#i cannot sleep at another persons house and stay sane the rest of the night

[maeo-png]

me omw to never sleep over at another persons house ever again

[softomi]

happier

lyric prompt: then only for a minute, I want to change my mind, cause this just don’t feel right to me. 

song: Happier (Stripped) by Marshmello and Bastille 

pairings: oikawa x reader, osamu x reader

general taglist: @graykageyama

special mentions: @peachysatoru

Thank you for calling Engineering The Mind, please listen to the following options and select the option that applies to you. press one if you are inquiring our Love services, press two if you are inquiring our Mental Health services, press three if you are inquiring our Synaptic Pruning services, please stay on the line for a representative to assist you.

You’ve pressed three, please stay on the line and one of our representatives will be with you shortly.

“Good morning and thank you for choosing our Synaptic Pruning service, could I get your name and date of birth?”

“Actually, I have a question?”

“Yes?”

“If I wanted to erase someone from my memory, am I able to do that?”

“Yes! As long as there is consent from both parties.”

“But can I do it myself?”

“Unfortunately, the procedure requires both parties to consent and participate, the new law states it is considered illegal to synaptically prune another person from your memory without the other party’s consent.”

“Is there a way I can notify the person without personally contacting them?”

“Of course, as long as you know their name, date of birth, and social, then we can reach out to the other party to inform them that you have started the forms for a synaptic pruning procedure and they will have 30 days from the day of their notification to begin their forms.”

“What happens if they reject?”

“If the other party rejects, then unfortunately we cannot move forward with the procedure.”

“Okay. I’d like to start a form and have them be notified.”

“Perfect, let me just quickly get the information of the other party. What is their relationship to you?”

“Ex-husband.”

“Name of the other party?”

“Oikawa Tooru.”

His luggage drags against the airport’s floor, the sunglasses on his face protects against the amount of camera flashes. Oikawa waves to the cameras, waving to fans, momentarily stopping to take in the bustling Japan airport. Home felt so distant for him.

“Is it true you’re here for a procedure?” A reporter is walking alongside him.

Oikawa merely smiles, “No. I’m just here on vacation, I missed Japan so much, the last time I was here I wasn’t able to do many of the things I wanted to. I’d appreciate it if I am treated as any other citizen.”

“There’s rumors that you’re in Japan to possibly be scouted for one of the Japanese teams, care to explain?”

Oikawa stops, staring directly at the camera, “Like I said, I’m here on vacation and on my own dime. I’m here to attend a wedding of a very close friend and have no plans on looking into other teams, but I can assure you, I plan on playing for the Argentinian team for as long as I can.”

“Do you think your previous injury will affect your current position on the Argentinian national team?”

Another reporter manages to squeeze in, “It’s been almost a year since your injury, are you considering retiring your number if your injury doesn’t improve?”

Oikawa laughs. The television screen cuts off. He’s been in Japan for almost a week now, at least that’s all you know of since he had texted you once he had arrived. From what you can gather through social media, he wasn’t in town. He was frolicking through his childhood neighborhood, meeting friends and family who haven’t seen him since the Olympics.

It’s early morning in your home, the sheets hug you with warmth, you’ve been awake for some time and if you were honest, you didn’t think you slept at all. Ever since he’s stepped foot back into the country, you haven’t been able to sleep properly.

The head on your chest stirs and the male’s breathing falls steady back into slumber. His body is entangled with yours, body weight practically all on top of you, and his breathing brings a sense of dread in you for a moment. It feels similar to him.

You lift your arms, holding out your hands in front of you to gaze at the small diamond. It’s tucked between your pinkie and middle finger, it’s bright and beautiful just like he was promising your future with him would be.

He, your current lover; the man you absolutely loved and adored. The man who spent the last five years keeping you sane.

“Osamu.” Your fingers tugged his hair lightly, “It’s time to wake up.”

“Five more minutes.” He tightens his grip around your waist, “I just want five more minutes with you.”

Your finger drags along his spine, “You say that every morning.” You slap your palm on his back and he groans, “You have to open the restaurant soon.”

He hums, eyes blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness. It’s too early in the morning, “You’re going in for a check up today?”

Your fingers that play with his hair stops, “Yes.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

It was your decision, something Osamu had reminded you a hundred times. The decision to try and erase someone from your memory; he always found it to be a hard pill to swallow. But it was something you thought about a million times, it kept you awake at night, and even when you called a few weeks ago to start the process, it felt surreal.

Osamu lifts himself, leaning on his forearm to peer down at you, his beautiful bride to be, “I can still close the shop and come with you.”

He was an absolute sweetheart, “I told you I’ll be fine. And you can’t close the restaurant every time I go to the hospital?”

He brings his lips to meet yours, “Is that a challenge?”

You laugh against his kiss, “Go get ready or else.”

“Or else what?” He straddles your legs, pressing kisses on your neck to your chest. His fingers ride up his shirt you’ve declared yours, pressing his lips along your abdomen, “Good morning.”

“Call me if anything happens.” Osamu presses a chaste kiss to your lips at the doorway, “I like you.”

Your lips are in a grin, “and I like you too.”

The door shuts behind him and you’re left alone with your thoughts. If you were correct, you’d be seeing him again. Oikawa should be meeting you at the hospital. You’ve texted him a reminder. It’s marked as read; he doesn’t bother to respond.

The sound of a buzzer makes you jump, it draws you to the look at the video cam that views the front gates. You’re grinning thinking Osamu has forgotten something, but the smile gets wiped off when it’s him. Oikawa Tooru is standing at the gates of your home.

“What are you doing here?” You speak into the microphone.

Oikawa seems to have discovered the camera, “Can’t visit anymore? I thought we could catch up.”

What reason would there be to catch up? If everything goes smoothly, you’ll be without a thought of him in the next few days. You’re reluctant to let him in, you want to tell him to go away, but you’d have to meet him later any way. The gates buzz open and Oikawa enters the front yard of the home.

It’s exactly the same to him, after all, this was his and your home first. The Oikawa residence. He bought the house without your knowledge, saved up as much of his paychecks could get him.

“May I come in?” Oikawa smiles upon seeing you.

You’re holding the front door, still small as ever, like you were guarding the home with your life, “Yes.” Your voice is tiny, giving him room to enter the house.

Oikawa takes in the smell of the place, still the same, still has your scent and he concludes you’re probably still lighting the same scented candles he liked. He wonders if he should be flattered by the information.

“Do you want something to drink?” You inquire, pulling out a mug to pour yourself water and another mug for whatever Oikawa wanted, “Peach tea?”

It was his favorite; you can remember it as clear as day. He’d drink it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He said it paired nicely with the milk bread and he called it sweet; just like you. You shake the memory as you pour the hot water.

There was nothing but awkwardness between the both of you. You’ve distracted yourself with your morning routine and Oikawa silently sits. If he’s going to fantasize for a second, he’s pretending you’re still his wife. Shamelessly daydreaming like you were his.

“We have to be at the hospital by noon.” You say without looking at him, your head dipping back as you slip the pills into your mouth.

“Sounds good to me.” Oikawa taps his fingers against the dining table.

It brings back memories of dinner with you, on days when he would be able to find a week off practice to see you. You’d eat with him until two in the morning, trying to squeeze in as much time with him as possible before he hopped on a plane back to Argentina, and he would pretend as if he didn’t hear you crying while washing the dishes.

“So how have you been?” Oikawa asks innocently.

You drink the rest of your water, a simple nod of your head, “Fine.” Your gaze falls briefly on his knee, “And you?”

Oikawa instinctively puts a hand over his knee as if that could hide the ache, “Fine too.”

Yet Oikawa and you know, everything was far from fine. It was the same way towards the end of the marriage, communication was blurred, there was too many missed connections, and the only news you’d get of Oikawa was from the sports channels.

“Do you still work at the public library?”

You tilt your head at him, “You mean the university library? When I was doing work study?”

“Oh.” Oikawa rubs the back of his neck, “Guess you’re not”. He’s trying to think why it feels so hard to talk to you again, “How are your parents?”

You freeze and he realizes his mistake. He remembers the arguments, the sadness of the conversations, the way your parents loathed him for proposing so early. Oikawa married you fresh out of high school, he promised you happiness and yet towards the end of the marriage, he shattered your heart.

“They’re great!” You smile, “They really love my fiancé.”

You were purposely trying to hurt him.

“What’s he like?” Oikawa was curious or was he jealous?

“What do you want Tooru?” Your voice is sharp as you set down your mug, “Why are you here?” You know him too well, he doesn’t do things just because; he always has a motive, “Are you here to try and stop me? I want to move on.”

“Then why can’t you do it yourself? Why do you feel like you need to erase me?” Oikawa, he was sad. He had never felt more crushed than when he had received the phone call; you were requesting to remove him from your mind and he’d only accepted to see you again. He wanted you to look him in the face, feel the hurt that he had, “Did you not think of my feelings?”

“No, you didn’t think of mine when you naturalized as an Argentinian citizen.”

It was always the same argument, Oikawa stares at you, it wasn’t that different from years ago. When he blinks, he’s transported to seven years ago. Your eyes red as you looked at him, the fighting was reaching two hours and the bags in Oikawa’s hands signals he’d be leaving for another few month. But this day was different, the fight was wearing you down, especially when you read news of Oikawa becoming a naturalized citizen. Oikawa blinks and he’s back to the sun lit room.

“This isn’t how you move on from a relationship?” Oikawa says, “It takes time.” Time was seven years, since the divorce seven years of broken hearts have passed. Oikawa knows deep down that you still loved him and he knows in his heart that he wants to ask you to run away with him, “You know that this is wrong.”

“But it’s my choice.”

Oikawa’s eyes begin to water, “And you’re making me choose too?” Tears fall from his cheek, “It’s your choice but you’re forcing me to choose also.” His chest becomes heavy, “Please don’t do this.” He openly sobbing in front of you, “I don’t want to stop.” His wail makes your heart clench, “I don’t want to forget what it was like to love you.”

“Tooru.”

“I don’t care.” Oikawa blubbers, “I’m not going to do it.” A pit grows in your stomach, “All I ever did was love you.”

Your eyes glossy, it was like you were going back to the worst nights of your life, “You stopped caring about me.”

“No, I didn’t!” Oikawa stands, “I never stopped. I was doing everything for you!” He was a tearful mess in front of you, “You left me! You abandoned me!”

“You can’t say that when you were halfway across the world!”

“For you!” Oikawa screams, “If you had waited one more year, I could have brought you over.”

You wipe the tears from your face, a sigh on your lips, “Why didn’t you just ask me to go with you in the first place?”

It was always the question that nipped at you. When he was confronted with the opportunity of staying in Japan or joining an Argentinian team, he never hesitated and you waited for him to ask you to go with him; but he left you behind with the house, sending money every two weeks like you were an afterthought.

“It was complicated.” Oikawa’s eyes soften, “I just, I didn’t want you to leave behind your life here. Your friends, your family. You would have had to quit school to come with me, to a place where you didn’t know the language or the place, and with me practicing, you would have no one.”

You shake your head, “No. You were worried about yourself. You made the decision to leave me behind without a second thought because you wanted to focus on volleyball and where has that gotten you; injured.”

Maybe that was why you wanted so badly to erase him from your memories, you still clung to the thoughts of him. Still stayed updated on his life, still worried about his health, still wondering on the what ifs with him. What if you had just left with him? What if you hadn’t gotten married to him? What if you weren’t so hopelessly still in love with him?

“Just let me be happy.” You whisper, “Just let me forget I was ever in love with you.”

The ride to the hospital ached. The cab silent and melancholy. It was only a consultation and yet it already felt like the end of everything. The waiting area didn’t make it any better, the air was thick with tension from other couples. Oikawa’s status had the two of you placed priority and it didn’t take long for a doctor to come into the room.

“I would like to inform you that we use the term ‘erasing memory’ loosely. Our procedure merely detaches you from the other party. You’ll still have the memories, but you won’t feel anything, and you won’t remember them as much as you might today.” The doctor hands you and Oikawa separate forms, “If you both sign the consent forms, we can schedule the procedure as soon as possible.”

The pen in Oikawa’s hands hover over the signature line, he can hear you scribbling against the paper and his heart is shattering. Sloppily, he signs his name on the line.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask.” You look at the doctor, “Is the procedure safe for pregnant women?”

Oikawa’s world crumbles.

“The procedure is set for tomorrow morning.” The receptionist is talking.

You smile, “Perfect, thank you.”

She prints out two different instructions for you and Oikawa to prepare for the procedure. You overlook the instructions, no longer sparing a glance to Oikawa as you walk away.

“Hey.” The voice makes your head snap up. Your fiancé walking towards you.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

Osamu presses a kiss to your temple, “I came to pick you up.” He looks over your shoulder, spotting the man he knows too well from various photos, “Hi.” He reaches out to Oikawa, “I’m Miya Osamu.”

Oikawa grips Osamu’s hand, “ Oikawa Tooru. It’s nice to meet you.” Oikawa says bitterly.

Osamu’s hand rests on your hip, in a matter of seconds, he’s leading you away and Oikawa is left to stand all alone.

The night is restless. It’s instructed that you and Oikawa get a good night’s rest, but who can rest soundly the night before a procedure. You sitt on the edge of your bed, your fiancé sleeping soundly, and you stare at the moon. You play with the ring on your finger and a tear lands on the back of your hand. You suck in a heavy breath, trying to quell the sound of sobs.

Oikawa sits knees to his chest on the couch of Iwaizumi’s who was gracious enough to let him stay at his place. The moon is bright, and it shines a spotlight on Oikawa. His eyes are tired, but he stares at the screen of his cell phone, finger swiping continuously through the photo album. Your smiles reflect in his eyes and even when Iwaizumi snags the cell phone from him; Oikawa looks up at him bawling.

Six in the morning, you’re sitting on a hospital bed, Oikawa laid next to you. The silence is deafening.  

“I hope you know.” Oikawa whispers, “I’m very happy for you.”

You look at him, taking in what might be the last time you feel love for him, “I love you.”

Oikawa smiles, “No you don’t,” He’s tricking himself, believing that you loathed him, that this was the better option for you, “but I love you too.”

They say, the longer the relationship, the longer the procedure takes. Similarly, the more you loved, the harder it was to subdue the memories. It required patients to stay awake, to go through every little detail, to talk about everything from the beginning to the end.

Your fingers were initially interlocked with his, something to help the anxiousness, or was it to cling to him for a moment.

“I met you when you came to cheer on the volleyball team in high school.” Oikawa stares at the white ceiling, he hears the machinery, the typing of a computer, “You looked so pretty.” The memory becomes hazy.

“He kissed me on the school’s rooftop.” Your lips curved in a smile, “He kept asking me if it was alright.” Your smile slowly falls to a thin line, “I suddenly can’t remember what I said back.”

“It took me a week to find the perfect ring.”

You laugh, “You got impatient, proposed with a paper ring on the school’s rooftop after we snuck into the school after dark.”

It feels empty, your heart feels a weight lifted. Your fingers slowly let go of Oikawa’s. He begins to weep.

“Why are you crying?” You ask.

He sniffles, “Was that the last time you felt happy with me?”

“No.” Your voice soft, “I was always happy when you came home.” There’s another weight off your heart, “You always came in running, always excited to see me. Sometimes, when the front door opens, I think it’s going to be you.” You’re hit with relief.

Four weeks pass in a blur. You honestly don’t remember much of the week after the procedure, but you stare at your loving fiancé. A hearty giggle on your lips as you move to straddle him on the bed. Your palms are squishing his cheeks and Osamu is chuckling. His hand resting on your small baby bump.

“We’re getting married!” You’re kissing him, excitedly jumping on him as though you weren’t knocking the wind out of him.

“Alright.” Osamu sits up, lips stealing your breath away, “by the end of the day, you’ll be Mrs. Miya.”

You laugh into the kiss, “I can’t wait.”

The wedding venue is bustling, everyone is itching to take a picture with the bride and groom. You’re grinning widely at the way Osamu bickers with his brother, the photographer taking photos despite the twins poking at each other.

“May we take a picture with the bride?”

Your smile grows; four men dressed in their best suits approach, “Is this a high school reunion?”

One man lingers briefly behind, your husband presses a hand to the small of your back before leaving. Oikawa takes over the place of your spouse.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Oikawa tilts his head with a beam.

You roll your eyes, “At my own wedding.”

His voice falls to a whisper, “Are you happy?”

Your eyes stare in the direction of your husband and you nod, “Yes.” When you look at Oikawa, there’s a small tug in your heart, it’s tiny enough that it disappears within moments, “Thank you.” 

[nerdyfangirl67]

My Angel - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader

Warnings: Erik insecurities, dark thoughts and feelings

Word count: 2090

A/N: Hey y’all. I am trying to finish up the next chapter and am not sure if I am going to expand it or not. If I’m lucky, and y’all are too, then I will have the next chapter, whether it is the last one or not, out by Friday. Thanks for reading and requests are always open!

----Chapter 2----

You spent every day tirelessly working in the opera house, scrubbing floors, dusting fixtures, and hand washing delicate costumes.

You spend every evening in the tunnels, relaxing to the wondrous music your angel composes. You had noticed a change in his music, one that you rather enjoyed. No longer was his music dark and full of melancholy, but it had become bright and inspiring and full of hope. You were unaware of what brought about this change, but it warmed you nonetheless. You finally felt as though your angel was no longer in constant darkness and pain.

As the music got more hopeful, you started staying longer and longer in the tunnels. Many a night you spent wrapped in your warmest winter cloak, the music of your angel lulling you into soft and dreamless sleep. You had even written a few more letters for your angel, proclaiming your deepening feelings for the phantom figure.

My angel,

The nights I have spent here in this balcony, listening to the music you create, has been some of the best of my life. I cannot imagine a future without you in it. You have brought a certain light into my life that I had not known I had been missing.

It’s like you hold the missing piece of my heart, the piece that reveals who I truly am and whenever I am near you, I feel whole. I feel that I am the truest, most honest version of myself when I am around you. It’s as if your music is a reflection of my soul, entwined forever with yours. Forever and always

This was the only letter you had managed to keep track of because for some reason you always manage to misplace them. Regardless, you continued to write them, each one revealing more of your feelings than the last.

-PHANTOM-

The letters always seemed to appear as if by magic. After he had found the first one, he had been quite sure it was all in his imagination, because who with a sane mind would have such deep feelings for him. He was after all a true monster with a rock cold heart, a man who was obsessed with the idea of a soprano of his own, a ghost who would not even look at his own reflection in the mirror.

Yet, the letters kept coming, all appearing in random places. He had found one wedged underneath the edge of his organ and another stuck to the damp shore of the underground river in his cavern. There had even been one precariously hanging near the flame of a candle by his bed. A few he had found had been ruined to the point that they were unsalvageable. Finding those letters had hurt. Everything in him had ached to read the words that those letters had contained. He felt connected to the writer of these letters, even though he didn’t know her. Every letter, every word melted his long dead heart just a little bit more, making him feel more human for the first time in years.

His warming feelings translated over into his music. New melodies swirled around in his head, completely obliterating the dark motifs that had dominated much, if not all, of his musical compositions. His music since reading those letters had taken on an almost giocoso tone, something he had never thought would happen in his music.

Now, he spent the time he was not composing, which oddly had become more frequent as of late, looking for this mysterious admirer. He still did not know where this celestial being was hiding or even when she was listening, but the mere thought that she was listening made each moment at the organ that much more intriguing.

The time he spent in the shadows became less about watching those running his opera house, and more about observing those in the Opera Populaire in hopes of finding his admirer. Everything inside him, that was not committed to music, was devoted to finding his angel. Even just knowing her from her letters had made him protective of her. He knew when he met her, he would feel connected to her in a way he never had with anyone else.

Although his life felt brighter for the first time in what seemed like forever, the wicked gloom of doubt and self-hatred still overtook his thoughts. Time and time again, the words of those letters would enter his thoughts and he would be ridden with a sick twisted feeling of uncertainty and suspicion.

An all consuming rage usually followed and was accompanied by the smashing of mirrors in disgust, the burning of half-finished compositions and even an explosive burst of funry in which he had run straight into the underground river to destroy his elaborate candelabras. He felt such intense anger with these thoughts because he could not fathom in these moments, why anyone would feel for him so intensely.

----

There had been a time before this, before the letters, when he had thought that maybe he was deserving of the love of a beautiful young woman. A woman who was his star pupil and lived to sing his music. A woman who lived for the opera as he did.

Yet he had been wrong then. Christine had been deeply in love with Raoul and finding out that she would do anything to live her life with him had crushed him. He had been devoted to her, to showing her what she meant to him.

He had not come out of the Christine - Raoul fiasco with just insecurities of the human nature. He had become a darker, colder version of himself with even the mere thought of either Christine or Raoul giving him an intense mix of burning hatred and rage and a crushing feeling of inadequacy. He also had developed a very deep lack of faith in the concept of love.

Her rejection was a large part of why he struggled to believe the words in the letters. He could hardly believe having the opportunity to fall in love with one woman of such beauty and grace but to become connected with another, who saw him for who he truly was, and have her love, well he found that nearly impossible.

Reading the letters also had him questioning if he was even good enough to have the love of such an understanding woman. Although he had yet to meet his admirer, he felt that he would never be good enough for anyone to love him.

----

He spent many a night on the organ, practicing and perfecting the compositions that he created. This was one of those nights, but it felt different somehow. There was a charge in the air, crawling over his skin and pricking his nerves. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, sending his heart into overdrive and causing him to play with an intense frenzy. Music he had never played before, music he had not even written, was flying from his fingertips. Sweat was dripping down his brow, causing his face under his mask to itch. He rips it off, irritated by the distraction, and continues to play with fever.

— YOUR POV —

The music he played that night was phenomenal. The emotions raging through the phrases and dynamic changes had your heart pounding. You could barely breathe as the music tapered off into a gentle melody that you were straining to hear. Only a moment later, he was back to rapidly pounding on the keys, causing your heart to jump into your throat.

That night you listen to him play for hours, never feeling the slightest bit tired and when he finally stops, you stand, your body moving without you telling it to. You are moving towards the cavern, or where you believe the cavern to be, as you have never actually been in it. It is as if a string is tied tightly around your heart and pulling you directly towards your angel, you other half, and the only person you had ever felt so strongly connected to.

Even though you have no idea where you are going, you are in the cavern only a few short moments later. You slowly make your way towards your angel, who is currently sitting at the organ and furiously writing.

This was it. For the first time in a very long time, it felt as though you were home. The sound of a pen scribbling on parchment felt normal. The coolness of the air in the cavern felt natural. The musk of damp earth and burning wax felt homey. Never had you felt so comfortable and at home in a place you had just entered. But, walking into this place felt like coming home after being away for days, months, years. If this was the last place you ever came to in your life, you would be complete. You quickly come to the conclusion that the person who was in this place with you was what really made it home. You felt as though your heart was beating in time with his, even though you could not hear it, pulling your soul even closer to his.

You allow yourself one breath to steel your nerves before you clear your throat and call, “My angel of music.”

The man whirls around, clutching a desperate hand to one side of his face. Peeking through his fingers are glimpses of angry red, scarred flesh. You watch as he swiftly picks up his mask and pulls it tight against his face.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” His voice floats over you like thick, smooth velvet, causing you to let out a deep sigh of appreciation.

After an awkward moment of silence, you realize that the man is waiting for your response. “You are my angel. Your music dominates my mind and has since the day I arrived here. You are the one my soul is connected to and I wish to spend every day I have left in your presence.” Your heart is thudding against your chest as you wait for a response.

He searches your face, his eyes locking with yours for several beats. He takes a tentative step towards you, his hand hovering nervously near your face, as if he is unsure whether he should touch you or not.

You take a small step closer to him, gently grabbing his gloved hand and pulling it in towards your chest, resting it against your racing heart.

“You wrote the letters.” It is not a question, but rather an observation. You slowly nod your head, afraid of what he would say next.

He does not speak for a long while, simply watching you instead. When he does speak, he pulls his hand away from you. Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to tamp down the anxiety that is starting to consume you. “You wrote that you feel I am a part of you. Why? You do not know who I am.” His voice is deep, darkness lingering behind his words and his eyes flash.

Everything inside you wants to cringe away from him in fear, but you know that is what he is expecting you to do. Instead, you straighten up, your eyes locked on his as you respond.

“I wrote that because your music is thrumming through my veins and has become a part of me.” You pause for a moment, steeling your confidence before continuing. “It is more than your music. I feel connected with you. What you feel, I feel. Your soul is entwined with mine.” As you finish, you close the distance between the two of you. You slowly move to pick up one of his hands, placing it over your heart before taking the other and placing it over his own heart.

“Our hearts, they beat in unison.” You whisper as you study him.

“Mon cher, I feel it.” His voice is gentle as he hesitantly moves his hand from your heart to your cheek. “Tu es à moi, mon cher.” His switch to French has your heart growing in your chest.

“Play for me my angel.” You whisper, clasping his hand in yours as you move towards the organ.

“Mon cher, call me Erik. That is my real name and there is no one else I would rather have call me that, than you.” He whispers back, his breath tickling your ear as he lets you lead him to the organ.

[cupboardzllo]

being a babie with mazzello | hc

a/n : HIIII welcome back to my writing! I miss all of ya so much :-] the other day i was hit with this thought of just being ababie arpund joe so here's a hc about that. Also, i wanna thank y'all for sticking with me when i was unactive several days ago...it means a lot to me!

also, i'm Chloe! Figured i will reveal my name after a while. People call me coco or cookie sometimes, so...let's be friend, i guess?

anyway, enjoy this hc!! ♡

•••

so we all know about the virus, honestly i think i'm the latest person to write about this

but joe freaking mazzello 'course cannot stay sane that long without you, his 24/7 childhood best friend

so he asked you to move in with him when the whole quarantine thingy started

"Come on!!! You will have the world-famous, fanfastic dino-shaped pancakes by Chef La Mazzello every morning, (Y/N)."

that was his effort to persuade you

of course you said yes

"Fine, but it's only because of the pancakes."

no (Y/N) we ALL know it's because you're head over heels for him!!!

moving-in day

it's not the first time you've stayed at his house

but you were pretty nervous with the idea of living with him, everyday, him seeing you without any makeup, or anything

ESPECIALLY your habits of cleaning products...you tend to use baby shampoo and soaps

when you put your johnson baby wash in his bathroom, Joe frowned

"Whose baby is staying here?."

you stuttered, "uhh...it's weird, but, it's mine...dONT LAUGH OKAY JOE-"

too late

joe's dying on the floor

(((((bathroom floor))))

"(Y/N) yOU'RE AN ADULT."

you tickled him as an escape of your embarassment, feeling shy

"OKAY STOP STOP I'M SORRY!," he laughed

then ruffled your hair

"Even if you use dog shampoo, i'd still.."

you freezed

what's he going to say?!

joe took a moment before finishing his sentence

"....m-make yOU DINO-SHAPED PANCAKES! come on, (Y/L/N)! let's unpack your clothes after this."

then he went out of the bathroom

leaving you

red

and possibly close to having a sheer heart attack

grocery shopping with joe

on some days, joe (and you) is waAY to lazy to make efforts to eat

but at the same time you guys are hella hungry

so you guys order the classic chinese take-outs, or pizza maybe

but also in some days, you will go out grocery shopping with him and buy ingredients for dinner (with masks of course, wear your masks everyone!!!)

joe will grab cooking ingredients and other products

like milk

dairy-free milk because we all don't want joe screaming

anyways

Joe also grabs some chips

and snacks

then there's you grabbing baby snacks

gerber

happy baby

teethers cookies

all the good stuff

"Why..are you???????"

"Stop shaming my snacking behaviour!!! It's good okay,,," you said then running into another aisle

leaving mazzello

grinning

like that joe smile we all love

"Gosh, such a cutie..." he mumbled, then pushing the cart, following you

also he paid for the groceries even though you insisted to pay

ugh i love him

dinner time with joe

joe's not actually the worst italian chef

but he does need constant guiding and sometimes can be sloppy

you guys were cooking baked spaghetti that night, and thankfully it went okay

joe almost spilled the whole sauce from the pan but luckily you were there to stop him

so while waiting for the food to cook

joe decided to play some music off of his phone

and guess what he played

nope

not queen songs

BABY SHARK

the first verse came and you were laughing out loud

"Joe what the fuck???? What is thiiiis?."

joe is already bopping his head and throwing some dance moves

drop it like it's hoooooot-

"Aw come on baby (Y/L/N), bABY SHARK DOO DOO DO DO-"

so you joined him

AND YOU KNOW THE DANCE MOVES

yeah the clapping hands thingy

you guys were dancing so hard you both were sweating

Joe picked you up with his arms

you were a laughing mess and tried to get out of his grip when you both fell into his couch

you on top of him

and him under you

"....joe?"

for a moment you thought joe is going to kiss you

and he reached you cheek

DING!

the oven dings

joe shuffled and you quickly stood up

"I'll check it!," you said while running to the kitchen

SIS your heart was POUNDING because was he going to kiss you????

joe was also a blushing mess

"mazzello you dumb...," he whispered while rubbing his face

then chased you into the kitchen

dinner went a bit awkward

because you both are dumb dorks

but it went over and you guys washes dishes together then got ready for bed

bedtime!!!!

Joe does have a guest room in his house

but he said that the room is currently unavailable

under the following reasons of

"it's messy," and "it has a lot of stuff in it!." "my room's more spacious."

he really just want to have you with him in his bed (Y/N) come on!!!!

so you agreed to sleep with him

because of course you also can't wait to cuddle with him

ehm okay moving on so

you changed into your pajama

and it has gudetama patterns

joe chuckled when he saw you after changing your clothes

"I swear (Y/N), you're a baby trapped in an adult's body."

you pull out your tongue playfully then joined him

joe was scrolling his instagram, and you were checking out your emails

joe then pulled you closer to him

"You're cold, you need more warmth from me," he said, as an excuse

you smiled and rested your head on his shoulder

you did not realize it, but you were feeling sleepy and slowly you lulled off on his chest

joe waS SO hAPPY AND IS A BLUSHING MESS I TELL YOU

because this is exactly the thing he loved the most about you

the domestic side of you, your bare face and your sleepy figure

he turned off the lights as careful as possible

he don't want his baby to wake up

he cuddled you closer and realized

this is what he wanted to see before he's off to the clouds

so let's all hope the man will gain the courage to ask you out

because he can't wait to give you

his baby

more warmth every night :-)

[ma-gic-gay]

A few hours, two kisses, and one nap later, he begins plotting his escape. It mainly consists of signing a discharge form and then hunting down Cyrus. Then, he'll kill him. Fairly simple, and does provide a good distraction from the chaos his personal life has become. His business/mob life has been fairly normal, no new competitors yet.

"What are you planning?" Carly asks, looking up from the iPad she's probably planning Morgan's return from the dead party on.

"How long until I can get out of here?" Hospital rooms inspire him to run very far away from them. They keep him cooped up, they're boring as all hell, and there's really no choice as to who can walk in at any given time.

"Probably tomorrow," she answers and he groans. "It's not the end of the world, Jason. It's one more night in a hospital bed." Debatable. It's a whole twelve hours, minimum.

"Or I could just sign my discharge form now and break out of here."

"No, you need to stay at least for tonight. Break out tomorrow."

"I don't want to."

"Just let them monitor you. Sleep. You won't be able to do much out there anyways. I'm pretty sure the doctors are going to tell you to relax and take it easy, which means taking a short leave of absence. Brando can handle it for a few more days."

"There could be a takeover-"

"Not without any talk. Come on, if I thought there was any threat, I'd be breaking you out of here myself," she reminds him. "Take a nap."

"I'm not sure that's the best decision." Actually, it's more time that he'd be a suspect in Cyrus's murder (that, rest assured, he will commit) and more time Cyrus gets to breathe the same air as him. "Stop the thoughts about it being unsafe because you're not going to be able to do anything. You're recovering from surgeries and a gunshot wound."

"I'm perfectly capable of doing everything," he responds, fidgeting again with the stupid IV. He'll break that thing out of him if that's what it takes.

"I'm sure you are, but stop pouting. Sleep. Take a nap. Enjoy your break from reality for a day or two and just relax," Carly reasons. You know it's bad when Carly's being the reasonable one.

"This isn't pouting, it's captivity."

"No one's holding you captive."

"I'm being forced to be in a room against my will. This could be a hostage situation," he says dramatically.

"Well, as cute as your pouting is, you're spending the night. Take a nap. Enjoy it," she smiles. "Oh, and by the way, you're not killing Cyrus."

There's a lot to take in there but we'll start with the obvious: "I didn't even say I was planning on it."

She rolls her eyes, "You didn't have to, I can see the plan formulating in your mind. No murder. Cyrus will live for the rest of his miserable life in prison without you sending someone to rough him up or kill him."

Sometimes it's a shame how well she knows him. It genuinely sucks sometimes because she can read him like a book. No matter how successful he is at hiding everything from, well, pretty much everyone else, she just rolls her eyes and lets him know exactly what he's doing. Half the time, she knows before he does. The other half, she's informing him it's normal to express your emotions.

"I don't think he should even be able to walk around," he admits, struggling somewhat to voice the hatred he feels for the other mobster. "I've wanted to kill the guy for years, ever since I laid eyes on him. Going after you, kidnapping and raping you as some sort of sick revenge against me was the last straw."

"It was stupid to go after me and he'll pay. For the rest of his life, he'll be in prison. Solitary, you said. He can't run his business in solitary. Cyrus will never be able to hurt me or anyone else again," Carly says, grasping his hand and squeezing it. "He's a piece of shit. I look forward to the day he's in jail, serving his sentence. But it's probably going to be a few weeks."

"Which provides plenty of opportunity-"

"He lives. You're not going to jail because of him, Jason. Cyrus isn't worth it, alright? I don't care if he dies tomorrow. If you go to jail, I'll have to break you out of there myself and that probably won't go too well," she laughs at that. "So, save us all the paperwork and don't kill him. Besides, I confronted him."

She- confronted- "You did what? Carly, that is a man who could kill you and threatened to! He's very much capable of keeping that threat! Did you want to die?"

What inspired her to go confront her kidnapper/rapist? What made her think that was the sane thing to do while he was unconscious in a hospital bed?! She could've died and he can't have that happening because it'd be his fault. It's also such an ugly thought he can't stand to think of it. Carly cannot die.

"I brought guards, I threatened him, I yelled and screamed, I also cried for a while," she summarizes. "And to answer your question, I don't have a death wish. There's children I have to take care of and I'm not done complicating your life yet. I've got at least ten more years left in me."

"You confronted a man who could kill you."

"With guards, Jason."

"That doesn't make it okay! Carly, you can't act like there wasn't a good chance you could've died! You can't reason with people like Cyrus, you can't go in on your own."

"I. Brought. Guards."

"And they could've died too. He took out a whole group of them once, an entire warehouse of the Novak crew."

"You're acting like I didn't know what I was doing! I knew exactly what I was doing and it was either that or wonder if you'd live to tell me I'm being stupid again, Jason. Which choice would you have made?" Carly asks, tears building up in her eyes. No, he's mad, don't start crying. That'll make him sad. No crying, Carly, please don't. "I'm not so unknowledgeable when it comes to the business, you know."

"No, but you don't know how the business works. Things like that, impulsive things, they get people killed! They're the things that cause people to die and not the type you can come back from. You can't be doing things like that and pulling stunts like threatening Cyrus. He has nothing left to lose, which means he has everything to gain. If he can kill you, which is what he wants to do, that'll be a win for him and a final way to get back at me. That's what he wants and you're playing right into it." Jason exclaims. Emotional outbursts are rare for him, which probably made the point more clear. He hopes so. Losing her-

That's a thought almost too painful to bear thinking of.

"I was worried you would die! Jason, I couldn't spend another hour in this room or getting harassed by Sam. I needed to do something, make some statement," Carly argues and he shakes his head. Does she not get it? She could've died.

"And you couldn't go to work at the Metro Court? You had to go and confront a man who wants you dead almost as much as he wants me dead, Carly! It was stupid. You could've died."

"I was safe-"

"You don't get it! Doing that, no matter how many guards are there, isn't safe. I don't care if you had the place full with guards, he wants you six feet under and he wants me even further. What if he shot you? What if he hurt you? What if he killed you?" Emotions just seem to flow out of him like water does down a river at this point, anger and hurt and worry and sadness all combined into one.

"He didn't-"

"Not this time. Next time, he could. You could've gotten hurt or killed or shot at and I'm not going to be the reason for that."

"Well there won't be a next time."

"How can you be so sure about that, Carly? You don't control him. He's his own person; he does what he wants, exactly when he wants, exactly how he wants. And he could've hurt you."

"Every single time you agrees to one of those meetings with him or left to go, seemingly, anywhere, I thought the same thing. He's tried to get to you a million times. But you didn't die."

"I didn't die because I'm aware of the intricacies of the business! You're not and, as much as I'm grateful you're not, I can't have you running around picking fights with people who want you dead, who want me dead."

"Do you want a fake apology?" Carly snaps. "Do you want me to pretend like I didn't know that? I'm all too aware of the fact that everytime I leave the house, I could get shot at and die or that everytime I see you it might be the last time because of your line of work. I am intimately familiar with the anxieties of waiting in a hospital room to see if you're going to wake up or not from yet another injury. You're acting like it's my first day as someone who cares about people in your line of work and you're wrong. It's not. I knew damn well what I was doing and I know you would've done the same if they'd shot me."

Well. He didn't think of that. Anger sort of half drowns inside of him, flopping but still very much there at her beyond dumb move. "You're right. I would've killed him if he'd shot you or hurt you. But that doesn't make that you get to go out and pick fights with him because you're worried. It means you've got to be careful, stay in groups. It means-"

"Don't tell me what I should've done."

"What would you like me to do, congratulate you? Congratulations, Carly, you could've died! You could've died and if I woke up to that knowledge I don't know what I'd do."

"You'd keep surviving. Probably throw yourself into the business even more, to a point I don't think it'd be healthy." Carly shakily says, clearly having thought about it. "You'd tell Donna all about me when she started to forget I existed."

"You've thought of this?" Jason asks, incredulous. "You've thought about what I'd do if you died?"

"When we thought you were gone, I thought about what you would've done if roles were reversed."

There's a solid 20% chance she's pulling at his heartstrings right now to get sympathy and it's working. 100%. She could be completely playing him and he'd believe it at this point.

He hugs her as best as he can in the hospital bed. "I wasn't dead. You're not dead, thankfully. But you can't take risks with your life, not like that. Your kids need their mom. People need you. I'd miss you."

"How nice, I sobbed myself to sleep for weeks because you were gone and you'd miss me." Tugging at the heart, yet again.

"Oh come on, Carly. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah I do."

It's a strange bond they've got (and a strange life he's got), but at least they can count on one thing: their friendship. Hence why kissing and stuff can't mean anything or complicate things. They've been in each other's lives so long, if they dated or something and it went south, he doesn't know if they could bounce back. And that's a terrifying thought, that they could be,,, not friends.

To be continued after I change my tampon and sleep because I'm fucking tired :)

@ryleighjosephine

[for-your-therapeutic-smile]

They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear. 

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them. 

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks. 

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.  

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point. 

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it. 

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself. 

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

[jj-ktae]

Regret

Title : Regret Pairing : Taeyong x you Genre : Angst, Fluff Words : 3686 Summary : Taeyong regrets everything.

It’s insane. Well, no one is sane at five in the morning. Not when the sun is down and the sky is twinkling. There are so many stars, so beautiful in the middle of the fading shadows, mixing with shades of deep blue, pink, orange. It’s like a hidden painting. A piece of art above everyone, yet only a lucky number notices it.

He understands why you love looking up to the sky whenever you feel down. He is doing the same every time he can, because it reminds him of how dreamy you can be.

But Taeyong doesn’t do it out of pure will. He can’t sleep. No matter how much his body screams for rest, his brain keeps every cell alive, connecting with a sparkling pain and going all over his body, reaching his heart and clenching it, twisting his inside.

It’s still funny though, because he is the one responsible for that. He thought it would be better with time, he always got better with time. Like an endless practice, and practice makes perfect. So if he tried hard enough, he could forget about you.

If only he knew.

It’s been a year. A whole year of persuading himself that he could make it without you. He went on with his life, from early mornings to late nights. Every day is similar to the previous one. A succession of moments when he couldn’t do anything but think about you at totally random times.

It doesn’t annoy him. It’s pretty much even normal, considering the amount of love he still has for you. It has nothing to do with hard feelings, this breakup. It’s out of brain choices and not impulsions. It’s a well thought project, with valid arguments and meticulousness.

It was a perfect plan.

Until he found himself crying in the middle of the day because of a song that reminded him of you.

It started to get ridiculous when no matter the number of rebound girls, he would never forget the softness of your skin and the tenderness of your whispers against his neck on a rainy night. It started to be almost funny when he said your name in the middle of a heated love-making session with a model he wanted to take care of with all he had.

But he had nothing left. He had given everything to you and you didn’t give it back to him when you left. You took everything and left him with nothing but void.

It’s another early morning before schedules and rehearsals. It’s a perfect morning for black coffee in front of the window. It’s a great morning to be a melancholic guy with a lost expression and sad eyes.

He laughs to himself when Taeyong thinks about how much of a drama queen he became. It’s natural. He didn’t break up with you because he is heartless. It has nothing to do with a lack of love or him trying to hurt you.

Maybe he is to stereotypical, but he did it for you.

He can still hear the huge snort you gave him when he told you this. It’s true though. He defends himself daily, there was a valid reason.

It’s hard to like him. He has such a low self-esteem he cannot understand how someone can love him like you did. You would wait for hours at home, or wherever you were supposed to meet.

Taeyong was always late. He would always find a way to make you wait, no matter the importance of the meeting, the occasion, the moment.

He hated himself more than you ever did for that.

He is complicated, he knows this. If you don’t mind that sort of lifestyle, why would he? It’s your problem after all. If you love him enough to bear with this, why stop?

Because he knows. No one can love him.

He puts his cup on the living-room’s table and aims for a much-needed shower. He has too little time for too many thoughts and it’s a whirlpool in his head.

Today is another busy day with the promise of less regrets, which he knows won’t be the case.

---

“Hansel and Gretel couldn’t resist the huge amount of candies and cakes. They followed the lady into the delicious looking house.”

The gasps of shock you hear from the mini-humans in front of you is enough to make you giggle a little. “What’s wrong?” you ask, leaning down to their level.

“Why would they follow a stranger into their house?” A fist lifts into the air and the rest agree, tiny heads nodding into your direction.

You hum and get up, agreeing. “Hansel and Gretel were abandoned by their parents. They were starving. You should never follow a stranger, but at least they got to eat.” You try to explain the best you can, regretting your choice to read this book.

“It’s such a sad story, teacher.” A little girl grabs her plushie and hugs it tight to her tiny chest, face hidden into the bright pink fur.

“I know. I promise you’ll feel better once I’m done reading. Shall I continue?” You try, the book wriggling in front of unconvinced children.

It was the best option. You were not in the mood for painting, just like you didn’t want to make salt dough. Reading is good, reading is learning.

But the kids look away and you make a face, deciding not to let them win this time. Reading it is, reading it will be.

This is how you ended coaxing three kids during naptime.

What a crappy day. Being a teacher is great, but a substitute one is a little less rewarding. You get to replace teachers in elementary schools, which means you don’t even have your own class. You don’t know when you’ll see these kids again once their teacher will be back.

It’s the only option you found when you quit your job. There wasn’t any vacant position near your location and you needed the job.

You needed it because you had to move to another district. One that is far from the frenzy you rubbed shoulders with.

It belongs to a past you want to forget. It’s not what you want in your life right now. Maybe you had enough of hiding, maybe it’s about peacefulness, you don’t know.

All you want is for your life to be what it used to be before you met him.

You take your purse and greet the other teachers, ready for another long ride home.

Tomorrow will worry you when it comes, for now you should focus on the moment.

---

“Far be it from me to act like a smartass, but shouldn’t you eat?” Taeyong looks up from his phone when Johnny’s head appears, cheeks full and breath smelling like raw fish.

“Not hungry.” He sits and grabs his box before handing it to his bandmate, “You can have it.” His smile is genuine when he leans against the sofa again, yawning.

“You already have such a tiny body, can’t you force the food down your throat or something?” Johnny insists but grabs the box anyways, aware it would be useless to leave it.

“I can’t, thank you for your concern.” Taeyong laughs because he finds it funny.

They always had a weird way to deal with worry.

He doesn’t find if annoying that his bandmates nag him all the time because he knows it’s true. He should eat, sleep more, drink less coffee, practice less, relax more, stop being so hard on himself.

He knows this already but he can’t do anything about it. This is who he is.

Johnny rolls his eyes and goes back to his spot on the table, mumbling about careless kids and delicious food.

Taeyong stares at your picture for another good ten minutes and smiles.

He is full already.

---

It’s been so long since you came here. This elementary school looks new, like it opened recently because you don’t remember it being here when you were living in the area.

It was a long day, filled with laughs, cries, games, colours, music. In short, a very exhausting day which you have to finish with a special treat to the nearest convenience store. Noodle is your comfort food, more heartwarming than any other luxurious dish.

It’s too cold to care about anything else as you head for the shop, empty and waiting for you to make it a little livelier.

It’s one of these exact same nights Taeyong picks to have a walk around the city. He ends up where his feet always take him. It’s not far from his own place, he knows every street and every place you used to go to. He walks around like you’ll meet him soon and hug him after a long time apart.

He lives with the fantasy of you popping right in front of him at any moment, and it’s enough to keep him happy, no matter the amount of regrets he has.

So naturally, he is everything but prepared to find you, walking away from a convenience store. You’re blowing on your fingers to warm them and it reminds him how you always forgot about your gloves.

You look the same. You didn’t change, and he is thankful for that. It means you live well. You look healthy, even with the huge long coat covering your body. He doesn’t see your face as you walk away, eager to grab a taxi and go home.

It’s right at this moment that the cells he thought were now useless get back to life and make him walk behind you. He adjusts his cap and mask, not fond of the probability to be recognized.

You walk rapidly, like you want to escape. He doesn’t know if it’s about the cold or something else.

You just don’t want to stay here for longer. It’s making you feel too many things. These paths are familiar, just like the building two streets away. It holds so many memories you want to live away from.

If it wasn’t for your job, you wouldn’t have set a foot here.

But here you are, right by the road and waiting for the cars to stop. You don’t look up, the freezing air too vicious for you to trust it won’t sneak into every crook left by your woollen scarf. You sigh and it goes out in a long string of steam, disappearing into the air.

There’s someone waiting to cross the street, too. You feel the presence and the sound of someone breathing. You wonder how long you’ll wait here, there aren’t that much cars anyways.

Yet, something’s off. The person doesn’t move and you feel like someone is staring at you. It’s uncomfortable and making you feel grossed. Like you need some pervert barging into your life right now.

You sigh and turn your head, ready to face whoever is thinking they can mess with you.

But you stop. It’s surprisingly not shocking to see him here. You don’t technically see him, his cap and mask making things difficult to perceive yet you feel it.

You never needed to see him to know it was him.

“Hi.” He says and you tilt your head when you recognize the voice, killing the last tiny bit of hope left in you.

Well, talk about unexpected.

“Hi.” You say back but don’t move, even when it’s finally your turn to cross the street.

It’s like time has stopped. You don’t hear the cars anymore; you don’t feel the cold. You hate yourself for being so receptive but at the same time, you can’t do anything about it.

Taeyong points at the red light and it makes you turn your head to follow his finger. “You’re not...?” He adds, feeling lame and stupid and many other unflattering adjectives.

“Oh,” You start and understand what is happening. “Yes.” You take a few step and he follows, head into his bomber jacket.

It’s only when you’re done crossing that you start looking for a taxi. You live way too far from here to go back home by walk.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Taeyong doesn’t understand what is going through him. It’s like everything he built crumbled. Now that you are here, he can’t walk away. And it doesn’t matter that his mind screams at him to run. His feet are on the ground, stuck by the idea of you leaving him and never coming back.

It’s too much of a good opportunity to be ignored.

“I’m going to get a taxi...” You trail off, forgetting about the said taxi and looking at the shadow created by his cap. It must be hell for him to walk around like this, hidden, suffocated into layers of clothing just so he can be in peace.

“Oh..” Taeyong doesn’t know what his next move should be. You don’t need him to get a taxi. Well, you don’t need him at all.

“Want to accompany me?” You must be out of your mind. Why in the world would he come with you when he was the one who broke up? It’s just that there is something in his body language, in his voice, something that seem off and mysterious and you can’t ignore it.

“Yes. Yes.” He says before you can give up and it makes you stare back at him in shock. It’s funny how little you need to communicate.

It’s not like there is much left to say.

He lifts a hand while you’re locked on your spot, frozen. You blame the weather.

A taxi stops and he opens the door for you, his moves slow but precise, filled with confidence and something you want to identify as care.

You give your address to the driver and the car takes off as soon as Taeyong closes the door, focusing on keeping a safe distance so you both won’t feel uneasy.

You live quite far and it’s a long ride. It’s not uncomfortable, but rather quiet. You try not to notice the way his body sends waves of warmth into your direction, mixed with a scent you know too much. You can’t let it get to you but at the same time, you’re the one who asked him to tag along.

And he is the one who agreed, willingly.

Taeyong stares at the window, the scenery way more calming than the situation he is in. It’s a mixture of fear and excitement. He likes it.

He has to be up at five tomorrow again, but what is sleep when he can absorb your presence as much as he wants? He feels 9 years younger already.

You get closer to your apartment as you rub your hands together in an attempt to find some type of warmth. It’s like your blood left your body because you feel numb, bones frozen and insides icy.

It’s just then that your movements are stopped by his own hands, burning. He shifts closer and envelops them into hands you thought you didn’t missed until now.

They are soft and thin just like they used too, and even his rings feel warm against you. You look at your joint hands and discover you’re not courageous enough to look at him.

You don’t see he is in the exact same state, frightened by the proximity.

He rubs it and shifts even closer, his face still hidden because the driver is pretty much right in front of you and he can’t risk anything now. His body irradiates everything you need right now, from warmth to comfort, with a bit of softness in between.

“Better...?” He whispers and you can only nod in response, right before the taxi stops. You’re finally there and have to part and it’s another whole breakup for you.

You tear your body off and almost jump out of the car before you do things you might regret.

Taeyong didn’t lose his soft side and it’s making your mind go hazy with unwanted feelings.

You turn around to look at him as he peaks around the street, eager to know more about where you live, where you spend your time away from everything he could give you but refuse to.

“I live here.” You state, neutral. You want to enter the building and lock yourself inside but Taeyong doesn’t budge, waiting for you to say more because he can’t do it himself.

“It’s a nice neighbourhood.” It’s pep-talk, useless and uninteresting but he can’t say more. Shall he say more? Does he have to confirm his choices and accept his fate without you?

He can’t and he knows it. As much as he hates himself for what he is, he needs to be selfish and he knows he won’t live with the possibility of you drifting away for good. So far you’re still here and you don’t seem to hate him, which is good.

“Yes.” You agree and grab your keys, playing with the keychain in an attempt to get that stress away from your body. He seems like he is about to talk but you speak first, heart hammering into your chest, “Maybe, maybe you want something warm to drink before going back?”

Taeyong makes a face, glad he has a mask to hide himself into. “Sure.” He agrees.

You take a moment to nod and snap out of your trans to open the building’s door, followed by an hesitant boy who can finally takes his attire off to breath the same air you breath.

You decide not to look at him. You walk to your apartment door swiftly, flying over the deep green carpeting and open a second door, safe and large.

It’s a good thing you cleaned this morning, and you suddenly become cautious of your surroundings when Taeyong takes his shoes off.

The rest is blurry. You barely remember going to the kitchen to prepare some hot chocolate, you don’t notice the milk burning on the stove, you don’t even talk to Taeyong because he is right next to you, right on the kitchen table chair, silent and looking around the place.

It’s funny, how you suddenly want to cry. You thought you had this, you thought everything was under control because you were over him. You had no choice but to be when he broke up for obscure reasons, claiming it was better for you two even though he had confessed his undying love a week earlier. Why would he do this now, why would he appear like nothing happened and play shy?

It makes no sense, and it makes you turn around, forgetting about the milk and hot chocolate and whatever he wants to drink.

“I don’t understand,” You start. Taeyong only stares back, his handsome face glowing in spite of the apparent surprise on his features. “Why? I’m just making hot chocolate for you in the middle of the night after a year without any message from you. Why am I doing this? Why are you here?”

“You invited me.” He would laugh in any other circumstance, because it’s such an arrogant reply.

Taeyong isn’t arrogant.

You snort. “You could have refused, but you are here, in my kitchen, like you didn’t break up with me. Of course I would invite you. Did you even think for one second that I would walk away from you?”

It sounds like a confession and Taeyong feels himself get up. “You’d have every right to.”

“You’re not helping. Stop with the guilty behaviour. Be responsible for what you wanted. I respect that but I just don’t get this.” You move your hands in the air. “What we’re doing now.”

“I still love you.” At some point it’s useless to act like he doesn’t care, not when he is here.

The milk boils a bit too hard and you turn when it spills over the stove, burning you because your brain is still processing the part where Taeyong says he still loves you.

“Damn it.” You mutter and grab your burnt finger to put it under cold water. “See what you make me do.” It comes out as a complaint but there is no anger. You’re enjoying the situation and it’s making you turn into a weak puppy.

Taeyong sighs and grabs the forgotten milk. You look at him as he rolls his sleeves up, revealing veiny arms. “I don’t get why you keep on using a kitchen when you can’t cook.” You laugh bitterly, forgetting about the pain. “Excuse me?”

Taeyong turns to face you when he is done, “Nevermind. I was saying that I still love you. Yes, I broke up, I am the one who wanted this but I regret everything. I thought I’d be better alone because I thought I didn’t deserve all of this,” He stops and continues “all the love you were giving me. But It’s worse now that I’m all alone to deal with myself. You can laugh at me and insult me but maybe you still love me too so let’s not act like we don’t care about each other.” He speaks way too fast, eyes avoiding you even though he is being pretty much insolent.

But he gets no answer, only a hand gripping his sweater and lips over his and it’s a sweet release when you start kissing him.

He gladly welcomes your body and kisses you back, his long arms circling all of you to have it only for him to absorb.

You still feel amazing, like a bowl of air after being underwater for too long.

It’s stays like this for so long he loses track of time. He can’t think straight and has no will to think, only strength to push you against him, more and more. You sigh and breathe against his mouth and it makes him smile in happiness.

When you part, his face is a whole shade of pink, and his lips are red, attacked.

He looks at you and when you smile sweetly, he smiles back.

It was insane, indeed.

[allsortsofthingsactualtrash]

Framed Ch.1

Summary:  I’m no one and this is my story. I will tell you everything. Honestly, I don’t have time anymore and I can’t die not knowing that nobody will know. I live with this unceasing fear. When I turn my back, I get this growing feeling that they are there watching.

Pairing: Yoongi x Jimin

Genre: Smut, angst, mind fuck, thriller, first person

Rating: Explicit

Word: 3,225

Warning: This fan fiction contains blood (a lot of it), sex (Not always legal), sweat (’Cause they are running) and a lot of tears (angst). Please do not read if that bothers you or makes you feel uncomfortable. 

I’m no one and this is my story. I will tell you everything. Honestly, I don’t have time anymore and I can’t die not knowing that nobody will know. I live with this unceasing fear. When I turn my back, I get this growing feeling that they are there.

I run, I’m out of breath. I have this bitter taste in my throat. But they are there, ready to sanction. Ready to see me make the mistake that would inevitably lead to my death. Can they feel remorse? Remorse, for all the lives that went to shit because of them?

Did you ask yourself these questions before you enlisted me?

Did you ask yourself if I had a chance?

Or you just did like usual, you threw me and played with me? I don’t think it was your fault. I think you had your fun and you just got bored. But please, tell me Jimin, if it’s really the end. Will you cry for me? Will you regret those moments that were ours? Jimin, please, for this time, only for me, think of me as someone great.

  That morning I remember getting up with this desire to stay in bed. I was lying down, my cell phone was ringing, and I knew I had to go if I didn’t want to be late. But I wanted to stay. Sleep and spend my day laying around. I got up nevertheless. I had missed a lot class recently and my parents were starting to ask questions. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. I watched my reflection in the mirror. I was tired, I was always tired. I dressed myself and went downstairs. Nobody, as per usual. A note had been left on the refrigerator.

 We’re already at the restaurant. Please, don’t be late Yoongi-ah.

                                                                                                                  -mom

 I took my bag and managed my tired self towards my bike. The morning freshness awakened me slowly. Houses and apartments slowly blurred themselves to become office towers. I stopped near the school building and got off my bike. At this point, I was already used to making the rest on foot. It gave Hoseok some time to catch up to me so we could do the rest of the walk together.

Frankly, he was an ally during my last years in high school. Once we both enter university I’m certain that our friendship wasn’t going to last long, but for the time being, it had been pleasant. I saw him waving his arms frantically toward me as I approach the corner of the street.

 "Yoongi- Hyung! "

 I greeted him back with a less significant wave of my own. He seemed out of breath. Just like me, he had woken up late.

  "If only you knew the night I had. The girl... " by this point his eyes weren’t focused anymore. He was most certainly still playing the other evening in his head.

 “You know what I mean.”

 He smiled with all his teeth and I simply shrugged. He always liked to boast himself with his one night stand.

 "Don’t you want to know?”

 I shrugged yet again. He seemed disappointed. When I think about it today, I would’ve liked to hear his story or at least interest myself more in the bullshit he was able to tell me during this short route that separated us of the school ward. But, I never did.

 "I met a girl in the club last night. A friend of a friend, you know? "

 I nodded.

 "Well, I think you'd like her. She plays guitar. Isn't it cool? "

"I've been to those club before. Don’t you remember how it ended?”

 He smiled, embarrassed. This famous time, he introduced me to a girl with whom he left later that evening.

 “Look, you’ve got to be quicker. I can’t control myself, you know me.”

 The outline of the school building was visible in the distance. The last students who were in the ward were running, trying not to be late.

 ”That’s my stop. Hyung, think about it.”

”I will.”

 I watched him go quickly to his class. I locked my bike, grabbed my bag and walked towards my class.

The hours were long, much more than usual knowing that in a few months, I will be completely done with high school. The class ended in the same fashion that it had begun. The teacher distributed the cell phones.

While retrieving my phone I noticed, with surprise, a missed call and a text message from Hoseok.

 Hobi:

Come to the entrance of the building quick. Hurry, hyung.                                                                

                                                                                                                 15:33 AM                                    

 I left my things in the classroom. What was so important that he had taken the trouble to call me during the hour? How had he even been allowed to use his phone? Soon after, I went to the entrance and waited. The minutes passed. After trying repeatedly to join him, without answer, I returned to my desk. The classroom already voided of any students. It isn't surprising considering the workload they gave to seniors this year. Any sane students normally would hurry back to work after class.

I took my bag and found a brown kraft envelope laying beneath it. I opened it, without suspecting what it could contain. The photos I discovered inside  turn my stomach upside down. Releasing it suddenly, the content spread to the ground.

 "What the,"

 I picked it up and stifled a cry.

 The first photo was one of a girl sequestered. On the second one, a finger was cut. And finally, the last that shocked me the most, was of a man kneeling next to this woman now unconscious.

 This individual, who was flashing a glorious smile, was me. My face was in this picture and I had no idea how I could have been there at that moment. Everything was there. My shoes stained with paint close to the sole, my pants torn at the knees and my hoodie. I took the picture to analyze it more closely. Something was wrong. Of course, my presence of the latter was shocking, but it was this paint spot on the sole of my shoe that nag me. I helped paint my parent’s restaurant this weekend. We were Monday. The photo must have been taken Sunday night. How could this person have had access to these shoes? And besides, this girl was still alive. I had to notify the authorities as quickly as possible. I crouched down on the floor to put the rest of the evidence in the envelope.

Documents that I had not noticed before were pinned to one of the photographs. It was an impression of a text conversation.

Sept. 25

Did you send the pictures?                                                                       3: 00 am

Not yet                                                                                                       3: 06 am

Do it quick.                                                                                                3: 06 am

Yes                                                                                                             3:11 am

She will not last long. If we do it, it’s now.                                                 3: 11 am

I know                                                                                                        3: 19 am

 My doubts were confirmed. This event took place on Monday, in the wee hours. I had to hurry and hand the documents over to the police.

I stopped abruptly. The first number of the conversation had been erased, but the other one, who was responsible for handing the photos, was still there. I felt nauseous. It was my number. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked for the conversations that would have happened on the previous night. It was there, everyone could see it. How could I have not noticed this? It was there from the beginning. These individuals had access to my personal belongings and my phone. What else did they have?

I'm ashamed to admit it now, but at that moment I panicked. I know, I should have been calmer, but I did not. You will understand later on what prompted me to react in this way. And if, on the contrary, you’re still certain that I’m only an idiot, well be it.

In short, I picked up the entire contents of the envelope and hid it in the bottom of my bag. I took out my disinfectant bottle and washed the floor. I know, completely stupid, but I was so scared, you cannot even imagine. I then cleaned my hands, checked to make sure that I had left nothing behind and rushed to the exit.

 "There you are, what are you still doing here? " Hoseok said while dragging me back in the building by the forearms.

 I didn’t know if he could feel the dampness of my fear on his palms. His close proximity did not help in any way reducing the sweat dripping from my body.

I avoided his gaze.

 "I had some s-stuff to check with the teacher, but I'm going now."

"Stay! I have to clean the class and afterwards we can go out! "

"Not tonight, I don’t feel good. I'll just go home and... I should probably help tonight at the cafe as well. "

 I confess, I'm certainly not a born actor. I'm frank with people. Therefore, I'm not used to lie. I tried to faint a smile, and hoped that my excuse would dissuade him from insisting.

 "Don’t worry. We'll do it another day."

 He released me and I rushed down the corridor.

 "Hyung, you're looking pale as fuck you should rest." I heard him scream as I walked away. I nod my head even though that I knew he couldn't see me. Then, I went quickly to the exit to catch my bike.

What do you think you’re going to do when you are 19 years old and your bag is filled with evidences of a crime you did not commit? You panic, you freak out, you question.

No, but seriously. Why the fuck this happened to me? And then you think.

What do I do now?

On that day, I remember that I stopped in front of the police station. I recalled looking at the entrance for a long time, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. I remember the sweat that soaked my uniform. I also remember that heavy feeling deep inside me. What would happen if I couldn’t prove that it wasn’t me in this photograph? I scratched the bottom of my head, searching desperately for a solution. Nothing came to me and I panicked more and more. I finally decided not to say anything. An error that still haunts me. But you see, I cannot live by telling myself what if. What if I had told everything? What if they had believed me? What if this whole story would never have happened? Well, it did happen and nothing can change this fact.

I gathered the reason I had left and returned home. I entered the household without making any noise only to find that there was no one. Surely all busy at the restaurant, perfect. I climbed the stairs to my room, put my bag somewhere and opened the light to find another envelope.

 "For fuck’s sake!"

 Placed in the center of my bed, another seal document was there to taunt me. I didn’t want to have to do this anymore. I spread the contents over my bed. A USB stick, a small box and a fucking tissue stained with blood. I was disgusted. Was it the blood of this girl? Or had he even had access to my DNA? I put the Kleenex back inside the envelope and grabbed the black box. In appearance, it looked like any jewellery boxes. You know the one box that is seen in all the jewellery shops, velvety black and with a sober appearance. I opened it to discover with disgust a finger carefully cut off. The nail painted with a layer of black nail polish, the blood had not even completely dried. It was freshly done. I closed the box and placed it with the handkerchief. I took the key and inserted it into my computer. A single video document was there, named Crazy Suga :). What did that mean? I swallowed at the thought of what I was going to find there and clicked on the link. The quality was mediocre. The cameraman was laughing, making the camera unstable. A woman was seated, her mouth tightly sealed with a bandana. One of her arms was held at the table by a wooden press. The cameraman's hand slowly stroking the woman's cheek.

 "Today we’re having fun."

 My heart had stopped. The voice, in this clip, was mine. There was no doubt, anyone could identify it. The man handed the camera to a second.

 "Record me, I want a memory.”

 The face of the man who sported my voice was covered. He was wearing a disgusting rabbit mask. I hate rabbits.

 "You know what's waiting for you.” The man addressed the girl. Even under this mask, one could guess his repugnant smile.

 "You've been very bad.”

 My voice disgusted me. I wanted to vomit, shout, and break this computer. He grabbed the woman's hand on the table and squeezed it. The new cameraman seemed to shudder.

 "Yoongi, you're not going to do this now?”

 I stopped the video. I quickly understood the rest of the story and I had no desire to continue. The finger that was in this box belonged to this girl and it didn’t just appear there by magic. I picked up the USB key and put it back to its original location.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and thought. Let's recap. They know where I study. They got access to my shoes, which I currently wear. They have my face, they have my voice, and they have my cell phone. And now they have my address, possibly the key to go back at any time. At this point, I was annihilated. They were me. He was me. Me on these pictures. Me on this video. Just me. And that girl. Who was she? Where was she? Had he already killed her? Or should I say, had I already killed her?

At that moment, I doubted myself. I wasn’t a particularly violent person. I once had an altercation with the police, which I would surely tell you about later, but none of that compares. However, everything pointed to me. I was beginning to question myself. Maybe I was suffering from amnesia. Maybe I was crazy, and I didn’t realise it.

Then something came to my me, it was Hoseok who had texted me. He was the one who made me go look for him, so it was probably him who left the envelope on my desk. That asshole! This can surely only has been a very bad joke or whatever. I grabbed my cell phone to call him. I scrolled through my contact list and I understood my mistake. There were two Hoseok in my list. A new contact had been added, a second Hoseok. My friend had never contacted me, hence the reason why he never showed up. I took the second envelope and stuffed it like the first one at the bottom of my bag. I had to get rid of everything.

I quickly went downstairs. I opened the garage door where I had left my bike. I then straddled it and went down the street. I rode for several miles. The night was beginning to show its nose, the humid air of the day becoming a refreshing breeze. My uniform was drying slowly. I stopped at a park, far from the city, and I waited for the night.

My cell phone rang a few times. Probably my mother. If she’d asked me where I went, I would’ve told her that I spent the evening with Hoseok. I had planned everything. I will ask Hoseok to confirm my lie if anything happens. I'll tell him that I was with a girl. He will want to hear the details and everything will go in order. Everything was going to work out. The park emptied slowly. I looked at my phone, 23:36. I was alone now. I walked over to a distant trash bin and put the two envelopes in it. I pulled a lighter out of my bag. I stole it from my father this week at the same time as his pack of cigarettes. I had thought about my mother's rage if she had learned that I was smoking. Now that I was going to burn the evidence that probably binds me to a murder, I suppose smoking did not seem so serious anymore. I took the papers out of my agenda and threw them with the rest in the trash to start the fire. I sat down at a table to watch the progress. I lay my head against the cold wood. I thought to myself "This day will never end."

Then I felt a hand fall into my hair. I jumped. I never saw that man coming. From there, if my life had not already been completely fucked up, he sent it to hell.

 "You okay?” I stared at him, looked at the dumpster behind him. He noticed the anxiety on my face and let out a little laugh.

 "This isn’t the most illegal thing I've seen tonight, don’t worry. "

 I remained stiff, paralyzed. He sat himself beside me, fumbled in his bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

 "Want one?"I nodded and took it.

 "Come closer.”

 He lit it between my lips. I took a long breath and looked away. He was making me uncomfortable. "Park Jimin" he said.

 The smell of fire, wood and cigarettes were mixed. Little by little I calmed down and then turn to face him.

  "Min Yoongi.”

"So what's going on, Min Yoongi?”

"Nothing in particular, "

 We remained silent for a few moments. His blond hairs were dancing with the wind.

 "What do you burn in this dumpster?"

 "Nothing in particular.” He shrugged as if, basically, he didn’t care what I was doing. He crushed his cigarette and threw it away.

 "I should stop, it's a bad habit."

 I ignored him. He stood up, rubbed his shoulders and walk toward the trash. He leaned over to observe.

 "Your fire is practically dead. You should go back soon."

 He smiled at me. I didn’t know what he wanted, maybe company. I was fine at that time. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me. We were only there waiting. It was definitely the most peaceful moment of the day. He looked up at the sky.

 "It's a shame, we don’t see the stars in town.”

 I nodded. I had nothing to say, but it didn’t bother him. I finish my cigarette and turn to the garbage. He was right. Almost everything was gone, I was relieved. He noticed it.

 "All right, everything seems to be working out.”

"Yes, I think.”

 I grabbed my bag on the bench and headed for my bicycle. I looked at the dumpster one last time, I had left nothing behind. It was gone. I didn’t know yet how I was going to get rid of these identity thieves, but for now the evidence was reduced to ashes and I needed to sleep more than anything. I began to walk away.

 "Your phone! "

 He handed me my phone. I smiled as form of thank you.

 "I have question before you go, Yoongi.” I looked up. The flames reflected on his face and distorted his features.

 "Is it easy to burn a finger?"

[letters-from-alex]

Dear Friend,

April 17, 2017

Part I Happy Easter!  I know it was yesterday, but I didn’t get to tell you properly. So - er - Happy Belated Easter!(?) I hope you had a great holiday.  Surprisingly, I’m grateful to say that I did.  Although, holidays at home have started to become less and less significant.  Nevertheless, I had a great time.  It’s been a week since I last wrote you. We got a new puppy and with my luck, she chewed up my laptop charger; thus leaving me with nothing to write to you.  Her name is Molly.  She’s a mixed terrier with another breed that I cannot figure out.  My dad rescued her at the warehouse he works at.  Apparently she almost got run over, so he stopped in the middle of the road outside his workplace and took her to his office.  She’s been with us ever since.  We don’t think we can take care of her, but thankfully my brother has offered to take her home in a month when he gets a new house.  You have probably noticed by now that my life can be a mess sometimes. So, a week without writing… Well, let’s just say, life goes on and I have much to tell you.  I will tell you about my day today, and then work my way in reverse.  I woke up with a cold.  It was 11:13am - twenty-three minutes passed the beginning of my first class.  I obviously didn’t go. Instead, I stayed home in bed, playing games on my phone, and listening to music.  I didn’t do much afterward.  I went to work to fill out some paperwork, then to an electronic store to buy myself a new computer charger, then I left back home, made food, ate, and killed time until my parents got home.  They got home by mid afternoon.  I was getting ready to go to the park to run.  I got dressed, took my energy drink, and drove to the park.  When I got there, I noticed there was a lot of people because there was a baseball game going on.  That really annoys me.  I don’t like running when there’s a lot of people present, but I know I will do it anyway.  I ran a 5K in thirty minutes.  It wasn’t my best run.  Since I’m sick, it was really difficult for me to breathe.  In addition, my leg - more specifically, my shins - have been hurting a lot lately.  I didn’t care about the pain - I never do.  So, I ran the 5k anyway.  I got home, and I was welcomed with a meal at the bar.  My mom heard me coming in from the garage, so she heated up some food she made for me.  It was salmon with wild rice and green beans.  I dressed the salmon with lime juice and tabasco sauce.  It was very satisfying.  I wish she made it more often.  After that, I took a shower and got dressed into my pajamas.  Now, I’m outside sitting down on one of our new tables in the patio.  It’s storming.  There’s a lot of lightning and not enough thunder.  It took a while for the rain to start pouring, but when it did, it fell fast and hard.  I thought about stepping out of the patio to get rained on - I feel like it would wash away all my sadness, but I don’t want my sickness to get worse.  Honestly, it is really calming to be outside right now.  I’m listening to the thunder roar and the water hit the ground.  I can smell petrichor in the air, especially when the wind blew it my way. This, combined with the occasional lightning bursts, makes it a perfect night.  I haven’t witnessed a storm like this in a few months.  The wind is actually breezy for once, and it doesn’t feel humid and sticky like every other hot and muggy day in Texas. What a great way to end the night.  Part II My family and I actually celebrated Easter on Saturday (don’t ask why). My brother from San Antonio, Texas surprised us when he showed up at our front door.  It was really nice seeing him and his wife again. My sister showed up with her husband, their son, and his mother as well. We all ate some BBQ that my dad cooked on the grill.  It was really delicious in my opinion.  I had steak and chips with some pico de gallo.  I know it sounds pretty lame, but I enjoy the simple stuff.  After we all had our dinner, my nephew, Aleczander and I went to my room to play some video games.  He’s only three and a half years old, but he definitely got the gamer blood in him from me.  We started playing Super Smash Bros. on the Wii U.  I taught him the controls of the game. Once he got the hang of it, he was having a blast.  He was screaming and yelling and laughing.  It wasn’t annoying.  It was actually quite soothing - nothing beats a laughter like a laughter from a happy child.  We played a few rounds while my sister watched.  She was stoked because she was finally witnessing her son and brother bonding for the first time.  Then, when her husband walked in, he started recording us playing together.  It started getting late, so my brother and sister-in-law decided to leave because they had plans with my sister-in-law’s parents.  They were going to a bar in a neighboring city.  After they left, my sister and her family decided to leave as well.  Before I let them go, I gave my nephew my copy of the game, but the 3DS version of it so he could play it wherever and whenever he wants.  I know he’s young, but hopefully he will get better at it and be ready to play against me next time.  He had a big smile on his face as he walked out the door.  My sister said, “Thank you,” and gave me a hug, followed by her husband and his mom.  I started feeling sick, so when everyone left I isolated myself in my room.  Although I had family around, I had a lot on my mind.  They were just a distraction.  I was really missing someone, so I tried not to get sad about it.  I was in the dark for a few moments, then my mind started racing with thoughts that didn’t seem to matter - I started thinking about things that were out of my own control. I started thinking about other people’s lives.  Why do I worry about everyone but myself? I didn’t want to get bad again.  So, I turned on my Playstation 4 and started playing Destiny.  The rest of the night consisted of me playing video games, texting my best friend Josh and listening to music.  Right before bed, I watched a few episodes of Rick and Morty until my eyes started to get heavy.  I wanted to stay up, but I couldn’t fight it anymore.  I let myself drift off into a deep slumber that was interrupted multiple times by a crying puppy, a full bladder, and a nightmare of my father dying. Part III I had a lot of events happen during the week prior to Easter.  I got my blood results back from the school’s medical center.  I tested negative for gonorrhea and chlamydia. I didn’t get checked for HIV because the school only does those on Thursdays.  I’ll have to go back soon to get checked for that as well. I doubt I have it, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. I also got my general blood work done as well.  The nurse told me I was very healthy.  I was shocked at this news because last year my bad cholesterol was high. It turned out that my bad cholesterol went down by ten points - last year I was at a cholesterol level of 105, now it is at 95 (anything higher than 100 is not that good). It must be all the running I’m doing.  Speaking of health, I’m pretty proud of the fact that I have been eating better.  I’m staying away from really greasy foods and fast food in general.  I do have my “cheat days,” of course - they keep me sane, but in general I’m happy with my health.  I’m eating more oatmeal and I’m intaking a lot more protein. I make myself a protein shake three to four times a week. I’ve actually gained seven pounds of muscle.  That’s a lot for me in my opinion.  I still don’t have the body that I want, so I’m going to just keep doing what I’m doing.  I just hope I don’t have to actually go on a diet.  I love food too much - especially chocolate.  I’ve been hanging out with my friend Josh less often lately because he got a job as a server at a burger place.  I’ve been trying to hang out with other guys - gay guys - but they all end up bailing on me.  So, I’ve just been spending time with my old friends when I can.  I’ll occasionally go to Applebee’s with my friend Jenna or spend some time with the “Accounting Crew” from school.  The “Accounting Crew” is a group of six of my friends (not including me) from class.  We all hang out when we can and we see each other every Tuesday and Thursday.  I also hung out with one of my old friends named Alejandro.  He’s an ex-boyfriend of an ex-girl friend of mine (it’s a long story), but he and I still talk every once in a while. He invited me to tournament last week.  It was for many different games like Street Fighter V, Ultimate Marvel vs. Capcom 3 (UMVC3), FIFA and a few others, but the highlight of the tournament was Super Smash Bros. Melee. They were playing it on an emulated Wii system.  The games that were going on were getting really intense.  Some of the players started throwing chairs when they ended up losing.  Anyway, I went for UMVC3.  I had never been to a tournament before, so I was just there to have fun.  My main goal was to NOT lose the first round.  And guess what… I didn’t!  It was quite funny because my favorite character that I use is named Morrigan - she’s from and old game called Darkstalkers - and the guy that I had to play against first also used her.  He was a pretty advanced player using her, but honestly, I was better. She’s a very tedious character to use, so I respect anyone that knows how to play her right.  I didn’t lose the first match against him, but sadly I lost the two matches that followed with some other players.  (At least I didn’t get last place!) I met a lot of new people there that traveled from all over Texas like Houston, Corpus Christi, Laredo and Austin just to show up at that tournament. I look forward to going to another tournament. It was definitely a fun and good experience.  Some other events happened that I’d probably rather summarize rather than tell you in detail, because they are kind of personal.  One - Josh had sex with some girl, whom I just met the same night, in my house while my parents were gone. We didn’t go to sleep until 7:30am. The girl was supposed to spend the night. Josh came into my room letting me know that. I got upset and he noticed. He didn’t want me to be mad, so he pretended to leave home so she could go home too. He came back to my house and slept with me. I thought it was really sweet that he did that. He kept saying, “I don’t want you to be upset, Alex. I love you.” Two - The same night this happened, my straight friend from a few cities away whom would like to be referred to as “Fisto-Roboto,” (I asked him what he would like his nickname to be, and he chose that. I laughed of the thought of writing his name to you) started to talk really dirty to me. He has a girlfriend and basically told me he’s curious to do things with me. I wish I could show you what he said to me, but we were talking on Snapchat and I was also a little intoxicated on this night. The only thing that I can remember is him saying, “I want to suck you dry,” and “I’ve thought about fucking you.” He said a lot more, but I’ll just leave it at that.  Three - I gave a previous English professor of mine a copy of an excerpt I want to publish. I gave it to her to proofread and help me with my structure, vocabulary, and grammar. She also gave her colleague a copy as well. He’s a creative writing professor at the university. He read my excerpt and gave me amazing feedback. He showed me things that will definitely make it a lot better. He told me I’m a great writer and he could feel the anger, the anxiety, and the sadness in my writing. He also said I don’t need to take any writing classes; that the things he was going to show me aren’t even taught in a classroom. He was so helpful. He gave me so many ideas for my piece, I can’t wait to edit it. I should be working on it, but as soon as my previous English professor gives me her feedback. Unfortunately, I have been too busy to go to her office, and when I was done talking to her colleague, she was gone.  Four - I set up an appointment to talk to a therapist at school. I wish I could tell you what happened there, but everything we talk about is confidential. I will say, though, that it wasn’t much because it was my first visit. She was just asking me questions about my health: Do I smoke? Do I drink, Do I have suicidal thoughts? You know, the usual therapist questions. I can’t tell if it was helpful or kind of made me worse. I’ll have to let you know what the answer is when I go for my follow-up, whenever that is…

Part IV Incidentally, I have a quite a week ahead of me.  Tomorrow, I have an exam for Auditing that I should start studying for.  Then, on Wednesday, I have a project/report due for my Management class.  I really don’t feel like studying tonight, but I have to if I want to get a good grade.  If all goes well in school I could be graduating this December.  I’m looking forward to writing my report for Management, because, I mean, it involves writing! Hopefully I can keep my mind busy enough tonight to not think about people who don’t miss me. I just need to stay distracted: study, listen to music, and worry about things that are in my control - my life - nobody else’s.  Love Always,  Alex

[shadowedgarden]

From the Hunters, Among the Hunted

Chapter 3: Let the Fun Begin!

Warning: dead person at for short time near end, in case that is of concern to any.

Ch. 1: Welcome, Please Try not to Die || Ch. 2: The Desolate City

An objective is quite a helpful and welcome distraction.  After a brief scan to make sure you know what direction to head, noting quickly that you are already fairly close, you start off.  The next two rooms are filled with shadows due to the room above.  As your eyes adapt to the darkness, a vaguely irritated smile appears on your face.  You wonder if it would kill them to make less puzzles and traps that require falling.  Probably.  The exit is blocked by spikes, another common choice it seems, with six patches of falling ground spaced through the room.  You swiftly approach the closest on your right, wanting to get it over with.  The drop is not actually as far as you thought it would be, and you are beginning to adapt to these traps.  That doesn’t mean bracing helps all that much yet.  In the room below you find a faded old strip of scarlet fabric that was gorgeous when it was new.  It is used to tie back hair.  The wind must have blown it down here, the stone protecting it from too much wear.

You tie it into a bow and put it in your hair.  

Monsters won’t hit you as hard if you’re cute.  Pity the same cannot be said of humans.  

You climb up the shaft, a bit slower than with earlier ones due to having to navigate by feel alone; this time trying the pitfall to the left when you emerge.  You forget to brace, lungs getting their breath knocked out of them.  As you push yourself up, you wince.  You definitely gained at least a bruise from this.  You start feeling around for a switch, eventually finding it on the wall near the shaft, at around your head height.  You pull it, hearing the tell tale grinding of spikes retreating into the floor, and crawl back out and leave the room.  Luckily the spike barrier in the next doorway is also down, because you can’t see well enough to do anything other than bumble blindly around in there.  That does mean, though, that you have no idea what the three signs mean when they say “If you can see this”.  It takes you a bit of messing around and having your heart skip from the surprise drops for you to figure out the north sign will actually assist you, rather than drop you with no warning.  After that you figure the next such rooms out with ease.  You carefully step over a tangle of vines, glancing down the path towards the house, and, figuring you have a bit of time until Toriel arrives, step over another such tangle and move to a lookout that was previously obscured from your vision.  Making sure you stay well clear of the edge, you look up.  

The crumbling ruins of this once great city spreads before you, many times larger than you could have imagined.  Compared to this the village is tiny.  You can just see the ocean sparkling on the far side of the mountain, the forest cutting off the city just before it reaches the water and covering the mountain with a thick green coat.  Snow drifts off the top on a wind that doesn’t reach you, shimmering as it dissipates into its carrier.  Down in the ruins there is a scattering of camp-fires from the hunters.  Most tend to attack during the day, but once in awhile a squad will get drunk and start wandering around during the night.  Filthy creatures.  Some of the buildings have crumbled, while some others are relatively untouched, and vines seem to be the primary inhabitants now.  There are a dozen more areas that have fallen into the same type of almost-haunted seeming clearing like you saw earlier.  The once strong barricades and towering walls that had once protected the city are hardly recognizable now, where they are still standing at all that is.  In the distance and scattered among the forest are a few stray towns and farms, as well as one or two on the coast, all of which are also abandoned and overgrown, barely a single structure of which is visible from here.  Anything near the edge of the ruins is completely overgrown, to the point where you can hardly even tell where the city used to end.  Overshadowing the crumbling remains is the overgrown wreckage of a castle.  Even from here it is possible to see the flowers overflowing out of the courtyards, as well as the vines that consume all that still stands.  In one of the spires that has only partially collapsed, dozens of bed-frames sit exposed to the elements, the vines just starting to obscure them from view.  The vines had trapped some of the rubble, and as you watch a piece comes loose and tumbles to the ground.  Everything of value was ransacked a long time ago.  Near the base of the castle resides a circle of light from a human camp.  You glance down, checking the distance to the edge again.  Its steepness unnerves you, and this is not exactly the most inconspicuous of places to stand.  A stick stares back at you- not literally, calm down-, nearly touching your feet, positioned almost as though trying to remind you of Toriel’s house.  You pick it up and head back, shuffling through the leaves, and enter the front yard.  You hear her footsteps moments before she rounds the large tree directly in front of you.

“There you are, my child!  I was beginning to worry you had gotten lost.”  Toriel beams, then mutters too herself, slightly to quietly for you to catch.  At a volume clearly meant for you to hear she adds,

“Please, come inside.”

She turns to head in, a little bit of dust falling off her clothes as she does so.  For some reason that seems a bit more tragic than you think it should.  She looks slightly more tired than when you last saw her, regardless of the cheerfulness she has plastered on.  You follow, pausing at another Save star just before you enter.  You emerge into a hallway, with stairs that disappear down to the left on the other side of the room, and doorways to either side of you.  Through the left you can see a large table and through the right, more hallway.  A bookcase and flowers are to either side of the stairway.

She takes your hand and leads you down the right hall, stopping at the first door.

“You must be exhausted, so go right ahead and get some rest, it will take me a few days to arrange anything anyway.  I will leave you to get comfortable, if you need anything just call.  You can stay here until I can arrange for someone to pick you up, this is no place for a child.  Your room is this way.”  

You enter the room without bothering to see where she goes.  Against the right wall is his bed, with a toy-box at it’s foot and a wardrobe beside it.  The only other things to adorn the room are a drawing of a golden flower on the wall, a seemingly broken light source in the far left corner, and a single fabric doll on the bed.  Once you sit down on the bed, exhaustion washes over you.  You have never slept in this nice of a bed before.  It overrides your hunger, and you drop your backpack beside the bed, instantly drifting into an uneventful slumber.

By the time you awaken the sun has set again, and the delicious aroma of fresh baked pie has drifted tentatively through the room.  Groggily, you remember that you forgot to eat before you fell asleep, your stomach deciding that stabbing you is an appropriate reminder.  How nice of it.  You slowly roll over to grab a snack from your pack, and see that Toriel has left you a slice of pie a safe distance from the bed.  That explains the aroma.  You drop your feet onto the floor and pick up the snail pie.  …It’s an acquired taste.  You slip it into your pack anyway, just in case you need it later; then pull out food more to your tastes, and sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to explore.  Before you leave, you check the wardrobe, finding only a bunch of striped sweaters, and merely glance at all the cool toys in the toy box before deeming them uninteresting.  

You drift to the next room over, opening the door to find a bed against the corner opposite you, a desk between it and the door, and a wardrobe and bookshelf in the far corner.  Aside from a yellow flower and some broken crayons atop the bookshelf, and a diary and some pens on her desk, the room lacks anything smaller than a chair.  The bed is one of the largest ones you’ve seen.  You open the diary, which doesn’t look like it’s written in frequently, to a random page.  It seems to be an old one.

“If I were a dog, what breed of dog would I be?    A Momeranian!”

Jokes like this must be how she stays sane now.  You close the book and leave.  There is nothing more to look at here. 

As the only other door in this hall is broken, you head over to the other side of the house.  The doorway you saw earlier opens into the dining room, which doubles as a living-room.  To the right sits a fireplace, with a gentle fire burning in it, a bookshelf filled with worn books sitting to its right, and to its left a reading chair and a doorway to what can be assumed as the kitchen.  The place has a distinct sturdy feel, the damage being minimal with an essentials only attitude.  Toriel is asleep in the chair, with a book in her lap.  You plan to let her sleep, as she must need the rest, however, her phone doesn’t seem to agree with you, and she is up near instantaneously.  As she heads for the door she sees you, directing you towards the books and saying she will be back soon.  You spend the next several hours exploring the little left of the house you hadn’t seen, eventually settling down to read.  

You end up back at the spot overlooking the ruins, sitting cross-legged a few meters from the edge.  Throughout the night,  Toriel has yet to return for any interval longer than forty minutes, during which grabbing some shut-eye seemed to be her immediate priority; voluntary or not.  She just left again, in fact.  A monster candy rolls around in your mouth, slowly filling it with its distinctly non-licorice taste.  It’s the only monster food you’ve found so far that doesn’t just dissolve into a burst of flavour and energy upon entering your mouth, but only if you focus on making sure it doesn’t.  You had found a bowl full of them on Toriel’s table earlier and took a handful with you.  You finally discovered the real reasons why the village wanted the monsters dead, thanks to the books, and your mind mulls it over from time to time.  Fear, greed, and power have forever been the easiest way to get into a fight.   A yawn interrupts your thoughts just as the sun starts to lighten the horizon.  You should probably get some sleep.  You wander back to your room, eyes fluttering a little, and crawl into bed, drifting gently into familiar darkness once more.

A child walks through the forest, only a slight limp remaining of their twisted ankle.  It’s a quiet morning, the sun yet to lighten the horizon.  They know exactly how to avoid the guards and enter unnoticed. After all, they’ve been observing the area for a week or so just for this trip.  They soften their footsteps as they approach, pulling their hood up and obscuring them-self.  The people wore this sort of thing all the time in colder weather, and the child went unnoticed as they slipped through the village towards their house, hardly a soul even conscious.  When they reached the house, they slipped through the window of their younger sister’s room.  Their sister, however, was absent.  They swiftly located her diary, she hadn’t changed its hiding spot while they were away, and looked at the last entry for some sort of hint as to where she might be.  The writing was abnormally smudged, as though she had been writing in a great hurry.  From what was decipherable, it seemed their sister had overheard some guards mention seeing them with the monsters.  That had been the last piece of evidence needed to convince her that the village leader was evil, and she had been planning the kill for a few weeks.  She put it into action the morning prior.

A dread crept over the child as they realized this.  Their sister was too young.  She was the last shred of hope they had for humanity.  They slipped back out, heading towards the leader of the idiots’ residence.  When the house came into view, they stopped short.  They didn’t want to believe their eyes.  Pinned outside of the house by stakes through her shoulders, hung their sister, covered in dried blood.  In life, she had been the most beautiful person the child had every known, both inside and out.   Now she had been reduced to a desecrated, mangled, and shredded sack of flesh and bones.  She was hanging out in the open as a warning to any others that might be thinking about trying to kill the family.  She had been dead for several hours.  On the ground beside her lay the red ribbon the child had given her.  They approached, shaking, tied the strip of fabric around their arm, and took their sister down gently.  They piled her fallen pieces back into her corpse and carried her slightly stiff body into the woods for a proper funeral.  The only thing the child could see was red.

You awake to Toriel entering the room.  She sounds haggard.

“Oh good, you are awake.  Please gather your things and meet me by the door downstairs as soon as you can.”

She disappears from the doorway, presumably to wait for you at the door.  You pull a sheet off the bed, shoving it into your pack, and tie the ribbon into your hair, pretending you never had the dream, and head to the door with a piece of dried meat in your mouth.  The sun has set again.  You pause at the top of the stairs, looking back at the rest of the house.  You would not mind staying, you think, and the realization fills you with determination, a Save star at the bottom of the stairs channelling and amplifying the feeling.  Toriel is pretty nice too, almost to the point of making you wish she were your mom.  You soon turn the last corner, coming to a stop before Toriel and a large, solid, door.  Apparently, the humans appeared to be getting abnormally close to the house last night, and she suspects that the little safety it had might be compromised.  The best plan of action would be if you left, while she stays behind.

After all, she is here for a reason.  

“Take this,” she says, holding out a slip of paper.  “Show it to the first person you meet, they will bring you to Asgore.”  You refuse, stating that you will stay with her, and if she wants you to leave she must come too.  

“My child, please, he will take good care of you.”

Again you refuse.  You are being foolish.  She stands there for a moment, her face an expressionless mask, mulling over her options.  The distance between the two of you closes almost instantaneously, her arm brushing your shoulder as you skitter to the side.  You will not be that easy to catch, both of you know that.  She sighs, and a ping echoes around the hall as she pulls forth your soul.  This really does not seem debatable.  

“This is your last chance to leave on your own.  Please little one, stop being so stubborn,” she implores you one final time.  Immovable in your decision, you shake your head.  No.

Flames dance across Toriel's fingertips, growing into fireballs that she sends flying towards the child’s soul.  Warning shots.  Their focus sharpens, fingers twitching as they will their soul to dodge.  They notice a slight difference with how it responds.  They test a theory, surprise lighting up their eyes as the precision their fingers grant is realized.  The flames stop, giving the child a chance to leave, and they flick their soul over to ACT.  The CHECK reads:

*TORIEL  80 ATK  80 DEF *Knows best.

Their soul returns to the box, flames falling like rain.  Not ready for anything more than the warning, a fireball smashes into the child’s soul.  A wave of worry, lifetimes of loneliness, and sparks of hope crash down on them, stunning them for a few seconds and placing strain on the soul’s connection.  They recover, soul blinking back, just as Toriel ends her attack.  Yet the child stays.  The flames return, oscillating, trapping their soul against the wall, the damage washing over them again.  Still they refuse to run.  They ACT, choosing to TALK; if she is so lonely, why force them to leave?  She ignores them.  The fireballs comes in arcs, the child managing to dodge them all for the first time.  The cycle repeats for the next few turns: dodge, talk fruitlessly, dodge and still get hit, and after a few minutes give up on verbal protest.  Eventually, when the soul’s connection to the body was feeble, the flames subside, and she opens her mouth to try diplomacy one last time.  Before she can speak, a shout echoes down the hall, originating from a pair of humans.  Toriel whirls around, seizing the child’s arm and launching them out, the others having distracted them.

“I will catch up to you if I can.  Go.”  A hollow BOOM resounds through the tunnel as the door slams shut.

The tunnel is pitch dark, other than the torch on the wall.  It is impossible to tell how far it runs at this point.  You pick up the torch, then look back at the door.  The only thing you can do for Toriel now is hope.  The ground shifts softly behind you, and you turn to face it.

“Just cause you fooled her, don’t think you’ve fooled me.  I know what you are.”  It’s Flowey.  He looks about as grim as a flower can get.  "I’m watching you, soul-thief,“ he spits out.

His visit is decidedly ended as he disappears back into the earth, leaving you to climb up the tunnel by yourself.  Have fun with the hike.