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squi-she · 2 years ago

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Common Ancestries

I haven't given up on posting my Mimicverse campaign setting stuff yet, there's still a lot more info in my lore folders, and I WILL inflict it upon you all. Enjoy! Oh, and here's a link to the doc itself in case you want to read it there.

Tellith is as vast as Earth, with just as many ancestries and cultures that populate it. This is but a fraction of a fraction of the complexities and finer details of these groups.

The two most common ancestries are elven and dwarven, and most common folk have some amount of each in their family tree. In most societies, racial identity is secondary to their political or cultural identity. An elf raised in the Irongears will likely feel more kinship with a dwarf from the Irongears than an elf raised in Balta. Nationally speaking, some nations tend to be more traditionally dwarven, others more traditionally elven, with demographics skewing one way or the other.

Elves usually stand between six and seven feet tall (1.7m-2.1m), with a bit of a margin on either side, though it varies by heritage to a certain degree, with cavern and woodland elves being the shortest. They generally have slender builds with long limbs, narrow features, and long, pointed ears that turn and flick in response to noise. Elves mature slowly and age even slower- they typically reach adulthood at 40, and can live up to 300 years, with some elders reaching as old as 500.

Fun fact: Elves are often stereotyped as prim, proper, cold, and emotionless, but that's just a matter of appearances. Elven faces simply aren't as flexible and expressive as some of the other ancestries, and they often consciously suppress the only easily-visible signs of emotion they have- their ears. Their ears naturally tend to perk up when they're happy, droop when they're sad, flatten back when angry, flush red when embarrassed, and wiggle or even flap when thrilled or excited. Elves can control their ears consciously, to a certain extent, and in most elven cultures, failing to limit the movement of one's ears is regarded as childish or embarrassing.

Dwarves usually stand between three and a half and four and a half feet tall (1.1m-1.4m), and typically have broad, sturdy builds, with short legs, wide hips, barrel chests, and broad shoulders. Dwarves reach physical maturity at 25 years, but dwarven culture puts more focus on the social elements of coming of age- young dwarves, regardless of gender, are traditionally not considered "proper" adults until they've completed their school or apprenticeship and started a career. Dwarven families are usually close-knit- clans live together in large clan halls, sharing living, eating, and often working spaces with their family, well into adulthood. Dwarves often live more than a hundred years, and it's hard to say what their 'maximum' age is- Elder dwarves can remain healthy for a long, long time. Elders are deeply respected and carefully cared for by the entire clan, and while some still-active elders claim to be more than 200 years old, it's likely there's some degree of exaggeration at work.When the clan hall gets too cramped, either the clan expands it, or one or more families branch off and form their own clan. While dwarves are regarded as stoic and rigid by many surface societies, surface dwarves are in fact descended from the radical, rebellious offshoots from a proto-dwarf ancestry native to the underdark- the ones that sought freedom from the stifling order of their society.

Fun Fact: Dwarven culture places a great deal of importance on hair. Long, well-groomed hair is the go-to style for all genders- Those who have more physical professions where long hair might be hazardous tend to favor large, gathered braids, while those with physically non-demanding jobs favor loose hair, or many intricate smaller braids. Beads and decorations, often shiny, metallic, or jeweled, are often used to show clan affiliations and personal preferences. Cutting one's hair or beard short is often a sign of disgrace, exile, or rebellion. Specific braiding patterns and decorations have cultural connotations, and can identify much about a dwarf. The myth that all dwarves grow beards stems from ancient dwarven art- in paintings and murals, figures were typically depicted facing the viewer, and if they didn't have a beard, artists would give them one matching the style of their hair so as to display their braiding style.

Ancestries and bloodlines mix relatively freely on tellith, and the resultant interbreeding often results in children sharing traits of both parents- repeat the process enough times and you end up with those whose heritage is too thoroughly mixed to decipher. These 'humans' are becoming increasingly common in the last century, but are far from being the most common ancestry on tellith. They have no traditional culture of their own, usually living as part of the culture they were born into. By virtue of probability, humans are usually some combination of elf and dwarf blood, but other ancestries are not uncommon. Humans average about five feet (1.5m) tall, but they vary widely, and can be anywhere from four to seven feet (1.2m-2.1m) in height. Humans reach maturity at 20, Depending on the specific heritage of their parents, their lifespan can vary widely, bu. Some religious groups that preach against interbreeding regard humans as the culmination of such sin- they often believe that the races were sculpted by the gods individually, and mixing bloodlines is blasphemous.

Fun fact: The word 'human' comes from a draconic word that means basically 'humanoid' or 'mortal', and is often used broadly to refer to most common humanoids. In a way it's sort of a shrug- you could say "I'm 3/8ths elf and 1/8th orc from my mother's side, and from my dad's side I'm 1/4th dwarf and 1/4th havlin" or you could say "I'm human". A lot of humans will still gladly give you the full breakdown if asked.

Halflings, or "Havlin", as many prefer, are probably the most common heritage beyond elves and dwarves. Havlin stand about 3 feet tall (.9m). While they often have strong ties to "tallfolk" communities, the physical differences in size can be troublesome, and require a great deal of accomodation, so communities don't often freely mix. Traditionally, havlin communities tend to be either nomadic or agrarian. Havlin nomads used to set up semi-permanent tents when making camp, only moving a handful of times a year, but it's becoming increasingly common for them to live out of wagons, instead. Agrarian havlin communities favor open, hilly terrain, and are usually walled or fenced to keep the larger predators away from their homes and livestock. Havlin reach maturity at 15, but very few live to see 100.

Fun fact: Both agrarian and nomad havlin communities make extensive use of a domesticated animal known as a brixa- a relative of goats and sheep, brixas are phenomenally versatile and hardy livestock that stand about. Brixas can can be farmed for wool, milk, or meat, and with the right breeding and the right kind of training and care, they can serve as a companion, a watchdog, a pack animal, or even a mount! The only drawback is their appetite. They're primarily herbivores, and they prefer leaves, but brixas can, and will, eat just about anything if given the chance, and it's said that a brixa is never full. They're known to dig holes while looking for roots and tubers, eat fabric, break into unguarded fields to devour the crops, and even kill and eat small animals if the opportunity presents itself. More than one havlin has had the horrible moment of discovering their brixa's face covered to the horns in blood after munching on some unfortunate beast that got too close. They are also known to enjoy chewing on bones, which can help keep them occupied enough not to cause mayhem in the search for more food.

Traditionally speaking, goblin and non-goblin societies have had something of an antagonistic relationship. Goblins tend to be nomadic, living in clan or tribal groups out in the wilderness, or at the fringes of 'civilization'. Their traditional way of life has become harder and harder as cities and towns tear up forests for farmland and expand further and further out, leaving fewer and fewer wild places for the goblins. This, of course, has led to a great deal of conflict, and the goblins have not fared well in such battles, lacking the centralized organization of humans. Many have resorted to banditry to survive, which only causes further friction. Those goblins that give up and try to join 'civilization' find that it has a very different set of social norms and customs, and often struggle to integrate themselves while overcoming their people's reputation as primitives or criminals. Physically, goblins stand about two to three feet tall (.6m- .9m), they reach maturity at 12, and rarely live more than 60 years. The goblin language and social structure is remarkably complex, contrary to popular belief. There's a great deal of words and grammatical rules regarding the relative status and distinct roles of the speakers, which causes a great deal of confusion when learning other languages.

Fun Fact: Hobgoblins are not a natural subspecies of goblin, they were originally created by mages seeking to produce a cheap, disposable fighting force. On the isle now known as Mor'Daka, opposing magocracies raised vast hobgoblin armies and pit them against each other for almost a hundred years (a war that would later come to be known as "The War of Cousins", which apparently sounds more profound in goblin)- the conflict only ended when the hobgoblins realized they outnumbered the mages a thousand-to-one, joined together, and rose up against their former masters, taking over the isles. Since then, magic use on Mor'Daka has been heavily regulated, causing a boom in alchemical and mechanical innovations.

While there are still orcish nations on Unzu and Rei-zhe, on Doro, the last traditionally orcish nations were conquered many centuries ago. Modern orcs are often the descendants of those orcs who fled or were taken as slaves during these conflicts. By the time slavery was officially abolished across Doro, most orcs were many generations removed from their original heritage, having no history or culture to call their own. Seeing no alternative, most orcs simply assimilated into society wherever they found themselves, often working as laborers or soldiers. However, some orcs seek to rediscover and reclaim their former culture, learning orcish traditions from old relics and teaching their children the language, embracing traditional orc values- with mixed degrees of success. Orcs reach maturity at 15, and average around seven feet tall (2.1m).

Fun fact: Orcs don't stop growing once they reach adulthood, they simply grow more slowly. This is thought to be tied to orc's remarkable resilience and natural healing, allowing them to survive and recover from even grievous injuries. Upon first reaching maturity, most orcs are typically around six feet tall (1.8m), but can grow up to almost an inch(2.5cm) a year thereafter, with some fluctuation based on diet, activity, and injuries. Orcs don't experience aging normally- their natural regeneration keeps their cells from growing "old", but as the body grows larger it puts greater and greater strain on them, causing symptoms similar to old age in other humans. The strain eventually becomes too much, usually once the orc has grown to between eight and nine feet in height (2.4m-2.8m). An orc that is regularly hungry or injured will grow slower than a well fed orc living a peaceful life; the peaceful orc may only survive to fifty or sixty, while the other may be able to live to a hundred, with some luck. Humans with strong orcish bloodlines enjoy the best of both worlds- while half-orcs do age, they do so significantly slower than their non-orcish family, and simultaneously while they may continue to grow past adulthood, it doesn't happen nearly as quickly as with full orcs- half-orcs regularly live past 200, and legends speak of an immortal half-elf half-orc martial artist who has been honing their combat skills for a thousand years or more.

In terms of sheer numbers, gnomes are the least populous of the 'common' ancestries, but they are very widely spread and well-integrated into various communities. Though most commonly found living among havlin and dwarves, there are few major cities in Doro that don't have at least some small gnometown region. While these places are generally friendly and welcoming, and often known for their art and music, most humans find gnomes a bit difficult to keep up with- they tend to visit these districts, or move in for a short time, but rarely settle permanently. Gnomes themselves rarely stay permanently, for that matter- there's a lot of movement between gnome communities, and many wandering gnomes find it reassuring to know that, wherever they end up, they can find a gnometown there. Gnomes average about three feet in height (90cm) but they vary widely, and can be anywhere from two to four feet (60cm-1.2m) tall. Gnomes reach adulthood at 20, and can theoretically live forever, as long as they can stave off the bleaching- in practice, it's somewhere around 200 years.

Fun Fact: Gnomes are driven by particularly powerful, albeit flexible, intentions, which suffuses their body and soul. A such, unless the body is destroyed, dead gnomes will almost always spontaneously rise as mindless undead. While not always hostile, they tend to move to continue what the gnome's soul was trying to do at the time- however, as mindless creatures, they are incapable of any sort of complex task, and can easily be contained by doors. The exception to this are gnomes that died by succumbing to the bleaching- their corpses are inert of the intent usually used to animate an undead creature, trying to make a zombie out of a bleachling corpse simply doesn't work, in the same way it wouldn't work if you tried to make a zombie out of a lump of dirt.

#mimicverse #mimic #dnd #d&d #pathfinder #pf2e #my campaign #campaign setting #ttrpg #It took way longer than I thought it would to finish cleaning this up #hope it was worth it!

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luvdsc · 4 years ago

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august.

Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him.

pairing :: liu yangyang x reader genre :: fluff, angst ⋮ best friend + college au word count :: 10,500 words warnings :: none. playlist :: time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ 2 kids (taemin) ⋆ daydreams (exes) ⋆ sharing you (lany) ⋆ august (taylor swift) ⋆ too close to love (will hyde) ⋆ sad stripped (lany) ⋆ strangers (taemin) ⋆ the 1 (taylor swift) author’s note :: can you believe that i literally wrote this entire 10k fic in one day aka today ??? whew this gave me the same rush that i got when i wrote my research paper in the class it was due for the day of, printed it out during break, and handed it in at the end of class :’) ↳ part of the almost collaboration series.

Liu Yangyang is jumping fences to escape late night parties, shared laughter over childhood favorite cartoons on February mornings, midnight dancing in the refrigerator light, and November kisses stolen in between the shelves of the nearby 7-Eleven. He is obscure doodles in the margins of your physics notes, good intentions laced in December’s mistakes, strawberry lemonade and broken truths wrapped in summer bliss, and September endings with honest lies.

He is your August, he is your everything, but he isn’t yours.

AUGUST 2018.

August has barely begun to fade away.

You’re eighteen years old, and you’re drunk off of your first taste of freedom, one toe already dipping into the shiny pleasures of adulthood. Your new roommate, Karina, has excitedly told you about the famous beach night themed frat party that kick starts every school year at your university. Everybody who’s anybody would be there, and your heart already races at the thought of going to your very first college party.

“Coral or blue?” Karina holds up a solid colored neon blue bikini and a striped, bright pink one for you to choose between.

“Blue.” You nod towards the first option, and she discards the other one back into the open drawer. You pull out a marigold yellow one and a black one lined with white strings, wordlessly gesturing towards them, and she immediately points to the latter.

“That one is gonna look so cute on you. Well, both would, but I love that one.”

You grin at her, silently thanking whoever decided to pair the two of you together for the random dorming. “Perfect, thanks. Do you know any of the guys hosting the party?”

“Yeah, Dejun? He’s really sweet and a year above us. I met him in the music elective I’m taking.” She turns to take off her shirt and tosses it to the side, pulling on her bikini and wriggling into a pair of ripped jean shorts. “You?”

“Kind of? Jaemin is in my project group in Intro to Engineering. He’s rushing for that frat.” You quickly change out of your outfit and into your chosen swim top and daisy dukes. You make sure to grab a pair of black flip flops from your closet. The bundle of nerves in your stomach grows as you step out of your dorm with your new friend, a bit anxious but also excited to attend your very first party.

Thank goodness for summer weather. It’s still a nice, warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit according to your weather app when you and Karina finally make your way to the frat house. The sun barely begins to set, but the party slash dayger had started earlier and is in full swing. There’s a DJ set up out front, blasting some sort of EDM music, and the lawn is absolutely covered in foam. You see the source of it shakily set up on the roof of the patio along with a couple of boys sitting up there, Hawaiian shirts barely covering their figures. You catch the eye of Jaemin, who happily waves at you from his vantage point, and you wave back at him.

“Oh my god, I love college,” Karina says, grabbing your arm excitedly as the two of you step into the foam. You reach down to pick up some of it before flicking it towards your roommate, who squeals before scooping some up and throwing it in your direction as well.

“Ready for our first shitty college drink?” You pull her through the mass of other students and towards the horribly decorated tiki bar stationed in the corner of the patio.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of you stumble over, still throwing handfuls of foam at each other amidst giggles before making a full stop in front of the bar. The older boy behind the makeshift counter lazily grins at you both, a shell necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned orange Hawaiian shirt gives you a nice flash of his toned abs.

“Hey, I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two?”

“Two vodka shots, please.”

“Alright, ID?”

You freeze, and Karina’s grip on your arm tightens, and then Johnny laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Relax, I’m just messing with you, freshie. Two vodka shots coming right up.”

He pulls out two small plastic cups and pours out the drinks for you. “How many do you want?”

“This is good for now, thanks.” You and Karina pick up the drinks, smiling a little nervously at him. He flashes another amused smile at you. “Alright, come back anytime if you want another.”

You move away from the patio, and Karina follows close behind. The two of you throw back the drinks and dispose of the empty cups quickly. The burning sensation in your throat disappears after a few seconds, and you turn to your roommate. “Should we find our friends?”

“I think I see Dejun back there! Let’s go say hi, I can introduce you to him.” Karina drags you through the rising foam, the bubbles clinging to your skin, and when you go past the DJ stand, you feel the pounding bass reverberating in your chest harder than ever. You trek past the gate and into the backyard where the foam has risen to your waist, thanks to the enclosed fences. She taps on the shoulder of a boy with the prettiest almond eyes you have ever seen, and you shyly smile at him when he greets you.

“Hey, I’m Dejun.”

Oh my god, even his voice sounds pretty. Older college boys are definitely better and hotter than high school boys. Heck, they’re better than freshman boys. Nobody wants to date a freshman dude, not even the freshman girls.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand, but then realize how stupid that must be. You hastily start to retract your hand, but he laughs and warmly grasps your hand. Smiling at you, he shakes it firmly, squeezing your hand gently before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The butterflies in your stomach grow in volume as the conversation goes on, and you’re positively enamored by the end of the night. Karina had given you a look earlier before walking off with Dejun’s friend and joining the dancing crowd. With the addition of his phone number in your pocket and a promise to show you a new song he’s working on with his guitar next Friday, you’re walking on cloud nine.

“Do you want something to drink? I need a refill, and I can go grab you one,” he asks, and you’re about to offer to go with him, but then you remember the teasing upperclassman and simply agree, asking for another shot of vodka.

After he disappears, you look around, eyeing the crowd and wondering if you can spot your roommate anywhere. You bump into someone lightly and turn around to apologize. Your eyes meet a pair of curiously bright ones.

“Sorry about that, I’m looking for my roomie.”

The boy gives you a Cheshire Cat grin. He’s wearing one of those dumb Hawaiian shirts, too, and it’s unbuttoned, but he has a white T-shirt layered underneath it. “No biggie, it’s a massive party and it’s crowded. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, I don’t know if you know her, but Karina? She went off with this dude, Kunhang, I think?”

His eyes light up at that name. “Oh, I know him! I saw him earlier by the keg stands inside. Your friend might be there, too. I can—”

“THE COPS ARE COMING!” A loud voice bellows, and you freeze up. Suddenly, the music is shut off as everyone starts running away. You start to panic, the terror rising in your chest, and the boy in front of you grabs your hand and pulls you with him. “What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there! We gotta go!”

“Wait, but Kar—” You start to object, but cut yourself off when you bump into his back as he abruptly stops. He scans the backyard, quickly assessing the situation before turning to you.

“There’s way too many people trapped in here, we’re not gonna make it to the gate. We need to climb over the fence. I’ll hoist you up, and you can help me up from there.”

“I don’t even know you,” you protest, and he throws you a look.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang, nice to meet you, I don’t want to get my ass hauled out by the police and continue the icebreakers in jail, so let’s move now. We good?”

“Yeah, okay, we’re good,” you say faintly, mind still whirling around as you try to grasp the situation. “I’m Y/N.”

“Great, now up you go.”

He immediately picks you up without any warning, and you almost fall backwards, arms flailing before you grasp the top of the fence and pull yourself up. Balancing precariously on top of it, you grab his arm, tugging him up until he’s sitting right next to you, too. The both of you swing your legs over the fence and jump down to the other side. You let out a sigh of relief, squatting down as you clutch your heart.

“Oh my god, we made it. I didn’t get arrested at my first party.”

“What an amazing accomplishment.” Yangyang brushes off the back of his shorts. “We aren’t going to jail. Freshman year is gonna be a breeze if your bar is set this low.”

“Hey!” You frown at him, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know I’m a freshman?”

“It’s written all over your face.” You give him a look, and he relents. “Only a freshman would be this scared of getting caught.”

“So are you an upperclassman?”

“Nah, this is my first party, too. I’m rushing for Nu Chi. Hold on, wait here.” He sneaks around the edge of the fence, peering around for a few seconds before jogging back towards you. “Okay, the police are over there. I’m gonna have to wait a while before going back in.”

“You have to go back?”

“Part of tonight’s rush process,” he sighs before turning to you. “Do you live on campus?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna walk back now,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s late, and I’m not in a partying mood anymore.”

“I can walk you back,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

The two of you start the trek back, an awkward lull in the conversation making itself known. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly when a soft breeze picks up. There’s a light rustling noise, and you pay no mind to it until a soft cloth is draped over your shoulders. Eyes widening, you notice the colorful, palm tree-printed button down shirt wrapped around you and the boy next to you, looking straight ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets. Smiling to yourself, you slip on the shirt, loosely buttoning the front of it.

“So, Yangyang,” you casually begin, testing his name on your tongue for the first time. You decide you like it. It’s cute. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow, and you continue, “Since our lives are no longer in jeopardy, we can continue the icebreakers, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Alright, shoot. What’s your first question?”

“Captain America or Iron Man?”

“Oh, Iron Man, hands down. He’s so…”

You meet him in August.

FEBRUARY 2019.

“Hey, where’s your cereal? The Reese’s one?”

February marks six months of your relationship with Dejun. It also marks six months of your friendship with Yangyang. It is time for your weekly Sunday rituals of watching old cartoons and eating breakfast, and you could’ve sworn that box was still half full last week. You rummage through the top drawer Yangyang had designated for snacks and other foods in his dorm as he takes out the milk from his mini fridge and carries it over to his desk.

“I ran out a few days ago. There’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch somewhere in there though.”

With a victorious cry, you manage to pull out the slightly crushed box of the aforementioned cereal from underneath the packages of flamin’ hot Cheetos and spicy nacho Doritos and triumphantly bring it over to your best friend. He already pulls out two bowls (which were stolen from the dining hall) and hands over the plastic spoons in his grasp (which was also taken from the dining hall).

“Thanks.” After dropping a spoon into each bowl, you shake out the sugary cereal squares before pouring the milk because you’re not an absolute heathen who puts milk in first, like Sicheng. Yangyang clambers up to his top bunk bed, and you carefully pass over the two bowls of cereal, milk sloshing precariously near the edges. You climb up afterwards, and he gives you your bowl once you settle down.

“So, Scooby Doo or Pokémon?”

“Mm, we watched Pokémon last Sunday already, so let’s do Scooby Doo this time.” He nods in agreement, pulling up the cartoon from the queue in Netflix, and the two of you lean back against the ginormous mound of pillows and stuffed animals of his that occupy nearly half of his bed.

You’re shoveling a spoonful of cereal into your mouth when he casually asks, “So how’re you and Dejun doing?”

Choking slightly, you quickly swallow. “We’re doing good. I think he booked a table at the Italian restaurant down the street for Valentine’s Day. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s?”

“I’m forcing Renjun to come watch that “‘Happy Death Day’ movie with me.” The faint sounds of the Scooby Doo theme song plays in the background as you hum in acknowledgement, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk.

“That’s so sweet. So who confessed to who? Not gonna lie, I thought you had a crush on Hyuck, not Jun.”

“... I would shove you right now, but I just did my laundry, and rewashing my comforter is expensive and I’m out of quarters.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before lifting his bowl up to sip the best part of having Cinnamon Toast Crunch: the milk infused with all the cinnamony, sugary goodness. You let your spoon fall back into your bowl with a soft clink, a sudden worrying thought popping into your head.

“I bought him some customized guitar picks and a pretty composition book. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“That’s a pretty basic gift, isn’t it? It feels like something Kun would get him,” he teases, but his heart falls when he notices you chewing on your bottom lip, spoon held limply in your hand.

“Hey, I’m just joking, of course he would like it. He’s completely whipped. He’ll love anything from you.” Yangyang’s voice grows softer, and he fiddles with a stray thread on his comforter, avoiding eye contact with you. “I know I would.”

He looks up slightly and sees you smiling gratefully at him, eyes shining bright. He quickly ducks his head, turning away slightly to hide the hues of pink blooming on his cheeks. He feels you leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Thanks, Yang.”

Replaying the sight of your smile in his mind makes his stomach flip flop, and he resists the overwhelming urge to tell you you’re pretty, pushing it back into the farthest crevice of his mind. Your head on his shoulder makes him feel like he’s carrying the entire world, and he doesn’t know what to do. He paints on a tight smile of his own, silently hoping you can’t hear the way his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

Yangyang knows that having feelings for his best friend, specifically one of his good friends’ girlfriends, is something he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t help it. His stupid heart refuses to listen to his brain. For now, all he can do is desperately hope that this dumb crush of his goes away soon because while 99% of his friends are oblivious (including you), Ten and Donghyuck are not. They’ll be able to spot his feelings from a mile away, like how Kun always knows when there’s a good sale going on at the Asian supermarket downtown (This week, it was the 50% off bean sprouts and chili paste).

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Yangyang carefully rests his head on top of yours. Clutching the empty bowl with one hand, he shoves his other one under his thigh to stop himself from reaching over and tangling his fingers with yours. He stares at the screen, watching until the bright colors blur together.

“Anytime.”

He likes you in February.

AUGUST 2019.

The earth spins around the sun for another time, and August makes its presence known once again. It’s Thursday night, and you’re sitting on the countertop in Nu Chi Theta’s kitchen, swinging your legs back and forth as Yangyang struggles to make some scrambled eggs because the half filled carton of eggs the two of you managed to find is the only thing that isn’t expired (besides Jeno’s protein shakes, but neither of you are gonna touch that cardboard tasting monstrosity).

“Maybe I should make it.” You peer over at the frying pan, wincing when you see the full damage of your future meal. “Did you use oil?”

“Of course I did!” he exclaims indignantly before pitifully pushing around the nearly charred mess of yolk and whites around with his spatula. “I’m not Mark.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, waving your hand around to dissipate the acrid burning smell, and Yangyang throws you a dirty look. He grabs a fork and stabs a small chunk of the eggs. Picking it up, he brings it closer to his mouth before hesitating. His eyes dart to you, and you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge in your gaze. The sad piece of egg hovers in the air for a few more seconds before he defeatedly drops it back into the pan.

“Okay, what if we just Uber Eats some McDonald’s?” Turning off the stove, he then tosses the remnants of his cooking into the trash and drops the pan into the sink.

“Stellar plan. Best idea you’ve had all night.” You hop off the counter to stand next to him, propping your chin on his shoulder to see him pull up the app. He immediately puts in your usual order along with his before holding it up for you to see it better.

“Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.”

He clicks the confirmation button, and the delivery is set to come in 30 minutes. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are with your chest pressed against his back and hastily move away, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Glancing over at your best friend, you don't miss the way Yangyang smiles down at something on his phone before his fingers fly across the screen. When he looks up, you immediately turn away, focusing your eyes on anything but him.

“Hey, you’re going to the Alpha Sig formal, right?” Yangyang calls out, and you throw on a teasing grin.

“You mean Alpha Sigma Psi, also known as the sorority I’m in?”

“Ah, right, yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you’re going, right?”

You nod, the sudden realization creeping up on you. “Oh yeah, I am, thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot to ask, but do you want t—”

“Ningning just asked me to go with her,” Yangyang blurts out, and you freeze, failing to hide your shock for a split second before you regain your composure.

“Oh wow, that’s great, Yang! I’ll see you there then.” You try to give him a convincing smile. He wrings his hands, biting his bottom lip. Something is on his mind. You can tell. He’s not someone to hold back with his words, but this time, he is.

“I… I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” he says at last. Your heart picks up a little at that. Does that mean he doesn’t want to go to the dance at all? Or does he not want to go with Ningning? If you asked him now, would it make a difference?

“I’ve never slow danced,” he confesses, leaning against the opposite counter, and your heart drops. So that was it. Of course, he wouldn’t reject Ningning. She’s an absolute goddess, heck, you wouldn’t say no if she asked you either. You stamp out that last flicker of hope.

“What if I suck at it?” he continues, absentmindedly carding his fingers through his hair. “Oh god, I bet Yukhei and Kunhang are never gonna let me live it down. I can do choreographed dances, but I’m gonna mess up over a stupid slow dance. But where am I supposed to put my hands?! Like on her shoulders? Her waist? Do I hold her hand?”

Your eyes follow the way his hair ruffles slightly, and you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. You swallow hard before saying quietly, “I can teach you?”

His hand pauses mid-movement, and your eyes fly down to meet his. His eyes widen, and he contemplates your offer for a split second before nodding excitedly. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can you teach me right now? While we wait for our food to come!”

“S-sure,” you stammer, flustered at the sudden acceptance and his eagerness. “Um, here? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs before straightening up. “The lights should be dimmed, right? We can kind of mimic that here to set the mood or whatever.”

He goes over and fiddles with the light switch, flicking it on and off, and you laugh, walking over and placing your hand over his. “What are you doing? Some kind of Kevin Nguyen mating call to look for a rave bae?”

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’d be one of them,” Yangyang narrows his eyes at you. “Secondly, I’m trying to make this feel more formal dance-y. Oh, wait!”

He turns off the lights for the last time and reaches over to pull open the refrigerator doors, the artificial fluorescent light pouring out and mixing with the faint beams coming in through the window from the street lamps outside. He grins at you, satisfied. “Romantic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the amused smile on your face gives away your true feelings. “Wow, Romeo, you swept me off my feet. The food is gonna go bad, and Kun is gonna kill you for the high electricity bill.”

“What food? Jeno’s protein shakes probably never expire.” He snorts before standing closer to you, his hands resting on either side of you on the counter. You can see the pretty gold flecks in his irises, and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I guess this means you gotta teach me fast before we waste more electricity, right?”

You place your hands on his chest and lightly push him away, and he laughs, stepping back. You let out a shaky breath, remembering that your lungs need oxygen in order to, you know, continue living.

“Okay,” you clear your throat before pulling out your phone and putting on a slow song. “Ready?”

“You chose Ed Sheeran? Thinking Out Loud? Really?”

You raise your hands up defensively. “Hey, he’s the king of sappy slow songs that all girls want to be played at their weddings for their first dance.”

When your legs don't work like they used to before,

And I can't sweep you off of your feet,

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

“Is this the song you want played at your wedding?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and your face grows warm. You ignore the question, and this time, you’re the one taking a bold step forward, a few centimeters now separating you and your best friend. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps lightly before meeting your eyes.

And darling, I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,

And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three,

And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways.

“So, your hands go here.” You take his hands and place them on either side of your waist. His arms freeze up. “Relax, Yang. Precious cargo here.”

He lets out a chuckle, loosening his grip as he starts to relax. You reach up and slide your arms around his neck, interlocking your fingers. You gaze back at him, saying softly, “Now pull me closer.”

He does so.

Maybe just the touch of a hand,

Oh me I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am.

“And now follow my lead. We’re going to take one step. And then another. We’re just slowly turning in a circle.”

After a few spins and steps, you stop leading and let yourself be led. Yangyang continues to hold onto you carefully, and you can hear him muttering a 1, 2, 3, 4 count under his breath until he finally gets the hang of it. He grows a little braver, pulling you even closer.

So honey now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.

“Are you going with Dejun?” he asks quietly, and you stiffen at the mention at him before shaking your head.

“No, we broke up in July.”

Yangyang falters in his step before recovering. “Oh. You never told me.”

“Yeah.” You struggle to keep your voice level. “I just… he’s your friend, and I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re my best friend though,” he says firmly, looking you directly in the eyes. His grip on your waist tightens. “It’s his loss. That dumbass just lost the best person who’ll ever come into his life.”

You give him a tired half smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. He hugs you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and securing you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and hope that he doesn’t feel how quickly your heart beats in your chest.

Place your head on my beating heart,

I'm thinking out loud,

Maybe we found love right where we are.

“Thanks, Yang,” you whisper, your breath tickling his skin. He envelops you tightly, and the two of you continue to spin in slow circles, quietly dancing in the refrigerator light as the remaining verses of the song warble in the background.

You think you finally understand what Dejun meant when he said he’s breaking up with you because your heart was already occupied by someone else.

You fall in love with him in August.

NOVEMBER 2019.

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: hey you up?

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: 7/11 in ten mins?

Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of your dorm building, one of Jeno’s sweaters draped over your figure. November nights are cold, but this one seems chillier than usual. Yangyang stands near the front steps, and he stiffens up when he notices whose hoodie you’re wearing. He makes no mention of it though when you join him.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances over to you as the two of you walk side by side to the small convenience store just on the edge of campus. You shake your head, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your sweater.

“I was up cramming for midterms. I could use a break anyway,” you shrug. A wisp of your hair falls in your face, and Yangyang starts to reach out to fix it, but forces himself to keep his hand by his side. You reach out to carelessly brush it away, tucking it behind your ear.

“What about you?” You look over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”

He smiles tiredly at you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks a stray pebble along the sidewalk. “More like rough week. Two more midterms left, and they’re for electromagnetic theory and linear systems.”

“Oh god, good luck. I took linear systems today, and it was absolutely brutal.” You wince, brightening up when you see the familiar neon orange, red, and green lights up ahead.

“Maybe I should just withdraw and take it again next quarter,” your best friend grumbles, kicking the stone as far as he possibly can.

“You really want another quarter with Hwang?”

“You’re right,” he sighs, “I just need to get a C+ to maintain my GPA. C if I’m pushing it.”

The two of you hurry over to the 7-Eleven, quickening your pace, until you reach the store doors, and you pull them open. Entering quickly, you push the door open slightly wider, and Yangyang slips in behind you. The cashier doesn’t even look up, texting away on his phone. You make a beeline towards the chips aisle, grabbing a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“What are you getting, Yang?” You call out over your shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the Red Bull stand at the end of the aisle. When you hear no response, you halt in your steps, turning around. Yangyang stands in the middle of the aisle, looking dazed under the fluorescent lights.

Putting your items back on the shelf, you approach him, reaching out and touching his arm gently. “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

He jerks back before silently holding up his phone for you to see. There’s a slew of text messages from Ningning a few hours ago, and a quick scan tells you all you need to know. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest when you look back at him, a forlorn expression on his face.

“She dumped me,” he says quietly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “She said our relationship was like a friendship. She didn’t feel anything. She said we could still be friends if I wanted to be though.”

He jabs a large bag of Lays potato chips angrily as his voice raises slightly higher. “But I don’t get it. Do friends take each other on dates? Do friends spend the night? Do friends hug each other and hold hands walking to class? Do friends spend three hundred dollars to do a surprise weekend trip for their birthday?”

He whirls around to face you, and he’s so close that you can see those pretty golden sparkles in his eyes again. Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face, and the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they flutter shut, and you press your lips against his. The 90s pop station music playing overhead seems to fade away, and all you can focus on is that your best friend tastes like spearmint gum and grape soju. He pulls away abruptly, the realization of what he’s done finally hitting him as his chest heaves up and down.

“Do friends kiss like this?”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. You feel like you’re spinning out of control, a split second from careening and crashing.

“No, we—they don’t,” you mumble, and Yangyang sees the starstruck look in your eyes, and he wants to apologize: to say sorry for kissing you. But he doesn’t. Because for some reason, he doesn’t feel sorry. He closes his eyes, curling his hands into fists before exhaling slowly. He sees you looking back at him this time, and he wonders if you feel as equally lost as he does.

Because you’re right. Friends don’t kiss each other like that. Friends don’t feel like this about each other.

He kisses you in November.

AUGUST 2020.

The sun still shines bright late into the day, and August greets you like an old friend. You’re absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your notebook designated for Quantum Mechanics. Yangyang sits next to you in the lecture hall, making a bunch of origami cranes before tossing them at Renjun’s head right in front of him. When the bird reaches its target for the sixth time in a row, the annoyed boy whirls around in his seat, glaring at your best friend.

“Stop that,” he hisses, and Yangyang innocently raises his hands in the air. Renjun angrily frowns at him before turning back around in his seat. After a few minutes, Yangyang flicks another crane towards his friend. If this was a cartoon, you would see steam blowing out of your friend’s ears. You silently watch as he wordlessly picks up his phone, seething as he presses on a particular number.

Suddenly, Travis Scott’s SICKO MODE starts blasting, amplified by the large auditorium-like room. The professor goes silent, and everyone turns to see Yangyang scrambling to pick up his phone. He fumbles around for a few seconds with it before finally shutting it off and putting it on vibrate mode. Cheeks burning red, he meekly puts his phone back in his bag and squeaks out a “sorry” before sinking down in his chair (You can see the culprit grinning like the cat ate the canary right in front of him. Karma’s a bitch who also goes by the name of Renjun).

You pat his arm consolingly as he sulks next to you for a few minutes, mouth jutting out into a pout. You decide to take pity on him and lean closer to him, whispering quietly, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you boba after class?”

Immediately, he brightens up. “One oolong milk tea, half sugar with white pearls and coconut jelly?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for your overpriced drink,” you huff, thinking about how his one seven dollar drink could buy you a whole rotisserie chicken that’ll last you a week. At least the fluffy dog at Cloudy with a Chance of Boba is cute and fun to play with. “I’ll even get the honey waffle fries.”

“Heck yeah!” he whisper-yells, fist pumping quietly before he suddenly deflates. “Wait, I can’t. I promised Lia I’d get lunch with her.”

Ah, right, there’s Lia now. Yangyang’s new girlfriend: the only other student who went to Düsseldorf, Germany to study abroad over the summer, and inevitably, the two of them became close. All you really know about her is that she’s pretty, she’s in Iota Theta Zeta, and she followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago (of course, you followed her back because of the unspoken best friend and girlfriend policy).

Her page looks carefully curated, and there’s a common pink tinted theme going on throughout her feed. She has over a thousand followers, and it seems like Yangyang fits perfectly in her magazine curated life, judging by how he occupies nearly every picture taken in the summer with her or how he’s tagged as the photographer. You can’t deny that they look good together, pointedly shoving the green eyed monster back under the bed.

You take a peek at your messy Instagram page where you only post pictures when you’re half drunk, so there’s no semblance of uniformity anywhere. You shrug at him, pocketing your phone.

“No biggie. I’ll see if Karina is up for some boba. She’s been holed up in the dance studio already, and it’s only week two of classes, can you believe it?”

“I remember Ten was the same way,” Yangyang hums, eyes fixated on his phone and fingers tapping away. He laughs quietly, lips curling into a pretty smile, and you glance over curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” Yangyang finally tears his eyes away from his screen for a split second to look at you before another buzz takes his attention away. He’s distracted, lovestruck, and you wistfully smile before turning back to your notes.

“Sorry, what’d you say earlier?” he loudly whispers a few minutes later, and you barely glance up from the large bulbasaur doodle you’re in the progress of completing right next to the chart marking the wave functions for a bouncing ball that you had copied down from the blackboard.

“Oh, I just asked what was so funny,” you murmur, coloring in the flowers you drew around the Pokémon with your blue ballpoint pen.

He looks confused for a moment before lighting up. “Oh! It was just a German joke. It’s not really funny if I translate it though.”

“Got it, no worries.” You notice the professor starting a new example problem, and you abandon your drawing, focusing on the formulas rapidly filling up the chalkboards in front of you. A quiet chuckle echoes in your ears, and you pause in your note taking to look over and see your best friend still typing on his phone. You make a mental reminder to create a copy of your notes for him later on when you pass the library on the way to the dining hall.

“Hey, Y/N.” Yangyang nudges you gently. “Rain check on the boba?”

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gives you a quick grin in return before his attention returns to the device in his hand—or rather, the pretty girl behind those texts. Your best friend is sitting right next to you, but you’ve never felt so far away. You know distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you don’t think it’s possible to be even fonder of him than you are now. Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him. No wonder it’s beginning to hurt so much.

You lose him in August.

DECEMBER 2020.

December is the coldest month of the year, yet it is also simultaneously the warmest with all the holiday festivities it brings. If Yangyang were to choose a month to describe you, it’d be this one. You are a walking paradox, a conundrum he might never solve, an oxymoron come to life. He doesn’t understand how you can be his best friend, yet feel like a stranger; a friend who he wants as a lover; someone who has created such an impact in his life, but disappears seamlessly here and there.

He wonders when you’ve gotten so distant. He wonders why he never noticed the way you seemed to slip away through the cracks until it’s now nearing the end of the year, and the last time he’s seen you in person was before the November autumn break.

But you’re here.

You’re standing right next to the punch bowl filled with spiked eggnog, wearing a garish knitted button down jumper with brightly colored Christmas lights decorating it. It’s perfectly in theme with the Ugly Christmas Sweater party Nu Chi is holding, and Yangyang is beyond ecstatic to know that you’re attending. He had texted you an invite two weeks ago, and you merely reacted with a thumbs up.

Yangyang swears he was going to follow up with you on that, but he got so caught up with midterms, then meeting Lia’s family for Thanksgiving, then studying for finals, and then finally, preparing for this party. Buying enough beer for twenty-three keg stands is a lot more difficult than it seems (Donghyuck’s car broke down halfway during one trip, and they all had to carry back the packs of beers to the house in 40 degree weather in their Sperry boat shoes and Patagonia long sleeves that definitely weren’t cut out for this kind of weather).

His girlfriend is somewhere in the room, wearing the other half of the reindeer sweater she forced him to put on, but all he can focus on is you. He hurriedly makes his way over, skidding to a stop in front of you, and you’re startled before a smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You grin at him, reaching out to poke the reindeer tail sticking out from the front of his itchy sweater (Lia got to wear the head half of the reindeer, while he was stuck with the behind).

“Yeah, how have you been?” He reaches around you to pick up a cup and pour himself some eggnog. He offers you one, but you decline with a small shake of your head.

“I’ve been doing good, a bit tired with finals coming up, but what’s new?” You joke, grabbing one of the sugar cookies from the table. You’re secretly surprised that they actually have real food (No, Hyuck, Jell-O shots do not count as real food). You suspect Jaemin has something to do with it. He always contributes to the annual Greek row bake sale.

“Are you here with someone? Did Karina come?” he asks, curiosity coating every word. He looks around for your roommate, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You shake your head. “No, I actually came with—”

“Me!”

Yukhei bounds over, slipping an arm over your shoulder. He hands you a new cup of apple cider, which you accept gratefully. He grins happily at Yangyang, who freezes up at the sight of his tall friend. “I asked her to be my date for the party, and she agreed. She also made our sweaters! Aren’t they so cool? There’s even lights that spell my name and play Christmas songs. She did a bunch of cool programming tricks to make them work.”

Yangyang realizes with a start that the two of you are indeed wearing matching sweaters, and that leaves a rather sour taste in his mouth (and it definitely wasn’t because of expired eggnog). The corners of his lips tilt downward as he presses his lips together tightly.

“So… you two are together?” He gestures between you and Yukhei with a forced laugh. Jealousy never did look good on anybody, and unfortunately, he’s not an exception.

“We’re just seeing each other and seeing how it goes for now,” you answer quietly, noting the way your best friend reacts. You have always been good at reading him, and you tread carefully now, not wanting to make a scene. Drunk Yangyang never holds anything back, and he’s had quite a few pre-game shots already (It definitely doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight, too).

“I see. How did you guys meet? Or I guess, start talking?” He attempts to look intimidating, staring down at Yukhei, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish, especially when he’s trying to stare down a six foot guy who’s more like an overgrown puppy and his friend.

“Oh, she came by for one of your boba runs, but you were still out with Lia. So I asked if I could go with her.” Yukhei flashes his pearly whites at you, and you chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I said yes, and we hit it off, I guess.”

“You guess? And you took him on our boba runs?”

“You were out with Lia,” you say defensively, and he blanches when he hears his girlfriend’s name come out of your mouth.

“You could’ve waited,” he mutters, but you still hear it, and you give him a scathing look, finally too tired of this push and pull game that’s been going on behind the scenes for nearly three years now.

“I did. I waited over an hour here for you, but you didn’t show up or even text me that you were gonna be late. Yukhei was nice enough to offer to go with me.”

He stays silent, and you gnaw on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. Yukhei looks at you in concern, but you reach up and squeeze his hand reassuringly, which your best friend doesn’t fail to notice, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

“I don’t understand what the deal is,” you finally burst out, startling both boys. “What’s the big deal about me and Yukhei going out?”

Something inside of him finally snaps. “The big deal is that you’re basically sleeping through my list of friends and then breaking up with them! First Dejun, then Jeno, now Yukhei? Who’s next? Should I give Renjun a heads up? Pencil you into his planner? Or Sicheng? Sungchan? You have a class with him, so you’re bound to flirt with him, too, right? When are you gonna stop fucking around with my frien—”

He gasps, stopping mid-outburst as he stares at you in disbelief. Apple cider slides down from his hair, dripping onto his face and soaking into his sweater, the sticky juice clinging to his skin uncomfortably. You’re absolutely seething, the empty cup crackling in your clenched fist. Shocked, Yukhei carefully tugs the plastic away from you and places it on the table before replacing it with his own hand, his thumb caressing circles on the back of your hand soothingly. Yangyang doesn’t dare to meet his furious gaze, lifting his chin to look at you instead. The entire room has hushed down by now, all eyes staring directly at the three of you in a mixture of surprise and slight terror.

“Screw you, Yangyang,” you say lowly, voice shaking with anger. Tears form on the edge of your waterline, but you blink them away before hastily brushing a stray droplet from your cheek. “They asked me out. I said yes. We went out. It didn’t work out. We move on. Just like how you’ve gone out with my friends. And they didn’t work out, so you moved on. So what’s so wrong about that? What’s so wrong about trying again to find love?”

He can’t answer you, curling his hands into fists until his fingernails indent miniature crescents in his palms—until the pain overtakes the feelings that are threatening to spill from his heart. Yangyang may not be yours, but he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t call you his either.

Love. That’s what you want, that’s what you crave, but not if it’s from him. So what is he supposed to do with love that’s unwanted? It’s bursting at the seams, and he has nowhere to hide it anymore.

He loves you in December.

AUGUST 2021.

August sneaks up on you this time around, and you find yourself in Kunhang’s apartment. All of your close friends are here, starting the last year of youth with one final first day party. You think back to that day three years ago: when your eyes met a pair of equally bright ones for the first time.

Curled up next to Yukhei on the couch, you look across the room and meet those very same eyes, although they seem hazier this time around. Lia is wrapped around his arm, and you think it’s quite ironic how both your and his relationships remain the same after all this time. Perhaps you both were bad luck for each other, leading to the other’s demise with short lived relationships. He looks away from you.

The rules of truth or dare are simple. You cannot ask the same person again until three other people have been asked first, and no one can be asked more than three times in each round. And, for reasons you can’t understand, everyone seems to take the code of truth seriously.

“I’ll start,” Kunhang announces, leaning back in one of the several beanbags he has in his place. “Goeun, truth or dare?”

Goeun sighs, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “Dare.”

“You and Mark, seven minutes in heaven.” Hendery points towards the coat closet, and the immediate reaction of hoots and wolf whistles has the girl rolling her eyes. With an exasperated huff, she stands up and pulls a red faced Mark along with her.

“Wait, you gotta pick the next person!” Donghyuck calls out, and she stops in her tracks, throwing open the closet door and shrugging. “You can choose for me.”

With that, she and Mark disappear behind the door, and Donghyuck turns toward the rest of the group, eyes glimmering mischievously. You pay no attention to him, absentmindedly playing with Yukhei’s fingers. You tug one of his rings off his finger, and he smiles, plucking it from your grasp carefully before holding your hand. He carefully slides it onto your right ring finger, but it falls off. Grinning, he pretends to try it on every single one of your fingers until finally settling on your thumb. The ring fits snugly there, and you admire it, wriggling your thumb around.

“Well, look at that. It fits you. I think that means we’re meant to be,” Yukhei says, smiling broadly, and you laugh, interlocking your fingers with his again before glancing down at the silver engraved band resting on your finger. The weight of the metal feels heavy resting against your knuckle.

“Yangyang, truth or dare.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you instinctively perk up in your seat at the sound of his name before freezing up in your spot. Yukhei squeezes your hand softly, and you tighten your grip around his fingers.

“Truth.”

“You’re no fun,” Donghyuck sighs, slouching back against the armrest. Yukhei leans over and whispers something in his ear before settling back next to you, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around you. Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at your boyfriend before shrugging. “Okay, here’s an easy one. Are you in love…”

“Yes.” is his immediate response, and you notice how Lia absolutely preens next to him.

“… with Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you immediately turn your head to look at Yukhei, your eyes growing wide in horror. He looks apologetic, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but just the way he looks at you, it’s so obvious, and I had to know.”

You whip around to face the boy in question. With bated breath, you look at him, but Yangyang stares at the center of the floor, struggling internally. Everyone is quiet, and it reminds you of the calm before a storm. At last, he looks up, gazing right at you, and you can almost swear that you see those pretty little gold flecks in his irises from here.

“Yes,” Yangyang confesses quietly.

There’s almost a collective gasp rippling through the room, and Yukhei lets out an inaudible swear under his breath. Your grip on his hand grows slack as you fumble to get a grasp on the entire situation.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra until it grows so loud that you can’t hear any of your own thoughts anymore. Lia is in absolute hysterics, demanding an explanation from him, but he merely shrugs her off. Standing up, he quickly moves to leave the room, glancing at you one more time before disappearing out the front door.

It’s like your body is on auto-pilot after this. You drop Yukhei’s hand, immediately standing up and rushing after your best friend, paying no mind to the hushed whispers that only seem to increase in volume once you leave. You step out onto the porch, and there he is, sitting on the steps.

You quietly stand behind him, contemplating what to say and carefully choosing your next words. But there’s only one question on your mind.

“Why did you say that?”

He stays silent for a moment, staring out at the moon shining brightly ahead. “Because I meant it.”

Your heart wrenches in your chest. “You shouldn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you, an indescribable look in his eyes. It reminds you of heartbreak. “But I do. And I tried not to for the past three fucking years, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since freshman year?” You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and this time, you let them go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yangyang grips onto the edge of the stairs tightly, frustration ringing with every word that falls from his mouth. “Because I was scared. And I thought you never felt the same way. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Yang…” You whisper, hand reaching out as you let it hover over his shoulder for a few seconds. Then, you pull back, curling your fingers into fists, pressing crescent indentations into the palms of your hands.

He stands up, whirling around to look at you, desperate. “Tell me I’m not too late. Please, Y/N.”

Something inside of you breaks. You open your mouth and start to say something when the door opens behind you. Turning around, you see Yukhei. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you standing there.

You know this is it. This is the moment. This is where you have to decide.

“I, I was just looking for you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Yukhei awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go back in and—”

“No, wait, it’s okay,” you gently interrupt him. You reach out and slip your hand into his, and he relaxes, giving you a relieved smile. You smile softly back at your boyfriend before turning to face him, eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Yangyang.”

He and you are asymptotes: two lines curving towards each other, but never touching; two hands reaching towards each other, but never interlocking; two people tangling their red strings of fate, but never tying.

You give him one last glance before going back inside with Yukhei.

You break his heart in August.

SEPTEMBER 2021.

September is supposed to be a new beginning: the transition from summer to autumn. Yangyang doesn’t think he can let go of you as easily as the trees shed their green for gold and red. Wherever he goes, wherever he looks, little reminders of you bloom in every crevice. You’re absolutely everywhere and nowhere, and it drives him crazy.

He thinks he’s gone completely insane when he hears your laugh while he’s walking to the laundromat one day. He shoves his airpods in and continues on his way until he sees you. Walking across the street, there you are. You’re on the phone with someone, and he contemplates going over to say hello. But suddenly, you’re hanging up the phone and waving eagerly at someone. When he turns his head to look, his heart drops and gets buried six feet under. He hurriedly ducks into a nearby bookstore and watches as you run up to Yukhei, slipping your hand into his like it’s second nature to you now. The two of you walk off together, and Yangyang is left standing at the window of the store until the shop owner politely asks if there’s anything he needs.

He doubts a time machine is something they have in stock, so he silently shakes his head and steps out onto the street once again. It is now silent and empty.

He loses you in September.

AUGUST 2022.

A lot can change in eleven months.

You’re twenty two years old, but you feel like you’re eighteen again. You know you’re going to see him for the first time since September at Kun’s housewarming. You had repeatedly assured Yukhei that you’d be fine. After all, life goes on; the world doesn’t stop just because you had a falling out with your best friend, even if it may have been a little more than that. Nevertheless, a year has nearly passed. Time is known to be the best healer, and perhaps your heart has shed its old skin and habits.

Your hand is safely enveloped in Yukhei’s, and the two of you walk towards your older friend’s new apartment. He playfully swings your interlocked hands back and forth, and you giggle, tightening your grip around his fingers. You stop in front of the door, the muffled sounds of a party slipping through the cracks. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensed. He’s in there.

“Are you okay?”

Yukhei squeezes your hand gently, voice laced with concern. You remember to breathe, exhaling slowly and relaxing before nodding. You smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

“If you want, we can go back home now, have another NCIS marathon, and drink this by ourselves.” Yukhei waves around the nice bottle of wine the two of you had brought for Kun. “We can even stop by the convenience store and get some ramen.”

You laugh quietly, the corners of your lips upturning with mirth. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Yukhei, I promise. Plus, I have you, right?”

He brightens up at that, practically beaming at you, and your heart skips a beat. “Right!”

You reach out and knock on the door. Kun greets the two of you, and you enter his apartment. Yukhei still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you follow behind him as you weave your way through the living room, greeting some of your friends. You hear Kunhang calling out to your boyfriend from the kitchen and feel him hesitate next to you. You squeeze his hand gently before letting go and nudging him in the direction of his friend. Yukhei gives you one last look, but you wave him off, smiling goodnaturedly and silently assuring that you’re okay. He swoops down and leaves behind a soft kiss for you before going.

You walk over to the alcohol table, pouring yourself something to drink. Leaning against the wall, you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting over the rim of your cup and slowly scanning the room. It feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion, like the world is submerged underwater, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

You find him easily. After all, it’s hard to forget someone whose features you’ve memorized over the past four years. Your eyes map the delicate outline of his face once more, and for a moment, you wonder if red is still his favorite color, or who he shares a carton of Ben and Jerry’s with nowadays. You wonder if he thinks of you sometimes, too.

But then, you wonder where Yukhei is. You search around until you see your boyfriend still standing in the kitchen, laughing at something your mutual friend said. Your eyes soften when you see him grab your favorite snack. You turn back around, your heart swelling in your chest tenfold, and your lips curl upwards, an endeared expression on your face.

That’s when you notice that he’s looking at you.

You brace yourself, waiting for the tidal wave of emotions to wash over you and the quickening of your heart rate to greet you like an old friend. Because that’s what always happens when you’re around him. After all, he is the biggest what-if in your life. He is someone you almost loved forever, someone you almost stayed for.

And yet, nothing happens. You wait a little longer. The world still goes round, and you’re still breathing. There’s no shortness of breath, no erratic heart palpitations, no sweaty palms, absolutely nothing. Liu Yangyang is a stranger in a familiar body, and your heart remains still.

You give Yangyang a faint smile, nodding towards him, and it feels like a sudden jolt in his heart. Time stops, and all he can see is you. You look beautiful. You have always been beautiful. This is his chance. Whatever higher entity out there has taken pity on him and given him a second try to make it right. He finally takes a step towards you, and the tender, encouraging expression in your eyes gives him the strength to take another one. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. Clutching his drink in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s only eight, seven, six, five steps away from you now. A smile grows on his face as relief curls around his heart like a bandage. You’re standing there, waiting for him, smiling at him.

And suddenly, you’re no longer looking at him.

You stopped looking at him.

Yukhei makes his presence known next to you, excitedly chattering about something and gesturing towards the kitchen as he hands you something to eat. It’s a snickerdoodle cookie. Your favorite. Your eyes are fixated on the tall boy, positively sparkling as you beam at him.

Yangyang feels like he can’t breathe. The bandage is ripped off, and all he can feel is excruciating pain like a thousand pinpricks into his heart before the numbness hits. He freezes, rooting himself in that spot on the scratched hardwood floor as his colleagues and friends continue to jostle around him. As his world crumbles around him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. They stay on you, the barest traces of nostalgia lingering in the dimmed golden flecks of his irises that you had still admired all those months ago. It’s like he’s trapped in a silent film, stuck in a fish bowl and swimming in circles, and he watches in horror as you outstretch your hand and intertwine your fingers around Yukhei’s, leaning up to press your lips against his tenderly. Your boyfriend looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky yourself (He would believe it if you said you did).

You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Yangyang remembers when you used to. When you used to love him. When you were almost his. He feels something inside of him break for a second time.

The world continues to spin, and yet, he’s still not moving. He’s stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper as everyone around him moves on—as you move on. He desperately tries to keep you in his view, and his feet finally pick up as he lurches forward. He’s not fast enough. You’re slipping away, walking away from him, hand in hand with Yukhei, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s too late. He’s too late. The sticky remnants of cheap beer run down his wrist, and it finally registers in his mind that he had crushed the flimsy plastic cup in his hand sometime in between now and then. In a crowded room full of people, he’s left standing there, alone and lonely.

Almost is the worst way to love someone, Yangyang bitterly realizes. It hurts to lose someone you almost love. No, it was never an ‘almost’. He most certainly loved—loves—you. And it should be impossible to lose someone who was never his to begin with, yet he has. All this time, he thought he had you, but it had always been the other way around.

He was your August, he was your everything, and he is yours.

But you will never be his.

You let go of him in August.

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missmentelle · 4 years ago

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COVID-19, Inequality, and You

This pandemic has been a bad time in a lot of ways, but one of the most devastating impacts we’re going to see besides the death toll is the economic impact - the economic impact on real, working people, not on stock index numbers. Unemployment rates are skyrocketing, and people are being thrown into financial chaos as a result.

But for all the talk we’ve heard during this pandemic of “we’re all in this together”, and “we’re all in the same boat”, it’s important to remember that, financially, we’re really, really not. Job losses, evictions and health crises are not equally distributed; if anything, this pandemic has been a stark reminder of inequality as the wealth gap grows wider and wider.

My own life has been a weird cross-section of the ways that the pandemic has economically affected different people in very different ways - my mother has completely lost her job at a seasonal tourist restaurant that will likely go out of business, my brother’s hours at his campus security job have been cut as the school moves online, my boyfriend is seeing his savings rise as he goes out less but makes exactly the same salary at his financial tech job, and I’ve fielded multiple job offers through this pandemic as government grants for social services boom in my region in anticipation of a coming homelessness crisis.

The news has been reporting on unemployment numbers and shuttered businesses, but there hasn’t been a lot of in-depth coverage about the ways that this is really going to affect people’s lives. There will be a lot of unexpected consequences to this pandemic if governments don’t step in to provide relief, including:

‘Eviction freezes’ are throwing tenants into debt without protecting their housing. Many places have put moratoriums on evictions during the pandemic, which is great. You don’t want a sudden surge in mass homelessness during a pandemic. But “no evictions” does not mean “no rent” - people who are currently being protected from eviction are still being charged rent, and their arrears are growing every month. As soon as eviction protections expire - which is set to happen very soon in many places - landlords can move forward with evicting tenants, going after their back rent, sending their debt to collection agencies and destroying their credit scores.

A lot of people are about to lose most of their possessions. If you get evicted, your parents or friend might have room for you to move in with them for a while. They probably do not have room for your couch, dresser, bed, table, desk, bookshelves, TV and an entire apartment full of stuff. Putting your things in storage is an option, but you need to be able to pack and transport all of your things to the storage unit and pay for the unit every month. You could try selling the stuff you can’t take with you, but it may be difficult with so many other people also struggling financially, and you may have to leave on short notice. A lot of people who get evicted will end up abandoning a lot of their stuff, which they’ll have to re-purchase all over again to get back on their feet.

People with low wages are disproportionately likely to lose their jobs. If you work as a software engineer, you’re probably still employed. If you work as a hotel maid, there’s a good chance you’ve lost your job or had your hours cut to nearly nothing. The jobs that are most impacted by shutdowns are jobs in the service and hospitality industry, and they tend to be low-wage, hourly jobs that cannot be done from home - bartenders, servers, hotel clerks, and dishwashers are way more likely to have lost their jobs than lawyers, accountants, engineers and college professors. In many ways, the people who are getting kicked the hardest right now are the ones who could least afford it.

Not every university will survive this pandemic. With a lot of universities and colleges scrambling to figure out whether to have in-person fall semesters, the future of a lot of post-secondary institutions looks bleak. Many students are choosing to take a year off or defer their admission rather than deal with online courses that have been haphazardly thrown together. On top of that, it’s not clear if international students will be able to attend university abroad this year, or if they even want to take the risk. This adds up to a whole lot of lost tuition money, leaving some universities with no way to keep operating - at least one American university has already permanently closed its doors because of the pandemic. The big players - Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia - will probably pull through, but smaller colleges are at serious risk of going under, leaving their students in limbo and at risk of not finishing their disrupted degrees.

A lot of people are about to go from “poor” to “disabled”. The people most likely to contract coronavirus are the workers who have to interact with the public every day - not only nurses and doctors, but grocery store workers, delivery people, ride-sharing and taxi drivers, transit workers and janitorial staff. Those who survive are at risk of life-long complications of coronavirus, including permanently reduced lung capacity - that’s not great when you need to work a physically demanding job. A lot of people are about to find themselves in a situation where they are no longer able to do their jobs due to a virus that they contracted because of their jobs.

Many women’s careers may never recover from this. Daycares and schools are closed, and women are bearing the brunt of it. In a world where women still tend to earn less than male partners, it’s women’s careers that have taken a backseat when things get rough. Even when both partners are working from home, women are the ones overwhelmingly taking on most of the domestic and child-rearing chores, which hurts their work performance and leaves them more vulnerable to layoffs. And that’s a relatively privileged position to be in - without childcare services available, many working moms and single moms have had to quit their jobs, whether they could afford it or not, because they have no other options for their children. This kind of career disruption is something that these women may never totally recover from, especially as they try to re-enter an increasingly hostile job market.

Black and brown people are the most affected by rising unemployment. People of colour - especially immigrants and women of colour - are facing higher rates of unemployment than other groups. Hispanic and Latina women are in particularly dire circumstances, which is alarming, as they are also the most likely to be dealing with an uncertain immigration status. People of colour - particularly women - are disproportionately likely to work in industries that have been impacted by the pandemic, like the hospitality, food service, retail, child care, beauty and personal care industries, and they face systemic racism that makes it difficult for them to advocate for safe working conditions or access adequate medical care.

College and tourist towns are at risk of complete economic meltdown. A lot of towns or small cities depend on their local university or annual tourism to survive. A huge crowd of strangers flocks to their town for a few months per year and gives local businesses the money they need to pay for necessities year-round. My hometown is one of these places - most businesses are only open from May - September, and they make enough money during that time for everyone to scrape by for the rest of the year. Those tourists aren’t coming this year, which is something that locals have only learned as they begin to run out of last year’s money. You don’t need to work for a university or a hotel to be impacted by school and tourism shutdowns - the ripple effects will be felt by entire communities.

Escaping domestic violence will be difficult even after lockdown ends. It’s not exactly a secret that domestic violence has skyrocketed since the global pandemic began, a fact that many experts attribute to the fact that everyone is trapped indoors together and under a lot of stress. But even as lockdown regulations start to lift in areas that handled the pandemic responsibly, victims of domestic violence will face higher-than-usual barriers to escape - many victims may have lost their jobs and burned through their savings, and may have difficulty finding a new job that can finance their escape. Victims with health issues may also be wary about going to shelters for fear they will be further exposed to the virus.

Poor children will fall even further behind their upper-middle-class peers. I come from a part of rural eastern Canada where reliable internet access is simply not available. So for young children in the region, school effectively ended in March - they do not have the resources needed to connect to online learning. And children from rural areas aren’t the only ones missing out - more than half of all students in the United States aren’t accessing their online classes regularly, and marginalized kids are especially likely to be absent. Poor kids are staring down the barrel of an enormous education gap; they are less likely to have a stable internet connection and a device for their online learning, they are less likely to have books at home, and their parents are more likely to be essential workers who still have to go to work right now and don’t have time to teach them. Middle-class and wealthy families can afford laptops, educational software, tutors, books and time at home to educate their children - when schools are eventually back in session, the gaps between children from different socioeconomic backgrounds will probably be the widest they’ve ever been.

Don’t get me wrong - I am not arguing that we should end lockdowns prematurely to ease the economic impact. Public health measures exist for good reason, and I don’t think any of us want to even imagine, much less live through, the personal, physical and economic devastation of letting a pandemic rage out of control and melt down our healthcare systems. Despite what many people seem to believe, managing a global pandemic is not about “health vs. economy” - letting the virus rage out of control and kill millions would devastate every economic and social system we have. The preservation of human life has to come first.

What we need instead is comprehensive action to recognize and address the issues that come with long-term quarantines and economic shutdown - we need rent relief, social safety nets and basic assured income programs to get our most vulnerable friends and neighbors through this pandemic. The world will probably never return to the “normal” that we knew before the pandemic struck, and it shouldn’t - it’s time for a new, better normal that doesn’t leave our most marginalized people behind.

#missmentelle #askmissmentelle #coronavirus #COVID-19 #pandemic #social justice #social work

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hoodoobarbie · 4 years ago

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Contemplative, Critical Analysis of Social Division within the Black Community.

A research paper by Hoodoo Barbie - published 6/8/21

Prelude

I am a neurodivergent, spiritual black woman who lives with high functioning adhd and chronical illness while living in America. This condition means i’m prone to moments of constantly fluctuating mental agility which makes me able or intensely disabled, at random. A part of this experience is dealing with consistent hyperactive analysis of in my daily life. This can be extremely debilitating at times and has taken years of labor, intensive training and other various resources, to stop seeing this condition as impairment, and begin using it to help myself and others in my professional and private life.

Lately the nuance of divisive minutiae of racial experiences, has become increasingly fascinating to my neurodivergent brain. Making me eager to use my gift to clarify these aspects, for the betterment of the collective. This contemplative analysis is currently limited to the American black experience but this may change in the future. In the meantime its important to highlight it is not intended to generalize the black collective globally. My hope is to bring more clarity and light to our systemic issues, by spreading this through out this system, to unravel system racism.

Non black POC who read this, have permission to use this discourse as educational tool for themselves and their communities. This is not a invitation to speak over, invalidate, or hinder discourse between black individuals. The commentary of non black poc is encouraged, but with the realized expectation that you are a guest in this space.

White individuals can reblog or spread this discourse, to educate their own peers, but do not have my consent to invalidate, interact, engage, antagonize or offer argumentative discourse with other poc in this space. On this post white social commentary is intentionally limited to discourse and engagement with each other.

Violators of these expectations should expect to be blocked, bound and handled spiritually by my religious custom.

Critical race theory always requires mental labor and takes a extreme toll on mental and physical health. Compiling this paper was a monumental, exhaustive act within itself. Therefore, I reserve the right to ignore or block anyone, for any reason as a self respected individual.

Thesis of Intentional Systemic Division in the American Black Collective

The collective dialogue on systemic division is currently out of date. This discussion, is heavily reliant on the shared knowledge of previous generations and hasn't reflected the current nuisances of the new generations, our social progress and its changes. It’s important to highlight the experience of previous generations and not invalidate them, while also consistently update the social evolution of this divide, for each each generation. While this research paper is intended to be educational, may it also serve as a call to action. Systemic racism is always consistently evolving. It’s important to educate each new generation of this expectation, to encourage consistent dialogue to promote our continuous evolution and self reflection and understanding our own experiences.

The current intentional divisional systemic divide of the two groups within the American black collective, has become become unbearable tense and stagnant. This corrosive toxicity worsens communal relations and the growing divide.

The purpose of this paper is to explain, educate and provide a simple working solution for this issue, for the intent of betterment and unification of our community.

Understanding The Social Divide - Cause & Effect

The black American collective, is separated by two main social groups, the mainstream insulated black adjacent and the hidden isolated white adjacent. Each group is socialized to experience whiteness differently within the system, so whiteness can protect itself. A atmosphere of confusion and distrust is consistently fostered, to keep everyone at each other throats. This is blatant ‘psychological warfare’.

The insular mainstream black adjacent community is given the privilege of being the voice of the entire community, within whiteness. This is done intentionally to cause further division between the suburban white adjacent who silenced and hidden. This leaves a critical question to be asked. Why ? Looking back historically, we know whiteness will systemically oppress, gaslight and repress any group that poses a potential threat to its construct.

It’s important to note this nuance because while everyone within the system is oppressed, everyone is not also repressed. If everyone continuously experienced the same thing systemically, it would make it easy to destroy the system. Whiteness survives by perpetuating two means of confusion, to confuse and destabilize everyone.

Oppression is actively conscious, while Repression is unconscious. This results in creating two marginalized groups, one who is socialized to be consciously socially aware of their subjugated oppression and oppressor and another who is socialized to be unconscious of their subjugated oppression and oppressor which also actively represses them.

Whiteness consistently weaponizes these subtle psychological tactics, to control the narrative by manipulating and dividing each collective of POC. This begs a further question, does whiteness see the black adjacent community as less threatening when compared to the suburban white adjacent ?

Regardless these two groups are actively systemically divided, one group is mainstream while being simultaneously is oppressed and the other issue intentionally silenced while being oppressed and repressed.

Whiteness always rewards the mainstream oppressed group by socializing them to contribute in the repression of silenced repressed. Whiteness rewards the silenced repressed group when they allow themselves to be weaponized against mainstream oppressed. This tricky little tactic leads to a never ending circle of division and gleefully manipulation while whiteness chuckles quietly in the background.

Analysis of the Collective Social Divide of the Oppressed Mainstream & Repressed Hidden Collectively.

‘Socially Oppressed and Mainstream - Influential, Popular and Hated The Voice of The Black Adjacent Community

The mainstream black community exists in a black adjacent bubble, separate from the full glare of the white gaze. This has considerable pro’s and con’s, in it’s group. This group is socialized to expect potentially deadly macro-aggressions any time at random, so they are constantly on guard. There is also a implied expectation of possible community support and safe places, which may provide a degree of privacy from whiteness. Macroaggressions are influenced by class, especially in lower income communities. Class levels fluctuate continuously due to systemic economic racism. A middle class insulated community, can easily become poor overnight. Great examples of this include cities like; Ferguson and Flint, Michigan. Middle, upper and wealthy black communities also exist under this threat. Upper class black communities, that are more stable; live with fear of being completely victims of genocide and total annihilation. Great examples of prosperous black establishments that were destroyed, are Tulsa, Seneca village and Bruce Beach. Microaggressions are barely processed at all in comparison and if they are, they usually seen as less threatening.

Inherited genetic and ancestral bias, is heavily prevalent when dealing with mental health. The lack of acknowledgment, within this is rooted in unhealed trauma and valid mistrust of the racist medical establishment. Unfortunately this breeds a lack of social awareness and education, perpetuating a horrible collective cost and socialized ignorance, when confronted with these issues. The black adjacent community is processed as the only experience in the valid experience within white social construct and is rewarded when they reinforce this ideal, contributing to the repression of silenced suburban white adjacent voices. Black adjacent individuals can make strides against this narrative, encouraging more black medical professionals within their spaces.

Whiteness benefits from this narrative, so it encourages and rewards those who contribute to it. This enforced predatory reward system is intended to to control, manipulate and abuse people, especially those existing in a state of financial disadvantage. This breeds a perfect atmosphere of division and confusion, that destroys everything within it’s path. Intentionally, black adjacent mental health issues are ignored, to influences their control over mainstream black adjacent narrative and media. The white monopoly of the economic resources is constantly used to antagonize, distract and bait. Whiteness doesn't benefit from healthy discourse on the collective mental health issues of the black community because it contradicts their narrative. This is why unhealthy poisoned distractions are monetized intentionally in black adjacent communities, to influence white and other poc’s perspective of that specific community. This is intended to foster bias, cultivate ignorance, lack of empathy, make it harder to create alliances and poc solidarity . Luckily more people in black adjacent spaces recognize or call out these effects while working on advocating, educating and deconstructing this narrative. However, this process will take to several generations to sort itself out, as it’s a fairly new development generationally. Since the black adjacent community is given the position of representing of the black American collective experience globally, it’s important to understand this nuance. .

This is achieved confronting internalized social trauma and unpacking why we are socialized this way. This is done by creating more dialogue of our differences and highlighting the repressed suburban black experience. A great place to start is to observing how black adjacent folks process subtle microaggressions in in contrast to violent, potentially deadly macroaggressions, in comparison to suburban white adjacent. Black adjacent individuals are socialized to be on high alert for violent macroaggressions, constantly. This creates a different processing experience. When microaggressions happen, these individuals might experience intense feelings of relief, apathetic numbness, subconsciously ignore or may not even recognize when it’s happening. This is drastically different in comparison to the suburban white adjacent.

‘Socially Repressed and Hidden. Silenced, White adjacent and Isolated - The Suburban Black Individual Without Community.’

There is no community for any poc in suburban white adjacent space. Suburban folks are socialized to believe in cooperative integrative existence and the false promise of safety spaces within these structures, under every present threat of assimilation. There is no privacy place from the intensity of white gaze, as every day is constant masked performance, outside of their home. Suburban black communities within these spaces are myth, and do not actually exist. The suburban black individual experience is isolated and restrictive. All forms of communal growth are processed as a threat within the system, because whiteness has no interest in actual integration outside of cultural theft. To progress, individuals existing within these spaces must learn nuances o as a means of survival and to assimilate. White adjacent exist in state of oppression, while also being heavily repressed. Their experiences are often invalidated because whiteness refuses to the same standing as those who are black adjacent. Here, whiteness prefers passive pretense of social tolerance so it can vehemently deny it’s aggressive. This drastically differs from it’s more openly aggressive stance with dealing with black adjacent individuals or their communities. Black adjacent folks who are not socialized to be familiar with this drastic adjustment may be lulled into a false sense of security, while experiencing feelings of irritation, confusion, and jealousy when dealing with suburban black individuals who are white adjacent or in their spaces.

Microaggressions in the white adjacent space, are intended passively tone police while gaslighting and disguising the veiled threat of a potentially deadly macroaggressions. White adjacent individuals who are aware of this, are socialized to be on high alert for both micro and macroaggressions constantly. They are also more consistently micro aggressed, then their black adjacent peers in these environments due to their proximity to whiteness. The mental health toll of this is massive and contributes to a culture of shame, repression and silence. However there is some hope! Because of this some white adjacent individuals may be more prone to reach out for help when it comes to their mental health, as a survival mechanism. Unfortunately this experience can also be very traumatic due their proximity to whiteness because often the mental health professionals they seek are only available in black adjacent communities, which isolates them even further.

Meanwhile White people, in these spaces are socialized from birth, to feed into a state of ignorance and historical revisionism, which forms a bubble, to seduce, isolate, infantilize, brainwash, confuse and foster attitudes of cognitive dissonance, creating a perpetual state of aggravating white fragility. This mindset isolates and punishes white individuals who attempt to break free of it within the system and also gaslights POC who attempt calling it out. This creates a state of plausibility deniability as a means of distancing itself from responsibility. As a daily occurrence that suburban black folks experience differently individually, while lacking real communal structure, it’s destabilizing and demoralizing. Generally white adjacent are socialized to have no social defense and may not even recognize micro or macroaggressions, while experiencing them simultaneously. This may seem incredulous to black adjacent folks, who have been trained to be on high alert from birth. Adding insult to injury this is further weaponized by whiteness and often these unassuming white adjacent people are used as violent pawns, against the black adjacent. The few white adjacent individuals who do become socially aware of this, then experience the violent consequence of awakening within the system, while enduring increased stress of white proximity. This usually results in a inevitable mental breakdown where these individuals are then forced to pick a path.

They are forced to choose or deal with the following,

1) Assimilation for economic benefit, furthering the social divide and becoming more isolated as they are weaponized against the black adjacent collective. This usually results in massive mental breakdowns and the possibility of various physical ailments due to the stress of keeping up this façade. This always ends horrifically without a positive outcome.

2.) Mentally ill social advocates. These people are often aware of the nuances of their social experiences and want to bring more awareness by deconstructing and unpacking them. Their proximity to whiteness often gives them crucial insights black adjacent people may miss or lack. These people may or may not assimilate into whiteness.

3.) The stagnant, who exist in a state of confused neutrality. These are people who’s mentally health issues in white proximity may have become so severe they are mentally trapped. The people don’t possess the means to do anything about this situation, because they are so severely disabled by whiteness.

In Conclusion - Presenting A Solution

The social division of these two groups in the black American collective, is obviously intentional. The division of their social differences is weaponized by whiteness as a protective mechanism, sowing seeds of distrust, to prevent the total unification of the collective.

Insulated black adjacent communities, do not understand their value as their voice within black American community, while being actively oppressed. They have a responsibility to uplift the suburban black voices, while confronting their own internalized biases of the hidden white adjacent suburbia. They need to call out and dead harmful perspectives, while actively contributing to their repression and silence. Gaslighting, needs to be called out and unlearned especially they have been socialized do this as reflex by whiteness.

White adjacent black individuals must learn to speak up and find their voice, while being actively repressed. They cannot expect the black adjacent to understand them automatically. They must overcome their own systemic naivety and fragility by understanding why they are distrusted. They also have a responsibility to educate other white adjacent individuals, so they aren't weaponized by whiteness.

All of this labor is extremely exhausting but necessary to completely deconstruct the systemic structure.

Both sides need to understand that whiteness fears this discourse and change because it will lead to the complete unification of the black collective, which is why whiteness has a vested interest in the continued social division of these two groups.

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phantompearlsalt · 4 years ago

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Sour Cherry, Chapter 9

I’m sorry I didn’t give y’all a preview this time! As you may know, this week has been exceptionally difficult for many reasons but mostly work being very hectic. Nevertheless, I found some comfort in writing this chapter and hope you enjoy it! Chapter 9 was somewhat challenging but in a cool way: as reference, this can be read as a sort of “prequel” to chapter 3 but can also be read as a standalone. All the build up before that first kiss. CW: Part “Three” is a kidnapping/hostage situation. As always, feel free to check it out on AO3!

One

“Good afternoon, professor. May I speak to your lead archivist?”

Your face is buried in the dusty journal entries of a former governor in the northern Earth Kingdom when the voice brings you to a halt. Using your finger to secure your place in the pages, you lean back up and instantly stare at your colleague Lihua, disoriented.

“Kuvira?” she mouths, her eyes widened with a marked degree of uneasiness. You stay still but hope that the slight twitch of your mouth is sufficient affirmation. You’ve worked with Lihua for a long time now and you even consider her a close friend. Beyond your working relationship, she has become one of the few individuals you’ve established a dynamic of genuine trust with. Given that precedent, naturally she knows about Kuvira. She knows you’ve been attending the dance recitals with increasing fervor and often teases you about this “silly little crush of yours”.

However, she doesn’t know you’ve been sneaking out at night to attend the illicit gatherings where Kuvira has been recruiting Zaofu residents to defy Suyin Beifong’s isolationist stance on the situation in Ba Sing Se. She knows of the meetings (the woman has an exceptional capacity of acquiring even the most covert information) but you know she would decry your attendance. She has dropped the occasional comment expressing her concern with your infatuation with Kuvira but you have tactfully ignored them each time.

You would laugh at the situation at hand if you weren’t so taken aback — the looks of surprise on your faces are attributed to totally different reasons.

Your supervisor mumbles something that can only be a confirmation. The metal door to the office slides open and Kuvira steps in with Baatar at her side. Much to your dismay, it feels as though your stomach disintegrates into dust when her “brother” appears. You force every muscle in your face to remain neutral while your body prickles with annoyance. Across the room, however, Lihua’s expression remains completely astonished.

Your eyes linger on her for about half a second before turning to Kuvira. She is fully draped in the distinctive attire of the Zaofu guard save for the helmet which Baatar carries in his arms. Her face carries that same reticent quality that characterizes her demeanor but you don’t fail to notice something different. Somewhat cavalier. It’s present in the vaguely lifted slope of her mouth. Kuvira scans the room briefly, stopping at Lihua who instantly stands and attempts to offer some sort of salute.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jiang. My sincerest apologies for disrupting what I’m certain is work of great importance. I hope you don’t mind if I speak to your colleague in private? I won’t be long,” Kuvira offers. The heady resonance of her voice is still present but it slips out much smoother and silkier in a way that titillates your senses and makes your mouth go dry.

“Oh um, no, not at all!” Lihua exclaims, collecting her belongings and messily stacking them into one unorganized pile on her desk. “I’ll leave you to your...business.” The discernable quiver in her voice fills you with unbearable secondhand embarrassment so you can’t deter the wave of relief that washes over when your friend has finally scrambled out of the room.

Once Lihua’s footsteps have faded into the distance, Kuvira turns on her heel until she is gazing directly at you. Her vibrant green eyes flicker with a somewhat cryptic air, boring deep into you as though she were looking beyond your physical self. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. You start to shift restlessly in your chair.

She briefly turns to the side, running her finger along the edge of Lihua’s wooden desk with a somewhat thoughtful expression. Your eyes follow the movement intently, observing the confident yet careful weight of her touch as it grazes over the sturdy material.

You have never noticed Kuvira’s fingers before. On the multiple occasions you’ve attended her recitals, you had been too enraptured by the nimble movements of her limbs to focus on those smaller details. Besides, from your vantage point you wouldn’t have been able to notice anyway.

Now that she is in such close proximity, you are able to truly and thoroughly admire the smooth contours and lines that make up Kuvira’s hands. There were nights where you had imagined her fingers to be long and lithe, much like the style of her dancing. While that is certainly true to an extent, you are surprised to see they are slightly broader with a hard layer of smooth muscle. You grow entranced by the distinct cords of tendons that course along the back of her hand and disappear into her wrist.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Kuvira inquires. The sound of her voice shakes you out of your daze. You look back up at her and notice her eyes have never left your face. You nervously lick your lower lip and a current of excitement quakes along your spine as you notice her eyes temporarily flicker to your mouth.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you respond, surprised at the relative steadiness of your voice despite the rapid-fire pounding of your heart. “I anticipated as much,” Kuvira responds with an undertone of amusement to her voice. She brushes her hand against Lihua’s desk once more before taking the final few steps that bring her to your chair. Instinctively, you stand while keeping your finger lodged in the pages of the journal.

“The professor assured me you were under no pressing deadlines but given your line of work, I can only assume you are constantly preoccupied with all sorts of projects,” Kuvira notes. You chuckle once and shrug. “I appreciate the sentiment,” you reply. “It’s not as exhilarating as being the captain of the city guard but we manage.”

Kuvira’s expression does not change but you notice the edges of her face marginally soften. “I must disagree,” she says. Her hand moves towards the journal until your fingers are separated by the width of a nail. Your breath catches in your throat and you look straight into the spot just below Kuvira’s left eye. The thought of looking at her directly is too much when you can nearly feel the warmth emanating from her body even through layers of cloth and metal.

“You are so much more than an archivist. You carry a keen and profound understanding of Earth Kingdom history and politics. Now more than ever, this knowledge is invaluable and that is precisely why I’m here,” she says.

“I...I’m not sure I follow,” you admit. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion and you watch as a shrewd look crosses over Kuvira’s face. “You are aware of our intention to personally oversee the stabilization of the Earth Kingdom capital,” Kuvira reminds you.

You nod in assent and she continues. “Therefore you understand the great need for individuals who will not only assist in pacifying Ba Sing Se but to effectively craft the infrastructure that will sustain its longevity. I said I would keep my visit brief and I will: I come today with a proposal.”

With this, her foot slides over an inch and your faces are separated by about a foot. From this angle, you can appreciate the brilliant green shade of her irises. Is that a hint of gold?

“You are one of Zaofu’s most prominent and well-respected political historians. You intimately know the inner workings of the Earth Kingdom states and your expertise will be invaluable for our stabilization and reunification efforts. It is a major task but I want you to consider joining my forces. My inner circle, to be precise.”

There is a moment where time seemingly hangs in midair as you process the statement. For a split second you nearly come undone in hysterical laughter because this couldn’t possibly be reality. You always knew you would follow Kuvira’s lead because you believed in her vision. You knew she would transform the capital in ways no one had the audacity to imagine. You had resigned yourself to this truth, of leaving behind your studies, your friends, your history in Zaofu for this work.

But you couldn’t have possibly imagined this. Kuvira’s inner circle? To your understanding, that has only consisted of Baatar, Varrick, and Zhu Li Moon. She had alluded to them on occasion during the meetings but you gleaned enough from how often they could be seen in each other’s company. A thousand questions start running through your mind but you can’t seem to grasp at any.

Kuvira continues to watch you and you can’t tell how much time has passed because you got too into your thoughts again and now Baatar is looking at you too oh wait he’s still here you completely forgot about him and they’re waiting for you to respond you need to say something you can’t keep standing here like an idiot.

You shift your gaze and stare straight into Kuvira’s face. The instant your eyes reconnect, the pounding in your ears slowly dissipates into nothingness and every muscle in your body seems to relax. Kuvira’s stoic expression could be perceived as intimidating and even callous to most but there is a glimmer of some promise that grounds you and tells you to fully lean into the opportunity you have been presented with.

You lift your shoulders as you finally respond, “It is no question. I have aspired to serve your cause since the beginning. If you would have me, I would be eternally grateful to lend my skills to this great venture.”

Kuvira’s face gleams with a faint air of satisfaction and she starts to thank you before Baatar bursts in, shaking your hand and going on multiple tangents about the future of this grand plan and how grateful he is to have you on board. Given your personal aversion to the man, you are rather impressed with the cordial demeanor you manage to convey as he speaks.

As you nod along to the mindless stream of words coming from Baatar, you momentarily glance towards Kuvira again. Her expression, initially tinted with annoyance upon Baatar’s interjection, has grown into something else entirely. You aren’t quite sure what to name it but when you see the fierce intensity of her gaze upon your face, you quickly shift back to Baatar and hope no one notices the beads of nervous sweat that emerge along your temples.

Two

“It is not enough to have the former outer ring partially neutralized,” Kuvira states firmly. “If they do not capitulate to our forces soon we will have no way of systemizing these efforts across the city.”

Her voice echoes across the metal tent with great force, compelling the surrounding commanders and sergeants to look down in distress. You, on the other hand, find yourself losing sight of your notes as you grow entranced with Kuvira’s authoritative poise.

Since arriving in Ba Sing Se, the army has not had a single day of rest. Day in and day out, fighters are out subduing bandits and other agitators while other regiments attempt to deliver aid to multiple neighborhoods afflicted by the repercussions of the mass violence. In the midst of it all, Kuvira has remained the grounding force that keeps everyone oriented towards the same goal: the rebirth of Ba Sing Se and eventually a new Earth Empire.

You observe her and admire the potency of her mere presence. It permeates every inch of her body and every breath when she speaks. When her lips part, there is a lingering edge of hardness around the edges that further stresses her dominance. Despite having endured an exceptionally long and painful day thus far, every aspect of her appearance is pristine.

It’s evident that she took some time to rebraid her hair — the locks are cinched tightly together and there isn’t a single strand out of place. Though her eyes are creased with faint lines you can only attribute to exhaustion, her visage remains sharp and unyielding. She raises her shoulders high and keeps her back ramrod straight.

You graze over the smooth curves of her cheekbones, the lock of hair that hangs over her right eye, the gentle arch of her mouth that moves so artfully with every word it forms.

You wonder how her skin might feel under your hand, your fingers folding into the bone just beneath her ear. Sometimes she looks too exquisite, as if your touch might tarnish this immaculate appearance she has so carefully crafted. Yet you fail to release the desire. Instead, you gaze upon her cheek, tightening your hands into fists beneath the table, as the imagined sensation of its warmth against your palm sends heat tingling through your veins.

The sound of your name repeated twice causes your head to snap back up. Kuvira is staring directly at you and it’s clear she just asked something gauging by the questioning looks of your colleagues.

“I’m sorry,” you say hastily, shifting in your seat while your hands flutter over your pages. “Could you repeat that, please?” The question is out of your mouth before you can halt it and you’re briefly terrified about Kuvira’s potential reaction. Clearly she is not one to tolerate such behavior.

But she surprises you when she proceeds to reiterate her previous inquiry with no apparent exasperation. It catches you off guard and the feeling stays with you even after the meeting has ended.

You exit the tent alongside Commander Zhen, a simultaneously good-natured and formidable woman, who regards you curiously. “Everything okay back there? Kind of looks like you spaced out for a minute,” she says concernedly. You chuckle and wave your hand. “I’m good! Seriously. It was just getting a bit stuffy in there I think,” you reassure her.

You’re both about to move from the entryway when a hand momentarily touches your lower back. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognize Kuvira’s beauty mark and the realization startles you. She is walking away, flanked by Baatar and Varrick, and she looks back for an instant only to shoot a smirk that vanishes as quickly as it appears.

The touch lasts half a breath but it leaves an imprint that diffuses a vigorous electricity throughout your muscles. Zhen continues talking, completely oblivious to the effect Kuvira’s gesture has on you and you try to ignore that burning sensation that spreads across your back and fills your thoughts with a flustered haze.

Three

“I appreciate the role you have played these past few months,” Kuvira says, pressing her hand against your shoulder in that customary way that still feels special when she does it to you. You smile and clasp your hands together in an attempt to conceal your excitement.

It’s been three months in Ba Sing Se and everyone throughout the Earth Kingdom and beyond has expressed immense astonishment at the strides Kuvira has made in stabilizing the city. While there were generally competing opinions about Kuvira’s ability to spearhead the endeavor, everybody managed to agree on the fact that no one anticipated such progress in a short amount of time.

You have just finished another one of your brief meals together before heading off into your respective posts. Though these moments are often fleeting, you treasure them as invaluable nonetheless. It’s only been about a month and a half since you started meeting in this way and it has very quickly become a practice you look forward to each week.

“I wouldn’t have a role to play if it weren’t for your leadership,” you counter, arching an eyebrow as Kuvira’s face brightens so softly you can’t imagine anyone else would notice. “You’re already in the highest ring of my army. Flattery won’t get you much higher than that,” she murmurs discreetly.

Kuvira’s palm moves away from your shoulder and slowly drifts down your arm until it curls around your wrist. You both look down to the spot where your skin touches and for a moment it feels like her fingers are hovering towards your hand.

At that moment, Baatar appears and he’s frantically calling Kuvira’s name. You break away instantly and you take a few steps away from her. Though Baatar’s voice doesn’t convey a sense of dire need, there is still a sense of urgency that shatters the moment you’re having trouble believing actually happened.

“I must go. Thank you again...for all your help,” Kuvira says. You nod once and briskly walk away, ignoring the way your stomach twists inside your abdomen when Baatar’s face conjures up in your mind.

Four

You try to find comfort in the fact that you always anticipated something like this happening. It just seemed too inevitable. Though the most vicious gangs had been uprooted from the city, the less reputable ones still lingered and sought ways to establish their dominance over Kuvira’s army. You understand the basis of their actions. You understand how much pain and suffering they have endured over the course of many years but it doesn’t bring the solace you seek when your arms are bound with itchy rope and your eyes are forced shut behind a sheet of dirty cloth.

You had just parted ways with Bolin, promising him you’d meet for dinner later that night, when you felt a strong set of brawny hands clasp your shoulders and suddenly had cloth pulled over your eyes and mouth.

A muted hiss of multiple voices soon surrounded you as you were carried and tossed into what you assumed was a makeshift carriage. You landed hard on the wooden cart and you were certain you’d be covered in mottled bruises if you even made it out of here alive. From there, time flowed in a warped manner, both quickly and slowly.

Now, you’re somewhere damp and quiet. A cave?

You are breathing heavily through your nose, having given up on struggling against the obstructions when it became evident there was no feasible way out of them. You let your body collapse against the ground, recoiling against the moisture, until you hear a hushed voice far away.

“This is our last chance to lure Kuvira in and take back the city,” someone hisses. “We’ve got the brains behind the whole thing which means she’ll be here any —”

The voice is cut off by a powerful crack that’s followed with a roaring explosion of gravel that shakes the ground below. You curl into a ball, feeling spheres of earth bounce off your back and shoulders. “Looks like someone took the bait,” a different voice sneers.

“You have made a grave mistake,” Kuvira bellows. The sound of her voice lights something in your chest and you start thrashing against your restraints, hoping she will recognize the muffled calls for help.

There is a fearsome cry and another shudder as more boulders crash together. You hear Kuvira struggle with the force of fending off your captors and you want nothing more than to free yourself to help her. You push back into a seated position and use your hands to feel for anything that might be able to tear the ropes off but to no avail.

You jerk against the ground and feel someone grab your shoulders, attempting to pull you away. You shriek against the cloth in your mouth and kick frantically. You manage to land a blow against their knee and they curse, digging their fingers harder into your muscle as you howl out in pain.

But then they release you as a familiar grunt nears your face, followed by a flurry of swings that land against their body. Their breath comes out in one fell swoop, there’s a hiss of metal cutting through the air, and finally silence.

Within seconds, there are hands behind your head frantically undoing the blindfold. When the material falls away, you are met with Kuvira’s face contorted in a grimace of distress. The emotion falters vaguely as relief flashes over but she continues her quick work of loosening the rope behind your back. She bends a short knife out of her uniform and smoothly slices it through.

When your arms are free at long last, they fall like weights at your side and you feel yourself about to succumb to the dark shadows creeping over your eyes. Kuvira instinctively grabs you, her left arm cradling your back as her right drifts hesitantly over your chest. From your peripheral vision you catch glimpses of privates wrangling the subdued gang members but your vision grows hazier around the edges.

“You’re okay now. I’m here. You’re going to be okay,” Kuvira whispers. Her voice sounds so peculiar...is that anxiety? Sadness perhaps? You have never heard her voice quiver like this and the realization would be shocking if you weren’t so defeated.

Just as your eyelids flutter closed and you hear voices encroaching on you and Kuvira, you swear you feel the ghost of a touch along your cheek. But you brush it off as a figment of your sleep-muddled brain.

Five

You come to realize you’re in love with Kuvira like a fire. You know from the outset that it will happen because the embers are there. They may be faint and sometimes it feels like they might extinguish altogether but their constant presence is indication enough of a future where the flames are eventually roaring with boundless ferocity.

As time progresses and the flames are stoked, the intensity sharpens and grows. Each faint brushing of your fingers, each passing glance when you think no one is watching, each touch of Kuvira’s palm against your shoulder is another piece of debris tossed into the blaze. The gestures are small but they are real and each time the heat becomes increasingly difficult to control as it surges in your belly.

Everything culminates into a moment that is so totally ordinary. The awareness dawns on you like anything else would. It comes as naturally as the change in seasons, steady and certain.

It transforms into conscious understanding over lunch. Kuvira is telling you about the time she and her brother-figure Huan had hidden away from the rest of Beifongs during a family trip and got into a metal artmaking competition. It’s the first time she’s given you any insight into her childhood and she goes about it very hesitantly. You can tell she is choosing her words carefully, pausing every so often before she continues.

But it’s the way her eyes crease with nostalgic joy when she recalls Huan’s pretentious but genuine critique of her sculpture. It’s the way the stiff edge of her shoulders loosens so faintly it’s almost undetectable as she describes the intensity of her focus while she forged the metal structure. It’s the laughter disguised in a short rush of air when she looks back on this memory shared with her closest sibling.

The muted embers swell into an abundant cluster of sparks that seem to fill the space between you and Kuvira as you experience this new truth. She continues to speak in pauses, totally incognizant of the many emotions swirling through your body. You come to an understanding that you will have to keep this affection to yourself for the time being and perhaps forever.

The reality of that alarms you.

But instead, as you watch Kuvira’s face light up momentarily, you decide you will willingly and earnestly accept whatever comes next. For now, this is okay.

#kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira headcanons #kuvira legend of korra #avatar lok #x reader #kinda fluff?? mostly YEARNING #anyways I'm SOOO happy I actually managed to post this weekend #I'm gonna go through all your replies/messages/comments/etc now love youuuu <3

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sheathandshear · 4 years ago

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There’s this trend on the interwebs where people are moving from calling something “problematic” (which is now mostly a joke because of how widely it’s been misapplied) to declaring that something is “harmful”, or often, “directly harmful”, I guess because I’m the only person who thinks that playing Seven Moral Degrees of Kevin Bacon would be a fun party game.

The left has always excelled at circular logic, but navigating any fraught discussion, no matter how inane, has become a weird minefield of homogenizing, essentializing, and “boosting marginalized voices (that you personally agree with)”, and the language of harm is at the center of so much of it, because people have discovered that the more wishy-washy “problematic” invites arguments but “harm” demands condemnation.

Like, “[x group] has said that [y thing] is DIRECTLY HARMFUL to them, so stop saying/doing/using/enjoying it.” “…Every member of x group? You’ve asked people? In real life?” “That’s tone policing/gaslighting/emotional labor/talking over [x] voices!”

Or, “[x group] has said that [y thing] is DIRECTLY HARMFUL to them, so stop saying/doing/using/enjoying it.” “How is it harmful?” “It’s not marginalized people’s job to educate you! Google is free!”

…And so on and so forth, and there’s no room for argument or discussion or disagreement, because obviously anything that causes harm to someone is objectively bad, right?

Except... no. Pretty much everything can be misused in ways that can result in hurt for someone, but that does not mean that those things are intrinsically harmful, nor that others shouldn’t use, be, or engage with them.

To wit, a short list of neutral things that have been directly harmful to me because I, a variously marginalized person, have misused them, underused them, overused them, encountered them before I was ready, had bad counsel about them, bad luck, bad exposure, or lacked the context/knowledge/safe techniques to best engage with them:

- Bicycles - Scissors - Coke Zero - Prozac - One night stands - Licensed Social Workers - Monkey bars - Vegetarianism - Alcohol - MDMA - Romantic relationships - Big men with loud voices - The term “panic attack” - Those giant concrete planters in malls

All of these things directly resulted in significant, lasting negative effects on me — emotionally, physically, socially, financially — most for years afterwards, and some to this day. Much of these negative effects were a result of societal forces much larger than the things themselves — sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, ageism, fatphobia, trauma, abuse. I can point with precision to a direct chain of events that began with the mis/use of one of these things and say with complete accuracy and honesty, “This resulted in harm to me.”

Yet none of those things are bad by definition. In fact, almost all of them can be fun, useful, or both, and I think we can all recognize that attempting to block municipal funding for bike lanes by ranting about how “bike lanes condone and encourage the use of BICYCLES, which have been DIRECTLY HARMFUL to me” would be technically true and also completely absurd. The fact that I got a TBI because of unsafe use in dangerous surroundings with inadequate supervision doesn’t mean that it’s morally wrong for my neighbor to happily bike to work in their little reflective vest. The whole culture of people biking without safety equipment isn’t great, but that’s not a commentary on bikes themselves, and bike lanes and stylish helmets do a whole lot more for cycling safety than clutching pearls about how bicycles are HARMFUL (because sometimes their use causes harm).

Obviously, there are things that aren’t neutral — that really are just objectively bad. But when neutral things that can be misused in harmful ways and things that can only ever be harmful are all referred to with the same word and responded to with the same level of seriousness, the result is bizarre false equivalencies where systematic lead poisoning of poor mostly-POC residential areas and the self-ID term “bi lesbian” are treated as basically the same, and truly dangerous things get buried under a deluge of bad faith bullshit, often in the aforementioned form of “[x group] says that [y] is directly harmful to them” parroted by someone who isn’t a member of x group and in fact has never actually talked to an x group member in real life about y and has at best read a few twitter threads.

And when a member of x group does chime in with “this is directly harmful to me!” I s2g 95% of the time that when questioned what it really boils down to is “because of my own self-image, circumstances, history, and/or trauma, this makes me uncomfortable, upset, insecure, and/or triggered, and I externalize this emotional pain as harm inflicted upon me by an outside source (you, the person who said/wrote/did the thing that I reacted to)” which like, again. No?

To pluck another example from my own life: someone crying and asking for comfort in the aftermath of an argument is a huge trigger for me because of my trauma history. I shut down, immediately start looking for escape routes, and panic for hours if not days afterwards. Affectionate physical touch in that situation literally makes my skin crawl.

That doesn’t mean that the other person is harming me by needing a hug for reassurance any more than I’m harming them for being unable to genuinely provide it. It means that, through no fault of our own, our safety needs are in opposition, and this situation hurts.

It’s like — words matter, and universally escalating their severity (and absolutism) when talking about emotionally charged subjects is so goddamn counterproductive. It shuts down conversations that actually need to be conversations, not moral cage matches; completely ignores the awkward and ugly reality of competing access needs; and it obscures the difference between hurt and harm, essential nature and subjective use, between “treating Black boys as adult men is harmful (because it actively puts them in danger)” and “bicycles are harmful (when you’re 9 years old and riding with a broken helmet down a steep slick hill without adults or older kids to tell you ‘walk your bike down and then ride on the flat bit’)”.

If you mean hurtful, say hurtful. If you think this actually harms someone, take the time to explain what you mean and why, or move on and don’t engage. No one is obligated to disclose their trauma or educate everyone all the time, but neither is anyone obligated to pay attention to someone who tells them “so ackshually this thing is extremely bad and wrong but I won’t tell you why I think that or give you information to decide for yourself because that’s too much work for me”. And if someone does have the energy to wade into discussions but then pulls that out and waves it around as their primary rejoinder, that’s probably a pretty good indicator that their ‘proof’ for that argument is a house of cards and they’re engaging for petty personal reasons or to display their knowledge of a shibboleth or both.

#politics #activism #tumblr culture #tw: abuse #tw: trauma #faffing about with my thoughts #i guess my vibe these days is Old Man Yells at Cloud #but hoooooooly sh*t I am so tired of people using the excuse of abstract harm to personally hurt others

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nerdygaymormon · 4 years ago

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Sometimes I really hate being Bi. I know know the Church is true and I'll never leave it, but man is it a struggle. I started to think I was Bi on my Mission, and wow, that was scary. Ever since I got home, little over a year ago, I feel like I'm attracted to women more and more and I hate it. (I know I'm Bi and not Lesbian.) I see a cute gal, and I want cuddles and dates, and so many other things, but I can't act on it. (Especially since I'm at BYUI.) Do you have any tips on not hating yourself

Everyone has some things about themselves they don’t like or about which they’re hyper-critical. Often these are about not living up to our ideals, actions we wish we had or hadn’t done, not living up to some societal ideal, about a failure in our life. This is normal and part of being human.

Queer people in particular must deal with self-hatred that goes beyond just a normal part of being human. We grow up hearing negative messages about people like us and we internalize those messages. And often we have an inner voice that is authoritative and may sound like our parents or religious leaders and thus when it speaks to us, that voice gives those messages extra heft. These things cause us to see ourselves as lesser and to feel shame over our feelings and how we experience life.

An important part of unraveling this self-loathing is to recognize the negative messages, refute them, and replace them.

For example, your world won’t end just because you’re bi. Some people may view you differently if they find out, but a lot of people will continue to respect and love you. Perhaps you’ll lose some people, but you will not lose everything and everybody you care about.

That’s recognizing and refuting the negative messages, now let’s replace them. Being bi is a wonderful part of what makes me the person I am and I’m lucky because it brings many important gifts into my life. I can find beauty and love that others miss.

When you’re at church or school and hear a negative message about queer people, push back against it. You can raise your hand and speak up. If you’re not feeling brave in that moment, it’s okay, and explain to yourself why that comment was wrong and replace it with a positive comment.

Another thing you may have heard is that being gay or bi is a choice or the result of a lack of faith or some other reason. Fact is that it’s biological and a natural part of this world. This is literally how we’re made.

Associate with other LGBTQIA people.

I always feel so much better after I’ve been with other queer people. Being with them helps fight the things I was taught about the queer community, I can see & experience that they are normal people. They are fun, loving, caring, and supportive, exactly the opposite of what I’d been told. You can attend USGA-Rexburg and there’s a new resource center going up in town.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spends quite a bit of time teaching and celebrating early pioneers. It’s quite a legacy and something to be proud of. The same is true of the queer community, we have amazing pioneers. We are a brave people. You have claim to two incredible legacies. Read about some of our queer Mormon heroes of the last decade.

Shame withers in sunshine

If you’re not yet out to friends and family, that’s okay, you have a blog and can write about your experiences and thoughts online. You can also find & connect with other queer Mormons.

One thing I’ve experienced, which has surprised me is that as I write and post about things of which I was embarrassed, the shame associated with them goes away. By sharing with others, it is no longer a secret that needs to be hidden, but something I’m taking ownership of.

If you’re awesome on paper, then you’re awesome in person

I used to know that I could write things on paper about myself that would sound great, but I didn’t have positive feelings about them. That person on the paper looked good, but somehow I didn’t have those same feelings about myself. I was the first person in my family to get a college degree, I now have an MBA, I served a mission, I am the favorite uncle in my family, I play the piano, I am kind and trusted and so on.

Learn to draw boundaries

Often when we don’t feel great about ourselves, we make up for that by seeking the approval of others, more so than is usual or healthy. We end up agreeing to do things we may not want to do just so that we seem agreeable and worthy of their approval, even from people we don’t care about that much. There is power in being able to say “no.” Schedule time to get your school work done, to participate in activities you enjoy, in having time for friends, for contributing to the community. You can agree to spend time helping others with things they want, but protect your boundaries and don’t overstretch yourself.

Boundaries also are important when it comes to people and messages you associate with. Try to find allies and queer people that you can associate with. Even if you’re not “out,” you can present yourself as an ally and be with people who express positivity about queerness.

You don’t have to accept everything you hear at church, what church leaders have said, or even all the “doctrine.” Church leaders have been tragically wrong in the past, they are not perfect conveyers of the love of our Heavenly Parents. You don’t have to believe the terrible things taught about LGBTQ people. I know this is easier said than done. It helps if you’ve experienced God’s love for you, or if you’ve thought about how illogical it would be for loving Heavenly Parents to send queer children to earth with no way for them to express who they are or to have happiness. We are supposed to experience joy in this life.

Take care of your health

When I met with a psychologist because I was suicidal and also wanted help with my internalized homophobia and low-self esteem, the first things we discussed were if I was getting enough sleep, was I eating a healthy diet, was I getting exercise. Our physical well-being contributes to our mental well-being. Sometimes a good cry is what I need to express the feelings I’m having, followed by a nap, then I feel much better.

Allow for growth and forgiveness

We all learn and change and grow. As others grow in understanding and do better, allow them the grace of forgiveness by recognizing things said by their past selves were said in ignorance and recognize the growth they’ve undergone. This also applies to you and your past self.

A common exercise that helps is to think of what you would say to someone else in a similar position. So often we speak of love and acceptance and not being hard on themselves, and it’s pretty great advice which we could apply to ourselves. Another exercise is to have a picture of our younger self, or even of just some young person around ages 5~12, and know that they are going to grow up queer, what advice would you give them? You deserve the same compassion, kindness and love that you show to others.

Growth and change also happens to our faith. Here’s a post where I shared about faith transitions and I found it very helpful in understanding how I experience my faith is different from my family, it’s because we’re in different stages.

Take pride in trying, not in failure or success

Coming out is freaking hard and takes a lot of courage. Like a lot of things in life, many people attempt to do this and then fail, they back down, the moment feels wrong, they get panicked, or whatever reason. Failure isn’t the worst thing, not trying is. And the more we try, the more successes we’ll eventually have. And once you have some wins under your belt, it gets easier to do those things that were once hard.

When being bi brings happiness, it’s easier to love this about yourself

For so many people, being queer is only associated with negative things in their life, but when you can start associating it with positive things it becomes easier to accept and love this part of yourself. When you have queer friends, when you have experienced the excitement of a crush on a boy and on a girl, when you go on dates, or someone sends a message that your posts about your feelings really helped them, those positive experiences will be associated with being bi.

Add voices and writings that affirm you and your experiences

So often scriptures are used as a weapon against queer people. A lot of people think they know what the Bible says about queer people based on a few verses pulled out of context, but they’ve not put in any real study to the original language, situation or what those verses read like when put back in context. Nor are they aware that there’s also positive scriptures about queer people. I put together a collection of things I learned that I hope will help others.

This year I’ve really been enjoying the Beyond the Block podcast, which has a Black man and a gay man discuss each week’s Come, Follow Me lesson. I also have liked the Faithful Feminists podcast. Both of those podcast highlight principles and concepts from the scriptures which are important for marginalized people.

Find blogs, podcasts, books, videos, lectures, classes, twitter accounts and whatever else that helps affirm you and helps you understand yourself.

#queerstake

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chick-from-nz · 4 years ago

Text

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 8)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually)

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk, spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC. awkwardly and/or poorly written moments

AUTHORS NOTE: hope yall enjoy this, i was in fact a lil tipsy while writing this so if there is some spelling errors or something akin to that, that could be why. @1zashreena1 i thank you so much for letting me bounce my ideas off you for most of this content, you are forever a legend.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

CHAPTER: 8 OF ?

TAG LIST (OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

The first few days of their second week together were surprisingly more interactive than the previous week. Carrillo had been spending less time in his office and more time in the living room putting up with whatever terrible show Ash had decided to watch that day. Arguably though, not that he would admit it out loud, he was rather enjoying the quiet company and shitty tv, an incredibly different routine than what he was used to but a welcome one at that.

It was on Tuesday night that the Colonel finished any important and pressing paperwork for his team, with it all being completed by the early hours of twenty three hundred, or at least early for him, he decided that he would turn in early for the night. Before that though, he would do his usual security checks of the house, first starting with the living room. To his surprise the room was not empty, instead he found himself smiling softly at the picture before him. Greyson was slumped upright on the couch, head leaving on the palm of her left arm, and shoulders rising and falling in measured deep breaths. She was yet again asleep on the couch, an increasingly common occurrence over the last few nights.

It was as if his feet had a mind of his own as the Colonel soon found himself standing before the sleeping junior officer. He debated whether or not it would be wise to wake her up, her position did not look comfortable in the slightest, but if her soft snores were anything to go by, she was in a deep sleep, something he felt she didn't get often. The last few nights he'd woken to anguished screams coming from Ash's room, before hearing her door open and her footsteps as she began to pace the length of the living room before exhausting herself and collapsing onto the couch. He would usually lay awake for a good ten or so minutes after her pacing had stopped before he would check on her, normally finding her drenched in sweat but shivering on the couch as she had not had the forethought to grab a blanket in her exhausted and frazzled state.

A small part of him felt sorry for the fresh officer, whatever was haunting her was obviously taking a toll on her and there was another part of him that wanted to slowly crack through her defences and find out what it was so he could help her, or at least comfort her, in some way. These kinds of thoughts were becoming more and more common and were beginning to somewhat startle him and set him off kilter around Greyson. He usually had a good grip on his emotions and was able to push feelings away and stay strictly professional around any female colleagues, but with this officer he found himself wanting to cross that line. He barely knew the young soldier but she had set a lasting impression on him that he had tried to shake with all his might. So for now he would indulge himself in caring for her in subtle ways that could be seen as a superior caring for his injured member of his team and wait to get a positive or negative reaction from Greyson. Either way, this former cadet was going to be around for a while, so he needed to restrain his growing feelings as best as he could, he would not want a repeat of the Sinclair situation.

Huffing quietly in frustration he hastily snatched up a blanket that resided on the back of one of the neighboring couches before, as gently as possible, draping it over the sleeping soldier. He watched as she began to stretch out on the couch, grasping the blanket closer to her chest and snuggling down into the warmth. A strange tightness developed in his chest at that, one he hadn't felt in many many years. Whatever feelings he had for this soldier needed to be pushed aside, he couldn't afford for a margin of error in his team or a potential weakness to be exploited against either of them. With measured steps he conducted his nightly checks of the house, ensuring the locks on the front and back doors were engaged, the window locks were secure, and the security cameras that were hidden around the outside of the house we recording as usual.

Checks completed he all but marched his way back to his room, silently closing his door, before ripping his shirt over his head, shucking off his boots and pants, and climbing into bed in naught but his boxers. Double checking that his alarm was set he decided that an early morning run would be a good way to clear his head, and he could scope out areas of the property that would make for good exercise scenarios training spots.

His sleep was fitful. Full of moments already shared between himself and the younger officer who constantly occupied his every waking thoughts and potential moments that he silently hoped would come to fruition as their time together continued to build a bond between them. Whether that be strictly professional or borderline inappropriate he wasn't sure if his resolve was strong enough to keep his feelings at bay long enough for them to fizzle out into nothing but a thought he could look back on and scoff at.

-------

Ash groaned the moment she woke, she stretched out her legs, laughing lightly at the way her joints all seemed to pop and her muscles became taught. She missed the daily ache that accompanied the constant tiredness of her cadets course. Instead now she was stuck on prescribed bed rest, unless she saw fit to disobey a direct order from the Colonel. Just a thought of his rank sent an oddly delighted shiver down her spine. Reaching over to grab her phone to check the time had her eyes bugging out of her head, she had woken il two hours later than normal, and frankly, while she knew she needed the rest, she had wished she had had the forethought to set an alarm rather than relying on her messed up body clock.

Her injuries were beginning to heal quite well now, the stitches in her head and her side were itchy and ready to be taken out but the concussion was having more of a lasting effect than she would have hoped. While she no longer woke up feeling sick or dizzy she would now have random bouts of dizziness during the day instead, which was usually succeeded by a varying degree of nausea. This morning however, she felt great. Climbing from her bed and pulling on a normal length military t-shirt and a pair of military issue shorts, that even she deemed to be a tad on the shorter side, she quickly pulled on a pair of running shoes. Today she was determined to walk around the edge of the property and see if anything other than the house had changed since she had attended this particular training ground all those years ago.

She left her room functioning on autopilot, intending to head in the direction of the kitchen to have a quick coffee before venturing outside. Her plan, however, was foiled when she suddenly collided with a solid mass after taking no more than four steps out of her room. The momentum of the crash had her hands flying out to grasp onto whatever she had bashed into in an attempt to steady herself. It took her a moment to gather her senses, but when she did, a blush settled across her face and down her neck.

Her hands had landed on a warm, slightly damp, very shirtless and muscular chest that could only belong to one person, the one person who she had began developing feelings for since she met them, Colonel Carrillo. A small yelp left her mouth at the realisation of what was happening, he was shirtless, for some reason, and she was just standing there with her palms on his chest, not so subtly feeling him up. Time seemed to have frozen, neither person was moving except for Ash’s eyes, which were drinking in the sight that was oh so wonderfully close to her. Making the first move she began to pull away from the man before her, running her hands featherlight over his pecs in a self indulgent moment, a smile growing on her face as she felt, rather than saw, the small shiver that wracked his body.

She took a small step backwards, intending to put enough space between them to be professional, only to be stopped by his hands coming up and grasping onto her elbows in a tentative grip. Ash let her eyes trail languidly over his body as she made her way up to his face, his stomach was well toned, the deep ‘V’ of his hips was prominent and his abs were defined but not chiseled , he was bulky in a way that screamed alpha male. It was inherently obvious he worked out alongside his already physically demanding job. Her eyes continued their upwards, her breath hitching while taking in the broad beautifully tanned expanse of skin that was his chest, his pecs where the most defined part about him, a key feature one might say, along with those arms of his. Ash took note of the way his breath had sped up over the course of her gaping , thankfully it seemed she was not the only one affected by the others presence.

She yearned to reach out and run her hands along the taught muscles of his forearms and up along his biceps, feeling the strength that he held within the muscles, muscles that she more often than not dreamed about. Her eyes finally came to settle on his face. He looked pained, brow drawn downwards in feigned confusion and his lips pressed tightly together as if to stop himself from speaking, his eyes were what betrayed him. His pupils were blown so wide that the delicious brown was now but a small ring around them. Ash could only imagine her face mirrored his own, the lust was palpable, this was dangerous territory.

His eyes were fixed intently on her and Ash had to gulp as his lips parted and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. Her thoughts were getting more and more muddled being this close to him in this situation. Ash took yet another small step backwards as to put enough distance between them for them both to clear their thoughts, failing to do so when she tripped on the edge of the rug that covered the majority of the living room. Her eyes widened in shock when she felt her back hit the ground and felt the breath of the Colonel on her face as he fell with her, landing in the perfect pushup position above her. If Ash thought their previous position was dangerous territory she didn’t have words to describe their current predicament, though she would be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this situation before but with her in significantly less clothing. It took her till this moment to realise that Carrillo was in fact, only in a towel, that was now, hanging on by only a small margin and stretched tight and low along his hips.

The position was compromising at best, her hands had one again found themselves attached to his glorious body, this time settling on his biceps just like she had wanted, the sheer mass of muscle contained beneath both her hands had her stomach in knots and a fire flowing through her veins. She watched, mesmerized, as a droplet of water made its descent from behind his ear, along the tight muscles of his neck and down into the dip of his collar bone, stopping for a moment before continuing down his chest. Ash involuntarily licked her lips, wanting nothing more to lean forward and run her tongue along the path the droplet was taking before sucking a mark wherever the droplet stilled. A movement to her right drew her attention away from gawking at his chest and up towards his face yet again. He had shifted himself onto one arm and was peering down at her with an unreadable expression on his face, but there was clearly some kind of intent swirling in the depth of his eyes.

Ash jumped momentarily when his hand settled heavily on her now exposed midriff, a hair's breadth away from the stitches that decorated her side. The smirk that graced his face when he felt her jump sent a bolt of pure unadulterated desire right to her core, the look on his face was lustful and hungry. Her breathing was beyond erratic now, there was a pent up tension in her body longing to be released but at this moment she was going to leave the fate of the situation in her commanding officers’ hands, since he so clearly fed off being in control. It was as if she forgot how to breathe as she felt his hand began to trail upwards, lifting her shirt in the process and exposing more of her toned stomach to the man before her, his hand moved inwards trailing the tip of his forefinger along the etched grove of her stomach and up towards her breasts in a teasing manner, but before he could reach the destination she so desperately hoped for he stilled, pondering for a moment as he searched her face for any kind of hesitation, finding none he continued his journey north between the valley of her breasts and along the hollow of her throat before settling his hand there with barely any pressure.

Ash let out a barely there moan, the action was much more comfortable and thrilling to her than she would care to admit out loud. She watched as his face went through varying emotions before settling on determination, and with measured movements the Colonel shifted his large hand slightly to guide her chin upwards slightly to be in the optimum position to finally plant a kiss that the both wanted so badly onto her lips. Ash watched with bated breath as his face oh so slowly made his way closer to her own, eyes searching for any hesitation that would have his moments ceasing in an instant, to his surprise, she began moving slightly off the floor to meet his advances and finally seal the deal and cross the line between professional and personal.

They were a mere centimeters apart, breath mixing and both breathing unsteadily, when a shrill ringing pierced through the silence of their moment, ruining the potential moment of bliss for the Officers. It was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over the both of them, shocking enough to have Carrillo rolling to the left as fast as someone could yell ‘gun’ and Ash rolling the opposite direction and jumping to her feet. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife but as the Colonel looked at her with something akin to regret crossing his face Ash knew she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him for a moment longer, so she scampered away and into the comfort of her room, slamming the door on her way in before collapsing on her bed and trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. Had the Colonel really had the intention to kiss her?

-------

To say little interaction happened between the two officers after the incident was not far from the truth. Despite her desires for the Colonel , Ash had been all but avoiding him since that fateful morning, hoping that by avoiding any contact possible with the man in question that her feelings would also be avoided, a plan that was full of holes considering it was only the two of them on the property and a good three hours of driving between them and the rest of civilisation. She knew her behaviour towards the man in question could be seen in multiple different ways but she was stubborn through and through, if she didn’t need to be near the man then she was never found near him.

Their late night tv watches, breakfast together with interesting little chats, dinner shared together when Carrillo wasn’t doing paperwork had all been scraped at Ash’s behest. She would wake up before him and quickly make some food and disappear either back to her room or go for a brisk walk around the tree lined property. She would force herself to stay in her room even after the multiple nightmares would have her jolting awake with a scream leaving her throat, while she had once sought comfort in pacing the living room she could now only reflect on the incident that had occurred there and the look of regret that had graced the Colonels face. As for dinner time, the Colonel still cooked for the both of them, even if she was avoiding him, something she was highly grateful for, except now instead of sitting on the couch watching any number of things in quiet company, they now went their separate ways. Carrillo to his office and Greyson usually went outside to sit in nature and calm her frazzled nerves from being around her commanding officer.

Her plan was going extremely well for a few days until she got a call from the medics back at base confirming that it was time for her to come and get her stitches removed as it had been a good few weeks now. This put a kink in her plans, she was still getting far too many dizzy spells randomly throughout the day which meant she wouldn’t be able to drive herself to the hospital so she would be forced to man up and ask the Colonel to drive her. Three hours in a car with the man who by all means she was trying to push down her feelings for was going to be a world of hell, infinitely more awkward than the current household situation.

She got up off the couch and began moving in the direction of the room that was set up as the teams workspace only to stop dead in her track as the Colonel exited the room and stared directly at her before pointing at the phone current held in his left hand, “I just got a call from the medics, you're needed at the hospital to get those stitches taken out” he pointed at her head and then gestured in the general direction of her stab wound, “ Doctors protocol call for me to drive you there, they want your concussion to be cleared before you’re allowed to drive”

Ash began to open her mouth to voice her protest but was cut short when the Colonel levelled with a look that said ‘don't try me’ and the words, “That's an order soldier! Now let's go”. Ash wanted to protest and kick up a fuss but she knew it was no use, he was probably pissed that she’d been ignoring him for the past three or four days, and rightfully so, she’d acted much like a petulant child rather than the strong young soldier he had recruited her for. Ash knew that the only way she would be able to survive the awkwardness of the car ride was to sleep, something she hadn’t got much of for the last few nights because she had been tossing and turning trying to figure out if what she had encountered with the Colonel had been a slip in his defenses or a trick to see if she was loyal to his cause. But as she glanced over to take in the disheveled appearance and tired eyes of the Colonel beside her, she knew he had been feeling the same or at the very least, not been sleeping like he used to, he looked far too tired.

Ash dropped her seat backward in the SUV they were travelling in, a bulletproof rig the army had provided to keep the team safe whenever they did live fire practice or did a real raid, leaning her head against the cool window of the car brought a small moment of clarity for the young soldier, it might have been easier to apologize for her actions and try and smooth things over but that was not how Greyson worked. She would apologise when things got so bad that she had no other choice. The sense of peace the came from being around her commanding officer soon had her falling into a deep sleep, hopefully one that was peaceful and refreshing for once.

They were nearly two hours into the three hour drive to the base hospital when Carrillo heard a whimper come from the young officer in the seat beside him, at first he thought she had just bumped her head on the window as the road was rough in some areas, but when he heard another whimper and a quietly whispered “no” come from the sleeping female he had no choice but to look over at her and when he did he slowed the car down and threw it into park. The junior officer was sweating profusely, shaking violent and pale as a sheet, quietly mumbled words were tumbling from her lips as her brows were drawn together in a look of muted horror. Carrillo didn’t know what to think but he knew he couldn’t let her suffer so he reached across the car and gently shook Greyson by her shoulder, increasing in intensity when she didn’t wake up the first time, it was on his forth more violent shake of her shoulder that she finally woke, glancing around with tears brimming in her eyes and a startled expression on her face.

Ash had to take long measured breaths to calm her frantically beating heart, that nightmare had been one of the worse yet and she was silently grateful that the man before her had woken her before it had got any worse, reliving the death of a family member was not something that Ash wanted to repeat, but it seemed her brain wanted to taunt her constantly. She had to hold back a muted sob as emotion overtook her body and the tears began to flow freely from her eyes, she hated look weak in front of people especially someone who she’d be working beneath for god knows how long. The blood was rushing in her ears cause her to zone out and try and focus on bringing herself back to a calm state, it wasn’t until she saw Carrillo’s fingers snapping in front of her face that she finally snapped out of it and turned her tear stained face to meet his own pained expression.

“Care to tell me what has got you so upset Greyson? Is it the same thing that has had you waking up screaming in the middle of the night? I want to help you Ash”

Hearing her first name leave the mouth of the man before her was like a shock to the system, but it had the desired effect, she felt the need to confess what was happening to her and why she was indeed having horrible nightmares almost every night since she woke up in the hospital bed nearly three weeks ago. Gulping down her pride and realising that out of anyone the Colonel was probably the best person to tell her troubles too incase her past came back to haunt her, she turned to him, a sad smile on her face and uttered, “It's a long story, Sir, but if you want to know I’m willing to share”

Carrillo smiled softly at the young officer before him, reaching out to grasp her hand tightly in his own to instill a small sense of comfort, he nodded slowly, he had finally managed to crack into her defences but what he didn’t know is he was about to find out how truly broken the soldier before him really was.

#horacio Carrillo x oc #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #narcos fanfic #modern au #paper scissors rank #chapter 8 #narcos

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