got you through it?” You asked, intrigued.

“I know Jensen was talking about therapy before, and how it helped him. I know it’s going to sound like a broken record, but that majorly helped me get through it. That and a great support system.” Jared said.

“You two really are joined at the everything, jeez.” You said. “Jensen and I were actually just talking about therapy last week. I agreed to try it, but I’m just a little scared how it’s going to turn out.”

“It can be scary, especially since it’s new territory for you.” Jared said.

“So, what do you say it’s about time we schedule you for that therapist?” Jensen asked.

---------

One Month Later

You walked down a small hallway until you reached an ajar door that had the name "Mr. Roslin" on it, and knocked lightly. A man in his late forties was sitting at a small desk in a computer chair; he turned around and smiled.

"You must be (Y/N). Please, come in and take a seat." He said.

You walked into the decently sized room and sat on a padded chair several feet from the therapist. Mr. Roslin shuffled a few papers on his desk before turning back around with a notepad and pen in hand.

"So (Y/N), tell me more about why you're here today." He said.

"Well… My friend.. er date.. said I would benefit from seeing you." You said.

"And why would they think that?" He asked.

You sighed. "Well, lately I've been having these.. panic attacks. Quite a lot of them actually."

"Have you had them before?"

"Many times, yes. Just haven't had one out of nowhere in quite a while."

"Hm. I think I have just the thing for that."

Mr. Roslin turns around in his chair and pulls out a sticky note from his desk. On it, he scribbles a few notes before handing it to you. It read: "5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

"Have you heard of grounding exercises before?" He asked.

You shook your head and stayed silent so he would continue.

"Grounding techniques or exercises are coping skills that keep you in the present. Let's say for instance, your thoughts or a panic attack are keeping you from doing a task at work. These exercises help you stay in the moment instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts or feelings." He explained.

"Oh wow, those sound useful.. Thank you." You said.

"Mhm. They are only useful though if you practice. That'll be your homework after this session, until I see you next. He said.

"Sounds easy enough. Thank you Mr. Roslin." You said.

"Don't mention it. By the way, have you ever been formally diagnosed previously?" Mr. Roslin asked.

"No sir, this is actually my first ever appointment to see anyone like this. I assume I have anxiety, as my doctor long ago said I may have it. He was the one who gave me the breathing tips." You admitted.

"I see. Just for your information, I'd like to know if knowing your diagnoses would help you in any way, or would you feel they would set you back?" He inquired.

"I feel the diagnoses could help explain some things, so you can tell me." You said.

"It's only your initial appointment but from what I can tell so far based on our phone conversation and now, you have both anxiety and possibly a smidge of depression. It isn't uncommon in the psychiatric world to have both. They tend to work together to make your life more miserable. The depression tends to be more of the negative thinking (at least in your case), while the anxiety of course is the panic/anxiety attacks." He explained.

"The anxiety I figured; the depression I never thought of though. Will it ever get better?" You asked.

"With a lot of effort and time, you will find it a lot easier to cope with what you have, so yes." He said.

"That's good to know. And for the panic attacks, do you think taking up a new career can enhance them?" You asked.

"Certainly. New environments and added stress are definitely a factor. They should fade after getting adjusted. But if they don't come talk to me and we'll hash it out together." He said.

"Thank you for that, it's very helpful to be in the know." You said.

"Always; knowledge can be very powerful. Is there anything else you would like to discuss today?" He asked.

"Yeah actually, there is. With my.. date. I'm not really sure where we stand. We're moving at quite a fast pace, and I'm scared something is going to go wrong or something. My life usually works that way, and I know our relationship so far isn't exactly normal." You said.

"Well, have you talked with them about it?" He asked.

You paused for a moment; you hadn't thought to ask Jensen about anything besides that one time. It seemed to be a logical thing to do.

"It is okay to communicate these things in a relationship. If anything, the relationship will be stronger if you communicate how you feel and what you expect." Mr. Roslin said.

"You're right. I just.. I don't know. Wouldn't it be awkward to talk about those things?" You asked.

"It's only awkward if you want it to be, remember that. You could always phrase it something like.. 'I wanted to talk about our relationship. Where are you and I right now? Are we still dating, or are we looking for something more?'. Most importantly, let them know how you feel. If you're afraid, let them know." He said.

"Okay, I'll try those things." You agreed.

"Perfect! Unless you have anything else to discuss with me I'll write you in for another two weeks from now. Does that sound good?" He asked.

"That sounds great Mr. Roslin, thanks for everything today." You said.

"No problem, take care (Y/N)." He said.

You walked out of the office and made your way to the curb where Jensen had parked his truck. You hopped inside and exhaled in relief.

"Well? How did it go?" Jensen asked.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad. He's pretty helpful; although I didn't expect homework." You said.

"Hey, taking care of yourself is hard work." He said, cupping your face in his hands. "And you've already taken the first step; you're doing great."

You smiled and glanced at his lips before quickly giving them a peck.

"Hey Jensen?" You asked.

"Yeah hun?" He responded.

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about." You said.

"Like what?" He asked, gently pulling away from you.

"Us. I wasn't sure for a bit, but I think I'm scared. Something always goes wrong in my life, and I would hate for it to be us. I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I'm just unsure. I mean, I can tell you like me, but in what way? Where are we taking this? Is it even going to go anywhere?" You asked.

Jensen was taken aback at all this information at once; he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, uh. I guess we do need to talk." He said. "To repeat what you said: yes, I do like you. Hell, I like you a lot. That part, is never going to change, as far as I can tell. We can go wherever you want with this. If you want it to be a fling, let it be a fling. Although, I would really prefer something more than that." Jensen explained.

"Wait.. you would?" You asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay with you of course." Jensen said.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” You said.

You grabbed Jensen’s face gently and gave him a passionate kiss, pouring all of your emotions into him. He responded gently, meeting the same level of passion without being too rough. In that moment, everything felt good. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but you had faith in both the man in front of you and where he was guiding you.

End

#jensen x reader #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #spn reader insert #call for action series #call for action

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khangowrites · 3 years

Text

Is it a Complaint Essay or is the Workplace Unsuitable?

Ah, what am I writing today? Oh, well I suppose it’s almost 12am. Seems like a good a time as any. I wanted to just jot down a few re-occurring experiences I’ve had in the workplace and sometimes in other social spaces, and attempt to analyze them.

CW: mild mentions of abuse and bodily ailments.

A bit of forward: I tend to mask myself heavily whenever I am in any social situation; whether it be at work, at home, with friends or online (although I’m getting better at being myself on Discord at least. I owe a lot to my friends who accept me and whom I care so much about.) What this means is I often plan out what I’m needed to say in advance of a situation. I have an arsenal of about 5 minutes of small talk before I tank and several small greetings/placations I can cycle through on any given day if I’m not overloaded. I also limit my natural inclination to movement.

It’s called unprofessional/unsightly to sit with your legs folded under you, or to sway and shake your arms and legs back and forth in time to music in your head. But it’s okay if you tap your pencil. Everyone does that.

I have to wonder how noticeable my ‘masked’ self is. How real or fake it appears.

There have been a few trends I’ve seen with the way people treat me as an employee in the time I’ve been in the workforce. For clarity, I am a 23 year old 5’1” AFAB person with a face that looks like it stopped aging when I was 12. I’m non-binary, but I’ve seen that many have a hard time using a different pronoun for me because I look ‘so feminine’. I had one old man repeatedly tell me that my body was too pretty and that I shouldn’t hide it and ‘pretend’ to be something else. I was and still am quite unsettled and disgusted by that comment.

I haven’t used my full preferred pronouns at work simply based in fear of being fired or discriminated against further. Same thing at home- I haven’t told all my family out of fear. I may look back on this at some future date where I fully respect myself and I’m confident. I look forward to that day.

Oh, and I’m autistic.

Perhaps it is one of these things or all of them that cause people to treat me certain ways. I’d like to find out.

I worked outdoors at an Orchard for a season. They called me Cinderella because of the way I looked when I cleaned. They gave employees gloves and heaters. Only not me. When I asked, I was given a broken one and told to fix it. A coworker who had intellectual disabilities and poor eyesight was not offered a heater at all. I did not renew for the next season. Kim and I stayed in touch though.

I worked next at a gift shop at a historical site. I loved the history and the old buildings, but the cashier work was admittedly difficult. Most of the employees were kind, retired old ladies who treated me gently, like a child. Sometimes too much like a child. The assistant manager seemed wary of me, and she often avoided me. I don’t know why. I’m not good with eye contact, and I always fear that people will mistake my zoning out as being creepy or disrespectful; maybe it was that. She never brought her kids with her on days I worked.

The head manager was courteous, but always called me Special. We had an older man work in the last 2 years I was there who had a strong inclination to associate with the children at the shop, and in turn, me as well. He would always want a hug or pat me on the back, but ignored the other workers. I told the managers my uncomfortable feelings about him, but it went mostly unnoticed.

When it was found that I was decent with computers, I was tasked with entering jewelry into the system and creating labels with number associations. I enjoyed it, and they promised me a decent raise. My pay was raised a dollar several weeks later, and I found myself being tasked with more and more computer work, to the point of becoming an office manager myself, earning a grand total of 9 dollars an hour while my counterpart who started a year earlier owned a home on the same work.

I left that job after 4 years to be the music director at a local church. I love music and was excited. Maybe too excited. I developed acid re-flux and was hospitalized the week before my start day due to a panic attack. I realize now it was from stress. I also had an ovarian cyst removed a year later- it took up my entire pelvis and its formation was also attributed to stress. I’ve since been diagnosed with generalized anxiety, and I continue to have ever changing digestive issues, muscle problems and panic attacks.

After realizing I was autistic and also non-binary, so much of the stress of life started to make sense. The past few months I have been making life changes, and working towards finding a workplace that is accommodating and safe for me. My stress has lessened.

I worked at the church for 2 years. My last day is actually at the end of this month. As is the trend, I was not treated with respect when it came to my job. My pastor started choosing the hymns over me, and would make comments about me during services. His favorite was to say that my music made him fall asleep, and wait for laughter from the congregation. He had no musical knowledge, and forced me to play every song as fast as I possibly could. He didn’t believe I could do my job. Any attempts at mutual work failed to manifest. I unfortunately was groomed by a member of the hiring committee there as well, a type of abuse I didn’t even realize I had fallen into until several months after it was too late.

I currently work at a high school as a choir accompanist. I use she/they pronouns there, but no one uses they and I’m too worried to be fully they like I am outside of work. I am wary of soiling my relationship with the director further. She’s quite religious in the ‘gays don’t have rights’ way, so I have my fears.

The director is kind, but sees me as this innocent child that happens to have natural piano abilities, and the mutual respect that I’ve come to dream of just isn’t there again.

The director has the key to the doors and lets students in without fail, but conveniently forgets to let me in almost every day. At one time, I was in physical therapy and had a hard time standing and walking for any period of time. I almost went home because she didn’t answer any communication, class started 20 minutes previously, and it was 90 degrees outside and I needed to sit down because my legs were cramping. She plans the music weeks in advance, but doesn’t give them to me until the day the students get it, despite my repeated asking for time to prepare.

One day I was on zoom and she and the student teacher greeted me and then ignored my presence and played the piano herself for class. She struggled with the parts and commented to the choir that, “wow, Ms. Khango is actually pretty dang good at this- that little girl can play!”, but didn’t listen to me when I offered to play. I left the zoom after an hour.

The online students seemed to share my surprise at least, and I am grateful to them. They kept me grounded and reminded me that I matter and should have the same respect as everyone else in the room, zoom or not. They talk to me about not being heard and their chats not being read during class. It bothered me, too. The next week I brought it up to her in the form of making sure the zoom students were heard and she quickly dismissed it, like it was a puff of smoke. The students online now ask me questions directly and I relay them. It’s met with annoyance by the director.

They have voices too.

One of the scariest moments of my life was last week- I wore my ‘disability rights are human rights’ shirt to school. (Okay, maybe not scary to some, but it very much was for me.) After class, one of the students came to me and asked if I could help him find a way for his grandfather to get a seat at the concert, as he was disabled and he didn’t know how to proceed.

It filled me with joy to help him, and it filled me with rage when the teachers asked if his grandpa could just get out of the wheelchair instead.

My overall conclusion to all of these things is that people simply don’t understand, or don’t want to because it makes their lives harder.

Is discrimination and ignorance really easier than respecting people?

I’m not sure if this is all just one big complaint essay. I guess it is. What I needed to do was write it all out. All the things that make me uneasy or feel like lesser of a person. And I wanted to know why.

I note that at every job I am perceived as a child, or as someone naïve. I am not treated the same as another adult employee. I was ostracized for my way of moving and talking. Taken advantage of. My needs were not accommodated.

Even now, I feel guilt for writing this, like I’m just playing the victim for attention or something.

I want to be strong enough to stand up to it and ask to be treated with respect and have it follow through.

I want to unmask myself more and let myself move and talk naturally, and use my real pronouns.

My respect for myself and for others must become a powerful force.

My friends on discord- my real, genuine friends, have become monumental in my life. Most of my life I did not have true friends. Without them and their unconditional love and support, I would not be where I am right now. We are all equals. I want to embody that strong respect and bring it to others.

It’s getting late. 1 a.m. now. Well, I have tomorrow. Plenty of time for Star Trek.

#workplace problems #actuallyautistic #essay #nonbinary #figuring out life

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hold-my-hand-kuroo · 4 years

Text

A Bouquet For You || 02 - Carnation

A Bouquet For You Masterlist

taglist: @disgruntled-gay @moonchild-kun94 @skyguy-peach @error707-thememelord @o51oc @nanacee @prettysetter @sugawsites @shareyourfandomfaves

The next morning is exactly what you feared. You wake up late, missing the three alarms that you had set for yourself, and after some deliberation, you decide to go without breakfast. Not your best idea, but between being late on your first day or a hearty meal, you’d choose the former any day. First impressions were important.

“Are you sure you’re not going to eat?” Kenma asks, watching you fumble around with your shoes at the doorway. “Or actually, where are you even going this early?”

“Work. First day,” you say hurriedly. Turning the doorknob, you turn back to give him a quick wave or something similar to it. “See you. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“B-bye?” he responds like a question. After all, Kenma still doesn’t understand why you’re conversing with him like a real person. The feeling of living with someone after so long feels foreign, and he’s continuously caught by surprise with your behavior. Even a rush, you still poured a glass of milk for him, forgetting that spirits don’t need calcium for strong bones. He drank it nonetheless, being very confused.

Work is exactly what you had imagined it to be. Hell. Within your very first hour, you’re bombarded with new tasks and papers. “Experience is key,” your supervisor had said, but between the directions being fired at you and more coworkers just giving you endless stacks of files, you quickly are at a loss for what to do. Between flipping through the manual and managing your work properly, you find yourself already utterly exhausted by lunch break.

Lunch break. That was your next problem. Nobody wanted to involve themselves with the new, troublesome rookie, leaving you to eat on your own, albeit quickly, because you wanted to get things done.

“D-do you mind if I sit here with you?” a small, shaky voice stammers. You look up from scrolling through your phone to see a short, blonde woman. She grips tightly at her lunch bag, eyes quivering. “You don’t have to let me, though! I don’t want to be too pushy!”

“I don’t mind!” you answer kindly, offering the chair next to you. You watch as the woman of nerves shakily takes the spot. “Actually, thanks for offering. I was worried that I was going to have a hard time getting along with other people.”

“It’s always hard on the first day. I’ve been here for a few months, and it’s still really difficult for me!” she agrees. She seems more relaxed, shoulders going down slightly. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the woman opens her lunch before jolting upright. “I’m sorry! I never introduced myself. I’m Yachi Hitoka!”

You vaguely remember her name, and you realize that it’s the person whose desk is right next to you. You’re embarrassed, to say the least, realizing that you barely made sufficient introductions to the people around you. Offering your own name in turn and apologizing profusely, the two of you get along better than expected. As it turns out, Yachi, though having only been at the company for less than half a year, was a designer genius. Often tasked to be the leader of poster projects, your coworker who seemed only to be made out of nerves was a master at what she did. You hoped to be like her one day.

“It’s a little rough at first,” she admits, wiping stray crumbs off the table, “but you’ll be fine. To be honest, I saw some of the samples you sent in with your resume. Just a peek though! Your pattern-designing is really interesting and pretty, so I think they’ll be useful in the future. If you need any help…you know…feel free to ask me.”

After lunch, you feel like a new person. You’re not sure if it’s just getting food in your system, or Yachi’s genuine optimism and show of support, but you’re determined to work harder. After getting chewed out by your supervisor for making multitudes of errors in the files, you’re back at rock bottom again. Expected.

Walking out of the office building, you trudge your way back home, squeezing your way through the mob of people all rushing to get back home at the station. Taking the train was economical on your part, but a massive hellish experience. You always took notice to stay near the doors, but eventually, people would just push you toward the middle, and you’d be stuck there. Pushing your way back out was a million times worse, as you never felt good about shoving other passengers, even if their actions warranted it.

From there, you carefully follow your GPS back to your apartment complex on foot. You didn’t exactly know yet the area that well, so you were careful to not get lost. As you’re walking, you stop and notice the little florist shop and its display of pink and red flowers. They’re small, and the way the setting sun hits the freshly watered petals, reflecting glimmers of light, fascinates you. Walking closer toward the shop, you lean down and admire the delicate beauty in awe.

“Sorry, but that’s just display. We’re currently out of carnations,” a familiar deep voice informs, followed by the closing and locking of the door. You look up to the source and let out an audible gasp. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

“So that’s what you meant last night by cutting and dying,” you muse, looking at your neighbor and the daffodils he has in hand. “And here I thought you were some kind of gang leader.”

“I suppose what I said taken out of context sounds pretty bad,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He looks down at his bouquet and motions them toward you. “I was gonna give you this when I got back, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Here. Congratulations on moving in, Neighbor.”

“Thanks,” you laugh, graciously accepting the house-warming gift. “Although, it’d be better if I could get a name to thank. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Shit, did I never mention a name?” he murmurs, tsking. You almost laugh again. Poor introductions seemed to be a pattern, and you were one of the worst offenders. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. I’m, as you can see, the owner of this shop. Some people call me a florist, but I’m really a plant magician.”

“I’m sure you are,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “Did you just get off from work?”

“Yup. This shop closes every day at 7 PM. Won’t be catching me doing overtime.”

“What about last night?”

“Except when I forget things, which usually doesn’t happen,” Kuroo clarifies with a smirk. He glances at your offense attire and raises a brow. “First day not so good, huh? Are you going home? I’d be willing to lend an ear if you’d like.”

“How kind of you,” you sigh, then nod tiredly. “It’s my second day here, and I already have a therapist. Lovely.”

“It’s good to complain a little from time to time.”

Following the florist, you hum a little in contemplation. Then, taking a deep breath, you being to talk about how terrible your day was and how you’ve been yelled at more times today than ever in your life and that reading the manual over and over again actually didn’t help, but none of the senior workers were very approachable. To be honest, you felt a little bit silly, opening up so quickly to a stranger, but once you started, you couldn’t stop. In fact, you don’t even notice when you’re right in front of the door to your apartment room until you hear the jingling of Kuroo’s own keys.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away,” you murmur, embarrassed for what seemed to be the millionth time that day. “I didn’t mean to rant-“

“But you look so much better after letting a little bit of steam off,” Kuroo interrupts, flashing you an insanely bright smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Since we’re neighbors that share the same route home, let’s just be friends, yeah?”

“Y-yeah?” you say like a question. “I mean, yeah. Sounds good.”

“Then, see you around, or maybe tomorrow, Y/N,” the florist concludes, unlocking the door to his room, already halfway in. “Hope tomorrow goes better for you.”

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a wave before stepping into your own home. Setting your shoes aside, you quickly wonder what to do with the flowers. It’s not like you had a vase ready, so you take an empty water bottle out from the recycling instead. Carefully setting the yellow buds into the container, you leave it at the center of the table, deciding that the centerpiece brought a little life into your apartment.

“Hey,” you hear Kenma murmur, walking out of your room with console in hand. You then remember that you really did more life in your apartment. “Nice flowers.”

“You’re not even looking at them,” you chuckle and roll your eyes. “The neighbor gave them to me. Do you like them?”

“They’re fine.”

You laugh again at his aloof attitude and try to throw away the parchment paper that was used to wrap the bouquet. It’s until then that you notice a small note flutter down onto the floor. You bend over and pick it up, wondering if it’s a price tag or something of the sort.

“Hey, it’s Kuroo. You probably already knew that lol. Anyways, I hope u like daffodils. Keep them away from direct heat, and they should live for a while. Since we both seem to be like night owls, feel free to cure my of my boredom. XXX-XXX-XXXX”

“Why are you smiling in the middle of the kitchen?” Kenma asks, brow raised, and in hindsight, you must have looked dumb. If a ghost thought you were creepy, the look you had on must have been just terrible.

“Nothing,” you say quickly and scramble to set the note aside. You know he doesn’t buy it, but you don’t care or want to elaborate on how the florist next door’s kindness made you feel unusually warm. Surprisingly, finding your first friend in a new area was much more relieving that you had expected it to be, especially when your new friend seemed so open and lived close by. “It’s just a note on how to take care of the daffodils.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief silence, and you brush it off as him going back to his game. “I guess that’s fitting since they mean new beginnings or something like that.”

Now that was odd coming from a ghost who couldn’t even remember why he was still here.

“How do you know that?” You watch as he comes to a realization too, eyes widening ever so slightly out of sheer surprise. HIs reaction reassures you that he isn’t lying to you about the amnesia, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m not sure.” He’s frowning, seeming to rack his mind for any clue, anything at all to remind him of where his knowledge came from and why he couldn’t move on. It’s all fruitless in the end. “I…really don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter that much anyway. I don’t mind cooking another portion, especially when you eat so little. Or maybe I eat a lot- Well, whatever.”

From the couch, Kenma nods and sinks into the cushions. Still, he wants to know why out of everything he could have remembered, why were they the flowers. In his current state, he can’t imagine himself as a flower buff in the past; hell, he doesn’t remember being the sun, but every morning when it rises, he feels like he’d hate to be in it, so if he can’t stand the outdoors now, he probably couldn’t either in the past. He thinks hard and long, but when you call him and tell him that’s dinner’s ready, all he can do is give up and go listen about your day.

It’s all so strange, he thinks.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #kuroo #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma kozume

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melodyalanaroster · 4 years

Photo

Days: Nathaniel’s Side

Despite Amber’s encouragement, Nathaniel did not want to leave the house. “God damn it Nathaniel! If you think I’m gonna let you fall into the abyss, you’d better think again! Now fucking do something other than sit around this house!” Sam demanded. The days began like that. Amber wanting to explore their new surroundings, Ken trying to do his best, and Sam demanding Nathaniel not mope around the house... But that’s all he wanted to do. “I’m not supposed to do much! I have to rest and let my wound heal!” He tried to argue. Sam looked at him, then took her hand and pressed her thumb along his bandage. Nathaniel yelped in pain as he looked into Sam’s eyes. “You may have to heal, but my commandment stands. You’re not going to spend the entirety of Purification moping around this house. You’re the one who got yourself into this mess, and I REFUSE to put up with your pitiful bullshit while my sister and that wretched organization get you out of it!” She growled.

As Nathaniel held his side, he watched Sam and Ken walk off. “You know Mels is gonna kick your ass if she finds out you did that.” Ken observed. “She can try.” Sam challenged.

★

After a couple of days of forced exploration, Nathaniel attempted to take off on his own. As he put the keys into the Roster family’s truck and started it, he noticed someone get into the passenger’s seat. “Kentin! What the hell?!” Nathaniel boomed. “Where do you think you’re going?” Kentin asked. Nathaniel looked down. Kentin raised an eyebrow. “You can’t do that.” He stated. “Why not? If I go alone, you and Sam won’t be breaking protocol.” Nathaniel argued. “It’s not a matter of whether or not Sam and I break protocol... It’s the fact that that if you go back to Amouria right now, it will be a slap in your girlfriend’s face. You said that if you didn’t leave Amouria, they’d kill you and go after Amber and Mels... Well, they didn’t count on Mels being the Grim Reaper, so now, they’re suffering the consequences of crossing her and you’re supposed to be giving them what they want by being out of the city while they suffer. Don’t make her efforts be for nothing by going back there and putting yourself back in the line of fire.” Kentin explained. Nathaniel looked at Kentin. “I still want to go back.” His eyes were pleading. Ken sighed. “Look, I know you do. But, think about it... Mels is posting online, almost religiously for now, even about the mundane. Knowing her, she doesn’t do that unless there’s a form of motivation. That’s told Sam and me that she’s trying to let you know that she’s okay. Sam is getting more and more pissed off at you for moping around... So, you’ve got to do SOMETHING other than barricade yourself in Mels’ room. Wander around the city, play video games, read a book in the living room.... Something! Hell, when you feel like it, I can even train you.” Kentin clarified and suggested. “You can train me?” Nathaniel asked. “Yeah. Mels told Sam and me that you’ve been boxing and fighting... But maybe I can add to your skill.” Kentin replied.

It was on this day, Nathaniel finally began to stop moping around the house.

★

Several days passed, Nathaniel and Ken had gotten into the habit of going into the back yard to train. “So, you’ve trained against Alana and Sam?” Nathaniel asked as he attempted to lay a hit on Ken. “Yeah. The Military sends soldiers to the R.D.R for special training from time to time and Sam and I have both been sent to the old base.” Ken replied as he blocked Nathaniel and landed a hit on him.

While the boys trained, Sam decided to sit in the living room and play video games. Amber walked into the room. “It looks like the boys are having fun.” Amber commented. “Yeah, maybe Ken can whip Nathaniel into shape.” Sam sighed. “What’s your deal?” Amber asked as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Sam. “What do you mean?” Sam asked as she continued to play video games. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been so nice to me, but you’ve treated Nathaniel like he’s more or less an inconvenient soldier. Why?” Amber inquired. “You don’t get it... Do you? Just as you and Nathaniel are protective of each other, Mels and I protect each other. My sister has been through hell the past few years, and I don’t want her to get hurt again. I am VERY disappointed in both you and Nathaniel... However, with him, I need to make sure he’s got enough of a spine to be the type of man that can withstand being at my sister’s side. With the implementation of Protocol 216, your brother is now, basically, royalty. He needs to be strong and formidable, so that he can protect himself, as well as my sister. Especially considering I’m sure there may come a time where my sister won’t be able to protect herself. This weak, pussy ass, bullshit, that he’s been pulling will not do.” Sam explained. A flash of annoyance crossed Amber’s face. “And, as for you? You made it very clear that you wanted to be a model back in high school. It was easy to guess that you would end up like this. Especially considering your mother is an ex model, as well as emotionally abusive. Honestly, I think Nathaniel got off light when it comes to the abuse. His physical wounds healed, and with a good support system, he’s able to try to move forward from it. You, however, have essentially been committing a long form of suicide, with encouragement from your mother and coworkers. It’s no surprise that both Nathaniel and Castiel have been worried sick about you.” Sam sounded very fed up as she spoke. Anger started flashing across Amber’s face. “What do you know about my situation?! You’re a soldier!” Her voice began to raise. Sam sighed. Her temper wanted to flare, but she kept it under wraps. “That’s right, I am a soldier. I have seen and done things in my short life that you would have nightmares about. I am also a sibling to someone who has suffered so greatly that her horrors have nearly killed her on several occasions.” Sam immediately shot Amber down. Amber looked defeated. “Look, Amber, what your industry doesn’t realize just yet is that people don’t want string bean, Barbie dolls anymore... Well, no one with any brains wants that type of woman anymore. I mean, for fuck’s sake, have you not noticed the rise of women who can kick ass and take names in mainstream media? Gal Gadot was a trainer for the Israeli Army before becoming Miss Israel, and that was before she became Wonder Woman. She is revered as one of the most beautiful women on the planet. Other women like, Charlize Theron, Scarlet Johannson, Zoe Zaldana, Margot Robbie, and many, many others, are very beautiful women, who train like fucking crazy to stay thin, but you can tell there’s some muscle to them. These are women people may want to fuck, but you certainly don’t want to fuck with them. You don’t have to kill yourself to be beautiful. The most beautiful person is someone who is comfortable in their own skin, and free to show the world who they really are.” Sam paused her game to take a sip of her drink. Amber looked at Sam, shocked.

The boys continued to kick, punch and dodge each other in the back yard. “Good! But you need to quit going for the kill whenever you attack.” Ken commented. “Why?” Nathaniel asked. “You’ll find that it’s just as effective to disarm and incapacitate people than to end their lives.” Ken replied. “I don’t try to kill people.” Nathaniel remarked as he aimed for a spot on Ken’s back. Ken quickly dodged and aimed for Nathaniel’s legs, getting him on the ground. “I know you don’t try to. But when your instincts take over, you become primal. Primal instinct dictates that when you’re fighting for your life, you aim for the kill. It is a precise science to tame that instinct, make it look like you’re going for the final blow, and only disarm your opponent.” Ken explained. Nathaniel looked up at Ken and got back to his feet. “Is it a science that you’ve become well adept at? The last time I saw you, Sam was still punishing you for being a dick when Evan was here.” He smirked. Ken looked down. “Don’t get me started on him.” He sighed. Nathaniel looked at Kentin, curiously. “What happened?” He asked. “He got kicked out of the military and banned from R.D.R premises for harassing just about every woman he came across... Including Mels.” Ken sighed. “He harassed Alana?!” Nathaniel began to sound mad. Ken put up his hand. “This is where is got interesting. He tried to hit on her, but she shot him down so badly that he still hasn’t lived it down. Back then, you didn’t hit on Mels. Everyone knew that. Hell, the average recruit was lucky to get a pleasant greeting from her. The thing is, he didn’t stop after that... He began to spend less time training, and more time stalking Mels... However, Evan must have been pissing Mels off because the Red Death got wind of it and banned him from R.D.R facilities.” Ken explained. “Are you still friends with that fool?” Nathaniel asked. “Eh. Kinda... I still talk to him and Armin from time to time...” Ken replied. “What about Alexy?” Nathaniel asked. “Not really. After a while, I got tired of him constantly hitting on me... There was one point where Sam told him off... Then Mels told us how he’s been acting lately...” Ken began.

Suddenly, the girls appeared before them. “I thought ya’ll were training.” Sam smirked. “We were. We’re taking a break.” Ken smiled. “Yeah, I could hear ya’ll talking about Alexy.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand... He and Rosalaya are nice to me.” Amber commented. “Alexy wouldn’t quit hitting on my man, they abandoned my sister before she joined the R.D.R, and they’ve become insufferable.” Sam stated. “I know they haven’t given me the time of day in a couple of years...” Nathaniel started. “That’s because you became a damn drug dealer!” Amber blurted out. Nathaniel started to go to respond to Amber, but was stopped by Sam putting her hand up. “We are not doing this. I’ve talked to several people about what’s going on around Amouria and everything I’ve gotten has confirmed my suspicions. Castiel and Nathaniel are on common ground with Mels’ and Amber’s welfare and are fighting a bit less because of that. Priya doesn’t really talk to Nath and is wiling to give him another chance if he turns his shit around. She’s not happy with Mels but recognizes that she’s trying to free herself from the Grim Reaper. Rosa and Alex have allowed their personalities to become very fucking selfish. Leigh and his friend Rayan confirmed what happened when Mels bitch-slapped Rosa at the beach. Priya has confirmed that Mels ignores Rosa and Alexy now. So, as of right now, I don’t necessarily want to see or talk to them, but if they come up to me, I will be pleasant.” Sam explained.

Sam looked at the group and sighed. “Come on. I’m hungry and I wanna go out to eat.”

★

After days of training, Kentin needed a break, so Nathaniel decided to go off on his own wandering adventure. He parked the truck at a park and started walking. He had been walking for nearly an hour before he realized that he had left the park, and found himself surrounded by gravestones. “Why is a park so close to a cemetery?” He pondered as he walked.

A few minutes later, he came upon a grave with two men sitting in front of it. He instantly recognized the younger man. “Remember! Your introduction to Viktor and Severina will be an event!” Alana’s voice rang through his head. “Alana would kick my ass if I meet Viktor before the Gala...” He thought as he looked around. He noticed a large tree near the grave site. He into listen to what Viktor and the other man were saying.

“Hey, Mom. I actually brought Dad here this time.” “Hello my darling Cosima, it’s been a while.” They began to explain what had happened with Achille Mekina’s downfall, and Alana’s involvement in it. “So, Alana brought down Severina’s corrupt father.” Nathaniel thought. His mind began to wander to what had happened to him. “It’s almost as if she has a talent for bringing corrupt parents to justice.” He thought. As the men described Alana stumbling into Viktor, knocking the poisoned drink from his hand, Nathaniel grinned. “She deceived them to save him.” He thought. Edgard began asking Viktor if Alana will ever forgive him for what he did. “No. She won’t. Mels is not, usually, a forgiving woman. You insulted and attempted to discredit her family. Then, you called her a “little bitch, a fucking little whore” and pulled a gun on her when she denied your offer for an arranged marriage with me. She has made it very clear that she will never forgive you... It doesn’t matter that you were under Achille’s influence at the time. What matters is that you felt it was okay to commit those acts at all.” Viktor explained. Nathaniel clenched his fists when he heard this. “THAT BASTARD!” He thought. “Lynne hasn’t forgiven me either.” Edgard pointed out. Viktor scoffed. “After all this time, you still haven’t realized how headstrong the Roster family is. The women in that family are raised to not let themselves be crushed under the shoes of men. Hell, Verity made it clear that that’s one thing she’s always hoped would rub off on Severina. If Mels hasn’t forgiven you, what makes you think her mother will?” Nathaniel had to hold him back from chuckling at Viktor’s words. Nathaniel knew Viktor was right. The men in the Roster family had to be strong... If not to hold themselves high, then to at least keep up with the women. The most docile of the women had always been the family’s matriarch, Margaret. However, it was known that when Margaret’s husband, Harold, began to act like a sexist prick, his daughters and granddaughters were always sure to shut him up.

A few minutes later, Edgard went back to their car, leaving Viktor alone at the grave. Nathaniel continued to hide behind the tree and listen. “I wish Melody, Sam and Severina could be here with me. I know it’s been a while since we all visited you together... But, Severina is busy helping maintain Melody’s sanity in Amouria, and Samantha is with her boyfriend at the Roster Family Home playing babysitter to Melody’s boyfriend and his sister. Because of Mels’ plans, I’m not permitted to visit the house and see my friend... It could run the risk of me meeting Nathaniel before the point that Mels has decided upon. I don’t wanna disappoint Mels... Mels has told Rini and me so much about Nathaniel, yet, after all this time, we still haven’t met him... We couldn’t be there to meet him before she moved to Toronto... We weren’t available to go to the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Special Red Carpet Premiere in London when Nate took Mels and Nathaniel to it... And now, Mels is taking down a damn drug cartel to save him. I want to believe that he’s a good man... I want to have faith in Melody’s choice in soul mate... But I’m not sure. Part of me wants to say that she’d be better off if she and I were to get back together... But I know that will never happen... Hell, she reminds me of that every time I give her that longing look... Our time ended long ago...” Viktor’s voice had become sad. Nathaniel looked down, his heart becoming heavy. “Viktor is still in love with Alana, after all this time. Maybe she would be happier if she was with him, instead of being with a fuck up like me.” He thought as he sat down.

His mind began to wander to what Alana’s life could have been if they had never gotten together in the first place... Until he heard Viktor begin to speak up again. “You always reminded me that my loving, childhood, relationship with Melody wasn’t allowed to last. That father was going to rip us apart eventually because she’s not, technically, a blue blood like us. You told me to prepare for the day that she falls for someone else, for someone who can actually go the distance with her. When she first started telling Rini and me of this boy she had met who she thought was brilliant and sweet... Rini instantly knew. “She’s falling for him.”, “Nathaniel is the one.” Rini kept saying. Part of me wanted to deny it completely. But, after a while, she began to tell us more and more about her adventures at Sweet Amoris... About how she kept helping a writer find his notebook... About a gamer she became friends with... About Sam’s boyfriend who she thought was a little annoying... About a rebellious musician with a heart of gold... And of course, she wouldn’t shut up about Nathaniel. I didn’t wanna hear it... But, almost every time she spoke about him, she smiled. She did tell us what his parents were like, and why she hates them... But, that didn’t stop her from loving him... I became jealous. I wanted to distance myself from Melody because of it... But Rini explained that it would hurt her if I did...” Viktor continued to talk to his mother’s grave, explaining his feelings over what had happened whenever he heard that Alana and Nathaniel had broken up, then what took place when Alana saved him from his kidnappers. The truth of Nathaniel’s and Alana’s break up had already been explained to Nathaniel by several people... Hell, the Red Death had even sent him security footage from the day it took place... And the resulting mental snap that Alana suffered... But, it was different hearing it from Viktor. There was more loss, and sorrow to it.

After several more minutes of talking, Viktor’s voice changed in tone. It had become more calm. “I don’t know... Maybe, once I meet him, I’ll get the feeling that he truly is Melody’s soul mate... Maybe... Maybe I’ll get a sign... Maybe Melody will shine brighter than she ever has...” Viktor began to chuckle. “Melody has always loved Stardust... Hell, I remember you once calling her a fallen star... And we all know that stars shine brightest when they’re near their true love...” Viktor sat down and leaned his back against the headstone. “I really miss you Mom.”

After realizing that Viktor would probably be silent for the duration of his time there, Nathaniel got up from the tree and decided to walk back to the truck. Part of him wanted to be mad at Viktor for not seeing what Alana was when she was near him and her other friends. That she was beginning to heal from her traumas, and that he was the one who was there for her the most in Amouria. Sam saw that, Severina apparently got it, but Viktor’s jealousy got in the way. However, Nathaniel saw that because he and Viktor had never met, Viktor couldn’t make a proper decision on him... It was was clear that he couldn’t act on blind faith the way Severina seemed to...

As he got back into the truck, he sighed. “Who knows... Maybe she will shine. As it is, that glimmer of hope has returned to her.”

★

Several more days passed. Nathaniel began to become impatient. He did his best to subside this feeling by trying to distract himself. Training with Ken, playing video games with Sam, playing online games with Armin, reading books, and even wandering around the places in Weathering that he remembered Alana telling him about. But, it wasn’t enough. It had been a couple of weeks since he had arrived in Weathering and he wanted to go home... To get back to her.

“Hey, how much longer is this purification going to last?” He heard Sam ask as he hid from her sight. “She must be on the phone with the organization.” He thought. “Look, Nathaniel is getting restless... And rightfully so. We’re all tired of waiting around... So, give me some information and an estimate.” Sam sounded tired. There was a few minutes of silence before Sam spoke up. “Alright. Just know, I know how restless both Melody and Nathaniel are... So finish this shit soon.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is what Nathaniel does during Purification.

I get that one day is primarily between Amber and Sam while Ken and Nathaniel are training... But I find this part very useful.

Credit goes to:

andanguyen on DeviantArt for the Background.

LicyAD on DeviantArt for the Viktor Sprite.

Special shout out to: @vanillaamoursucrethings

She is the one who encouraged me to send Nathaniel and Amber to Weathering and actually do some world building!

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7-seas-of-bri · 5 years

Text

In The Future -- A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic [part 3]

Read the Past Parts Here! Part 1 Part 2

Here’s the next part for you amazing people.

I hope you all are enjoying it !!

A few days go by and you do most of your internship work from within the walls of your flat. Nothing exciting, just revising statements getting sent out to venues, reviewing album art, and making calls to ensure tour dates are booked in advance. You loved it though, you felt as if you were apart of something.

You haven’t seen Roger since the day in the recording studio, and for that you’re glad. It has given you space to revisit the past events.

Yes, the trauma still haunts you to this day, and, yes, Roger still reminds you too much of that night, but you decide that these facts cannot get in the way of your work. Just because he’s around doesn’t mean that you have the right to pretend he’s not. You have to try to move past it and see him as a coworker.

As you review yet another statement, you’re phone rings from the end table near you. Picking up the phone, a familiar voice greets you.

“Hello, is Y/n there?”

You shifted on the couch sitting in a more comfortable position with your legs laid out across the length of the couch. “Hi there, yes this is y/n,”

“Awesome, this is Brian, from the band?” he asked, hoping you recognize him and he doesn’t sound like a lunatic.

“Of course,” you responded, smiling at his carefulness. “What’s up?”

“The boys and I are catching lunch this afternoon to hang out before going to the studio tonight, any interest in joining us?” he asked.

You mulled the question over in your head. Going to lunch means you have to be with Roger, means you have to talk to Roger. You snapped out of your thinking; the past events cannot keep you from making friends.

“I’d love to!”

“Great! We’re meeting at the diner down the street from the studio. See you there in an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,”

Hanging up the phone, you gather your papers into a neat pile set out for later when you work on them again. Feeling nervous yet again to meet the boys, your stomach knotted up. You wish you didn’t have a physical reaction when anxiety took over your thinking.

It’s in these moments you wish that Gracie was living with you. She was your rock, your support system and always knew how to talk you off the edge when your anxiety struck like it has. She lived in Manchester now, working a job between school years. You knew this was best for her, to get experience just as you are, but you longed for the experience of sharing a flat as you did last summer.

You change, putting on an outfit that showed you tried instead of staying in your lounge gear that you had been wearing that morning. Grabbing your keys, you exit your flat, knowing that it was going to be a long walk in order to make it to the diner in time.

Upon entering, all four boys are already seated, viewing the menu and talking about upcoming shows.

“The show this weekend needs to perfect,” Freddie said. “Gotta prepare for that American tour,” he grinned at even the idea of having a tour outside of London pubs.

At that moment, the boys noticed you entered. You received three smiles and an unreadable look.

Brian got up and gave you a hug. “It’s so good to see you, y/n! Come sit, we saved you a spot,” he motioned to the open space in the booth between him and John.

“Thank you,”

Taking the offered seat, you picked up a menu and started looking at it yourself, realizing you had a strong craving for dumpling soup. Freddie continued his thought on the gig and turned to you.

“You’re coming to the gig, right y/n?” he asked, you suddenly had four sets of eyes on you.

You haven’t been to a concert in a while, not since the pub a year ago. Ironically, the band you were going to see perform next was going to be the same as the last.

“I haven’t been to a concert in a long time,”

“Hasn’t been to a concert in forever and you get a job with a band?” Brian asked, smirking. “Got something against concerts?”

You laugh, it’s uncomfortable. “Not a huge fan of crowds,” you answered honestly.

“You still must come, though, you need to see your favorite boys in action,” Freddie smiled.

“Favorite boys? That might be a little overstated,” you grinned.

Freddie placed a hand to his heart and fakes as if he’d just been shot. “Y/n, darling, I’m hurt,”

“Please come?” John asked from next to you.

Yet another offer that caused your head to spin slightly.

“I’ll be there,”

Brian, John and Freddie’s smiled. You looked over every single one of their faces before landing on Roger. He seems happy you’re coming, but his reaction was unlike the others. He’s hard to read, you notice, something you’ve always been good at. You couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered.

The rest of the lunch passed with small talk about the band, and about you. You tell the boys about your college experience in the states, something that they all seemed jealous of. You tell them about your childhood in London and about Gracie. You learn things about them, how John barely goes by John and instead prefers Deacy and how the boys called Jim Beach, Miami. Freddie insisting that his given name was much too boring. You couldn’t help but enjoy your time with them. Jim, excuse you, Miami, was right, you were going to love being around them.

“So we have to be at the studio in a half an hour, I think I’m going to run home and grab some things,” Brian said, looking at input from the other boys.

“Same here,” Deacy responded.

“I think I’m going straight to the studio,” you added. “It’s a long walk back to my apartment and it wouldn’t make sense to go there then come right back,”

“Wait, you walked here?” Brian asked.

You shrugged. “Yeah, it’s my only mode of transportation,”

Freddie shook his head. “Next time you go anywhere, give any one of us a ring, you don’t need to be walking that long way when we all have perfectly good cars,”

Smiling, you nodded, feeling happy that these boys were already becoming good friends in the short time you met them.

“Roger, didn’t you say earlier you were heading straight to the studio?” Brian asked the oddly quiet drummer.

“I mean, yeah,” you sensed the hesitation in his voice. “I could give you a ride, y/n,” Roger offered.

“You really don’t have to-”

“What did I just say?” Freddie interrupted. “You don’t need to be walking, we can give you a lift,”

“Alright,” your mouth tugged up in a small grin, attempting to hide your discomfort.

The five of you stood after a few more moments, leaving a tip and heading out. On your way out to the lot, you follow Roger to a small car, one that you know well would be leagues out of your price range. It’s painted white with it’s top down.

“Nice car,” you commented.

He laughed a bit. “Thanks, been saving up for it for a long time,”

Roger jumped into the driver's seat as you slid into his passenger side. The air was extremely warm for May, and that relieved you. The light shirt your wearing wouldn’t fare well for your comfort in a topless car if it were cold outside.

The first few minutes of your drive were awkward to say the least, neither of you talking.

You decided you needed to get over whatever was holding you back.

“What are you guys recording tonight?” you asked, breaking the silence

Roger still wouldn’t meet your eyes from under the sunglasses he threw on upon entered the car. “Back half of the album,”

His short answer was a bit disheartening.

“This must be really exciting for you guys, getting to record an album and all,”

For the first time since meeting him, a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “You could say that, we’ve been wanting this for a long time,” he paused, seemingly wanting to add more to his comment. “We were under the name Smile for a long while and then when we met Jim. We changed our name and started to really get to work on what we wanted to accomplish,”

The name suddenly rings a bell, that’s why you didn’t recognize the band name before you met them.

“Wait, I think I may have seen you at a pub about a year back,” you answer, not knowing why you decided to reveal that information to him.

“No way,” he said excitedly, his tone becoming more friendly as the two of you continue to converse. “That’s amazing, do you remember what you thought,”

Do I remember?

Suddenly flashbacks of the night started to protrude your thinking.

Don’t struggle, princess.

No, stop.

You’re going to enjoy this.

Please.

Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.

Make it stop.

You turned to Roger, and see him waiting for an answer. His face becoming more and more unreadable the longer you take to respond.

“I remember I thought you guys were going to make it big, but I don’t remember much else though. I believe I was pretty hammered that night,” you lied.

You couldn’t tell if he liked your answer, it was almost as if he could see through the lie you told.

Deciding he doesn’t recognize you from that night, you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you will be able to work through this without him knowing, maybe you can try to forget. But the memories continued to pry at your brain.

Roger didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the ride and you believe your change in demeanor is the reason. You can’t lie to yourself, the thoughts of the night caused you to shrink down a bit, even to turn away from him slightly it. It was rude, no ignoring that, but you couldn’t help the reaction you had to the thoughts.

The both of you enter the studio and head towards the booth. Not wanting to sit alone with only the company of the soundboard, you followed Roger into the booth setting the work you brought along with you on the small table that was in there. Roger didn’t seem to notice, or care, that you followed him. He immediately moved towards his drumkit and sat down.

“What’s the first song you guys are recording?” you asked him, attempting to start writing down an agenda for the night. You wanted to focus on anything besides the memories. As soon as you began talking, Roger purposely started playing his drums. You scowled at his actions. “Roger?” you asked a bit louder than last time.

He stopped. “Sorry princess, can’t hear you over the drums. I’ve got to practice,”

Princess.

You thought he was finally warming up to you, but guess not.

You didn’t know if it was the stress of what was buzzing through your head, or what it exactly was, but a small strand of you snapped when he muttered that one term of endearment that will never be the same to you.

“No Roger, I need you for thirty seconds,”

He was shocked at your assertiveness, something he had yet to see out of you. “Alright boss, what can I do to make your day easier?” the sarcasm apparent in his voice.

“I just want to know the lineup of the songs you will be recording tonight” you huff, wanting to be able to do your work and move on.

“If I tell you that, will you answer one questions honestly for me?” he asks, raising a cocky eyebrow at you.

“Fire away,”

“Why don’t you like me?”

You were caught off guard by the question. “I don’t think I know what you mean,”

Roger chuckled at your cluelessness. Have you been that rude to him?

“I mean,” he stared. “Since the first day I met you here, you have barely looked my direction while talking to the other boys as if I’m not there. When I reached out to shake your hand upon meeting you, you pulled away quicker than I have ever seen. Also on the drive over here, halfway through our conversation, you completely checked out, seemingly not wanting to talk to me any longer,” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “Look, you seem like a nice girl and all, I just want to know how to make this more civilized,”

Roger’s eyes meet yours as he aimlessly twirls a drumstick in his right hand.

I’m here to help, I promise that awful man is gone.

“I didn’t realize I was being rude,” you offered back as an apology. “It’s just…” you trailed off. You wanted to be honest with him, maybe the honesty would help fight back some of the thoughts you’ve been having. But you didn’t want him to see you as that helpless girl he may or may not remember. He thinks you’ve only just met for christ’s sake.

“It’s just, what?” Roger asked, catching you again from within your own head.

It’s now or never.

“So you know how I mentioned that I’ve seen you guys at a pub before?”

Roger nodded, letting you continue.

“Well, something more happened,” you couldn’t find the words to phrase it.

He looked confused. “What do you mean something more?”

“I mean--”

You heard the door to the studio bust open. Whipping around, the remaining three boys, led by Freddie, came trotting in excited to record.

Roger gave you a look asking you to continue but you shook him off. This was a horrific and embarrassing truth for the two of you to hear, you didn’t need the other boys worrying about it.

You sigh and college yourself. “I’ll get the music set up for you boys, I just need the list of songs you’re going to record,” you let them know, handing the piece of paper to Freddie for him to scrawl down the list. When he returns it to, you turn around and give Roger a soft smile before returning to the booth and starting to set up the music.

Miami came into the studio not long after you sat down.

“Thanks for getting things started for me,” he commented, sitting down by you.

“It’s really no problem, Jim,” you said. “Or should I say, Miami,”

Miami gave you a sideways look paired with a grin. “So the boys told you about my nickname?”

You giggled. “Yeah, yeah they did,” Even just thinking about lunch with the boys made you smile.

He smiled at you. “I’m glad you and the boys are getting along, it makes me happy and assures me I made the right decision with you,” he returned to the board, messing with a track the band was recording. “I will warn you though, I wouldn’t suggest getting caught up with any one of them, work relationships are hard enough without any added stress from any flings or relationships,”

Miami didn’t look up when he said this, he kept his eyes on his work. You didn’t understand where he was coming from, but as far as you know you’d never see any of the boys this way. You work with them, plain and simple.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you answered. “Just good to make some new friends,”

“I’m glad,” this time he did look at you and placed his hand on your shoulder. You never thought you’d be able to adjust to a new job this quickly, it’s only been a few days and you already feel like one of them, a feeling you weren’t expecting to feel at all. “If you want, I’ve got the rest of this held down tonight. You can head home for the night and work on things there if that’s more comfortable for you,”

You considered his offer, but the music the boys were making was too encapsulating for you to pass up. “I think I’ll stay for a bit longer, to hear the music and all,”

Jim nodded, smiling. “They’re good, right?”

“Yeah, really good,”

Observing the boys play was something you would describe as show-stopping. Their energy and passion came through their instrument when each one of them hit a note. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Roger, though. For the first time since you met him, you were able to look at him without memories bombarding every thought. He looked off though, as if something was bothering him. You hoped it wasn’t you.

After a song or two, you decided to leave, calling it quits for the night. When you returned home, the fact that you were alone hit you hard. Hard enough for your brain not to shut off for hours. You sat alone in the darkness, with nothing but you and your terrible, terrible thoughts.

The boys finished recording around 11.

“Does anyone want to grab a drink with me?” Freddie asked the group.

The other three all chimed in agreement as they exited the studio.

The boys all left their cars at the building for the pub was a mere five-minute walk from the studio. Freddie and John got slightly ahead of the Roger and Brian as they discussed the setlist for the show that was, now, only two days away. They were pitching ideas as to what they wanted to play, and what they wanted to introduce to the crowd before the album came out.

Roger was lost in thought, wondering what it was you wanted to tell him before the boys interrupted you earlier. In those few moments, Roger realized that he had been an arse and saw a side that you hadn’t shown yet. It was a vulnerable one, one that Roger felt lucky to see. He knew none of the other boys had seen it yet, but it made him wonder what caused you to do so.

Brian took notice to Roger’s thinking. He’d known Roger for a long time, and this introversion was something that only showed when something was really bothering him. If anyone could read Roger, it was Brian.

“What’s got you caught up?” Brian asked out of the blue.

Roger, surprised by Brian’s question, frantically started to find a way to talk himself out of the situation. Whatever he had to tell you was a secret you only wanted him to know, but he wasn’t sure if he could escape this conversation without telling him what he knew.

“Nothing, mate. I’m fine,”

“You’re not,” Brian observed. “Did something happen between you and y/n before we came in?”

Roger shook his head causing his blonde hair to shift. “You could say that,”

“What was it? If you don’t mind me asking,”

Roger knew that if he could trust anyone with information, it would be Brian, but he didn’t know what information he had to share. You didn’t tell him anything. It was the lack of information that was causing Roger to think.

“The problem was nothing happened,” Roger answered, leaving Brian confused. He continued. “When we were in the car together, she talked about a time last year when she saw us perform, she didn’t realize that she was working for us because of the name switch,”

“That’s awesome, what a coincidence,” Brain butted in, but when he saw the look on his friends face, he let Roger continue.

“But when she spoke about it, she got all quiet and seemed to regret saying anything,”

“Why is that?”

“That’s the issue. When we were in the recording studio she went on explaining that something more happened that night besides just her seeing us perform. Then when you guys came in before she could tell me and she wouldn’t say more,”

“What are you thinking happened then? You don’t remember her?” Brian asked, trying to help and find you an answer that you are searching your head for.

“That’s what I don’t know, I don’t remember. I knew she seemed familiar when we met her the other night, but I don’t recall anything specific about her,”

“You don’t think--?”

“I don’t know, I’m notorious for not remembering every girl I hook up with,”

yikes, Roger.

This could make things interesting.

Thank you all for reading, and I truly hope you enjoyed !

Reblogs, likes, comments, messages and asks are always majorly appreciated. Come and talk to me about the story, what do you like, what do you think is going to happen?

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask/message, I’d be happy to keep you updated!

READ PART 4 HERE! (x)

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quietasasanctuarymouse · 3 years

Text

Season 1 Episode 5 1/2 ~ Settling In

Rowan burst into the study, startling Helen who was standing at her desk. “Dear gods, Helen. What happened?” she questioned, wrapping her in her arms, holding her tightly. “You could have died up there,” she held her face in her hands, panic written plainly in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Rowan, what’s gotten into you?”

Her face paled as she realized the error she had made in her worried lack of judgement. They were not paramours, not even casual lovers. She was Helen’s dear old friend, survived from an era long past. The woman in her arms in front of her saw her as nothing more. Heat rising to her cheeks, she let go of Helen as if her hands had been burned. “I’m sorry, I was just so worried when I heard what had happened, and I’m relieved to see you home safely.” She bowed extravagantly, as she used to in the early days now far gone. “Please forgive me my overstep, Fairest Lady,” she smiled up at Helen, hoping the ridiculousness of the gesture would overshadow the true depths of the feelings she was quite sure were clearly written in her eyes.

Helen let out a lilting laugh that set Rowan’s heart fluttering against her ribcage, curtsying slightly in return, “There is nothing to forgive, Gallant Knight,” she giggled, “though my pardon you shall have, if so you wish it.”

Rowan beamed at her as she lightly kissed Helen’s hand before straightening. “I thank thee kindly, Mistress.” Rowan cleared her throat, all frivolity erased from her countenance as she offered her hand to Helen, “Inis dom. What happened?”

Allowing herself to be led to the settee before the fire, Helen recounted the tale.

Rowan knocked at the door of Henry’s laboratory, “Pardún, Master Foss, I wonder if I might procure your assistance with a few renovations. I do believe I might be here for a while, and I’ve decided to take my gracious hostess up on her offer of allowing me to modify my chambers. I have some things of my own that will be arriving shortly, but obviously I can’t handle the plumbing on my own.”

“Sure, of course.” Henry smiled uncomfortably at her, he was still awkward around her Sidhe charms. He would come around to normalcy eventually, but he had to want to be unaffected first. “Uh, plumbing??”

Rowan grinned, “This won’t be a problem, will it?”

“No. Uh, no. Of course not. I’ll just need to do some checking into the finances, you know, to see which account to take the funds out of. Shouldn’t, uh, be a problem. Only take me a minute.”

Rowan handed him a small strip of paper, some numbers scribbled on it in an elegant hand. “The funds will come from this account, Mister Foss. I’m sure you’ll find more than an adequate amount to cover the work I’ll need done, cinnte.”

“Right, of course.” Henry quickly input the numbers into his system. “Uh, this isn’t one of ours. Does, uh, does the boss have a personal account I don’t have in the system?”

“The nature of Helen’s personal accounts is outside of my purview, so I cannot speak to such. As for the account I have given you to fund my changes to the tower room, it is my own. Helen has been kind enough to offer me both- pardon the pun- sanctuary in her home, and the freedom to make it my own at my own discretion. I shan’t abide further infringement upon her hospitality by expecting nor accepting her funding of alterations that I make to my own chambers. Tuigeann tú?”

“Uh, yeah. Absolutely,” Henry smiled appreciatively. This mysterious hottie might turn out to be a pretty decent roommate yet. “So, what’re we gonna do?”

Rowan smiled at him in return and settled down next to him. Grabbing a pad and pen, she began to sketch the designs she had made.

Just as Rowan reached the elevator after leaving Henry’s lab, Will caught up to her. “Uh, hey. I was wondering if we could talk? We really haven’t had much chance since you got here, and I’d like to. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means, Sir William, please, carry on.” They stepped into the elevator together.

“You, uh, you’ve been keeping pretty much to yourself since you got here. I hope we haven’t made you feel out of place.”

His concern was genuine, and rather endearing. “Not at all, Will. I just haven’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes. I recognize I’m an interloper here, and it is not my intent to involve myself with the dynamic that has developed between your colleagues, nor is it my interest to attempt to push my way into your team or your work. I am merely an old friend of Helen’s who has come to spend time with her and become reacquainted after all these long years. I’m fond of and passionate about the work and the mission of the Sanctuary. I have long been one of its biggest supporters, and I would happily dedicate my life to continuing to advance its pursuits. Hardly nothing, in fact, would give me greater pleasure. But I won’t overstep my bounds and tread a path beyond my place.” She smiled evenly at Will, “I also feel it would be most prudent for my integration into matters here, both work related and simply as a resident, should be of the quite slow and steady sort. I’m not exactly the average ‘new recruit’, I have history with Helen. Deep, long history. And this is her home. You all are her family. You each have a place here, a role, and a relationship with her that carries beyond coworker, employee. Too much too fast from me could devalue the special place in her heart you each have as well as the important roles that you each play in her life. That is something I would never wish to do.

“I am here, and available, to any and all of you, in whatever you may need or wish, as you are each comfortable. However, for the time being anyway, I am quite content to simply sit on the sidelines and allow each of you to come to me in your own time, at your own pace. I’m not here to take over, and to make sure that reads loud and clear, at least for now, that means I won’t be getting involved, either. Not unless I am requested to.”

“Wow. Uh, okay,” Will searched for words, this exchange was not at all what he had expected when he had approached her. “Well, would you mind if I asked to know a bit about you? We’ve talked about your people, and your history with Magnus. But I’d like to know your history. If, that is, I’m not prying too much?” The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the hallway, turning down the corridor leading to the library.

“Not at all,” she smiled. He still didn’t know what to make of her. She found it quite amusing, because it was probably a rather rare experience for him. “Guigh inis, what would you know?”

“Well, you’ve said you lived in London for a time, when you went to school at Oxford, and Magnus told me about when you left.” He paused, she gathered he was feeling her out to see if it bothered her that Helen had told him some of their personal history. When he got no response other than her cool gaze, waiting, he continued. “I guess I’m curious what you were doing around that time. Before, after.”

“Well, I spent a good deal of time travelling about what you would know as the British Isles in my youth; Eire, Alba, Cymru, Albion. As for what I did, well, none of it I’m sure would translate the times for you. I’m Fae, William, we live for the earth, of the earth. We have duties to the land and charges to fulfill. I travelled, I saw the world (what of it mattered in those days), I carried out my purpose.”

They sat at one of the tables in the library, Will watching her closely, gauging, judging, assessing. “Eire, Albion, those are names from the middle ages, aren’t they? I mean, Magnus said you were older than she is now back then, but, surely….”

“I’m four hundred and seventy, boyo, and I have a birthday coming yet this year.”

Will couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes. “Uh, wow. The things you must have seen.” Realization dawned and he let out a nervous laugh. “The world must seem so strange to you now.”

She smiled, amusement sparkling in her eyes, “Is ea, mar a dhéanann sé. So it does. When you’ve had as much time to watch the world grow as I have, most of it just seems natural. It makes sense. There are some things, though, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. But when you have forever, aon rud is féidir, who knows.”

“And, after you left London? What did you do then?”

“Mar sin, now we come to it, do we? You think to find where I’ve been since Helen and I last saw each other. Nochtfaidh mé mo rún, catch me out?”

Will realized he needed to tread very carefully here, “I’m not trying to catch anything. I’m simply curious about your life. Did you go back to Ireland, continue ‘fulfilling your purpose’?” he shrugged noncommittally, as if he had no interest one way or another in the answer, as if it were just idle conversation. In truth, he knew nothing about this woman, and it was obvious Magnus held strong feelings for her. He didn’t know Magnus all that well either, come to think of it, but he liked her very much. He cared for her, and had no desire to see her hurt. Something about this strange woman and her mysterious reemergence didn’t sit right with him, and he intended to suss out why.

“Mar a déarfá, I have returned to Erie a few times since then, though not for the same reasons I was there in my early days. I have travelled, studied, seen the world- far more of it than there was when I was yet a wee lass. Le fíor, I discovered my path and I have walked it well.”

Will listened to her intently, studying, analyzing. She had a very odd way of speaking; ancient Gaelic, modern Irish colloquialisms, and Renaissance English all rolled together; she combined that with courtly mannerisms and a spritely mischievousness that made it hard to pin her down. He supposed it made sense, the strange combination, having lived almost 500 years all over the world, of course she would be an amalgamation of all her wheres and whens. “You’ve lived a long time. Have you done it alone? I mean, do you have a family? Have you ever had one?”

Now we were getting to the heart of it. He had asked the question casually enough, and it was certainly a fair curiosity to have, but she heard the reasons underneath quite clearly, and they were anything but casual. “I have had my affairs in my time, young William, if that is what you are asking.”

He cleared his throat, “Well, no, actually. I mean, I’m sure that, given the extraordinary length of your life, of course-” Rowan eyed him with amusement. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I guess I wasn’t questioning casualness. Life can get rather lonely for those of us who only have it 80 or 90 years tops, I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be for you. Companionship on a deeper level, it’s a great comfort. Have you shared your life with someone, or someones? You’ve certainly had time enough for more than one.”

“Feicim, well, young Master William, allow me to enlighten you about my people. The Daoine Sidhe mate for life. For immortal beings, that’s quite the commitment. For the last of our line, well, it’s quite the tale of caution. When we give our hearts, we do it but once in our own lifetime, for we give it whole and complete, nothing is held in reserve, and we do not ever get it back. Once given, it is no longer ours. If our mate doesn’t reciprocate our feelings, or leaves us, or dies- there is no next time. Our heart has been given, and that cannot be undone. We do not love again. Ever. Not in that way. So, no, I have not shared my life with someones, borne families. For I get only one.”

As she spoke, Will avidly watched everything for ticks and tells. This was, after all, the very heart of what he wanted to find out about her. Yet, she was as closed to him as if he were blind. He could read nothing, nothing at all. When he had seen her in the study that first day, with Magnus, he barely had to look at all to tell what she was thinking, feeling. But now, he couldn’t get anything off of her. As if she had locked the door in his face. What had he done to offend her, cause her to draw away and close off? And how was it possible for her to do so? He’d never met anyone who could shut him out like this. Then it hit him. Magnus. Of course. She had never let him in at all, and she wasn’t closing him out now. It was Magnus. Rowan’s feelings for her, whatever precisely they might be- for that history was long and tangled and he couldn’t even begin to unwind the nature of their relationship- kept her open to Magnus. She let her in, probably without even consciously realizing it. She wasn’t shutting Will down, she just kept herself closed to everyone but Magnus. Why? And why, for what- fifteen years?- out of five hundred, would you carry that level of vulnerability with someone when you were obviously so tightly guarded in every single other aspect of your life?

“Níos mó?”

Lost deep in his own thoughts, Will barely heard her speak. What he did hear, he didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, what?”

She smiled softly, realizing she had spoken in the Old Tongue, “Do you have more you wish to know?”

“Oh, uh,” Will scrambled to collect his thoughts. Her last answer had not been what he had expected. “The, uh, the Five. Magnus told me a little. Did you know them?”

“Oh, tá, I did at that. They were fairly newly formed when I met them, you know. Hadn’t even found the formula for that serum of theirs yet. Though, I didn’t know until after they had all taken it what their intentions were.” Her eyes went out of focus, staring off into the long ago. “Nobody liked Nikola, he was always the arrogant sort, even then, though he was blessed brilliant. Nigel and James, now they were fine gents, the pair of ‘em. John, though, I never really knew quite what to make of him. Something was always a bit off about him.”

“You mean Druitt?”

“Ay, bit cnó that one. But he loved Helen, that much was clear, and in those days, that was enough for me. As they say, love covers a multitude of sins.”

“What exactly happened with him? Them?” Will leaned forward, his curiosity amply piqued.

“Ní hea. Sorry, boyo, not my story to tell. You want to know about Helen and her love, go maith, you ask Helen.”

Will lowered his head, scolded, “Right. Sorry.”

“They were a close knit bunch, those five. Did everything together, not just their work. I floated around the fringes, myself. Helen, I think, would have drawn me all the way in had it been up to her, if for no other reason than to have another woman standing beside her. The boys, though, they held their reservations about me, mistrustful. Now that I know the aims of their little clan, I think, in part, afraid that one already outside the scope of ‘normal’ would have rather strong opinions about their notion to alter themselves so drastically.”

“And did you? I mean, would you have, if you had known?”

“Is cuma. I didn’t know and by the time I did, they had already taken the serum. Changed themselves forever, for better or worse. It was their choice alone to make, and they made it. Déantar an méid atá déanta.”

“Hey, Will?” Ashley walked into the library carrying a stack of files. “I was wondering-” she stopped short as she noticed Rowan. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were in the middle of something. I can come back.”

Rowan jumped to her feet, startled and- something else Will couldn’t put his finger on, though he’d like to. “Oh, no. I’d hate to be in the way.” She nodded at Will, “Thank you for the chat, I’m sure we can continue it later if you’d wish.” Her gaze turned back to Ashley, unable to focus and staring overmuch at the same time. “Ashley, nice to- I- uh….” She swept out of the room, her black satin skirts swirling after her.

Ashley turned to Will, eyebrows raised, an awkward laugh on her lips. “What was that?”

Will, who was still staring after Rowan, shook his head in confusion, “I have no idea.”

Late that night, meditating in her room, Rowan’s senses alerted her to an approaching presence, she felt it long before she heard it. As she listened, she heard the soft, light footfalls climbing the stairs below her, they paused briefly on the landing outside her door, and then they continued on again, heading up to the roof. Quietly, Rowan climbed off her bed, donned a robe, and followed the footsteps to the roof.

Helen stood in the pale moonlight, her hair blowing in the breeze. Coming to stand beside her, Rowan pulled her cover tightly closed around her. “You were right to be worried,” Helen said quietly. “Honestly, I thought I very likely was dead up there. I guess I don’t think about it much, indefinite lifespan and all, but I didn’t like the way it felt. That sense of this is the end. I’ve only ever truly felt that way once, you know.” She shuddered. “I never want to feel that way again. It was the most terrible night of my life.”

Rowan silently wrapped a comforting arm around Helen, pulling her close. Helen responded by resting her head on Rowan’s shoulder, both of them staring out into the night.

After a time, seeming to resurface from the depths of her memories, Helen broke their silence. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” She smiled at her dear friend.

“And I, you, Helen. And I, you.” She returned the smile, hoping the low light would hide the sadness in her eyes. The desire for something more that, at least now, wasn’t meant to be. “It’s late,” she said softly. “You’ve had quite the ordeal. You should get yourself into bed.”

“Yes, I suppose I should.” She turned for the stairs, stopped, looked back. “Are you coming?”

Rowan’s heart was in her throat, pounding so loudly she was sure it was impossible for Helen not to hear it. It wasn’t the offer it sounded like, and she knew it. She was an old friend to Helen, that was all. She needed to stop allowing herself to hear things that weren’t there. “I’ll get some sleep myself, shortly,” she said hoarsely. “I think I’ll enjoy the view just a bit longer. Good night, Helen.”

For just a moment, Helen had thought Rowan might come with her. That maybe, just maybe, their romance hadn’t ended in London all those years ago after all. That, maybe, Rowan would come to bed with her. It was a silly notion. They were friends. Dear, old friends. But friends, nonetheless. Rowan had offered, once, over a century ago. She had turned her down. Why should she think it would still be waiting for her now? “Good night,” she whispered, disappearing into the darkness and down the stairs.

#sanctuary #helen magnus #will zimmerman #henry foss #ashley magnus #fanfic

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 years

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Hihi! So... I don't know if your inbox is open but I wanted to drop a request? I've been feeling really tired with work and the time of the month, and I was wondering what Dick Grayson would do to help out his tired s.o/friend? It can be headcannon or whatever you choose! Please and thank you so much ahead of time! :*

Thank you so much for requesting this! I love Dick Grayson so much and I’m always shipped with him, so I can’t get enough of him

(I know this isn’t long so I’m sorry about that but I hope this is something like what you’re looking for. I personally didn’t want to get too specific or repetitive so I stopped writing more. I also hope you’re feeling better!

❤ Dick is always supportive of his friends and significant others, if he isn’t then it’s momentary because he’s stressed or busy.

❤ At first Dick would suggest just taking a nap, eating your favorite foods (whether healthy or unhealthy- it doesn’t matter) or just watching your favorite movie, something fun and relaxing... Relaxing?!

❤ “We could... I don’t know, shut me down if this is too much- take a bath?” Wiggling his eyebrows you know he’s gonna suggest something else. “I mean, you did get a bath bomb for Christmas” he shrugs “not like there’s a better time to use it or anything...”

❤ ”Dick are you trying to guilt me into using my bath bomb with you? Get your own, you leech!” Dick gasps, putting his hand over his heart. How dare you. A leech?

❤ ”A leech?! Well then I must be your leech, so I guess you love leeches, how gross Y/N, really? You should find another animal to love” You’d tell him how much of a dork he is and he’d roll his eyes and ask you to promise to keep it to yourself, how he’s a dork only for you. (And sometimes Damian if need be)

❤ You and Dick would end up cuddling in bed while watching one of those twenty minute ridiculously terrible sitcoms that are maybe... just maybe someone’s guilty pleasure. Once the cramps came on Dick would leave, making you whine until he comes back with a heating pad.

❤ “These are supposedly helpful.” Getting under the covers once more with you, he’d make sure to rub your back gently. “I know it helps when my muscles are sore.”

❤ Once the ‘time of the month’’s really bad symptoms went away, Dick would try to tackle the bigger issues with you once feeling better. “Why do you look like you’re gonna tell me my Father died?”

“Do I really look like that? Geez...”

“Dick, seriously, what’s going on?”

“I was just trying to be serious, that’s my serious face.”

“I was joking but continue. What’s going on?”

“That’s what I was gonna ask you! What’s going on at work? Why don’t you like it?”

❤ Hours are too long? Coworkers too cranky and rude? Your pay sucks? Dick has suggestions for everything and wants to make sure that you’re alright and know what to do if there is something to do. If Dick can help in any way he wants to know what you need him to do for you and how he can be supportive. Dick knows what it’s like to have an ‘all in or out’ type of support system and he wants to make sure that you have support however you need it. Dick also knows that not everyone needs the same things, or works the same way. Damian doesn’t need the same support that Tim does- it just wouldn’t work well.

❤ Overall Dick wants you to take some time for yourself, make sure you’re alright, happy, healthy, functioning. He’s glad he’s not a girl and he’s glad that Adam didn’t curse every man for a week every month.

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strawberry-milktea · 6 years

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(1) I don't know if you've struggled with this before but have you ever wondered how you could use your talents in a career that would help others and do God's work? I'm at a difficult point in my life right now. I think what I'm best at is languages. I was raised bilingual in Spanish and English, and majored in Asian Studies with a concentration in Japanese language. I mostly use the first two languages (Spanish with my family, and English because I live in the USA).

(2) My dream was to get a job after graduation where I’d be able to use Japanese since I was super passionate about it. Things didn’t go as planned because I don’t live in an area with many Japanese speakers. I tried looking into things like internships outside my state and country, but then… some bad things happened. First, I had to undergo surgery for a condition I didn’t even know I had. It was a very scary experience, and I feel like a lot of my emotional problems stem from it. (3) Then, my grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer, and had to undergo two surgeries. She also has severe Alzheimer’s and can’t do many things on her own. I’m her main caretaker since my parents can’t give up their jobs, and I don’t work, so my mom puts me in charge of her while my parents are at work. A lot of other difficult things happened. I don’t have friends because everyone moved on, got jobs elsewhere, got married, etc. while I’m just at home the majority of the time.(4) I get debilitating panic attacks, and there have been times when I’ve not wanted to live anymore because I feel so sad and useless. I feel like at one point, people had high hopes for me, and then I disappointed everyone. It’s been about four years since I took my last Japanese class. Even though my online friends come to me for help with translating things like manga dialogue or Jpop lyrics, I don’t know if my Japanese is even good enough to use for something like a real job anymore. (5) Also, some medications I was put on to keep my health under control make me light-headed as a side effect, so I sometimes feel slower and more brain-foggy than I was when I was taking classes. I’ve lost confidence in my learning abilities compared to how fast I would learn stuff before. I feel like I’ve been so stagnant these past few years. And it’s hard when I don’t have a support system of friends. I love God. I put a lot of faith in God, I pray every day, and I know He cares about me. (6, last message) But I still feel lost. I haven’t had luck with finding a job, even part-time jobs that have nothing to do with Japanese. It’s hard. It’s just tough convincing myself that I haven’t messed up, and that there still might be hope for me. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you but I was wondering if maybe you could give me suggestions on how I could possibly start fixing myself so that I can be of more use to God. Also, prayers for me and my family would be appreciated. Thank you so much. —Hi there,You aren’t bothering me! I apologize for taking so long to respond to this. First thing I want to address in this message is you say it’s hard convincing yourself that you haven’t messed up.. Why do you feel your career going differently than planned is a result of you messing up? You couldn’t help that there were not any job opportunities in your area and that you needed surgery that set you back in terms of looking for jobs.. Generally speaking, being unemployed and searching in the job market is a tough spot for anyone to be in, regardless of which career it is. The job market has been difficult for quite sometime now.. I remember when I was between jobs, it was hard to just get an interview and a chance to prove myself, so the idea of actually getting the job can feel very discouraging nowadays. This isn’t your fault.. people who are qualified for jobs have difficulty finding them simply because the job market is saturated and there is competition. A lot of times, people know someone on the inside who puts a good word in for them and that’s how they get their foot in the door. You shouldn’t feel like it’s your fault that it’s been difficult to find work. Honestly, find comfort in the fact that you are certainly not alone in this struggle. I have definitely struggled with wondering how God could use me for His work in the career I went to college for. Like I mentioned above, there was a period of time I was out of work because the job I had been promised for after graduation fell through due to budget cuts. During the period when I was between jobs, there was a long stretch of time where I wasn’t getting any interviews and I fell into a very negative mindset. I was feeling angry with myself and completely discouraged, wanting to give up on the career I worked so many years for. The enemy was really doing a number on me during that time and I kept telling myself, “This is useless, I don’t even understand how He could use a career in healthcare to spiritually help people. I wasted all those years in college on something I can’t even find a job for and won’t even help people spiritually and give me chances to do His work.” But in His timing (and there was a good period of waiting I had to do), He opened the right doors for me and once He did, things fell into place effortlessly. I saw clearer how every door I tried to force open in my own will didn’t open because He had a reason. He wanted me a certain place in the time He set for it, and the ones I was trying to push for in my own power weren’t it. And in hindsight, I realized He was protecting me - because I later found out one of the places I had been interviewed for and thought was a serious possibility was a really unhealthy work environment that I would have been very unhappy in. Instead, when He opened the doors, I ended up in work environment where I could truly flourish and learn. I have coworkers who are caring and teach me what they know and in turn, I teach the people who come after me what I learn. I’ve built my confidence and became more independent in my job, in ways I never thought were possible because I trusted Him to do the work in me where I was unsure and scared. I came to realize that you don’t have to work in a church to be able to do His work. It brings me joy to show my coworkers love and help them when they need it. I know how much it means to me when people help me when I’m overwhelmed by a large workload or am facing something that is confusing to me, so I’m more than happy to return that favor. I hope when I show them that care and love coming from my heart, that they can see Christ’s love in me. I’ve learned that you can show Christ’s love by being there for people when they feel comfortable enough to open up to you during a quiet moment at work about something going on in their personal lives. I show love for the patients I’m playing a role in helping during their time of medical need by treating them as I would my own family. And I wouldn’t have ever thought ahead of time that it was possible at work, but He has opened opportunities for me to witness for Christ by sharing His Word with a coworker I befriended who opened up to me about emotional pains and regrets he has been dealing with for many years. I’ve written down quite a bit of scripture for him and even got to give him a Bible. This experience taught me that He has work for us in any setting, even settings we may think are the least likely.I understand that there are many factors that pose challenges for you in your situation, but always remember that all things are possible with Christ. Your mom has likely put you in charge of taking care of your grandmother since you are still out of work, but I am guessing that if you were to find a job, she would work with you to make arrangements so that you can start putting your career in motion? If you are concerned about your grandmother having proper care when you find a job, I would suggest to definitely talk with your mom about this. Regarding the panic attacks, I can only imagine how upsetting that must be to deal with, but it doesn’t mean you won’t be able to find and hold a job.. same applies to your loss of confidence in learning abilities. It’s very easy to be fearful that you can’t do it when you haven’t done something for a long time. I’ve been there, I know that scary feeling. But once you get into the routine of a new job, you will see it’s not as frightening as you think it is. Your confidence will grow with each passing day as you see yourself doing what you thought was impossible. Find peace in the fact that panic attacks and lack of confidence are not too big for our God to handle. Trust that He can and will carry you through this!I hope reading about my experience encourages you with the truth that God can and will provide opportunities at your future job for you to do His work.. even while you are waiting to find a job, you are still doing His work by taking care of your grandmother. Taking care of a sick person is something that requires a lot of dedication, love, and sacrifice. It’s not an easy job and is definitely not something that everyone is cut out for. It’s honestly very admirable that you are able to do this! So don’t lose sight of that.I will pray for you and your family.. Don’t lose hope and seek Him for guidance as to what steps you should take next. I hope this has been helpful to you and if there’s anything else you want to talk about, please feel free to message me!

#God #asks #anon #work #God's work #confidence #anxiety

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wondernwriter · 4 years

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Racism is Not an Opinion

What a sigh of relief to be done with the whole Facebook revolution. But honestly I was never on board truly considering I have only posted once in the “What are you thinking” or whatever that thought box thingy says. I just never got it. I would see friends and “friends” posting their random thoughts, bible quotes, and really offensive cartoons and wonder why are they doing this? Who cares what you think about peanut butter or that you think Hilary and Michelle are men? But that I could handle. I took it all in jest. That is until my eyes were brutally opened in 2016. What I can no longer handle is the curtain being pulled up on some of my friends’ and coworkers’ thoughts about things that are important to me and people who look like me and think like me.

It’s not about conservative views vs liberal views either. I’m moderate and don’t put any weight into titles. But there are things I refuse to stand for and now I’m making them known.

As for my “friends” thoughts, I’m not referring to knitting with the color blue vs pink or thoughts on whether dogs really did descend from wolves (yes, I think so but where do chihuahuas come from? It’s so amazing I just can’t handle evolution and picturing it. I get too excited.). But what bothers me (and it shouldn’t) is learning just how much my life and the lives of those who look like me don’t matter to the very people I love and care about.

Sure I’ve heard (and read) the derogatory and flippant comments they make about my ethnic group and others. They sting for a bit, but for the sake of friendship I let it go. The majority of us let it go. Why fight? Why argue with ignorance? It’s just their opinion. They just weren’t raised with compassion. It’ll be okay. Sure they think blacks are lazy and that slavery was all a myth but we all love each other, right. Peace. Just keep the peace.

Then George Floyd’s murder happened. He’s not the first black man to be murdered and definitely (with great sadness) not the last. And Breonna Taylor--not the first and not the last. And (INSERT AFRICAN AMERICAN PERSON’S NAME HERE) to be murdered callously by the police or by a white person or non-black person who overreacted. So many names. So much suffering. So many tears. So many of these souls entering the gates of heaven wondering “why me? What just happened?” “I was just in Walmart talking on the phone and then I heard shots and now I’m dead. WTF?”

https://newsone.com/playlist/black-men-boy-who-were-killed-by-police/

I can’t say that these deaths in the past didn’t hurt or affect me. They did. But I buried it deep because I didn’t want to be the angry black woman calling out those who make ignorant statements all the time. It’s exhausting. So I let it slide.

But the #BLM protests and rioting that followed after Floyd’s death and the nationwide protests on the behalf of the #BLM movement in a fight to end racism (systemic and blatant) floored me. I don’t consider myself to be an emotional person these days. But this got me. Seeing all types of people--young and old, black, white, latino, Indian, Mexican, American, European, African etc. The list goes on so long it makes me burst with sentiment.

These people took the time out of their day to say, “Yes you all matter and this is wrong and we’re here listening.”

So many of the people I know personally and love would not do that. There’s always a BUT.

“Yes the cops are killing these men, but...”

“Yes slavery existed but...”

“I’m not racist but...”

“I get that this upsets you but...”

“I get people are mad about that man dying but...”

It’s always a fucking BUT. The ideologies of racism are so deeply ingrained that it doesn’t even occur to them that this is not something you should be saying. It’s okay to bow out and just nod. You don’t have to say anything. However, the one thing you don’t do is say BUT unless it’s followed by a supporting and loving message that goes like this...”But we are going to do everything in our power to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

I would never in a bazillion years listen to the plight of a Holocaust survivor and say anything such as:

“I get that your people suffered but...”

“I get that you were starved and watched your parents die but...”

“Yes, Hitler was wrong and a bad man but...”

“Gosh, why are people so mean to Nazis. I don’t agree with them but...”

“Whoa you people are so angry. I get it but...”

“You still have that inked in your arm. That must be a painful reminder but...”

“You were orphaned very young due to the Holocaust but...”

BUT. BUT. BUT. BUT. BUT. It’s always a BUT that follows in order to invalidate the statements and feelings of people hurting. It basically tells them to “get over it” and that “you don’t matter to me.”

It’s aggressive. It’s hurtful and most of all, it’s fucking rude.

Same respect I would give to a family fleeing Mexico, Honduras etc. I would never say to them:

“Yeah I get it’s bad over there but...”

“The cartels killed your entire family but...”

“I get that you have zero opportunities there but...”

It’s infuriating and disrespectful. Just be quiet and listen. Hear the hurt.

Those same people who offer the “buts” at the end of those callous statements would never tell someone:

“I understand your husband was murdered but.... you can get another one.”

“I get your child died horribly but... now you can adopt a new child.”

“I get you have cancer but...that means if you die, no more taxes!”

It’s crazy.

So I’m officially done with Facebook and not showing any support to Mark Zuckerberg or whatever his name is for allowing the racist ideologies that hate groups or “i just don’t like their kind” groups peddle. I don’t want to have anything with my name associated with it. But I’m not strong enough to know that the people I hold dear would not mourn my murder due to the color of my skin if done by someone lighter than me if they did not know me.

In the words of John Boyega, “I AIN’T WAITING!”

Not for their minds to change

Not for their sympathies

Not for their empathy

Not for their respect

Not for their kindness

Not for their hope for a president who embraces all

Not for their Buts

No longer will I give them a platform in my life. If you don’t think the life of those who look like me matter, then why are we even talking? It’s not just about opinions any more. To say someone who is racist or ignorant just has a different opinion is bullshit.

Saying, “The movie Cocoon is better than Avengers” is an opinion.

Saying, “I don’t get what these blacks and Latinos are always whining about. If you don’t like this country leave,” is not. Saying, “Build That Wall” is not your opinion. It’s what you want and desire. It’s your truth.

It’s a statement just like, “I hate cockroaches.” Sure someone else might LOVE cockroaches but I HATE them so to me, it’s not an opinion. It’s how I feel and my truth. Anyone who feels differently is crazy.

What’s also so troubling is that these same people don’t even think about what would happen if it were the other way around.

What if the people dying in the streets were white unarmed men killed by black police officers who get off every time despite not following proper procedure, letting their fear get the best of them or being trigger happy? Do they really think this would be allowed to go on? Do they really think the Klan and Trump himself wouldn’t be out there screaming “WHITE POWER!”

They watch their Fox News and read their ALT RIGHT fan sites and find black people or latino people who share their views then they post and sit back feeling good about themselves saying, “see! Their own kind think this about them. This proves I’m not racist and those like me aren’t either. Ha! Shows them libtards!”

Black Lives Do Matter. Native Lives Do Matter. Trans Lives Do Matter. Latino Lives Do Matter. We All Matter. LGBTQ Lives Do Matter.

The Day we ALL matter will be the day the phrase ALL LIVES MATTER can be used without spitting in the faces of those who in reality are created by the hands of Mother God and Father God and told “YOU MATTER” only to grow up in this country and world and learn...god was wrong.

We don’t matter at all.

#blm #blacklivesmatter #facebook #racism

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