#i love seeing people from a certain place having to concede that pizza from another place is good

[hibiscuslynx]

has ben ever made ny make the argument about nyc pizza being better than any other pizza because of the tap water because i was just introduced to this concept today and im obsessed

[braindeadforiwa]

Pizza and Wine

synposis :  in which Teru finds out that he isn't even on your radar. Maybe he should be content with what he's already got. Maybe he can live with just being friends. based on a prompt from this post.

pairing : terushima yuuji x reader

WC : 1371

The pouring rain was a constant rush of sound behind Terushima.  The old yellow sweatshirt he wore was soaked through, and his black joggers were in the same sorry state. By far the worst thing though was the wet socks.  The squelch he felt with every step he'd taken made him want to crawl out of his skin.

The things I do for a friend in need, Terushima thought to himself.  Ultimately he didn't really give a damn about the wet clothes.  He was more concerned about you and your emotional state.

You'd been more or less ignoring his texts since yesterday.  And he'd only bothered calling twice, but you immediately rejected those calls.  Normally he would have let you be.  After all, maybe you were just busy.

But call it a gut feeling, intuition about a close friend, or the fact the tone of your texts had changed -- Teru felt that he should go check on you regardless of your disinterest in speaking to him. 

And that's why he now stood on your doorstep, box of pizza in one hand, bottle of wine in the other.  Terushima kicked on your door again.

"I didn't get drenched walking to your apartment for you to say no to pizza," Terushima called through the closed door.  "I have wine too."

Teru waited a beat longer before saying, "C'mon, I know you're sad so let me in, _____."

Just when Terushima was about to resign himself to eating pizza alone on the concrete floor, your door opened.

Well he was certainly right to have been worried.  Even with the poor outdoor lighting Terushima could tell your eyes were red and puffy.

"Bro...you look like shit." Tact was certainly not Teru's strong suit.  "Nothing a little food and wine can't help though."

You moved out of the way, and Teru strolled into your apartment.  The place may as well have been Teru's second home.  He was over to often that you'd given him a drawer for his spare clothes and toiletries.  You'd reasoned it would be better then having to find him a ride home if both of you were drunk, not to mention most days he came over he'd be there until at least 3am.

The two of you met in college during your first semester, and for the past five years you hadn't left each others' sides.  Most people often weren't convinced that you and Teru were only friends though.  Which, understandable to a certain extent.  Both you and Teru realized that people weren't convinced two people could be so close and not be dating.  The intimacy you guys shared rivaled a handful of the relationships you'd witnessed in college. 

That's not to say the idea of dating you had never crossed Teru's mind.  Over the years, Teru had found himself wondering what it'd be like to date you.  He imagined it wouldn't be a whole lot different than what you had now.  Really the only difference he could think of was that he'd be able to kiss you.  And kissing you certainly wasn't any sort of con in his book.

"Go get changed." Your voice carried the exhaustion he could lining your shoulders.  "I'll get the food and stuff ready."

"Thanks," Teru said, ruffling your hair.

After drying off and changing, Terushima met you in the kitchen, a towel around his neck.  You'd gotten glasses for the wine and had already started munching on a slice of pizza.

"So what happened?" Teru asked.  He hopped onto the counter and you turned to face him.  God, how much had you been crying?  Face masks were definitely in your shared future.

"Always right for the throat with you."

"Well it's gonna suck talking about it no matter what, right?" When you didn't say anything Teru conceded.  "But I guess I can let you get a glass or two of wine in your system first."

And for the next couple hours Teru did what he did best: he distracted you.  He talked about his friends and a couple wild nights, he updated you on his family, and told you about some new clients he'd gotten this week. He got you talking about a new show you were both excited for and the newest chapter for a manga you both read. He'd even managed to get you to laugh a couple times.

At some point while reminiscing about college, you ended up doing face masks, and now you found yourself sat in front of the television.  You were planted between Teru's legs on the floor as he combed through your hair and played with it.

As the conversation lulled and the movie continued on screen, Teru spoke up, his voice a little more gentle than usual.  "So you wanna tell me what happened now?"

A beat, and then, "Maya broke up with me."

The pause of Teru's hand in your hair was the only form of shock he showed.  Not because he expected it, but because he knew you didn't like people getting too riled up on your behalf.  It drew too much attention to what you were feeling.  "She say why?" he asked.

"Found someone up where she is," you said.  The life had started fading out of you again.  "Guess she got tired of the long distance thing."

Teru clenched his jaw.  For the five years he'd known you, you'd dated Maya for four of them.  Hell, things had always been going so well between you two that Teru assumed you and Maya would just get married.  Even you had mentioned the possibility of marriage to Teru before. 

"When'd things start going bad?" Teru asked.

"Couple months after she moved," you said.  "Video calls just weren't cutting it anymore.  I mean, why settle for that when you find someone you could be happy with that's also in the same city? At least that's what she said on the phone."

You let out a sigh, your body sagging.  "I don't blame her though," you whispered.  "I understand where she was coming from.  Honestly....I hadn't been dong too well with the long distance thing either.  But I'm still sad, you know? And frustrated.  Like, so much time and effort is just gone now.  Plus she at least has someone new.  Meanwhile I'm just alone." You let your head fall to Teru's knee.

Though he could tell how taxing the conversation was on you, Teru was thankful to see that it seemed to be helping you.  Getting your thoughts out of your head helped you work through things.  It's something he'd noticed over the last few years.  It helped you to slowly work your way back to yourself.  And even though he knew you had a ways to go with properly healing, you were at least taking a step.

"Well, I may not be new but you still got me so you aren't actually alone." Teru grinned.

"I meant romantically, dumbass.  Romantically I'm alone."

The grin faded from Teru's face.  "I can be romantic."

"Teru, I love you, but you kinda suck at relationships," you said, turning to look at him.  "You get spooked any time you think someone might be into you and then either distance yourself or completely ghost them."

Teru was quiet.  You weren't wrong; he did get scared at the idea of being in a relationship.  It wasn't a characteristic he often consciously thought about, but yeah...you were right.  The idea of being emotionally intimate with people freaked him out when he knew that romantic feelings were involved.  But...you already knew so much about him.  You two had bared pieces of your souls to one another on multiple occasions.  You knew more about him then anyone else probably did and you accepted every part of him.  If it were you...well he didn't think he'd be as scared.  If it were you he'd be willing to give it a shot.

But it seems for you that wasn't even an option.

His voice was full of faked nonchalance as he said, "Well, If you ever change your mind you know where to find me."

"Sure," you chuckled as you turned back to face the TV.  "I'll keep it in mind."

[tsarinastorm]

Same World-Adam Sackler/Reader-Chapter 2

PART 1: STARE BLANKLY

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6

PART 2: SAME WORLD

Chapter 1

“Uh, yeah, who is it?” Adam asks as he steps to open the door. He doesn’t really have any friends except possibly Ray or Hannah, or maybe some of the cabaret group. Either way, not a large number of people, and even fewer knew where he lived now. It was refreshing to move somewhere new and start over, however he fears that won’t last long. He opens the door to find the person he wants to see the least: Jessa. She’d managed to track him down somehow, because he knew for certain that she had never been in his new apartment. Fuck, he thinks to himself. Jessa stares at him with sad eyes as he figures out what to say that makes his point clear yet keeps things civil.

               “What are you doing here? I end things, you say you want to be friends, then you disappear.” He brings himself to stammer out. He has no desire to play her games: not tonight, not ever again. She moves closer to him, he steps back and she follows him inside. She plays with her hair before stating, “I heard you say that you had a big audition coming up, and I was wondering if you wanted help with anything?”

               “Thanks for the offer but considering you didn’t even read the script for the movie you produced with me, I’ll pass. I don’t think you want to be bothered with my writing or my career.” That was one neutral way of telling her that he didn’t want her help. Y/N would be giving him her input soon, and he trusted her opinion. She would understand the point he was trying to make.

               “I never understood how important it was to you. If I did, I would have read it. But I thought because I lived it, and I knew what we had, I didn’t need to see it in print.” Shit, he thinks, she’s back to that thought process. Perhaps it was because of her other past relationships that Jessa was convinced that they were the only two people who ever connected. But still, shouldn’t be with Joe, or whatever man she has now and not be here?  He better cut straight to business before she gets the wrong idea or this goes too far.

               “Why are you really here? If it’s to bring up old bullshit about our relationship, I don’t have time for it and I don’t want to rehash it.” He watches her reaction, he had been trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible, but now he sits down on the couch and meets her eyes. He secretly hopes that she’ll decide that she’s had enough of this and storm out. But he has no luck because she plops down on the couch next to him. She then turns to him and chuckles saying, “Still the same couch. This couch has a lot of memories. Remember the first time we fucked on it?”

               All he can do is chuckle too, nod his head and wait this out. He ends up not getting time to wait it out because Jessa reaches out to touch his cheek and turn his face towards her. Before he has a chance to move away or process what’s happening, Jessa’s lips crash unto his. At first he’s surprised, then he kisses back without thinking. When she straddles him, he manages to control himself and use the right head. He gently maneuvers her off of him, and she looks at him with a look of shock, then she says, “Why can’t we fuck? As friends with benefits, or for old time’s sake?”

               “No, Jessa. We’re not fucking any more. You say you want to be my friend, so just be my friend, okay?” He says and desperately hopes that she understands. He doesn’t want to hurt her anymore that is necessary, but he’s also one-hundred percent finished with their relationship. The relationship was toxic, they grew too dependent on one another, and ultimately brought out the worst in each other.

               “I will never understand you, you fucking impossible man!” She shouts at him before rushing out the door, slamming it as loudly as possible. Adam lets out a sigh of relief as he’s alone again, but he removes him from the couch which he now thinks is tainted. He wants to talk someone about what happened: he could talk to Hannah, since they’re cool now but he’d rather not risk getting caught up in that again. Or he could talk to Y/N, but he’s not sure if he wants to drop all his past relationship drama on her this early, it might scare her away.

               Adam can feel the nervous energy rolling off of him as he approaches the door, but he finally gives in and goes to knock. It’s a strange sense of nostalgia being back in the building where he lived for over eight years. So many memories there, but he knew it was right to move on. He hears footsteps on the other side of the door, then Ray slowly steps out. Ray looks him up and down, “Uh, giving up the dream in Manhattan so fast?”

               “No, but I was wondering if we could talk? Like how friends talk?” He breaks down and asks. Adam’s never had a lot of friends but he has some idea of how friendships work. He remembers what an ass he’s been to Ray so before he has time to respond he apologizes, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I was an asshole.”

               “You were an asshole. But most people are. C’mon let’s get a bite to eat.” Ray says as he walks down the stairs, and Adam has to follow. Adam speaks up and says, “Can I get a new couch too?”

                 Adam and Ray had lunch and now they’re moving Adam’s new couch up to his apartment. They manage to make it with only a few curse words exchanged. Once the couch is set down Ray asks, “What made you decide to get rid of old yeller?”

“Jessa stopped by the other day and brought back some shitty memories about that couch so it had to go.” Adam admits.

“You and Jessa are really over then?” Ray asks, Adam shakes his head yes, and Ray adds, “Good. Good for you. She was bad for you, and I think you were both shit for each other.”

“We were. It was a toxic relationship. She still tries to get me to come back, but it’s not happening.” Adam says and he feels some pride in himself. Fuck, even Ray looks proud of him too. Ray looks around his new place before saying, “I’m proud of you. Look at what you have now: your career is going great, this place is really nice, and you and Y/N have your thing.”

“What thing with Y/N?” Adam asks and he tries to hide his blush. Yeah, he really likes Y/N but he doubts anything will come from it. She’s too good for him. And he doesn’t want it to seem like a high school crush.

“It’s obvious that you’re into her and she’s into you.” Adam tries to deny it by shaking his head, but Ray wags his finger before finishing his statement, “I saw the two of you back in the kitchen at the apartment warming.”

*****************************************************

Adam has been running around his apartment all day making sure everything looked presentable, and proofreading some of the stuff he’s written again. He wants to ensure that his pieces are in the best possible shape before having Y/N read them. When he’s in the middle of the last one, he hears a knock at the door. He lets Y/N in and she says, “Okay, show me what you got.” He hands the notebook over to her, and she perches herself at his table and quietly reads.

Y/N has been reading his works for three hours now taking notes here and there. She also makes a few generalized comments. Adam feels like his insides are bouncing off his skin, yet he tries not to show it. She looks up at him and says, “Have you considered revising your film into a fuller screenplay or for the stage? Because I really think you should. I like you’re other works too, they’re incredibly honest and open, but that film was special.”

“I guess I’ll think about it.” Adam concedes and she gets up to stretch. He decides that they need lunch so he offers, “Would you be opposed to me ordering pizza? I know a cool place we could go to eat.”

She agrees, he orders the pizza, then hands her the pizza while a grabs a few foldable chairs. She raises her eyebrows to question it, but still follows him. He leads them up the stairs, taking them to the roof of his building. Y/N’s eyes sparkle when she sees the view, and she takes a brief moment to take it all in. Then she comments, “This is beautiful, though I’m curious as to how you managed to get up here in the first place?”

“I went exploring the building one day, and it’s surprisingly quiet up here. It’s a good place to clear your head. Plus the view of the skyline.”

They eat the pizza in peace and just enjoy each other’s company. And that’s the thing, it’s not an awkward silence, it’s a comfortable silence, the type you can only have after you know someone well. But Y/N breaks the quiet by asking, “Not to prod, but I’m wondering what your deal with Jessa and Hannah was? I’m honestly curious this time. I won’t judge now.”

“Hannah and I had a real connection but it was too intense to last. All the stuff with Natalia and Mimi Rose was just a way to cope with losing Hannah. Then, Jessa and I had a lot in common, and I thought that it could be like what I had with Hannah but better. In reality, Jessa and I were toxic together so I ended it. I thought Hannah and I could still work but it was just never meant to be. I went back to Jessa because it was easier then I got the balls to break it off.” Adam finds himself confessing more than he would have liked, but he knew that he would have to have this conversation with Y/N sometime.

“Damn. Thanks for explaining it to me. That’s the thing about love, they don’t tell you that you can love someone and it can still not be enough. It makes sense now, it’s still crazy as fuck but understandable.” Y/N says and he thinks that she’s staring straight into his soul, and he’s mesmerized. He pushes back the desire to get lost in her, to ask her more about her past relationship, “What about you? What was your last relationship like?”

“It was decent. He was a great guy. It was comfortable, stable, and easy. But I felt nothing, I felt numb and suffocated. I wanted more, you know, to feel more.” She answers and looks at him to see if he’s following her thought process. He definitely is, he knows what it’s like to want more. He felt as if he was rarely satisfied.

“I know what you mean. But never fucking settle. I mean it: never settle.” He says and shakes her shoulders to emphasize his point. He then because he’s curious now, “What do you really want? What is ‘more’ for you?”

“I want a real, spiritual connection with someone. Something so deep and intense that it makes a black hole jealous. I want passion that I can feel in my bones and seeping out of me, and that burns down into the core of my being. I want someone to look at me and see me: wholly, gazing into my soul and I want to gaze into theirs.” Y/N says. Adam thinks he’s more in love than he was already, if that’s possible.

“To really see someone and to really know a person is everything. It should move you so deeply that your life is never the same.” He says maintaining eye contact and leaning in closer to her. She’s leaning in towards him too, and it looks like they both may tip over their chairs. His face moves closer to hers and he can feel her breath, his lips are practically touching hers. He just has to cross that last centimeter to feel her lips on his. He’s going to do it. And then his phone beeps and the moment is lost. Y/N pulls out of it and readjusts herself in the chair. Adam stares into the skyline, cursing the fact that he lost the moment.

********************************************************

You were trying to get your head around what happened with Adam the other day. He was going to kiss you, and you were going to kiss him back. But you knew that would never go well, let alone end well. If you crossed the line with Adam there would more than likely be endless drama. Still, you thought about crossing that line a lot. You thought about him all the time. However, you were pulled out of your daydreaming when Jessa had called you asking for advice about him and all you told her was to do whatever she thought was best. When she pressed you for more help, you said that a person has to decide whether to stick it out and fight or walk away. She was satisfied with that answer and dropped the conversation. You couldn’t deny that a part of you wanted her to walk away from it and stay away from Adam. You tried to ignore that part of you.

Now you were at Adam’s place reading his work. At the moment you were reviewing the lengthened screenplay for Full Disclosure. It didn’t look like the same script to you, Adam cut out the best parts when he lengthened it. What made the film poignant was that it dealt directly with the raw emotions the characters were feeling during the relationship, but that was now replaced with more enlightened commentary.

                “Okay, Adam this script is a total opposite to the film.” You say to him after reading his updated script for the movie. You certainly don’t want to hurt his feelings but you want to know why he changed things.

“What do you mean?” He asks like he doesn’t know what’s different.  He’s avoiding your eyes, a dead give-away that he knows exactly what you mean. You try to explain your thoughts the best you can.

“It doesn’t feel as raw, I mean there’s no way you had these insights about those relationships while they were happening. It’s more of a post-relationship attitude.” You raise your eyebrows and Adam walks over to stand next to you.

“Yeah, I did. I thought those things then.” He’s incredibly close to you, close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. His eyes meet yours and you swear you can feel the heat burning from them.

“Really? I don’t believe that.” Your voice sounds harsher than you meant, but you know that no one knows that a relationship is doomed. Or if they do, they actively repress that thought.

“I knew they were shit and doomed. That’s the point: that some relationships are doomed from the start.”

“Yeah, they may be doomed but we delude ourselves into thinking they’ll work somehow. We’re all fools for love!” You shout.

“What are you trying to say?” He asks, pushing you to reveal more of your thoughts. You give in and share them.

“What I’m saying is that in the beginning we don’t realize the relationship is doomed. We’re too busy feeling the passion-“ He cuts you off before you finish that statement. There is hardly any space left between you now, you can practically feel his breath when he shouts.

“And the connection to the person!” You shake your head in agreement and end up making motions with your hands during which they crash into his hard chest and forearms. You can tell that things are getting steamy and you should back away, but it feels so good. It feels primal, raw, and inevitable.

“And the heat!” You shout back at him, then his hands are on your face and waist, pulling you so there’s no space between you. His lips crash into yours as your hands make their way to his neck, where they find purchase in his hair. Your hands rake through his locks, which are just as soft as you imagined. His lips battle yours before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites gently. You gasp in response and then his tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every inch. You’re incredibly turned on just from making out with him, to the point that the heat and dampness between your legs can’t be ignored. Adam’s just as turned on because you can feel his erection bump into your stomach. And, fuck, it feels huge.

You step back, pulling him with you, so you’re sitting on top of the table and he’s settled in between your legs. You lean into him, with your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his hard cock flush between your thighs, right into your core. You try and fail to suppress the moan that it elicits. His lips make their way down your neck: licking, kissing, and suckling to your collarbone. Then you’re both frenzied as you strip your clothes, so you’re in your lace thong, and he’s down to his black briefs.

“Fuck, you’re hot. More than that, you’re perfect. Look at those perfect tits.” He purs, ogling you before squeezing your breasts and rolling your peaks with his fingers. You’re whimpering in response as he says in your ear, “So desperate for me already. You want my cock don’t you?”

You shake your head eagerly in response and rock your hips against him. He shakes his head before saying, “No, not yet. I need to make sure you’re nice and ready for me. And you’ll need to be louder.”

“Fuck, Adam! Touch me, please” you say in a voice that is neither a shout nor a whisper. His fingers make their way down your abdomen, then remove your underwear. His fingers explore your folds softly, far too lightly for your liking and you’re about to humble yourself to beg for more, but then he presses on your clit. You can’t believe the moan that comes out of your mouth, it sounds like the type you only hear in porn. His index fingers moves in slow, deliberate circles before he replaces them with his thumb and he thrusts two fingers in you suddenly. All the while his mouth latches on your neck, and his other hand caresses your breast again. Soon you’re moving in tandem with his fingers and you can feel your orgasm building, you’re so close, then he pulls off you.

“UGH, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You shout at him. He pulls down his briefs, and you wrap your hand around his cock and give it a light tug. Your action grants a groan from Adam as you continue your movements until he stops you. He then runs his cock through your folds saying, “Can you take my cock, Y/N? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me Adam, please. I want your cock now.” Your graveling words work and he lifts one of your legs on his shoulder and the other is hooked around his elbow. He enters you in one quick thrust, and you can feel him splitting you in two. He begins with slow, forceful thrusts before quickening the pace so he’s rocking into you. You pull him in for a kiss, and your nails scratch down his back. You’re both panting, moaning, and you can feel his balls smack against you. He lifts your hips slightly, you put your leg up on the table and then his cock is hitting your g-spot making you moan even louder before saying, “Yes, right there. Keep fucking me like that.”

“You like the fuck you? I’m fucking you so hard, you’ll be able to feel my cock for days and you’re so loud that the neighbors will know what a dirty whore you are.” He says and he thrusts faster as his fingers rub your clit again. You say, “I’m a dirty whore for you and your cock.”

You can feel the coil growing in your stomach, and feel the tingle start in your legs. Then your orgasm explodes as you’re hit with a bolt of pleasure causing your whole body to tense and you throw your head back. Adam pounds into you and says, “Oh fuck yes, I can feel your cunt clench around me.”

While you’re still intoxicated by the pleasure from your orgasm, Adam pulls out and is beating his cock right in front of you. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen, you ogle him. He says, “Where do you want me to cum?”

“On my tits, come on my tits.” Adam pumps himself before releasing with a grunt. You’re lying on his table blissed out, and he’s lying next to you. You’re covered in his cum but you don’t care. However, he doesn’t know that so he grabs his shirt and cleans you off quickly. You tell him thank you.

“Fuck, why did we do that?” You ask as you come back to reality and wonder how much you’ve screwed yourself over. You still haven’t moved from the table but Adam’s stood up now.

“Because we wanted to?” He sings and heads toward his couch, where he lays down without a care in the world. You respond back with, “It doesn’t always matter what we want. I’m friends with both Jessa and Hannah. And I won’t be someone you use to get back at them.”

“I don’t see what the problem is. Nothing I do has to do with them anymore. I like you, you like me. I came, you came hard.” Adam says like it’s the most normal situation in the world. He eyes you incredulously as you think your reaction through. He pats the space next to him on the couch, beckoning you to join him. Then you decide, “It was just fucking: raw and primal. Instinctive based on chemistry.”

“Aye, aye captain.” That’s the only response he makes to your revelation. You give in and lay next to him on the couch for a while. He snuggles in next to you, and wraps a strong arm around you, before you know it, you’ve dozed off.

You wake up suddenly, realize that you’re still naked, and Adam’s still naked. You get up to put your clothes on but Adam has no such inclination as he remains laying there. He has no modesty, but with his body why would he. As you search for your clothes, you announce, “We need to get to work. No more distractions. For now.”

“Mhmm. How can I concentrate and work when you’re naked. Your ass is out, your tits are right there and I’ll never be able to work with your cunt looking so good. C’mere.” You consider it for a moment. You should stop this, put your clothes back on and either force him to work on his writing, or just leave. But damn, that was best sex of your life and you never felt more yourself, and you give in. You sit down, and raise your eyebrows before asking, “What are going to do if I agree to do things your way?”

               “I’ll see that you get what you want, but I want to eat your pussy first.” He moves down into the couch, and gestures for you sit on his face. You’ve never did that before and you’re skeptical, “Are you sure?”                “Fuck yes, sit on my face, please. I bet your cunt tastes so good.” He says and you give in and crawl on top of him. As you go to lower yourself on his face, you get a better idea so you move to face the other way. Adam groans disapprovingly but when he feels your hands on his cock he groans in pleasure. He starts with his hands grasping your ass to hold you in place and gives a broad, tentative stroke to taste you. His mouth feels amazing you as his tongue explores your hole while his lips suck on your labia. You start moving your hips, riding his tongue like you would his cock, and you’ll be damned if his long tongue doesn’t reach your g-spot. You moan losing yourself for a moment, then remember his hard cock in your hand.

               You spread the bead of precum along his tip and lick a stripe from base to head. You then take his head and run it along your lips before sucking lightly. Now he’s the one who’s moaning and the sound reverberates off your cunt. You take more and more of him in your mouth, swirling your tongue, and bobbing up and down. You’re so consumed by sucking him off that you don’t notice it at first when he nibbles on your clit before drawing circles on it with his tongue. Then, his tongue more forcefully moves along the entirety of your clit: up and down, left and right. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, and you ride his face, chasing your high. He loves it because he moans as holds your hips in place and continues sucking on your clit.

This orgasm is so strong that you feel yourself almost black out, and you can feel the tingle spread through your lower half. You’re back arches and the pleasure hits in spasms. As the aftershocks of your orgasm subside, you remove yourself from Adam’s shoulders and then straddle him. He’s panting and his face is covered in your cum.

               He’s watching you with wild eyes and you tease his cock by rolling your hips on it but not granting it entrance. Adam groans in response, and you like that sound. You tease him some more adding, “Are you going to be a good boy if I let you have my pussy?”

               “Fuck yes!” he shouts desperately.

               “You promise? Do you really want my pussy?” You ask him again, because you can tell he likes it. He responds back with, “I fucking love your pussy. I’ll be good, I promise.”

               Then you slide yourself down onto him and you swear he’s deeper in you than anyone has ever been. You moan as he fills and he moans as he slides home. You swivel your hips and rock them slightly before Adam begins thrusting up into you. You take the hint and ride his cock hard enough that your tits are bouncing, and you feel one of his hands snake up your side to squeeze your breast. His other hand sneaks down to rub your clit again as he tells you, “I’m going to make you cum again.”

               The movements of his hand pulls another orgasm out of you and you collapse on top of him. You wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss every bit of his skin that’s available to you. His arms wind around your waist and he holds you in place as he pounds up into you. He groans as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, and you tell him, “Cum inside me, I’m on the pill.” He follows your instructions, spilling into you and holds as he relaxes back into on the couch, clutching you to his chest.

***********************************

               Despite the shower you took at Adam’s, you were sure that you still reeked of sex. You try to sneak into your apartment to not tip Marnie off to anything amiss. Instead, you find Marnie sitting on the couch watching your attempt to be quiet before finally saying, “Y/N, I was getting worried. You were gone all day and didn’t return my texts. Oh my gosh, you just had sex didn’t you?”

               You shamefully nod your head yes in response. Damn her intuition. There was no way it was that obvious. She just questions, “Was it good?”

               “Seriously, it was the best sex of my life. Hands down.” You admit, praying that she won’t question who your partner was. Thankfully, she doesn’t. She only says, “Well I’m happy that you’re happy and having great sex. Good for you. Just use condoms and proper hygiene.”

               “Got it. What’s up with you?” You question because you can tell that she’s hiding something. And that was why she was asking you for information but not taking it too far. She was hoping that you wouldn’t notice that something was up with her.

               “Charlie and I are hanging out again. It’s like I know I shouldn’t but I can’t deny how I still feel about him.” Marnie admits and watches your reaction to her confession. Of course, you worry about her getting hurt again but she’s an adult and ultimately she’s got to live her life how she wants. You tell her, “That’s up to you. You live your truth and do what you feel you have to do.”

               She nods in agreement and you settle into the spot next to her on the couch and find something to watch on Netflix. Unsurprisingly you settle on the Real Housewives and enjoy the peace, but you wonder if that will be ruined soon by the fallout from you and Adam. You then decide that you’re not going to feel guilty about it, you’re just going to see where it goes.

[everlarkficexchange]

The Virgin (Social) Suicides

WRITTEN BY: @ally147writes

PROMPT 85: Katniss makes unsettling discovery that everyone in her close and extended group of friends has dated at least once and sometimes even each other. Except for her. The “late bloomer” teasing (b/c she’s never even been kissed) stings. Older boy Gale crosses paths with group, finds he shares common interests with Katniss, they get together to hunt, leads to him casually inviting her out for a real dinner date. Not feeling desire but pressure to “get it over with,” she accepts. Peeta has regrets. [submitted by @567inpanem]

NOTES: I desperately wanted to have this complete, but uni conspired against me. A million thanks to our angel mods, @xerxia31 and @javistg for holding this exchange, and allowing the extra week 😊

This is parts one-and-a-half (ish?) of a (probably?) four-part story. I won’t be posting to AO3 or anywhere else until the rest of it is complete. Parts 2, 3 and 4 are all between 30% and 75% complete already, so hopefully it won’t take me too long to wrap up.

Unbeta’d. All errors are my own.

Rated M for swears and discussions of sex (or lack thereof)

Thom and Lavinia’s engagement party is a sedate affair, which Katniss never would have guessed. Whenever Thom or Lavinia were left in charge of planning anything, it always started with them drowning themselves in cheap beer at Abernathy’s, got a bit muddy somewhere in between, and ended in a trip to the hospital for someone to get their broken wrist or dislocated shoulder set.

And once, to the police station, to face indecent exposure charges.

The doing of their mothers, Katniss supposes. (Probably a smart move, considering the alternatives; no one’s engagement party should end in a holding cell). They’re perched by the string quartet, amongst a cluster of white rose bushes, their oversized, feather-trimmed hats knock against each other’s with every exaggerated, bird-like nod and squawking laugh they release, while their husbands make awkward small-talk by the fence overlooking the golf course.

How they’re out there like that in the sun, in dark suits and all, Katniss has no idea. She dabs a napkin across her damp hairline and peels her sticky skin away from the plastic of the chair. An afternoon in the sprawling gardens of the Snow estate, when it’s pushing a hundred degrees out, isn’t exactly her idea of a good day — if she weren’t part of the bridal party, Katniss would have skipped out hours ago. Add that to the cocktail dress she all but shoved her body into and the hair that’s falling out of her braid and sticking to her glossed lips, she’s about ready to revolt.

But, she concedes, Thom’s parents are loaded up to their eyeballs, and they’ve made sure there’s free — mercifully cold — booze everywhere, so bottom’s up.

The happy couple don’t seem to mind the heat, or the change in pace too much. The groom-to-be dips his laughing bride over his arm and kisses her square on the lips, swaying along to the soft tones of the violin strings, the intimate connection between them somehow the simplest thing in the world. The scene should inspire at least a smile — she’s happy for her friends, right? But it tugs somewhere deep at Katniss instead, unrelenting and unrepentant, leaving behind an odd sort of hollowness, demanding more yet leaving her starving for… something.

“They’re sweet together, aren’t they?” says Madge as she sips her champagne.

Katniss shakes her head, but she can’t stop the nagging in her gut. “Yeah, I guess. It’s a little sickening, actually.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“What? They’re hunting for each other’s intestines through their mouths.”

“You are absolutely disgusting.” Madge swipes a celery stick from their shared crudité platter and nibbles at it like a rabbit. “Please stop speaking.”

“I’m still not wrong.”

“I guess it is kind of funny, though,” Madge goes on, chomping through the celery. “You’d never guess he could be so doting. I mean, when I dated Thom, the nicest thing he ever did for me was give me the olives off his pizza.” She sighs and smiles an odd little smile as Katniss’ hand freezes with a cherry tomato halfway to her mouth. “I guess it really does change everything when you meet the right person.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” She drops the tomato, and it bounces off the table and lands on the floor, where someone will slip on it later, probably her. “You dated Thom? As in, Thom, Thom?”

Madge arches a plucked brow. “Well, yeah, a while ago now, not long after we first started college. Well before Lav was in the picture, if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought you knew about it; we were all friends then.”

Katniss frowns and tries to dredge the memory — what would Thom have looked like then? Was this during his mohawk days, or after? “For how long?”

Madge quirks her head to the side, and not a single strand falls out of her intricate up-do. “I don’t know. A few months, maybe? Not a long time.”

Katniss taps her index finger — unadorned with polish, to Prim’s everlasting dismay — against the pristine surface of the timber table. “Is it… weird? Being friends with him now, I mean?”

Madge laughs. “Kat, if it was weird to hang out with someone I’d dated before, I’d have to find a whole new group of friends.”

“Why?” Madge smiles that weird little smile again, and the urge to slap it off is overwhelming. “How many of them have you gone out with?”

“Uh…? Let’s see.” Madge counts them off on her fingers, like there’s a real need to keep track of them. “Thom, Darius, Gloss. Leevy a couple of times, too, but that was over pretty much as soon as it started. Oh, and Peeta once, as well.”

Katniss chokes on a piece of cucumber. Oh, god. “Peeta, too?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter, Katniss?” Madge flashes another grin as Katniss knocks back a hearty sip of her drink. “Jealous?”

“No!” she exclaims. But without even meaning to, she finds Peeta across the courtyard, where he’s entertaining Lavinia’s many nieces and nephews with embarrassing Dad-style magic tricks. The sleeves of his starched, pale blue dress shirt are pushed up around his elbows, and there’s a rogue curl stuck with sweat against his forehead. He meets her eyes and smiles at her, as warm and tangible as a touch. Her cheeks flood with heat and she tears her gaze away. God, it’s like they’re in school all over again.

Madge shoots a grin Katniss can only describe as shit-eating, and it’s all she can do not to throw her remaining champagne in Madge’s face.

“No, of course you’re not,” Madge says, like she’s talking down a screaming child. “That would mean you had a soul or something.”

There’s nothing she can say now that wouldn’t incriminate her further. Katniss turns to the dripping glass of ice water at her elbow and drains it.

“Well…” she says, once she’s certain the nuclear blush on her cheeks is under control. “Why’d you only go out with him once?”

Madge smiles that stupid little smile again. The secret one Katniss has no insight to or context for.

“Peeta’s… very sweet. He’ll make the girl he’s got his eye on extremely happy.”

The words are innocuous, but something in Katniss seizes urgently. “Peeta’s got someone in mind?”

Madge nods and adds solemnly, “Has done for years now.”

“Years?” There’s no good reason why this information should make her want to break something. None at all. “Why won’t he make a move?”

Madge snorts, and the sound is weird coming out of someone so refined. “Honestly?” she says, as she flags down a waiter for another class of champagne. “I’d say he’s terrified. The girl isn’t exactly one who’ll take his declaration with open arms.”

She shouldn’t — she knows she doesn’t want to — but she prods anyway. “You know who she is?”

“She was pretty much the basis of our one and only date. He didn’t think he had a chance, needed someone to wallow with, that sort of thing.” Madge smiles a dreamy sort of smile and tips her eyes closed. “God, we got so drunk.”

“…And?”

“I’m not going to tell you!” Madge nudges her with her bony elbow, but the effect is ruined by the draping, bell-sleeves of Madge’s deep-aubergine dress. “Ask him yourself if you’re that curious.”

Yeah, there’s not a prayer in hell of that happening.

“So,” Katniss says instead. “Have our friends always been so… incestuous?”

Madge rolls her eyes and, for the first time since this awkward line of questioning began, looks vaguely annoyed. “Katniss, what’s the problem? I’m pretty sure Annie and Finnick are the only other completely monogamous people we know. Johanna’s dated pretty much everyone, too. Cato made the rounds too, before he got his shit together with Clove. Darius dated Lavinia, too, when he and Thom were roommates. That’s how she met Thom in the first place.”

“So… yes?”

Madge laughs and sighs at the same time. “It’s people in their mid-twenties being people in their mid-twenties. Honestly, I’m surprised you never noticed before — it’s not like Johanna’s discreet about it or anything — but I guess you’ve always been a bit…”

“A bit what?”

“A bit… I don’t know… pure, I guess?”

“Pure?” She spits the word out like poison and leaves it in the air.

Madge pats her arm. “There’s nothing wrong with pure, Kat. It’s just… we’re twenty-five now, you know? You don’t need to be so embarrassed about anyone else’s love life. Hell, maybe we should get you a nice date of your own, so you’ve got something else to focus on.”

Heat crawls up her chest and settles in her face. Her fancy cocktail dress feels way too small and way too hot.

“Uh…”

“Kat…”

“… Yeah?”

“You have gone on a date before, haven’t you?”

“I… uh… no?”

She’s not sure why it comes out as a question. She sure knows about her complete and total lack of love life; no need to have other people confirming it for her.

Madge’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”

“Why would I joke about that?” she retorts. “And we’ve been friends for how long, now? How didn’t you notice?”

“I don’t know! It’s just that…” She scrutinises Katniss like she’s a wayward science experiment. “Really?”

Katniss rolls her eyes. “Yes, Madge. Really.”

“Not even in college? No one? Nothing?”

“Is it so hard to believe?” Katniss snaps. “No, Madge. I have never, not once, ever gone on a date.”

 “Well, you’ve… you’ve at least had sex before, right?”

Heat fills her cheeks until she’s sure she’s about to melt from the pain of it all, though she’s got no idea why it embarrasses her so much. It’s normal, right? Or normal-ish, at least. And it’s not like she planned on it happening. Or not happening. Whatever.

Her virginity isn’t some sacred, precious jewel she’s carting around in a bubble wrap-lined basket. And it’s not something she’s hoarding, just so she can get down on bended knee and present it to The Right Guy when The Right Moment comes along. It’s not a personal choice, a feminist statement or even a religious one. The opportunity to do so just hasn’t… come up, so to speak.

And it’s fine. She guesses. Most of the time, it doesn’t even bother her. She’s had enough going on in her life that it isn’t something she’s missed, or even had time for. And it’s not like she’d be any good at any of it, anyway. The hand-holding. The intimacy. The kisses.

The sex.

The mere idea almost makes her shudder. She’d suck. And not in the sexy way.

It might be nice. Maybe. One day. When she’s good and ready to make it happen.

Until then, though…

“Uh…”

Madge’s bright blue eyes blow wide. “Katniss!” she shrieks.

A hundred people turn and stare at them, Peeta included, not even slightly helping her blush to fade faster.

“For the love of God, Madge, would you keep it down?” Katniss swats at Madge’s arm and hisses down at the table, “No, I’ve never done… anything.”

Madge lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “Not even kissed?”

Right on cue, Thom kisses Lavinia again, long enough for it to get awkward. Katniss scowls and looks away. “No, Madge,” she mumbles. “Not even kissed. Or held hands. Or hugged or by someone who wasn’t an immediate family member.”

“What about yourself? Do you masturbate?”

“Fucking hell, Madge, really?”

“Okay, sorry. I just…” Madge gives a tight laugh and shakes her head. “I… You cannot be serious right now.”

“What part of this is so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. I mean, you’re gorgeous, for one. A great person, kind, generous, brave, loyal to a fault. Anyone would be lucky, you know?”

Katniss snorts and drags a carrot stick through a warm bowl of hummus. Why couldn’t they have held the party indoors, like normal people? Yeah, maybe she’d still be getting the third degree, but at least the condiments might be cold. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Madge starts, leaning in so they’re a hairsbreadth apart. “Have you ever… you know, wanted to?”

There’s no right way to answer that question. If she says yes, she’s as doomed as if she answers no. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Are you…” Madge stops, starts, opens and closes her mouth like a fish blowing bubbles. “Have you ever thought that you might be ace or something?” She holds up her hands and all but yells before Katniss can say anything, “Not that there’s… it doesn’t matter if you are or anything like that, I just thought… maybe you’re —”

“— No,” Katniss cuts in, before Madge can hurt herself. “I’ve had… you know, crushes and stuff before, I’ve just never been in a relationship, and I wouldn’t have rejected one if it came along.” She shrugs. “It just never did, and I’m okay with that.”

But, is she? God, and she’s always thought of herself as an enlightened, modern, don’t-need-no-man sort of woman, too.

“Honestly, Kat? You’ve probably been hit on a thousand times, but it never registered in your head that it was even happening to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that… I don’t think you’re aware of the effect you have on people, that’s all.”

Katniss frowns at the wilting crudité platter. “You’re making me sound like a heartless bitch.”

Madge rolls her eyes. “Of course, you’re not a heartless bitch. I’m just saying you should… I don’t know… open your eyes a little, take a second look, you know? Someone might really surprise you one day.”

Again — completely against her will, she swears — she finds Peeta across the courtyard. This time, he doesn’t look up from pulling a coin from a little girl’s ear. “I’ll think about it.”

“You definitely won’t, but I’ll give you a pass for tonight.”

Katniss cringes. “You’re not going to make it your mission to get me laid, are you?”

“This isn’t a shitty eighties movie, Katniss,” Madge says as she pushes her seat away from the table and stands on her ridiculous four-inch heels. “So, no. I’m not going to try and get you laid. Now, let’s go dance or something; it’s a party, for God’s sake.”

XXX

The next time they’re all together, at a reasonable temperature and in normal clothes, Katniss surveys her friends with a strange, acute sense of awareness she didn’t possess before. Annie perched on Finnick’s lap, feeding him pretzels like coins in a slot machine; Cato and Clove with their arms wrapped around each other so tight it looks like it should hurt; Johanna and Bristel with their tongues so far down each other’s throats that they’re probably going to leave and do God knows what before their next round arrives. All of them know a sort of intimacy Katniss can’t even begin to fathom. All of them… except her.

And it’s… weird. Like she’s on the outside of a joke that’s been going on for years.

How are they all still friends? How is it all so… natural for them? Granted, it’s not like she’s got any insight to what’s going on in their brains, but it must be awkward on some level, mustn’t it? How can you share so much of yourself with one person, then pretend like it never happened? And then, how can you do it with four or five or maybe even more of the people you hang out with the most? Katniss can’t wrap her mind around any of it.

Only Peeta, sitting beside her, seems to notice her out-of-body experience.

He nudges her ankle with his foot beneath the table and leans in to whisper, “Are you all right, Katniss?”

She shivers at the warmth and scent of him, of cinnamon and dill and all kinds of other delicious things. He’s never smelled bad in all the time she’s known him. “Yeah. Just, uh… weird day.” She tips back her gin and tonic and almost chokes on it.

He nods, thoughtful, and takes another sip of his own drink, the only one he’ll have for the whole night. “That sucks,” he says, and she can tell he means it, too. He smiles, and another shiver races through her. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just the usual.”

“Another drink, then?”

“I think I’m done for the night, but thanks.”

He shrugs and takes another sip. “No problem.”

“Hey… is it true you dated Madge?” She wants to punch herself in the face as soon as the words leave her mouth.

He almost spits out his drink. “What?” He coughs and thumps his chest with his fist. “She told you about that?”

“She just mentioned it. I had no idea.”

“It was… uh, a while ago.” He drags a hand through his curls and surveys her with something almost like worry. “What else did she tell you?”

“Not much. Just that you guys went out a couple of times —”

“— Once,” Peeta cuts in, a tendon in his jaw twitching. “We went out once. Years ago.”

“All right.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “Sorry for mentioning it.”

“No, Katniss —” He breaks off with a sigh and twirls the last of his beer around in the bottle. “Yeah, Madge and I went out. It wasn’t a big deal. We were both dealing with… I don’t know, shitty personal lives, I guess?”

“Madge said it was to forget a girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ, would someone please, please, cut out her tongue?

“I… uh…” He chugs back the rest of his beer in one feel swoop. Awesome, now he doesn’t have to watch her tear at her hair. “I guess it was kind of like that. I think Madge had just stopped seeing that Blight guy? It was… a while ago, that’s for sure.” He looks at her critically. “Why do you ask?”

She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I don’t know. Just, she mentioned it and I was… curious, I guess.”

His lips quirk into a hint of a smile. “Curious about what, Katniss?”

Yeah, her brain taunts her. Curious about what, Katniss?

Even if she knew, she’s got no clue how to go about admitting it to Peeta, of all people.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles at her empty glass. “Nothing, I guess.”

Now, the concern is back full-force. “You sure?”

Not really, but she’s not so sure why or what or how anymore. “Yeah. I’m sure. But I think I’ll take that drink now, if you’re still offering.”

He flags down the nearest server and says, “Yeah. I think I might, too.”

[fyeah-bangtan7]

The Greatest Showmen: An exclusive look inside the world of BTS

Maybe you saw them piled on the klieg-lit couches of Ellen DeGeneres and Jimmy Fallon, trading light bilingual banter with their starstruck hosts. Maybe it was when they spoke solemnly on mental health and self-love at the United Nations General Assembly last September, or when a wall of dolphin-like screams greeted them as they rolled into February’s Grammy Awards in trim matching tuxedos, their hair tinted various shades of pastel macaron.

Or maybe the cover of this magazine is the first time you’ve truly noticed BTS. (Stranger things have happened in 2019.) But it seems indisputable to say that sometime over the past two years, the septet have taken over the world: two No. 1 albums on the Billboard chart in the span of three months; more than 5 billion streams combined on Apple Music and Spotify; a string of sold-out concert dates from the Staples Center in Los Angeles to London’s famed Wembley Stadium.

That hardly makes them the first boy band to dominate a cultural moment, but the fact that they are all Korean-born and -raised, singing Korean-language songs only occasionally sprinkled with English, feels like something brand-new. And it speaks to an unprecedented kind of global currency — one where pop music moves without barriers or borders, even as geopolitics seem to retreat further behind hard lines and high walls.

On a blindingly bright March day in Seoul five weeks before the release of their upcoming sixth EP, Map of the Soul: Persona, the band is holed up at their record label Big Hit Entertainment, preparing. Buildings like this are where much of the magic of the phenomenon known as K-pop happens, though Big Hit’s headquarters on a quiet side street in the city’s Gangnam district (yes, the same one Psy sang about in his 2012 smash “Gangnam Style”) look a lot like any other tech office: sleek poured-cement corridors and glass-box conference rooms scattered with well-stocked mini-fridges, plush toys, and the occasional beanbag chair. Only a display case stacked with a truly staggering number of sales plaques and statuettes, and a glossy large-scale photo print of BTS at their sold-out concert at New York’s Citi Field last October, give away the business they do here.

Down a long hallway, all seven members lounge in various states of readiness as they gear up to pretape a thank-you video for an iHeartRadio award they won’t be able to accept in person. Jimin, bleached blond and pillow-lipped, is having his hair carefully flat-ironed in a wardrobe room filled with racks of coordinated denim and neon streetwear. Dozens of pairs of pristine Nikes and Converse are piled in a corner; a lone fun-fur jacket the color of strawberry ice cream slumps on a hanger behind him, like a neglected Fraggle.

Jung Kook, the baby of the band at 21, sits obediently in a folding chair in the dance studio, also having his hair tended to; J-Hope strides by in a white dress shirt emblazoned with an over-size silk-screen of Bart Simpson, then grins and disappears. Suga, V, and Jin huddle together on low sofas next door, scrolling through their phones and occasionally singing fragments of American R&B star Khalid’s “My Bad.” Twenty-four-year-old RM, the group’s de facto leader and lone fluent English speaker, is the last to arrive.

They run through their speech for a camera crew and do maybe four or five takes until the director is satisfied. Then they settle in for a conversation in an airy break room upstairs, accompanied by their longtime translator, a large, amiable bald man in a business suit named John. (Unless noted, the answers of all members other than RM come through him.) Several weeks after returning from their first Grammys, they’re still riding high off the experience: presenting the award to H.E.R. for Best R&B Album; chatting with Shawn Mendes in the men’s room — “I was like, ‘Do I need to tell him who I am?’ ” Jimin remembers, “but then he said hello first, which was really nice” — and being seated only a sequin’s throw from Dolly Parton. (“She was right there in front of us!” marvels Jung Kook. “Amazing.”)

As happily dazzled as they still seem to be by other celebrities, seeing BTS in the flesh triggers the same disorienting but not unpleasant sense of unreality. On screen, the band can look disconcertingly pretty; avatars of a sort of poreless, almost postgender beauty who seem to exist inside their own real-life Snapchat filters. In person they’re still ridiculously good-looking, but in a much more relatable, boyish way: bangs mussed, even the occasional chapped lip or small (okay, minuscule) blemish. Take away their Balenciaga high-tops and the discreet double Cs of Chanel jewelry, and they could almost be the cute college guy next to you at the coffee shop or on the train.

Except riding public transportation or casually dropping into a Starbucks stopped being an option for BTS a long time ago. In Seoul, their faces are plastered across makeup kiosks and street signs and the sides of buses — even on massive digital billboards that are bought and paid for by private citizens to acknowledge a beloved member’s birthday, or just because. In cities like São Paulo and Tokyo and Paris, fans camp out days in advance for concerts and public appearances, obsessively trading trivia and rumored sightings. When the band posted their takethis link opens in a new tab on Drake’s #InMyFeelingsChallenge, it became the most liked tweet of 2018; this summer, Mattel will release an official line of BTS dolls.

In the still center of this bizarre fame hurricane, the boys have managed to find a few pockets of normalcy. Jimin wistfully recalls a time in Chicago when they were able to slip out of their hotel rooms undetected “late at night, just to get some fresh air.” But most places, he admits, “that’s really out of the question” unless they split into smaller groups. “I mean, look at us,” RM adds with a laugh, running a hand through his own silver-nickel bangs. “Seven boys with dyed hair! It’s really too much.”

Instead, they focus on the things they can do, like sneaking out to the movies (“Always the latest or earliest show,” says RM, if they want to stay unseen), shopping online (V loves eBay, especially for clothes), going fishing, playing StarCraft at home. Group housing is actually common for K-pop stars, and BTS seem to appreciate the shared stability: “We’ve been living together for a while now, almost eight, nine years,” says Jimin. “So in the beginning we had a lot of arguments and conflicts. But we’ve reached the point where we can communicate wordlessly, basically just by watching each other and reading the expressions.”

Though they’re unfailingly polite and attentive in interviews, there’s a certain amount of contained chaos when they’re all together — a sort of tumbling-puppy cyclone of playful shoves, back slaps, and complicated handshakes — but also a surprising, endearing sweetness to the way they treat one another in quieter moments. When a question is posed to the group, they work hard to make sure each one of them is heard, and if someone is struggling to find a word, they’ll quickly reach out for a reassuring knee pat or side hug.

Even with the language barrier of speaking to an American reporter, though, their individual personalities quickly start to emerge: Asked to name their earliest pop memories, the answers land all over the map. “I loved Pussycat Dolls’ ‘Stickwitu,’ ’’ says J-Hope, the group’s most accomplished dancer, snapping his fingers and cooing the chorus. For RM, who started out in Seoul’s underground rap scene, it’s Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” (“I think that’s, like, a life pick for so many people around the world,” he admits, “but I can’t forget when I first watched 8 Mile and heard the guitars. That was my turning point.”) For Jung Kook, who has released covers of Justin Bieber and Troye Sivan songs, it was Richard Marx’s deathless lite-FM ballad “Now and Forever.”

The soft-spoken Suga cites John Lennon’s “Imagine” as “the first song I fell in love with,” which feels like a fitting gateway to ask where BTS see themselves in the pantheon of musical heartthrobs that the Fab Four essentially invented. “Sometimes it feels really embarrassing when someone calls us a 21st-century Beatles or something like that,” RM concedes. “But if they want to call us a boy band, then we’re a boy band. If they want to call us a boy group, we’re a boy group. If they want to call us K-pop, then we’re cool with K-pop.”

Ah, K-pop. In South Korea, where the genre has become not just a prime cultural commodity but a multibillion-dollar export, the players, known as “idols,” go through rigorous Fame-style schooling in song and dance and media training that often goes on for years before they’re considered ready for the spotlight. And it’s paid off: Business has been booming since the early ’90s, with stars from Girls’ Generation to G-Dragoncrossing over to various markets across Asia, Europe, and the Americas. But while the sound has remained fairly consistent — a canny mix of club-ready beats, hyper-sweetened choruses, and the more urban inflections of Western hip-hop and R&B — it’s never before landed with the lightning-bolt impact of BTS.

Bang Si-Hyuk, the CEO and founder of Big Hit, began putting the band together in 2010, when all the members were in their tweens or teens: RM and Suga were coming up on the local rap scene; Jimin and J-Hope studied dance at performing-arts schools; V, who focused on singing early on, joined officially in 2013. Jin was an aspiring actor recruited off the street for his striking looks; Jung Kook, now the group’s main vocalist, joined while he was still in junior high.

Though fansites tend to lean on their extracurricular differences (Jung Kook is a Virgo who loves pizza! V collects ties and clenches his teeth in his sleep!), each member genuinely does hold a unique space in the group’s process, whether it’s leaning more toward production, lyrics, or the supersize hooks the songs rest on. “With seven members we have seven different tastes, of course,” says RM. “So when it comes to songwriting, it’s like a big competition.” Occasionally, adds J-Hope, “we’ll write a lyric and decide, ‘This sort of reflects me [more], who I am and my own color,’ so we’ll want to keep that for a solo song.”

Because Big Hit doesn’t restrict their right to funnel some ideas into side projects — and because the appetite for more BTS-sourced material online is seemingly unquenchable — members regularly release solo work through EPs, SoundCloud, and mixtapes. But the primary impact still comes through the official album releases, and the particularly weighty subjects those songs take on — a notable departure from the narrow, often strenuously upbeat topics other K-pop artists typically cover.

“I promised the members from the very beginning that BTS’ music must come from their own stories,” says Bang; their subsequent openness about their own struggles with depression, self-doubt, and the pressure to conform took them all the way to the U.N. last fall, where RM addressed the band’s Love Myself campaign and #ENDviolence youth partnership with UNICEF.

“They stand out,” says Japanese-American DJ and producer Steve Aoki, a top-selling global dance artist who has also collaborated with the band on several tracks. “And I’m not just talking about K-pop. They add so much of their personality to the music and into their stories and how they present themselves. And the world has fallen in love with them because they are showing that vulnerable side that everyone wants to see.”

It helps, too, that the group’s more pointed messages are often slipped into the sticky aural peanut butter of anthems like “No More Dream,” “Dope,” and “Am I Wrong.” But they always appreciate the chance, Suga says, to get “a little more raw, a little more open.” RM elaborates: “I think it’s an endless dilemma for every artist, how much we should be frank and honest. But we try to reveal ourselves as much as we can.”

Honesty has its limits, of course, when you’re the biggest band in the world. Asked to describe the new album, due April 12 (at press time, it had already hit over 2.5 million in preorders), members offer up cryptic but enthusiastic koans like “therapeutic” and “refreshing crispness.” To be fair, they can’t say much in part because the new album’s track list isn’t actually finalized yet — late decisions being a luxury of in-house production — though they do agree to play one song, a propulsive rap-heavy banger called “Intro: Persona.” (It was released as a teaser March 27; you can watch the video herethis link opens in a new tab.)

When it comes to more personal questions about the challenges of dating or the goals they might want to pursue post-BTS, they pivot so gracefully to evasive, nonspecific answers, you almost can’t help but be impressed; it’s like watching a diplomat ice-dance. They want you to know that they are incredibly grateful for the devotion of their fans, and so blessed to be exactly where they are; that they really don’t think in terms of five- or 10-year plans. But they turn reflective when the subject of American pop’s holy grail, the Hot 100 singles chart, is raised. They cracked the top 10 last year with “Fake Love” but have yet to reach a higher spot, largely because mainstream radio airplay—a huge component of Hot 100 domination—still eludes them Stateside.

“It will have to be a great song,” Suga acknowledges, “but also there’s a whole strategy that’s associated with getting all the way up. And then there has to be a measure of luck, obviously. So what’s important for us is just to make good music and good performances and have those elements come together.” Does a Spanish-language smash like 2017’s “Despacito” — which spent a record 16 weeks at No. 1 — make them more optimistic about their own odds? “You know, Latin pop has its own Grammys in America, and it’s quite different,” RM says thoughtfully. “I don’t want to compare, but I think it’s even harder as an Asian group. A Hot 100 and a Grammy nomination, these are our goals. But they’re just goals — we don’t want to change our identity or our genuineness to get the number one. Like if we sing suddenly in full English, and change all these other things, then that’s not BTS. We’ll do everything, we’ll try. But if we couldn’t get number one or number five, that’s okay.”

Aoki, for one, has faith they’ll get there. “I think it’s 100 percent possible that a song sung entirely in Korean could crack the top of the Hot 100. I firmly believe that, and I really firmly believe that BTS can be the group that can do that. It’s going to pave the way for a lot of other groups, which they’ve already been doing—and when that happens, we’re all gonna celebrate.”

Back at Big Hit, though, the band has more immediate work to do. RM offers a quick tour of his production room (each member has his own dedicated space on site). The door outside is guarded by a quirky assemblage of figurines by the renowned street artist Kaws, but inside feels, incongruously, like stepping into a tiny, luxurious Sundance lodge that also just happens to have a soundboard: There’s a beautiful coffee table made from a single piece of black walnut; Navajo-style rugs; tasteful art on the walls. RM talks easily about his admiration for producers like Zedd and the Neptunes (“Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo were my true idols in 2006, 2007. Pharrell’s voice! It’s so sexy, how he sings”), and plays down his own skills (“As a beatmaker, Suga is way better than me. I don’t even know how to play the piano — I just do the chords like this,” he insists, miming keyboard Muppet hands).

Then it’s back to the dance studio, where they’ve changed into track pants and T-shirts to run through new steps with a choreographer. It starts with a rough triangle formation, and an elaborate hip-swivel-into-pelvic-thrust/crotch-grab combo that actually plays much more innocently than it sounds, mostly because they keep stopping to crack each other up. Soon, though, they drill down — repeating the moves until they seem crisp but easy, almost an afterthought. It feels like time to leave them; the boys wave happily, shouting out a rowdy chorus of goodbyes. Then they turn back to the mirror, and keep dancing.

[doomfisthero]

Initial Contact

Another RP between me and @grampa-lion​, one with some self-insert elements to it. With Matty’s permission, I’m planning on writing some more occasional forays into the Nebula Nine universe as myself and not merely through Keaton; I’m working on one now, so I figured I’d upload this as a prologue of sorts. Edited slightly for narrative consistency, and to indicate direct communication between me and Matty.

Keaton takes a deep breath next to me, grinning ear to ear, as the elevator descends from the front deck of the Asclepius into her inner quarters. From what I’ve seen of the ship so far (Keaton promised me a full tour after we’ve met the others), she’s a beautiful and majestic vessel. I can only imagine standing on the surface of a planet ravaged by chaos and disarray, and looking up to see salvation coming in the form of a graceful ship, filled with heroes of justice and light.

What’s it like, soaring through the universe on a craft like this? I can watch Star Wars and Kyuranger all I want, but I can only hope that the Rangers will let me experience it for myself. Maybe if I get along with them…

I forcefully set it aside. It’s a thought for later. I have a more pressing matter waiting for me at the bottom of this elevator.

As if by magic (but probably not), the door opens at that moment into a short hallway with a door at the end. I’ve read and written enough stories in this universe to know that door opens onto the bridge of the ship, where Keaton claims that everyone awaits us. My stomach does a few more turns.

“You ready, Jake?” Keaton asks, walking out of the elevator with me shortly in tow.

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” I say, failing to keep the tremble out of my voice.

Keaton turns back to me. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, buddy,” he says, giving me a look of gentle concern. “Trust me, everyone’s overjoyed to finally meet you – the Rangers and Matty both. You’re a great guy, Jacob, and I know they’re going to love you as much as you love them. By the end of today, you’ll all be amazing friends.”

We stop right in front of the bridge door. Keaton puts his hand on my shoulder – normally that would bother me, but Keaton gives me a sense of comfort that few people do. “This doesn’t have to go like any of your fantasies, no matter how much time you’ve spent on them. It can go better. It will.”

“They don’t all go that badly, Keaton,” I say, but I have to concede his point. Angst is one of those things that always comes easily to me. It permeates a great deal of what I write, especially for Nebula Nine, even if a happy ending is rarely far behind. “I wouldn’t mind skipping past the rough stuff this time, though,” I admit.

Keaton pats my shoulder. “And you will.” His face lights up, and he brings his fists to his chest. “This is going to be great, Jacob. I’m so, so happy you’re finally here. I can’t wait for you to meet my family.”

Looking into the eyes of my creation, those joyous, gleaming gems, I can’t help but get excited too. A warm smile creeps across my face, and a warm feeling settle into my stomach, vanquishing the evil butterflies. I’m going to meet the Rangers – not only that, I’m going to meet Matty. Has it really been only seven months since our friendship begun? It feels like I’ve known him for so much longer. Seven months have created a brother, someone I love like my own blood relatives. And finally, we’re going to meet in flesh and blood! (Or paper and ink, rather, but we’re meeting.)

I’ve been waiting quite a while for this – how can I not be stoked? “I’m happy to be here too, Keaton. Let’s do this.”

Keaton pumps his fists and reaches for the door access panel, then pulls back. “Uh, sorry, one last thing,” he begins, looking sheepish. “The rest of the Rangers are really excited to meet you, and I’m sure you know they can be…affectionate. I’m pretty sure a few of them will be eager to hug you. I’m certain Matty will be. I know you aren’t crazy about touching…is that okay?”

Weirdly, it feels just fine. It’s true that physical contact is something I shy away from even among those I love, but the thought about getting and giving an embrace from the people on the other side of the door feels…right. How can I not want a hug from any of them?

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good.”

A joyful laugh bubbles up from Keaton’s throat as he taps the panel and the door slides open, giving me my first glimpse at the bridge of the Asclepius. Almost immediately, my eyes are drawn to the large round booth surrounded by soft, squishy-looking seats – the one the Rangers sat around whilst talking to Thuban about his nightmares quite a while ago.

I’ve seen the people seated around that table many times before, through ink on paper or words on a page, but seeing them in person is a sight to behold. As I peer through the door at them, the Rangers peer back at me, and their eyes shine like stars as they placed me.

And there’s one more with them, who I recognize from his pictures. His eyes shine brightest of all.

Keaton leaps through the door and bounds down the steps. “Hey, everybody! I brought him! He’s here! Jacob, get down here and say hi! We’re dying to meet you!”

I laugh and step down the stairs myself. What to say? “Hey, how’s it going?” It’s my usual, and a versatile greeting, but they deserve better, more. I reach the bottom in a heartbeat, and I just talk.

“Hey, everyone,” I say, giving the Rangers and Matty a small wave. I’m beaming – I can feel it on my face. “I’m…I’m so happy to be here. I—you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to meet you all. This…this is gonna be great.”

Upon seeing you my eyes practically go supernova with glee, and I suck in a small gasp of delighted surprise. Seven months in the making and finally, I get to meet my brother! Even if it's only virtual rather than in person, I couldn't be happier! The more talkative among the Rangers all break out into excited chatter ("It's Jacob! He's finally here! Wow his glasses look cool!" -that last one was Lizbeth), and I stand up, approaching with glee and the biggest smile I can possibly muster. A brief whirl of anxiety over my appearance breaks out- being self-conscious about your personal attributes is no fun- but I suppress it with the knowledge that I've prepared for this, that I've wanted this for sweet holy moly who knows how long.

"Jacob- Jake!" I manage to get out, barely able to speak at first. "I... Howdy, big bro! You have no idea how glad I am to see you! Did you get here okay? How do you like the Asclepius? Everyone's been so hyped to meet you, especially me!"

"JACOOOOOOB!" Champ practically roars, opening his arms wide. "THERE'S the guy who gave me the sweetest zarkin' baby bro in the universe! C'mere and gimme a hug once you're done with Matty!"

The sound of the Rangers' chatter hits my ears, and I try to move it into the background and focus on my little brother. He looks good, hair slicked back, a small beard, and glasses of his own. It's different seeing him in full - he's so much taller than I realized, taller than me by a few inches. 'Little' brother may be a bit of a misnomer. That thought makes me laugh, clears away some of my doubt. I walk forward and give my little bro a hug. I worry myself that I'm a little awkward at it, but if he notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Hey, Matty. It's great to meet you," I say, my own voice brimming with joy. "Keaton picked me up in his Voyager - I'm so happy to finally see this place with my own eyes. It's already amazing, and I've barely seen any of it yet." I look up at him a bit. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. I kinda figured I'd be flying out to California or something after I graduate. I think I like this better - doesn't cost me anything either."

"You should have seen him while we were flying here," Keaton chimes in from behind. "I thought he was gonna faint when he saw the ship. He couldn't put two words together." He's smiling, despite his words.

"I'm just happy to be here, Keaton." I pull back from Matty after a brief period and turn first to Champ. He's even bigger-than-life in person than he is on a page, and he towers over even Matty with arms outstretched. I don't even consider not rushing over to him and giving him a hug of his own, and before I know it, I'm doing just that. "Champ, I've waited a while to see you, too," I say, laughing. "It's great to finally see you in person, you big cowpuncher. You were always one of my favorites."

As I wipe a few stray tears of joy from my eyes, cherishing your embrace, Champ hugs you back firmly, laughing. "Gahahahaha! Cowpuncher- you took that from Keaton, didn't ya!?" he accuses lightheartedly. "Oh Taurus, I'm happy to meet you, buddy. Everyone has been."

"I can verify that," adds Rasalhague, bowing to you gently in the tradition of Ophiuchus Gamma and extending a hand for a handshake once Champ lets you go. Up close, his eyes- silvery pupils with black irises- don't look as eerie as they did in the early stages of his character arc, because of how much quiet kindness fills them now.

"Matty's been in a bit of a writing block on Nebula Nine lately, to be honest." Seph shrugs and reclines in their space in the booth, making the water in their oxygenation collar swish. "But he's been really excited to finally get the story out thanks to all the support you've been giving him. His main problem right now is making a suitable character arc for me, something to do with my issues regarding trust and loyalty- but I'll spare you that for now, heh." The Exelcian youth chuckles easily. "I've read some of your works in my downtime, by the way- dunno what all that Five Nights At Freddy's stuff is about, never played it, but I liked the Bonnie character. I feel like he'd get along famously with me."

I wrestle an arm from Champ's iron (in more ways than one) embrace and shake Rasalhague's hand firmly, greeting him. He does have fascinating eyes.

"Yeah, Five Nights at Freddy's, survive a week with killer animatronics in a pizza place," I tell Seph. "I was big on it a while back, and couldn't find any really good fics for it, so I thought I'd roll up my sleeves and make one. I'm really proud of how it turned out." I chuckle. "And yeah, I had fun with Bonnie too. And Matty, I can help you out sometime. I've already got an idea or two that might work."

"Involving me and my big reveal?" Keaton asks, non-judgmentally.

"Maybe a bit."

I nod and smile at the offer of assistance. "Geez, bro, thanks!" I say gratefully. "I've been tearing my hair out over it- uh, figuratively, I assure you, don't worry. So knowing you'd offer to help is really great!"

Quiet Felipe chooses this moment to pipe up. "Hey, uh... Jacob?" he asks in a tone stilted by nerves, averting his eyes in shyness. Lizbeth puts a comforting hand on his back, and it bolsters him to continue. "Um... Thanks," the healer manages. "For. Y'know. Sending in all those asks and stuff about us all. And for allowing Keaton to be my little brother too."

I smile - it's reassuring to know that they didn't mind my occasional barrage of questions. "Hey, it was nothing, Felipe. Thank you for being so open to talking every now and then," I say. "You're a cool guy, Felipe. No matter what you may think."

"...thanks again..." Felipe's face darkens with a flattered blush, and he buries his face in his hands, letting out a low noise that can only be described as a fanboy's squee. Lizbeth chuckles and pats him again.

"Felipe's a big fan of you," she says with a wink. "Really, though, it's great to meet you, especially because you're autistic too! I was so happy you thought it was great that Felipe and I are autie. That aside you wrote with me and Keaton talking about "libra" was hilarious!" She chuckles a little. "I hope you'll really like the story itself once it releases, I've got a big role in the first chapter!"

"Don't forget about me or Seph, we're the other two Rangers who appear before Felipe gets his Power Sphere!" Raptor scolds lightly. "Anyway, Jacob, can I say one thing? You're an amazing writer, and... we've all honestly admired your work a lot. When I heard from Keaton that you'd ended up with Nebula Nine as a special interest of sorts, it... filled me with pride, really, because I'm the team leader. I hope we all can continue to meet and surpass your expectations."

"I know you will. I've never thought anything else," I tell her. "And I'm...really happy you guys enjoy my work, too. I'm not...really working on any of my big projects right now, so it's nice to hear that - that people, uh, enjoy my work anyway. Makes me feel good." Indeed, I feel warm inside, knowing that the freaking Nebula Nine enjoy what I've done, and hopefully what I one day do.

Ze'ev catches on and chuckles a little. "Starstruck?" he asks with the slightest hint of a mischievous giggle. "We are too!" Coming over to you, he gives you a big, soft hug of his own, his tail wagging just like a normal dog's, and his ears splay back. "You probably already know how I feel about you, big guy, but... I'm so grateful for you coming into Matty's life! You've helped him develop us all way beyond our initial character concepts, and he always tells us how much he cares about you and loves you. You make him so happy!" He looks up into your eyes, his eyes big and loving.

"Easy, don't smother 'im!" Solomon jokes. "Seriously, yer gonna drown him in all that fluff of yours!"

"I'm five feet tall, you shush!" Ze'ev replies, shooting Solomon a quick glare. "Ignore Jerk Cobain over there, Jacob, he's as happy to see you as the rest of us."

"Darn right! I swear I'll compose a song in your name!" Solomon holds up his lute and strums a bright-sounding chord.

"Ah, fluff sounds pretty good right now," I reply, giving Ze'ev a hug of my own. His fur is soft and fluffy, and the temptation to revel in it is strong, but that feels a little too much like making a move on him. I rub him softly, just a bit. "You make Keaton really happy, you know?" I tell Ze'ev. "Even I can tell. He gushes about you every chance he gets when we talk. It's honestly a little overwhelming."

"No regrets," Keaton declares from behind me. People chuckle, and I'm one of them.

"My point is, I was really looking forward to meeting you, Ze'ev. See a little bit of what Keaton sees. I'm really happy you two are so happy together." I shoot Matty a grateful look.

"Wheee~" he coos a little bit at your rub, before breaking from the hug. "That's so nice to hear- C'mere, honeybear!" He embraces Keaton next, kissing his cheek and giggling, and while the Forever Blue duo are occupied, I smile softly at my big brother.

"I'm happy too," I say, holding my hands behind my back and sighing in contentment.

Finally, Shaula and Thuban make their presence known. Shaula has been sizing you up this whole time, looking you up and down, and she rewards you with a confident smile. "You are just as Matty says," the warrior princess declares, her own tail bobbing slightly. "A capable and kind young man who is worthy of admiration! Were you a member of the Scorpian court I have it on good authority that you would be treated with honor and many accolades."

Thuban strokes his beard, looking deep in concentration. "Ahh... There's much I wish to say myself," he admits. "How to condense it... Jacob, you are a wonderful young man. You've brightened the lives of my charges immeasurably, both through your work and you being yourself. And I cannot thank you enough for inspiring Matthew to declare that my family will grow beyond myself and Raptor." He puts a hand on Raptor's shoulder, and the two of them smile at one another, then at you. "It is my fond hope that you will always shine bright, good sir."

As I'm not much of a fighter, I'm not sure how I'd actually fare in the Scorpian court, but I take Shaula's words for what they are and thank her graciously. I turn to Thuban, the ever admirable dragon, and take a breath. "Thank you, Thuban. I, um, hope you're right about me. There's...stuff I want to do, and well, it doesn't always seem surmountable. But I hope I can do it, too. I think I can, if I try. I'm really grateful that you believe in me." The butterflies in my belly start to flutter again, even though I'm certain that I've nothing to fear. "Uh, I don't usually...ask this, but...Thuban, I really want to hug you...can I, please?"

Shaula nods and crosses her arms, evidently approving of you, and Thuban's whiskers twitch, his gentle red eyes widening at the request.

"My, my," he says softly. "You truly desire an embrace from this old man? If you wish it, then of course you can have it, Jacob." Stretching out his arms, the dragon takes a step closer to you, greatcoat swishing at his feet, and pulls you into a firm, warm hug, one that can't be called anything less than paternal. "I do believe in you, Jacob, as do we all. Know this: that even in the depths of your darkest fears and worries, you may look to us, and know that we all support you- that we love you, I dare say."

I embrace Thuban as he embraces me, wrapping my arms as far around his greatcoat as I can and pressing my face into his chest. "Thank you," I say. My voice twists on the words, and I can feel nascent tears in my eyes, but I don't cry; I don't think they'd mind, but I don't feel comfortable crying about this in front of them. Maybe someday.

"I...I love you guys, too. All of you. I've wanted to meet you guys for a long time," I admit. "I'm so, so happy that you guys like me. It usually takes a while in my fantasies to get to this point, but we just skipped right to it. Thank you, for caring about me, for supporting me, loving me, even. I love you all too, so much."

Not a Dark Matter or Antimatter Power Sphere in sight, and yet we reached this point so quickly, all on our own. It feels wonderful.

I approach once more, embracing gently from the side. "I don't think any of them could ever bear a grudge towards you for anything. We talk about you a lot," I remind, tilting my head a little. "I'm really glad I got to do this for you- I love your characters like you love mine, and... this feels amazing, being able to introduce you to them after all this time..." My own voice chokes up slightly, and before I know it, I'm blinking back tears of my own. "Gah, zarkit... there I go, being a crybaby..." I wipe my tears away and offer a big, wobbly grin. "Jake, I'm so happy right now..."

I gently pull away from Thuban and wrap my arms around you, Matty. "Yeah, I get that. And I'm sure we'll feel this way plenty more in the future. I certainly hope so. I love you, little bro."

"I love you too, big bro." I hug you back, breaking down into open tears of joy that I got to do something like this for someone I cherish so dearly.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," I murmur. "I'm just glad you're glad, Matty."

"Eheh..." I look into your eyes and nod, still overwhelmed with happiness. "So... Let's have some fun, eh? Maybe sit down, have a meal, play some video games, talk about writing a little more? Whatever you wanna do, bro, you're the guest of honor!"

"Ah..." I pinch a lock of hair between my fingers and twist it around. "I...kinda want to see more of the ship right now, to start. It's just...incredible, really."

"Oh yeah!" Keaton exclaims. "I promised you a tour of the place! There's plenty to see, and I'm sure you'll love it!"

"Yeah, yeah!" I nod. "Can we start with that and then...go from there? I'd love to do more with you guys when we're done!"

"Hey, that's perfect!" Lizbeth says, standing. "You've gotta check out the library, it's filled with all the classics!"

"Library nothing, the training gym's where it's at," Seph replies with a grin. "It's great that the Asclepius is so darn big, we can fit a lot of stuff in here! Come on, Jacob, it's gonna be amazing!"

"I don't doubt it!" I laugh. "Lead on, and I'll faithfully follow!"

"Sir yes sir!" all of the Rangers chorus, getting up and striding towards the elevator, all cheerfully bickering about where to show him first. The deciding vote seems to be Thuban, and I take your hand in mine as we follow the colorful crew we've created.

"Matty?" I say quietly, drawing your attention. I look your way. "Thanks for bringing me here. I love you."

And then I walk into the doorframe and hit the side of my head, stumbling back. "I'm okay! I'm fine!" I shake my head. "Let's go, everyone!"

"Ack!" Ze'ev yelps, shocked.

"He's okay, peeps!" I shout, looking at you with worry, but I can't help a quick laugh because I know exactly what that kind of mishap is like. Everyone clamors around you briefly, but their worries are assuaged when they see that you're okay, and they sigh in relief, Champ patting your back and trailing behind you to make sure it doesn't happen again.

[beardedd0nut]

Windy City

So the Boston tea party museum was pretty damn awesome. I thought it was just going to be information about the Boston tea party but it includes performances from people in ye old clothing, and it wasn't shit. Like the effort and quality of the museum was great. They had replica ships of the obtained that would have say within the port at the time of the uprising. Something I thought was pretty cool until I went onto one and realised just how fucked id be in that time. The beds at the front of the ship were tiny and I think I had maybe an inch or two of clearance to the roof. Wookies are built for starships not real ships. Thee museum was a really nice way to spend the last day I had in Boston, once again full to the brim with history and information. I also got a great shirt with an alleged quote from Ben Franklin: "Beer is proof that good loves us and wants us up be happy." Later that evening I went to see the Red Sox at the famous Fenway Park. With my hat obtained I say for the next 3 hours in the growing cold air to see the Sox win, sing sweet Caroline and listen to nineties rave music every time a home run we scored. The next morning was up early to head off to the windy City. Got into my hotel and was pleasantly surprised at the accommodation I forgot I booked. Going from a single bed to a queen bed makes you feel like royalty. I took a wander down to Navy pier and had planned to see the Rolling stones exhibition but it was closed, so I just went back and killed time before going out to dinner. Dinner was at Giordano's. Famous for its deep dish pizza, Chicago didn't disappoint. More akin to a pie than a pizza this mozzarella stuffed, zesty tomato sauce laden concoction was incredibly filling and incredible tasty. A quick walk down the road and I was at Andy's jazz club. It was much nicer than the one I went to in New York, well probably more an actual club. The group was tight, like super tight, the reed player went between saxophones and clarinet and piano with the greatest of ease. The drummer and bassist were perfectly in time and the guitar player was just laying in the easy feeling. Day Two find me fighting with a fucking ticket machine to get a god damn ticket just to go down to the field museum. After conceding to retarded technology I paid the thing cash and was on my way. It was about here whilst walking to the museum I truly started to understand the term windy City. Fuck me sideways. Literally the wind was fucking me from the side. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of the winter chill Turkey slapping me in the face coz the amount of wind I copped in spring was more than enough. At the field museum I went to the exhibition on tattoos. Really intriguing and following the history and beginnings of tattoos up till now the exhibit encapsulated why tattoos first started and how slowly they're coming back around to spiritual meanings in certain cultures. It held old prison tattoo guns, pictures of inmates and dead cultures and interesting artefacts from throughout time. I didn't realise until I was up that end of town but there is a planetarium not far from the field museum and I'm a sucker for space so I had to check it out. I mean it was a fairly typical planetarium but space has always been fascinating for me. There was a great film about why Pluto was rejected as a planet and where a possible ninth planet could be. The thing that gets me with America is that nine times out of ten there's clusters of museum or information centres. Like you could spend a day alone between each of the places I went to, and there's always kids on excursions. I would've frothed that shit as a kid. So whilst continuing to get blasted by the wind I trekked to see the Buckingham fountain, it was alright, and the famous bean. The bean is really really cool. The way it visually distorts the surroundings and makes things look is sweet as. Then more walking, I could've got another ticket for the subway but fuck that. Finally I made it to the Rolling stones exhibitionism. One of the, if not the, greatest rock bands in the world. I tend to forget just how long they've been around and how much they've impacted music. The exhibition I'm sure only scratching the surface, but the guitars and drum sets and albums on display alone show the girth of their career. Covering aspects of recording, touring, early years, fashion and films the exhibition is a must for fans of music or pop culture or life really. The worst part was the gift shop, so much overpriced stuff. There was a 200 dollar pair of boardshorts. You could make them yourself if you had the pictures. Plus a leather pillow, that's right pillow, that started at 150. I get that it's all about making money but C'mon guys that's just extortion. I went to dinner at Uno's, apparently the creator of deep dish pizza, but instead got soup and spaghetti. The soup was incredible, the spaghetti was less spaghetti and meatballs and more spaghetti with meatloaf. The balls were, no shit, fist size lumps of meat covered in sauce. It was good, but maybe a little less meat would've helped. I rolled down the street to Chicago blue, funnily enough a blues club, to check out some more live music. Featuring incredible guitarists, a beastly bass player and rocking drummer they poured should and feeling out to the crowd. When finally joined by the old female lead singer, who had Joe cocker Esque mannerisms, the blues just oozed out. It was a great set from great musicians. I've spent today doing my laundry, a big task when you're down to only a few pairs of underwear and about to head into Texas for 30+degree great. I've also had to treat the knee after walking all day yesterday there's a mild ache and having to most likely stand all night while seeing Bongripper it's necessary. Either way I'm keen for the night ahead, not keen for the early wakeup to get to my 7 25 flight, but then keen again to be going back to Austin for memorial Day weekend, live music on sixth Street and mother fucking Texas barbeque. I need brisket like a psychopath needs a pretend meth addiction after mowing people down in their car.

[lyndsaybones]

In Dreams 18

Chapter 1...Chapter 2…Chapter 3…Chapter 4…Chapter 5 …Chapter 6…Chapter 7…Chapter 8 …Chapter 9...Chapter10… Chapter 11…Chapter 12…Chapter 13…Chapter 14…Chapter 15…Chapter 16...Chapter 17

There are times when things are crystal clear, when everything makes perfect sense. He can distinctly remember feeling like he understood his place in the world, but that was a long time ago. Now, he feels like he’s on the road not taken in some strange way, lost in Frost’s yellow wood, meandering about, distracted by sounds, by the beauty and the dark places. Sometimes she’s right there next to him and others, he’s certain he’s lost her.

These last few months, he’s been wandering. Lost as he can be, distracted by Diana, by little white pills, by memories and nightmares when all along, the thing he needed to pay attention to, to keep his eyes wide open for, was her. Always her.

She’s asleep on the couch, she was so drained by the time she checked her apartment and got back to his place that she curled up and drifted off in the space of just a few minutes. He’d read in one of the books that the overwhelming exhaustion is normal, that he shouldn’t worry. But he still does. It can’t be helped.

He’s spent the last couple hours cleaning up the bedroom, making space for her. It dawns on him as he hauls out boxes of magazines and clippings that it’s the first time he’s done something like this for her. It wasn’t so long ago that they were discussing why she didn’t have a desk. She still doesn’t have a desk. She takes up so much of his heart, so many of his thoughts, but she can’t live in either of those places. He’s determined to change that, starting right now.

He may be a lost man, but one thing he’s sees clearly is her and if he can see her, he can find his way.

“Hm, what time is it?” she sighs, her voice sleepy.

“Almost five,” he says.

The late afternoon sun is blazing orange and casting his whole livingroom in gold. It makes her hair look like fire.

“Hungry?” he asks as he sits on the coffee table across from her.

“Starving,” she says with a little smile.

“Good,” he says, pleasantly surprised. He is often asking her to eat, hoping she can tolerate whatever he can present to her.

“Let’s get out of here, go get some pizza,” she suggests, smoothing down her mussed hair.

“Pizza? Feeling adventurous?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she says, a little smirk chasing the end of the word.

They walk side by side and she let’s him take her hand. It’s so big, his fingers long and lanky, wrapping around hers. They look like normal people, she thinks to herself.

“Let’s go here instead,” she says, pulling him toward the neighborhood deli.

“I thought you wanted pizza,” he says.

“A reuben sounds better,” she says, tugging him along.

“Whatever you say,” he concedes.

They wander into the bustling deli, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air. She wishes she could enjoy it. But there are literally no strong smells that don’t hit her the wrong way. She swallows hard and squeezes his hand.

“I’m gonna go find a table, will you order please?” she asks.

He nods, a little worry line forming between his eyebrows. She hustles to the back of the house and finds a little round table, quickly arranging the chairs side by side and both of them against the wall and facing the door. She’s not about to let anyone get the jump on them. No matter how much misdirection she uses, she is still anxious. She finds herself thinking of wiretaps, hidden bugs, dark men with dark intentions listening in on their discussions, their fights, their lovemaking. A shudder runs down her spine as she searches the faces in the deli, looking for...anything really. Anyone too interested in them, anyone watching. She muses that this must be what the Lone Gunmen feel like most of the time.

“Here you go,” Mulder says as he slides a red plastic basket lined with wax paper in front of her. The sandwich, in concept, seemed like a good idea, but looking at it now, she knows it isn’t going to happen.

“Not hungry anymore?” he asks, clearly taking in her reaction.

“No, not really,” she says with a little disappointment. “That’s not why I wanted to come here anyway.”

“What else did you have in mind at a deli? Ballroom dancing?”

She shifts in the seat and swallows hard.

“I called the Gunmen, that day before you went to see them.”

He pauses mid-bite, his eyes comically wide, and swallows. “And?”

“I told them to switch out the pills, to give you a placebo.”

He looks confused at first and nods. “You didn’t trust me.”

“No. I didn’t.”

He nods again and his expression is somewhat unreadable.

“So getting my memories back has been…”

“A function of recovering from an injury and getting all the drugs out of your system,” she finishes. “You got better on your own.”

“Not entirely on my own,” he says, reaching for her hand. She lets him. She wants it. Screw who might be watching.

“Your turn,” she says.

“My turn?” he asks.

“I kept something from you and now I’m telling you the truth. Your turn.”

He shifts in the creaky wooden chair, straightening his back.

“What makes you think I’m keeping something from you?”

“Whatever this is, whatever you and I are trying to be, won’t work if we can’t trust one another,” she says. “You aren’t just you and I’m not just me.”

She levels a long gaze at him, a clear don’t fuck this up look. He seems to get the hint.

“The truth is, I don’t know what the truth is,” he says. “Diana spun two very different stories and I don’t know which one to believe, or if I believe either of them.”

“What did she say?”

“The pills, the ones that started...all of this. At first she said they were to discredit me, to drive you away.”

“And?”

“She said,” he pauses and stares at the red picnic patterned table cloth. “She said that the pills were given to me to enhance latent psychic ability. To help the men behind the conspiracy see if their plans will play out.”

“Do you think you’re psychic, Mulder?”

“A little psycho maybe,” he deflects.

“Mulder?” she presses.

“I didn’t think it could be true. I really didn’t. But I had a dream that something happened and then it did happen.”

“Could it have been a coincidence?” she asks, ever the rational one.

“I had a dream that there was a fire at your apartment building,” he says, and for once, he looks like to one who is going to be sick. “She said the nightmares were because they had plans to kill you because you were never supposed to get better.”

Their conversation in the Topeka coroner’s lounge flashes in her mind.

“Do you believe in prophetic dreams, Scully?”

“What do you dream about now, Mulder?” she asks.

He squeezes her hand and smiles a little. “Us, I dream about us. I dream about our baby...our daughter, who looks just like you.”

“Then I hope it is true,” she says softly.

The summer evenings last forever and ever. As they walk back to his apartment, he watches her squint against the setting sun and press a hand over her brow to shield her eyes. He can hear the seagulls and waves from his dreams, smell the salt and sunscreen, the easy weight of Gracie on his shoulders.

“I’m glad we talked, that we got things out in the open. I don’t like keeping anything from you,” he says as he takes her free hand.

“Mulder?” she says cautiously, squinting harder.

“What?”

She stops cold and points ahead of them.

“Aren’t we the happy little family?” the Cancer Man asks as he puffs a halo of smoke into the air.

Mulder doesn’t even think before putting his body between Scully and human ashtray in front of them.

“Feeling protective? Paternal instincts kicking in?” he asks.

“What the hell do you want?” Mulder very nearly hisses.

“You saw something in Dallas, took something that wasn’t yours to take. I’ve come to retrieve it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Scully is in the perfect spot to get a hold of his weapon.

“Diana was quick to turn on you, given the right motivation,” he says.

“She’s alive?” Mulder asks.

“Mostly,” he says, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “The slides. I want the slides Agent Scully took from the morgue.”

He hears, or rather feels her gasp. He would love nothing more than to shove the barrel of his gun under this chain smoking bastard’s chin and be done with all of it.

“I’m willing to offer something in return,” he says, a smug little smile tugging at the sagging skin at the corner of his mouth. “Protection for Agent Scully, for your child.”

“What does she need protection from?”

“Dangerous men, ones who have no concern about ending a life...or two,” he says, his voice thick with foreboding.

“C’mon, Scully,” he says, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”

She clutches to him desperately as they slowly retreat down the sidewalk, never turning their back on the Cancer Man.

“The offer has an expiration date,” he warns, a menacing smile curling underneath the smoke. “...more like a due date? I’ll be in touch.”

[shirlleycoyle]

How YouTube Drives Shane Dawson and Other Creators to Conspiracy Theories

At the end of last month, YouTuber Shane Dawson, who has over 20.5 million subscribers, posted a video titled “Conspiracy Theories with Shane Dawson.” The video supported malevolent conspiracy theories, including ones about the California wildfires that killed more than 80 people and destroyed more than 11,000 homes.

In the nearly two-hour video, Dawson presented a series of false narratives that the wildfires were caused by either direct energy weapons, kitchen microwave explosions directed by electric companies, or people burning down their houses for insurance money. He sprinkled these videos with disclaimers that these were “theories, not facts.” Shane dropped another video titled “Investigating Conspiracy Theories with Shane Dawson” yesterday. In this video, Shane explores the conspiracy that Chuck E. Cheese’s re-serves leftover pizza to other customers (Chuck E. Cheese���s has since unequivocally denied this), and interviews a friend who alleges that she and her son almost became victims of human trafficking.

The theories about the California wildfire were presented using recycled footage and narratives from fringe, conspiracy theory-driven parts of YouTube by creators who have also been known to support anti-Semitic conspiracies theories. Dawson also tried to argue that iPhones secretly record everything that you say, which has been conclusively debunked. Dawson also promotes a conspiracy theory that the app Zepeto records its users, but the app does not use or store microphone data, according to iOS System Preferences and the app’s privacy policy.

When Motherboard looked at other conspiracy videos promoting “direct energy weapons” in California, one of them already had three comments claiming that they looked for the video because of Dawson. The same account has posted videos which claim that the Clinton family practices demon occultism.

Dawson also placed these California wildfire theories in the same video as verifiably true but unrelated things—like the existence of deepfakes (which Motherboard has covered extensively), the fact that supermarket layouts are designed to make you buy more items, and the fact that violence and suicide is common in children’s cartoons. These are not “conspiracy theories.” They’re just creepy. But their adjacency to false conspiracy theories can make them seem more legitimate by association. Dawson did not respond to Motherboard’s request for comment.

Dawson’s recent video was actually demonetized by YouTube a few hours after it was posted—but only for a day. As explained in the Verge, Dawson’s video exists in a grey area where conspiracy theories are presented as possibilities. By doing so, he avoided serious penalization by YouTube, and his video has also been rewarded by his audience. His first video has more than 30 million views at the time of publication; the second video has nearly 8 million views a day after it was posted.

Many YouTubers, including Dawson, have realized that fringe content—like conspiracy theories and far right political beliefs—are successful on the site. Because they are rewarded with engagement and views, YouTubers are incentivized to create videos that edge further and further to the extreme. This phenomenon doesn’t have an easy fix because it’s built into the structure and model of YouTube as a platform.

Becca Lewis, a political subculture researcher for internet research group Data & Society, told Motherboard that across the platform, there are incentives for YouTubers to create more extreme content.

“It can be almost impossible to parse out any one, individual influencer’s motivations,” Lewis said. “But I think it’s important to note that there are some trends on YouTube where you can see that inflammatory, or political, or conspiratorial content often drives viewership. And so there can be a direct financial motivation for content creators to make this kind of content.”

In her report “Alternative Influence: Broadcasting the Reactionary Right on YouTube,” Lewis explained that not only can YouTubers radicalize their audience, but the reverse can be true: audiences can radicalize creators and drive them to make more extreme content.

“The easy feedback systems on YouTube lead to discursive loops, in which influencers build audiences that ask for, or reward, certain types of content,” Lewis says in her report. “For many of the political influencers in the AIN, the more extremist content they make, the more of an extremist and dedicated audience they build.”

For a creator like Dawson, he may risk video demonetization with conspiracy videos, but he’s retained sponsorship deals with companies like Honey and SeatGeek, which he advertises in the videos themselves. Dawson’s conspiracy videos also get a very strong response from his audience, which can help build or reinforce their loyalty. Dawson has been making videos on YouTube for almost a decade, and his content has included vlogs, creator “challenges” like food tastings or product testings, and more recently, feature-length videos exploring particular topics or people. Yet two of his top ten videos of all time are both titled “MIND BLOWING CONSPIRACY THEORIES.”

Dawson isn’t the only YouTuber who started making more extreme content that was arguably in part driven by audience demand.

There’s also the case of Blaire White, a far right political commentator who focuses on critiquing feminism and non binary gender identities from the perspective of a transgender woman. As described in Lewis’s Alternative Influence report, White began her channel with comparatively balanced political videos which conceded to certain feminist beliefs (like male privilege.) But after collaborating with established far right YouTuber Carl Benjamin (Sargon of Akkad), her videos took a hard right turn and pivoted to the political extreme.

Interestingly, White posted a video in September titled “Why I’ve Changed (The Truth)” in which she claimed that she would stop doing far right political content—not because her belief system changed, but because of harassment, and a sentiment that people within the far right YouTube community were faking their beliefs for viewership.

“An amount of them that I’ve met that have told me either directly or indirectly or in a roundabout way that’s very clear that they don’t believe everything that they say that they believe when they’re on camera,” White said. “A lot of them just don’t believe. They’re just actors.”

Similarly, YouTuber Moe Othman started his channel about six years ago by making personality-driven blogs. Then, two years ago, he started making conspiracy theory videos. Conspiracy videos would get, on average, between 50,000-80,000 views, while non-conspiracy videos would rarely crack 10,000 views. He eventually started creating exclusively conspiracy theory content, which have sometimes received hundreds of thousands of views. (Some of these videos promoted the false direct energy weapon conspiracy theory for the California wildfires.)

Earlier this year, Othman posted a video in which he said he would be pivoting away from conspiracy theory content. Why? He claimed it was making him sad.

“Making all of those Illuminati videos that I did, it caused a lot of sadness in me,” Othman said. “And it’s weird because I already knew about all of that. I know worse than the stuff that I made in my videos. So why did making Illuminati videos make me sad? It made me lose a lot of enthusiasm, and a lot of optimism.”

Despite posting that video, Othman has continued to make conspiracy theory-related content.

According to Lewis, this pivoting back and forth may reflect a delicate tension that YouTubers are trying to balance: how do you strategically brand to the extreme to maximize viewership, not alienate too many people, and also remain authentic?

“I think that you see people in these political spaces negotiating that tension over time,” Lewis said. “Particularly with political content, it’s easy to get shoehorned into a specific grouping. So a lot of them are flirting with these extremist ideas. But at a certain point, some want wider viewership than they would get if they become known as full-on white nationalist or full-on white supremacist. So you see a lot of them negotiating these boundaries and flirting with certain ideas, or posting certain kinds of content, and later deleting that content, and going on to different kind of content.”

Lewis said that when YouTubers build up an extreme audience, they get locked into the demands of that audience. After all, if a YouTuber completely radicalizes, their audience might get bored and unsubscribe. At that point, the YouTuber would have to build an audience all over again.

She pointed to Andy Warski as an example of this risk. Warski built a reputation for having “debates” about the merits of white nationalism with YouTuber Jean-Francois Gariépy, but after Warski departed from these collaborations and was accused of being a not “authentic” enough white nationalist, he’s struggled to build up an individual audience (even though he is still, undoubtedly, a far right figure.)

Of course, it’s very possible that for some people, the drive to create conspiracy-related videos comes from a place of genuine interest and belief. For instance, Dawson has created several conspiracy theory-related videos over the past couple of years. In a tweet, Dawson claims that YouTube deleted several of these videos. It’s noteworthy that this tweet was a reply to InfoWars’s Paul Joseph Watson, tweeted about Dawson’s feature-length conspiracy video. Dawson said “love ur stuff btw!!”

Dawson also hosted far right YouTuber Blaire White on his podcast “Shane and Friends” not once, but twice. On YouTube, a collaboration is often functionally equivalent to an endorsement, as explained in Alternative Influence.

YouTube announced that it would be taking steps toward improving recommendations on the site a few days after a Buzzfeed investigation depicted how the site leads people down a conspiracy theory rabbit hole—which has been a problem for years. But the forces driving YouTubers to create extreme content won’t be easily fixed.

After all, Lewis’s Alternative Influence report explains that audience feedback metrics like likes, dislikes, and comments are “directly built into YouTube’s interface.” Those metrics central to YouTube, and those metrics are subject to the politics of YouTube.

“YouTube the company has always positioned itself as this alternative to mainstream news, mainstream entertainment, [and] really the mainstream media as a whole,” Lewis said. “And so, you get these people on the far right that are explicitly anti-mainstream media because they think it has a liberal bias, and are using YouTube as a place to promote what they see as alternative narratives, and often those end up having a conspiratorial bend.”

How YouTube Drives Shane Dawson and Other Creators to Conspiracy Theories syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[ratamusprimeeee]

From Imploding to Exploding

Up until quite recently, my sources of stress have been, largely, internal.  My appearance, my mental health, my development as a person, how to understand the guy I was seeing… all things that existed within the confines of my mind.  Certainly, these concerns were exacerbated by outside forces, but the suffering was my own doing, in the end.  That fact has since changed as of Monday.

On Monday, I received some of the most unsettling news to date: my friend committed suicide.  Katie had been a close friend since 2015 (which is a long time for me, because I really don’t keep close friends), as was her horse, who passed just weeks before Katie did.  There is no doubt in my mind that the loss of her dearest friend drove her to do this.  I have never seen a person take the death of an animal the way Katie did.  That horse was the beginning, middle, and (literally and figuratively) end of her existence.  It was the kind of bond you saw in movies.  Katie was dead the moment he died, but decayed for weeks afterward.  She put up a valiant fight, the way she always did.

When Katie’s mother called me, she shared three extremely unsettling things in quick succession.  First, Katie had left this planet by taking a gun to her head.  Second, I was the last person to see Katie - I saw her just hours before she died.  Third, she asked me to deliver the eulogy at Katie’s service on the basis of “Katie chose to see you on the last day of her life.  Honestly, I think she waited days just to see you and say goodbye.” While I am honored to have been granted this task, the level of guilt and regret is approaching unbearable.

The last time I saw Katie, she bared her soul to me about our friendship.  I came into Katie’s life at an extremely difficult time — her horse had become so dangerous that she could no longer ride him.  She told me how she thought of ending her life then, because she felt that there was no hope for the two of them, until I came along.  We worked tirelessly to put that animal back together, and succeeded.  On Monday, she expressed to me how she could have never imagined what would happen between she and her partner, and that she felt that her life had reached its pinnacle… all of which she attributed to me.  An incredible sentiment that I will never forget.  What she spent the most time on was telling me that I was among the greatest friends she had ever had.  She said that in addition to having a lot of fun together, I consistently demonstrated “outstanding values and morals,” which she ultimately applied to herself.  Apparently, our friendship completely changed her outlook on life, people, and animals.  Nevertheless, I cannot help but note that after the speech she gave me, she shot herself… my words and love could not save her a second time.

Like any other problem, I have adamantly refused to utter a word about this to anyone.  I saw a person hours before they killed themselves, the guilt is ripping me apart, and I have sat here tight-lipped as ever.  The only hint I have given the world has been deafening silence.  My interest in social media is nonexistent.  I could not care less about all of my favorite fitness icons and makeup gurus.  My friends are even less relevant than normal.  I simply do not care about interacting with other humans; isolating myself with my dogs has served as my sole source of comfort.  Ke$ha has probably lost count of how many times I have sobbed into her fur (I certainly have).  Even after opening my group texts, I have over 200 unanswered, unopened, text messages.  My best friend, Mikey, who never texts me, has called me every day to ask if I am ready to talk about what happened (I told him I was going through a rough time, but was not up for discussing it).  If someone doesn’t respond to a text message, a phone call is the next logical step if you really care, in my eyes.

It would be nice to possess the ability to confide in another person. The number of times I have fantasized about how comforting that act must be is unfathomable.  I know I will tell Mikey, but my reasoning for rarely sharing anything personal rings true here: everyone will momentarily feel sorry for me, but they will not understand the depth of my pain.  What is the point of putting myself out there if my words fall on deaf ears? When people share their darkness with me, I feel their pain.  Call me self-righteous, but I do not feel that most people can understand the pain I feel, especially at this moment.  How many people can say their friend committed suicide just hours after proclaiming how much they cherished them?

The next, much, much, smaller problem pertains to social media.  After briefly seeing Katie on Monday, I worked out with my old manager, George.  We got pizza after he kicked my ass in the gym. It was not until after I posted this on my Instagram story that I realized what the picture easily implied.  Now, do not get me wrong, but the last thing I am concerned about is the opinion of others.  Regardless, the “his and hers” on the image strongly suggested it was some kind of romantic encounter.  It did not occur to me how others could perceive it until I received a barrage of messages asking me who I was seeing.  The guy I was seeing for the past four months, Matt, and I split last week, which a handful of people know, so this looks terrible.  Who gets back on the horse less than a week after calling it quits with someone? Mentally, I ended things between Matt and I in February, when I accepted him for what he was.  Even though I am past grieving the loss of someone who once meant something to me, the concept of just meeting new people that fast is flat out nauseating.  Just slutty and embarrassing.  Who is so desperate for attention or a distraction that they would do such a thing? Not I, but it sure looked like I was.  (Ironically, almost every message I received about this picture was from some guy that was bitter about me not wanting to date them.) 

Instagram failed me once again when I posted a quote that I found meaningful, but carelessly did not crop out my blog’s URL.  After that stunt, I got even more messages from the most unsuspecting of characters.  The number of people who had the gall to assume that my entire tumblr pertained to them was astounding.  The kicker is that I have not spoken to the overwhelming majority of them since last year, or the year before that.  Yes, some people who I had not spoken to in years honestly felt that I devoted a blog to how devastated I was about losing them.  I did not tell a single one of them that I loved them, yet they truly believed that I was still devastated over our relationship.  Amazing, and beyond erroneous.  This blog is not dedicated to one single person.  Each post I share relates to different people, memories, concepts… the reason I do not share my blog with most is for this very reason.  People are so narcissistic that they think my world revolves around them.  

When I tried to comprehend how these individuals could possibly believe that there were thousands of pages devoted to them, I had to acknowledge that I was part of the problem.  In my efforts to treat people as I wished to be treated, I had a propensity for making others (especially guys) feel that my universe placed them at the center of it.  False, false, false.  I will always be at the center of my own universe.  Still, I had a way of instilling the thought that they were my sun, moon, and stars.  I consciously did it to make them feel extremely special, because I love feeling special.  My actions were the result of my motivation — to feel special.  

I will concede that a good chunk of this blog is about a guy that I have not seen in years, but speak to every few months, David.  David does not have social media, so I am not worried about him seeing this post.  However, it is important to note that I am not weeping over the loss of David whatsoever.  The guy ultimately drove me insane.  However, before we reached that point, he was everything I wanted in another person.  A walking fantasy.  Naturally, it did not work out, but none of that changed how I felt.  The feelings he stirred up within me were so real.  I hadn’t felt that kind of passion since one of my college boyfriends.  A lot of things I see on Tumblr remind me of the feelings I experienced, not of who David was as a person.  Like anyone else, he was extremely flawed.  At the end of it, he really, really hurt me.  I will never forget the physical anguish I felt during the months that followed — vomiting when I got an inkling that he was seeing another girl, waking up panicked from nightmares… a good chunk of 2015 was comprised of utter despair, but I have not repeated my mistakes since then, which is the most important part.

As a serial monogamist, I have dated a lot of people.  Although few of them elicited a strong emotional response, certain words strung together can remind me of them, or at least our time together.  I am “over” each and every one of them; I happen to move on unbelievably fast as a defense mechanism… I refuse to lose sleep over anything that is not entirely mutual.  Those girls that cry over guys make me sick — not because I think less of them, but because I have done that twice (David and that college boyfriend, Tony), and I vowed to never do it again.  I will never allow another person to get such a hold of me that their absence will destroy me.  The only way that rule could ever be broken would be when I meet the man I am going to spend the rest of my life with.  As far as I am concerned, everyone else on the list of guys I have dated never really cared about me.  (Most guys do not know how to care about another person until their late thirties, I have found.)  

In short, if you are a guy that I previously dated: please get off your high horse.  Yes, I know you are sad that you lost me, and yes, I forgive you for your previous transgressions.  If you are ever stuck on the side of the road, call me.  Please do not take this post as a personal attack… I seek only to clarify any misconceptions.

On a positive note, amidst my debilitating depression and enervated state, SoulCycle has taken a turn for the better.  On Wednesday, I kicked myself to class, seeking relief through sweat and motivational thoughts.  Kaley has dragged me, kicking and screaming, to the front row of her classes.  The front row in a SoulCycle class comes with immense pressure to perform perfectly.  However, in order to really push myself in class, I have sacrificed perfection, and opted to hide in the back for the past six months.  Through struggle, the mind and body will adapt and blossom.

People always say that the only time you should put yourself in the front row is when an instructor puts you there.  Their opinion is the prerequisite to moving up to center stage.  As much as riders look at the instructor on the podium, they look to the front row for inspiration, that the seemingly impossible demands of the instructor are, in fact, doable.  

For the past month, I have accepted the email before class, stating that Kaley had taken it upon herself to move my bike.  Usually, she puts me on one of the bikes that are in the front, close to the center (the closer to the center you go, the more attention you receive from other riders), but far enough for me to not panic.  On Wednesday, the girl that normally rides on bike 7 (front and center) cancelled.  The arguably “most important” bike in the room was unoccupied.  Strangely enough, I thought I had appeased Kaley by booking bike 5, where she usually plops my reluctant ass.  As always, once you meet the standard of another person, they raise the bar and demand more, and Kaley openly admits to being demanding.  Just as I had finished setting up my bike, Kaley casually walked into the room, beaming as usual, and pointed at bike 7.  Disputing the “request” was futile, so off I went.

Class was difficult, and I looked to the best rider in the room, sitting next to me, for motivation when I felt myself growing weak.  The message Kaley has been preaching as of late is “be more”.  Be more than what you were yesterday, be more than the bare minimum, be more than what people expect.  Rise to the occasion, blow people away, surprise yourself.  On Wednesday, especially, it was exactly what I needed to hear to get through those 45 minutes.  I would be lying if I said I performed perfectly.  The bike needed to be adjusted; the wheel quickly went from light to extremely heavy, rendering it rather difficult to keep turning up the resistance as instructors command.  Still, I did my best and aspired to maintain a positive attitude.  At the end of the ordeal, when I was feeling a little defeated, Kaley said, “I’m sure many of you know Annie, who rode on bike 7.  For months, I have been asking her to move her up to the front row.  For the past month, when it dawned upon me that she wasn’t going to do it herself, I resorted to moving her myself.  She rides the bike like a motherfucker, and it is imperative that everyone see that kind of ride.  Playing it safe won’t get any of you where you want to be.  You have goals and I have goals for you.  Annie is diligently working towards her goals, and now I am pushing her to achieve my goals for her.  I promise to push each and every one of you to that point if you allow me.  Annie is an incredible source of light in this room.  All of you know she can get the whole room screaming.  When you talk to her, her dry humor will leave you in stitches.  She is more than infectious.  So, I ask that all of us support her and encourage her to have faith in herself.  I want all of you to look at this girl that wants to hide and pretend she is not amazing, and believe in her.  When we believe in each other, the room changes.”

I’m such a sap that I had to hold back tears.  The fact that she chose to speak so highly of me moved me the same way that Katie moved me on Monday.  To know that other people love, accept, and support me is all I could ever ask for, especially now.  In no way am I seeking to make Katie’s suicide about me.  I am merely trying to cope with the loss and strengthen myself.  Despite everything, I am trying to “be more” every day… even when all I want to do is cut and drink.  At this juncture, I am not sure what the future holds for me.  I hope I do not cave into bad habits.