#always makes me think of my ex friend who would go to Africa to feel like a hero

[razzek]

A very good article about how effective altruism is pretty much bullshit. The whole time I was reading it I was just like "why do they never ask the people what they want and need?" Cuz man. That's my everyday life. Randos deciding to "help" you by doing something that makes them feel good and screws up what I was doing at best, puts me in actual danger at worst.

[whatsnewalycat]

Astrology ask!

Libra, Juno, 9th house!

Thank you! 👋

Hi hi hi!!! Ok here we go.

libra: describe your dream partner.

My dream partner is someone who loves and respects and supports me, who won’t get the ick when I’m a whole ass weirdo or will even join in on the weirdness, who tries their best to be vulnerable with me, whose demons play well with mine. It’s also important that they’re kind of an asshole and funny and have the ability to be soft or rough. Idk I’m just listing off things I love about my husband 🥺 he’s my fave.

juno: do you believe in soul mates?

YES I DO!!! I believe we have multiple soul mates and they’re not all necessarily romantic. I think my best friends are my soulmates. I have an ex (current friend) I think is a soulmate. I think my husband is my soulmate. There are people we meet who we just fucking click with, and it’s like… I was always supposed to have them in my life, I know it. Same vibration.

9th house: what’s your favorite quote?

My favorite quote from a book is from The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

Sylvia Plath gets me. I remember reading this for the first time and fucking bawling because it put into words something I’ve felt my whole life. I think this feeling she portrays with the fig tree is why I love writing so much. I get to explore so many different figs in my imagination, and I get to share that with people.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 4

So I planned for this chapter and the next to originally be one but as I started writing it, the words kept flowing and oops....now its really long. So I decided to split it. This means that I’m pretty much done with the next chapter so I’ll be able to get it out in a few days! Yay!

Also, Ivar is pretty manipulative in this chapter. Someone made a comment in the last chapter that I want to acknowledge. Going forward this is kind of a theme but I just want to put that warning statement- if this is triggering for you, please read with caution. There is nothing explicit or graphic but its still manipulation. 

Words:4000

Warnings: swearing, manipulation

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

Series Masterlist

Sitting in the office at work, Kari sipped on her smoothie as she plugged in numbers for an inventory order. She had just finished teaching one of her morning classes and was now doing some paperwork for Lydia while on her "lunch break". 

 She jumped when her phone suddenly buzzed- a text alert. Surprised and curious as to who would be texting her at this time, she unlocked her phone to see the text from an unknown number. 

 Unknown: hey u busy 2nite?

 Kari: who is this?

 Unknown: u fav person

 Kari: OMG! Ed Sheeran?!

 She giggled quietly to herself, returning back to the laptop screen. Normally she ignored any calls or texts from unknown numbers, but it had been a good morning and she was feeling playful. When there was no return text, she shrugged the conversation off and returned to the order. Apparently, the unknown number did not get the reaction they were hoping for or realized they text the wrong person. Either way, she did not care. 

 A couple minutes later, her phone started to vibrate repeatedly. Looking down, she saw she was getting a call from the unknown number. She hesitated to answer, but by the third ring her curiosity got the better of her and she answered it. 

 "Hello?"

 "FUCKING ED SHEERAN? REALLY?"

 She sat there stunned. "Ivar?"

 "Of course, it's me. Who the fuck were you expecting?" He asked, angrily. 

 "How did you get my number?"

 He ignored her question, his voice suddenly sounding muffled. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be a second…. damn it. I know!"

 "Who is that?" 

 "My brother.” He scoffed, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, before speaking to her again. “I have to head back into a meeting now."

 "Oh, ok?"

 "You didn't answer my question."

 Her mind was still reeling from the fact that Ivar Lothbrok had her number and was calling her out of the blue. "What question?"

 He huffed, exasperation evident in his tone. "Are you busy tonight?"

 "Why?"

 "I want to take you out."

 "Ivar," she sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead, "I told you, I can't."

 "Yeah and I don't believe you, so…."

 "No. I'm sorry but the answer is still no."

 "Fine. I have to go." He snapped then abruptly ended the call.  

 Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. What just happened? Before she forgot, she added his number to her contacts since she had the distinct feeling this would not be the last time he contacted her. Once done, she set her phone down and dropped her head into her hands. 

 It had been two days since he drove her home and she said they could be friends. In those two days, this was the first contact they had. She had hoped he grew bored with her since she was not playing his game, that she refused to go out with him. Maybe he finally decided she was not worth his time and moved on? Which was for the best. She could never fit into his world, there was no space for her there. Nor did she want to. She was happy, content with her life. 

 It was better for her to not allow Ivar into her life. That's what she repeated to herself as she tried to focus on the inventory order. 

 *****

 "Just put the bags right there, thank you." Kari said, placing the grocery bags, one in each hand, onto the tiled floor. The kitchen in her townhouse was small, two people could barely move around in it without bumping into one another. Thankfully, she did not spend much time in the kitchen. Cooking had never been her forte. 

 "Do you need anything else? I don't mind staying to help." The dirty-blond haired man asked, setting the two bags he carried down onto the floor. He started to shuffle forward but seemed to think better of it and leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchen from the short hallway. 

 "Erik, it's fine. If anything, I owe you. You never let me pay for gas money."

 He shrugged, and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "It's not a big deal. I needed to shop too."

 "Still, it's not fair to you." She turned around from placing the milk in the fridge to look at him. 

 "If I think of something you can do to repay me, I'll let you know. Deal?"

 "Perfect."

 "Do you still want a ride to work tomorrow?"

 She shut the door and jokingly waved a hand at him. "See! You're too nice."

 "I'd be ‘too nice’ if I also showed up with coffee for you."

 She laughed, moving some frozen fruit into the freezer. "You're too perfect to not have a girlfriend." 

 He rubbed the back of his neck, a flush growing on his cheeks and drawing out a boyish smile. "I don't know if I'd say that. I'll let you get to it. I'll meet you outside at nine?"

 "Thank you, Erik."

 "Of course." He popped his head around the wall to look into the living room. "See you, Alana!"

 "Bye, Erik!" The response came from the living room. 

 Kari continued to put her groceries away as she heard the front door click shut behind him. Somehow, she needed to figure out a way to pay him back. 

 Erik lived in the townhouse next door alone. When he learned that Kari did not own a car, he offered to give her rides whenever it worked out for both of their schedules. At first, she had been hesitant, still not having lived in the townhouse for long but eventually gave in because he always acted like such a gentleman. Every time he saw her, he made sure to greet her and ask about her day. He always held the door open for her and anybody else close by. A negative word never passed his lips, rather choosing to focus on the positive in life. A routine soon started to form and every two weeks they would meet up outside of their townhouses and go grocery shopping together. When she did not have to work early, he would occasionally give her rides to work since the bank he worked at was only a couple blocks away. That was the extent of their interactions though. She wondered about inviting him over for dinner as to thank him but she always chickened out in asking him. Perhaps that was what she needed to do after all.  

 Once all her groceries were put away, she headed into the living room, seeing her roommate and friend sitting on the couch with the TV on to the Great British Bake-off but looking down at her phone. 

 The brunette asked, dropping onto the second couch. "How was work?"

 "Good. You?" Alana looked up, her make-up flawless like usual on her delicate features. 

 "Nothing too exciting."

 "You know, if you'd waited two hours I could have taken you to the store."

 Kari nodded, fiddling with her diamond stud earring. "I know, but you're so busy with work and school. I know you like relaxing when you come home and Erik said he was free today."

 "Did he now?" Alana asked with a smug look.

 Kari tossed a throw pillow at her. "Don't start this again."

 The blonde caught the pillow, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. "You know he likes you. He's just too shy to ask you out."

 "He's a friend, it's been like seven months, I think if he was going to ask me out, he would have done it by now."

 "He. Is. Shy." Alana enunciated, as if talking to a child. She rolled her blue eyes, leaning back against the couch. "Shit, he only started to actually talk to me this summer."

 "Cause you are intimidating."

 Alana threw the pillow back at Kari. "Bitch, it's cause I radiate sexiness and he can't handle it."

 "That is most definitely it." 

 "Well the guy I hooked up with last weekend said I radiated sexiness."

 Kari wrinkled her nose, looking over at her roommate. "I don't want to hear that. It's bad enough when you bring them here."

 "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing for you to actually go out with Erik. He's…. sweet." She quietly stated, eyes back on the TV. 

 "Yeah."

 "I'm fairly sure he'd treat you better than that fucker of ex."

 Kari picked invisible lint off her black leggings, apprehensive about where the topic was going. Her love life, and lack of it, was something Alana liked to remind her of frequently as of late. "Honestly, I'm even sure anymore he should count as an ex."

 "Well you were supposed to be exclusive, right? And then you find out he's been fucking other girls the whole time. That counts as a shitty ex."

 She winced at the reminder of her one attempt at dating. "I don't…. I don't think I'm ready."

 The blonde pointed a finger at her roommate without turning her eyes away from the TV. "Well don't wait around forever, you'll miss out."

 "Says the woman who hooks up with a different guy almost every other weekend."

 "And I'm not missing out!"

 Kari laughed. Feeling her phone vibrate, she pulled it out of her pocket and checked it to see a new text from Ivar. 

 Ivar: hell no, if we r gng 2 see the Northern Lights thn we're gng 2 Iceland or Norway.

 She smiled at the text, quickly typing in a reply. 

 Kari: fine, we'll add that to the list. Can I please put South Africa back on the list?

 She fiddled with her diamond stud earrings, looking back at their conversation throughout the day. Just looking at all the texts, she bit her lip to try and contain the smile. 

 Ivar had texted her in the late morning, asking her out again. To which she just texted back a one-word answer- "no". Apparently undeterred, he ignored her 'no', saying how he wanted to take her to this popular restaurant. Somehow the conversation spiraled into creating overly outrageous "dates" he would take her on, each one more fantastic than the last, with her encouraging and creating her own ideas. Their texting had lasted all day, and she found herself actually looking forward to his responses. Something she never would have expected, especially after how rudely he hung up on her the prior day. 

 So far her favorite "date" involved him renting out the entire Roman Colosseum in Rome and having a candlelight dinner in the middle of the arena. The most amusing one was when she suggested they go skydiving. He shut down that idea saying they would have to be strapped to instructors and the only man she should ever be strapped to was him. 

 Her phone vibrated in her hand, alerting her to his response. 

 Ivar: u r not swimming w/ sharks 

 She giggled, trying to imagine his facial expression. She actually had no desire to do half of the stuff she suggested but it was funny to get a rise out of him. 

 Kari: African safari?

 "What are you giggling at?" Alana questioned, giving her the side-eye. 

 The smile dropped from her face. "Nothing."

 "That doesn't sound like nothing."

 "Just a funny meme." She deflected, getting to her feet. There was no way she could tell Alana she had been texting Ivar all day. "I'm going to shower."

 As she headed upstairs to her room, her phone vibrated again. 

 Ivar: do u jus luv danger?

 Kari: I'm talking to you, aren't I? 

 She headed to her bathroom, turning the shower on and checking the temperature. In a spur of the moment decision, she tossed in a eucalyptus shower bomb. 

 Just before she jumped in, she looked at her phone one last time to find his response.  

 Ivar: touche, kitten, touche 😘

 *****

 The soothing soundtrack of nature played over the speakers in the yoga studio room. A few women were already in the studio with their yoga mats out, either stretching or quietly conversing as they waited. Depending on the day, the ten am morning class could be busy but typically it averaged about fifteen to twenty women.

 Kari bent over, touching her palms to the floor. Even though she would not be continuously doing the routine along with those in her class, she still liked to be limber and have her muscles warmed up. This was a beginner class, where she spent a good portion of the time either correcting people's forms or showing how to do a certain pose. A few of her coworkers complained about teaching beginner classes since when the participants walked through the door, you never really knew what level they were at. 

 Checking the clock hanging over the door, she saw she had five minutes before her class started. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the pull of her muscles. The door to the studio room opened but Kari continued to stretch, shifting to a downward facing dog pose, holding it. She could hear some people moving around but she focused on her breathing.  

 "Mmm, I could get used to seeing this."

 The familiar voice behind her, caused Kari to try and whip around in startled surprise, only to end up crashing onto her ass. 

 Above her stood Ivar with a devilish smile. "Hello, kitten." He softly said with smolder that instantly made her flush and a tendril of warmth curl in her belly. Standing there in his jeans and red shirt with his hair pulled back in a man bun, it was unfair how striking he looked. Even the braces over his legs did nothing to deter from his attractiveness. 

 She rose quickly to her feet, wiping her hands over her leggings and peeking at the others in the room. Most were curiously watching their interaction but remained where they were. 

 "What are you doing here?" She hissed, turning her gaze back up to meet his. "How did you find me?"

 He rolled his eyes. "You were wearing a Whole Wellness Yoga Studio shirt when I drove you home last week. Plus, hearing from Gyda that you work here…. You're not that hard to find."

 That made sense, even if she disliked the logic. "Ok, fine. Why are you here though?"

 "I want to take you out tonight."

 "Oh gods." She could not believe what she was hearing. The prior day they had spent most of the day texting and sure it was fun, but her answer had not changed. When he had not text her this morning, she assumed that was the last she had heard from him. Apparently, he decided to ask her out in person instead of over the phone like the past two times. "Ivar… No."

 "Why? You keep saying you can't but never why."

 "It's just…. look, I don't want to date."

 He took a step closer, face inches above hers. His voice dropped low, an underlying current of anger in his tone. Those piercing blue eyes challenged her. "You say that but I don't think that's the real reason. So, until you tell me the truth, your 'no' means fucking nothing. Friends tell each other things, right?"

 "You know, I don't think we should be friends anymore."

 He chuckled, still standing too close for a normal conversation. "Too late. I like you."

 "I'm still not going out with you." She placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear confident, hoping desperately he did not hear the wavering in her voice. 'This was for the best, it was best for both of them' she repeated in her mind. 

 "Fine. I'll wait for you to change your mind." He winked and stepped back. To her horror, she watched as he walked over to the side of the room where she kept her water bottle and light jacket. He grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over before dropping down with his legs in a manspread, that stupid smirk still on his face. 

 She stomped over to him, whisper-shouting at him. "What are you doing?"

 "I'm waiting."

 "What?"

 "I'm not leaving until you agree to go on a date with me."

 "You can't...no…. Ivar." She whined. 

 "I walked all the way here to see you, even though my legs are quite painful today…. you wouldn't kick a cripple out when they just need to rest, would you?" He asked, eyes widened in mock innocence. One of his hands rubbed at his knee in exaggerated fashion as if to prove the discomfort he was in. 

 She groaned. "I hate you."

 "No, you don't." He gloated, then nodded towards the clock. "It's ten o'clock, it's time to start your class, I believe."

 Without another word, she moved to the front of the room. She refused to play this game. Her answer was 'no' and no matter what he said or did, her answer would not change. The whole time she could feel his rakish gaze on her, reminding her how tight her leggings and purple tank top were. She tried to focus on her class, smiling at the women she recognized and the ones that she assumed was new. "Let's begin. Everyone start in mountain pose. Take deep breaths, let's center ourselves."

 "Kari!" 

 She looked over at the older woman, Ingrid, who called out. The woman was easily one of Kari's favorites, doting upon those who worked at the yoga studio, and becoming the unofficial grandmother of them. Ingrid had been coming to the yoga studio for years but was forced to only take beginner level classes after a bad fall the prior year. She loudly complained about her doctor being an idiot and how she felt fine, but Lydia refused to let her attend any other class than beginner classes until otherwise said by her doctor. 

 "Yes?"

 Ingrid's hazel eyes twinkled with mischief from the front row where she stood. "You planning on introducing that handsome young man you've got over there?"

 "No, we are going to ignore his presence. He's going to be leaving soon." Kari flatly stated with a polite smile.

 "Hi! I'm Ivar!" He announced with a charming smile, his bright blue eyes alluring under the dim lights. Giving a little wave with his fingers, he continued, "I hope my presence doesn't bother all you lovely women, I just came to see my girlfriend and ask her on a date tonight."

 A chorus of "awwwws" filled the room. 

 Kari wanted nothing more than to bang her head against a wall. Or preferably, Ivar's head. She could not believe the audacity of him.

 "Where are you taking her?" One of the newer women asked in a flirty tone, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize her ample chest. 

 Ivar barely glanced at her, keeping his focus on Kari. "It's a surprise. I wanted to do something special."

 "Young man, if I were a few years younger, I would fight Kari here so you could take me on a date." Ingrid said with a laugh. 

 "I would be honored to take a lovely woman like you on a date." He sent a playful wink to Ingrid. 

 "Alright, let's get back to yoga." Kari tried to redirect the attention. Annoyed and upset did not even begin to describe how she felt. 

 "Well it was lovely to meet you, young man. Kari should have told us her boyfriend was so handsome. We might have convinced her to bring you in sooner for some eye candy." Ingrid teased. 

 "He's not my boyfriend." Kari retorted, shooting a glare at the smug raven-haired man. 

 "And that is why I'm trying to take her on a date." He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, eyes staring at her beseechingly. "Just for her to give me a chance."

 "Get her some tulips. Those are her favorite flowers." Karina called out from the back of the room. 

 "Can't go wrong with chocolate!"

 "Oh! Read her a sonnet and dance under the stars together!"

 "This is so romantic…. like something out of a movie." Someone loudly whispered, making a few others laugh. 

 Kari dropped her chin to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She knew those in the class meant well, that they were really just trying to help. But they were helping the wrong person. Why would Ivar not leave her alone? She told him 'no' multiple times, that should have been enough. Her tolerance for his behavior was waning rapidly and honesty she was not sure if she would fight back…. or surrender. 

 The chair scratched faintly on the floor followed by his footsteps landing audibly as he crossed the room to reach her. She refused to lift her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Not just to pretend she could not feel him standing so close to her, but to try and hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek. 

 "Kari." He whispered, the sound a caress of her name. 

 Still she did not move. 

 Gently, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His thumb wiped away the evidence of her tear. It was those captivating eyes, the ones that could both scorch everything in view but also send flames of desire dancing across her skin, that met hers. To her surprise, there was a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability, that was reminiscent of the few times they were alone. As if with just her, for a brief moment, he let his guard down and she could glimpse the real Ivar. 

 "Go out with me." He murmured faintly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Standing in front of her, his broad back to the class gave them a semblance of privacy. "Please."

 "Why can't you let this go?" She begged quietly, staring up at him. 

 "I told you, I'm persistent." He smiled, almost shyly. 

 In his words, it felt like there was such a depth to them she was unaware of. That he was confessing something to her in which she did not have the key to fully understand. 

 She sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. "Fine. I'll go…. But it's only as friends, ok? This isn't…. Romantic. Just…. Just friends."

 "Sure, just friends." He leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek. "I'll pick you up at seven."

 She nodded, feeling torn apart inside. 

 After a lingering look that breathed a flame into her belly, he spun on his heel to face the women. "She said yes!"

 A few cheers and clapping reverberated in the small yoga studio room. 

 "I graciously thank you all for your sound advice and encouragement with helping me to woo the beautiful Kari. Wish me luck as I plan to thoroughly spoil her tonight." Ivar dramatically bowed, shooting a quick wink at Kari as she watched him. 

 She desperately tried to fight the small smile off her lips. No one could say that Ivar was not charming or charismatic when it suited him. 

 As he finally made his way to the door, he turned around just before pushing it open. "Wear something nice." He said, pointing a finger at Kari and then walked out like a dream where one cannot decide if it was a nightmare or not. 

 The brunette ran a hand down her face before shoving aside her emotions and plastering a customer smile on. "I'm so sorry about all of this. Let's get back to it. I promise it won't happen again, ladies."

 "Kari, dear, you have fun with that boy tonight." Ingrid spoke up, eyes darting to the now closed door and back to the yoga instructor. "And if you don't want him, let me know. I'd still jump on him in a heartbeat. That boy has the prettiest eyes, I swear."

 A few sounds of agreement echoed in the room. 

 Kari could not stop her smile from turning genuine at Ingrid. No matter the situation, the feisty, older woman always knew how to make her laugh. "I promise I'll let you know. Now, back to mountain pose please."

 Silently, she hoped tonight was not a mistake.

[a-night-at-deadvlei]

○ For the past few weeks I have had dreams and later thoughts about my ex-boyfriend Daniel. Our relationship began at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic and I felt it was love at first site. He would later tell me the same, but now I'm not sure. I'll do my best to convey this story highlighting both sides as tragedy forms so that there is no one side (we both played roles in our demise).

○ My dreams are sexual - I remember how he felt when he first penetrated me. It was rough, painful but after a few intimate thrust, that demonstrated his patience for the act rather than a want to complete and be done, that roughness subsided and he glided with ease. Every motion a testament to his desire for me; my body, more than content to take him in and feel his "love."

○ My thoughts are afterthoughts post break-up of things I wished to tell him. Of ways he made me feel. He accused me of cheating. His accusations were based on no clear evidence - I wish I was strong enough to tell him about his twitter account and how his messages on post made me feel. How someone would post lewd pictures with the desire to be fucked and he'd respond "where?"

○ I think of the times he hit me, screamed at me, made attempts to manipulate me. I think of the time he threw the Nintendo Switch that I bought for him as a testsment of our relationship at me. I think of the times I still gave to him everything because I loved him.

○ I had a friend who messaged me on FB messenger to catch up on times since our senior year of college was cut short due to the pandemic and Daniel immediately began interrogating me about who the friend was. A simple "he's a friend from uni, wanting to catch up." Wasn't sufficient and he accused me of cheating and I cried because of how hurt I was. I suffered at this man's side because my words were never good enough.

○ Mohamed was an outlet. I will say if I ever cheated on Daniel then it was with Mohamed. But Daniel never understood that while I was with him in Phoenix, AZ. Mohamed was in Tunis, Tunisia. He was an ocean away where I'd need to fly to the other side of my country to go to Europe in order to be in Africa to land in Tunsia. At the time, Mohamed was only 18 and I was 29.

○ This wasn't a romantic relationship, Mohamed was a a friend that I would lean on to talk to about the quarrels with Daniel. I cheated emotionally, never physically. While I loved Mohamed the love I felt for him was never on the same level as the love I had for Daniel. I was going to marry Daniel - I was never going to marry Mohamed (plus Mohamed was straight, at one point I even asked Mohamed to talk to Daniel to explain the nature of our relationship to put to rest the accusations).

○ I considered ending my friendship, my brotherhood with Mohamed to save my relationship with Daniel. Daniel didn't care what I did. Mohamed cared and told me that ending friendships because of relationship isn't right. Those words from Mohamed brought to light another memory from a previous boyfriend before Daniel whose isolation attempts succeeded and I had cut ties with so many friends.

○ I chose Mohamed. I chose my friendships and my bonds over the toxicity of a relationship where I was always wrong. I just wish that I had the courage to tell Daniel all of this last year. My fault in all of this was my lack of communication but how could I communicate with him when he stopped me from telling him anything all for the sake of "we're not talking about that now."

○ After our break-up Daniel logged into my FB messenger and into my Instagram. He called Mohamed and Mohamed didn't answer. I find it odd - Mohamed was willing to talk to him long before all of this to set the record straight but Daniel never wanted to talk until he thought it was appropriate. He posted communications between Mohamed and I trying to make it seem as though it was a romantic relationship. He messaged my parents to tell them that he was concerned about me. He messaged me to tell me he would say he was sorry if I explained everything to him.

○ Even after invading my privacy (which wasn't private) he expected me to jump in order to get an I'm sorry. He never apologized for the abuse before. I told him he would never get an explanation and I told him that I hated him.

○ I have never been happier at how I handled that situation but like I said I wish there things I could've said to close this chapter with him.

This post helped a lot. Thank you.

[theteej]

on white performative anxiety on election night

Ok, here we go. I had decided that I would not watch the election results unfold last night because quite frankly--it was clear that it would be a close race, and just like with sports games it takes a particular type of narcissistic imagining to think that constant watching will change the impact of an event simply because you watch it.  Also, this isn't a sports game--it's people's lives.  So I ordered a pizza and worked through three unread X-Men collections (decent, by the way--especially the new take on Marauders).

By 8pm I was getting frequent texts, and despite putting my phone in another room, i heard the buzzing enough to get me off the couch. I logged onto social media to see a flood of white Democrats having a complete meltdown as if the election had been called.  And that same existential dread/despair cataclysmically reverberating across social media in New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia.  I was so confused.  What the actual fuck were people upset about?  He hadn't conceded. Most states hadn't been called.  The responses felt so much like being in high school or college where I'd studied for exams and felt reasonably prepared but then got overwhelmed in the psychic energy of performed anxiety/fear/studying that everyone did around finals.  Hell, in pre-covid times I had to limit my time on campus as a professor in the last week because the palpable miasma of fear/anxiety/performative freaking out was too much for me, even though I WAS JUST GRADING THE FINALS. Honestly, I was baffled.  Why were people like this?  They knew that Wisconsin and Michigan and Pennsylvania were not going to count their early voting polls first, and the in person would screw Republican.  WHY WERE THEY FREAKING OUT?

And then it slowly dawned on me.  They really had believed their own lies.  They thought there was going to be a magical, massive blue wave of repudiation of President Trump, after the xenophobia, the racism, the wanton cruelty, the vicious fascism.  They needed to believe that this moment would redeem them, this electoral moment would fix them.  And they were mourning, almost disproportionately, this sense of utter collapse.  They were treating the reality of the closeness of the election as somehow equivalent to the idea of a Trump re-election victory.  What the actual hell.

I started to see a lot of "I can't believe it's even this close" statuses.  I put down my pizza in annoyance and kept reading.  There were so many variations on the time-honoured "this is not who we are" canard so many people tell themselves about America. People were mourning, in real time, the lie they'd told themselves.  There was a fundamental believe that Trumpism, the vile populism and toxic mix of racism and other oppressive elements, was an "aberration" that could be corrected.  There was a willing disbelief that this was not part of the very core of this country, that 'America' as a concept is a bad place--one made entirely possible through enslavement and genocide and one that was absolutely fixable through a simple electoral action.  And it's wild, because that's never been the case.  Not now, not ever.  I remember in 2008, being overwhelmed by white people wanting to celebrate Obama with me, but I was also keenly aware of racism and the fact that my own state had just voted to take away same-sex marriage.  Dr. Jim Barrett, a professor in my graduate program at Illinois, stopped me, a new, black graduate student who he didn't know, and said, "isn't the election great?" and i said, "I'm from California, and I'm more worried also about how easily people can dismiss queer rights."  He paused for a second, and then said, "but we did it this time with Obama!"  Here was a full-grown man with a PhD in American history casually telling a black graduate student (WHOSE NAME HE DID NOT EVEN KNOW) how great it was to be able to absolve oneself of responsibility via an electoral process, and to imagine an America without self-criticism, just redemption.

And that's what was at the heart of this baffling pre-capitulation, one that exceeded even the easy stereotype of the always-losing Democrats.  BIDEN HADN'T EVEN LOST. He had (and as of now still) leads in electoral votes! But everyone was moaning, gnashing teeth, and grieving.  But what they were really grieving was their own innocence.  Their naïve assumption that they could be the heroes in a story, in a history of violence that was expressly built for them, even if they wanted to deny it.  Trumpism sells a fantasy of white revanchism, of recovery, and even those whites who imagine otherwise can't exorcise it via a ballot because the entire system of it is at its core, still violent and racist.  Y'all seriously wanted a parade, a movement repudiating this.  What America do you live in?  Did we not go through the same black summer?  Of course we didn't.  You saw this summer as a moment of profound alliance building and a recapturing of a mythical value of inclusion.  We saw it with surprise--oh white people either just realized that black lives are cheap, or they were sufficiently bothered/bored enough to perform about it.

So much of this is a navel-gazing performance of anxiety.  2016 was traumatizing for people who didn't want to think Trumpism was America, but it IS.  And it's done in your name.  

This morning, I saw even more of this.  A friend and colleague wrote a lengthy status about her anxiety about it all and hope that 'good' would prevail, and bemoaned the lack of a real wave of change.  A friend, family member, or colleague of theirs immediately commented with pro-Trump sloganeering.  And she did nothing.  She kept commenting.  This broke me for a second.  How could she not see what a joke all of this was? What she was?  Here she was bemoaning a lack of some sort of prelapsarian goodness, trying to make some sort of "we'll get through this message," and she couldn't even see what she was doing.  There was no acknowledgment, no censuring, no pushback, no RESPONSE to the Trump sloganeering, because she could not fathom the idea that this was connected to HER.  The disappointment she felt, that so many people expressed on social media? It was performative, it was a mourning one's inability to distance oneself from genocidal, suicidal logics of all of this populist turpitude.  She couldn't even denounce the very Trumpism on her own fucking wall, in response to her comment.  Of course there was no blue wave, of course there was no rebuking.  Why should there be?  There are no consequences.  Just white folk hoping civility will save them, with the same baffling surety as King Canute commanding the waves to cease lapping at the feet of his throne.  The whole event felt like a farce--people attempting to distance themselves from a violence done in their name by refusing to even pushback against he very violence that endangers millions of people, incarcerates children, kills with impunity.

I feel, once again, like I'm the one person who felt confident for an exam during finals week.  Everyone's freaking the fuck out, performing, demonstrating a goodness, trying to foolishly imagine the country as good.  I think back to March, when black voters in South Carolina made very clear what was going to happen.  White people were not coming to save them.  Electoral legerdemain was not going to happen, there was no last minute deus ex machina.  There was the brutal calculus that many people don't see the fascism as bad, and remain so insulated that they don't care if the brute returns, so much as the lesser peoples are put in their place.  Those black voters saw that their best chance was the utter uninspiring, safe, and milquetoast flavour of whiteness, Joe Biden.  And they were right.  We can push that one, perhaps.  Make changes.  But this was always going to be a bitter slog, and at most, a close thing.  America is a bad place. We cannot redeem it through performance, through simply voting.  We don't exorcise our structural violence with selfies and dashes of ink on sealed papers.

Now that we know this, we can actually push back against the attempted voter fraud that IS happening right now, and then hope that this mediocre blue man wins.  And then maybe y'all can join us in doing the hard, daily work that also involves critically acknowledging our own complicity, investment, and inclusion in a violent, illegitimate space.  We have to live in these contradictions, to push and transform it, and remember that there are no cheat codes here.  Just grinding work, and no cookies or congratulation.

Be fucking better, y'all.

[riddlegecko]

Hmm...

I think it would be interesting to flesh out Emma going to visit Jane (and see Tim, maybe for the first time if we’re staying in canon here) and learning that she’s gone. Maybe not terribly fluffy though, but fun dynamics with Tim and it could explain how she ended up staying with Tom and Tim for the borrowers AU?

In terms of fluff, sorry my brain doesn’t like fluff without some tinge of sadness, for HOHF, Emma and Paul fight [villain of your choice] and someone gets hurt and the aftermath of that. Alternatively, I’d love to know if Tim has the Nitro Gene and if so, if he joins his Aunt Emma and Uncle Paul in the field. That could be so cute! (Although, he could also join mission control or maybe make friends with another super if Hannah has powers as well? But that’s not Paulkins...) If you feel like picking up a family fluff piece, which is personally my favorite genre, lol, I’d love to see Paul and Emma as parents and if their child shows their powers early (since it’s not nitro gene specific from Paul, if it can be inherited, of course, and now I’m imaging Jack Jack from the incredible, lol) or for Harriet and Tex to come back and see their baby (oh that would be adorable because grandparent plants and you can imagine how proud they would be of Emma!) or to see how Slacky interacted with the baby. (I’m imagining a how a Golden Retriever interacts with babies now... 😂) Or, if you’d prefer to ignore children all together, Emma going back home and taking Paul to meet Harriet and Tex (meet the parents essentially). Well, I’m not sure if any of those ideas seem interesting, but if not, I hope they’re able to help get some fun ideas flowing. Have a lovely weekend! 😊

Okay, so... A lot of these are stuff that I want to explore in longer stories eventually, both the Borrowers AND the HoHF prompts. But you DID give me an idea for some HoHF family fluff between Emma and Tim!

"Here's that big project I was telling you about!"

Emma had been back in Hatchetfield for what, six, seven months now? And she'd long since made a name for herself as Wild Flower. She was respected, loved even, by the town that had once cast her aside. And what's more, she'd managed to connect with her nephew, who seemed to think she was cool despite her absence for most of his life! If it wasn't for the fact that Tim didn't know she was Wild Flower yet, she would've chalked it up to that.

After all, Tim loved superheroes. Understandable, considering his mother was one of the most revered supers in the country before she died. Being raised by someone like that was bound to give someone a deep respect for the career. And right now, Tim was showing Emma his most recent token of appreciation. A social studies project he'd done for school about superheroes around the world.

It was a large cardboard diagram, with a map of the world taped to it. Coming from a line pointing to each continent (barring Antarctica, because duh), was a photograph of a super that was native to said continent, accompanied by a short paragraph with information about them.

"Wooooow, you really know your supers, bud!" Emma mused as she scanned over the diagram, impressed.

Tim looked up at her with a bashful smile. "Thanks," he said, blushing. "Wanna hear more about each one?"

"Educate me!"

"Okay, so," Tim began excitedly, pointing to the super whose picture corresponded to Australia. A woman with long, blonde hair and a bright blue superhero getup. "That right there is Tidal Crash, she's an Australian super with the power to control water."

"Can she talk to sea creatures?" Emma asked, encouraging her nephew to continue.

"Yeah, telepathically," Tim replied. "She's like the cool version of Aquaman."

Emma snickered at Tim's snark. God, he was such a Perkins. He continued on, pointing to the picture next to Africa. A dark-skinned man with long dreadlocks and an award-winning smile, half his face covered by a deep purple mask.

"That's Radi ya Umeme," Tim continued to explain. "He's from Kenya, and his name is Swahili for 'Lightning Strike'. He can control the weather, but he's really good with lightning, hence the name. He's kinda like Madbolt in a way, only y'know, not evil."

Emma chuckled, remembering her most recent encounter with that old nutjob. Madbolt was a fascinating case, he'd been causing trouble for Hatchetfield since around the time Emma was born. Not even Jane had managed to land him behind bars. Tim continued, his finger landing on the South American picture. A man with dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes, clad in a black leather costume.

"That guy is Espalda con Púas, his name is Spanish for 'Spiked Back'," Tim said, talking as though he was still presenting the project to his teacher and classmates. "He's from Chile, and as his name would imply, he can grow spikes out of his back and sharpen his teeth and nails into fangs and claws!"

Emma nodded, urging him to continue. With an excited smile, Tim moved on to Asia, where a picture of a short-haired woman with a shining mask lay.

"That's Dá Quy, she's from South Vietnam," he continued. "Her name means 'Gemstone', and she can control different ores and minerals and stuff."

Tim moved on to Europe, where a picture of a woman with short brown hair and an elegant, but still practical costume lay.

"That's Lady Nighthawk, she's from England," he explained as Emma continued to listen intently. "She can talk to animals and harness their abilities to fight. She visits Hatchetfield once a year, too!"

"Right! I think I remember your mother telling me about meeting a 'Lady Nighthawk' before!" Emma exclaimed in recollection.

"Yeah, mom worked with a lot of supers," Tim mused fondly before moving on to the final picture, the one corresponding to North America. A grizzled man with long dirty-blonde hair and a decked-out suit. "And finally, there's Eagle Eye! He's an ex-military general who can shapeshift into a bald eagle! And he's got this awesome combat suit that he uses in human form! He's from Washington D.C., but just like Lady Nighthawk, he visits Hatchetfield sometimes!"

Emma smiled at the sight of the super who'd been acting as a mentor to her for the past week. During a rescue mission she'd nearly bungled, Eagle Eye- or John MacNamara as she'd learned his real name was, swooped in to lend a hand. He'd taken a shine to her, and offered to help coach her in the ways of being a superhero. Emma had been learning lots of valuable information off of John. But of course, there was no way Emma could tell Tim about-

"Speaking of, did you hear that he's been working with Wild Flower lately?"

Okay, nevermind! Emma froze, surprised by her nephew's casual mention of her alias. Was this a good time to tell him? Better test the waters to be sure...

"Oh yeah, Wild Flower!" she exclaimed, trying to play it cool. "I've, uh... been hearing lots about her lately!"

"Yeah, it's so weird!" Tim chuckled. "It's like she just came out of nowhere!"

Emma nervously drummed her fingers on the headboard of Tim's bed, where they'd been sitting for the past couple of minutes. Did he mean that in a good way or a bad way?

"She's awesome, though!" Tim continued, an excited sparkle in his eyes. Emma's heart began to race. "Her powers are so cool! I mean, she can summon that big flytrap thing! What was it's name again?"

"Slack-Jaw?" Emma replied, a barely-contained smile on her face.

"Right, Slack-Jaw!" Tim recalled. "And did you see her new costume? The green jacket with the cool logo on it?"

"Mhm!" Emma hummed in response, happily recalling the day she was presented that jacket at Town Hall. The mayor had recognized her feats of heroism, and had the jacket tailor-made for her to replace that ratty old, ill-fitting red leather jacket she'd bought from a Goodwill in a scrambled effort to make a good costume. It still needed some tweaks now, but the new jacket was an excellent start.

"And now that she's getting lessons from Eagle Eye, she's only gonna get better!" Tim gushed. "She's just so- Aunt Emma? What're you smiling so hard for?"

God, Emma couldn't keep this secret any longer. She had to tell him.

"I have a question for you, bud," she began, resisting the urge to just tell him outright. "Did your mom ever say anything about both her and me having the Nitro Gene?"

Tim's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yeah!" he exclaimed. "But she said that you didn't like talking about your powers, so she never told me what they were. I figured you still wouldn't wanna talk about them, so I never asked."

Emma's heart fluttered. What had she done to deserve such a considerate nephew? "You wanna take a guess?"

"O-okay, but why n-" Tim cut himself off, the gears clearly turning in his head. After a few moments, he turned to Emma with a look of awed realization on his face. "W-wait, Aunt Emma... Are you saying that you're...?"

"Wild Flower?" Emma finished, eyeing him cheekily. "You bet!"

A smile slowly blossomed onto Tim's face. "No way!" he exclaimed. "B-but mom always said you didn't wanna be a superhero!"

"Well, people change their minds sometimes!" Emma retorted. "And I decided to finally put my powers to good use once I came back home."

"Wow..." Tim gaped breathlessly.

"But I'm still your Aunt Emma, first and foremost!" Emma quickly clarified. "I'm still the same person, just y'know... with plant powers."

"O-of course!" Tim stammered, his mind looking certifiably blown. His face grew serious. "And don't worry, I won't tell anybody about your secret identity!"

Emma snickered, tousling her nephew's hair. "I appreciate it, bud," she said, pulling him into a hug. "...Want me to introduce you to Slack-Jaw?"

"...Maybe."

[twomoonstwosuns]

dinner.

back to you [series masterlist]

previous part · next part

pairing: professor!poe dameron x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, age gap (reader over 18), things aren’t fluffy anymore.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: i really appreciate the love for the last chapter, i am truly glad you enjoyed it. i am my own worst critic and sometimes i feel unsure about what i write and need some validation.  

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

Heels were not fun to wear in the middle of winter. 

Heels plus invisible ice equaled a disaster waiting to happen, even to the most experienced heel-wearers. You tried to avoid getting dressed up during the winter as much as you could for that very reason. However, dinner at Calrissian’s required a little more effort than a nice pair of pants and a nice top, which is how you found yourself in a fitted dress with heels, hair curled and makeup intricately done, sipping on a glass of wine that cost way more than it should.

You were practically counting the minutes until you could leave. You were going straight to Poe’s afterwards, a newly bought surprise for him hugging your body just underneath your dress.

“How’s my niece or nephew doing?” You asked as Tallie sat down on your right. She was four months pregnant and just beginning to show.

“I am hungry all the time and I have the weirdest cravings, so don’t judge whatever I choose to eat tonight. You know I actually had Chris go get me pickles and ice cream last night?” You gave her a disgusted look. “I’m a walking pregnancy cliché.”

“Are you guys going to find out the sex?”

“We haven’t decided. Chris and I keep going back and forth on whether we want to know or not. I have an appointment next week and I’m hoping we’ll make a decision right then and there.”

“If you do find out, promise me you won’t do an over-the-top stupid cheesy gender reveal. Just get cake or something.”

“I promise.” You clinked your wine glass against her glass of water to seal the deal. Your mother suddenly standing up from her end of the table with an excited gasp caught your attention.

“Leia, it’s so good to see you!”

She greeted a woman with graying hair done up in an intricate braid. You recognized the woman immediately. You were too blindsided at the coincidence of running into her to question how your mother knew her. The two women hugged before your mother beckoned you and Tallie over.  

“Tallie, Y/N, this is Dr. Organa.”

You shook Leia’s outstretched hand, an awed smile on your face.

“I know,” you said dumbly. “I mean, I go to your school.”

“I thought I’d seen you around campus before. Lots of students, but I’m good with faces.” Leia gave you a kind smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, ma’am.”

“Are Ben and Han not coming?” Your mother asked, looking around towards the entrance. Leia chuckled.

“My husband and son are late, as usual.” You furrowed your brow.

“Wait, you’re—you’re Ben’s mom?”

“Why did you think she was here?” Tallie asked. You shot her a glare before looking back at Leia.

“I’m sorry, I—you go by Organa not Solo, so I didn’t realize—”

“One thing I learned is that you don’t need your husband’s last name if you don’t want it. Doesn’t mean I love him any less. But I’ve got the doctorate, not him.”

She sent you a wink and you smiled nervously. You took a giant sip of wine as you came to an unsettling realization: you were about to dine with your ex-boyfriend’s mom who also happened to be the president of the university your current boyfriend, who you weren’t supposed to be dating in the first place, taught at and who would be interviewing for a promotion with very soon.

You had a feeling it would be a long night.  

“There they are!”

The booming voice of Han Solo caused many heads to turn, yet he didn’t seem to care. He was just as roguish and scruffy looking as you remembered, a look that worked quite well for him. His graying hair didn’t slow him down.

You practically did a double take when you saw the man trailing behind him.

He was taller than his father now. The freckles and moles that marked his face were as prominent as ever and jet-black hair had grown out to brush the top of his shoulders. He smiled as he greeted your mom, his dimples deep. He was no longer the tall boy with big ears that stuck out and a goofy smile.

Ben Solo was a man.  

Your breath caught when he looked at you, memories of high school flooding back. Deep brown eyes looked you up and down, like he was trying to remember what you looked like the last time he saw you.

“Hi,” your voice was breathy, nervous. Ben gave you a shy smile, feeling the same awkward tension in the air. You stared at him, still not believing how much older he looked after four years. Han interrupted your moment by patting you on the back and giving you a short hug.

When they were seated, a waiter came around with the wine list and menus for the newcomers. Conversation stalled as everyone looked at the menu, starting up again when the waiter came and left with his or her orders. A toast to old friends was made before Han launched into some story about a trip to Africa he was planning, with Leia, Tallie, and your mother listening intently. You turned your body towards Ben.

“Tell me about Europe.”

Ben leaned forward onto his elbows, his broad frame taking up a lot of space.

“I dropped out of school.” He admitted, his voice deeper than you remember. You tilted your head in a concerned way. He waved it off like it was nothing. “I thought I knew what I wanted to do but after last year I realized I had no clue. So I dropped out and I’ve been traveling ever since. I’ve been all over, not staying in a place long enough to get attached but long enough to get to know some of the locals, the best hide away spots.”

You were joyfully envious of him. “That’s awesome, though. I hope I get to travel like you have someday.” You nodded your head in the direction of his parents. “How’d they take it?”

“Upset at first.” He shrugged with a small grin. “Dad not as much.”

“He’s always been a ‘oh-you’re-going-somewhere-count-me-in’ kind of person, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t changed much.”

You smiled politely. “So what’re you going to do now?”

“I’m not sure. Travel more. Do an internship. I haven’t decided.”

It was nice to catch up with Ben on the last four years. You had always loved talking to him, even before you dated. Ben was very passionate person, always gushing about something he loved when someone expressed interest in it. He saw the beauty in things; the tiny, unique details that a lot of people didn’t bother to look for.

It was one of the things that initially drew you to him. Coincidentally, it was one of the things that drew you to Poe as well.

“How’s Chewie doing?” You asked, remembering the brown labradoodle that the Solos had had since Ben was a child. 

“He’s---”

“Y/N, are you seeing anyone these days?”

You were so caught up in conversation with Ben that you didn’t hear the other conversation switch from travel stories to Tallie’s relationship and pregnancy. Your eyes snapped up to Han and then to your mother and to Ben. You cleared your throat uncomfortably. Were you really about to tell your mom, sister and ex that you were in a relationship? You saw Leia looking at you with the same interested look as your mother and you knew you couldn’t say anything.

“I’m just trying to make it through the semester so I can graduate.”

“That’s technically not a ‘no’.” Tallie pointed out. You glared at her. Ben placed his hand on your arm. 

“Chewie’s old but still good.”

You smiled appreciatively as the food came, and not a moment too soon. As you ate, Ben asked about you, how school was going, what you chose for your major, and your plans for the future. You reminisced about high school, the good and the cringey moments. He avoided asking more questions about your dating life and you had never been more grateful.

Dessert was to go, the opportunity to sample it too good to pass up but stomachs full from the delicious meal you had just eaten. You snagged a few bites of your dessert before deciding to give the rest to Poe. You practically pushed your mother and sister out of the restaurant. Despite having a nice time, you really just wanted to go see Poe.  

“Hey,” Ben put a hand on your forearm as you stepped into the chill of the night. “I just wanted to say I heard about your dad. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s been…it’s been weird.”

“You can always reach out if you want to talk about it. I’m a good listener.”

“Yeah, I know you are,” you said. “It was good to see you, Ben.”

You opened your arms for a friendly hug. He stepped in, towering over you as you gave him a couple friendly pats on the back. Ben lingered into your touch a little bit and you cleared your throat awkwardly as you pulled away.

“I’ll see you around,” you yelled back as you found your car, getting in before you could see the way Ben watched you leave with a small smile and an optimistic look on his face.

》 》 》

“I brought you cheesecake!” you sang as you entered Poe’s apartment. He looked up at the sound of your heels against the hardwood floor of his kitchen. “It is phenomenal. I did sneak a few bites but the rest is yours and you are going to love it.”

You leaned over to give Poe a quick kiss hello but he quickly grabbed the lapel of your coat before you backed away. His hands slid underneath your open coat to rest on your waist as he softly pecked your lips several times. After five months worth of kisses, he still took your breath away like it was the first time. Poe smiled contently as he pulled away, keeping you close to him. He kissed the tip of your thumb as you wiped the away lipstick that was smudged on his face.

“How was dinner?” You shrugged.

“Not as boring as I thought it was going to be.”

“Well, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you. I froze my ass off wearing this though.”

“Then you are a very beautiful popsicle.”

“Well if you think I look beautiful now, then you are going to love what I have on underneath.”

Poe practically growled as his head fell onto your shoulder, his lips finding where your neck met your collarbone. It was exactly the reaction you were hoping for, but you needed to talk to him first. With a light chuckle, you gently pushed him towards the counter and held the fork out to him.  

“You need to eat this cheesecake first,” you said, the tone of your voice becoming a little less light-hearted. “And there’s something I have to tell you that’s kind of important.”

Poe stepped away from you and grabbed the fork, taking the box with the cheesecake in it and leaning against the back of the counter. You wrung your hands nervously and cleared your throat as Poe took a bite of the cheesecake, his brown eyes looking at you expectedly. You took a deep breath. Truth time.

“First of all, the family I went to dinner with tonight, the Solos? They’re family friends but their son Ben and I were in a relationship in high school.”

Poe froze mid-chew and was still for a moment before nodding slowly. He kept looking down, like he didn’t want to be bothered by what you were saying but couldn’t help it.

“Ben’s mother…is Leia Organa.” Poe finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed.

“President Organa?!” He asked in disbelief. You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know?”

His curt tone surprised you. It honestly felt like no big deal to you. In fact, you thought he’d welcome the information even if it wasn’t good news, but instead you felt judged; like you were dumb for not knowing something so general about the person you were dating.

“I never met her.” You kept your voice calm. “She was teaching somewhere in Europe when we dated. She goes by Organa, not Solo, so I never made the connection.”

Poe nodded in understanding, stabbing the cheesecake unnecessarily hard. You flinched. “Is that it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

An awkward silence filled the apartment. Neither of you said a word and neither of you so much as glanced at each other.

“So Ben…” You looked back at him and stared with eyebrows raised, waiting to see where he was going to go. “Did you tell him you’re dating someone?”

“No.” It was Poe’s turn to stare at you and wait for a response. “I couldn’t tell my mother, my sister, my ex, and my ex’s parents I was seeing somebody. They’d press me for information and…Poe’s not a very common name. Leia would’ve made the connection, she knows I’m a student here.”

“So, your ex still thinks you’re single.”

“It’s not like he’s still in love with me after four years.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And even if he was, who cares? I’m with you. I’m in a relationship with you.”

“But he doesn’t know that, so he thinks he still has a chance. If he wants it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I was just being honest with you, Poe.”

“I appreciate it.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Poe scoffed right back, a hand going on his hip. You recognized this stance. You hadn’t seen it from him but you’d seen it before. He was bracing for a fight. “You’re being honest, but it doesn’t mean I have to like what you’re telling me.”

“Would you rather I have not told you?” When Poe didn’t answer, you sighed heavily. “Not that my life is any of his business anymore, but I’ll tell him if that’s what you want. And I’ll tell my mom and sister even though I’m not ready.”

“Don’t do that,” Poe said, frustration starting to rise in him. “Don’t act like I’m telling you what to do. I’m not telling you what to do.”

“No it’s fine, I’ll tell them. I don’t know how my mom will take it given what she’s gone through, but I’ll tell her. It’s clearly what you want.”

Poe ran a hand through his hair. “Y/N, she’s going to deal with it with the rest of her life. There may never be a perfect time to tell her something she might not be happy with.”

“My parents were married for twenty-eight years! Twenty-eight years and my dad up and left, knowing that he was breaking her heart. He willingly broke her heart.”

“I understand—“

“No, you don’t. Your mom didn’t willingly leave you.”

Poe clenched his jaw. You quietly gasped at your own words and your eyes cast downward in shame. Your lips rolled in as your ears picked up the sound of a heavy sigh.

“Poe, I didn’t—“

Poe shook his head and walked into his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Your chin dropped to your chest and swore under your breath. Calling his name, you walked towards his door. The only sound that was heard was the sound of Beebs’ collar jingling as he looked up at the sudden noise. You hung around for a few minutes, not hearing anything on the other side of his bedroom door, before walking back into the kitchen.

There were a million things you wanted to say, but you didn’t know where to start. You wanted to apologize and chastise him for walking off at the same time. You wanted to barge into his room and make him talk to you. But him ignoring you was a sign that you both needed time to cool off before you said something you’d regret.

You reluctantly walked out the door with tears swimming in your eyes and a heavy weight in your chest.

tag list [open!] - @ah-callie @darksideofclarke @gloomygoregirl @leilei-draws @imaginecrushes @i-ievu @brianamaree @yeeintensifies @spider-starry @krazykatkay456 @fanfiction-trashpile @afootnoteinyourhappiness @easterncryptid @my-child-gaara @myrandom-fandomlife @onebatch--twobatch @the-cry-of-youth @p3nny4urth0ught5 @porgiez @umchrisevans @galaxy-of-stories @seeking-a-great--perhaps 

[give-seconds]

Survival of the Fittest

Summary: Welcome to the Badlands of Montana! This will be the setting of our game. What’s the name of the game? Simple, make it out alive. In which you and Jaemin are kidnapped and forced to try and find your way out of the Badlands.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“What’s that?” Jaemin asks as he walks over and picks up his sweatshirt.

“I think it’s a walkie-talkie.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the device comes to life. “Numbers 24 and 25.”

---Part 5

You and Jaemin freeze at the voice, turning to look at each other with wide eyes. Once Theos’ voice continues, your attention is brought down to the device in your hand.

“In past experiments, I have refrained from talking to my subjects until later, but I decided to make an exception for you.

“In the past, I’ve had subjects that took a day to move from the starting point; I’ve had subjects that started the game by going in the wrong direction; I’ve had subjects that missed the first bag; and even some that missed all three. But you two, you two are by far my most promising batch.”

As the words hit your ears, your stomach flips. His voice is like the voice of a proud father whose child won first place in a competition.

“Now, you might not be the first batch to escape, but there’s no doubt in my mind you two will be the cream of the crop so to say.”

“If we’ve already proven ourselves, why don’t you tell us we’re walking in the right direction? Rewarding good behavior and all.”

You’re surprised by the strength in Jaemin’s voice. Despite not having seen Theos, his voice alone is enough to scare you in a way you’ve never felt before.

“Instead, I’ll tell you why I chose you two to be my final subjects.”

You and Jaemin nervously glace at each other before looking back down at the device in your hand.

“I first saw you, Jaemin, at the grocery store. I remember thinking how weird it was that someone so young was shopping with someone even younger. So I followed you home, and I waited. I waited for three days, installing one of my cameras across the street so I could watch you without being there, and your parents never came home. So I went back to your house, waited until you and your sister were at school, and then broke in.”

Your head snaps up to look in Jaemin’s direction just in time to see the color slightly drain from his face. Your doom always had random people in it, your roommate is somewhat of a party person. Even if the parties were just five friends sitting on her bed, you learned to get over the uncomfortable feeling of random people in your space.

Jaemin shared a house with his family, presumably the house he and his sister grew up in. The idea of someone coming into something so private, someone as sick as Theos, was nauseating.

“Turns out, your parents left for Africa last year. You were left to take care of little Emma, even if she was a freshman at the time. Because that wasn’t the first time you had to take care of her, was it?”

“I don’t - this can’t have anything to do with why I’m here.”

Your heart breaks slightly how comparatively shaky his voice is, and it took everything in you not to look at him. He doesn’t need your questioning looks on top of everything else.

“Oh, but it does. You’ve taken care of Emma since you were in middle school, but not because you wanted to. If I learned anything from your parents’ service journal, they left you alone as soon as you turned ten. But if I had to guess, they weren’t around much before then.

“Reading those journals, along with that note Emma wrote you for your birthday thanking you for taking care of her, I knew I had to have you.”

Theos pauses, and you take the opportunity to try and mentally prepare yourself for “your story.”

“And then I saw you, y/n. If I’m being honest, I don’t know what first drew me to you. Maybe it was the countless hours you spent in the student lounge or the library while your roommate invited people over.”

You already felt sick for Jaemin, knowing this sicko had not only been watching him and his sister, but broke into their house and looked through their things. But knowing all that wasn’t enough to prepare you for the different kind of sickness that coursed through your body at the sound of your name.

“Or maybe it was the fact that after learning your name and searching for any social media, I couldn’t find any. I mean you have to admit, someone in this day in age not having any social media is pretty interesting. So when I wasn’t watching Jaemin, I was trying to find information on you. Eventually, I found your ex-husband, and I was shocked for the second time during my investigation. Here you are, a freshman in college, and you’re already a divorcee? I had to find out more. Skipping all the boring details, I managed to find out about your family.

“Your mom had been married three times, two alcoholics and one weirdo. If I’m right – that is, if Sam is right – you were kicked out at age 15? He also said that when you were kicked out, you lived with your dad. That he would refuse to take his medicine and would have seizures. He said you were always the person who had to take care of him.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, bringing your hand to cover your mouth in shock.

You know the only person who would know that is Sam; he’s the only person you’ve told this to. You may not have spent a lot of time together, but the only condition Sam had for giving you the ticket here was that you told him about your life.

“I know you’re doing this as a test, but please tell me he’s okay?” You can feel Jaemin’s eyes on you, but you keep your eyes trained on the device.

“See, that’s the second plot twist I found in my research about you. Why would your ex-husband care so much about you? And judging from the fact he’s the last person you texted, I’d say you don’t hate him. After some convincing, I got Sam to tell me why you two got a divorce. He wants to love you, but he can’t. He’s aromantic.

“He told me he didn’t want to get too close to you in case you caught feelings for him. So instead of befriending you, he acted as cold to you as he could. He told me he could see how much you were struggling and that he liked it; it was easier for him to learn about your troubles instead of dealing with his own.”

“I know all this, I’m asking if you’ve hurt him.”

After hearing the strength in your voice, you understand how Jaemin was able to speak so confidently before. It isn’t about actually feeling in control, it’s about not letting the man spitting hurtful words at you win.

So yes, the reminder that even though you pretended not to know why Sam helped you, you knew why. That even though you told Jaemin he probably saw you as a charity case, the reality is, he saw you as a distraction. He used your problems to hide from his own, drinking in your life stories to ignore the fact he didn’t fit into the mold society had set.

He told you all this through a letter, apologizing for using you and acting the way you did. He explained that even though it started as a way to hide from his problems, it ended up

confirming the doubts he had. “I can’t stay married to you” he had written, “but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I owe you.”

When you read that, it wasn’t that he had used you that hurt most. It was that he was the one person you thought wouldn’t have the energy to be fake to you. You always thought Sam was just bored and looking for something to fix. He never tried to help you fix those relationships, instead offering a way out. It was refreshing to not have to deal with fake politeness.

As it turns out, he was fake from the very beginning. And after figuring that out, it was just easier to portray Sam as the man you thought he was.

“Did you love him? Or was he able to pull off that cold, distant personality better than I give him credit for?”

Theos’ voice draws you out of your thoughts, only to render you speechless once again. This entire time, the only thing you thought you had the upper hand on was that there was no one relying on you. You often pushed the thought of Jaemin’s sister from your mind. You know what it is like to be alone, and imagining that girl alone and scared for her brother’s safety made you anxious. With such thoughts for someone you didn’t know, you couldn’t help but feel relieved that no one was waiting for you.

Now that someone could be hurt because of you, someone you didn’t even love, you felt like you were suffocating. He had hurt you, but he didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this.  

“I’ll let your silence speak for itself. You’ll be happy to hear that he’s safe with the subjects that escaped. I hope you feel special number 25, I haven’t had to kidnap anyone for information before.”

He laughs to himself, and you imagine he meant it as a genuine compliment.  

“As I said at the start of this game, I think you two are my most promising batch. You both have someone to live for, someone who depends on you. Both of you are fighters, not the type to give in. I thought these stories were important to tell you both, after all, trust is the important thing when trying to survive together.”

With that, the line goes quiet. A silence hangs over you two as you both continue to stare down at the previously live device.

“We um, we have to keep going,” he says quietly, breaking the silence. He lightly pushes your hand holding the walkie-talkie down to your side.

“Let’s change out the camera first.”

You shake your head, trying to push the conversation with your capture from your mind. Silently, you drop the walkie-talkie back into the bag and start looking for the cameras.

After you both exchanged the cameras, you transfer the leftover supplies from the old backpack into the new one. Before you had found the walkie-talkie, you were going to suggest that you two stop to eat. But now, and you’re sure the same is for Jaemin, you feel too sick to eat.

Silently handing him the bag, you can’t help but notice the shift in his attitude. You yourself are in no mood to partake in one of the many time passing conversations you two have come to have. But his attitude feels different, like he’s a shaken bottle of Coke ready to explode.

“Are you okay,” you ask timidly, not wanting to upset him anymore.

“I’m fine.”

“Jaemin-“

“No, y/n, no,” he snaps, turning to face you. “Just because we now know each other’s backstories doesn’t mean you get to do whatever this is. I’ve worked hard to make sure no one knows that about me and Emma. I called the schools for her when she’s sick, I taught her how to drive, and I’ve handled every finance that aren’t bills,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “My parents have the decency to do that for us. So don’t think just because you know this about me means I need your help. Because I don’t.”

For the second time in the past five minutes, a silence hangs over you two. You’re staring at him, a blank look spread across your face, as he stares back, breathing heavily from his sudden outburst.  

As shocking as it is, you can understand it. He’s feeling the same things you feel about your past.

Fear and shame.

Fear that because of his parents, he’ll be looked down upon. And shame because while he's afraid of being looked down on, he knows it’s justifiable.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Just because I know that about you doesn’t mean I get to try and help you. God knows if any of us need help, it’s me. So let’s keep going.”

He looks at you, confusion replacing his previous hardened expression. You slightly smile at him, hoping to show him you’re on his side.  

“Come on,” you say, reaching out your hand to grab him and start walking. You’ve never been good at subtle comfort, but you’re hoping that by showing him you’re not going to judge him is a good start.

At first, he lags behind a few steps, letting you drag him. But when he eventually falls into step with you, he smiles at you over his shoulder, the same kind of smile you gave him.

Trust is everything when you’re trying to survive.

---

I’m sorry that took forever! I decided to join a few collabs to get over the writer’s block (which worked for the most part) and those ended up taking more time than I thought they would. 

I hope everyone has an amazing day/night, and I sincerely thank you for taking the time to read my stuff.  

Taglist: @drydrops891 

Previous | Next

[kitemist]

I wrote a post on twitter called: “Unpopular Opinion: You’re a fake ally.”

I had to write it after my ex-best friend never ceased to amaze me with how horrible of an ally she is, with the added insult of false promises that always break.

It got zero traction on twitter because I don’t have that many followers on there, or people who really interact with me, but I want to post it here too.

From here onwards, it’s copy and pasted from the exact twitter post, and I would appreciate feedback in a civil manner if you want.

“What’s something that you’ll get a lot of hate for if you said it out loud?” I’m going to be subtweeting a very specific person when I say this but I’m going to forward it to you all too. If you feel uncomfortable from what I’m saying, I am definitely talking about you. I’ve seen this several times with this specific person with the added insult of a record of broken promises to be better, as well as the same thing over the past few years from other people, so I am pissed enough to speak out. Obviously, this is just my opinion, disagreements are going to happen, I’m not forcing anyone to do anything, just asking you to read if you want. If a person, or more relevantly, group of people needs help, and you retweet, repost, share, post to your story, spread in any way that you can their cries for help like infographics, GoFundMe’s, links to online wallets, emergency commissions, news updates and all that; if you donate to such things and spread them around; push people to do the same; if you do donation commissions and give the money attained from that to them; bring it up in conversations with them and others every now and then; but you don’t emotionally help your everyday member of that group or that person, especially if they are your FRIEND, YOU ARE A FAKE ALLY. I do not care if you do everything else. If you don’t do that one thing, you’re a fake ally. And doing everything else doesn’t make you a good person either, if that is how you judge yourself and others. And if you're uncomfortable, then leave now. Doing everything else and not that is literally no different than 1 like for water for Africa, those old pics that would ask for likes during early facebook days, with the added insult of a trending event/group of people with it and resurging every now and then whenever something horrible happens, and they’re always seen first. You just click on those things to reassure people that you’re not THAT kind of an insensitive asshole, but then you just feel great about yourself that you added to that number even though you have only done the bare minimum, because you ultimately don’t want to get TOO involved in something that makes you uncomfortable, and give yourself a great pat on the back for all the hard work you’ve done just pressing that button. You obviously don’t care about this issue enough to throw your comfort zone aside, even for just a second. We don’t have that choice to not see it like you do, and we feel a lot more than just “uncomfortable”. For WAY longer. Doing those things without emotionally supporting the actual people just separates yourself from the problem in a convenient way. Passing thoughts and prayers and especially clicks on posts aren’t going to help anyone but a completely detached algorithm. You do not get credit for doing the bare minimum and expect the same rewards as passionate, achieving activists. I’m not just talking about #StopAAPIHate just because it’s trending right now, this applies to literally every hashtag that is the only way of a group of people’s cries for help that generates some kind of attention to everyone else that people care about. I’ve seen it be a pattern for enough time now. I’ve seen stories of people who would use #BlackLivesMatter, or the name of any black person who died, as a way to spread it by their banner or profile picture or even turn it into a meme that pushes people to sign their latest petitions, but then completely disrespect actual black people or don’t do anything else for their causes. The only reason you would ever do this is because you care about other people’s approval of you, not actual POC, and you only ever see them as a trend or a platform to be trendy. As a POC myself, we are more than just a fucking hashtag on twitter. We’re more than just a label to reassure people that you’re not a bully. We’re people. But I guess that’s too hard to understand for those fake allies, all they ever see is something to click on, and they’ll get the same credit as those genuine allies without having to work. Or be UNCOMFORTABLE, God forbid you have to step outside of the comfortable world you think you live in. Now for donating money. I get that monetary support isn’t something that everyone can afford to do. I’m not forcing or expecting everyone to do that or not do that. If you can’t, then I recommend spreading donation posts, for the hope for it to come by someone who can and will. You can then still be a vehicle for help if you cannot provide it yourself. But I know that everyone is capable of being completely fake when it comes to donations when they have that kind of money to spare. You can totally just dump $100 or so into a GoFundMe, and never interact with anything related to that group of people ever again and live a completely separate life, with that same convenient separation, but with a receipt this time so that if it’s brought up again, that’s all you have to show to say to them to not worry, you did something, you’re not THAT kind of fake asshole because your wallet is involved this time. It’s what youtubers do when they have to make a YouTube apology just so everyone can stop hating on them for a little while. Anyone can do that. I’m not assuming the worst in everyone, I’m saying you don’t need a platform to be an asshole. Money doesn’t make you better or worse than anyone else, it just shows that you’re more financially well off to be able to donate and that’s something that we can appreciate, but it’s not pure sentiment. Money isn’t feelings. It’s just money. It doesn’t tell us anything about your morals. It doesn’t care how you obtained it and it doesn’t care where you spend it. Donating from your heart and donating from your wallet are two very different things, but it’s not like we can tell from here, so we can’t give you credit for that, especially if those donations are also in the complete public eye. That kind of difference is only discernable to us long after, and even then, that requires some detective work and pattern searching with other donations you have made in the past, if any. Sometimes we don’t even have that time to see if that genuine empathy would come about or not. Whether or not you have a heart in that donation or not, it’s not like we can read your mind as you press confirm. The money doesn’t tell us your feelings, morals, or your heart. Only you can. And you have to WORK to tell us that. You can be appreciated for giving a monetary donation, but that appreciation is toward the money and not at you as a person, and if it is, it’s not towards the real you, it’s only towards you at that time and who knows if that’s gonna change within a minute, or was superficial the entire time, or if it’s the real ally we all knew we needed. We wouldn’t know, all we see is a name and a money amount. Those real allies take time to come out and solidify themselves within themselves and within others, but it’s not as soon as their money disappears. You don’t get credit as a person and your morals when it was the money and temporary self at that time that ultimately helped them. Just because you were behind that money doesn’t mean that the morals associated with you are in that money, and who knows if you were the same person as you made that donation a week ago. Do you know exactly where the dollar bills you have right now have gone through? How many inhumane multi million dollar corporations, or funding something harmful? If you can separate yourself from that, then the money you’re giving can easily be separated from you in both morals and in bank accounts. That’s what you’re choosing to give away as well when you make a donation. If you’re completely fine with that, then donate if you still want to. Just know that by doing that, it doesn’t make you special. In the end, the only thing received is money, not thoughts. That money is completely useless if it’s not being spent towards that needed relief, after all. You can also totally give out of obligation or social pressure instead of believing in the cause or caring about the person affected. That’s not being a real ally either. That’s hopping on a bandwagon because that attracts you more than what the cause is, because the value of human life doesn’t line up with your own. You would only care about this BECAUSE it’s trending, not because it has ever gotten to your emotions, morals, or anything you care about. Giving a donation or not doesn’t tell anyone anything about you, other than how relatively well off you are in terms of money and time, and that’s not relevant to what’s being asked. Donations can have so many motives behind it, and you are not free of those motives just because we can’t see it immediately, and those motives are completely lost once that money is received and eventually used. Money can be helpful in terms of alleviating the situation, but ultimately, it’s not help in placing you on a moral scale whether it’s others judging your character or just judging yourself. And there’s also the risk of donating to a complete scam, and again, money doesn’t care where it’s going to or where it’s coming from, because it’s just money. Not everything that is asking for donations is a scam, but because of this possibility, what you claim to be your one act of good will from your heart in the form of monetary support can easily be debunked and ultimately be used against you whether you were aware of this being a scam before then or not, because the internet is very reactive more than anything else. And if you are donating from your heart and you end up donating to a scam, that’s just even more emotional damage to you as well as the cause, an even worse situation. So again, monetary support isn’t any better than what I determine to be the one defining factor of being a good ally. It’s just a different kind of support that can be useful but it’s not with any heart in it. And because most of those people asking for donations would say that even a little bit helps, the amount of money you’re donating doesn’t give you more credit than others, it just puts you higher on the highest donations list that is made by another detached algorithm, which is ultimately meaningless except for telling whoever clicks on that list how much money you were willing to spare to them, and not what you were thinking when you did it. To be a real ally, that’s a constant effort more than just money or spreading posts. It’s something that can’t ever be measured or manipulated by any algorithm. And I know that the majority of “allies” die out as soon as it’s not trending anymore. It’s happened enough times and how much it happens just has it be a part of a trend’s life cycle on the internet, and that temporary life in the public life can vary greatly. That constant effort also does not (solely) consist of making more donations to more places. That’s just another kind of monetary help that’s ultimately just money. That doesn’t tell anyone anything about you other than that you can afford to do so and being able to afford to do this can sway you on either end of the moral scale, whether you care about that or not. To give an example, the overwhelming response to the Notre Dame fire in 2018 showed what could have been possible if everyone donated what they could, and of course the response to that has never happened to any disaster before, and to my knowledge, ever since. All those millionaires and some netizens credited themselves with their affluent donations but everyone else only saw them as those who ultimately did nothing when any other disaster also needed help in the past and since then, so those donations didn’t make them any kind of ally even though they gave more than the majority of the world can ever afford to give in their lifetimes. Why didn’t every other disaster that lasted longer, had more casualties and damage, had more emotionally traumatic damage that lasted from then onwards, have as much support as this one fire that didn’t completely destroy this building? With almost a billion dollars (954 million USD) donated towards restoration in such a short amount of time, there was still anger, especially towards those who have donated that. And people who have donated copious amounts were also not technically millionaires, but still made and had enough to be part of that same 1%. And anyone can be in that nonspecific well-off group, not just people who were born rich or inherited it. There have been debates that this was a matter of how personally interested these rich people suddenly became because they saw the Notre Dame as a beautiful tourist spot full of history, even though there was a museum in Brazil that was nearly completely destroyed, with majority of its contents and even more history gone forever on the same day and didn’t get a fraction as much attention as this did, and got even less donations. Therefore, monetary support doesn’t give you, or anyone, any more moral high ground, no matter how much it is, because again, it’s just money. It can be help, but not like human support. All that being said, I still think it’s great if you can afford to keep donating to people in need, but if you want to make your support stronger and genuine or have a solid foundation that can be paired and amplified with monetary support, it won’t cost you anything but your time and changing behavior. And right now, I bet everyone reading right now has a lot of those two if their wallet is empty. To do so: • Learn about our struggles. We’re not asking you to be total experts on this, but to know enough to answer, “What can I do to help?” and “What do they need right now?” and it’s best to have them answered by us. Listen to us. And keep making more questions the more that are answered. The best way to learn is to ask. • Speak out against hate speech of any kind from anyone, no matter how much you like them, when you see it in the moment, and hold them accountable. Just saying racism is bad isn’t going to help anyone, but to call out a specific person as a racist will challenge them, because there’s more at stake than just a fact that racism is bad. Whether you want to be polite about it or not is your choice, whichever is more effective. Their feelings are definitely not more important than what they are contributing to the problem. • Emotionally check up on us, we aren’t fine if we have to see more of our family’s beat up faces on the news and screens, or see our family and friends being even more scared to go outside with every passing day. Whether it’s talking about the main situation in depth or providing a respite in the form of having fun when asked; emotional check ups are what makes you the real ally first. • Reassure us that whether or not this is just another trend you see everywhere on social media for the day, you’ll always be there for us, and then hold up that promise, follow through with it whenever we are in trouble. If you consistently do this, it won’t turn into a super conscious decision anymore to be an ally, you’ll reprogram yourself to learn and think that you are now involved and can fight with us, whether or not this becomes something in the twitter sidebar to look at. • Acknowledge your privilege as someone who isn’t targeted and, depending on who you are, would never be targeted, in whatever way that would be, and use it as a weapon for us if applicable. Ex. if you’re white and straight and the current group that needs help is not white and not straight, let them speak about their struggles, amplify their voices because you have the privilege of having more people taking you seriously and paying attention to you, and learn about what you can do to help them and make their life easier with them knowing you are an ally. Redirect that attention and authenticity to us because we sure can’t make it by ourselves. • Learn and involve yourself in our culture if that helps you learn more about us, that is not appropriation. We totally welcome people who want to learn more about us in a respectful and open-minded way. You are a constant learner in doing this, as well as doing any or all of the above-mentioned tasks. There’s no real end to being an ally, just as there is no real end to the fight. It’s always better to ask questions than to keep it to yourself and mess up. There was always a better time to learn all of this, but the second-best time is right now. Just because you never learned this earlier doesn’t mean you can’t start to change that. We won’t shame you if today has to be your first day as long as you stay just as eager and able to receive criticism from then onwards. Even if you become well educated, don’t act like you know exactly what it’s like. Because no matter how educated you become, you are ultimately not us. Keep that in mind as you embark on your journey. Constant effort is what every single one of those groups need, I guarantee that. It’s such a great skill that can be used in anything. Consistency is rare and powerful and key in achieving nearly anything you want. But that’s not something we can automatically detect and always takes time to make happen, there’s no shortcut to that. Are you just going to retweet these for a day or week or month or two, or are you going to speak out whether you are going to put a tag on it or not? Are you just going to donate a small fraction of your paycheck once or are you going to keep going whenever you can and donate to even more people that need help that isn’t just part of that group? All we see is that one instance, and people are pouring either their first or their first and last instances of helping us, and there’s no way to differentiate who’s what until that first wave dies down. And that is a journey of watching it be less and less important on the timelines, growing disappointment and sorrow that we have always felt from the beginning, something that no one outside of the current targetted trending group, or anyone who has ever trended, can ever understand or experience. It’s like wearing halloween costumes that are clearly a costume from another culture. You can wear that costume, or in that case, that hashtag for a day. We wear that stigma for life. I hope this post makes you reconsider what you’ve been doing in terms of fighting for social justice, or at the very least, make you uncomfortable enough to think about what you have been doing for such groups of people who need help. Obviously if you are a real ally as I’ve described by not only doing monetary donations if applicable, but fighting back, constantly learning, and emotionally supporting and checking up on your friends constantly, this post isn’t talking about you. And if you don’t want to learn about all this stuff that can be towards the better, then there’s nothing that can ever help you. That’s just willful ignorance at that point and I as well as others are completely free to judge you for that. On the note of being a good person or bad person, I know that’s not how everyone wants to judge themselves. Looking deep enough, it can be subjective, or just a matter of good actions and bad actions instead of good people and bad people. Either way, you have that “good” and “bad” judgement on something, even though that concept itself is also a spectrum, and at times, they can be applied to both people and actions, such as a good person making a bad decision or a bad person making their first good deed. So, whether it’s actions or people, being a “good person” doesn’t excuse you from your mistakes or shitty decisions. A good record can just be completely shattered at any time. A lot of people who we have thought were “good” have been exposed, and those who we thought were “bad” have been redeemed. It’s celebrated in fiction, but apparently not welcomed in real life. And improving your allyship as I described above doesn’t automatically make you a “good person”, if that judgement is what you have for yourself or want to have for yourself, but it IS a very “good action” to get started in expanding your world beyond what you initially knew before this post, because it’s always a “good action” to constantly question what you know before making judgements or actions. That constant questioning is learning and not being compliant with how things are, because things can always be better. Being a bad person entails not caring about doing better and is magnified by being two-faced like being a fake ally. And you can also stop caring at any time about yourself and what your morals are. Not all fake allies are “bad people,” maybe they just needed an awareness check that emotional support makes all of their previous work or work afterwards more authentic and appreciated. I don’t blame anyone who really didn’t think that emotional support wasn’t part of helping those who need it and now take that fact in stride, or just didn’t know how to do that in the first place. But all “bad people” are fake allies because they don’t care enough outside of themselves to change what their environment presents themselves with, or just complain about it without bothering to question or research why things are that way. And obviously, “bad people” would contribute to the problem by either never being an ally in the first place or do the bare minimum in allyship and expect rewards without being caught in the stress that comes with actually fighting for a cause. So, if you read this entire post and are one of those people who do the bare minimum but want the rewards, or think I and others are just too sensitive, and have no intention or desire to change any of your actions around pleas for help from groups of people or even start to think about changing that, I would think you’re a bad person. But that’s only how I judge you. I know plenty of bad people who go on and life happily knowing how many people hate them whether they know them personally or not. If you’re taking that so personally, you could have left much earlier in this longass post. I don’t know what you expected with me talking about this topic and somehow not being super cordial about it. I don’t owe you a polite tone or managing your feelings, and neither does anyone else. If you really think my tone is the problem here more than anything I have ever explained in this post I guarantee you’re a bad person who is just looking for an excuse to completely dismiss this even though you had the opportunity to do so much earlier, around 4,000 words ago. And if you really need someone else to help you with your fragile and insecure feelings, I guarantee that they’re not on the internet. Again, to reiterate, this is just my opinion, feel free to tell me any of your own. I’m not forcing anyone to do or stop doing anything, I just appreciate that you read this far. I hope you reconsider how to fight for your loved ones that aren’t as well off as you are, or how to fight alongside others who have been though the struggles of being either underprivileged or just not as well off. Thank you.

[agenzproject]

Love above all

It’s been years. Years since I last felt the comfort in her texts.

I thought I could move on. How foolish I was. I find myself chuckling as I recall old me bravely telling her goodbye.

I stare out the window of the car as the quiet uber driver takes me to the hotel I will be staying in. London is exactly as I expected it to be. Gloomy, Grey and rainy.

Staring at the raindrops falling on the window, my mind starts chasing a train of thought. If there’s anything that movies have taught me, it’s that the heart must always be followed. And my heart, it yearns for her.

I haven’t heard from her since I turned sixteen, which was six years ago. I wonder if she still remembers me. I am sure she does not. Yet, I must satisfy this desire within the muscle that dominates my nerves.

We met through text, on a BTS fan account.

I didn’t even know her real name yet, ‘lover’ was enough to know her. We never shared pictures, yet I saw her in my dreams. I had never heard her voice yet; her words were enough to soothe me. I didn’t even know if she was a girl, yet I imagined being with her forever. I didn’t even know if she was real, yet I led myself to find comfort in my moments shared with her.

Was I chasing a dream, or was I going to reunite with the love of my life?

The sudden halt of the uber pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over to see that we have parked in front of the hotel I have a room reserved in.

I smile and thank the driver, to which he responds with an earnest nod. He is a nice man. As I step out, he calls out to me.

“You sure you don’t need an umbrella?”

I look up to see the sky painted Grey, my favorite colour. A smile takes its place on my face and I shake my head. “No, sir, I don’t think that will be necessary. Thank you for offering.”

He nods once again and waits for me to reach the Valet standing at the front door before he drives away.

The valet, a young man in his twenties with blonde hair and brown eyes, bends down in a curt bow upon my arrival and I nod at him.

As I’m about to enter through the sliding doors, I hear yelling and turn to see a man, who I assume is in his thirties, shouting at a girl who is no less than ten for running out onto the road and playing in the rain with her favourite clothes on.

The exchange warms my heart as I watch the girl nod and the father then lead her over to another building, soft yet angry as he does so. It reminds me of my own father. A strong-willed man with a firm hand on things. And it also reminds me of why I have to be in London like this in the first place.

I sigh at the thought, recalling all those nights he yelled at me.

I walk over to the receptionist and smile at the young-looking woman. She offers me a well-practiced smile in return. “How may I help you, miss?”

“I made a reservation under the name Aqsa Malik.” I tell her.

She nods and after seeing proof of my identity, hands me the key to my room on the second floor.

I leave for the elevator after thanking her but before I press the button, I notice two young ladies sitting in the lounge, close to each other. They clearly aren’t English and judging by the curly hair and Arabic written on the bags, I would assume they are from North Africa.

I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I press the elevator button after noticing the two marital silver bands on their ring fingers.

Inside the elevator, I inhale and exhale deeply, happy for those two women, who seemed only a tad bit older than me.

It is a good time to be homosexual. I hope that this works out for me too. I hope that the girl I came to see resonates with me. I hope she agrees that now is the right time. Because six years ago, if you were born a Muslim female, being lesbian always ended in tragedy.

I was hoping this would be an exception as I entered my three-star hotel room, heading straight for the bed, ready for some rest.

Before I slip into my bed-sheets for some sleep, I play a few songs that remind me of her.

Blue and Grey by V is what encouraged me to confess to her.

Rewrite the Stars from the musical, The Greatest Showman, was the song we listened to think of each other.

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars was what made me cry every night after we cut communication.

These songs lull me into a peaceful sleep as the soft rain keeps patting my window, giving the room a sense of coolness.       

 

 

He yelled at me. He told me to forget her.

I wished I had just turned the tab off when my father got home, pretending as if nothing had ever happened. But I didn’t, and he ended up reading all of my texts with her, with a long lecture following afterwards.

Being a Muslim with an ex-girlfriend isn’t easy, especially when you’re just fifteen.

“You’re too young to even think about these things!” He yelled. “How can you determine your sexuality at just fifteen! Straight is the natural orientation of a person, drop this lesbian bullshit!”

I hadn’t cried. I didn’t say anything in response. It would have been of no use. Rewa had already broken up with me, albeit she had said she would still like for us to be friends.

I had apologized to my father a few days later and snuck online through another device, from where I was caught later on as well, all of this happening in a span of just two months.

Three months later, I had a friend contact Rewa’s social media and tell her I’m okay.

We both finally had the chance to talk again over Wattpad.

I smiled, satisfied as I texted her a detailed message on how I was planning to meet her, asking her as much details as the online relationship would allow me to.

I promised her that till the day we met, I would sing Blue and Grey every night the moon was visible in the sky. And I did just that.

But then a text appeared on my screen once she had received the message.

‘Aqsa, I think we should break up.’

Confusion filled my insides. Weren’t we already broken up? If she didn’t want to be in a relationship with me, why would she lead me on and sweet talk me like that so much?

I was furious. For a few moments, I had no idea what to say to her.

Then, I did.

‘Wait, aren’t we already broken up?

Did you seriously forget that you broke up with me?

Did you really sweet talk me all that much just to make me go through the worst moment of my life a second time?

Now I know what my dad feels like every time I go up to him with a half-assed apology with no intention of listening to him a second time.

Unless you have anything important to say,

Goodbye, Rewa.’

And that was the last thing I ever said to her. She didn’t answer and I deleted our chats, promising myself to never look back. Oh, how bad I am at sticking to promises.

Maybe I should’ve gone easier on her. She was just thirteen, after all.

 

 

I haven’t sung Blue and Grey to the moon since.

The words come out of my mouth as I stare at the moon, having woken up from my sleep at 3 a.m. My voice comes out deep and heavy, my heart aching with every worse.

Where’s my angel?

I’m sick and tired of everything,

Someone come and save myself,

‘Cuz I am feeling blue and Grey,

 

Everywhere I go, everything I see,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

Every time I smile, Every time I cry,

Can you look at me ‘cause I am blue and Grey?

 

Oh, I just wanna be happier,

Baby don’t you let me go,

I feel tired in the winter sky,

I just wanna feel stronger

The tears slip down my cheeks without warning as I sit at the chair, huddling into myself further.

I hope she remembers me when I pay her a surprise visit in the morning.

 

Anxiety is getting the best of me as I stand in front of her college dorm room. Should I knock?

What if her roommate thinks I’m weird? What if Rewa reports me to security? What if she hates me? What if she wants to have nothing to do with me?

I try walking away but then tell myself that I didn’t come all the way from Pakistan just to run away when I am right at her doorstep. I miss her, and whether she does or not, doesn’t matter. I have to see her.

I knock at the door, swallowing down my fear as a shudder runs through my body.

I have to do this. There is no turning back now.

The door opens. A tall, dark skinned, African woman, looks down at me.

It is her.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I stare at her in awe.

It has to be her. Dark skin, curly black hair tied in a pony above her head, and about six feet tall. It is, without a doubt, Olanrewaju, my ex-girlfriend.

Holy shit.

I am not prepared for this.

“Um, can I help you?” She asks, concerned. Her voice is deep, yet smooth as she speaks in a British accent.

I just offer a weak nod, still taking her appearance in for the first time. I try to say hi but it just comes out as a guttural croak. Embarrassing.

“Um, are you okay?” She touches my shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. What’s your name?”

Upon her touching my shoulder, my body tenses tenfold. She quickly retreats upon noticing my panicked expression.

“I’ll let you inside and give you a glass of water.” She takes a hold of my forearm, and gently walks me into her dorm.

I don’t register my surroundings as I continue to stare at her strong and bold figure. This is the love of my life and she doesn’t even know it.

She sits me down on what I assume is her bed as she walks over to the jug of water on the table. Thankfully, I caught her alone. Roommate isn’t home.

Rewa presses a full glass of water up to my lips and makes sure it all goes down, allowing me to inhale deep breaths, trying to regain my posture.

It takes a few minutes, but I get better.

I nod at her, offering a small smile.

She smiles back. “Now, tell me, what’s your name?”

I stare at her, my gaze piercing hers. “Aqsa.”

There is a flash of something in her eyes that I hope is familiarity and I think I am right when she takes a double take. “What?”

“Aqsa.” I repeat, as if I have no idea what history she might have with that name. “Why?”

She frowns in confusion, her eyes scanning my entire figure before she shakes her head. “Oh, uh, nothing.”

I nod.

“Where’re you from?” She asks. It’s no secret that she’s trying to figure out if I am the Aqsa she knew all those years ago.

“Pakistan.” I tell her.

Her frown deepens. “Where did you grow up?”

I have decided that I’m going to let her figure it out on her own and act as if I’ve never met her. “Why do you ask?”

She shakes her head a bit, then raises her eyebrows. “Middle East?”

She remembers. I nod.

Her breath hitches just a little and she visibly gulps, studying my features carefully.

“Do I know you?” She asks, her voice small and doubtful.

I stare into her big eyes and nod.

She exhales and looks away, leaning back in the chair next to the bed. She folds her arms across her chest, pondering the situation, her expression unreadable. But the tension in her posture can be sensed without having to try twice. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d find my way to you, didn’t I?” I tilt my head, a soft smile on my face.

She clenches her jaw and I can feel the heavy emotion in the atmosphere that replaces her prior concern. “You also said goodbye.” Her voice is heavy.

I pursue my lips in a thin line and nod. “That wasn’t a promise. I promised that I would come to you when I could, though.”

“How did you find me?” Her voice is a bit steady, yet forceful.

I smile. “You told me you lived in London. I have connections around the place. I have the internet. I know you wanted to study mechanical engineering so searching in all the good colleges amongst the mechanical engineering students was the best way to go about it.”

She is looking at me now, her dark chocolate eyes searching my face for something. “You remember?” Her voice cracks as the words leave her mouth.

I nod, trying my best to not get teary-eyed five minutes into our reunion.

Rewa clears her throat and tries to regain her steady posture. “And what about you? What are you doing?”

Ah, small talk. I allow myself to relax. “I’m studying medicine. I’m in my third year. Also, I’m writing.”

She nods and points at something behind me. I turn around to see a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall above her bed, all of my books resting on top of it.

A small smile appears on my face and my jaw stings, an indicator that I am about to cry. “That’s all of them.”

“I had two since when you first wrote them four years ago and then I just gave up, trying to forget you.” She tells me. “But then Noah noticed them and bought more books as gifts.”

“Noah?” I turn to look at her, frowning a bit in confusion.

She sighs and sits back once again. “He thought that maybe I like the writer, so got all the books he could find written by her.”

I nod, that not being what I wanted for the answer. “Who’s Noah?”

Rewa sighs again. “Forget him. He’s unimportant.”

I clutch the glass in my hands tighter, my desire for knowing who Noah was increasing. I am a curious person. I try to shrug it off by distracting myself with something else.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask.

She looks to the side to see an empty bed. “Semester just started, so she’s out with her friends.”

“You got any?”

Rewa nods. “One is at home due to an emergency and another is probably at her job right now.”

“Do you have a job?”

She shakes her head. “My parents are still paying for me, it’s all going smoothly. They say I have to start paying my own fees when third year starts.”

I nod. That sounds reasonable.

“They’re divorced, right?” I remember she mentioned it.

She nods and there’s an emotion on her face I have a little trouble trying to understand. She seems satisfied, yet in pain, as if she wished I didn’t remind her of her parents. But on the other hand, she seems happy that I cared enough to remember.

“How’s your sister?” I ask, recalling that she mentioned having a younger sister.

Rewa’s expression eases a little as she thinks of her sister. “She’s doing great. Last year of high school then college.”

“That’s good.” I nod.

The door to the room opens and we both turn to see a girl about Rewa’s age standing there, studying me with her critical green eyes, attempting to determine who I am. Her white skin is covered in patches of brown, as if she was playing in the mud.

Once she’s established that she doesn’t know me, she turns to Rewa for an explanation. “Ju?” Her voice is an indicator to the fact that she’s sensed something is wrong.

Rewa sighs. “An old friend.” Then she addresses me. “Aqsa, this is my roommate, Jessica.”

Jessica advances towards me in a friendly manner, extending her hand out for me to shake, her thin lips forming a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Jess.” She has a Scottish accent.

I smile back and shake her hand, nodding. “Nice to meet you too, Jess.”

She nods, her curly, red hair bobbing as she does so. “Where’re you from?” She lets my hand go.

“Pakistan.” I answer. “You?”

“Scotland.” She laughs. “Anyways, I have to hit the shower. See you later.”

I nod. “See you.”

Once Jessica is gone, I turn back to Rewa. “Wanna go out for a drive?”

“You have a car?”

“I rented it.”

She seems to ponder over the offer for a bit, as if carefully weighing the pros and cons of going on a ride with her ex. Finally, she nods. “I don’t see why I can’t go.”

The walk towards the rented Honda is quiet as Rewa seems to be deep in thought while I take in my surroundings, not feeling too nervous to notice them anymore. It’s still cloudy outside, but I think it won’t rain till late in the evening.

I get into the car parked outside the campus and Rewa hesitates once she’s opened the door to the passenger seat. She bows down and looks at me. “Where are we going?”

“We’re circling the next five blocks until we get tired.” I tell her.

She whips out her phone and I think she texts somebody that. A faint smile appears on my face. This is my Rewa. Wary of everybody, no matter how trustworthy they may seem.

She then enters the car and closes the door, fastening her seatbelt.

I start the car and smile at her. “You really think a bestselling author would try to kidnap you?”

            She gives me a sheepish smile, a little pink creeping up her cheeks. “You only have one bestseller and I don’t want to take any chances.”

I nod, turning forwards, driving onto the road. “You’d probably win in a fight against me anyway.”

At that, she laughs and that is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. More beautiful than a waterfall splashing into a river below it. I want to be the one who keeps her laughing like that all the time.

Her laugh dies down after some time and we fall quiet.

“Do you still listen to K-pop?” I ask her, breaking the silence.

“Sometimes.”

“BTS?”

“Yeah. They disbanded though.”

“I know that.” I nod. “Can I play a song?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know…” I think for a minute, observing the wet streets of London. “Spring day?”

She seems to ponder over it too before agreeing to play Spring day. Once the music plays in the car, something… settles within me. I feel… calm. I don’t know if it’s because of the song or because I’m finally meeting Rewa, but I enjoy this feeling.

The song ends in a few minutes and it’s quiet again. But this time, it’s welcome. It’s not awkward, it feels good.

“Can we be friends again?” I ask all of a sudden.

She doesn’t respond for at least two minutes before nodding. “Wont your dad find out?”

“He doesn’t need to know it’s you.” I smile. “Besides, I’ll be independent in two years and have a job, so no worries.”

“Wont he get you married after that?” She asks.

Why does she care about that? I suggested being friends. Maybe… she’s hoping we can be more? My stomach does a flip at that exciting thought.

“I’ll get out of there.” I tell her. “Do a job here, be free of their restricting opinions.”

She doesn’t respond.

“Will you give me another chance?” In the silence, I ask her the question I have been aching to ask for a long time.

“At dating?” She gets right down to the point.

I shrug. “If you want to. I just want to be a part of your life again.”

“So, it doesn’t matter how?” She asks.

I draw in a deep breath. “I just want to make you happy. I still love you. You can decide how I make you happy. I can be whatever you want me to be. My love for you exists beyond any label this world could slap on us.”

There’s silence again. Then she speaks up. “You’re still the same.”

I blink, eyes still on the road. “What?”

“Before, when we used to text,” She says. “You’d always say something that would fluster me so much. You’re still the same.”

At that, I smile, recalling all the many times I would say something cheesy and make her feel butterflies in her stomach. “Glad to know.”

She gives a soft chuckle in response. “I think we can start off fresh, with you as my friend. I still need time getting over Noah, so-“

“Noah was your date?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is quiet.

“What happened?” I ask, concerned. I swear if this Noah hurt her, I might just have to put ‘become a hitwoman’ on my bucket list, not that I haven’t already considered that.

She lets out a puff of breath, hugging herself. “I don’t know, we both wanted very different things from life. He was too serious about it and I wanted to focus on my future.”

“Oh.” That is all I can say. Noah hadn’t hurt her so there was no reason to be mad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“So, we can be friends?” I smile.

“Of course.”

I feel all giddy on the inside.

I look to my side and smile at her, slowing the car down. She smiles back, both of us sharing eye contact for a swift moment before I turn back to the road.

I go back to the radio on the car and play Seesaw by Suga, a song and artist we both adore to pieces.

And at that moment, as Suga’s soothing voice instills a sense of safety and Rewa at my side awakes a sense of assurance, I feel complete.

Who knows?

Maybe I can make her love me again, we can resume our relationship and maybe even get married.

Live a happy life.

Six years later, standing at the altar, Blue and Grey playing in the background, as I hold Rewa’s hands, I realize just how right I was.

“I love you, Aqsa.”

“I love you so, my love.”

“I declare you married! You may kiss!”

And we do. A beautiful, passionate kiss, marking the beginning of our life together.

Some tales do have happy endings.

A Story by Riley Gray

[adenei]

Always A Bridesmaid, Never A Bride - Chapter 6

AO3 || FFN

Hermione

It was official. I’d agree to anything if it meant I had a chance to spend time with Harry outside of work. I knew it was a problem, and it was blatantly clear when Jenny called me in a rush this morning. She thought she’d scheduled an appointment to set up her registry at John Lewis  for Monday, but her days had gotten mixed up and she took the only open slot for Sunday. 

Of course, I knew she’d already booked herself at the bridal salon and florist, and couldn’t fit it in as she was explaining her mix-up. I was going to suggest she reschedule, but then I heard her mutter about sending someone else, and thinking she was going to send Harry, I offered to go, too. So, despite telling myself numerous times to just call her and cancel, I still forged ahead, even though I knew my ulterior motive was despicable.

Jenny had slipped her list of items under my door while I was in the shower. I thought it was odd if she was sending Harry, but then maybe she didn’t have time to stop by his place before her first appointment.

I took the list and caught a taxi to take me to the department store in the city. My phone buzzed and I checked it to see I had a text from Jenny. Your reinforcement should be there soon. Thanks so much for doing this again! I decided to go in and get started at the registry desk since I knew the set-up process would take a while. Finally, after I finished the paperwork, I was ready to begin. 

“So, here’s the scanner!” the clerk said. “This is all you’ll need to choose the items that you’d like. Once you hear the beep, you’ll know it’s been added. If you scan something by mistake, just scan it again to take it off. I’ll be here if you need anything, and if not, just drop the scanner off before you leave.”

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled the list out from my bag and determined where I should start first. 

I was paying so much attention to the list, I didn’t notice someone joining me. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” I looked up to see Ron standing next to me.

“Jenny sent you?” I asked. Surely, this was a joke.

“Are you surprised?” Ron asked me innocently.

“Yes, actually, I am. What writer helps with menial wedding tasks like this?”

“When I cover a wedding, I cover the whole wedding,” he explained as I shook my head. “So, where should we get started?”

“Probably housewares,” I said with a sigh.

I handed Ron the list to check things off as we scanned them. If he was here, I was going to make sure he was helpful. Maybe it’d make the job go by faster.

“Who needs all this useless junk, anyways?” he asked as I scanned a beautiful set of ivory candlestick holders. “Don’t they both have separate flats already? Surely, they have enough stuff between the two of them to outfit one apartment.”

I rolled my eyes in his direction. “When you’re starting a life with someone, you want to pick out items for the home you’re going to share together. You know, to make it both of yours instead of a mix of two people’s things,” I explained.

“So you’re telling me if you were to get engaged, you’d chuck all of your current stuff just to ask for new versions of the same stuff because you’re marrying someone else?”

“Well...not everything, but I’ve been inside Jenny’s apartment and it’s rather bare in there.”

“What about Harry’s stuff?”

“It’s okay, but he is a bachelor. He only has half the stuff he does because of Teddy,” I said.

“Harry has a kid?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Not exactly. Teddy’s an orphan that’s part of the Boys & Girls Club. Harry’s his big brother. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he really does try to adopt Teddy after he and Jenny are married.”

“And how does Jenny feel about that?”

“Why do you care so much?” I gave him an odd look. 

“N-no reason. It’s just an interesting dynamic, that’s all.”

“Well, when we went to Teddy’s football game, Jenny seemed really taken with him. She’s surprisingly good with kids,” I mentioned offhand.

“Surprisingly? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh, um, I suppose she probably has several nieces and nephews if four of her brothers are married.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good, then. I’m sure they’ll make a beautiful family,” Ron said. 

“Yeah,” I said distantly. It was hard not to think about it, even though I really didn’t want to. 

Ron was looking at me curiously. “You know what I think you want?”

“What? Please bestow your infinite wisdom about me, a person you barely know, to me,” I scoffed.

“I think you do all this because you just want a wedding for yourself. Not an actual marriage, but a wedding.”

I stared incredulously at him. “How can you even say that? You don’t know me! Of course I want a marriage! Who wouldn’t want someone to spend the rest of their life with?”

“Well then why aren’t you looking harder for your ‘one true love’?” he said in air quotes. “You spend all your extra time helping brides and attending weddings, and it seems like you barely date.”

“I do too date!” I retorted.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you dated someone? I don’t count,” he said pompously.

“What do you mean you don’t count? Of course you don’t!” I argued.

“Oh, you wound me,” Ron said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Are you going to answer the question?”

I stopped to think about it. Was it bad that I really couldn’t remember. Ron took advantage of my distraction to steal the scanner from me and started scanning random trinkets.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I tried to take the scanner back. 

He used his height to an advantage to block me. “Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun. Every couple deserves some random trinkets that they open and have to fake a smile for, don’t you think?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eye that made me laugh even though I should be scolding him. I was still mad at him for his accusations, but I was willing to play along so I didn’t have to answer the dating question.

“Is that what you think?” I said with a smile. “You’d want to open random gifts you didn’t ask for because someone thought it would be funny to play a joke on your registry?”

“It’s never going to happen for me, so it doesn’t matter what I’d do, now would it?”

Ron was smiling, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes. I stopped to contemplate his words for a moment. “Something must have happened to make you resent love so much. So, what is it?” 

I snagged the list from his hand to see how we were doing as I began walking again. We needed to get to the linen section next. Ron still hadn’t answered me, so I decided to push his buttons a bit.

“Did your parents get divorced? An ex-girlfriend cheat on you with your best friend like in those cheesy romantic comedies? Or, were you left at the altar or something tragic like that?” 

“Yeah, actually.”

I froze. I wasn’t really serious. I turned around to look at him. “What?”

“I was engaged a few years ago, but about two weeks before the wedding she called it off. Apparently she was more interested in my brother instead, and only realized it when she came home to meet the whole family.”

“Oh, my God, Ron, I’m sorry. It was—I didn’t mean it,” I apologized. That was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“It’s fine. I was too blinded by love to see that we weren’t a good fit anyways. My brother saw right through her shallowness and told her to fuck off. So, I guess there was a silver lining.”

I handed him the scanner. “Scan all the ugly things you want. I’ll feign ignorance as long as all the stuff on this list gets added.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“Are you close with your brother, then?” We hadn’t discussed anything personal yet, aside from my involvement in weddings, but I found myself wanting to learn more about him.

“As close as we can be. He lives in Africa on a wild nature preserve.”

“And your ex was more interested in a—”

“Zoologist? Apparently. Guess my career as a writer wasn’t adventurous enough for her. Or it didn’t make enough money for her lifestyle.”

“If she’s more interested in money than love, you’re better off. You’ll find the one someday, I’m sure.”

“So will you...maybe,” he smirked.

“Good to see you being so supportive,” I said sarcastically. 

Just like that, the moment had passed. Maybe I’d been a little too quick to judge Ron without knowing his backstory. First impressions were typically a good indication of a person for me, but now I was starting to think that maybe I’d misjudged him. Even though he reverted right back to his sarcastic ways, I was fairly certain that it was all a cover. I couldn’t help the feeling churning inside of me that yearned to know more.

Ron

I was sitting at my cubicle on Wednesday when Rita stopped by my desk. “How’s the article coming?”

I knew she was talking about the perpetual bridesmaid one. “It still needs work; still a rough draft,” I told her.

“I want to see what you’ve got. Email it to me,” Rita said bluntly before walking away.

“But—” It didn’t matter what I was going to try to say, she was expecting it and I needed to send it along.

I didn’t understand why I was hesitating, though. This was going to be my big break, and yet I had this nagging feeling in my stomach. 

Sure, Hermione was strong minded and opinionated, but she was always so interesting to talk to. I found myself craving her company and wanting to learn more about her. Hell, I’d even admitted my darkest secret about Romilda that no one knew outside of immediate family.

The last time I put love ahead of my career I lost the section for my contributing investigative pieces and landed my arse firmly in commitments. I needed to stay focused so I shook the thoughts of Hermione from my head as I carried on with cleaning up the article. It’d been so long since I let anyone into my life, and I just didn’t know her well enough yet to trust her. 

I did make one small concession, deciding not to use her real name because of the business. So I called her Hermione Wilkins in the article. No one needed to know, and it was my feeble attempt at protecting her identity. Satisfied with the draft, I pressed send on the email and moved onto my next task.

On Friday, Rita called me into her office. “This is really good, Weasley. You should be proud.”

I looked at her in slight confusion, not exactly sure which article she was talking about.

“The perpetual bridesmaid article! We’re running it on Sunday. You’re on the front page of the Styles section. And you’re out of commitments for good after you cover that Warrington/Potter wedding, of course.”

“Er, right. Yeah, thanks!” I tried to fake excitement over it, but the knot was pitted even deeper in my stomach.

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I just think it could use some more time, that’s all. She’s in that wedding, too. The one next weekend. Let me wait and see if I can learn more. You know, to add—”

“Ron, this is perfect as is. Isn’t this what you wanted? Or has someone taken a fancy to Ms. Wilkins?” Rita gave me a knowing smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one. It made me uncomfortable.

“Can we please just push publication one more week?” I asked once more.

Rita sighed dramatically. “I’ll see what I can do, but if you have started to care for her, you might want to tell her. You can go now. I’m sure you have things to accomplish before the weekend.”

I nodded slightly as I turned to leave. I had to find a way to tell Hermione. I wasn’t ready to lose whatever dysfunctional new friendship we’d created, but after she’d already accused me of lying to her, I had no idea how I was going to spin this. No matter how I looked at it, it was totally deceitful.

 Not to mention my sister and all of her lies, too. No matter how annoying I thought Hermione could be, I knew she didn’t deserve that. She needed to know this was coming. I had to tell her.

~o~

My phone rang on Saturday afternoon. It was the first Saturday where I didn’t have to do anything related to weddings and it was brilliant, until I saw Ginny’s name on the caller ID.

“What?” I answered.

“I need your help.”

“Aren’t I already helping you enough?”

“Never,” Ginny said through a grin that I knew was undoubtedly plastered on her face.

“Well?” I asked, pretending to be annoyed.

“I just got a call that the favors are done and ready to be picked up in Brentwood. Harry was going to do it after the dinner tasting, but I’m worried that won’t give him enough time to get to Andover for dinner with Mum and Dad since it’s in the complete opposite direction!”

“So, you’re asking me to pick up the favors, then?”

“Unless you wanted to come to dinner—”

“Nope, I’m good. I’ve got to try and get a hold of Hermione tonight for something anyways,” I told her.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice sounded intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think. It’s not like I’m into her or anything,” I said a little too quickly.

“Sureee,” Ginny teased. “Well, you’re in luck. She’s with Harry right now for the tasting at the Winchester in Putney. She offered to go to the tasting since I was wrapped up with things back home. Maybe she could go with you?”

“Yeah, maybe…” I had to admit that Ginny came up with a good idea.

“Listen, I have to go, we’re getting ready to leave now. Hopefully Harry will be hungry enough. I did reserve a later dinner, but Mum and Dad wanted to get settled at the inn beforehand since they didn’t want to drive home tonight…” Ginny trailed off.

“Okay, tell them I said hi, and I’ll take care of the favors for you.”

“Thanks, Ron, I owe you!”

“Yeah you owe me for a lot of—” I stopped talking once I realized she’d already hung up the phone.

“Doesn’t she believe in saying goodbye?” I said out loud as I shook my head. 

I could be at the Winchester House in fifteen minutes. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I headed out the door and hailed a taxi.

When I arrived at the hotel, the maitre’d pointed me in the direction of where Harry and Hermione were seated. It was a relatively nice day. Warm and partly cloudy, but I could tell by the way the sky was changing that a rainstorm was coming in.

I walked through the main area to the outdoor seating section where I stopped near the doorway to look for them. I spotted them on the other side of the terrace overlooking the Thames at a small table. My first thought was of how gorgeous Hermione looked when she was smiling. She normally only reserved scowls for me, and I hadn’t realized how attractive she truly was until that moment.

The thought terrified me. I wasn’t sure if I was even ready to let someone else into my life like that. I’d sworn off love, convinced it wasn’t in the cards for me. If things were meant to look up, there was no way it could be her. Especially not after that article dropped. At least Rita was giving me more time to explain it to her.

I refocused on the two of them and began to take a few steps toward their table. That’s when I saw it. The look I’d seen on every bride who was hopelessly in love with their soon to be groom. How had I never realized it before? The way she smiled and leaned across the table. 

All the unabashed flirting. Everything was making sense now. Why she was so upset at the club that first night, why she was so dejected when she called me, and why she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be part of my sister’s wedding. Hermione was in love with her boss, who was also my sister’s fiancée. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Her pining over a man who had no interest in her at all, or Harry’s complete obliviousness to the entire situation. I’d seen him around my sister long enough to know he only had eyes for her.

I was feeling a mix of hurt and anger that I hadn’t felt since Romilda left me, and I didn’t understand why because it wasn’t like I was in love with Hermione or anything. I just enjoyed her company and was keen on the prospect that she might be a good friend if we could get past her constant accusations. 

At that moment I lost all my ambition to tell Hermione about the article, and even to ask her along on the wedding errand. I was about to turn and leave when Harry happened to look in my direction and called me over. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione looked at me in surprised annoyance.

Of course she was annoyed, I just ruined the probable fantasy she was currently living with this whole situation.

 “Jenny called and asked if I could go pick up the favors with you before the shop closes.”

“Oh, I thought I was going to take care of that,” Harry said.

“Yeah, Harry and I were just getting ready to head to Brentwood now,” Hermione said pointedly.

“Well, the bride is worried that it’ll make him late for some dinner that’s past the other side of London, so…”

“Hmm, she does make a good point. And it looks like the rain is heading in, which would make travel conditions worse,” Harry said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Hermione’ll ensure everything is sorted as the maid of honor, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in question and knowing she couldn’t say no.

“I—I guess,” Hermione sounded deflated as she shot me a death glare as Harry was finalizing the menu.

Good. Someone needed to pop the bubble because she was holding onto a dream that would never come true.

“Great, thanks again, you guys. I better get going if I have to stop home before heading to Andover.” 

Harry got up and clapped me on the back as he took off toward the exit. I smiled widely at Hermione, who looked like she was going to murder me. I couldn’t wait to reveal what I’d found out about her little secret.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings.  The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

[slinglouis]

september fic rec!

this one is coming at you all very late, but here are my favorite fics from august that i think you need to read this september! i read a TON of fics last month so these are the ones i absolutely loved! (**  my FAVORITE FAVORITES) 

mine would be you by crinkle-eyed-boo, 115k

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

robbers and cowards by louistomlinsons, 33k

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think that you’re enjoying yourself.” The familiar voice immediately gets Louis’ blood boiling, shoulders tensing as he calmly spins around, trying not to draw any suspicion to the pair. “You don’t know me at all,” Louis spits, managing to maintain the polite smile he’s been wearing all evening. “You’re just some asshole who always ruins my nights.” “If I keep ruining your nights, why do you keep going home with me?” Harry asks, taking a sip from his own wine glass. “I don’t go home with you by any choice of my own,” Louis says. “I think you’re annoying and I have no idea how I keep ending up in your bed.” “You end up in my bed because you knock on my apartment door at two in the morning.” Louis wants to punch the smirk right off of his face. “Maybe you should move,” is what he says instead. or a modern day robin hood au where louis and harry (don’t really) hate each other but they hate greedy billionaires more

Need So Much of You by lululawrence, 47k

“Alright, I’m just going to get right down to it,” Jess said. “We were contacted yesterday by Harry Styles’ team with some information regarding his own schedule and promotion that is going to have some bearing on Louis.”

“Me specifically or all former members of the band?” Louis asked, confused.

“You specifically,” Jess said, looking at Louis with a heavy gaze. “Harry’s going to start his own promo for his second album in the coming months, which is going to include a coming out.”

“That’s great,” he said, nodding. “Is that it? Or is there more?”

Mark shifted in his seat and Louis watched his expression change. “We’ve discussed it and we think it would be best if you came out as well and had a promotional relationship with Harry for the album drop through both of your tours next year.”

Louis started laughing in surprise, but no one else joined in. Shit, they were serious.

Or the would-have-been canon compliant, fake relationship, friends with benefits, friends to lovers fic where Louis wonders if this thing going on with Harry is going to break him or change everything for the better.

waiting for the tides to meet by nauticalleeds, 60k **

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

Spirit to a Dove by alienharry, 97k **

For as long as it’s been on the air, Harry’s been an avid watcher of Trivialities. He’s always imagined what it’d be like to compete on the show himself, and when the opportunity arises, he’s fast tracked to join the new cast for the show’s eighth season.

Alliances are formed, strategies are planned, and Harry finds himself with his very own nemesis. Between trivia and physical challenges, Harry’s making the most of his time in the house, but nothing could’ve prepared him for Louis Tomlinson.

Stranger Stars by shaylea, 212k **

Five years ago, Africa offered a grieving Louis Tomlinson an escape from an England he couldn't tolerate. Now it's become home as he leads overland tours across the continent with his best friend and driver Zayn Malik. What's meant to be just another ordinary six-week trip from Cape Town to Nairobi turns into anything but, when future lawyer/current photographer and songwriter Harry Styles and his friends join Louis' latest set of passengers.

another hazy may by deLILah, 41k **

louis is a terrible poet and harry lives in the now and they have six weeks to fall in love but, really, it only takes six seconds. bookshop meets military meets summer romance au ft. marlboros, the backstreet boys, and underrated literary devices.

Anonymous Said by alivingfire, 21k

When Harry was sixteen, he reached out for someone, anyone, to help him through the hardest days of his life. When Louis was eighteen, he answered. While they didn't know each other's names or faces or lives at all, really, it didn't stop them from falling a little bit in love.

And when Harry moves to Manchester for uni two years later, he meets a boy in a bookshop named Louis and wonders why it all feels so easy.

Or: two boys, two blogs, two years of anonymous messages, and a bookshop where it all comes together.

kiwi by fondleeds, 24k

With a stuttered mixture of a laugh and a groan, Harry lets his head droop, pushes his forehead against Louis’ chest and leans into him, fingers curled around the railing.

"You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes.

Louis lets out a puff of laughter, and when Harry lifts his eyes, the look in Louis’ gaze is one he knows too well, so distinctively coy and mischievous and gently charming, his lips quirked up with a smirk. Harry’s heart falls into the palms of his playful hands. “You’re into it.”

AU. Harry plays on Saturday nights at The Motley. Louis bartends on Saturday nights at The Motley.

It’s a thing.

True Love’s Gold by alivingfire, 28k

Gemma starts responding to every single one of Harry’s texts—regardless of subject—with i don’t care, talk to louis. Liam lets Harry complain to him for hours on Skype, pretending he’s not doing other things while Harry whines about his problems. Niall thinks the whole thing is hilarious, texting Harry links to articles titled So, you want your man to propose? and 15 ways to get him ready for the aisle! and follows each of these up with page upon page of laughing emojis. Harry tries everything, literally everything he can think of short of grabbing Louis by tattooed forearm and yelling, “PROPOSE TO ME BEFORE I COMBUST.”

Or, it takes a village to arrange a proposal, but that doesn't mean it's going to go as planned.

When It’s Late At Night by Rearviewdreamer, 26k

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

you’ve set on me by lissome, 31k

Harry’s been completely blindsided, is the thing. Like a car without headlights crashing into him. It’s not that he thought he’d never see Louis again in his life. It’s just this. He wasn’t ready for this.

au. louis' in an obscure band. harry's an international popstar. their paths aren't meant to cross, not like this, but when louis' band signs on as harry's opening act, both harry and louis are forced to confront the open wounds of their shared past.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #353

“well i’m a creep  /  i’m a weirdo  /  what the hell am i doing here?  /  i don’t belong here”

If you won an all-expenses paid trip to anywhere in the world for a one week vacation, where would you choose to go? For just one week, um... maybe South Africa, actually. Two weeks would probably be more ideal, but I've learned via my friend who worked with the KMP for a year that it's very isolating and you're very disconnected from society (also from the Internet, haha), but regardless, I REALLY wanna see the meerkats. Especially with the heat and all, one week might actually be all right. How often do you get notifications on your favorite social media site? That would be Facebook, and it really depends on how much I share that day. Sometimes I barely touch it, and sometimes I share a billion things and get a few notifications of people reacting. What’s something you’re actively trying to forget/care less about, if anything? Hi, have I told you about my breakup? What was the last encounter you had with a bug? Ugh, the fucking house is having an ant problem. Apparently, it's happened before here this time of year, so a couple times a days I find one on my arm or something and crush it. What is something considered “childish” that you still like or enjoy doing? I'm certain some people would consider RP childish, given it's essentially "make believe," and that's one reason I don't tell people about it. Name a song that you have a strong emotional connection to. Why is that song so important to you? The #1 song would be "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. I've told why before and don't feel like doing it again. Is cannabis legal where you live? Nope, but it should be. How often do you walk your dog, if you have one? I don't have a dog. What is something you'd feel confident enough to give a presentation on? Me? Comfortable giving a presentation? Bitch please. Which CoVid vaccine did you receive, if any? I got Moderna. I wanted Pfizer, but supposedly they're the same thing, just different manufacterors. How do you feel you've made a difference in the world? I don't feel I have. But it's my goal in life to die feeling like I did. Do you eat any candies in a specific order? (ie: M&M's) I fucking read this as "candles" and was really confused. But anyway, yes, but not M&Ms; I only do that with candies that actually have unique tastes depending on color, like Skittles. What is one common childhood illness that you managed not to catch? I never got chickenpox. Is there an heirloom that has been passed down generations of your family? Probably, but I don't know about it. What is the most unique pet that you ever owned, or would like to? Hm. I'd say maybe a Chinese water dragon? People tend to not know what they are; they mistake them for iguanas all the time. Have you ever been in a bad car accident before? A bad one, no, but I've been in one, nevertheless. At the description of what happened though, the cop said we were extremely lucky we weren't flipped over. My mom's driving skill saved us. What is your favorite type of weather to experience? Snow! I like a steady pace of large flakes. Do you know your social security by heart? I don't, actually, but I did at one point. Now, I only know the last four digits. Would you move out your house if you could right now? Yes, even if we just moved here. Mom and I really, really don't like living in the suburbs. We miss being in the middle of nowhere. When is the last time you slept in someone else’s bed? Not since I last visited Sara's. Do you like being called baby? Not really. Like if it's from an s/o, it's all right, it's just really not my favorite. Have you ever slept in the same bed of the opposite sex? Yeah. When shopping at a grocery store, do you return the cart? I openly judge the fuck out of you if you don't. Do you think you would survive in the wilderness if you were abandoned there? I know I couldn't. Not in my shape. If you had a child at the age you’re at now, do you think you’d be a good parent? God, no. Do you eat your Oreos with milk? Yes. I strongly prefer them that way. Do you think French kissing is gross? I mean in concept I think it indisputably is, like even if you brush your tongue, it's still just... gross. But that doesn't mean I'm against it at all or won't do it when I love somebody. It's an "I accept you and your germs" thing, haha. Are you wearing make-up? What brand(s)? No. I pretty much never wear makeup anymore, even to take pictures. The last male you spoke to…is he attractive? That would be my psychiatrist, and I'm not attracted to him, no. He's like another dad to me. Have you ever had mice in your house? Back when we lived in the woods, we would have a minor mouse problem in the winter sometimes. I fucking hated it because my parents used the inhumane traps, save for one. I guess it was an affordability thing, idk. One or two got caught in that one, and I would let them go outside. Do you enjoy working with animals? It depends on what I'm doing. If I'm cleaning up after an animal, NO, because I seriously struggle with stomaching it. I canNOT touch vomit or feces, so that kinda eliminates a lot of options. Because of how physically weak I am along with hyperhidrosis, I also can't really exert myself much, so there ya go, more reasons I can't. I wish I could. Have you ever been in a tornado or hurricane? Plenty of hurricanes. If you're in a competition, are you in it to win it or just for the fun? The fun, experience, and growth. What's your favorite show on Comedy Central? I don't watch it. Which love story would you want your life to turn out like? I don't know, really. Do you usually go to sleep before or after the people you're living with? Before, at least usually. Are you into ripped jeans? Yes, though I don't wear jeans anymore. Have you ever been to any Disney parks? Yeah, Disney World in Florida. Which band has the best name, in your opinion? "Cradle of Filth" sounds pretty damn badass and unholy, I dig it. Do kids often knock on your door on Halloween? This will be our first year in this house during Halloween, so I really don't know if any will? I mean we live in a suitable neighborhood, so idk. Which one of your exes do you feel like you have the most chemistry with? Sara. Do you share the same political views as your parents? Dad, no. Mom, some. Have you ever done any internship? No. What's the last thing you got paid to do? Take pictures for someone. What's something your mother always says? "Drive like everyone else is stupid." It works though, haha. Always expect that someone you see might do something moronic and be prepared. For example, she is very adamant about us looking both ways when a light changes to green versus going immediately, and it's literally saved Mom's and my sister's lives. What's something your dad always says? To reach out to him if we ever need help with anything, and he'll do everything in his power to be there. What's your favorite thing to wear? Loose tank tops with loose-ish pj pants. What's your favorite day of the week? Nowadays, it's Fridays. Snake Discovery and The Dark Den both upload that day, haha. Do you have a favorite coloring book artist? Lisa Frank is the Wholesome Lead Bitch. Have you ever wanted to model? No. Have you ever seen someone have a seizure? Yeah, my sister. What's your favorite car? I am not NEARLY educated enough on cars to answer this. Why did you cry the last time you did? I'm seriously grieving Virginia. Her death has stricken me harder than any other I've experienced, even my own grandmother's. Who was the last person to piss you off? Probably someone on Facebook, but idr. Do you like winter? I love winter. Do you have a favorite flower? Yeah; I really like orchids. Dahlias are also gorgeous, and roses... Would you get a shamrock tattooed to your forehead for $5000? No. As great as that money sounds, tattoos are (relatively) permanent, and that would look pretty stupid imo. Are you very flexible? Not anymore. Who was the last person to tell you you looked nice? Probably Mom. Do you have the right time set on your microwave? Yeah. Do you have any old newspaper articles? Why? No. Do you have a flat screen tv or just a regular box? Flat screen. Do you like Tootsie Rolls? Ugh, no. Do you like Slim Jim’s? Oh fuuuuuuck yeah man. What color is your mousepad? Black. Do you get your eyebrows waxed? I used to, but now I just leave 'em be. Would you date someone that had a different religion from you? It would depend on the religion and the intensity. I could NOT date someone exceptionally religious. A common question: What are you listening to? Caleb Hyles and Halocene's cover of Radiohead's "Creep." Would you ever get a nature tattoo? Well, I want at least a meerkat tattoo, so. I'll probably get a snake somewhere, too. Where do your siblings work, if anywhere? My older sister is a mammographer, and my little sister is a children's social worker. Saving lives, then there's me lmao. Who do you generally talk to the most? Mom and Sara. Have you ever had a crush on someone of the same gender? Yeah, multiple times. Do you enjoy painting? Not really, no. I stress out about messing up. When, where, and why did a needle last pierce your skin? Around a week ago, left shoulder, to get my first Covid vaccine. Is there a person you talk to everyday with? Well, considering I live with my mother... I usually talk to Sara too, but a day sometimes passes where we don't. Does one of your parents ever complain to you about the other parent? Mom does that all the time about Dad. It's no shocker they're divorced. Dad's long since moved on and doesn't talk shit about her. Who was the last person you wished a “Happy Birthday” to? I actually don't remember... Someone on Facebook, I'm sure. Does your best friend have a job? Not right now, she's dealing with some wild health issues where it's much safer that she doesn't. When you move out your house (or if you already have moved out) do you plan on still visiting your parents' house? Well of course. I especially plan on visiting my mother at least once a week, either going to her place for dinner or her coming over to mine for the same. We're way too close for me to not see her. I'll still visit Dad, too. Do you usually take home leftovers if you eat out in a restaurant? It depends on what I had and if I know I'll eat it warmed up. What’s your favorite thing to have for breakfast? Cinnamon rolls. Why did you break your last promise? I barely EVER break promises, but this one I actually forgot I even made. ;_;

[kuratoki]

Distance 02

There wasn’t a day Jeno didn’t regret not making things official with you sooner. What he also didn’t expect was his soon to be ex best friend to act on his feelings towards you either. Now a whole continent away with a ten hour time difference, will the two of you survive the distance and all the obstacles that come with?

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Ballerina OC x Dancer Jeno

Words: 3481

Warnings: Swearing

~Updates Ever/other day at 8AM PST~

Later that night, Yukhei, Yeeun, Yuta, Sicheng and Chenle had invited the transfer students to your shared house in order to get to know them better. Chenle had been spending more time with Sicheng as of late since both Renjun and Jisung were gone. He felt lonely.

“Do you live here alone?” Kun asked, looking around the well lived space. There were picture frames of a family and an unknown girl and some even had a boy that remotely looked like Jeno and it had him wondering.

“Now I do.” Sicheng said with a nod, “This is Y/N’s house. The girl that you heard everyone talking about during the meeting today. I’m just renting it while I’m here since her parents moved to America and are currently traveling.” 

“Like parents like offspring.” Yuta commented, “You should get her to make her famous chocolate cake when you meet her. Soooo good. I still have one in my freezer.” he grinned remembering the payment of chocolate cakes you had to give him for letting you use his apartment in Osaka during that one spontaneous trip.

Tzuyu tried not to roll her eyes at the mention of your name again. All she heard during the meeting was Y/N this, Y/N that. She was even starting to doubt that you were a real person cause it all sounded too good to be true. In their eyes, you were perfect and she highly doubted that.

“Where is she again?” Xiaojun curiously asked, he only heard briefly that you were in Germany but he wasn’t so sure for what.

“She’s in London working with the Junior Selects Performance Group.” Chenle explained, “She and her ballet partner Renjun were asked to reprise their roles as Odette and the Prince in Swan Lake for their spring performance.” 

“Wait, the Selects Dance Company? Isn’t that the prestigious one that has the intensive training camp for it’s competition team auditions?” YangYang asked, he had only heard of it a few times while he was in Germany but had yet to meet anyone associated with it. “How did she get into that?” 

“Long story.” The three who knew chorused.

“You have to either be attending school there already or get a letter of recommendation from an existing team member.” Sicheng explained, “Y/N was already studying abroad and she caught the eye of one of the team captains. So she technically got in with both.”

“I heard that the head of the board lost her son to cancer recently.” Tzuyu commented, she had a few friends who attended schools in Europe so news got around fast “Are you sure they’re still putting the performance on?”

“Considering Y/N and Renjun are there helping plan the whole thing right now…” Yeeun answered, resisting the urge to roll her eyes but felt Yukhei squeeze her hand, “Y/N and Renjun were close friends with her son so they’ve decided to dedicate the performance In memory of him.”

“They took on a lot of responsibility like finding the orchestra, coming up with audition dates for the other roles and at which locations. You saw the large ass binder I was carrying home..I’ll be playing the piano for them.” Chenle added, “I have three months to get this all down, this is going to be sooo much practice. Goodbye, life.”

“Not like you had one anyways since Jisung and Renjun left anyways.” Yeeun teased.

“She sounds too good to be true.” Tzuyu muttered, crossing her arms, “How is she so connected?”

“You’ll understand when you meet her.” Chenle advised, “She’s one of the kindest, humblest and talented dancers I have ever met.” 

“Thanks Chenle.” Yukhei, Yuta, Yeeun and Sicheng said dryly.

“Those words could get you injured.” Yuta joked, “Do you notice how snippy Jaemin gets when people talk about Y/N?” 

“I’m more scared of Jeno.” Chenle said with a straight face, “Did you see how he crushed Haechans hand when he smeared chocolate icing on Y/N’s face? I’m surprised he didn’t get the whole bowl thrown at him.” 

“That’s because she was there to stop him.” Yukhei reminded, “I remember the chill that went down my spine when he gave me his death glare when Y/N first got here.” he shivered thinking about the past, “Bless her soul for holding him back.”

“He does tend to act up when it concerns Y/N…” Sicheng said thinking about all the scenarios, “I wonder if it’s a childhood thing or if it’s recent.” 

“Definitely childhood.” Yeeun said with a nod. She had heard stories from both Hana and Jaemin recounting tales of how Jeno was always super protective of you growing up even before you realized you had feelings for the other. 

“Is she the girl in the photos?” Kun asked, looking around the room and Sicheng nodded, “Does she have a brother too?” he asked again seeing a small boy in some of the photos near the fireplace.

“That’s...Jeno guys. Didn’t Jaemin and Hana tell you that they grew up together?” Chenle asked, confused.

“Jaemin said that the three of them went to school together.” YangYang said, “Wait so the little boy in that photo’s Jeno?” he asked pointing to the photo where it showed a boy and a girl lying on their stomachs in a tent, the biggest grins the two could muster at their young age.

“Yep.” Sicheng said, “Their families travelled together too if I remember. I remember him visiting from time to time when they came to see my family in China.”

“The only continent we haven’t been to now is Africa.” Jeno’s voice said as he walked in and was shocked to see the big crowd in your living room. The only people who were missing were Hana and Jaemin. 

“Oh hey, you’re back.” Sicheng said, “Did you grab my food?” 

“It’s in the fridge. I put some extra stuff in there too so you won’t starve and Yuta won’t eat you out of house and home.” he said walking past the group, making a beeline for the stairs, “Do you need anything from Y/N’s room?” he called down.

“No” Sicheng called back and shook his head, “At least he’s thinking about me.” 

“More like Y/N probably told him not to let you starve.” Chenle snorted and jumped when he felt something brush against his leg, “HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT.” 

Everyone looked at Chenle weirdly before Tzuyu shrieked when she felt the same thing brush against her leg, “What the heck!?” 

Suddenly, something jumped out from under the couch but before it could land on Tzuyu’s lap, a strong arm quickly caught it mid-air. Looking up, she was shocked to see Jeno who pretty much had his arm wrapped around her from behind as he used his other hand to secure the animal.  She couldn’t help but feel the blush form on her cheeks as she felt his toned arm brush gently against her shoulder and she looked up at him, frowning when she saw him cooing as he held a cat in his arms.

“What the heck is Seol doing here?” Yuta asked, knowing all three of Jeno’s cats.

“Jaemin left my window open when he left for school this morning.” Jeno muttered checking his cat over, “And Sicheng left Y/N’s window open to air it out so she probably jumped across since it’s not that far. She did that a lot after she left too. Also, this is Nal, not Seol.” He corrected. 

“Awe, she also misses Y/N.” Yeeun said giggling, remembering your instagram post before you left, “Y/N said that if this ever happens that it was your fault that you let the two bond so closely before she left.” 

“Nal’s always liked Y/N better than me.” Jeno easily admitted, “I’ll be right back, gonna put her back in the house before-” Jeno let out a big sneeze.

“Too late.” Yuta and Chenle said as Jeno quickly walked out of the house only to come back not even three minutes later.

“I still don’t get why you have three cats when you’re allergic.” Yukhei commented, “Why don’t you get a dog or something?” 

“Y/N and I rescued Seol and Nal together when we were ten and I’ve had Beonsik forever.” Jeno said and looked down at his phone, “I’m gonna get what I need from her bedroom and then get going.”

“What are you getting exactly?” Chenle asked pointedly, “Does she even know you’re doing this?” 

“Pffft, no.” Jeno snorted, “She’d murder me if she found out. But the surprise will be so worth it.”

“Then we don’t want to know..” Yukhei said, “Shouldn’t you hurry up though? Your scheduled nightly call should be happening soon no?”

“Right.” Jeno said and ran back up the stairs only to come down with a large box of things, “See you guys tomorrow!” and with that, he was out the door.

“This is the third time he’s done that.” Sicheng commented, “I wonder what he’s up to…” 

“I know.” Yeeun said with a shit eating grin, “But I’m sworn to secrecy.” 

“Wait, so Jeno and this Y/N person aren’t dating?” Xiaojun asked confused, “But he seems so…”

“Domesticated.” YangYang finished his friends sentence.

“They’re kind of in a complicated situation.” Yukhei answered, “They have a lot of history and they only met up again this year after not talking for four. They have a few things to sort out and with Y/N currently on a different continent, they’re taking things slow.”

“Hey, the man has his priorities straight.” Yuta added,”I would do the same if I felt that way about her.”

“He just doesn’t want to fuck up cause he’s whipped.” Chenle commented, “Plus, he still sees his best friend as a threat.” 

“I thought Jaemin was dating Hana.” YangYang said. He was confused and Chenle quickly shook his head to correct himself.

“I’m talking about Jisung. You would have met him had he stayed and left for training camp when he was supposed to but he decided to follow Y/N and the rest of them to Europe early.” he explained, “Y/N and Jisung are best friends from summer camp, Jeno and Jisung are best friends from SMAA.” 

“So when Y/N transferred back, her two worlds collided.” Kun said and the group nodded, “Dang, must’ve been hard.”

“Ooooo yea.” Sicheng said remembering all the drama that happened in their small group, “And we all didn’t expect her to leave again so soon either but for now, it’s obvious where his focus is.”

“Well I mean, he’s going to be seeing her sfafjsalkfjl” Yukhei started but was muffled by Yeeuns hand.

“I think it’s time for Yukhei and I to go.” she said quickly, “Does anyone need a ride?” 

No one but a select few knew of Jeno’s leadership offer with the prestigious dance academy, not even Jaemin or Hana who were the closest to him. Yukhei and Yeeun happened to find out by chance since Renjun and Yukhei became close again and let it slip but outside of that, Jeno was acting perfectly.

A few weeks later, Tzuyu was walking around the empty hallways alone. She had a free period since her instructor was sick that day and she decided to check out the various departments. She could have asked Xiaojun or YangYang to join her but she decided to take a breather and think about the happenings over the last few weeks. 

She was so confused. She had tried to talk to him on multiple occasions but she only saw him during their first period class. He would remain unresponsive, focussing solely on the choreography as if his mind was elsewhere. Despite Hana and Yeeun warning her to leave him alone, Jeno was doing a good job at deflecting her himself and she had no idea if it was intentional or not.  As the weeks went on, she noticed that he got noticeably colder towards the transfer students, often leaving early from hangouts or not even showing up at all. When he was around, he focussed on talking to the guys only and only answered her questions when she asked, often with one word or a small sentence. It was like he was isolating himself from his friends too.  Something was obviously bothering him and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

As she walked by a practice room, she couldn’t help but hear a voice she recognized along with a much more feminine one.

“You need to lighten up.” the girl's voice said and Tzuyu peaked in to see Jeno sitting at a table he set up with his laptop open. Various papers and notebooks spread across. She knew it was a bad idea, but she couldn’t help but listen in on the conversation at hand.

“You’re only stressing yourself out more this way. Your duties don’t even start for another few months.” you said through the computer. The two of you and Renjun were having a video chat since Jeno was pretty much done school for the day and you were currently at your apartment working on performance preparations with Renjun. Jeno was going through the paperwork that he needed to fill for his application. The whole process in itself was stressful and on top of that, Soonyoung had asked for a few favors that he happily took, in order to distract him from everything else.

“But it’s going to help in the end won’t it?” Jeno asked, trying to reason with you and Renjun let out a sigh.

“Dude, I get that you want to be involved and everything but you’re still new to the system. I mean look at Jisung, the poor kid has complained EVERYDAY that training camp is so intensive.” he said, “Y/N’s right. You’re stressing yourself out for no reason.”

Tzuyu froze, so the female voice she heard was you. You didn’t sound all that special from what she could hear but the giggle you emitted when Jeno groaned before chuckling himself was what got her. 

“Where is Jisung anyways?” Jeno asked, curiously looking around the apartment through the camera.

“Unlike us, he has a strict schedule.” Renjun explained, “Remember, Xander wrote him the letter of recommendation so he has a lot to live up to. It’s no secret here either. Poor kid cried on Y/N’s shoulder the first day cause all the other students ridiculed his skill..” 

“Okay, now you’re just being mean.” you reprimanded, “YOU cried for the first TWO weeks of training camp. At least Jisung can suck it up. Plus his programs are harder because its for next years senior team. Hello, have you SEEN how Chan and Mia run their workshop?” 

“She got you there dude.” Jeno said looking at you with a soft smile, the softest smile Tzuyu had ever seen from him in all her time here, “Chan can be intense when he wants to be. I won’t say anything about your girlfriend in fear that she’ll find out and haunt me later.” 

“Shut up.” Renjun snapped, “Just you wait Lee Jeno, just you wait.” 

“Is that a threat small shoulders?” Jeno challenged.

“I don’t threaten, I promise.” Renjun said, “I will make you suffer.” 

“I mean, it won’t be as bad as Y/N and Mia making you suffer so I mean…” Jeno trailed off, “Plus, your girlfriend likes me better anyways.” 

“I always wonder about that.” Renjun admitted with a sigh, “Anyways, real talk. How are the transfers?”

The group in Europe which consisted of You, Renjun and Jisung were all aware of the suffering Chenle felt when he had to take on three dance majors since Renjun had left abruptly. You had heard a few things about one of them during your video calls with the girls and Jeno was also honest with everything during your phone calls. Did you see one of them as a potential threat? Kind of since the two of you agreed not to set things in stone until you were back for good and everything else settled down but you trusted him. 

“Outside of first period I don’t really see them.” Jeno admitted, he’d been taking more time to himself mentally. He had a lot of responsibilities within the NCT Dance club as a junior rep and the work he willingly took on for the Selects Team kept him busy most of the time.

“Ah, so that’s why Hana’s asked if I’ve talked to you.” you said finally understanding your friends words, “Why aren’t you hanging out with them? I heard that Kun, Xiaojun and YangYang joined NCT.”

“That they did.” Jeno confirmed with a nod, “I wonder if WinWin makes royalty’s off the club for all the transfer students he brings in.” he added as an after thought.

“What about the girl?” Renjun asked, “What’s her name again? Chou Tzuyu?”

“Sounds like it. I don’t talk to her much but she hangs around Yeeun and Hana a lot.” Jeno said nodding, “She’s actually a pretty good dancer.” 

“I’ve heard.” Renjun said, “A few of the dancers in my club talk about her. Heard she’s really talented despite her age.” 

“Just like Y/N back in the day.” Jeno said and the two of you looked at each other through the screen.

Renjun gagged and pushed you to the side, “Right in front of my lunch too. I thought we agreed flirting was meant for the night time conversations.” 

“You’re just salty that Mia’s been spending more time with Jisung and Chan lately.” you said pushing him back.

“Wait really?” Jeno asked, astonished. Chan was supposed to be helping out with the production so Jeno wondered what changed his mind.

“Yea, suddenly Soonyoung wanted to switch roles and Chan agreed since he wanted to get to know Jisung more.” Renjun explained, “Soonyoung, Jongin, Y/N and I are taking full control of the performance and Chan, Mia and the Senior team captains took over training camp. Anne-Marie is currently relaxing in the Carribean until new leaders are announced.” 

Jeno was shocked that Soonyoung switched places with Chan. It was obvious Chan had originally wanted to work with training camp but Soonyoung had a higher position so called dibs. Jeno wondered if it was because of a conversation the two had a few weeks back.

“So how do you feel about Y/N being so far away again?” Soonyoung asked.

The two had started meeting up more often, evening inviting Jaemin along at times. It was like ever since the day they met, a brotherhood had formed.  Today, Jeno had driven up to visit Soonyoung since it was the weekend and the two were meeting over some hot pot.

“What do you want me to say?” Jeno asked, “I just got her back and she’s gone again. Like, we talk every night but I still miss her you know.” 

“It’s understandable. But you guys talk everyday right? It’s not like anythings really changed, minus her being a 12 hour flight away part.” Soonyoung tried to reason and Jeno shrugged.

“I think towards the end, we spent so much time together that it was harder to let go and now she’s over there with Jisung and I don’t know what that kid has planned.” Jeno said, his voice getting lower at every word.

“Wait what about Jisung?” Soonyoung asked, “I thought he and Y/N were best friends.”

“They are…” Jeno said, running a hand down his face, “It’s just I don’t think his feelings for her are platonic. They way he was acting towards her in the end, he was just so protective, intent on keeping her away from me.”

Soonyoung hummed to himself, leaning back in his seat, “Is that what’s really bothering you right now?”

“It’s been on my mind for a while. There were times times when I’d be on video call with her and Jisung would randomly walk into her room and throw himself on her bed and other times, he’s already there with her…”  Jeno confessed, “I get they’re best friends but the look in his eye tells me otherwise.” 

“I’ll take care of it.” Soonyoung said and Jeno gave him a confused look and Soonyoung smiled, reaching over to pat his shoulder, “Just focus on making things official with Y/N.” 

Jeno wondered if Chan was playing a role. Jisung had been showing up less frequently in your video calls and the two of you had been actually able to talk about personal things. 

“Interesting. When do the two of you start rehearsals?” Jeno asked, changing the subject.

As the three of you continued to converse, Tzuyu was about to walk in but was quickly pulled back by the wrist, coming face to face with Yeeun.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Rami finding out you and your male best friend used to have a sexual relationship

Rami’s body was warm against your back as you laid together in bed. You were on your side, playing on your phone, and he was reading a book about hunting in South Africa— he’d read a script that intrigued him, and he was deciding how he wanted to audition for the role. You loved his dedication to his craft; his passion was something he applied to all aspects of his life, and you couldn’t be happier he had chosen to be passionate about you.

Your best friend, Aidan, who was currently drunk as a skunk, had texted you about the time you two had gotten caught fucking on his parents’ sofa. His dad had walked in, despite the fact that he had been mowing the lawn so the two of you had assumed that as long as the lawn mower was running, you were safe.

You had leapt off of his lap while he tucked his dick in his pants and ran out of the room to distract his dad. You were pantsless, panicked, and had tried to shut the door to the den, but it got caught on the rug. There was a moment in time when Aidan and his dad had made eye-contact with you as you held your pants in front of you and tried in vain to shut the door.

You hadn’t thought about it in years, so the more you remembered, the harder you laughed.

“What’s got you chucklin’, babe?” Rami said, his voice distant as he was clearly still absorbed in his book.

“Something Aidan brought up from when we were kids,” you said before dissolving into another smatter of laughter as he sent you a gif mocking your panicked, pantsless moment.

“Must have been pretty funny,” Rami replied as you felt him shift to close his book and lay it on the nightstand. He leaned over you to press a kiss to your temple as his arm wrapped around your waist.

“What does ‘pantyless-panicker’ mean?” he asked, his eyes scrolling over your last message.

“Aidan’s dad caught us having sex once,” you said, still giggling.

You felt Rami’s arm stiffen.

“What?”

You clicked off your phone and rolled over, Rami still angled a little over you as you laid flat on your back.

You grinned up at him, “Yeah. It was a ridiculous moment—an out of body experience, actually, as I made eye-contact with his dad and frantically tried to close the door. I hadn’t thought about it in years.”

You went to rub Rami’s upper arms, but he sat up as he moved away from you, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He didn’t turn around as he spoke.

“You never told me you and Aidan slept together.”

“Really?” you said, furrowing your brows. “We were so young—senior year of high school.”

“You two are thick as thieves,” Rami said sadly as he stood, finally turning to face you. “I always wondered about your connection. I feel like an idiot.”

You sat up at his tone, a flush of fear creeping across your chest.

“Why are you an idiot?”

“Because you’re together all the time. You clearly still have feelings for him. He makes you smile in a way I never have.”

“Yeah—like how Sami makes you smile. Aidan is more like a brother to me now than an ex-boyfriend. You’re overreacting.”

Rami’s face was expressionless.

“I think you should go.”

“What the fuck, Rami?”

“Just go. I need time—”

“Jesus Christ, Rami! Aidan and I had sex when we were teenagers. We’ve never had sex since. We don’t vibe like that. Don’t you dare make me out to be a bad guy.”

“I’m not. I just can’t imagine being that close to someone I slept with.”

“As a t-e-e-n-a-g-e-r!” you said, your voice growing louder.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you, Rami.”

“Do you? I would think,” he said as he crossed his arms over his bare torso, “someone who loved me would be more honest.”

“Would you like me to make a list of everyone I’ve fucked? Let’s make it a fun game! You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

“I’ve told you about all my exes.”

“No shit—since we see over a third of them at every party in this cesspool of a town.”

“At least I was honest!” Rami said, his voice taking on a harsh tone that was bordering on yelling. “Aidan’s met my family! He’s become a part of our lives. And you just happened to forget to tell me you fucked him?”

“It was so far in the past I didn’t think it mattered,” you said softly, moving to the edge of the bed as you scrambled to stand in front of Rami.

“It does matter,” he said, his eyes on the floor.

“Rami,” you said, reaching out to cup his face but he stepped back and shook his head.

“I really need you to leave. I need time to process.”

You looked at him sadly.

“Alright,” you breathed. “I’ll give you some space.”

“Thanks,” Rami muttered as he went into the bathroom.

The click of the door as it shut behind him echoed in your mind as you got dressed. You could still hear it, menacing and forlorn, as you got into your car and drove back to your place, your mind racing, wondering if anything would ever be the same again.