#and they have their own problems and sorrows and they find solace in each other
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Do you ever sit and think about how Xiao promised to essentially be Lumine's executioner. Do you ever think about how he said he'd kill for her if she wished so. Do you ever think about how Xiao spent thousands of years participating in bloodshed and massacre and thinks that it's all he was meant to be. Do you ever think about how he sees Lumine as a pure soul that deserves none of that suffering he pretty much drowned himself in. Do you ever think about how he can only feel useful to Lumine as a weapon and thus offered himself to her as one.
BUT ALSO! Do you ever think about how Lumine NEVER calls for Xiao to fight for her? Do you ever think about how she almost died fighting a GOD in Inazuma and only called Xiao after the whole ordeal was over and she wanted him to eat a dish? Do you ever think about how she absolutely refuses to use Xiao as the weapon he thinks he is? Do you ever think about how Lumine sees Xiao as a pure soul that deserves none of the torment and endeavors to give him peace in any way she can?
#help me i think i got bit by the xiaolumi bug#it's itching and scratching and i only found release by screaming in the void#anyway do you ever think about lumine's angelic imagery and xiao's demonic imagery#she is the descender that will liberate the world#he is the great demon conqueror#a bright star that gives blessings and a harbinger of doom that thrives in the darkness#but do you also ever think about how they're just... lumine and xiao#and they have their own problems and sorrows and they find solace in each other#crazy right#genshin impact#lumine#genshin xiao#xiaolumi
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May I have this dance?
Sebastian Solace x Reader
"Surely, you must be joking."
"Quite the contrary."
He fiddled with the old gramophone, making a few final adjustments in order to get it to function properly once more. All the while he was casually holding his cigarette with his third hand, elegantly tapping the ash away when necessary.
Sebastian had amassed an impressive collection of vinyl records, arranging them according to his tastes. He had done so in a similar manner with his books and research files. You loved watching him sort out his inventory.
It was so unusually domestic, the mingling scents of coffee and cigarette smoke, the presence of warm blankets and pillows on the sofa he had hauled from an unspecified location in the vast facility. Undoubtedly from various loungers that the scientists would once find comfort in before the breach in security.
You cleared your throat, trying to get his attention once more.
"Seb, be realistic. We cannot dance together. I don't even know how to"
"I am certain the youth refers to this as a "skill issue" nowadays. Painter had discovered a whole thesaurus of modern slang, heaven help us all."
"I am not even going to comment this. My point still stands. Besides, you do not even have legs."
"What I do have is creative solutions to complex problems. We crush obstacles, do we not? Ah, there we go. Good as new."
He placed the needle on a record.
Music. Soft jazz, soothing yet playful, unpredictable in its rhythm, improvising, moving from whimsical and exciting tunes to the more melancholic melodies. In many ways, it conveyed Sebastian's own soul perfectly.
He offered his clawed hand, grinning and waiting for you to inevitably accept his offer. Reluctantly, you accepted.
His tail began to tap in a certain rhythm against the floor, as if setting the tempo you should follow along with the music. Confused, you saw his other two arms approach you, all three serving as if they were makeshift dance partners.
Before you knew it, he was making you move and sway as if you were a combination of a puppet on a string and a music box ballerina. He made you twirl, glide, turn, almost hypnotic.
At a certain point, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was completely dark, save for the lone light of his esca.
"See? You do not need to know where to go or what to do, you are only to follow as I say. Trust me and you will never have to worry about anything ever again."
"Seb, I am tired."
"I am sure we can get a few more pirouettes out of you, pet."
"Well, at least I am getting free cardio training here."
You took deep breaths as your puppet master played with you, demanding yet gentle, firm yet rewarding you with tenderness when it was due. As you were about to collapse, he caught you, pulling you into his lap.
Soft kisses were placed on your head, cheeks and lips.
His body began to sway, akin to the ocean waves, his arms cradling you.
Sebastian was truly like the ocean itself, simultaneously a cooling haven that embraced you in your feverish nightmares and a cold unyielding tomb that one could not escape from. A devil is merely a fallen angel, after all.
You whispered, closing your eyes.
"What will become of us, Seb? We are playing in this illusion, knowing that all of this is ludicrous."
"We live on stolen time. Our old lives are forfeit and we can only move onward. We take, we scavenge, we defy probability itself."
"What are we to each other?"
He combed his fingers through your hair.
"Fleeting hope. The same type that a ghost feels in a house with new tenants, desperately wishing to be seen and heard once more. Even for a final time."
Hot tears ran down your cheeks.
"Hope is such a cruel thing, Seb."
He kissed each tear away, savouring your sorrow.
"We lie in the Abyss. This location defies physics itself, it rebels against every possible known law of water mechanics. So shall we. Doomed to fail, given to death, we shall rise once more, wearing the Reaper's cloak as our own."
#sebastian solace x you#sebastian solace x reader#sebastian solace roblox#sebastian pressure#sebastian solace#amary's chronicles
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Fading Embers | Jang Wonyoung
pairing: wonyoung x reader
>wc: 2,680
content warning: contains themes of angst, car accidents, and emotional distress.
sypnosis: When Jang Wonyoung receives a life-changing phone call, will love be enough to overcome the unimaginable challenges that lay ahead?
The Fourth of July was supposed to be a day of celebration, a day where fireworks lit up the sky in vibrant colors, and laughter filled the air. But for Y/N and Wonyoung, this day would forever be etched into their memories as the day their world shattered.
Y/N and Wonyoung had always been inseparable. They were two souls intertwined, sharing their dreams and fears, their joys and sorrows. Their love was a fire that burned bright, but even the brightest flames can be extinguished with a single gust of wind.
That morning, the sun rose with a deceptive warmth, casting gentle rays of light on the small town where Y/N and Wonyoung resided. But inside their hearts, a brewing storm threatened to tear them apart.
The tension had been building for weeks, their love caught in the crossfire of miscommunication and unspoken frustrations. As the hours ticked by, the weight of their unexpressed emotions grew heavier, straining the fragile threads that held them together.
It was a seemingly insignificant disagreement that sparked the flames of their fight. Words were exchanged with sharp edges, fueled by insecurities and pent-up resentments. Y/N's heart ached, but she couldn't find the words to bridge the growing chasm between them.
"Why don't you ever listen to me, Y/N?" Wonyoung's voice trembled with frustration, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I feel like I'm talking to a wall sometimes."
Y/N's brows furrowed, hurt flashing in her eyes. "I do listen, Wonyoung. I just... I have my own thoughts and opinions too. Can't we have a conversation without it turning into an argument?"
Wonyoung's frustration turned into anger as she felt her defenses rise. "It's not just about having different opinions, Y/N. It's about feeling like you dismiss mine. Like they don't matter."
Y/N's voice grew sharper. "Well, maybe if you didn't always assume that you're right and I'm wrong, we wouldn't have this problem!"
The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Wonyoung's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She never intended for their argument to escalate this far.
The silence stretched on, tension thickening between them. Y/N's voice softened, her hurt transforming into resignation. "Maybe we need some time apart," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "To figure out if we can find our way back to each other."
Wonyoung's eyes welled up with tears as her heart shattered into a million pieces. "Y/N, no... Please, don't say that. I can't bear the thought of losing you."
Y/N turned away, her voice heavy with unspoken pain. "I can't keep going like this, Wonyoung. We're hurting each other more than we're making each other happy. Maybe it's better if we take a step back and reevaluate."
And with those words, Y/N walked out of the room, leaving Wonyoung standing there, tears streaming down her face, feeling the weight of her regret and the realization that she might have pushed Y/N away too far.
Hours turned into days, and days turned into sleepless nights. Y/N replayed the fight over and over in her mind, each word a dagger to her heart. Regret washed over her, but pride held her tongue. She wanted to reach out, to apologize, but fear held her back.
Meanwhile, Wonyoung, tormented by her own doubts, questioned whether she had made the right decision. She missed Y/N's presence, her laughter, and the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. But the pain of their fight lingered, a constant reminder of their brokenness.
Then, on that fateful Fourth of July, Y/N decided to take a drive alone. The open road beckoned her, promising solace and clarity. But fate had other plans.
The radio played softly, the notes of a familiar song filling the confines of the car. Y/N's mind wandered, lost in a sea of regrets and what-ifs. She didn't see the stop sign until it was too late.
The screeching of tires filled the air as Y/N's car collided with another vehicle. Glass shattered, metal twisted, and the world spun into chaos. Pain radiated through Y/N's body as the impact jolted her senses awake. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own wreckage.
Meanwhile, Wonyoung, unaware of the impending tragedy, felt a sudden unease creeping into her bones. A nameless dread settled upon her like a heavy blanket. She reached for her phone,only to find it silent, devoid of any messages or missed calls.
With a sinking heart, Wonyoung dialed Y/N's number. Panic rose within her as the call went straight to voicemail. Her mind raced, connecting the dots between their fight and Y/N's sudden disappearance.
Wonyoung's heart skipped a beat as her phone rang, displaying the number of the local police department. With a sense of unease, she answered the call, her voice trembling.
"Hello?" Wonyoung spoke, her voice filled with worry.
The voice on the other end belonged to Officer Smith. "Is this Jang Wonyoung?"
Wonyoung's breath hitched. "Yes, this is Wonyoung. What's happened?"
Officer Smith's tone turned somber. "I regret to inform you that there has been a car accident involving Y/N. She has sustained injuries, and we are currently at the scene."
Fear gripped Wonyoung's heart, her mind racing with thoughts of Y/N's well-being. "Is she going to be alright?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.
Officer Smith's voice held a hint of reassurance. "We have called for an ambulance, and they are en route. It would be best if you could come to the accident site. It occurred on Oak Street near the intersection with Maple Avenue."
Tears welled up in Wonyoung's eyes as she processed the gravity of the situation. "I'm on my way," she replied, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Please take care of her."
Officer Smith offered a sympathetic tone. "We will do everything we can. Just come as quickly as possible."
As Wonyoung hung up the phone, her heart raced with worry. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, her mind consumed with thoughts of Y/N's safety. Every passing second felt like an eternity as she raced towards the unknown, praying that she would reach Y/N in time and that they would find solace in each other's arms once more.
The sight that greeted Wonyoung was a nightmare come to life. Emergency lights flashed, illuminating the twisted metal and the devastation left in the wake of the collision. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted Y/N's car, mangled and broken.
Paramedics worked frantically, their voices a blur to Wonyoung's ears. She pushed through the crowd, desperate to reach Y/N's side. And there, amidst the chaos, she found her love.
Wonyoung's voice trembled as she knelt beside Y/N, her eyes filled with tears. "Y/N, oh my god, are you okay? Please, please be okay!"
Y/N winced, pain etched across her face. "Wonyoung... I... I'm sorry."
Wonyoung's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's pain. She took Y/N's hand in her own, her voice choked with emotion. "No, Y/N, this isn't your fault. I'm sorry too. I never should have let it get this far. I love you, and I can't lose you."
Tears streamed down Y/N's face as they both realized the fragility of their love and the depth of their regret. "I love you too, Wonyoung," Y/N whispered, their voices barely audible amid the chaos surrounding them. "Please forgive me."
Wonyoung nodded, her grip on Y/N's hand tightening. "We'll get through this together. I promise."
As the paramedics worked to free Y/N from the wreckage, the echoes of their fight faded into the background. In that moment, all that mattered was their love and the hope of rebuilding what was broken.
The Fourth of July would forever be a reminder of their darkest hour, but it would also be the catalyst for their journey towards healing. Their love, once a fire on the verge of extinguishing, now flickered with renewed determination, ready to rise from the ashes and burn brighter than ever before.
a/n: this is so ass omg
#ive#ive wonyoung#wonyoung x reader#wonyoung#ive x reader#gg x reader#girl group#wony x reader#ive x you
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Peniel Temenos Catholic Worker Summer Newsletter
Post Office Box 642656
San Francisco, CA 94164
www.temenos.org
415-305-2124
Fr. River Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.
Director
==================================
Summertime: A Time of Creation and Rest!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
in the new light
of each day's questions.
I am never prepared
Today, again, I have nothing
to offer but a handful
of old prayers, worn down
by the relentless abasion
of doubt and a fragment
of dream, that plays on in my head
only half-remembered. Still,
the doves coo and circle
through the pines
as they do when I pass
each morning. Their
sorrow is so nearly human, it rings
sweet with regret. By dusk,
the trees will bow down, and I too, will
make my appeal will
find again your mercy,
your solace.
(Elizabeth Drescher)
(How will we embrace Wisdom's life and love these days?
-------------------------------------------------
After Pentecost, we enter a season with no common focus called "Ordinary Time!" These weeks hold both the slower pace and peaceful quality of summer months and the quicker pace and flurry of activity in early fall.
These are the "ordinary" days in which we live out our daily lives.
It is time we settle into the growing season, nourishing the seeds planted in the Spring and putting down roots in our lives.
This is my 30th season of "Ordinary Time" in San Francisco and the words of Drescher I hear loud and clear in the dusk of my ministry::
By dusk,
the trees will bow down, and I too, will
make my appeal will
find again your mercy,
your solace.
What I have learned in these 30 years is that like the Apostle Peter, I am simply weak, and a sinner dependent on the mercy of God every day.
Pope Francis sums up the core of ministry, and of our daily lives in these words:
"What a good teacher our Lord is! The prophetic gesture of Jesus points to the prophetic Church that, washed of her sin, is unafraid to go out to serve a wounded humanity. Peter experienced in his flesh the wound of sin, but also of his own limitations and weaknesses. Yet he learned from Jesus that his wounds could be a path of resurrection. To know both Peter disheartened
and Peter transfigured is an invitation to pass from being a Church of the unhappy and disheartened that serves all those people who are unhappy and disheartened in our midst. A Church capable of serving her Lord in those who are hungry, imprisoned, thirsting, homeless, naked and informed. .(Mt. 25:35. A service that has nothing to do with a welfare ministry or an attitude of paternalism but rather with the CONVERSION OF THE HEARTS. The problem is not feeding the poor or clothing the naked or visiting the sick, but rather RECOGNIZING THAT THE POOR, THE NAKED, PRISONERS AND THE HOMELESS HAVE THE DIGNITY TO SIT AT OUR TABLE, TO FEEL "AT HOME" AMONG US, TO FEEL PART OF A FAMILY. This is the sign that the Kingdom of Heaven is in our midst. This is the sign of a Church wounded by sin, shown mercy by the Lord, and made prophetic by his call."
The greatest gift God has given me in these years is to lean on the mercy of God. All around us, the "throw-away" culture has no mercy; all values are relative to the logic of technology. It is easy for us to trust in power and law, rather than in the power of God's mercy.
In all these years, God's mercy has been sustaining, leading me through life's difficulties.
I invite each of you to stand in the shoes of mercy and show mercy to others, knowing that you experience mercy in the hands of God. I "try" to invite everyone to have mercy knowing that by:
By dusk,
the trees will bow down, and I too, will
make my appeal, will
find again your mercy,
your solace!
30th Anniversary Celebration
Victor’s Pizza
6 p.m.
November, 2024
WE ARE BEGGARS! WE REALLY NEED MONEY1
FOR FOOD, SOCKS, HARM REDUCTION AND OTHER SERVICES!
P.O. Box 642656
415-305-2124
pay pal
www.temenos.org
Temenos Catholic Worker
P.O. Box 642656
San Francisco, CA 94164
Fr. River Sims, D.Min, D.S.T.
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Is old antique piano worth being cared for?
Recently i received a phone call from a customer asking me if I could tune an old antique piano. She said: "I have been looking for a piano tuner near me and has had two piano tuners turned up and refused to tune my old piano." I asked her what was the reason they gave her for not be able to tune it. To my dismay, she said those piano tuners in Sydney merely opened up the lid and had look then told her it was not tunable. They didn't even mention any potential piano tuning cost. Have to say, this sounds to me is not good enough. At least we should treat our customers with respect they deserve. Old piano is surely tunable and not all new pianos are that easy to tune either. For many times I have come across pianos that was less than 30 years old but so difficult to tune, typically with a lot of loose tuning pins, very noisy overtones. I decided to take on this “ challege “ so I book her in for a tuning service the next day.
Having said that old piano is tunable, these old pianos indeed have some challenges to service and I kind of understand why some piano tuners would not want to spend time tuning them.Antique pianos are beloved for their rich history and unique aesthetic, but they often come with a range of challenges due to their age and wear, quite often they need expertise from piano tuner or piano technicians to carry out piano repair work or even a full piano restoration. Here are some common problems that owners of antique pianos may encounter:
Tuning Stability: Over time, the tuning pins and pinblock in antique pianos can become loose, leading to tuning instability. This can cause the piano to fall out of tune frequently, requiring more regular tuning to maintain pitch stability. Worn Action Parts: The action of an antique piano, including hammers, dampers, and other moving parts, can become worn and sluggish, affecting the touch and responsiveness of the keys. Replacing or refurbishing these parts may be necessary to restore proper functionality. Cracked Soundboard: Antique pianos may develop cracks in the soundboard due to changes in humidity and temperature over the years. These cracks can negatively impact the instrument's tone and resonance, requiring professional repair to mitigate the damage. Ivory Key Issues: Many antique pianos feature keys topped with ivory, which can become discolored, chipped, or loose over time. Ivory has been banned around the world so it is nearly impossible to replace damaged key tops with ivory. The only way to get hold of ivory key top is to salvage from old junk pianos. Most of the time those ivory key tops are replaced with modern plastic key tops. Structural Instability: The wooden components of antique pianos may suffer from structural issues such as warping, splitting, or loose joints. Addressing these problem require a lot of time and resources and often comes with a hefty cost.
Owners of antique pianos should always work with experienced piano technicians. Regular maintenance and proactive care can help preserve the beauty and functionality of antique pianos for generations to come.
Owning an antique piano is more than just owning a musical instrument; it carries with it a rich history and sentimental value that transcends time. Each scratch, worn key, and faded finish serves as a gateway to the past, preserving the memories and emotions of its previous owners. As I carefully tune these antique pianos, I often find myself marveling at the stories they hold within their elegant frames. These pianos have likely witnessed numerous family gatherings, heard the laughter of generations, and provided solace during moments of both joy and sorrow. They have been the soundtrack to countless life events, from weddings and birthdays to quiet evenings spent in contemplation. Owning an antique piano is a way of capturing a piece of history, connecting us to an era that is long gone but not forgotten. It serves as a tangible link to our roots, evoking a sense of nostalgia and bridging the gap between the past and the present. For many, inheriting or acquiring an antique piano symbolizes a cherished legacy, a tangible heirloom that represents the enduring love for music and tradition within a family. Moreover, the craftsmanship and unique character of antique pianos add to their intrinsic value. Each instrument is a testament to the artistry and dedication of the craftsmen who meticulously constructed it, often using techniques and materials that are rarely found in modern pianos. The resonance of the aged wood, the gentle patina of the keys, and the delicate intricacies of the ornate design culminate in a work of art that transcends its utilitarian purpose. In a world where everything seems to move at an accelerated pace, the presence of an antique piano serves as a gentle reminder to slow down and appreciate the beauty of the past. Its enduring allure lies not only in its melodic notes but also in the profound emotions and memories it invokes. It stands as a silent witness to the passage of time, a treasure to be cherished and passed down through generations, ensuring that the legacy of music and sentiment perseveres.
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all my fault
Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!
Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.
CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*
A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!
IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!
———————————————————————
when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.
“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.
“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.
“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.
“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’
spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.
your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.
because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.
the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.
being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.
spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.
you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.
you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.
“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.
“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.
“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.
“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”
you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.
spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.
“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.
you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.
“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”
“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.
“y/n…”
“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”
“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”
“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.
-
“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”
what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?
“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.
“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.
“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.
“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.
“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.
“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.
it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.
the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.
you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.
you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.
“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.
“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”
“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”
“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.
“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.
“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.
“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”
“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.
“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.
“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.
“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.
“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”
“i did,” you admitted.
“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”
“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.
“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.
“shut up, spencer!”
“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”
“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.
“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.
you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.
when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.
so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.
you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.
and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.
you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.
you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.
spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.
in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.
he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.
maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.
the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.
you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.
you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?
a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.
it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.
when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.
in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.
you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.
he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.
“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.
“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.
“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”
“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.
“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”
“y/n, i-“
“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.
he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.
“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.
“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.
“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.
“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.
“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”
“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.
“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.
“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”
he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.
how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.
“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”
“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.
she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.
“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.
“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.
“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”
“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.
“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”
“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”
“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”
“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.
“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”
“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”
“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”
“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.
“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.
he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.
“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.
“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.
“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”
“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”
“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”
“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”
“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”
“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.
“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”
“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.
“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”
“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.
“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”
“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”
“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”
you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.
“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”
“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.
“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.
“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”
“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”
“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”
over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.
five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.
one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.
seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.
you were pregnant.
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#tw pregnancy#tw miscarriage#tw abortion#tw abortion mention#tw depressive thoughts#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer#spencer reid angst#spencer reid comfort
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Can I request a Fred Weasley oneshot with the promts "you don't love him", and "love is supposed to be good". Thanks 😊
GOOD, PURE, AND BEAUTIFUL
PAIRING: Fred Weasley x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k (about 1000 words my ass) SUMMARY: The Leaky Cauldron serves as a sanctuary to drink your problems away for the night but a certain ginger always seems to find his way to you. Possible part 2? A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had to rewrite the hold dang thing and I know I said I would write around 1000 words but looks like i can’t help but be long-winded. WARNINGS: Angst. Mentions of getting drunk. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST
You find solace in the pint of butterbeer, sitting at a table for two, tucked by the corner and under the archways of the Leaky Cauldron. The passing wizards in sleek venerable trench coats and witches with an odd taste in hats only act as an activity of sightseeing in keeping yourself awake, hypothesizing strangers’ lives and whether they might have gnomes lurking in their gardens or have gardens in the first place.
You are drawn to the drifting scent of butterscotch—the tankard of butterbeer sits glumly in your grasp as it has lost all its foam. You take a sip, more of a gulp, feeling the gas building up in your abdomen, and the sweetness to it almost feels sickening at this point.
Belly full yet feeling extremely empty.
The days leading up to you, being here at the Leaky Cauldron, and playing the part of the drunken witch very well weren't exactly pleasant. Flourish and Blotts seem to lose its shine in fulfilling your love for books and organization with every passing day and your relationship with the boy you met and fell madly in love with during your sixth year don’t seem to hold the same spark as before. Walter was a Ravenclaw—handsome, diligent, and incredibly smart. You and him dating had been an on-and-off situation because the one thing you two share in common is the lack of decisiveness.
Today, tonight, you and Walter are finally resolute. The true end where second, third, or fourth chances will never cease to exist from now on. With the new offer for a job in America, you and he both know drifting apart seems to be the only reasonable solution to the whole mess of what you assumed was love.
He spoke the words in this very spot, sat in the chair across from you. You had been watching the way his thumb would caress the back of his other hand and you knew, the night was bound to end in a disastrous way. An unfortunate turn of events for the witch who doesn’t truly know if she ever loved another or was ever loved.
Yet, you sit here, eyes completely dry. Far from crestfallen, far from regret. Only filled with the dread of not feeling the sadness you’re supposed to be feeling. You ignore how your shoulders feel lighter and how the tightness in your chest seems to have miraculously disappeared as soon as you watched Walter walk out of the Leaky Cauldron.
Are the butterbeers celebratory or depressing? You’re not sure.
You rest your chin on your palm, feeling like you’re in a daze. Butterbeer isn’t necessarily the type of drink to get you intoxicated but noting the rate you’re consuming each mug, it’s no surprise that you’re just a little tipsy.
Then, you see a certain ginger twin emerge from the entrance of the pub like some divine intervention. He seems to spot you from afar, waving in your direction. You lift your hand weakly in the midst of trying to figure out which of the twins you are particularly waving at. It’s Fred Weasley as it turns out, you recognize the certain strides with every step taken towards you that differs him from George. As he nears you, there’s an assurance that it’s certainly Fred with the sight of a mark on the bridge of his nose—an indicator and a technique to tell the twins apart you used when you were younger.
Fred halts by the empty seat diagonally to your left, hands shoved in the pockets.
“I have never seen you here at this hour—are you okay?” Fred cuts himself short, brows turning into a frown when he notices the unusual mess in your hair. If he knows you any better, well-kept and neat hair was all you cared about after the number of times you have furiously whined about the frizz in your hair during the summertime.
It isn’t summer now, well into the end of November. The days are colder and he remembers how your hair would especially shine in the gloom of Autumn.
“Not really.” is all you manage to say before taking the hundredth swig from your nearly empty butterbeer. You inspect the mug with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. “I swear this was full the last time I looked...”
Before you know it, he’s snatching the mug away from you, dragging it across the table as he settles into the empty chair. He stares at you with a beckoning brow, expression mixed with disappointment, disapproval, and worry.
“Hey! That’s my butterbeer, Weasley!” you whine, trying to reach for it but Fred pushes it further, hand securing around it. Without hesitation, you smack him in the arm. “Stop being a complete arse, Fred. What are you even doing here and where’s George anyway?”
Fred winces in pretense pain, dramatically rubbing the side of his arm as he tries to suppress his laughter from your sudden burst of violence. “George is back at the shop going over numbers and as far as I’m concerned, I can be anywhere I want to be. You clearly had too much to drink.”
“But it's butterbeer!”
“That is exactly my point.”
You let out a huff, leaning into your seat and running your fingers through your hair. After a moment’s silence with Fred still staring you down in the effort of getting you to talk, you finally give in. He knows you too well for you to hide anything from him.
“Walter and I broke it off.”
Fred blinks, trying to hide his wide-eyed gaze. “For good?”
You finally turn to him, nodding slowly. “For good.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft when in reality he’s trying to hide his relief in hearing that things between you and Walter have finally come to a resolution because falling in and out of a relationship was driving you mad. He cares for you and always has since the very beginning and a part of him wishes for those feelings of infatuation between two melancholic teenagers will emerge back from what he assumed was already dead.
He watches you lean your head back onto your palm, seemingly sinking deeper towards the table as you try to wrap your head around the situation to form proper words with your lips. “You know what’s the worst part of it all?” Fred shakes his head, eyes never breaking contact with your own. “I don’t even feel that sad about it. Like all those years were...nothing.” Your laugh comes out as a puff of air. It’s cynical rather than finding the humor in it. For the first time, he doesn’t laugh when you do.
Another beat of silence and Fred is contemplating whether his next words that beg to be freed from his mind are appropriate in a time like this. Although he knows how he tends to speak his mind without thinking of the consequences, he knows to tread lightly around you from the times when his words nearly tore your friendship apart.
Still, he knows to be honest with you.
Through the chatter of the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron whilst a few men by the other corner of the pub begin to break into singing a drinking song, Fred’s voice comes off as a whisper, barely audible. “You don’t love him, don’t you?”
Your gaze had initially drifted to the bunch of rowdy men, rendering verses about magical whisky and beer. Yet, they now return to hold a certain ginger’s gaze. You want to be offended by his question because of how it supposedly hurts the raw wound of feeling sorry for yourself. Your love life hasn’t been the best and your tendency to jump to your own defense about it is a clear note to everyone that it simply shouldn’t be questioned.
But it’s Fred. The one who has constantly looked out for you when other boys and men seem to take advantage of your hopeless romantic side. The one who would pull a prank on George just to see you smile. The one who ended up taking you to the Yule Ball as his date because Walter, at the time, rejected you like you were nothing. You should have known that it was never meant to be.
You know to be honest with Fred Weasley.
“I don’t think I ever did.”
He doesn’t say anything, wanting to listen as he waits for you to conceive the proper words to finally speak your mind. It is clear you want to let it out and let off of the burden that has trapped you under its knees, constantly looming over your shoulders and causing dread and fear of losing so much in such a short time. The band of merry men as the whole pub begins to join the group in singing about the joys of alcohol, life, and love in the tune of a traditional Scottish muggle song.
You wonder how can these people be so happy in a time of an impending war. Maybe, it's temporary, meant to drown the hurt and sorrows for tonight and when morning comes, they'll return to opening the stitches of their wounds. When morning comes, you will either wake up at this very table or in an empty bed. Either way, you’ll be alone.
Now, all you want to do is get all your worries and troubles off your chest, not wanting to feel so empty and suffocated. “Love,” you pause, inhaling deeply. ”Love is supposed to be good and pure and beautiful. Love was what I thought I had and right now, I don’t know what to make of it, Fred...I thought I was going to marry him someday.” You find yourself sighing once more, already feeling the lightness in your chest. Running your fingers along your cheek, you close your eyes to help yourself focus through your rapid thoughts and your dazed mind. “Everything is going wrong. I hate my job. I hate my bed. I’m drunk on butterbeer for Merlin’s sake. I feel so, so alone—”
“Ah, and that’s where you are wrong.”
Your eyes are open now, narrowed from adjusting to the sudden brightness of the candlelit place. They drift to Fred who seems very content. He then places his hand on yours and you realize you had been fiddling with your fingers for the last minute. His hand is warm on yours and the heat gradually travels to your chest, heartbeat now slightly picking up in speed. If you listen close enough, you would be able to hear it.
“You are never alone. Not when I’m around and you know I will always be around.”
His words tug at the side of your lips, now widening into a faint smile. It’s small but it’s the kind that reaches your eyes and raises your cheeks. “Thank you, Freddie.”
Then, you watch him abruptly come to a stand, chair screeching. He tugs on the lapels of his coat, adjusting it with the roll of his shoulders. He grabs the back of his chair, and leans forward, towards you. “George and I are visiting the Burrow for the weekend. I’m sure mum won’t mind you staying over.”
You blink, mouth slightly agape at his offer. “I don’t want to trouble anybody—”
“Don’t be silly. Mum loves you more than George and I combined. And she loves us a lot!”
You laugh and it’s genuine this time, knowing how Molly will be always whispering to you about what makes Fred a good husband in the kitchen when you’re washing up the plates and how she will never let you go to bed hungry.
The burrow is like your second home and right now, home is all you want and need.
“Alright, then.”
#happy 1000!#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley x you#george weasley x reader#george wealsey imagine#george weasley#harry potter#harry potter imagine
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Jon thinking about marrying Val a beautiful wildling (northern) princess, who was hostage of southern king stannis and a princess in tower. He thought about his dream can come true about becoming Ned2.0 and start projecting his dream on Val without knowing her will and was complete stranger. It kinda looks similar to Tyrion Sansa only Jon reject to usurp his siblings and broke his vow.
Oh, that is such an interesting contrast. The moments of honesty for the characters are similar:
“Sansa's misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good. No words would ever make him fair in her eyes. Or any less a Lannister. This was the wife they had given him, for all the rest of his life, and she hated him.
And their nights together in the great bed were another source of torment. He could no longer bear to sleep naked, as had been his custom. His wife was too well trained ever to say an unkind word, but the revulsion in her eyes whenever she looked on his body was more than he could bear. Tyrion had commanded Sansa to wear a sleeping shift as well. I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does. (ASOS, Tyrion IV)”
Tyrion’s “hunger” is very much focused on Sansa as a person. He is looking to a child to meet his emotional needs, even though marrying her is an act against her family, in an effort to take control of her home. He mentions that’s he’s a Lannister, so he knows this is a problem, and yet, somehow, he is still the victim here. He wants to take, and he resents the fact that she will not give.
Jon is such a contrast to him. I think his passage shows much more awareness of what the woman in question would want,
“I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.
He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.” (ASOS, Jon XII)
(I bolded the parts that echo each other.)
Unlike Tyrion, Jon’s interest is not truly the woman (Val), but Winterfell. And of course, whereas Tyrion is bitter at what Sansa will not give him, Jon feels guilty for his desire, and ultimately refuses to take Val or Winterfell, “As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there.” (ASOS Jon XII)
Each time I read that I think this kid is going to choose to steal (as in rescue) a girl, but anyway…
Tywin even mentions in his convo with Tyrion that he will never have Casterly Rock, so this is by far the best he can hope for, and Tyrion takes it, even though, according to him, Sansa is a child. And, in that initial conversation, it’s the thought that he could become “Lord Protector of Winterfell” that really tempts him (ASOS, Tyrion III). How fans don’t read Sansa’s refusal to consummate the marriage as anything other than wise beyond her years…I mean, Robb points out to Cat that they’ll kill Sansa after she has a child and Tywin specifically mentions that it is a son that would allow Tyrion to take the North/that title, so…but back to the contrast.
Tyrion is given a form of a dream and gives into temptation and takes a child bride, and Jon, who is tempted with the specific thing he always wanted, not just a beautiful woman, not just Winterfell, but the Stark name, refuses. The kid is always trying to do what is right. Poor guy.
Here’s a post where others pointed out some Val and Sansa parallels, and I’m sure we’re meant to compare/contrast these storylines and characters, so that makes me think the big one is that this is another instance in which Jon and Sansa’s stories are converging while they’re yet to interact on page. While Tyrion and Jon are contrasted here (the men being in the position to accept/refuse the marriages) Jon and Sansa are the ones who would be used to hold the North.
Jon refuses to take it; Sansa refuses to give it.
Let’s not get carried away with this, but it’s almost like there’s a setup for Sansa choosing to willingly give, so that Jon might freely take?
Thank you for pointing this out, anon!
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Glorious, Before the Burden - The Mourning ~ 10
My thoughts of Loki weren’t all darkness and sadness. After I’d had my fill of my garden at night, I’d retire to my bed - too big without him next to me. I’d thought I’d grown accustomed while alone in Asgard after his fall, but here, on Midgard where we first shared a bed it appeared that nostalgia came rushing back.
Lying beneath a blanket that felt too heavy, on sheets that felt too warm, I’d be overcome with memories of better times - other beds - where I wasn’t alone.
“Do you know,” Loki’s cool finger danced up my bare spine as my teeth dug into my lip and my eyes fluttered shut at the chill drawing gooseflesh to the surface of my sweat glistening skin, after all he’d just helped me see Valhalla in all its glory - again. “That I see constellations under your skin,” his tongue replaced his finger tip and I arched up to meet him, sighing at the change, the temptation, the NEED that he was building. “Shall I tell you the tales of each one, my love?”
I’d wake each morning twisted in the bedding, sweating and feeling as if I’d had no rest - because I hadn’t rested. I was reliving every moment of my life with Loki - while he was living on without me, with the belief that I was gone.
Michael Griffiths had adopted me, much as he’d told Director Nick Fury, he assumed the role of grandfather. And as such, he took it upon himself to get me acclimated to my new home. Including, against my better judgement, teaching me the ways around that dreaded beast - the computer.
“It won’t bite,” he assured me, opening up the portable version he insisted on bringing over.
A laptop, as it was called - although I’d only seen them set upon tables and desks - the screen flickered awake and as he talked me through the navigation, I found that it was a portal to more information. That coupled with the internet, it could help me gain knowledge of the points and passages of Midgard that I had missed, even with a few trips that Loki had surprised me with over the course of our marriage - they’d been spontaneous and random - I had much to learn.
“See,” Michael knew that I loved learning - a ferocious appetite, he called it - and this appealed to my need for it. “This cottage was already wired for wi-fi, a call was all it took -” he’d done it for me, just as he’d taken care of the cell phone, as he’d handled much of what I would have missed. I offered to repay him, but he shook me off, refusing every offer. “I have no family, no close family at least.”
And so - we became one another’s family. Taking comfort in each other’s company, I’d listen to his tales of a childhood that sounded simple, yet wonderful - and he understood when I didn’t share as much. I need to keep myself tucked away, at least for a while longer.
Not every night was filled with memories - some were filled with images that I couldn’t place. Images that I felt certain my mind gave me to give me solace, to ease my pain, to make me feel peace - though some were so dark that I had to fear that perhaps Odin was urging Frigga to send me a reminder of my punishment.
I saw Loki, in chains - shackled and held in place by guards, my pain hit me so low and deep I was startled that I couldn’t wake. I watched as he asked Frigga if he’d made her proud, as he warned him not to make things worse - as Odin ordered her out. How could my eyes burn so hot in a dream?
Loki, my brave, darling, ARROGANT love, standing tall and laughing at his adopted father - mockingly asking what the problem was in what he’d done on Midgard - why there was such a fuss. And then, as Odin and he had their back and forth, as he truly took notice of his surroundings, it seemed to dawn on him FINALLY that something was TRULY amiss.
“Where is SHE?” His tone wasn’t one of fear. It was anger, the anger I expected when he would first note my absence. “Where’s MY WIFE?”
Odin, had he always looked so smug? Had he always looked so all knowing and condescending? Or was I simply cynical now? My eyes see him through the filter of pain and being cast out for my honesty.
“Your WIFE,” he made the word sound like a crime, as if I WERE a crime. “Is DEAD.” Loki stared at him, opening his mouth and preparing to argue, but Odin wasn’t through. “By her own hand,” he nodded at a guard who stepped forward and my heart twisted as I saw just how deeply they’d plotted to keep us apart, to truly destroy our connection.
The guard held one of the hair picks Loki had commissioned for me, my favorite in fact, coated in blood and I knew - I knew that they really had severed the bond. It was as if Frigga had taken that pick and shoved it right through my heart, coating it in my actual life’s blood.
Loki didn’t allow Odin to see him react. He shut off all comments about me. Returning to the mocking, arrogant prisoner that Thor had returned from Midgard with - accepting, from an outward appearance, my suicide with a stoic heart. But I knew my husband, and I saw the red tint in his eyes, I saw the flash that crossed his face, and I understood - he wouldn’t allow Odin to see his pain. He wouldn’t allow his capture, this person who had taken him as a pathway to peace with one of Asgard’s oldest enemies to see how broken he was by the news that I was dead. Not after - not with his failure, not after he lost his way and his regret was piling ever higher.
Hearing that Frigga wouldn’t be allowed to visit was a final blow - life imprisonment without solace or peace. And for once - since he first started plotting for his throne - he felt he deserved it.
Gasping awake, I saw that dawn hadn’t yet crested. A glance at the clock told me I hadn’t slept more than a few moments. This tortuous dream felt like it had taken YEARS off my life, that it had lasted DAYS to watch, but it was moments.
Sobbing as I thought of Loki, MY Loki having to hear that I’d taken my life - considering how they’d searched our rooms, taking anything I could have considered doing just that, and wondered - had they WANTED me to? Had a family I’d been married into, a family I’d thought myself a part of for so very long, wished me to do them this favor? End my life so once they could find my husband, they would have a built in torture ready made?
I couldn’t - no, Frigga wouldn’t want me to have done such a monstrous thing. It was one thing to SAY it, to try to convince him that I had - but to push me to it? That was beyond anything anyone I knew would ever press for. These dark thoughts would get me nowhere - no closer to - but would ANY thoughts get me closer to HIM?
Picking through our past, I fought to find ONE, just ONE that would make it feel like he was near - and I felt as though I might be growing near it - but then just as it came within grasping distance, just as I could ALMOST catch a hint of a whiff of his scent, a glimmer of the blue of his eyes - it was gone - and I was alone once more.
“Sigyn,” Loki’s eyes were as red rimmed as they’d been in our rooms - the day of destruction that should have warned me of what was to come. The sob building in his chest. “My love, is that you?” It was as if he COULD see me, locked away in what I could easily see was one of Asgard’s prison cells. “Have you come to haunt me, my darling?”
I shook my head, reaching for him, my own eyes burning again. Wanting so badly to touch him, to feel his cool touch. “No, Loki, no,” my throat burned too, as if I’d swallowed glass. “Why would I haunt you?”
He didn’t come closer, regret and fear warring for dominance within him. “Of all my failures, wife, pushing you to THIS -” he gestured at whatever he was seeing when he looked at me. “THIS cuts me the deepest.”
Confusion overtook my longing for him, what - turning slighting, I caught sight of my reflection - rather a reflection of the wraith that my Loki saw when he glanced my way - what else could one call the withered, bloody being that seemed ragged with death and despair, wearing sorrow like a cloak, the wound I’d supposedly given myself with the weapon he’d had created for me blossoming from my chest like a grotesque flower.
“Oh, Loki,” looking down, unable to meet his gaze, not like this - in this form, this monstrosity that they’ve twisted me into. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“Then whose?” His pain and grief pierced me as deeply as the false wound would have. “Whose fault if not mine?”
Waking up with tears streaming, the pain still clenching tight around my heart, I wished that I could have answered him. That I could have told Loki who was at fault - but would answering him have truly helped?
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Study of a Family in Contrast
A girl is born in London, England. She has pale blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. She is a good girl, a smart girl and her parents love her dearly. She goes to church on Sundays, listens to the preacher and does not pray. She looks through stained glass windows and wonders. She looks at people on the street and wonders. She is accepted to Oxford University on scholarship and graduates with a doctoral degree in Anthropology. Her parents hug her goodbye when she gets on a plane ready to take her to the Valley of the Kings.
A boy is born in Khartoum, Sudan. He has dark black hair, brown eyes and dark skin. He is a good boy, a smart boy and his parents love him dearly. He reads books, listens to music and does not fear. He looks at the buildings around him and wonders. He looks at the people around him and wonders. His parents hug him goodbye, when he gets on a plane ready to take him to Brooklyn College in the United States. Years later, he flies back to Africa, a doctorate in Egyptology taking him to the Valley of the Kings.
Years later a dark haired boy and light haired girl live in a house in LA. Their parents met in the Valley of the Kings. Their father plays the saxophone and they dance around the living room to jazz. Their mother reads to them at night, chapters and passages from her college biology textbook, and they fall asleep curled around each other.
A mother, with blond hair and blue eyes, dies in London, England. A father, with black hair and brown eyes, walks to the hotel they're staying at, but breaks down crying before he can explain. Blue and brown eyes, look on in confusion. “Where’s mommy?”
The funeral is on a hot and sunny LA day. A father, who is no longer a husband, stares ahead and sees nothing. His eyes have run dry from crying. A dark skinned hand curls around a lighter skinned hand, brother and sister trying to find what little solace they can. The little girl sobs and tries to climb further into her brother's chair.
It’s not long after the funeral that they come for her. They had never approved of the man their daughter married, with his dark skin and dark eyes and an accent they had never heard from another mouth, stirring up feelings of wrong and different. There’s a lot of accusations: mental unrest, unsuited for parenthood, traveling too much to look after two kids. They gave many reasons to take her away and none for not also taking their grandson, except for eyes that can only look at skin, seeing dark and light. The reasons aren't good enough to break up a family. There’s lawyers and yelling and more lawyers, and eventually they find a judge who looks at the family and can’t see loving siblings, can’t see the desperation in a father’s eyes, can’t see the hate in the grandparent’s. Instead the judge only sees dark skin, and blue eyes, and other, other, other so a family is torn apart and a girl is flown away to London, England.
….
A young man and a young woman walk on a beach, shoes slowly filling with gritty sand. The young man has dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, like his father. He wears a black pinstripe suit with a black tie, white shirt and scuffed black loafers. It’s far too hot for the early autumn day. The young woman has light hair, light skin and blue eyes, like her mother. She wears a black thigh length dress, black fishnet stockings, a black leather jacket and combat boots. It’s far too hot for the LA sun. It’s the first time either sibling has seen the other in over ten years.
The funeral let out hours ago, researchers and academics having already finished paying respects to their colleague, a titan in the field of Egyptology. It was another annoyingly sunny funeral for this family. It doesn’t get any easier to bury a parent, but ten years certainly makes a difference. A lot can happen in ten years. A brother and sister can forget how to be siblings. Now they sit on a bench overlooking a vast ocean and silently hope the other one will start talking first.
The girl was never any good at being quiet so she gives up the game first. “I kinda think I want to stay in the states for a bit.” She chances a look at her brother's profile. He hasn’t looked at her, back straight and stern eyes locked on the horizon. “I technically do have dual citizenship, and I just finished getting my degree in theatre. Maybe I should stay in LA, try to make it as a star. British accents are sexy after all.” She pauses for a response. Nothing. She fidgets and ties again. “Maybe I could head to Vegas, it always seemed like a fun place to be. I could take a road trip anywhere I liked.” A glance is shot at her brother. “Maybe you could come with.” Still nothing “Family road trip or whatever.”
Another moment of silence before, “Stop.”
The young woman jumps, double checking that the voice came from her brother beside her. “What? Stop what?���
It’s like a flood gate had been loosened. “Stop acting like we’re family, like we always see each other over school breaks and holidays and this is just a random run in. I haven't seen you in ten years, I haven't been close to you in ten years, the only reason we’re even on the same continent now is that our father-” His hands clench the bench. He ducks his head to avoid letting the young woman beside him see his tears. He takes a steadying breath and continues, “my father is dead.” He looks up again, more in possession of his feelings. Brown eyes look into blue. “Don’t pretend this is normal or that we’re family, when you weren't there.”
Maybe in another time or place with a different family there would be tears and hugs. But not with this family and not with these people. Instead of feeling sorrow and tenderness, the girl sees red. “I wasn’t there? Do you have any idea how you sound!? I didn’t choose to be taken to London, I was a child, I didn’t have a say! You have no idea what it was like to be me, to be thrust into a new country, a new school, an entirely different culture, completely on my own! Everytime I tried to talk about you or dad I just got these blanks stares, no I got stares of disgust and confusion because everytime someone would make a stupid fucking skin tone comment like that mattered! I didn’t have a mom and my dad just didn’t care enough to keep me and it sucked!” She sucks in a breath then continues yelling. Rage is always easier than vulnerability. “So fuck you for saying I’m not part of this family, I already know that, bully me for trying!”
Neither of the siblings are particularly good at desculation. The brother shoots right back, “Oh I’m so sorry people looked at you like that when you talked about your family! Sorry if I don’t sound super sincere, because people look at me like that every minute of my life! There are some things you were just never going to go through, and being taken in by our-your grandparents has only made it so that you can’t understand what me and dad go through. You weren't there. Everything was different for you. You got to have two people to run to when you had problems, and you got to breeze through life with that chip on your shoulder without fear of being seen as a thug! So no, you don’t just get to show up and pretend everything is hunky-dory, because it’s not and we are not on the same level!”
Both siblings heave in anger, both feeling a gap, a loss of half of themself but not feeling any way to fix it. The brother calms down first, and he decides it would be better to leave than continue the fight. He can’t remember why he even wanted to try. Maybe one last shot though, even if just to absolve him of the responsibility of failure.
“Look here’s my number,” he rips out a page from a leather bound journal, jotting down the numbers. He continues, “maybe, give it a call, maybe don’t.” He hands it to her and stands up. “Have fun in Vegas. I’m flying back to Brooklyn tomorrow and frankly I hope I never see you again.”
He goes to walk away. A hand on his wrist stops him. His sister pulls out an old gum wrapper and jots down a different number. “Mine too. You don’t just get to walk away and put this on me. I’m staying at an AirBNB down on Diamond Street, if you want to swing by. Maybe talk more.” She hands it to him, then gets up herself.
A pair of siblings walk in the opposite direction on a beach, gritty sand filling their shoes. They’re both left with the lingering feeling that their parents would be very sad to look at them and see only strangers.
...
The phone rings showing a number with no contact name. Someone picks up immediately, having already memorized the number.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
There’s a pause before the young man continues, “So you decided not to fly back.” A pause. “Where you headed?”
A feminine voice sighs. “Thought I might give Vegas a try, then see what happens. Easy to make it up when it’s just you.”
“Well you see about that….actually my flight back to Brooklyn got cancelled at the last minute.” The flight in fact doesn’t leave for two hours.
The excuse is rather transparent. “Oh really. Well that's a stroke of bad luck.”
“Especially seeing as my hotel reservation expired this morning. I was thinking maybe I could just drive back to the East Coast.”
“Well I’ve always heard that road trips are an American tradition.”
“Yes, seeing as you’re headed that way….” the young man trails off.
His sister picks it up “.....Driver gets to pick the music.”
“Then I get first turn at the wheel, I have no clue what sort of abomination you listen to but smooth jazz is the best for driving.”
“Ugh, I’m going to regret this aren't I,” but the young woman is smiling brightly. Two siblings continue to talk on the phone, hoping to find common ground. After all they’re family.
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- Open the Door -
note: this story came to me after I had written the short Ethereal. It’s kind of like a continuation of it, but you can read the two stories on its own. If you wanna take a look at Ethereal though, just click here :) I didn’t plan for this to be a series but i guess it got longer than I expected. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
There was one thing you were absolutely proud of yourself; keeping calm and composed no matter the situation. But, as soon as you were out of the crowds and by yourself, all of that faded away.
And that’s exactly what was happening now. You were fading.
A lone tear rolled down your cheek as you exited the hall. You swiftly wiped it away lest anybody sees. You thought of staying a while longer. The months of telling yourself you were okay, that you were happy, that you were fine convinced you about getting over what your heart helplessly yearned. But the moment he hugged you, you knew you really weren’t. Another tear escaped, the saltiness greeting your lips.
Not yet, you thought to yourself. Not yet. Let’s get home first.
You stepped out into the open, a cool breeze gently brushing against your skin. You could feel your eyes welling up again so you pulled at your lower eyelid in an attempt to make the tears fall back in instead of spilling out. When that didn’t work, you looked up to the sky, blinking hard.
Great, even the sky is as sad as me.
Heavy clouds were beginning to form up above and as the grayness inside you threatened to pull you down, you felt the cold of the sky’s tears fall onto your cheeks. A light drizzle. Despite its coldness, you felt comforted, as if you weren’t alone in your despair. You closed your eyes, allowing the raindrops to softly patter at your skin, savoring its solace.
Not long after, you sensed something shading you by how the light behind your eyelids dimmed and the pitter-patter of rain against your skin stopped. Opening your eyes, you saw an umbrella being held over you. You trailed your gaze over to your left and there, standing beside you was the tall figure of your friend Johnny.
Friend? No, not really. More like an acquaintance. Although you’ve known him for quite some time, you weren’t exactly close, only seeing him during meet-ups or reunions with your college-mates and on some occasions where he’d hang around at Jaehyun’s. Mutuals, yeah that’s it. You knew each other through your best-friend. Best-friend, you scoffed. Just the sound of the word in your head made your heart clench.
“Leaving already?” Johnny asked, glancing down at you. It’s either you were short, or he was just too tall. You’d take the latter.
“Yeah,” you nodded, pasting a smile on your lips. “Thought of catching up on some sleep before the busy week.”
He laughed and nodded in understanding. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Oh no it’s okay. I was just gonna grab an uber,” you said, taking your phone out. But just as you were clicking the app’s icon, your screen went blank. You gaped in silence as you remember forgetting to charge your phone the other night.
Johnny let out a small chuckle as you stared blankly at your phone. “Come on, let me drive you home. You’re only a few blocks away from my place anyway,” he persuaded.
No, I don’t want to. I’m in the middle of an emotional breakdown and I don’t wanna do that in front of you.
“No really, it’s okay I can just grab a cab out front,” you tried refusing him as politely as you could. Johnny was a nice guy. He was easy-going. But right now, you were in no mood to chit-chat whatsoever. All you wanted to do was get home, change into some warm pajamas and wallow in sorrow. Dramatic? Maybe, but you really just wanted to be by yourself right now.
He insisted that it was fine and would be happy to do it but you keep refusing him, you and him going back and forth for a while and just as you were about to lose your calm, the sudden, heavy, down pour of rain cut you both off from your banter. You instinctively took a step closer under the umbrella as rain began seeping into your right shoulder, Johnny did the same, slightly bumping his shoulder into your head. Gone was the comforting light drizzle, here came the loud roaring storm. An ear-splitting thunderclap of lightning caused you both to jump, startled.
“You’re not gonna find a cab in this weather,” Johnny raised his voice above the sound of the sloshing rain. “My car’s just over there,” flicking his head towards the parking space just a few meters from where you both were standing. He looked at you for approval.
You hesitated for a moment, weighing your thoughts. He was right, it was going to be hard to find a cab in this weather, and you were most certainly not going back inside to wait out the rain. Johnny wasn’t so bad of company either, and the longer you thought the more soaked you were getting. So you nodded in approval and he gently wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you towards his car.
Yup, he was definitely right. The rain was pouring, the sky an angry grey and the roads were congested to the point of a stand-still. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, an awkward silence engulfing you both. Thinking back, this was the first time ever you were alone with Johnny. You didn’t know what to say and your mind was still hung up on events of the day to prompt you to start a conversation. Johnny also took note of the awkwardness, putting on some light music to fill in the quiet.
You glanced over to his side and that’s when you noticed how soaked his left shoulder was. You looked at your own shoulders and although they were wet too, it wasn’t as soaked as his.
He must’ve given me most of the umbrella just now.
You felt kind of bad. Here he was, just being a kind human and you didn’t even acknowledge it because you were too busy drowning in your thoughts. You fumbled with your fingers, mustering up the courage to say thank you. You appear to be calm, but your mind was a tangled mess and you hate that you were caught in the middle of it all. Why was it so hard to just...be?
“You cold?” he asked.
“Huh?” you turn towards him, startled out of your reverie.
“Are you cold?” he repeated his question, a little slower this time.
The AC was off, but yeah you were cold. “A bit?” you huff out sheepishly. He turned and reached for something in the backseat, coming back to the front with a black hoodie in hand. He gave it to you and you accepted it wordlessly, grateful for it’s softness and warmth.
“Thank you,” you croaked, but it came out as a whisper. You clear your throat and repeated a little louder, “Thank you”.
“Oh, no problem,” he looked at you and smiled. You wanted to say something else, but somehow couldn’t find the words. Recently there were many moments like this, thoughts running wild in your head, but somehow you found it hard to articulate them into speech. It made you feel stupid. You were quite talkative, so feeling like you’re losing your words made you feel like you’re losing yourself.
Johnny saw you spacing out again. You were there, but it was obvious that your mind wasn’t. He’s never seen you like this, but then again he’s never really spent much time with you before.
“Are you okay?” he probed.
“Sorry, I was just thinking,” you replied. You certainly were not okay, but it’s not like you can say that. Right?
“Penny for you thoughts?” he prodded.
“I..” you trailed off, words failing you yet again.
He let out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I hope you don’t mind me turning the radio up then?
You gave him a small smile, nodding and thanking him silently for understanding. He turned the radio up. A new song started playing, soft and soulful.
“Oh!” Johnny exclaimed softly. “I love this song. It’s new, have you heard this?”
Your ears perked up, it was definitely new. “No,” you shook your head. He turned the volume up a bit more.
“It’s really good. And this guy, Bang Ye-dam, he’s a rookie but like.....” his voice faded into the background as you found yourself getting immersed into the music. The first few bars passed and you felt like someone had punched you in the chest. Was it a coincidence or was the world really out there plotting against you? The song entered it’s chorus and your throat tightened, making it a little harder to breathe.
Oh god, no. Not now. Why? Why?
You turned your head towards the window as tears begin to well up once again. Biting your lip hard, you tried to stifle the cry that was working its way out. The song kept playing, and as it progressed, the more you felt yourself faltering. You dreaded the prospect of breaking down right now. No, come on you can do this. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Get a grip..but before you could stop yourself, a sob escaped your lips and the tears you tried holding back finally overflowed.
Johnny was surprised at the sound that came from you. His eyes that were previously on the road came to settle upon you. Your head was fully turned to the other side, but your silent cries could be heard, and your shoulders were trembling, this time not because of the cold.
At that moment, the cars began to move, the road clearing a bit. But instead of driving straight on, Johnny pulled over and stopped at the side. Then, unbuckling himself, he turned towards you, bringing a hand up to your shoulder, rubbing it gently. His touch caught you off guard, but the unexpected thoughtfulness caused you to shed your previously calm exterior all together. You finally let go and allowed the grief to come pouring out in uncontrollable tears, your body shaking as you cried out all the pent up frustration, sadness and disappointment. You brought your hands up to cover you face, and although you tried to stop, the sound of your sobs continued to reverberate in the small space of Johnny’s car.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out amidst the convulsive gasps and heavy sobs. “I-I-I d-didn’t mean to c-cry like this.”
“It’s okay,” you hear him say softly. “It’s alright. Let it out.” His hands continued to rub your back soothingly and you realized that after holding on for so long, you didn’t know that this was exactly what you needed. For someone to just listen, and hold you and tell you that it was okay.
“I just- oh god- how could he not know?” you sobbed. “Did I have to sp-spell it out for h-him? Like I was there all the time, I was always there but like- but like I c-can’t even b-blame him because it’s not even his f-f-fault! God, I’m so stupid! L-like I led m-myself on. I j-j-just as-s-s-assumed he felt the s-same!”
Reaching catharsis, everything in your heart came spilling out. You wept on about how you spent your entire life with your best friend, Jaehyun. How you found yourself falling for him in your last year of high school. How you missed the chance to confess. How you were so scared at the thought of losing him but beyond elated when you were accepted into the same college. How happy you were that your bond was still strong despite everything life had thrown at you. How you assumed he would forever be yours because he never payed attention to other girls although he was confessed to a million times. How you realized this was not true as you saw the excitement in his eyes when he talked about his co-worker, Ji-eun. How your heart slowly shattered as you saw not only excitement in them, but overflowing adoration and care. How you realized that you had never seen that look in his eye,a look he’s never given anything or anyone- not even you- a look of such love. How you wished it weren’t true, that it was just a phase, that it was going to pass. Until the one day he confided in you about how he felt, became the day you found out how fragile a heart was and how easily it could shatter.
“And I can’t even h-h-hate her, because she’s so beautiful and sweet and kind and she’s just such a sweet person like even I would marry her if I were him! L- l-like it would’ve been easier if she was m-mean and bad but she’s not!”
You don’t know how long you cried and ranted, but all the while, Johnny kept silent, listening, his hand on your back, rubbing it comfortingly. A thousand hiccups and many slow-breaths later you began to calm down. Your eyes all red and swollen, your nose runny. You didn’t realize you had used the sleeve of Johnny’s hoodie as a handkerchief, blowing your nose into it. Both of you sat quietly for a moment, letting the moment pass accompanied by the sound of the car engine running, the distant radio and your sniffles from time to time..
Breaking the silence, you said, “I am so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that,” you bit your lip, your voice stuffed and nasally. “I didn’t mean to burden you with my thoughts. Sorry.”
You finally turn towards Johnny, seeing him clearly for the first time that night. His giant frame giving the illusion that his spacious car was tiny. He was leaned in towards your side, his hand still on your back. His mouth opened, as if to say something- but then his eyes crinkled into crescents, a chortle escaping instead. Bewildered, your eyebrows furrowed.
“Are you- are you laughing at me?” you scoffed. He burst into laughter at this, holding onto his sides in attempt to contain it. You should probably feel insulted, but his laughter that was increasing in volume after seeing your expression, was undeniably contagious. You could feel the corners of your mouth involuntarily curving.
“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I just- your face,” his hands pointing at you while bursting into another fit of giggles. You pulled down the visor and took a look, then gasped before helplessly laughing at yourself. Okay fine, funny was an understatement. You were a hilarious mess. Hair disheveled, mascara running down your cheeks, your face was blotched and puffy, lipstick smudged across your face. Definitely not cute. Johnny let out a sigh, settling himself down at last while you wiped the mess away.
“On a serious note though, you’re not a burden,” his voice, still laced with a hint of merriment. “Really, it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel what you feel. And....you’re gonna be okay.”
Your eyes rested upon his face once more, friendly features smiling softly back at you. You’ve never seen him in this light- or maybe you’ve never looked at him this way- but there was assurance and warmth in his eyes and it somehow grounded you.
All this time, although they didn’t verbally express it, your friends and family had looked at you with pity and sympathy in their eyes. They all knew how close you and Jaehyun were, and there was an unspoken agreement that you two would end up together. Even you thought so, but now we all know that that was just a fairy-tale. Upon hearing the news, they’d give you sorrowful glances or a pat on the hand and you knew they meant well, they probably thought their actions might reassure you but it just made you feel more suffocated and sad.
Looking at Johnny now, for the first time you felt that finally someone wasn’t feeling sorry for you. You were sad, yes. But you weren’t some lost case of unrequited love. Okay maybe you were, but you certainly didn’t plan to live your entire life as it.
You sniffled and wiped the last bits of make-up from your face. “Thank you. For letting me cry,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling sheepish at what had just passed. “And thank you for saying that. I kinda do feel a bit better now.” You did. There was a little part of the grey cloud above you that was dissipating, and you felt a little lighter.
“Nah,” he scrunched his face, dismissing your comment. “If you hadn’t cried here, you would’ve probably been crying in that uber you were gonna grab.” You chuckled at that statement knowing very well that might just have actually happened.
“Well, then thank you for saving me the embarrassment then,” you stated in response. Johnny laughed at that and gave a sarcastic “you’re welcome” and that made you feel glad that he found you at the lobby entrance. He faced forward and buckled himself back, setting his hands on the steering wheel before turning to you again. “Now how ‘bout some coffee?”
You raised an eyebrow, what?
He laughed again. “Look, you must be thirsty after all that bawling.”
You scoffed at his comment.
“Alright, coffee sounds good.”
Morning rays streamed in through the curtains as you sat at the small island in your small kitchen stirring the last bits of cereal in your bowl. Sundays meant breakfast at 12 in the afternoon and planning the week’s work in your pajamas. The coffee table in your living room was already a mess of papers and notebooks, pens and markers, your laptop wide open and your student’s report books piled up on one side.
You had returned home late last night, the cup(s) of coffee (or tea on your part- which Johnny hadn’t missed the chance to mock your distaste of coffee) had led to reminiscing about college days and sharing random facts about each other. It was so easy to talk with Johnny, he somehow made conversations just flow from one topic to another and the lightness of the atmosphere he created made you forget about all the sadness that had been hanging over you. The 24-hour cafe served to make you both not realize the time passing and you were only aware that it was way past midnight when you checked your phone.
But when you woke the next morning, the cold had seeped in through your windows along with the memories of yesterday, and your heart constricted. You lay in your bed for an hour, not wanting to face a bleaker day then yesterday. The sunlight was a warm yellow but none of it’s warmth reached you and you dug yourself deeper under the covers. Then you remembered, you had vowed that you would not succumb to this and so you punched at your duvet, jumped straight out of bed and set out to working on whatever work you had waiting for you.
A part of you was glad that the school had scheduled a parent-teacher meet this week. That meant meetings and updating student records and learning journals also meaning that you had less time to dawdle and let your mind wander. Another part of you however could feel the anxiousness building up, as parent-teacher meets were not only about your students and parents; it meant that you and your work as a teacher were being evaluated as well. It has been a year and a half since you’ve began your teaching career and you would trade nothing for the wonderful experience but oh god the workload and evaluations stressed you out. It wasn’t that you were doing a bad job: in fact your principal often praised your methods and ways of teaching and handling children. Your children also loved you very much. But it was the fact that you just hated paperwork and as long as that wasn’t settled, you just could not rest your mind.
You finished your cereal and as you were washing your bowl, a glimpse of something black caught the corner of your eyes. Hanging on the handles of your drawer was a simple black apron. There was nothing special about it, just a normal, black, chef’s apron, no pockets, no embellishments, save the tiny hand-embroidered name and date at the bottom left corner. You were a sucker for marking down names and dates on things you acquired, it made it feel all the more personal. And this particular date brought you back to the trip to Thailand with your friends a year ago.
That day, since you both loved Thai food, you and Jaehyun had decided to enroll in a cooking class and you had learnt to make your favorite Som Tam and Pad Thai. They had given the aprons as part of the class kit and that night, you embroidered your name on yours and Jaehyun’s on his, and his dimply-smile shone brightly at you when you gave it to him the next morning.
Oh, why do you have to be so sentimental, ____? You scoffed at yourself. Folding it nicely, you returned the apron back to it’s place on the drawer, walked over to your living room and dived straight into completing the heap of lesson plans and reports.
next
#i guess i just wanted her to have a happy ending somehow#is this a happy ending though?#i hope so#johnny#johnny suh#suh johnny#johnny nct#nct johnny#nct 127#johnny drabbles#johnny drabble#johnny fluff#johnny fics#johnny imagine#johnny imagines#johnny fic#nct drabble#nct drabbles#nct fic#nct fics#nct imagine#nct imagines#nct story#nct stories#nct 127 fic#nct 127 fics#nct 127 imagine#nct 127 imagines#jaehyun#jungjeahyun
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Triumph’s Tribulation Five Sneak Peak
Ah I usually don’t like posting until a chapter is complete, but I am having a lot of problems offline, in addition to the the third and final segment of the chapter, the check in on Midgard, is giving me no end of difficulties. It was supposed to be a Rufus POV but seeing as his POV keeps derailing the fic and my timeline, I will take whoever I can get to be the narrating voice for Alicia and Co. at this point.
I’ve actually debated posting five as it is, but I am trying to have each chapter have three segments, even if one segment ends up being incrediably small like the Lenneth interlude was in uh was it chapter two...?
Right now I have Loki (With Frei!) and Lezard’s parts done...I am posting the Lezard part at least...it[’s mostly finalized, although I’ll probably tweak some words here and there when I go over it for the umpteenth millionth time...X_X
I’d say this scene is PG 13, though it is Lezard so has some darker edge to it...but still hopefully worksafe...! Side note, the A ending got strongly influenced after rewatching the A ending, and all the events leading up to it. It left me with the strong impression and opinion that Lenneth had some kind of mental, nervous break down when the seal broke. I think I even wrote down a few lines from it...if not to use in this chapter, then maybe a future one! I’m also currently in the midst of rewatching VP 2: Silmeria...so maybe that will find my muse for the Midgard crew in this! XD
Onto the scene excerpt now!!
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The marble of the floor had sealed itself together seamlessly, not so much as a sliver of a crack to betray the chaos that had gone on just moments earlier. That of the anger that had been felt, the world itself a living extension of what had been in its God’s heart. Such has been Lezard’s displeasure that in that moment, Creation itself had acted, moving to protect him and his interests, spiriting the frightened Goddess away to somewhere else safe. Safe from his rage, and safe from his desires, the man who had once been human, having pushed too hard, too fast, too soon.
She wasn’t ready. He knew that, every bit from her fight to her flight had in fact acknowledged it, the fear that was in Lenneth’s heart. It had sent her running, the Goddess scared, not so much of what he might do to her physically as much as the emotional havoc he had been intent on wreaking. The truths that had needed to be confronted, and with it would come all of its pain, such sorrow born of those lies that the woman had told herself. She wouldn’t be spared its sting, not even God himself able to shelter Lenneth from the agony of breaking free of such warped delusions. The comfort it had once given her, was now nothing more than a crutch, one that that divine beauty needed to break free of if that heart of hers was going to stand a chance at any true solace.
It wouldn’t be easy, that fact something Lezard could acknowledge in his more rational moments. His beloved needed a far gentler hand than he had thus far been capable of, that near overpowering lust of his, making him impatient and clumsy whenever she was so near. So consumed with the want of her, his attempt at a controlled veneer had all but shattered when her fear had turned violent, Lenneth’s fist finding its mark against his jaw. It had left him so close to doing something unforgivable, illusions torn and discarded if not for his world acting instead. Protecting him as much as her, Lenneth swallowed up whole into an abyss that had opened up beneath her feet.
Even now she was still there, free falling in an endless darkness, that heart of hers in an absolute turmoil that would only be the start of her unraveling. There was both pain and pleasure in the idea of it, Lenneth this intoxicating brand of everything that Lezard could have ever wanted. Her heart, her soul, that of her mind and her body, her tears, her agony, and that of her happiness, the man wanted it all. He was obsessed with the having of it, of attaining paradise with so perfect a being. It was so close to a reality, that he could almost taste it, his blood stained hands reaching for it, for her, Lezard this newly remade being, the ultimate Lord of it all, Lenneth and the effect she has always had on him, the one thing this God could not control.
Even now he was tempted, sheer folly though it would be to go after her right now. Lenneth was too wild in the moment, too angry and afraid, tormented by a truth he had only merely hinted at, such insinuations holding the strength to make a Goddess reel in an absolute terror. It was a fear not just for herself, for what might be done to her, but that of her world, the paradise that she had created. That perfect utopia that was nothing more than a lie that her wounded soul had retreated into, every insinuation that Lezard could make had the power to tear that universe apart from the root, the very foundations it had been built and brought to life upon.
It was a world of desires, that perfect paradise grounded in a pain so blatant that it had nearly torn the Goddess apart. That heart of hers that had been so ripped to pieces by the sins committed against her, it had left Lenneth reeling in an agony even she herself had not understood, the Goddess so overwhelmed in the moment as to escape into a fantasy. An illusion, the deceits woven there all by her own hand, the ageless woman latching onto a figment, the fragment that had been dangling before her. Seizing upon it, with that earring in her hand, out of all the lives she had slept through, it had been the latest, that of a child, a girl no older than fourteen when she had died, that had helped feed into a delusion. In that moment she had been thinking not as a Goddess, but as a human, a child, torn apart by a loss that had been about more than just one man’s death.
The seal had been broken, a flood gate of emotions overtaking the Goddess. How much agony had it been, to remember them all, every last life that had hosted Lenneth inside them. The highs and the lows, their joys and their pains, hundreds upon hundreds of women, all helping to shape the Valkyrie’s humanity. Her compassionate heart, the depth of her millennia of experience far more than anything those scant fourteen years as Platina could have given. She was just a sliver of what had helped shaped the Goddess, so small and inferior a speck, the child was not who Lenneth was meant to be.
So much more than any one human girl, Lenneth was in fact a being so uniquely her own. A caring Goddess, one whose capacity to feel and sympathize with the mortals a threat that Odin and the other Gods could not abide by. They hadn’t killed her, they had done WORSE, the woman’s free will taken from her, her true sense of being SEALED away.
A safeguard meant to control that which the Gods could not understand, that human compassion that that particular Goddess had been gifted with, the likes of which had been cultivated and learned over the course of a millennia of different hosts. Through them she had loved, and Lenneth had cared, the woman so wholly unique in her ability to FEEL, the Goddess the champion that the mortals had needed. The Gods had feared it, feared Lenneth and the allegiance that such emotions had wrought, Odin needing the Valkyrie to be a good little soldier who fell into line with his own selfish wants. Unable to dominate her as she had truly been, that tyrannous God had tried to eradicate her spirit, that of her true self, through such archaic means, such a brutal manipulation of the self, such that Lenneth had been little more than a doll. A puppet, beautiful and perfect, and so wholly without the feelings that would have interfered with the Heavens’ schemes.
The Gods had seen her as nothing more than a Death Goddess, a chooser of the slain to bolster their own armies with the souls of dead heroes. They had let her pick from the brave as though they were mere flowers, calling into service warriors from all corners of Midgard. Leaving her exposed to the very thing that the Gods themselves had feared, the emotions that were so plentiful in the humans, putting cracks in the shield erected around Lenneth’s heart. Bit by bit, that ancient magic had been worn away, the seal itself eroded with each and every encounter, until it had finally shattered, and with it went Lenneth’s mind, the woman having snapped.
It must have been so, so overwhelming, to have been hit at once with all those feelings, with the many lives she had slept through, their hopes, their desires, all coming to life within Lenneth in startling clarity. Was it any wonder she had lost her true self in the process, spinning from one host to another, again and again, until she had latched onto the most recent, that of the child, those scant years of fourteen the most overwhelming dream of them all given how fresh it had still been.
Even grounded in that child’s psyche, it had proved too much. Lezard himself had born witness to it, to that mental break that the Goddess had had. The tears that had fallen, the screaming that had been done, it hadn’t been just the Goddess, but the child, Platina, made horrified by the one solace of her life, Lucian the only kindness and warmth she had ever known, LOST, killed in turn by his own refusal to let go of his own delusions.
It had all been such a mess, a tragedy the likes of which all else had fallen short. Her puppet strings not just severed, but left tangled across the board, Lenneth had been operating on a grief born madness, forgetting who she really was, to play fantasy for one ignorant human. For some fake facsimile of him, Lucian a shadow, his miraculous return to life nothing more than a figment born of Lenneth’s own desperation and desires. Instead of the warrior she had known, he was something new, a puppet who was nothing more than some idealized version of who she had thought him to be, Lucian just one of the many dolls whose every thought had been painstakingly crafted by Lenneth’s power.
Creation itself had been remade on desire, on such potent delusions and lies, the many souls there not the people they had once been. They were just shadows of those that had died, annihilated in the Ragnarok that Lucian had helped Loki bring about. It hadn’t just ended lives, it had wiped out everything, including that of nearly every living being’s soul from existence, such devastation a permanent end, the cycle of rebirth itself destroyed. Such finality was there to it, that no one, not even God, could fight against, the world and its people entirely eradicated.
It left the world in complete ruins, Lenneth’s land a paradise populated in lies. It was a copy, a mere imitation of what had once been, formulated out of fragmented glimpses, the memories she had gathered, the people there nothing more than a pathetic bunch of puppets. They were just these hollow husks of what she thought them to be, these seemingly ideal versions ultimately falling short, all an attempt that was unfulfilling when it came towards truly easing the pain in the Goddess’ heart. They were all lies that couldn’t make her truly happy, anymore than they could satisfy her needs. Each and every last one of them, Lenneth living in a farce, a waking dream that could crumble apart so easily given the right push. If enough care wasn’t given, the Goddess would crumble again with it, her psyche perhaps lost to yet another kind of fantasy.
Lezard couldn’t lie and claim that he hadn’t considered it. Hadn’t given thought to molding Lenneth into a fantasy that would suit HIM best. But ultimately, he didn’t want the illusion, that of those broken remnants of who the Goddess had once been. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just a sliver, wouldn’t embrace the farce of just one of her sides. He wanted her everything and her all, Lezard made mad with the desire, with that need. It fueled him, his obsession with Lenneth the motivating strength that had led Lezard into doing the impossible again and again. He had died for her, traveled through time for her, even become a God for her, such a warped semblance of love a catalyst that had no limits and no match. Not even Lucian could compete, that young man unable to see past Platina, and past the Valkyrie, to the supreme manifestation of the woman, a Goddess so sublime as to move a heart that had once been so unfeeling.
Her mark left on him, Lenneth had helped shaped Lezard into this mad man, so utterly devoted in the pursuit of her. Worlds had been ruined, people slaughtered, time itself run roughshod all over, yet his hands were no less dirty than any of the other Gods. Than even HERS, Lezard creating his own world, his own perfect paradise to ease the pain that was in HIS heart. That it spilled hurt onto others, was of no concern, Lezard an unfeeling God who had no desire to rule or be worshiped by anyone other than by Lenneth.
Such blasphemies should have been sins enough to weigh even God down, yet Lezard was instead made unburdened by it all, free of the demands the throne of Creation should have made of him. He was free, having discarded duty the way he had discarded bodies, nothing but time on his hand, and power, and harboring a patience that was fast running out.
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#valkyrie profile#lenneth valkyrie#lezard valeth#Triumph's Tribulations#fanfiction#fanfic#wip#sneak peek
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Solace | kim namjoon
Solace; comfort or consolation in a time of great distress or sadness.
- pairing: kim namjoon x reader
- genre: angst, fluff
- word count: 4,400
- warnings: reader fears what the future holds, very brief mentions of anxiety, includes descriptions of feelings/behaviour that might be associated with mild depression (the reader is only stuck in a rut in this fic and it’s nowhere near as critical as depression, but I still wanna be safe and warn about this in case it might be triggering for someone!)
- rating: PG
- notes: I’m excited to finally post on here again! I’ve had this idea for a while, but I haven’t had the time to work on it until now. I think I like how it turned out?? I’m not sure yet lol. I’ve been working on a few fics over the past few weeks, but I keep getting stuck and this is the only thing I’ve managed to finish since I last posted. Since I have a little more free time, due to the quarantine, I’ll hopefully be able to post some more soon! But for now, I hope you’ll enjoy reading this - thank you for all your support! <33 (this is still not completely edited btw so I apologize for any mistakes you might find)
- inspired by: this vlive.
- song: Solace by mell-ø & Ambulo
You stare blankly at the screen in front of you, eyes heavy and mind dull as the seconds count down for the next episode to start playing. This is all you’ve done since waking up, binge-watching some random kdrama you found online. It’s not great, and you’re not focused - but you figure it’s enough to keep you occupied for at least a few more hours. Enough to push most of your gloomy thoughts to the back of your mind.
You feel exhausted, the past four days mostly consisting of work and very few hours of sleep - plus added pressure and stress of having to keep up with studying during it all. Your arms ache from serving and cleaning up tables until late after midnight. After finishing up and closing the place, you’d go straight home to sleep - not having the energy to care for yourself. Then you’d wake up at noon, and have some breakfast before yet again making your way to work. Many people this time of year, during spring break, take vacations with their families so your boss needed you to put in more effort than usual to keep it all running smoothly. You’re grateful for the opportunity to make some extra money, but at this point it feels like you’re doing too much and your body isn’t willing to keep up anymore.
You feel overwhelmed - lost. Are your efforts even worth it when they’re not going towards something you want in the future? Thoughts like these have been weighing you down ever since you woke up, and you had decided it’d be best for you to call in sick and just be sad today. You had moved from the bed to your sofa, and here you’ve been laying ever since then. All the blinds in your apartment are down, no hint of sunlight peeking through - no trace of hope seeping in, no light capable of bringing color to your sombre day.
You sigh as another episode starts playing, mind brought to the small recap that’s starts playing across the display. You try your best to pay attention to it in hopes of you actually starting to like it so that watching it won’t be so boring. You pull your covers up to your chin, basking in the scent of your boyfriend’s cologne stuck to his shirt you’re snuggled up in. It brings you comfort, soothes you and calms you - it makes you feel secure where you are.
You breathe it in, the longing feeling to hold your boyfriend intensifying as you do.
A sudden chime makes you jump slightly, eyes landing on the door as you sit up - heart beating quickly in response to the unforeseen ringing disturbing the calm atmosphere in your apartment. You dread leaving the comfort you’re sofa is bringing you, but you feel impolite leaving whoever it is waiting. So you get up and mope over to the door, your body feeling heavier than usual, as if a force is pulling you to the ground.
With lethargy still clinging to you, you don’t bother looking through the peephole before unlocking and pulling the door open - wanting to get it over with and get back to hiding under your covers. Your eyes squint slightly at the sudden light leaking in from the hallway, but you instantly recognize the tall figure stood in front of you.
“Joon?” You gasp quietly, heart skipping a beat in surprise.
His lips stretch into a smile, arms reaching out and inviting you into his embrace. Immediately you walk towards him, wrapping your own arms around his neck as his end up around your waist to pull you against him. You smile, face laying in the crook of his neck.
“Hi, baby,” He mumbles, a smile evident in his voice as he presses kisses against the exposed skin on your shoulder that’s peeking out through the collar of Namjoon’s oversized shirt you’re clad in.
“I missed you so much,” You say against his skin, voice strained from not uttering a word all day. You enjoy the presence of your boyfriend for a few more seconds before pulling away to look at him, “I thought you’d be gone until next week?” You utter, confused.
“Plans got cancelled,” He whispers, leaning forward to plant a kiss onto your nose - causing you to scrunch it as he does.
You smile in content as you look at him, eyes scanning over his face before unavoidably landing on the pink of his lips. You reach up and press your own lips against the corner of his mouth, before you change target and kiss him - your eyes fluttering close as you cherish the feeling of them against yours again. He kisses you back and you taste the rose lip balm coating his lips, the one he always has with him in his pocket. It makes you smile into the kiss and pull away, suddenly turning shy as you feel blood rush to your cheeks. You hide by his neck again, lips brushing over the mole just under his jaw.
You feel his chest vibrate against yours lightly as he chuckles at you, arms squeezing tighter around your waist. Your fingers start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s been growing it out for a few months now and the mullet is now very apparent - even more so than when he left. He dyed his hair a beautiful lilac shade not too long ago, and you love the way it looks on him. Nothing beats his natural dark brown hair, but somehow he manages to make every hair color look just as good and at this point you just can’t decide which one’s your favorite. He’s making it very difficult for you.
You walk backwards, making Namjoon follow you as you’re still secure in his arms. Once back in the darkness of your apartment you kick the door shut. You give your boyfriend a peck on the cheek before you pull away from him, letting him get comfortable and take off his shoes as you return to your sofa.
Namjoon, now that he’s able to focus on his surroundings, takes instant notice to the darkness that suffocates your apartment - and the messy sofa. If anyone knows you well, it’s him. After knowing each other for almost two years, he can read you like an open book without problem. One of the many things he’s come to learn is how much you hate wasting the light of day, and especially so during this time of year. You love spring, it’s your favorite time of the year and you always long for it whenever it isn’t current. He also knows that, if you’re not up and getting ready by 9 AM, you’ll most likely beat yourself up for it. However, on rare occasions, you’ll let yourself lay under the covers for another hour or so - but that's only if he’s there, laying next to you
Cuddling is something you simply can’t say no to.
Automatically, taking all these things into consideration, Namjoon starts to worry.
He kicks his sneakers off as his gaze follows you, watching as you fall down on the couch of which looks like it has been occupied all day. Your figure disappears under the cover, and he makes his way over to you. “Is everything alright?” He asks, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
You register his question but you don’t answer it, instead you reach your arms out and gesture for him to join you on the couch. His features soften and he manages to squeeze down next to you, despite the small space left to be occupied. Your leg comes out from under the covers to lay over his hip, holding him close to prevent him from falling to the floor.
You let your eyes shamelessly admire his face even though he’s aware, your fingers once again coming up to brush through his hair - strands of lavender running softly in between them as you do.
He lets his own gaze roam across your features, searching for any sign of anxiety or sorrow. “Hey,” he says, bringing your attention back to his previously asked question.
“Everything’s fine now that you’re here, don’t worry Joon,” you mumble, your focus still on his hair.
Namjoon doesn’t fall for your excuse. Grabbing your wrist softly, he removes your hand out of his hair and lays it over his chest, making you look at him. “Please talk to me.”
You sigh, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to sugarcoat what’s really going on. “Work’s just been really tough, it’s not that serious.”
You always feel bad complaining about work, or sharing the weight of your problems with Namjoon. You know how tough his job is compared to yours, and his schedule is never really empty. You know he loves what he does more than everything, but you’ve seen how hard it can get as well. So compared to your job, you realize the hours you put in are minimal next to the amount of time he dedicates to his job. Complaining just doesn’t feel right.
“You really underestimate me,” He sighs, eyebrows raised at you. “I can tell it’s not just work, it’s almost five in the afternoon and you’re still laying on the couch with my shirt on - you only do that when you’re feeling really low.”
You give up, accepting the fact he can see right through you no matter how hard you resist to let it show. “My head just feels kind of crowded,” you start. “I feel like there’s so many thoughts in my head, and I can’t organize or figure any of them out. I feel lost, I have no idea what the future holds and that’s fine - but I don’t even have a vision of what I want it to hold. I’m just not sure I’m walking down the right path.”
With Namjoon being back next to you, you certainly feel better - but still, it doesn’t remove any of your worries. You wait for a response, but a few seconds go by and there's still just silence. You look up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze, his eyes showing empathy as he looks back at you.
Without a word, he slips out of your embrace before he gets up and walks over to your windows. Before you know it, he pulls one of your blinds up. The sun shines straight in your face, making you quickly seek cover under the pillow next to you. As you hide, you hear Namjoon proceed to pull every blind up, the room becoming even brighter as he does. After he’s done you hear his footsteps close in on you, and suddenly he rids you of your shield - leaving you exposed to the blinding rays of light that are now touching every possible surface in your living room. Your hands come up to cover your eyes, groaning.
He gathers all your blankets and pillows you’ve taken from your bedroom before disappearing to put them back where they belong. Even with the low state you're in, you feel appreciation and adoration causing tickles in your belly. He always does this, always makes it his priority to bring you up when you're down. You find it endearing, how dedicated he gets - and lucky to say the least.
“What are you doing?” You ask out into the open, Namjoon still fixing your bed in the other room.
“I’m taking you somewhere,” says your boyfriend, walking into the room again.
You furrow your eyebrows, eyes finally adjusting to the light as you stretch - limbs splayed across the couch. “And where may that be, Mr. I’m On A Mission?”
He snickers at the name, reaching his hand out for you to take. “You’ll find out once we get there.” He pulls you up from the sofa, making you stand before him. “Go put something warm on, the sun’s really nice but it’s still quite chilly,” he says.
Your heart flutters at his sweet gestures. Having been with Namjoon for such a long time, you’d expect the flutters to fade and his gestures losing impact along with them. But it’s all still there, just like when you first fell for him. Your heart still flutters at the dimples in which appear when he smiles, and at how his eyes turn into crescent moons as he laughs - how he shows affection but then becomes shy after. You’ve realized it’s those small things you usually wouldn’t think to pay attention to, but to you they all still cause butterflies to swarm in the pit of your stomach, and you swear you fall in love with him over and over again every time.
You still feel a force pulling you to the ground as you make your way to your closet, but not as intense as it was before Namjoon showed up at your doorstep. You’re still having to push thoughts back, still have to prevent them from getting the best of you. Knowing you have Namjoon with you, and knowing he’ll listen if you’ll talk about it, does bring you comfort. You’re well aware he isn’t capable of helping rid of these thoughts in your head, as he can’t assure you what the future holds or what path you should go down so it all works out - no one can. But still, you’re more than grateful because you’re certain he’ll be the one to at least make you feel better about things, and keep you from giving up.
You grab a lounge set from your drawer and slip onto it, the soft fabric fitting loosely over your body just like how you want it - only really seeking for comfort. Taking Namjoon’s words into consideration, you also make sure to grab a warm coat from your closet before heading back to the living room.
You find your boyfriend sitting on the edge of the couch with rays of light reaching him, a golden aura forming around his figure, making him look like a fallen angel from heaven. And thinking about it, you’re convinced he is one. Where would you be without him?
You take a moment to enjoy the magical sight, your fingertips starting to tingle as you get an urge to skim them over his beautiful golden skin. Namjoon looks up, catching you as you eye him with a small smile on your lips.
He chuckles. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you mumble, walking up to him.
He stands up, arms capturing you in a hug once again. Your cheek ends up pressed against the soft fabric of his sweater, the scent of his favorite cologne stuck to it, making you breathe it in and relax against him.
“You look cozy,” he comments, pulling away to look you up and down.
You mumble a quiet thank you, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers.
“Ready?” He asks.
Your nod doesn’t come off too assuring, making him laugh as the both of you slip your shoes on. Namjoon grabs his coat and with that you make your way out of your apartment, your hands interlocking again as you do. You exit your apartment complex and brisk air surrounds you, causing you to shudder and walk closer to Namjoon as you search for any source of warmth. The two of you stop at the side of the curb as your eyes search for your cab that has yet to arrive, the sun now hitting you and warming you up slightly.
As you wait you turn to eye your boyfriend, love swelling in your chest.
“You look really handsome today,” You say through a smile, eyes meeting his.
You hadn’t seen him in this particular outfit before, but he pulls it off really well. He’s clad in a denim on denim outfit, with a jean coat that reaches all the way to his calves. You’re not surprised it looks amazing on him, everything does.
“Thank you,” he says, cheeks rubescent as his eyes scan over his own body before looking at you and squeezing your hand in his.
You lean into him, nose scrunching at his adorable shy behaviour. Getting the sudden urge to peck him, you get up on your toes and press your lips to the dimple that dents his cheek. He pulls you into his side, hand laying on your hip. As you pull away your attention turns to the black car pulling up in front of you. Namjoon steps forward and opens the door and beckons for you to get in before him, being the gentleman that he is. You climb into the car, moving over so your boyfriend can get in next to you. He sits down and closes the door before reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone, leaning over to show the driver where he wants to go. Gazing over, you try to catch a glimpse of anything that might reveal what location you’re going to but you manage to get nothing.
“No peeking, baby,” He teases as he puts his phone back in his pocket.
You pout, giving him pleading eyes.
He laughs, his hand coming to lay just above your knee before squeezing lightly. “Be patient.”
You let out a chuckle at your own childish behaviour, laying your hands on top of his before turning to look out at the surroundings as they flash by in a blur. As the driver takes you through Seoul, you find your mind wandering again as thoughts start filling your head. To distract yourself you turn to your boyfriend and ask him about his recent work trip.
Before you know it, the car comes to a stop and with cheeks still aching from a joke Namjoon whispered to you just seconds ago you watch him get out of the car. He holds the door open for you, a grin still on his face as you get out - the adorable indents in his cheeks once again appearing. You always get an urge to kiss them, but if you’d act on it every time that’s all you’d do.
Once you’re out of the car, you glance at the scenery of which you’re very familiar with, and which you’ve come to love and appreciate since being with Namjoon. One thing you learned very early on about him is how much he loves and treasures nature. You didn’t really see the point before, especially since you live in such a big city you don’t really think of it that much. On your own, before meeting him, you’d never think to go to a park just to relax. But now you’ve really learned to appreciate it and the healing powers it holds, something Namjoon also taught you.
“You took me to Hangang Park?” You say, a tinge of excitement in your voice as your eyes take in the beautiful view of the setting sun reflecting in the river.
Namjoon looks at you lovingly as you view the location. Hangang park isn’t away from any civilization, there’s still skyscrapers in view and it’s crowded. It’s not what you consider a traditional park, there’s not grass everywhere you look or trees surrounding you. There are platforms in stone and bigger patches of grass scattered around evenly. Even though it might not be the most green park, something about it brings you more comfort than others do. You think it might be the combination of city and nature, since you’ve lived in Seoul your whole life you’re used to tall buildings and city lights - all that comes with it. And with what Namjoon has taught you about nature, and how you’ve become someone who appreciates that setting as well, you really feel at home when you’re at Hangang Park.
You said this to your boyfriend when you came here with him for the first time, and that’s probably his reason for choosing this specific location. It makes you feel warm inside, happy he takes all these things and uses them to make you feel relaxed and calm when you need it.
Namjoon comes up behind you and lays a hand over the small of your back, the two of you starting to walk slowly closer to the river. The sunset induces beautiful hues of orange and pink to paint over the blue sky, making the world around you breathtakingly beautiful. You feel some of the weight slowly ease off of your shoulders, and you feel as if you’re finally able to inhale and exhale deeply with ease. The both of you walk over to one of the grass-patches by the river, sitting down on it with shoulders touching and fingers intertwined.
You sit like that in silence for a few minutes, and you sense Namjoon knows you need to just be for a while. You enjoy the feeling of him next to you, his presence as the both of you watch the sky and its reflection in the body of water before you. Surrounding you, there are groups of friends, couples, families, also enjoying the wonderful time of day. The atmosphere around you is happy and tranquil, in contrast to your dark apartment you’d locked yourself in earlier.
“It’s beautiful,” you mumble, laying your head on Namjoon’s shoulder as you watch the hues of the horizon fade into the light blue above you.
A few more minutes of comfortable silence pass by, before he brings his attention to you.
He brings your interlocked hands up to plant a kiss on your knuckles. “Let it out.”
You look up at him, your response lazy, “Hmm?”
“Whatever you’re holding in, whatever’s bothering you. It won’t do any good for you to keep it in.”
You exhale, resting your head against his shoulder again as your eyes return to the skyline. “I’m feeling overwhelmed, and every thought that has entered my mind I’ve been overthinking for no reason. I feel like I’ve gone down this path that I’m now stuck on and I can’t see any lanes or exits for me to lead me in another direction. There’s so many outcomes that could occur if, when the opportunity comes, I choose to walk another way - so many things that could go wrong.” You stop, fingers of your free hand coming to fiddle with the cool metal of his rings as you think of what to say next. “I feel like I’m putting in a lot of effort to do good at work and with studying, but it doesn’t feel worth it when I’m not sure the hard work I’m putting in is doing anything for my future.” You look down at your hands as you feel the familiar lump of anxiety form in the back of your throat.
“It’s normal to have thoughts, and to overthink them. I’ve been where you are right now, and I get you. It’s normal to worry about the future, everyone does - because it’s full of uncertainty and you can never really know what to expect or what it’ll turn into as time passes.” He pauses, and his words bring you comfort - knowing you’re not completely alone in feeling like this. “Someone told me once to think of my mind as a tree, and of my thoughts as branches. For these branches to grow, you’ll have to experience a lot of different things - hurtful things, things that’ll anger and confuse you along with happy and hopeful things. Your mind consists of so many of these branches, there’s happiness, pain, hope, desperation, devastation - everything.” He speaks, hand coming up from time to time in front of him to gesticulate.
You listen carefully to his words as your eyes follow pastel clouds that float across the sky. You’ve always loved how self-aware Namjoon is, you’ve come to think of it as one of his most beautiful traits - one that you really adore. He’s always stayed true to himself, no matter what. He recognizes his mistakes and faults so that he can better them and become someone who’s greater than the person he was the day before. You wish you can be that one day, as good of a person as he is. He always tries to be the best version of himself.
“You’ll need to prune and cut them to take care of the tree, to care for your mind and for it to keep growing beautifully. The hurt will be unavoidable, but you’ll have to make these choices so you can continue to grow and blossom. These thoughts and feelings you’re currently feeling, try to think of them as branches of your young days, as branches of a young tree. When you’ve experienced all of the hurt, the grief, the happiness, the love - you’ll be a beautiful tree, the most beautiful tree.” He says. “I know you’ll be,” He turns to search for your gaze, wanting you to see and notice the sincerity of his words.
Your eyes meet his, inside of which sunsets of their own exist as the sky reflects in them. You feel the force that’s been pulling you down fade, and you feel yourself tearing up as you look at the man in front of you, whom you cherish most out of anything. You realize how blessed you are to have met someone like him, someone with a precious soul like his own.
“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling yourself starting to tear up.
Slightly embarrassed, you look away but you feel Namjoon’s finger nudge lightly at the underside of your chin - making your eyes meet his again. “No need to thank me baby,” He says softly, wiping your a few tears that escaped with the pads of his thumbs “I just want you to be okay, that’s all that matters.”
The love you feel for him spreads like a wildfire through your body. “I love you so much,” you say, eyes still looking into his.
A smile grows on his lips as he looks at you. “Come here,” he mumbles, hand reaching to the backside of your thigh.
He pulls your leg over both of his, so that you end up straddling his thighs before his arms snake around your waist to pull you into him. You embrace him by putting your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his. With your body now filled with relief and comfort, you find yourself wishing you could stay like this forever - keep him this close forever.
“I love you too,” He whispers in your ear.
The future remains a mystery, something you’ll never be sure of.
But in this moment, what you’re completely certain of, is your everlasting love for the man in your arms.
He’s your everything.
He’s your start and your end.
He’s your Solace.
#ficswithluv#btswriterscollective#btsbookclub#kim namjoon#namjoon#kim namjoon fluff#kim namjoon fanfic#kim namjoon angst#bts fics#bts fluff#bts senarios#jeon jungkook#kim taehyung#kim seokjin#min yoongi#park jimin#jung hoseok#kim namjoon x reader#bangtan#bts#fic; solace#kirawrites
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“Lights Through Darkness”
OOC: Alright Anons, you got me. First off, Thank you!! I am so happy you love it! QQ Going in child perspective was a little hard because of their tiny vocabulary.
Second of all, are you reading my mind? Because I have also thought of a concept before you sent this! Unfortunately though, this will have to take place in Luze’s and Luka’s current age since I was already brainstorming ideas. I imagined all or most of their traits become opposites when they grow older. i.e. Luze has a stronger mentality than Luka. And also the best advice giver a brother could have. And Luze is more sleep deprived than Luka. Slightly.
(OOC: A non-canonical story showing more of Luka’s and Luze’s relationship if they get to know more about each other, now that Luze remains on Earth.
... Listen, these boys deserve happiness even if it means going neck to neck when they argue a lot. Even if the wikis or other information says that they never had ANY affection for each other, I like to make it happen. Then again, there were strong but very subtle hints from Luze in the manga/anime that strongly made me think about their relationship. WARNING: Mild profanity) Feat. Luka Crosszeria
The night rolls in at the Twilight Mansion where Luze now stays and resides after gaining his freedom. Feeling strange yet at ease, Luze finally manages to get a whole night rest. But it doesn’t help that his leftover stress still remains, making him wake up with little less hours of sleep still. The breeze was the only thing to keep him calm whenever he wakes up in unusual hours.
From the sounds of the wind, he hears a familiar song that was being played outside. He sees his brother sitting outside in the courtyard singing a song they used to sing together and Luze sings along quietly in the background. However, in the middle of the song, Luka suddenly stops and thinks to himself within the night. Luze, slightly concerned as he felt his heart heavy all of a sudden, approaches his older twin.
Luka was then a little irritated at his presence, but at the same time he suddenly feels more relieved that it was him alone and no one else within the mansion. Because what Luka doesn’t realize, was that he had a long lost confidant at his side all along from this day on. Someone that actually stops and listens through his pain and sorrow unlike the other Zweilts who still regard him as a stranger.
Listen to Luka’s story as Luze sits and listens and takes in all from what his older brother has to say through his emotions. Something that Luka has coped up for so long as well as a small memory that happened when they were small children.
The night was peaceful while I was getting my nights rest. I never thought I would sleep this long as I have before ... In Infernus, I never had any sleep at all even if time seem to stop down below. I was always scurrying on about from my duties without thinking of my well being. That was part of being a soldier no matter on The Surface or in Infernus. However, it was different for those of a higher rank. Having control of White Magic, I made myself busy and occupied of healing the wounded. It added to the load of many ordeals I had to deal with.
Now it was different since I lived in The Surface. I felt solace at last as I slept well on a bed they lent me along with the room they gave me. I turned slowly to my side, finding a comfortable spot before slipping into a peaceful rest. The wind from the opened window always gave me relaxation and calmed my nerves.
Or, at least I wanted to have a relaxing rest for a moment. There was also a downfall of being a soldier. If anyone would think that sleeping issues was a problem, that would be one of the cases. I would always think that I was back in Infernus, no matter where I was. I always felt my body awake from a few hours of sleep.
I guess you can say that I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Whenever I felt myself awake, I couldn’t go back to sleep unless I can sit down and meditate. It was frustrating for me and getting used to being in a calm time was nearly impossible at this moment, especially having been here for a few months. I always had to remind myself that I am not in dire times at the moment. I turned my body slowly once again but facing up. I opened my eyes slowly and sighed heavily.
My raven, Diomedes, croaked softly as he perked up from sleeping next to me. He gazed at me with a few head tilts. He seemed to be concerned as I reached my hand out and scratched his neck. He fluffed up and croaked once again. I was fortunate to have a companion such as him. In his raven form, he acts like those “dream catchers” that Humes call them. He made my sleep half easier as he takes all of my nightmares away
Sudenly, Diomedes looked towards the opened window and flew to the window sill to take a peek outside. I blinked towards him as if he sensed something amiss.
I began to hear music. I didn’t know where it came from, but it was a soft melody. I looked out towards the window as the breeze continued through me. It sounded familiar.
I rose myself up with my elbow and listened more carefully.
🎵
That song ... I recognized it ... I never thought I would hear it again. I immediately imagined my days when I was just a child.
I stared out for a moment until I felt myself get out from bed and walk towards the window. It’s as if I was pulled into some kind of trance. I gently placed a hand on the window sill and looked outward. I was gazing back and forth to see where it resonated from. Until I caught my eye right below in the courtyard. Diomedes flew to my shoulder and perched.
My brother, Luka, was sitting on top of the railing facing the grand fountain outside. He was the one singing. Singing a melody that I recognized immediately. The song we both had compiled together.
He kept going for awhile as I kept my gaze at him. Something within my heart stirred. I felt my fingers on the window sill tense. Unintentionally, I chimed in but quietly. I felt my lips started to move on its own. His song compelled me to sing along, but it was my own version to blend in with his.
This is exactly how I remembered it. That time where I wanted to sing with him when we were little.
I wondered how he can remember such a thing ... It was a long time ago before we became enemies. Those centuries long slipped by as we never seen eye to eye. Yet ...
He remembered this song. I had thought he erased many of the trivial things that tied us together. I had thought he despised me. Was he the one that completely threw me out? I felt frustrated and conflicted even more just thinking about it. Luka would never had that much thought about us ... Would he?
I shook my head. I suddenly had enough with my emotions building up. I thought I would have managed them well but it was the same as it was when I was in Infernus. I let go of the window sill and walked towards the door. Diomedes flew off from my shoulder and perched on top of the metal rod that was built especially for him. However, as I grasped tightly around the door knob, my mind began to calm down. I stood there, hesitating as I tried to hold myself together. I closed my eyes and slowly breathed in and out.
Maybe there was some reason for him to sing that song. My grip on the doorknob loosened as I opened my eyes. I turned it and opened the door quietly as the door creaked. I turned slightly around and looked towards Diomedes. “Stay here.” I said. Diomedes croaked softly and tilted his head a couple of times. I grabbed my black cloak and draped it over me and proceeded to head out towards him.
Even though it was faint from every step I take, I can still hear his song behind me as I kept walking. And every step I did take, I suddenly felt more calmer. Just like those times when we sang together.
Our song ...
---
🎵 - (Music to read through this)
Luka had stopped playing his instrument as he laid his chin on his crossed arms on top of it. The wind blew gently as he pondered. I wouldn’t know what he was reminiscing about it but whatever it was, it seemed to eat his mind. I subtly hope he wasn’t brooding.
I hesitated as I saw him in a distance. Eyes forward towards the fountain that made a rushing sound of water along with fireflies that flew next to it.
I placed both of my hands in my pockets. A part of me doesn’t want to disturb him. I knew how to respect boundaries, even if it was someone who technically abandoned me. It would feel wrong of me to interrupt since I am used to that lifestyle. I never wanted to get in anyone’s way. But what am I to do when my only sibling is right there in front of me?
I sighed as I felt slightly uneasy and approached him slowly. I was reminded how I was still the youngest between us. Sometimes approaching the oldest relative can be intimidating. But I always knew my place whenever I had to stand up to them. That was always the case with Luka.
“Why’d you stop?” I suddenly said as I kept walking towards him. I saw Luka straightened up a bit as he turned around slightly. “Luze ...” At a quick glance, his face was relieved to see me. But it quickly turned into a scowl as he faced the fountain again and rested his chin again on his arms. “You’re actually the last person I want to see right now ...”
I subtly scoffed. “Come now. You have to do more than that to easily get rid of me.” “I could,” He admitted and glanced at me, smirking slightly. “But I’d rather not right now. Not when the Zweilts are around. Especially Yuki.” Of course. Especially Yuki. I shrugged and hesitated. “May I?”
Luka glanced quickly at the spot by him then back at me. “It’s a little too late to say I do mind, isn’t it?” he said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes as I walked to the spot next to him and stood there. The breeze whistling was the only sound that resonated along with the flowing waters from the grand fountain.
“Sorry if I woke you up, if that was the case.” Luka began to say. I shook my head and kept staring off the same direction as he was. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just ...” I looked down. “It’s surprising that you remembered that song.” He looked at me then to the fountain again. “... So what?” I saw his head sinking further a little down on his arms as if he was embarrassed.
“What made you want to sing it again?” I asked as I glanced to him. He hesitated. He fixed himself up as he put the instrument down beside him and laid his arms on his crossed leg. He sighed slowly and pondered. “To be honest with you, beats me ...” He gazed downward as his hands clasped together. “I guess ... I just didn’t want to forget that I had a twin. All of those centuries that gone by, I felt as if I wanted to force myself to forget. But it just doesn’t happen.”
I kept my gaze at him as I hesitated. I listened to what he had to say. He continued. “I wanted to keep that song with me. So that I could remind myself. That everything that I had done to this point can’t be turned around. All I can do is to just keep moving forward ... No matter what happens to me. This was the decision that I brought upon myself. Even if ... Even if you and I have to fight or kill each other. I wouldn’t hesitate. But ... I just ...” Luka paused.
“... What made you want to forget?” I asked. He looked away from me as if someone else was there next to him. He slightly shook his head and looked downward in front of him. “I don’t know either ...”
As I stared at him, I saw a completely different composure he gave out. He seemed lost. Confused. He would usually stand pridefully and even doing so, berated me during that time. But he felt out of place. Even I couldn’t comprehend but I didn’t waver. He was never like this to begin with. I felt like our roles seemed to be reversed. Suddenly, I turned my gaze towards the fountain.
An idea came into my mind.
“... Wait here for a bit.” I said as I walked away from him. Luka looked up at me confused as I proceeded. He seemed like he wanted to follow, but he stood up steadily and kept his eyes on me. As I went next to the fountain, some of the fireflies flew away while others would fly steadily in their spot. I pulled a hand from my pockets and carefully grasped onto a few of them. The bugs settled in my hand as they crawled within it. I then made my way back to Luka.
He stared bewildered with a cocked eyebrow. I stood in front of him as he kept his gaze on me. I reached out my hand towards him. “... Ready?” He looked at my hand as I released slowly. The fireflies escaped my hand and flew upward. He was taken aback slightly as he kept looking at the floating lights flying up to the stars. Luka scoffed and smirked slightly. “Tch ... You prick ...” I smiled back slightly. “... I can’t believe you remembered that.” I shrugged as I put my hand in my pockets. “You’re the one who started that. It’s also another memory I had of us. Every time I would stare at the pyreflies back in Infernus ... Did you forget that our names mean Light?” “Shut up.” Luka gently pushed on my shoulder.
For the first time in awhile, we both laughed softly all the while shaking our heads slightly. It’s been too long ever since we were together like this. We had ceased to laugh ever since we went our separate ways. Forcing ourselves to think that we never existed in both of our eyes as years go by. It was strange but very nostalgic ...
Luka smiled calmly. His eyes look downward as his face grew into some sort of regret. His smile turned into a wry smile for just a moment. Then it went back to his usual pondering face as he bit his lips. He sighed heavily and sat back down slowly. I looked back at him calmly.
He hesitated as he clasped his hands together. “... I don’t know how you do it, Luze.” He began to say. “You seem like that person who would never let go of the past. Yet here I am ... Just trapped on trying to forget everything that troubled me. Just trying to move on.” I listened hesitantly. He continued. “Going back to your question, how you said what made me want to forget ... Maybe I truly wanted to run away from all of it. I mean, I did regrettably but at the same time I never really regretted it. It was something that I wanted for myself. Ever since ...” I saw his jaw tighten slightly.
“Ever since you came across that Hume?” I said. He sighed heavily again but this time, it was shaken. “I really don’t know why in seven hells I am telling you all of this ...” he said as he shook his head. His lips tightened. He seemed frustrated as he kept his gaze downward. It was silent for a few moments. “... You miss her, don’t you?” I said quietly.
He quickly looked away from me and closed his eyes. His hands clenched into fists but he immediately released them as he looked down again in front of him. “... Yeah.” His voice faintly choked as he swallowed.
I hesitated as I kept my gaze at him. Luka never looked up for awhile. I closed my eyes and sighed. I looked to him once again. “You sound like you never talked about this to anyone ...” I said, breaking the silence. I saw him subtly shake his head.
I stared at him, wearily concerned. To my surprised, I would have thought he had told anyone about his problems. I would assume that living with the Zweilts would let him at least talk about his situations. Especially with Yuki of all of the Zweilts. But from what I can make out, he seemed to be that kind of person who would give into someone else’s problem. Lending a shoulder to cry on, lending an ear to listen ...
I never imagined Luka was still living the same life I had been in Infernus, no matter where he was. We both always lend anyone our ways of listening and coping with their problems. But never our own.
“... You haven’t told Yuki about what you’ve been dealing with, have you?” I said. I heard him scoffed uneasily and shook his head. He still kept his gaze away from me. “No. Never. Never, Luze ...” Luka said quietly. “I never wanted to drag anyone else to my own issues. Not even him. You know how we were, Luze. We only lived to serve no matter where we go. And I have lived by that ever since ... You know that no one would ever give two shits from what we’ve been through. No matter how much we have done for those we cherish ...” His voice choked once again. He ran a hand through his hair and kept it as he placed his elbow on his crossed on his knee. “I still don’t fucking know why I am telling you all of this ...”
It amazed me how he was behaving now, however I still didn’t flinch. I understood what he meant. It’s true that we had to live the way we are no matter where we go. That was our sole reason to live as a Crosszeria. But ... All this time, I had thought he was living freely. I had thought he would have a more easier time than I was. It turns out that we are still living the same hell no matter where we are. It’s disturbing to say the least.
I steadily took a few steps towards him. “Maybe because we are twins. I don’t know myself.” I shrugged. “But whatever is keeping you from telling anyone about this, especially those who are close to you, I’m all ears.” It was at that moment that I can sense his emotions riling up all together at once. It was similar to how I felt most of the time. I stood directly in front of him.
Luka hesitated as he slowly gazed upward halfway to me. I crossed my arms and looked to him. “I honestly never knew that you kept so much behind you. Only for all of it to come back and this happens.” I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. I opened them again. “There really is no point of holding everything back. I don’t care how much you want to scream, shout, rant about whatever is going on in your head, I will be there ... Just like you have with me.”
Luka lifted his head from his hand and looked at me hesitantly. I continued. “... You once told me, to let my emotions out when we were young. So why can’t you?” He was still silent but he gave out a wry smile. “You know I can’t in front of you--” “It doesn’t matter.” I interrupted. “This is just between you and me. I’m your brother. No one else is around to see you beneath your facade. So what’s holding you back?”
His eyes widened slightly. He scoffed once more and looked away from me in frustration. His scoffs turned into soft laughs. He stopped for a moment and brought a hand to cover his mouth as his jaw clenched. I saw his body slightly trembling as if he was trying to hold back. Suddenly, I heard him sniff a little as he tried so hard to look away from me. But the moon that shown down couldn’t keep him away. His eyes began to glisten. As he closed his eyes, tears began to stream down. He sniffed once more time as he put his hand over half of his face and let out a long sigh. He brought his other hand and covered his entire face until he was hidden from me.
He ran both of his hands through his hair and settled them within it. Tears fell delicately down as the moon shown every droplet. He began to tremble with each soft sob. I closed my eyes to let him have time.
... How long was he holding this back for? Was there truly no one around to listen to what he had to say? Most importantly, why would he never tell anything about it to the one he loved? Was he afraid of returning back to the past?
I guess he was right on one thing: He lives for the future. While I live from the past.
My eyes began to quiver as I opened them and kept my gaze at him. I walked slowly towards him and took a seat next to him. I remained silent as he continued. His frustrations finally releasing but ever so slowly. I placed my hand slightly behind him and leaned to him as my shoulder came into contact with his. I looked down. Eventually, he leaned against me.
The fireflies from a distance continued to dance and float about. Some flew upward as high as they can as if to reach the stars above. The moon reflected the fountain, creating a distortion from the ripples. The night was our shroud to get away from everyone for just a moment.
Several moments passed as my lips began to move. I began to sing.
🎵
If no one is able to listen to us, then it shouldn’t matter. I suppose Opasts still can’t be trusted no matter how much we tried our best to gain that trust. It was still a cycle of us technically being used, but in our own right. It’s what kept us alive, here and now. Even being able to protect our own loved ones. At this point on, it was still the both of us. I just never thought we would be this inseparable. It still baffles me no matter how far apart we might have been. All of those frustrating moments and all of the hatred that build between us, It seemed to dissipate slowly but steadily like dust in the wind.
No matter how many people we grow attach to, we still intend to get in each others way no matter how worse or greater the outcome.
It’s what I keep saying to myself: It’s strange how twins work. Blood ties truly cannot be severed.
#Unheard Words#Answered Letters#Forsaken Twin#Luze#Luze Crosszeria#Luka#Luka Crosszeria#Uraboku#uragiri wa boku no namae wo shitteiru#Betrayal Knows my Name
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“There’s Always More Show”; A Bojack Horseman Essay
It’s about time I talked about one of the finest ongoing shows in animation right now. I. LOVE. Bojack Horseman. I must have binged the whole series 5 times at this point, and it’s rare for even my absolute favorite shows to get me to do that. The dialogue is so poignant I have entire exchanges between characters burned into my memory. The jokes and societal commentary are so on point that many lines have gotten me to burst out laughing among company.The characters themselves are so complex, so filled with depth, that they are all well deserving of their own analysis. The writing is SO tight and the storytelling so consistently engaging that I hang onto every little detail. I swear they foreshadow events from as late as season 4 and 5 as early as season 1. Even it’s animation, while admittedly pretty primitive character rigging with a handful of noticeable errors, takes some amazing creative liberty at times, particularly with subjectivity in the drug trips. While the art design has taken a few people off guard for it’s blinding colors and it’s premise has discouraged a less open minded audience with it’s animal-human hybrids living among people, those who stick with the show will get a sophisticated while simultaneously wacky romp that is both the silliest and most real show you can watch right now. So with a show this dense that has characters this deep, there are many themes it tackles such as the perpetual meaninglessness of existence or the pursuit to being a good person, but there’s a more central theme Bojack keeps bringing up which I’d like to talk about.
Oh and, uh, Spoilers incoming for Bojack Horseman . . . obviously. Get Netflix and watch all of this show right now before reading. seriously. But for those reading who don’t care about spoilers but are interested in what makes Bojack so great and may like to watch it themselves, here’s a brief summary:
Bojack Horseman (played by Will Arnett) Is a horse-man hybrid living out the so called “glamorous” life style in Hollywood, Los Angeles (later called “Hollywoo” in the series for reasons I won’t spoil here). Out of work, out of shape and out of touch, Bojack wastes away his days in sorrow as a past-his-prime actor who goes day to day being disrespected. Back in the 90s he was the star of a very famous “full house”-esque sitcom called “Horsin’ Around” and he longs for the days where he was in the prime of his life, but nowadays he mostly just sits around the house watching old reruns of his show. He constantly struggles with depression, dependancy on narcotics . . . and the ongoing guilt he feels for every shitty thing he’s done in life . . . and as viewers will no doubt find out . . . Bojack has a LOT of baggage. He finds new friends in life like his responsible ghost writer of his memoir Diane Nguyen (played by Alison Brie), his easygoing freeloader and best friend Todd Chavez (played by Aaron Paul), his happy go lucky Labrador rival Mr. Peanutbutter (played by Paul F. Tompkins) and his workaholic pink cat agent Princess Carolyn (played by Amy Seradis). The show centres around his ongoing relationships with these people as well as their own journeys of self discovery . . . and the occasional wacky schemes. Through his surrounding positive influences can Bojack learn to grow past his personal demons? Or will his shitty tendencies and depressing outlook permanently spoil the lives of the people closest to him like he so often fears?
Spoilers begin NOW
In what is perhaps my favorite episode of the show, episode 6 of Season 5 titled “Free Churro”, Bojack gives an improvised eulogy for his recently deceased mother . . . and that’s it. The episode is just a full 20 minutes of Bojack talking about his dead mom . . . and struggling to find anything positive to say about her. His mom was nothing but cold, hard and abusive to Bojack his entire life and Bojack laments about how he never received a single loving gesture from his mother for as long as he’s known her . . and now that she’s dead that chance is permanently gone. In his ramblings, he mentions an episode of Horsin’ Around in which the writers juice the idea of main cast character Olivia leaving the show for good, only for her to be written back into the status quo, because as Bojack puts it
“Of course that’s what happened, because what are you gonna do? Just not have Olivia on the show? You can’t have happy endings in sitcoms -- not really -- because if everyone’s happy, the show would be over, and above all else the show has to keep going. There’s always more show. (And) You can call Horsin’ Around dumb, or bad, or unrealistic, but there’s nothing more realistic than that. You never get a happy ending, because there’s always more show.”
That right there sums up the entire ongoing struggle of every character in this show. In many ways, Bojack Horseman the Netflix series is like a typical sitcom turned upside down. You have an ongoing setup of colourful, over the top characters doing outrageous things for our amusement, and in a lot of ways they’re actually terrible people but they’re just SO endearing that we have to keep tuning into their antics. Much like how an average Friends episode is about every titular friend trying haphazardly to cover up a lie for 20 minutes when their problems would so easily be over if they just had the maturity to be honest about how they’re feeling, characters like Bojack, Todd and Mr. Peanutbutter are always up to something silly whether it’s poorly covering up a lie or coming up with elaborate sabotages for selfish ends. But there’s one core difference. In Friends, everybody forgives each other in the end. In the gritty and merciless world of Bojack Horseman . . . every wrongdoing has long term consequences, some of which can never be forgiven.
Bojack’s antics especially cause permanent stains on his relationships. When he sabotaged Todd’s rock opera by getting him readdicted to a video game so he wouldn’t leave, he permanently makes a wound in his and Todd’s relationship. He only makes it worse when he has sex with Emily, Todd’s best friend and kinda-sorta girlfriend. Todd had faith in Bojack early on in the show, but he makes it apparent later on that the less he has to do with Bojack the better off he is. Todd’s an easygoing friend that can forgive easily, but Bojack really tests his patience. As he said once he found out Bojack had sex with Emily
“You can’t keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it okay. You need to be better.”
In the luxurious yet phony and superficial world of Hollywoo, everyone has an outlook on life as if it’s a sitcom. The center of mass produced film and television has everyone believing in achieving against the odds, amending their wrongs in the end and getting satisfying conclusions as if the credits of their very own movie will roll any second. But real life keeps on hitting these characters like a truck, as if to say “there is no happy ending , you aren’t the main character and the harm you’ve caused is permanent. Get used to it.” Bojack gets his hard hitting reality more prominently than anyone. He keeps looking for backdoor solutions to his pain like getting back with Charlotte, starting a new Horsin’ Around spinoff, finding meaning far away from L.A. or straight up finding solace in drugs, but every solution to his search for meaning ends in him hurting somebody else even more. He has to separate the idea from his head that shitty things like nearly sleeping with your old friends daughter is just a wacky sitcom hijinks situation, and that the guilt he feels is just an ongoing conflict he feels every day. He even tries at one point to get forgiveness from his old show writer Herb Kezzaz after betraying him, only to be greeted with Herb saying
“No. I’m not going to give you closure. You don’t get that. You have to live with the shitty thing that you did for the rest of your life.”
Sometimes Bojack will go to more silly extents for his so desired “happy ending”, like humming his own credits as he embraces Sarah Lynn when she comes out of rehab.
But as screwed up as Bojack is, he’s not the only one who’s mind is warped by the empty promise of a “happy ending”. Diane Nguyen, for as much as she comes off as the moral compass of the show who isn’t afraid to call anyone out for their bullshit, is what I like to call “Bojack lite”. While she’d be grossly offended by the accusation that she’s anything like Bojack, she shares a lot of his toxic traits. Sure, she’s not actively life ruining for anyone, but she has a tendency to harshly criticize people as a means to deflect any criticism towards herself and she often manages to find the negative connotation to even the best of situations. Also, she struggles with getting drunk a lot too, which is often enabled by Bojack. Diane makes a lot of rash decisions in her life hoping she’ll find some sort of “happy ending”. She married Mr. Peanutbutter longing for a simpler, more laid back life for she just settles down with her loving husband. However, unwilling to keep up with Mr. Peanutbutters love for spontaneity and grand gestures, she ends up divorcing him, deciding instead to try and find solace in being her own woman who doesn’t need a mans affection to be happy . . .but that leaves her empty too. Every time she gets what she asked for, she ends up having to fight all the challenges that go with it, and those challenges end up obscuring her vision of that made her want that thing in the first place. She thinks it’s something wrong with her, like she just can’t ever be satisfied.
“Why can’t I be happy? Am I busted?!”
If we’re comparing each Bojack Horseman character to standard sitcom fare, Mr. Peanutbutter likely comes the closest to fitting the mold of what we expect from a likable television comedy protagonist. Everyone loves him. He’s endearing, he’s funny, he’s sweet. He makes silly mistakes but has a good heart, and even if he does touch some raw nerves along the way he can usually win his audience back with some sort of grand gesture. If Diane is Bojack Lite, then Mr. Peanutbutter is the yin to Bojack’s yang. They live virtually the same lives to a point where Mr. Peanutbutter even got famous off of what is blatantly a knock off of Horsin’ Around, The key difference though is that while Bojack is incurably pessimistic, Mr. Peanutbutter is obnoxiously optimistic, and why wouldn’t he be? He sees the good in everything and everyone and manages to get his way shearly through people loving him. He never has to learn anything because nobody ever challenges him. But that precisely is the rub. Mr. Peanutbutter is a cautionary tale about what would happen if you DID get that life full of happy endings and comfortable conclusions. Much like how many a sitcom protagonist never learns to tell the truth or to take responsibility for their own health, Mr. Peanutbutter never grows past his mistakes. It’s why he always does grand gestures for Diane despite her repeating several times that she doesn’t like them. It’s why he keeps dating women much younger than himself. It’s why he keeps getting divorced. He never takes any kind of long term lesson from what happens to him and never evolves as a person. Nowhere is this more prominent than in Season 5. Whenever Mr. Peanut butter does something wrong, he’s usually blind to the responsibility he must take to it. He either dismisses it as somebody else being mean or unreasonable or he makes an empty promise to not do it again. But for the first time ever, he partakes in betraying somebody he cares about. After divorcing Diane and getting with Pickles the Pug waitress . . . he has sex with Diane again behind Pickles’ back. This time there’s nobody to blame but himself . . and he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that he did an unforgivably shitty thing. In fact, he’s the least equipped character to do so in the whole show. He even pleads for Diane to break the news to Pickles and tries to force a silver lining by getting back with Diane as a result of it. In the season finale, when Mr. Peanutbutter has to tell the awful truth and knowingly hurt somebody close to him . . .much like a sitcom character, he instead pulls a happy ending out of his ass and decides to propose to Pickles instead. He actively decides not to do the tough, but right decision, and thus does not evolve. This is especially interesting in the finale because, for the first time ever, Bojack is a step ahead of Mr. Peanutbutter when it comes to committing to making things right. After Bojack nearly strangles Gina to death on his drug high, he turns himself into rehab with the help of Diane and starts taking real steps to self improvement. In contrast, Mr. Peanut butter . . . is just up to his same old tricks.
You wanna talk about reaching that sitcom happy ending? It’s all this workaholic cat ever thinks about. Princess Carolyn leads life with the philosophy that with enough grit and go-getter attitude you can make anything happen for yourself . . . and to an extent that actually serves her pretty well. She gets out of her hick town to pursue her dreams as an agent and whenever the other characters are knee deep in their own mess she’s always the one with the solution to get them out. She compulsively helps people while refusing to take help for herself because . . well, she wants a happy ending . . .but she wants to be the one responsible for it. She had an opportunity as a kid to have everything in her life decided for her but once she had her miscarriage and that dream fell apart, she instead decided to pursue a career in the big city. She made tons of sacrifices to get where she is including leaving her own mother, and she’s also afraid of falling into the same trap of dependency she almost fell into as a kid again. That’s why she rejects Ralph Stilton’s offer to help her with her adopted baby, even though he’s irrefutably the best boyfriend she ever had. Time and time again Princess Carolyn will willingly be pushed right up to the edge before she accepts any kind of help, because she thinks doing so is a sign of weakness. She keeps herself motivated with fantasies about that wonderful happy ending, whether that means living in a cottage in a beautiful painting or succeeding enough that some future ancestor can give her class a family heritage report all about what a great ass kickin’ gal she is. While Princess Carolyn is definitely the most well adjusted and most durable to the constant hustle and beating down of reality, she’s got her own toxic tendencies as a result of thinking she’s a main character. She thinks she’s got to do everything on her own . . . . and if she doesn’t get past that insecurity soon, it may swallow her whole.
At long last we come to mr. Todd Chavez, the endearing little brother of Bojack Horseman’s family of main characters. Upon first glance, Todd seems the least prepared for life’s harsh reality out of all our leads. He’s a 20-something year old with no real job, no real responsibilities and no real goals in life. He’s very upfront and honest about how he spends his time, be it spending all day watching Youtube videos . . . or building a knockoff Disneyland. And yet, when we analyze him with the thesis that these “sitcom characters” are all trying to get by in a cruel and merciless world, we suddenly realize that ironically . . . Todd grows the most naturally out of everyone. Bojack lets Todd down time and time again and rather than accepting status quo as God like many a sitcom character might do, he takes it upon himself to distance his relationship with Bojack. He initially has faith in Bojack to be better, but doesn’t beat around the bush when he’s lost his faith in him. When he realizes that he was nothing in common with Yolanda aside from being asexual, he breaks up with her before prolonging the painful inevitable. The cast of Bojack Horseman go through their share of changes in what they want and who they want to be, but Todd is always the one who knows what he needs and makes an honest effort to be better. He’s surprisingly wise for an adult manchild flunky. But he gets up to wacky sitcomish schemes too, about as much as Mr. Peanutbutter (who is often his partner in crime with these things) . . . yet even then through his ernestness and cuttthroat honesty he manages to overcome better than the other characters.
Conclusion:
*decided to include this gif because i love the animation in it*
Hollywoo is a world of sitcom characters pulled out of the TV and trying to get by in everyday life under the harsh, uncompromising grip of reality. In a culture so entrenched in it’s ideals of maintaining superficial likability and celebrating yourself no matter what you do or who you hurt, each character’s mind is warped into buying the illusion that for how screwed up they are there’s a happy ending waiting at the end of the horizon for them. They all deal with it with different levels of success. Some take change in life with stride like Todd. Some think they found their happy ending but only remain empty like Diane. Some get everything they ask for and thus never evolve and never better themselves like Mr. PeanutButter. Some cling on for deal life as they get everything thrown at them, believing that they’ll be rewarded in the end, like Princess Carolyn. And then . . . some are a depressing cocktail of all of those things. They have opportunity land at their feet and think they’ve finally done the thing that will preserve them, only to find themselves empty. They work through the pain in their life hoping that at any point they’ll get some grand gesture or reward that makes everything they endured worth it, only for that chance to become officially non existent. But occasionally . . . very occasionally . . . they do something wonderful and heartfelt and sincere that maintains a glimmer of hope for their capacity to be better. That is Bojack Horseman. Bojack hurts the people closest to him much like his parents did. He remains bitter and sad and petty and self important . . . but he IS better than his folks. He’s like his late mom . . . only for him the grand gesture really does come.
But as Bojack says
“The grand gesture isn’t enough. You have to be consistent. You have to be dependably good. You can’t just screw everything up and then take a boat out on the ocean to save your best friend or solve a mystery and fly to Cansas. You need to do it everyday, which is so . . . hard.”
The truth is, all of these characters, even Bojack, have the potential to be better as long as they deconstruct their worldview shaped by watching television. They have to rid themselves of the illusion. The illusion that there’s some great happy ending that’s going to make all the pain worth it. The only ending in life . . . is death. Until then, there’s always more show. Time’s arrow neither stands still nor reverses; it always marches forward. There will be days these characters make mistakes and days they do great things . . how much they do of either is up to them. Sometimes they’ll do things that they will never get closure for . . things that can’t be forgiven . . . but that doesn’t ruin their capacity to do right the next day. Bojack’s right . . .it IS hard to do better every single day. But as the jogger near Bojack’s house says “It gets easier”.
And my essay concludes . . . .riiiiiiight after this anecdote.
I think what makes Bojack Horseman so special is that it holds up a mirror to how a screen infested world has permanently warped our sense of self worth and our understanding of how life really works. In a way, we’re all “sitcom characters” roaming around real life. We think of ourselves as the main characters of our stories, that there’s some sort of satisfying conclusion waiting for us. That we can win whoever we want back with a grand gesture and that we never have to evolve, we just have to be “good enough” . . .and that’s all . . SO wrong. That mentality makes us toxic. It makes us self important and hypocritical and petty, while also leaving us empty. It makes us incomplete. We all have to learn that there’s no ending until we die, that we have to do good every day . . . and that we aren’t the main character. Everyone is important. Maybe we’ve been watching too many sitcoms and have had these fallacies drilled into our heads . . . and maybe Bojack Horseman is like a rehab for those bad tendencies. As Princess Carolyn points out in the finale of Season 4
“I got into this business because I love stories. They comfort us. They inspire us. They create a context for how we view the world. But also you have to be careful because if you spend a lot of time with stories you start to believe that life is just . . . stories. And it’s not. Life is life . . . and . . .that’s so sad, because . . .there’s so little time and . . . what are we doing with it?”
#bojack season 5#bojackthoughts#bojack spoilers#bojack horseman#netflix#netflix original#animation#television
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Retreats for Grief and Loss
No one can really prepare you for the intense emotional tsunami that comes with the loss of a loved one. Sure, we learn how to adapt to assorted other losses and disappointments that come our way in life, but loss due to death is in a league of its own. This is the one area that you may need some extra support, such as is found at specialized retreats for grief and loss. These retreats are designed solely for the purpose of guiding broken hearts back to wholeness, offering solace as well as introducing purposeful actions that can help someone manage the fallout of loss.
The truth is, losing a loved one is excruciatingly painful. It sears deep into your heart and soul, reminding you at quite unpredictable moments that you have lost someone dear. No matter how kind and compassionate your friends and family members are, or how many self-help books about managing grief you might be handed, obtaining some special attention and support during this difficult chapter is warranted.
The Possible Consequences of Unaddressed Grief
Allowing unprocessed grief to fester can lead to unexpected complications. At times, the emotional pain becomes so hard to manage that it is not uncommon to lean on alcohol or sedatives to help ease the pain. Over time, as tolerance to the substance increases, consumption levels increase right along with tolerance. Not only could this lead to weight gain, sleep disruption, and enhanced symptoms of depression, but the reliance on a substance to self-medicate the pain away can evolve into a secondary dependency issue that will only compound the suffering.
There are other unexpected consequences of getting stuck in the grief. Workplace-related issues could begin to crop up. These might include diminished performance on the job, or interpersonal problems with coworkers who struggle to understand the effects of the grief in the workplace. Relationships with significant others may suffer as well, as they grapple with the mood swings and feel they must walk on eggshells in your presence.
While there is a natural timeline for grieving that is unique to each person’s personal experience—whether there was trauma involved in the loss, the significance of the person to the bereaved, or a diagnosis of clinical depression—at some point getting additional psychological support may be appropriate.
What Are Retreats for Grief and Loss? Retreats for grief and loss come in a variety of formats. There are short-term or long-term retreat programs that vary in intensity and approach. Some of the retreats are located in stunning geographical locations that can help soothe the soul and spirit, such as a ranch in a mountain setting or bungalows on the beach. Some retreats may be set in a hotel or conference center, with a workshop style format that lasts two or three days. Some grief programs are included as part of a residential mental health program.
At retreats for grief and loss the focus is squarely on providing a safe, supportive, compassionate space for healing and grief recovery. The programs vary in scope, but share a common mission of facilitating emotional healing within a peaceful non-judgmental space. Through the use of traditional methods, such as psychotherapy and group therapy, as well as holistic and experiential activities, the retreat offers a condensed therapeutic experience.
What Can I Expect at Retreats for Grief and Loss? Grief and loss retreats define their programs in many different ways. Some retreats will focus on mindfulness, yoga, and massage therapy to augment group work or individual therapy sessions. Some retreats will be activity oriented, with horseback riding, river rafting, hiking, or cycling that is compliments the therapy. Some retreats feature guest speakers and then break into small groups for intensive discussions. The list is endless.
Because the focus of these grief retreat and loss-focused retreats is to provide a transformational experience, the activities will often include both traditional and innovative techniques to accomplish this goal. For example, a conventional therapy such as cognitive behavioral therapy might be augmented by art projects, drama therapy, writing assignments, and journaling.
Generally, grief and loss retreats will have a staff-to-participant ratio that allows for very individualized attention. Participants are usually free to adjust their level of engagement according to what they feel up to managing, as grief work can be strenuous, especially in the early phase of grief. Fellowship among participants offers a sense of peer support that can allow for open sharing of experiences and emotions, and providing each other support.
Activities That Help in Processing Grief Healing after experiencing a loss is a very individual experience that no one should attempt to shape or dictate. Therapists will provide the tools, inspiration, and circumstances that can allow for the processing of grief and loss, and the participant can pick and choose which to utilize for their own particular needs. As no two people experience loss the same way, each participant may respond differently to a given activity.
Retreats that focus on healing from grief and loss often have a milieu of activities available, such as:
Yoga classes. These may come in many different forms, including hatha, Kundalini, Ashtanga, and hot yoga. Integrative breathwork. Learning to use the breathing process to release stress, sorrow, anger, and fear is a powerful tool that can be incorporated into meditation, mindfulness, and yoga. Tai chi. A Chinese martial arts featuring fluid, relaxed movement that integrates control, breathwork, and mindfulness that relates to the forces of yin and yang. Art, music, drama therapy. Using the arts as a means of expressing emotions can compliment the traditional psychotherapy. Mending a broken heart takes time, but when you feel stuck in the grief and find this causing impairment in functioning consider a retreat designed to assist with the grieving process.
Mental Health Hope Online Resource for Retreats for Grief and Loss Mental Health Hope is an online provider of help and guidance for individuals enduring a difficult mental health event, such as grief and loss. Our compassionate mental health specialists will provide a free, confidential telephone assessment, information pertaining to the specific mental health issue, and mental health retreat options. If you are struggling with the aftermath of losing a significant person in your life, reach out to our team at Mental Health Hope today at (877) 967-9274.
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