#i’ve been steadily isolating myself. for weeks now too

[barklikeagod]

can tell the mental illness is getting crazy bc i’m not feeling joy looking at my ocs…

[thistransient]

I am pretty sure I am going to stop taking class next semester. On one hand, after one year of studying and 6 months of having a student ARC, I could get a part-time work permit and national health insurance. On the other hand, class steadily wears down my mental health every semester until break, and I am almost certain trying to work on top of that would be disastrous. I thought about trying to go directly into working, but (as far as I know, anyone is welcome to prove me wrong) it’s impossible to convert a student ARC into a work ARC, so either way I need to leave the country and reenter. Covid definitely inflicted some mental trauma, so I can’t shake the fear that I’ll be barred entry back in for whatever reason, forcing my friend to clean out my apartment and ship everything to me in whatever country I inevitably take refuge in...

He just flew back from Vietnam today though and assured me Taoyuan Int’l Airport is back to pre-covid functionality. Having a gander at Skyscanner, I saw that the airline “Fly Gangwon” goes between Taipei and Yangyang International Airport (never heard of it, evidently somewhere near Seoraksan) which tempted me briefly until I looked up the company and promptly lost confidence that they’d still be in business by the end of March. I had entertained thoughts of going to Tokyo but flights are still too expensive. I’ve been to most cities/countries within affordable range of Taipei, so either I pony up for something new, or pick somewhere I liked enough to repeat. I fondly remember Okinawa having neither feral dogs nor rampaging scooters on the sidewalk, but it’s still not the cheapest option, and I don’t even know how my school is organising this last month of class (another new teacher? and god only knows who’s taking break when), so I’ve been waffling and having the usual big-life-change depression that always manifests around this time.

I’ve been reading Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents and it’s...well, it’s something, and I’m both a) not looking forward to my dad wanting to visit me this spring, and b) realising my whole relationship with my Chinese tutor was another bid for emotional intimacy with someone who was never capable of reciprocating the way I wanted, and I’m not sure how to extricate myself from this (class, our extracurricular artistic collaboration, my general mental entanglement, idk). I would like to make more IRL friends in Taipei, especially in my immediate area, but I’m not sure exactly how, when social engagement wears me out, and, ironically, I feel isolated because I speak tolerable Mandarin but I don’t look at all like someone who speaks tolerable Mandarin. Most of my friend-making in the past has relied on someone more extroverted adopting me and dragging me along, and I feel my odds of this have gone way down. I miss, in a way, my days of hostel work-stay where there was a constant influx of potential friends, and they all came directly to my door! Now I have to actively leave my room and go outside to a social venue and talk to strangers? However, this is not a lament with no plan for action, I’m really hoping if I hang out in Taipei while not taking class I’ll have the energy to go to more events, and sooner or later SOMETHING will happen. (I went to a “rope jam” the other week, I don’t know what I expected exactly but I am willing to go again.)

I had a moment yesterday in which I asked myself exactly what I’m hanging around in Taiwan for now anyways. I’ve basically burnt myself out with classes, I’m faced with the prospect of getting a job I’m not thrilled about just to stay in a place where honestly I’m kinda lonely and touch-starved. It was a safe space to hang out while I worked on transitioning, processing some of my never-ending queue of issues to be processed, and immersing myself in a special interest, but now what, huh? Don’t get me wrong, Taipei is a city where I find a lot of joy in everyday little things, and that definitely makes it easier to keep going alone. At the same time, I had a significantly better social network and support back in 2017, and I’m missing that connection. I’ve read that part of contentment is finding fulfillment in what one does, and I’m also at the point in advanced language study where the returns are very mild and subtle relative to effort expended. (I hadn’t considered that as a factor til I wrote it out, but it tracks.) So the next step is to look for work, and see how that changes things. Well, once I pick somewhere to fly to in April, anyways. 

[martintmedina]

2022 A Year in Review

Another lap around the sun and a great year officially in the books.

Every year I try and summarize my thoughts on the last year and it seems like every year I get more shit done as I evolve and grow as a person. It’s crazy to see the progression from getting to college til now in my career, I’ve been steadily putting this work in for years and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

Before breaking down the year need to say a major THANK YOU! I appreciate all the support over the years and every single person in my life is a blessing. This year was a really big comeback year for me, the pandemic in 2020 and that post pandemic 2021 was really weird, I feel like the isolation got to everyone and then getting back to normal was a strange transition but this year we’re all the way back.

Started the year off solid and kept it going all year working hard and running up the bag. Really glad this year was a solid year of uninterupted work and I worked harder than ever to make more money than ever. Really needed it after I lost my job and learned so many lessons from going back to being broke but as an adult. We’re all the way back and stronger after that time though. It made me a beast and really proved I can step up and work my ass off. I worked nonstop through SOBEWFF, MMW, etc all going hard week after week with no vacations I really was locked in and focused on that bag. Focused on leveling up and getting better as I keep continuously improving and growing as a person and a professional. Personally and professionally this year was great and an amazing opportunity to grow.

Even while spending time working I was able to enjoy my time at work seeing homies working, enjoying some good music, and creating some images to capture incredible moments.

Work was great did some good work for SOBEWFF, then Music Week was fantastic and the first year of F1 MIA was also a huge success. Really pushed myself to be the most professional I can be and always deliver above and beyond for clients.

Rolling Loud once again was amazing to work with the whole team over at The Flowery again. We cooked up some great content and I’m excited to work on some new stuff for the new year. We did some cool little projects throughout the year and I’m really blessed to continue to learn and grow as a creative and a professional and grateful for everyone who helps me push myself as a professional to get better every day.

Shortly after I finally got my own spot. Those that have known me for a while know I’ve been working to get my own crib to be closer to work for a long time. It’s still a work in progress but I’m really liking how everything is coming out so far. Huge shoutout to my brother Andrew for hooking it up with the jersey and Allison for the art. Still got some more decorating to do but those pieces are at the centerpiece of the office. I’m very happy with how everything is looking, even though I’ve got a few upgrades to make but it’s getting more homey by the day. It’s definitely been an adjustment moving there but by now I’m really settled into the new space and it’s really coming together nicely. It’s a new crib in a new neighborhood but really getting used to living here and enjoying the space. Close to fam and close to work it’s really a blessing to have my own space. Been saying it’s essentially my live in office which is totally true it’s like basically my office with a kitchen and my bedroom which is just for sleeping. I’m excited for my office to grow up to take more space in the apartment too I’ve still got a bunch more equipment to get and want to get some storage for gear and some more stuff to make my work better and easier.

Back on the work front, Basel was a smash. Wasn’t super wild but was very smooth and still ran it up and tons of the pics went viral. Really locked in on the grind and dialed in on my workflow. Professionally feel like the year has been a big level up for me, my work and confidence in my work has gone up tremendously. I truly believe nobody can do what I do how I do it and I showed that during Basel. Then I enjoyed some much needed family time and closed the year out great with the fam and working up until the end on NYE.

Gotta give a huge shoutout to the whole team really on go all year my brothers stepped up. Appreciate all the clients we work with trusting us. Appreciate all my peers who constantly show me respect and spread love even while we all dealing with some bs.

Speaking of teams…

ARGENTINA CAMPEON DEL MUNDO! Finally! The World Cup was wonderful and I enjoyed watching the games, getting up early, catching games after work and watching some great games with the homies. The Cup was absolutely nuts but glad the home team came out on top.

IF YOU WANT TO READ MORE OF MY THOUGHTS ON THAT READ HERE

On the personal front, really crushed it in the gym shoutout to my brother Derek we went hard but next year we’re going even harder believe that! Still getting warmed up and dialed in so as I keep figuring it out I’m continuing to keep leveling up the gains are going to keep coming. Really happy with the measurable progress I’ve made too especially as a vegan have managed to gain muscle mass, increase strength, and lose a bit of fat. Continuing to dial in especially on my diet but every day I’m making progress and really seeing the changes in front of my eyes.

This year I was very mindful to stay fully focused and present in everything I do. I have tried to improve my focus and it’s still an ongoing battle but I’m getting better every day at really locking in on the task at hand and giving it my best with my undivided attention. It’s easy to get caught up in a million things especially with how connected all our devices are these days.

I want to continue to work on improving my focus and reducing distractions which in turn helps me waste time on my phone less and frees up time for productive activities. Need to get back to my roots and connect with new people and spend time in the streets all over the world.

Very happy overall life is good in the hood and the progress is trending in the right direction. I’m ready for more!

The one thing I didn’t do much of, cause I was locked in working, was I didn’t do as much travel as I wanted. Despite the lack of travel in 2022, I’ve been working on planning some cool trips for 2023 with a couple lined up in the first few months. Also hoping that new opportunities to travel for work also manifest themselves in the future. Would love to string some gigs together for an extended trip and take this tour on the road. I love challenging myself and pushing my comfort zone and I hope to do more of that in the future both personally and professionally.

As always here’s a playlist of songs I really enjoyed:

Locked in and focused! Let’s love more! Spread good energy!

See you in 2023

marty

check out the other editions of my yearly recap:

https://martintmedina.com/yearinreview

[rain-bow-donkey]

Catch and Release: Ch 24

Inspired by @starsfic work on Demon Customs.

Previous chapter

Summary:

Wukong is waiting at Macaques manor for him to come back with information about the White Bone Spirit.

Wukong’s been waiting for a week.

————————

Macaque’s been gone for a week.

Leaving Wukong here at the manor.

Which wouldn’t have been a problem. Wukong didn’t want to be anywhere near the other monkey if he didn’t have to be. The problem was that, now that Macaque left, Wukong was left here in an empty manor.

Alone.

By himself.

For a week.

Wukong is starting to lose it.

Monkeys are social creatures. Wukong is no different. Sure he liked his alone time every now and then but his monkeys were always right around the corner. Waiting for him to rejoin them when he was ready.

But the king didn’t have that option here.

Gods, this is reminding him of the time Wukong was stuck under the mountain.

Only there wasn’t Tripitaka here to save him from his imprisonments this time. And MK won’t be able to find him either. Wukong didn’t even know where he was at. The king was on his own here.

And the isolation was killing him.

“Peaches, I’m back.”

Wukong’s head shot up at the sound of Macaque’s voice. He was excited to hear someone’s else’s voice that wasn’t his own. The sage had to stop himself from jumping out of bed and run down to the entrance of the manor.

He didn’t want to give Macaque the satisfaction of him actually being happy of seeing the demon.

Instead the king pulled himself together and calmly walked out of his room, into the hallway, and stop at the railing of the stairs leading down to the first floor. Wukong stayed on the second floor. Wanting some distance from Macaque still. The Great Sage leaned on the railing to casually look down at the demon looking up at him.

“Well? Found anything useful?”

“Well nice to see you to peaches.”

“Macaque.” Wukong didn’t have the patience for this. He hasn’t been able to get a good nights sleep in days. With not having his monkeys to cuddle with and all. And he was tired.

“Fine, fine. As a matter of fact, yes.” Macaque grinned up at Wukong, “You’re celestial buddy’s sang like canaries. They told me that there’s a temple dedicated to the White Bone Spirit that could be useful. As well as this nifty little book.” The demon monkey waved said book over his head as he made his way up the stairs. “I’ll have to check it out soon. But after I get some R&R.”

That was just an excuse. Macaque just wanted to make sure Wukong was still here at the manor. Yeah they made their little deal but he can never be too sure. Who knows, maybe the kid found out their location and busted Wukong out.

Or maybe Macaque was just that paranoid.

Either way, best to check in.

“So peaches, did you miss me?” Making it to the second floor, Macaque leaned on the railing with one hand. Throwing a mischievous and flirty grin at Wukong.

The king raised an eyebrow. Unimpressed. “No. I didn’t.” Letting go of the railing, Wukong crossed his arms and faced away from Macaque. “You could have been gone for longer actually. I was enjoying myself before you can back and ruined my good time.”

“Ouch. You sure about that peaches?” Macaque said in a teasing tone. Calling out Wukongs bluff.

“Absolutely.”

“You didn’t miss me at all? You where fine here in the manor? All alone? You didn’t need the company?”

“No I didn’t.” Yes he did. Not that Wukong would let Macaque know that. No reason to feed the shadows demons ego.

“I see.” Macaque was steadily moving closer to Wukong. “Did you at least miss having someone to sleep with?”

Wiping around to face demon monkey, Wukongs face was red. From blushed or from anger. It was hard to tell. “Excuse you?!”

“You know. Sleeping at night with your monkey subjects.” Macaque calmly clarified. “I know how you can’t really get a good nights rest without them.”

Oh. Right. Of course that what Macaque meant.

“Oh.” Calming down, Wukong looked away to avoid Macaques gaze. “I mean sure but I’ve been doing just fine without them.”

“I’m not so sure about that peaches.” Taking a hand to left the shorters head up, Macaque used his other hand to lightly trace under Wukongs eyes. “Looks to me you haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.” He didn’t say it mockingly but with concern. “Are you doing alright Wukong?”

“I-“ It was hard for the golden monkey to think straight with the first physical tough he had in a week. “I- yeah. I’ve been doing fine.” He should push macaques hands away. But instead he was enjoying them as they continued to caress his face gently. Wukong closed his eyes to further enjoy the feeling.

Chuckling, Macaque continued his stroking. Moving his hands to the sides of Wukong’s face. Cradling him. Making the other purr as he nuzzled into them. “Alright then.” He leaned in closer. His lips just a hair away from Wukongs. “But just to let you know that if you need someone to spend the night with, that my bed is always open.”

And with that, Macaque gave a pec to Wukong and quickly walked away.

Feeling lips on his own was enough to snap Wukong out of the trance and left his face on fire. He turned to where Macaque was walking. Hoping for an explanation. But the darker haired monkey had his back to Wukong as he made his way to the master bedchamber.

“You’re free to join me whenever you want Wukong.” Macaque couldn’t help but wink at his intended before disappearing into his room.

Leaving Wukong a blushing mess in the hallway.

[writingwithacupoftea]

Quiet

Summary: Following Grace’s death, Tommy shuts himself off from the rest of the world, dealing with all of the noise in his head alone. But Y/N Shelby will be damned if she doesn’t try to help her brother...

Word Count: 3158

A/N: This has unexpectedly become my 200 follower celebration fic, so thank you again!! I was getting my doctor-prescribed daily dose of Cillian Murphy the other day watching his video about the rise of Tommy Shelby, and the part where he talks about Tommy being burdened by his intelligence for some reason made me think of Matilda. So, the song ‘Quiet’ from Matilda the Musical (which I love btw, I’m a massive musical theatre nerd) became the inspiration for this fic. Hope you enjoy it!!

Y/N Shelby was always a source of amazement to the rest of her family. Being the second youngest of the Shelby clan, it had come as a shock to her three elder brothers that she could be quite as ruthless as them when it came to business and enemies who threatened her family. However, it wasn't just that which truly surprised them: it was the fact that she still managed to retain her heart of gold. This was largely reserved for her family and, despite the violence and atrocities committed by them in front of her very eyes, she loved them unconditionally (even if they were a pain in the arse sometimes).

When Tommy bought Arrow House, he also acquired the little cottage on the estate. Knowing that Y/N was getting restless at the prospect of still living with her family as she approached her twenties, Tommy had given the place to her to do with as she wished. This arrangement pleased both siblings immensely. Tommy and Y/N had always had an incredibly close relationship, despite the large age gap, and the cottage's location meant that Y/N got the independence that she so desperately wanted, whilst also being close enough for them to see each other as often as they wished.

(As well as this, it gave Tommy peace of mind that the only way to access the cottage was to cross the grounds which lay in front of Arrow House. This meant that any enemies would have to go past the blinders stationed in front of his house, then through Tommy himself, and finally deal with the blinders outside of Y/N's cottage in order to get to her. Oh, and he always knew when she dared to bring a boy back with her.)

Everything was going perfectly, and Tommy and Y/N were, for once, happy with their lives.

And then Grace died.

For two weeks after the funeral, Tommy spent most of his time riding around the estate, thinking by himself. He didn't want to see anyone apart from his son. Sometimes, depending on where he stopped at night, Y/N could see her brother at a distance from her living room. She longed to run to him, not to tell him that she was sorry and offer her condolences because she knew he'd be sick of that already. Y/N just wanted Tommy to know that he didn't have to fight every battle alone.

Then, out of the blue, there came a point when he stopped doing that. Instead, Tommy chose to throw himself into his work, providing a different type of isolation. He barely left the house, locking himself away in his office, and when he did go out on business he hardly told a soul. According to Mary (who secretly phoned Y/N every week to let her know how Tommy was doing) he seemed lifeless now, as if he were the one that died, not his wife. Her employer was even quieter than he usually was, and Y/N knew that that was when his brain got the loudest.

Y/N refused to sit by and let him destroy himself for any longer...and she knew just the trick to bring her brother back to life.

***

The phone on Tommy's desk seemed to ring even louder than usual, adding to his pounding headache. He hadn't left the house in three days, not that he'd noticed it, and was more on-edge than ever. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver.

"Tom?" Despite the million thoughts that clogged up his brain, he couldn't help the flicker of a smile that passed over his face upon hearing his little sister's light voice, something he'd gotten so used to when she'd lived with him. But that calm didn't last long before his brain went into overdrive again.

"You alright?" He had tried his best to keep any tones of alarm and worry at bay, but knew that he had failed when his voice faltered on the last word.

"I'm fine, I just need to you pop over and help me move a bookcase."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tommy replied steadily, "Y/N, I'm waiting on about three different phone calls and I have a business to run. Why don't you ask -" He paused, looking at the list in front of him, "Ben or Harry to help you, eh?" (They were in charge of guarding Y/N's house during the daytime this week, according to the rota.)

"I mean I would do, but I've given them the weekend off, and quite frankly you're the closest other person, Tom."

The man in question froze. "You've sent Ben and Harry away?"

"Yes."

"For an entire weekend?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me about it?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at Y/N?" Tommy was shouting now, furious that his sister would be this stupid. "I thought you had more sense than this!"

"Actually, Thomas, I think in this case I've got more sense than you. They've been outside this house for two, nearly three, weeks now because you haven't stood them down and you won't let me do it myself. How do you expect them to do their job properly if they're dead on their feet?"

Tommy fell silent, his heart beating at a mile a minute, worry taking over from his anger. What if someone took advantage of this moment? What if they used this opportunity to take his sister from him, like they took his wife? He was terrified, and the worst part was that it would be entirely his fault: he should never have let this fuck up happen, he should've kept a closer eye on his sister. Y/N lived on his grounds, anyone that came for Tommy would inevitably go for her as well.

He didn't even bother to try and conceal the tremor in his voice when he finally spoke again. "Okay, I'm coming over. Do not, I repeat, do not leave your house, alright? Don’t open the door to anyone but me, either. Have you got a gun with you?"

"Tom, you made sure that an entire armoury was installed here before I even set foot in the place, yes I have a gun."

"Good. Keep it with you, make sure it's loaded. I'm on my way."

Tommy hadn't even put the receiver down before he was on his feet, scrambling to get ready. Guilt and worry consuming him, Tommy made another phone call to get some more men stationed outside Arrow House, went up to the nursery and kissed Charlie goodbye, and then told Mary of his plan. Tommy would be staying with his sister until Monday morning – he was taking his sister's safety into his own hands this time.

It was common knowledge that the patriarch of the Shelby family didn't give a toss about religion any more, but as his pace quickened down the drive of Arrow House that Saturday morning, he sent a prayer up to anyone who was listening that he wouldn't be too late.

***

Livid. That's the only way to describe how Tommy felt upon turning the corner to his sister's cottage. For there she was, stood in the open doorway, clearly waiting for him. As he got closer, Tommy noticed that Y/N was wearing one of his old shirts under her worn grey cardigan, with a gun tucked into the top of her rolled up, oversized trousers. She also had a gentle smile on her face, the one that was reserved only for her family members.

Shaking a stern finger at his sister as he marched over to her, Tommy stated in a dangerous tone "I told you to stay indoors."

Y/N's smile moulded into a smirk. "Yeah, and I told you that Ben and Harry had the weekend off, not that there was no one guarding the house. Eddie and Will took their place last night."

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, whether out of relief or frustration, neither of the siblings knew. "You are in so much trouble." His tone was far from teasing, and anyone else would be quaking at the knees. But not Y/N.

"I thought I would be, but you can shout at me as we walk." Y/N grabbed a large basket from inside the door before locking it. "Come on!"

"You're not going fucking anywhere until -"

"You know, Thomas, the further away I get the less I'll be able to hear of you telling me off." Y/N hadn't even turned around or stopped to say it, she just kept walking.

"For fuck's sake," Tommy muttered angrily under his breath and then started moving to try and catch up with her.

***

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for making you panic so much." Tommy had only just caught up to Y/N, and had opened his mouth to continue speaking when she cut him off. "I knew you wouldn't leave the house unless I made you think that I was in danger. You were always too good of a big brother to risk that."

Tommy was rendered speechless by her words. He had neglected her for over a month, barely speaking to her and never visiting – how could she still claim that he was a good brother?

As if she could hear his thoughts, Y/N continued to speak. "You're grieving, Tom. I didn't expect anything from you, no matter how much I wanted to see you. Although you haven't been checking that the blinders change over, that part of my call was true. But I've been taking care of it, so I've been safe the entire time. Don't go blaming yourself for anything else."

"We thought that Grace was safe." That was the first thing that Tommy had said in minutes, and his anger at being lured into his sister's trap lay forgotten for the time being. Y/N simply placed her free hand into the crook of Tommy's arm and squeezed it.

"You probably think I'm so selfish for doing this, but I promise I'm not just doing it for me." She paused, almost reluctant to put her next question out into the open. "Everything's getting loud again, isn't it?"

Tommy stared at the ground as they kept walking further and further away from either of their houses, wordlessly confirming her suspicions. He let out a small chuckle. "You always know, don't you, sweetheart? For someone so young, you don't miss much."

Y/N breathed out a laugh. "When you grow up with John and his bloody booby traps all over the house, you do tend to notice everything and more."  

That was enough to bring out the first proper smile that Tommy had produced since his wife's death. He had forgotten what a tonic his sister could be – just her presence and gentle voice was enough to soothe him and ease some of his pain. Tommy brought his free hand up to rest on top of her small one, still nestled into the crook of his arm, and she responded by leaning her head against his shoulder contentedly.  

They continued to walk in silence before Tommy realised that, for once, he had no clue what they were doing. When he asked, his sister's answer made him stop in his tracks.

"Nothing?"

"Yep." Y/N smiled at him proudly. "Absolutely nothing."

"Y/N, I don’t have time to -"

"Everyone has the time to do nothing, Tommy, even you." Her brother sighed in defeat, knowing that there was no point in starting an argument over it (the look that Y/N was giving him was enough to tell him that he'd lost it before it had even begun).

"Alright, fine. But how am I supposed to do nothing and clear my head at the same time, eh?" His tone boarded on impatient.

"You'll figure it out soon enough." Y/N responded, calmly.

***

She was right, of course. They had laid down the blankets that had been tucked away in Y/N's basket and for a while they simply watched the clouds dancing across the sky, bringing back fond memories for Tommy: he had done this countless times with his mother before she passed, and afterwards he used to take a much younger Y/N out to do the same before the war took over. Tommy let the rustling of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds melt away the endless stream of thoughts in his head. His sister had also been clever enough to bring them so far out into the Warwickshire countryside that he knew that no-one would find them, causing a feeling of safety and freedom to wash over him for the first time in years.

Tommy reached over and held Y/N's hand in his, and whispered "Thank you, bug," just loudly enough for her to hear.

Y/N turned her head to smile at him and squeezed his hand. But then she frowned at her brother, causing him to mirror her expression. "Tom, you've got some grey hairs coming. Seriously, I can see them now, just at the side."

His lips parted in shock as her expression turned into one of mirth. "You cheeky fucker." Tommy's tone was deadly serious; however, Y/N knew her brother well enough to know what was coming next. She just managed to roll out of the way before Tommy's hand reached out to tickle her stomach.

Before they both knew it, Y/N was running like her life depended on it and Tommy was following in hot pursuit, uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from both of them.

***

A few hours later and night had fallen. Tommy had built a fire some time ago, and Y/N was sat by it, reading. He realised that, whilst the scene wasn't too dissimilar to the one he created every night in the weeks following Grace's funeral, it was also entirely different. Before, he had only focused on the thoughts constantly whizzing around in his brain, not noticing anything else going on around him.  

But now, everything was quiet. Not silent, for that would surely send all of the noise flooding back into his head. The sounds of the pages turning steadily in his sister's book provided that nice sort of quiet which meant that that noise just...stopped. Y/N hadn't actually tried to distract him from his grief or his thoughts, either, or tried to get him to talk about it as so many other people had done; all Y/N did was bring him physically away from everything and been there, a strong presence without pressure. For that, he loved her more than ever.

Tommy looked up as Y/N released a long sigh, having just finished her last chapter. He noticed her shiver slightly when a cool breeze brushed over the field, and fished another blanket out of the basket as she walked over to sit next to him. Tommy wrapped the soft material tightly around her and placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in for a one-armed hug.  

Breaking the silence, Y/N looked up and said "The stars are so much brighter out here than in Small Heath."

Tommy hummed in agreement. "When you were little and we were on the road with mum, I used to point out all the different constellations to you."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, you were always about half asleep."

"Do you still remember them?"

"I do."

"Would you show me them again?"

The question was asked with such innocence that Tommy glanced down at his sister, and saw her bright blue eyes staring back up at him, eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. He laid down, patting the space next to him, encouraging her to do the same. "Let's have a look then, shall we?"

He was rewarded with a big, beaming smile.

***

When Y/N started to yawn and her eyelids began to droop, lulled by the warmth and her brother's steady voice, Tommy decided that it was time for them to head back. He bundled everything back into the basket bar one blanket, which he layered on top of the other one covering his sister once they started walking away from the dying fire (despite Y/N's apparent annoyance at his fussing).

Tommy was still set on staying in his sister's spare room for the weekend, wanting to make up for lost time. Part of him also still worried that she would be taken away from him, and knew that there wasn't much chance of him sleeping if he returned to his own bed. After all that she had done for him today, Tommy couldn't bear to leave her just yet.

He carried the basket in one hand, and Y/N had wrapped both of her arms around his other arm, revelling in the chance to be so close to her brother again, and not just physically. Y/N wasn't naïve in her view of Tommy: he was cold, brutal, rude and relentless, and she knew that. But she had also never wavered in her belief that parts of the Tommy that she knew before the war were still there; they were simply buried deep within, so much so that it was slowly becoming more and more difficult to bring them to the surface.  

However, looking up and noting the absence of a crease between Tommy's brows, she couldn't help but feel that she could afford herself a small victory this time.

"I'm always here for you, Tom," Y/N mumbled, seemingly out of the blue. "When you need some quiet, and remember that I always know when you do, I'll never get bored of things like this."

Tommy was silent, and Y/N wondered if she'd ruined it and pushed it too far. But then she heard him clear his throat and quietly reply "That sounds perfect, sweetheart," and her worries washed away in an instant.

***

As the siblings stepped over the threshold of the cottage, exhaustion hit both of them. Y/N headed to the kitchen and Tommy made his way towards the living room. Upon his arrival, however, he stopped in the doorway and simply stared in...

"Y/N?" He called, confusion seeping into his voice.

The woman in question appeared behind him, and peered over her brother's shoulder at the bookcase abandoned in the middle of the room. "Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. Well, you can move it out of the way while I make tea – it's what I called you here to do anyway." Y/N began to wander back towards the kitchen, ignoring the befuddled, yet amused, expression on her brother's face. "Thanks Tom, love you!"

"Love you too, darling," Tommy murmured, not loud enough for her to hear, a full and genuine smile gracing his features.

Yep, he thought, his sister was definitely one of a kind, but he wouldn't change her for the world; and no matter what else he did, he refused to fail Y/N again.

[filia-sapientiae]

Como El Viento (Like the Wind)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mexican!Reader

Summary: Four months ago, Tony hired a new computer scientist for a temporary classified assignment. Bucky didn’t plan on falling in love with her. But now the assignment is over and she’s going back home. Will he be enough to make her stay?

Series Warnings: Novela style drama, angst, cursing, crazy Mexican family dynamics, typical cartel business, drugs and alcohol, smut, rich people being assholes, Spanish 

A/N: This is for Mimi’s One Hit Wonder Challenge hosted by @captain-rogers-beard​     (Inspiration in BOLD)

I’ve had this story in my head for a little over a year and it was literally in my drafts titled “She’s Like the Wind”, so when I saw your challenge, I knew I had to participate!!! 

I’m so sorry it’s late!!! I really struggled in deciding whether or not to make it a WOC!Reader fic. And then it turned into an OC fic. And then went back Latina!Reader. And then it turned into a vague Reader fic, but my brain just wouldn’t let me write it that way. 

This quarantine has given me a lot of time to binge Spanish novelas on Netflix. So I finally settled on making a Mexican!Reader fic. You can totally use the QUEEN Selena Quintanilla as the face claim. It’s how my brain pictured the Reader. But you do you!!! I’ve got a little bit of everything planned for this story. It will definitely read like a Spanish novela!!!

____________________________________________________________________

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were a dead giveaway of the sleep that eluded him for the past two weeks. His hair was dirty and haphazardly thrown into a bun. He sighed as he walked away from his reflection and made his way down to the training room.

Steve eyed Bucky as he made his way to a punching bag.

How could he have been so stupid?

Punch.

He remembered fawning over every dame that crossed his line of sight. But this was different. She was so different.

Punch.

And he had to go and fuck it all up!

Bucky swung at the bag ferociously until it split open and sand spilled onto the floor.

“Buck, that’s the fourth bag this week!”

“I can’t stop thinking about her!” Bucky paced in front of the broken bag. His hands fisting in his hair. “Steve, I told Y/N I was in love with her. I put myself out there and she left!”

“You did what?! Bucky, she was in New York on temporary assignment! You knew this!”

“I didn’t plan on falling in love with her!!!” Bucky snapped at Steve.

“Buck,” Steve pulled his best friend into a hug. “What happened?”

“I freaked out when she said she was leaving and it all came out.”

“What’d she say?”

“What do you think she said? She’s gone back to California to her fiance!”

“So she’s still in love with him?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Bucky whispered under his breath. He felt defeated.

“Huh? Whaddya mean?” Steve asked incredulously.

“You remember the night we all went out for drinks and I brought her home early after she twisted her ankle dancing on the bar counter?” Bucky began to tell the account of that night, “God, I was already in love with her then.”

Y/N was snuggled against Bucky’s chest as he carried her up to her room. Bucky laid her gently on the bed. He looked down at her and his chest tightened.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with me?” She sat up with tears in her eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong with you doll. You just twisted your ankle. You’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” Bucky reassured her.

She started sobbing, “No no no no. What’s wrong with me Bucky? Why can’t I bring myself to marry Mateo?”

“Y/N, you guys are engaged. You’re getting married soon.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“No. I postponed the wedding again!” Y/N blubbered.

“That’s ok. Why’d you postpone? What’s going on?” Bucky asked. Y/N shook her head.

“He is so good. He’s kind and sweet. He comes from a good family. But God, I am so unhappy!”

“Then why stay with him? Why are you going to marry him if you’re not happy?”

“I have to marry him. I promised them.” Y/N sank back down into the mattress and curled to her side away from Bucky.

“Doll, you don’t have to marry him. Who did you-” Bucky was met with Y/N’s quiet snores. He got up from the bed and covered her with a blanket. Bucky took one last look at the woman in front of him and left quietly.

“Buck, she was drunk.” Steve argued.

“I know, but you should’ve seen her. She’s not in love with him.” Bucky rested his head against the wall and sighed.

_____________________________________________________________

Y/N wrapped herself in a warm blanket and sat on the windowsill watching the wind blow through the trees.

Y/N had isolated herself for the past two weeks. She kept replaying her last night with Bucky over and over in her head. The feel of his lips. The way her body responded to his kiss. The desperate way he told her he loved her. The way he yelled at her.

“Tell me that you love me too!”

“He doesn’t make you happy. I do! I know I do.”

“Am I a fool to believe that I have anything you need?”

Y/N curled the blanket around her tighter and cried. After a few minutes she let out a frustrated yell. She had cried so much for the last two weeks during her self imposed isolation. She was tired of crying. Y/N stood up and paced around her living room. She was going crazy alone with her thoughts in the small apartment. She knew she couldn’t hide from the world forever.

Y/N stopped and entertained the idea of running away and starting fresh with a new life and new identity. She could do it. She knew people. You didn’t become a computer scientist as good as she was without knowing people. Hell, she had been sought out by Tony Stark for her skills. She would be free.

Y/N started pacing again. She couldn’t do that. She had to go back home. She had responsibilities and duty. The perfect Mexican daughter lived at home until marriage. But what if she didn’t want to be that anymore?

Now there was so much more to consider. The conversation she had with Tony had left her unsure of what she wanted.

“Hey Baby Houseman? Friday said you were in the lab.”

Her hair was up in a messy ponytail and her eyeliner was smudged.

“Are you ok? Were you crying?” Tony kneeled down by her side.

Y/N shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m good. What’s up Tony?”

“Are you sure everything is ok?”

“I’m good Tony.” Y/N snapped.

Tony nodded, “I have a business proposition for you.” He sat on the lab desk in front of her.

“I’m listening.”

“Come work for me. I want you to be Stark Industries’ computer network architect. You’d make communication and use of technology easier for the company to use.”

“Tony, you have your AI system, what do you need me for?” Y/N was confused.

“I want to put you in charge of Friday’s operational system.”

“Tony! I can’t take over control of Friday. Friday is your brainchild! Your baby!” Y/N gasped.

“That’s why I need you. I’m not getting any younger Y/N. Pepper and I want a family. I’m ready, but I can’t make the same mistakes as my father. In order to do that, I need to delegate responsibilities. I can’t let the company take priority over my family. That’s why I need you. You’re the only one I trust for the position. What do you say?”

Y/N stayed quiet in disbelief. “Can I think about it? I need to go home and talk to my family about it. My fiance is in California.”

Tony nodded, “Sure, take the time that you need. We’ll talk when you’re ready..”

Y/N sighed. When had her life become such a mess? The weight of her responsibility and duty and honor was steadily crushing the levity of independence and her dreams.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed her phone buzzing.

Shit.

10 missed calls from “Madre Mia”.

Shit.

Another call came in.

“Hello?” She knew she was in trouble the second she answered.

“Y/N L/N! I have been calling you! Porque tienes un pinche telefono si no lo contestas?!”

“I’m sorry Mami. I was busy.”

“Oh too busy for your own mother?”

“No Mami. I’m here. We’re talking now. What’s up?” Y/N sighed pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You need to come home. Now.”

“Mami, I’m still working-”

“Don’t lie to me Y/N! Que crees, que tengo cara de estupida? I know you’ve been done for two weeks!”

Shit. Y/N was really in trouble. How did they find out?

“Mami-”

“You need to get home now! Estoy harta! You’ve pushed your wedding back too many times. You’re getting married in two weeks.” There was no room for negotiation in her voice. Y/N knew her mother had been pushed beyond her limit.

“Mom, I can’t. Tony offered me a job! It’s a really good job and I want to take it!” Her voice went a little high. The same way it always did when Y/N tried to get her mom to understand.

“No me importa. We’re done playing your games! Your father and I let you postpone because you wanted to go off to school. Ok. We indulged you when you postponed because you said you wanted a doctorate. Fine. We even let you go to New York to help The Avengers. You’re done. You have things to take care of here at home.”

“Mami, please! I promise-” Y/N was not done trying to bargain for her freedom.

“No Y/N! You are marrying Mateo in two weeks. Todo ya esta listo.”

Screw this!

Y/N was old enough to make her own decisions. She was accomplished. She could handle her own! “Mom, I am 26 years old! I have a doctorate! You can’t-”

“Y qué? Crees que tu te mandas sola? No. You are a L/N. You will do as I say as long as I run this family.”

Fine. That’s how she wanted to play? Y/N was done being nice. Now she was going to be heard. “I thought it was Papi that ran things.”

“Who do you think orders him around?”

“What if I say no?” Y/N words dripped with rancor.

“Yo misma me encargare que nunca vuelvas a ver a tus hermanas.”

Y/N voice caught in her throat. No! She couldn’t. Her mother wasn’t ruthless.

“Mami, please! You wouldn’t do that!” Y/N choked out. Her mother held all the bargaining chips. Y/N had lost.

“Try me Y/N. I expect you on the next flight out.” The call ended.

FUCK!

Y/N threw her phone against the wall.

FUCK!!!

How could she threaten me like that? Threaten to keep my own sisters away from me?

Y/N wiped away her tears. The severity of her situation made its home in her chest.

It was her freedom or her sisters. She had to choose between her dream job or family duty. She had to choose between herself or Luisa and Blanca.

What was she willing to lose?

The decision wasn’t an arduous one. She knew what she had to choose. Y/N made her way to her room to start packing her bags.

PT. 2 coming soon

[asras-hat]

It has been a hot second since I posted any real writing here, so get ready, y’all -it’s sad Muriel hours. This is basically my interpretation for how Muriel got the scar on his face. Asra’s point of view. (Kinda long - 1k ish words.)

This is how it is, and how I worry it will always be. Dark and musty tunnels, echoing with the cries of a ravenous crowd. The gazes of the convicted and the executioner sliding across iron bars to meet in the middle, each feeling as trapped as the other. Blood and sweat dripping to the floor as I dart down unseen to patch together the broken pieces of my one and only friend. This is the cycle in which he and I are trapped, each unable to leave for fear of dooming the other.

I couldn’t bring myself to watch, today. I usually find some miniscule amount of solace in knowing that Muriel’s opponent isn’t innocent – he’s fought all sorts of violent criminals – but today was different. Today was purely sport, a broken man pitted against an equally-broken animal for the entertainment of the bloodthirsty crowd and its bloodthirsty ruler.

I hadn’t been able to watch today, but I had been able to listen, and the sounds coming from the arena were enough to churn my stomach. Muriel’s cries of pain and anger still echo in my mind as I slink my way through empty tunnels, praying that he’ll let me talk to him, sit with him, touch him. I can only hope.

When I reach his cell, Muriel is hunched in a corner, his knees drawn to his chest, his back against the wall, and his matted hair covering his face. I grip one of the heavy iron bars isolating him, curling my fingers around the cold metal.

“Muriel,” I whisper. “Muri. I’m here.”

He barely looks up, his gaze averted.

“Can I come in?” I ask. Unable to understand his muttered response, I use my magic to open the locked door and carefully shut it behind me as I disappear into the shadows of his cell. Kneeling beside him, I try to get a good look at his face. There’s blood dripping steadily to the floor, painting the stone red, but I can’t see where it’s coming from.

“I heard you,” I whisper. “I couldn’t come watch, but I listened.”

“I’ve told you not to come,” he growls under his breath. “I don’t want you to see this part of me.”

“And I’ve told you that I need to come,” I counter, allowing the corner of my mouth to rise slightly. “If only so I can see you afterwards.”

He doesn’t respond, so I focus on healing what few parts of him I can.

“You’re bleeding,” I say. “Show me where, so I can help you.”

Grumbling something inaudible, he roughly shoves aside his tangled mane of hair, revealing a deep slash across his cheek. The cut goes all the way through to reveal his teeth, and I have to fight a wave of nausea as I survey the damage. Placing my hand on his face, I let my magic flow through to him, knitting his wound together and leaving behind a starkly-white scar against his sand-speckled skin.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “That scar won’t go away.”

“It’s okay,” he sighs, finally releasing the tension built up in his shoulders. “….Thank you.”

“Tell me about what happened,” I request, knowing he won’t want to. After a long moment of silence, he speaks up.

“Lucio didn’t have anyone for me to fight,” he mutters. “So he put me in with a lion.”

I’m silent for a moment, already having known this but not comprehending until this moment. Nobody in this world loves animals more than Muriel does – I know that having to slay an innocent lion must have shattered him.

“I’m so sorry,” I sigh, unsure what else to say. He shrugs.

“I put it out of its misery,” he says. “Lucio hadn’t fed it for a week.”

Despite his words, there’s a heavy guilt in his gaze, and I can tell that in his heart he doesn’t feel like he’d taken mercy on anyone. Not knowing what else to do, I wrap my arms around him and hold him for a long moment, allowing him to rest his newly-healed cheek on my shoulder.

“Please run away with me, Muri,” I whisper. “We can leave this place. We can go where Lucio won’t find us.”

He shakes his head.

“He will find us,” he murmurs. “I have to do this.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I protest. “We can leave. We can find a new home. We can –”

He cuts me off with a frustrated sob that lets me know there’s nothing he’d rather do than run away with me right now. Whatever is stopping him must be important to him, although I can’t understand what it is. For what feels like the thousandth time, I give up on my argument.

“Alright,” I relent. “But please, take this.”

I hand him the linen-wrapped loaf of bread I’d hidden in my scarf, and he takes it reluctantly, roughly wiping his eyes with the back of his shackled wrist.

“You haven’t eaten either,” he says. “You have some, too.”

“I have other food,” I lie, and although I can tell he doesn’t believe me, he takes the bread.

“You should go,” he says after a moment. “Lucio will find out you’re here.”

Although I want to protest, I know he’s right. Getting to my feet, I take one last look at him, curled there on the floor, looking so vulnerable.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I ask. Unsurprisingly, he shakes his head.

“I’ll see you next time,” he murmurs, and my eyes involuntarily fill with tears.

“Next time,” I reply, nodding. “I’ll come find you.”

I step back through the cell door, closing it quietly and quickly redoing the lock with the same spell as before. It hurts each time I leave him here, knowing that he’s at the mercy of the merciless, but there’s nothing I can do. Slipping out of the tunnels and out onto the streets of Vesuvia, I quickly blend into the crowd still exiting the Coliseum. Revelers excitedly share the gruesome details of the fight, each more horrific than the last, and I struggle not to break down at the thought of my friend having to participate in all of this.

Someday we’ll be free, I tell myself, although when it will happen is still unknown. Someday we’ll find a place for ourselves, somewhere far from here. But, I realize as I lay eyes on a young boy sporting a pennant flag with the word Scourge sloppily painted on it, that day is not today.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

���As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.

[undermycitadel]

It’s Dark Up Here

Mick doesn’t love me. I know he doesn’t. But when he needs a bed for the evening I have to let him in and when he needs a lover for the night I must give myself to him. He knows that I will always open my arms to him and keep him satisfied so he keeps coming back. I can’t make him stay. If he compliments me on my loyalty and looks then he must he love me one night then throw me away. When he’s under the influence or wants for me to join him for a night of coke and fun he feels so free but can’t express more of what needs from me outside of that. I suppose he must keep up with his image. I’m the practice he needs when he feels things are slipping is searches for his mojo in anyone he can find, but I’m doubtful that he isn’t genuine in our conversations. He is a sort of friend with added benefits- unintentionally that way. I haven’t got any proof besides the couple of letters he has sent. I know he doesn’t love me, but when I read them in my room of reticence I think otherwise. The thought of him wanting me is overwhelming.

Nobody wants to see me. I deny myself the gorgeous things of life in hopes what I’d really like to come my way will but I don’t quite understand what they are yet. Voices in my head put me down constantly and I try not to listen but the sounds always find ways to get through and break me into isolation. Ever since the eve of my seventh birthday, they’ve stuck with me. I’m now twenty and they’ve yet to relent. It makes me believe I don’t deserve this life but he makes me feel so good for the few hours we spend together. He throws me away but I’m holding onto how I made him feel so good. I have a problem that I’ll never fully understand.

I hear my telephone’s spattering so I fly out of bed to answer. I feel awfully lightheaded and sit on the desk with my legs folded over and my head in my hand. It’s about twelve in the afternoon and I haven’t yet had a bite of anything to eat since yesterday. But Mick is ringing. Oh, sweet Jagger. Butterflies in my stomach go crazy as he says “Hi, Karis. How are you doing this evening?” and I couldn’t care less about food.

“I’m doing alright, thank you. There’s a bit of rain today... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What are you doing today?”

“Um...” I turn back at my messy spread, “I’ve been in bed about all day. I’ve got nothing really keeping me.”

“That works out just perfectly, doesn’t it? I’d like to see you sometime today. I’ll make it worth your while.” His smile is evident through the line. It’s too dark up here to tell if I truly want this. I want to protest and make up a story about what I’ll be doing for the day but  I can’t bring myself to refuse his visit. I miss his touch and tell him that my door is wide open only for him and he likes that. He’ll be around within the hour.

I don’t eat before he comes. Instead, I change my sheets for the first time in ages and prepare a pot of coffee. Then I go into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. I’ve left my makeup from the day before to rest on my face overnight. I don’t wash it off or brush my teeth yet because I’m distracted by the hollows of my collarbones. How they could house several dollar coins. I try my hardest to look anywhere in the mirror other than myself when getting ready. I’m wearing very little and consider covering up before Mick shows up. I don’t see a point in wearing something just for it to end up draped over the rug later on so I try not to change until he comes and make use of my nakedness but crack and throw a brown shirt over my head once back in my room. I can feel his strong knock on the door and feel jittery. I feel so powerful as I kiss him hello and watch him hang his raincoat on the rack.

“Don’t mind that lay of clothes over there,” I call softly over to Mick who is next to a pile. “I was planning to do wash later.”

“I won’t,” he struts towards me and gets close enough for me to smell the last girl around his neck. His eyes lower to my bare legs then up to my eyes, still glazed over with tired. “I want to fuck you,” he tells me in a kind tone and snakes his hand around to hold me close. I come to him, knotting my arms around his neck and resting my head on his neck. He kisses me longingly. Mick’s hands are steadily sneaking under my shirt to the upper end past my shoulder blades where he massages and tells me it’s where he’d like to kiss the most. I let out an audible sigh as he brings me to the bed and I sit on the edge while he stays standing. He gives me the look he always does when he wants more but says nothing as I unbutton his trousers, never making eye contact until he lifts my chin and leans in for a tender kiss that lasts a while.

I stroke him through the fabric. He’s growing before me and I can’t help but feel the tingle in my private parts spread to my nipples. I want him to touch me but the kiss is too lavish for me to end this soon. I rub myself through my panties to intensify the sensation. I want my hand to be his, and they soon are after he breaks the kiss to have a look at me. I look into his warm eyes and grant him my smile. He smirks and rubs harder, going past the fabric of my underwear to the main source. My breathing quickens and cuts off unexpectantly at moments. I feel waves rocking me back and forth into his hands. A truly sexy feeling I’d like to have with me on lonely nights without Mick. I place a hand on his neck and let out a moan, asking for more. I draw him in for a hasty kiss. His tongue brushes over my teeth and tangles with my tongue. I taste cigarettes and strawberry candy. He takes his hand away from me to place in my mouth for me to taste myself. My womanhood goes crazy for him. I feel imaginary hands all over my body’s most sensitive area. Craving any sort of touch, I pinch my nipple as I taste myself on his fingers and he later does the same.

“You’re so darling,” I tell him.

“Turn over.”

I support myself on my elbows and arch my back until my backside is high in the air. I feel his hands peel back my panties and massage, slowly moving into my womanhood with his finger briefly before replacing with his tongue. I didn’t mean to gasp as I did, nor did I want to bury my head into my folded arms as he fucked me with his mouth but it sort of happened that way. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes and I cry out silently, pushing back against his lips asking for more. I rise for a moment to glace at him. I can’t for too long. I’m overcome with a feeling I can’t ignore and groan in agony. I feel accomplished to finally have him taking care of me. It’s all I ever wanted.

Suddenly he’s away from me but not too long. Only long enough to take off his clothes and plop them on the floor. He grabs my backside and begins positioning himself at my entrance. His breathing is heavy and I can hardly catch my own before he pushes into me. He gives me little time to catch myself before he fucks me at his own pace. His hands grab my waist and pull me onto his cock. I sob, letting him have his way with me. Sensation overwhelms me and I can feel already my climax peeking through each time he pounds into me. I tell him how close I am and he says nothing, only going faster in response, bringing me closer.

He asks me if I’m close. I’m only able to respond in orgasmic murmurs and spuddles. “Are you close, love?” he asks in a breathy cluster. I shake my head, hair flinging about, clinging to my back dampened with his sweat. He takes a fistful and tugs forcefully. His thrusts grow colder and needy. I can tell he’s as close as I am but I don’t want things to end so soon. Before I realize, I’m unraveling underneath him. He’s satisfied once I’ve cum on his cock, rocking about to milk the last moments of pleasure out of myself before he collapses over me. I feel myself filling with his love and I feel at ease. He’s then away from me, laying on a spot on the bed next to me. How I wish he’d stay.

I’m curling up into a ball when he prepares himself to go about his day. “Would you like a cigarette?” he asks, pulling up his trousers.

“I’ve got my own,” I say as I catch my breath. But he tosses me a stick anyway. and continues dressing.

Soon enough, he’s out the door and I’m left with the shadows of our collective orgasm. I touch myself, longing for him to come back to me. He doesn’t so I smoke my cigarette in the nude, watching coils escape my lips. I’ll only see him once more this week before he goes away to record a new album. If he calls afterward I’m lucky because he never does. I’m still allowed to wish for him while he’s gone.

[thatmpdblog]

Forget Me Not

“We’re all trying to forget someone.” 

Word count: 2,216

The music had been loud, deafening almost, but it still would never be enough to drown out your own thoughts. You sat off in the distance, away from the crowd of silhouettes moving against each other under the flashing strobe lights. Scantily clad bodies pulsing against one another with more alcohol than modesty in their system. Everyone just wanted to have a good time.

And that’s what you were to him. Just a good time.

A year ago when you found yourself at this very same place. Maybe it was the atmosphere, or the way his lips formed those persuasive compliments all night long. Something about him drew you in and made you feel like you were the only one in the world to him. You fell for him hard.

And you regretted it deeply.

A simple exchange of numbers led to frequent meet-ups. These turned to daytime dates, until finally, you both made it official. He became your everything. Your heart was completely open to him. He treated you like his queen. Weeks gave way to months, and it was steadily approaching your anniversary. A great milestone. A surprise visit quickly turned sour that day. You were expecting him to be alone, certainly not the way you found him. A queen, you thought you were. It was only then you realized you were only a queen in the deck of cards of the game he played. Never the only one.

Now here you were tonight, trying to erase the memory where it all began. You scoffed aloud, taking a sip from the fluorescent drink you’d ordered. The burn going down your throat still nothing compared to the burn that still remained in your heart. People could be so cruel.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” You heard a voice that wasn’t your own ring through your mind. Your head snapped up, glancing around and finding no one in your immediate vicinity. 

“What the hell?” You set your glass down on the table in front of you. “No way I’m already buzzed off just one drink.”

“Nah, you’re good. Don’t worry.” the voice answered with a light chuckle. 

“Okay what the hell is going on?” you questioned to the second voice in your head. 

“I’m trying to figure that out myself to be honest. I always thought this was a myth.”

“What, telepathy?”

“People say when you find your soulmate, you can hear their thoughts. Yours have been pretty loud since I laid eyes on you tonight.”

“Soulmate? Right, like I’ll believe that crap.” you scoffed. This had to be some kind of joke. Worst case scenario, something in your drink.

“You weren’t drugged sweetheart. I’ve been paying attention too. Look up to the V.I.P balcony.” You scanned past the crowd, up to the small semicircular balcony portion of the club which sat between two short flights of stairs connecting both floors. Velvet ropes and security guards sealed off both ends. Inside, was a very royal themed couch and a small table holding a whisky glass and an ash tray. A man sat on the floral cushions, isolated from everyone else. His shirt was partially open, one leg crossed lazily over the other and a cigar in one hand. He was looking directly at you, from what you could tell at least.

“Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors, and at night?” you questioned. He chuckled visibly.

“Why don’t you come join me and we could continue this conversation verbally?” 

You shrugged, downing the rest of your drink. You gathered yourself, rising to your feet and making your way over to the V.I.P section. Short heels clicked inaudibly against the tile staircase. As you approached, you noticed the security guard glance back at the handsome stranger who gave him a curt nod. The guard opened the velvet rope and stepped aside to let you in. You breathed an internal sigh of relief, to which the man inside snickered into the back of his hand.

“Don't worry, he wouldn't hurt you.” came the mental voice again. You took a seat on the soft couch next to the only other occupant.

“Hello soulmate.” he smirked, turning his body towards you.

“Hey,” you answered. He took your hand and placed a soft kiss to the back of your palm.

“You're even more beautiful up close. My name's Jay.” he grinned.

“Y/N.” you replied.

“Y/N...” he repeated. “So, what brings you back to Heartbreak Hotel?”

“Just trying to start a clean slate, you know?” you answered. He removed his shades, placing them on the table next to his half empty glass.

“We're all trying to forget someone.” he said, pulling the cigar to his lips and taking in a long draw. He exhaled, the white threads of smoke leaving his mouth and dancing between the two of you. He placed the rest of the cigar in the ashtray, dark eyes returning to you.

You took in the slender frame of his face. Smooth skin dipped into sharp collarbones and the beginning of a toned, tattooed chest. His hair was trimmed to an undercut, marked and styled up in slick, dark curls. The light bounced off the small diamond stud piercing on his nose. No doubt, this man was gorgeous. A smile broke out onto his face, turning into a short laugh.

“You flatter me, sweetheart.” he said, reminding you that he could still hear your thoughts loud and clear. You looked down and fiddled with your fingers, with a shy laugh.

“Sorry, I’m still getting used to this.” Your head shot up as realization settled on you. “Hey, wait a minute. You know my story now but I don’t know yours.” you said. He leaned an arm against the back of the couch.

“What do you wanna know, sweetheart?” he grinned. His smile made you relax into your seat a bit more. You weren’t completely vulnerable with him, but you at least felt comfortable.

“What’s your deal? How come my apparently handsome soulmate isn’t pulling home the next best skirt on the dance floor?” you teased. He chuckled, turning back to the security guard behind him and snapping his fingers. The guard nodded, and began making his way down the staircase. Jay turned back to you.

“You see, Y/N, just like you, I know what it’s like to be fucked over.” he said. He glanced off to the crowd of clubbers below the platform. “It’s happened one too many times. Eventually you start to feel like you’re ready to give up on love.” Your heart clenched at his words. You knew how it felt, all too well. 

The security guard returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, setting them down on the table before you both, then returning to his post. Jay reached for the bottle, opening it with ease and pouring the bubbly, golden liquid into both glasses. He handed one to you, holding up his own with a small, but hopeful smile.

“Cheers, soulmate.” he said. You clinked glasses and sent the crisp, sweet drink past your lips. Your gazes returned to each other and your eyes locked. A dense energy danced between the two of you, sealing you off from the rest of the world and suffocating you in the most euphoric way. You searched each other’s eyes, your minds simultaneously saying the words neither of your lips could form.

“Please don't break my heart again.”

Your skin burned with desire. Your bodies were pulled flush against each other. Your tongues linked sloppily as Jay's tattooed hands roamed your body. He tasted like a bittersweet combination of champagne and tobacco. The scent of his cologne still lingered on him even with both of your clothes long gone. Immense passion radiated from you both as you maneuvered haphazardly through his bedroom. 

He guided you back until you felt the bed against the back of your legs. His hands gripped your waist, easing you onto the bed. Your legs opened to accommodate him fitting between your thighs. He rolled his hips against your center, prompting a muffled moan to escape you. He chuckled against your lips, pulling the bottom flesh between his teeth before working his way down your body. He kissed and marked his way across your skin, down your neck, across your chest and along your abdomen.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your tender flesh. “and all mine.”

“Yes, all yours.” you breathed. Your chest rose and fell as his head slowly traveled lower down your body. He lifted your legs to drape them over his shoulders. His smoldering gaze trailed up your body to meet your own eyes before he flattened his tongue against your core. Your head fell back into to plush sheets, staggered breaths leaving your lips as they hung open. Jay's fingers dug into your thighs to keep them steady while he worked his tongue on you.

The muscle slid along your folds, dipping into you and lapping at your essence. His lips wrapped skillfully around your clit, sucking lightly on the sensitive bud. Your hips bucked against him, wordlessly begging him not to stop. He swirled his tongue in abstract patterns against you. Your pulse picked up, resonating through your body as your shaking fingers gripped into the sheets beneath you. His tongue pressed into you, drawing out your pleasure filled cries as your body quaked, releasing onto his face. He licked at you gently as he coaxed you down from your high.

You lay back, chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing once more. Jay crawled over your body and placed a smooth kiss to your lips. The taste of you lingered on him. He pulled away to bite his lip and admire you for a moment. 

“You’re even more beautiful when you come undone, babygirl.” he smirked. You could feel his tip probing at your entrance, aching for you. Jay looked to your eyes for confirmation.

“You ready?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushed into you, laying his body flush against your own. Your arms tightened around him, wanting to feel him as close as possible. He stretched you out slowly, lips capturing yours once more and muffling your incoherent moans.

His arms shifted beside you, so that he could cup your face in his hands. He held you gently, but firmly, as if to protect you, but almost afraid that you would disappear if he let go. You returned that same emotion through your hold around his body. His hips rolled in and out of you at a steady pace as you both savoured each other through twisting tongues.

Beads of sweat glistened off your bodies as skin met skin repeatedly. He filled you completely, reaching the deepest parts of your core as the passion consumed you both. The sheets were a tangled beneath you. Mumbled cries rang against wet muscles in the dimly lit room. Your hearts raced with each other, a dense climax building up within your cores. Your muscles clenched around Jay, bringing him to follow soon after you.

You rolled over in the soft duvet, the thick sheets wrapping around you like the warm embrace of a lover. Your eyes slowly peeled open. Gentle light emanated from the window, bringing your attention to a small folded note atop a soft folded material placed on the bedside table. Your hand emerged from your bundle of comfort, to reach for the card so you could read the message inside.

Put on this robe and meet me downstairs for breakfast, beautiful. -J

A blushing smile spread across your face, like a high school girl thinking of her crush. You held the note to your heart, sighing happily before pulling yourself out of his bed. As instructed, you slipped on the robe he had left you. It felt even softer than the sheets. You ran your hands along the fabric, then pulled the loose ropes around your waist. Gently patting down your hair to make it look as neat as possible at the time, you made your way out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen, following your vague memory of the house layout from last night. 

You found Jay sitting at the table, coffee mug pressed to his lips while scrolling idly through his phone with the other hand. He wore a robe identical to the one he had left for you. Before him, the table was laden with a bright assortment of breakfast items, more than enough for just two people. You gasped softly, prompting him to look up at you. His tousled locks falling loosely over his forehead. 

“Did you make all this?” you asked, still taking in the mere sight. Your own hunger awakened with a low rumble within your stomach.

“Amazing how many recipes you can find on Google, huh?” he answered with a chuckle. He placed his mug and phone down and rose from his seat. Making his way over to you, his hands cupped your face as he leaned in and placed a delicate kiss to your lips. He pulled back, holding your focus as his thumbs trailed back and forth tenderly against your cheeks, his eyes looking even softer under the morning light.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” you replied with a smile.

[lunamanar]

Embodiment

So, the last three or four years have been...rough. It’s weird, the way time seems to warp when you’re going through something. You think of your current, extended trauma as being somehow apart from the life you were living before it started, and you keep thinking it’s just temporary, and that once it’s over, you’ll be able to get back to the way things were. Time will start again. ‘Now’ doesn’t really count. 

And you keep waiting for “now” to be over...but it just keeps going, and pretty soon you’re not sure if it’s ever going to end. Like you’ve been diverted down some darker timeline that isn’t really yours, but there’s also no going back. 

It feels horrible. It feels like you’ve been lied to. This wasn’t part of the plan, it was supposed to be a detour that would ultimately circle back to the main road, and home. Now you’re in some strange place, you’re lost, you have no GPS signal, and the 'detour’ has vanished behind you. Wherever you are, you’re here. ‘Home’ is a memory. This is it, this mess is your life, now, and you never wanted it to be this way, but you can’t change it, so you have to find some way of living with it...and with your grief. 

I spent three years thinking I was still on the detour, waiting for the moment everything felt safe again and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief that it was all over. I thought that moment would come when I bought this house. When my husband finally moved up with me from the old house. When I finally started working from home. When I got my promised raise. When I finished the last of my three years of training. When, finally, I sold my old house. 

But months after that last milestone was reached, I was still lost. I’ve been working steadily in the job I’d fought so hard to acquire. I managed to keep in touch with Tumblr and Discord for the first couple years, but as time dragged on and my schedule never quieted, my energy began to flag. I fought that; I’ve done everything I can to make this new house Like Home. The walls are painted, pictures are hung (which is more progress than we made on the old house in our 6 years of living there!), we replaced flooring. I got a new computer, a monster rig I built myself that will hopefully last me another 10 years, just like its predecessor. Got a new car. I’ve done everything to infuse this place with myself, my family, my interests. Everything that makes me who I am. Everything outward about my life would have you believe that I’ve settled, that this is home to me, now. It should be. 

And still, I’ve found myself holding my breath, waiting for Time to start again. 

It’s been so confusing. Nothing makes sense: why haven’t things gone back to normal? Why do I feel so displaced? Why doesn’t my bed feel like it used to at the other place? Why can’t I concentrate? Why can’t I feel safe enough, settled enough to go back to writing? After all this struggle and accomplishment, why do I feel like such a goddamn failure?

Where’s that feeling I used to have of connectedness? Of confidence? What’s happened to me that I’m so insecure and lost-feeling, flinching at every perceived danger to my self-worth? I’ve done so much, come so far! Everything should be fine. I shouldn’t be this broken. I’ve built this life, this house all around me. I should be home, by now. 

This confusion, and the creeping fear and despair that follows it, along with a grueling work schedule, has resulted not only in my continued silence (albeit with occasional pop-ins to deal with situations of immediacy, like the tumblr purge, as well as simply to indicate “I’m not dead, no one steal my url plz lol”), but a stagnation in my creativity. Not that I haven’t raged against the dying of the light--not a week goes by I don’t open a story I’d been working on in 2015 and at least stare at it for a few minutes--but the vision, the enthusiasm I had for them before eluded me, and any words I put down were more this seems to go here than this is what happened, like I was finishing someone else’s abandoned jigsaw puzzle. I could still see where all the pieces went and even how they fit together, but that’s not how it’s supposed to work for me. I feel my way through my writing puzzles. I know what goes where, because I just know. I don’t have to look. 

That was gone, and it was the same everywhere. These stories felt vast and overwhelming, and I was no longer grand enough to contain them. I wasn’t an integral part of them, like I had been. I was just another visitor, constantly checking my map, trying to figure out just where the hell I was going with all this. I was small and too disconnected to feel like I had the authority to write for this world, or any other. To say anything about it at all, really. I’d gone away, and like so many other spectres of home, it didn’t know me, anymore. 

To say I’ve felt isolated, even abandoned, for the past several months, would be an understatement. I’ve blamed no one but myself. I made the choice to take this job, to uproot myself and move everything and everyone I knew to a place none of us had lived before, on the premise that it would make our lives better. I’m the one who turned off the main road. I was behind the wheel, for all of this. If that frankly traumatic process had destroyed my ability to be open, to be grand, to remember how to feel and lift up all of the things I love and let them breathe through my words, then that was my fault. 

It sounds dramatic, I guess. But, I imagine, a lot of people who write understand this experience of feeling at once both insignificantly small and unfathomably vast all at once, where you can feel exactly how the influence of your words changes the world and its story as you write them, such that you don’t really have to think about it; you change the trajectory slightly, and the world in your head shifts with it naturally. You don’t have to remember to change this or that detail later to align it. You already know it’s changed to reflect what you’ve done, because of course it has. You know what a character would say in any given situation, because you put them in it and they’re there, saying it. You at once have no real control over it, while being utterly tuned into it, to the point of omniscience. Being unable to access that part of yourself is suffocating.  

The worst part is when you know that you’re the one choking yourself, but you have no idea how to stop. I know I’m home, everything is okay, so why don’t I feel like it? I could do this, before, I could feel this, before. Where has that feeling gone? Why can’t I remember?

In the midst of this whole transition, I’d slowly stopped doing things that connected me with those feelings. I stopped listening to much music because I had no time. I stopped taking walks because I was too tired and I didn’t know the area. I stopped going on long drives just to talk and listen to music with my husband, because gas is expensive and the tags on that car are expired (still). And, let’s be honest: I stopped taking the pain medication that made relaxing so I could get into that headspace a hell of a lot easier. 

Somehow no single one of these faded habits seemed significant, and by themselves, they probably weren’t. But together, over time, the lack of these and other rituals I’d kept without thinking about it when I lived in NC had closed me off. Unused pathways in my brain became overgrown with other things, thoughts and worries, weeds and vines. When I moved, it wasn’t just the geographical scenery that changed. The landscape of my very neurons changed to cope with the stress, adapt to new social patterns at work, clear out space to make room for all the technical mumbo jumbo being shoveled at me.

The fact is, by the time the dust settled, my whole world had changed, inside and out. Even if I could have gone back to NC, it wouldn’t have mattered at all. 

Realizing this was one of the most depressing, horrifying feelings. And the thing was? I knew better. Hell, I wrote a short story years ago that was exactly about this, about a character who had left home with the intent to return, but when he finally got the opportunity to try, too much had changed, about him and the world, to recover the serenity he’d left behind. Now I write about another character whose life changed the day he was separated from his sister, who, in the course of building himself up to be deserving of her again, disconnected himself from the vulnerabilities that had enriched his life and then forgot she even existed. 

This is either obscenely ironic, or it’s absolutely, perfectly human (well, I think it’s both, really). How easily we convince ourselves that that closed road, that turn off into the woods, that slight change in trajectory is just a detour. We should know better. We do it anyway. That’s why is a horror trope. 

I’ve been lost in those woods for years. I got out, just yesterday. I escaped because I was attacked by a monster. Something happened to me in those woods. I almost lost someone I loved. No, I don’t want to talk about it. 

But it’s a fact that a side-effect of the event was to mark a definitive end to the endless transition. My life now is very different from what it was two days ago. No more limbo, no more waiting. Time has started again. It was necessary to tear up the brambles in my brain to free the gears and expose the roots of deeper things beneath. 

Here’s what I learned, or rather, lived: everything changes. There is no going back, but the starting point, home and whatever that means to you, will always be there, somewhere, even if the roads you took to get there are thick with obstructing experiences. Those roads have roots in you, and those threads are how you’ll find your way. 

If you do, by choice or chance, the home you’ll come back to will have changed, too, thrived or crumbled as you’ve allowed it. You may or may not want to linger; I imagine that would depend on the person. As for me, I feel incredibly lucky. I was welcomed in my dreams. 

Not welcomed back. It’s not a question of being back. It’s being here, and knowing what you’re about. It’s accepting home for what it is: the embodiment of connection and definition. Roots and branches that enable everything you are to feel and breathe. 

It’s easy to lose those magical taps, the points from which we draw inspiration and awe. If you find yourself cut off from them entirely, regardless where your life has taken you, you can die right there on the vine. I can’t tell anyone what feeds their soul, but I will say it’s worth learning what that is, and that no matter how quick of a detour you think you’re taking, you keep those things close to your chest. They’re what you’ll need to reach for, in the end. 

Hello, again.

[svartalfhild]

2018, I Won’t Miss You

A.k.a. I call out this year for all the ways it fucked me over and reflect on a few good experiences.

This year was the first year I’ve ever had a smart phone, which ended up being pretty damn useful, even essential at some points.  However, the counterbalance was that I had to go through finding out how to live in a post-school existence, and that was not pretty, because it put me at all new levels of social isolation and uncertainty.  I stressed super hard about finding a new job.  I ultimately didn’t get one and lost hours at my current job because I thought I was going to be transitioning to a better job at a toy store, but they laid me off only a few weeks after hiring me to replace me with someone with better availability.  They said I could stay on as a “seasonal worker” but it’s past Christmas and I haven’t been asked to fill a single shift since they benched me in September, so saying I still work there is kind of a joke at this point.

The good news is, despite the stress of failing to get a better job, I’ve added art as an occasional source of extra income, starting with doing the cover illustration for a short story my mother published earlier this year and later with opening commissions to the online community.

My mental health didn’t have a super great year, though, especially in the first half.  On top of the job bullshit and the dealing with not knowing how to live life without school, I was feeling intensely bleak about my existence.  I was in an excruciating amount of emotional pain because of things I couldn’t control, and it festered because I had the free time to ruminate about how lonely and dejected I felt.  I hadn’t felt quite that bad in several years, actually.  It’s hard to compete with the shit I was going through in middle school, but this came alarmingly close. 

I think my biggest mistake was trying to force myself to be fine again as soon as possible when it took me a couple years to get past the shit that plagued me when I was 12.  I honestly think, though, that there was a little while there from about July to late September when I was coping pretty well.  I don’t know what happened in late spring to make that happen, but I was in a state of higher functioning for a bit in the summer.

The sad thing is that here at the end of the year, I am once again struggling with the same shit; I’m just a whole lot better with how that affects my behaviour towards other people now.  I do feel like I’ve learned how to better interact with people and shield those I love from the worst of my mental health nonsense.  In turn, I think that has greatly improved my relationships and made me less prone to beating myself up over the things I say.  Progress.

And hey!  I did manage to do some pretty rad things this year, despite all the crap my physical and mental health were hefting onto me.  I got on a plane for the first time and traveled by myself to Oregon to be with some of my closest friends, who I’d only ever known through the internet before.  We went to a convention together and had a really awesome time getting our asses kicked at AtlA themed dodgeball dressed as our DnD characters.  I went through a haunted house for the first time and found out that I’m too rational to be scared by a lot of that sort of stuff (but it was still fun).  I got to go to huge bookstore and see a first American edition of Fellowship of the Ring.  I think the best part of that whole trip, though, was just living with friends and getting a taste of what life without my family’s control could be like.  For once in my life, I trusted that everyone and everything was going to be okay, and for a few days, I was really happy.  Because of that, though, I spent a lot of the day that I left crying or trying not to cry.  Having so much of what you want and then having to leave it is...really upsetting, as it turns out.

But anyway.  I also managed to complete an application to grad school, so even though my whole Find A Good Job plan didn’t work, I still took a step towards some kind of life goal and I don’t have to have a total existential crisis just yet.  I don’t have high expectations about being accepted, but I do have some hopes and that’s something I can hold onto going into next year.

A lot changed with my family this past year.  Dealing with the wake of my grandfather’s sudden death was a major issue all year that seemed almost handled until my grandmother died just a couple months ago, which threw everything back into chaos and despair.  Death and loss have been an awful theme for me this year in general.  On top of my grandparents’ deaths, my dad’s best friend committed suicide, and a friend of mine, who I know to have been suicidal in the past, completely disappeared from the internet when I wasn’t looking, and I was unable to track her down to find out if she was okay.  Other friends lost people who were dear to them as well.  The world was ravaged by increasingly terrible disasters on top of that.  Needless to say, my empathy circuits are fucking fried.

Thankfully, life handed me some pretty great distractions from its bullshit, like an awesome DnD campaign and lots of time with assorted other TTRPGs, or numerous video games like Pillars of Eternity II: Deadire, Fallout 4, and Overwatch.  Netflix brought me countless hours of enjoyment, and my brother got me to watch all of Stargate SG1 with him, which I wasn’t super into at first, but it grew on me.  I started knitting again for the first time in years, because I love knitting scarves for people.  I did a lot of fic writing, but it wasn’t really fanfiction so much as additional content for my tabletop games.  Same goes for art. 

It’s been over a year now since I’ve posted any proper fanfic or fanart, which feels weird, but I think I’ve become so exhausted with the politics of being a fan content creator that I haven’t had the motivation for it.  It’s much easier to keep your passion for something going when you don’t hope to attract the attention of thousands of people, and instead you’re making things for a story you made up with your closest friends.  The only people whose attention you need to care about then are a handful of people who are already inherently invested.

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t get sad about my work sometimes anyway, regardless of what I’m creating and for whom.  Depression is and has been a real dick this year, and it made me procrastinate on my grad app manuscript to the point where I had to stress years off my life cramming the creation of a 10k word original short story into a single month just before the deadline.  I managed it, though, and that’s the important thing.

I don’t know what to expect from 2019 except more nonsense, because there’s always copious amounts of nonsense.  Having high expectations, given what the past few years have been like, seems rather silly at this point.  I suppose what the new year shapes up to be will largely hinge on whether I get accepted to grad school in March or not.  If I do, then it’ll be a year of big change in my life, going away to live on my own in a different state.  If I don’t, then it’ll just be More Of Same, still living with my parents, working part-time at a shit food service job, looking for a new job, and tearing my hair out trying to get everything together for more grad school applications. 

One way or the other, though, I intend to try to finally get treatment for my mental illness.  I am tired of being like this and I’m tired of having my memory and focus abilities steadily destroyed by this shit.  If anything goes right next year, let it be that.

[taelicacy]

Monochrome Season

Genre: Fluff, future smut, angst, mental health

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4  (not yet available)

Synopsis: (Y/N) is a very reserved kind of girl that has lots of trouble connecting with people and has unresolved issues with herself. Being forced on a group date who will she meet? And how could he possibly change her future prospects?

Word count: 3k

In my eyes I’ve always been able to classify people in two categories: those who dared to live their life at their fullest and those who simply were too afraid to step out of their comfort zone to do so. However, even if I myself viewed life this way it didn’t prevent me from being classified in the latter group, for various reasons I don't dare to confront.

Those kind of people who simply follow the tide paved by society, those who blindly believe what they were made to believe is good for them, those who won’t ever wonder if there’s something beyond what they’re told to do... I like believing I'm not one of them.

If somebody asked me how to describe myself I wouldn’t really know where to begin.

Actually, that’s a straight out lie, I perfectly know who I consider myself to be, it's just that my opinion on myself is not socially acceptable. Or rather unhealthy , I'd say?

"You must smile, be positive and accept your flaws!" is what everyone preaches from behind a filter, a flawless make up technique and a superiority complex. Meanwhile, even if I tried and blend with the rest with a fakery mask on, the truth is still floating in the back of my mind, like a seed of discord waiting to be watered by negativity and self-doubt.

The truth is that I’m a coward. Such a big coward that I prevented myself from growing because of it. 

What is that? I don't know. I keep it caged in the back of my mind. It's not something I am willing to change. You should just ignore it, like I do. That way I can keep living.

This is how I begun my daily reflections as I let myself fall on my bed like a dead body, exhausted from yet another day of endless college classes and a flooded whatsapp group that made me wonder if it was even possible to feel more unattached to my friends, or any other human being for that matter.

Still, I had to push myself a bit further if I didn't want my existence to be forgotten. I couldn't let myself give in to my hermit tendencies.

I unlocked the phone. “Why do we always spend weeks without talking and then we suddenly have texting fits?” I reprimanded to no one in particular. After all I was living alone in an apartment by myself. Sounds fancy right? Not really, the smallest flat one could ever conceive.

Still, if it meant me being able to be alone it was more than enough for me. I was secretly thankful that my parents didn't oppose to the idea of me not having a flat mate. Not that they would like me being so antisocial.

The mobile phone's light blinded me a bit amidst the dark room. The group bombarding me with messages was the one that I shared with my closest friends.

My eyes quickly skimmed over the hundreds of messages. 

Break-up, was the key word that caused such a ruckus.

My eyes widened in surprise, and I ran to get my bag. 

Me and the girls were to meet up in the usual cafe, we would often go there to hang out from time to time when we managed to make our schedules match. I really liked that coffeplace. It was the perfect mixture of old and modern, isolated it was located in an alley next to a main street, bearing the perfect balance between noisy and quiet, modern and outdated. 

I took a glimpse of them sitting in the furthest table from the entrance, our usual spot, with their respective favorite mixes of coffee and my usual Frapuccino waiting for me on the table, rather seducing me to quicken my pace towards them.

As I was approaching something actually put me out of the food craving trance I was in. Kara’s expression was a mix of “Oh, (Y/N) you’re gonna hate us”, and “I’m so sorry, we are doing this to you, but we are”.

Reflexively, I frowned as I sat in the seat reserved for me. “...So, what’s up? Please don’t scare me...”.

They both cracked a smile as if I had just nailed something, pity in Kara’s eyes, as she tended to be a very empathetic person. That was reason enough to make my mental emergency alarms go off.

Mira's expression went stern again. What the heck was going on? “...I’m just gonna be direct (Y/N)… I’ve broken with my boyfriend already...”.

Oh, Ape, Mira’s boyfriend. That’s actually how me and Kara called that guy, derogatorily. Nickname well deserved, he was a brainless man that had cheated on Mira more than once and who we wanted to punch fervently. Still, she seemed pained.

“Why now, after so much time after the cheating happened?” I asked sincerely.

“I may hold affection for him, but there's no love anymore since that happened. I guess now I’m finally free”.

As we pulled each other in a hug, we kept on pressing the issue to get her to vent the most she could to forget the bastard.

“Actually… It may seem too soon, but if I’ve been able to call this relationship off it’s because I am interested in a guy” Mira murmured hesitantly as if she were afraid to seem too shallow.

“I was hoping you’d help me by going to a...” tension built up while Mira stopped to breathe deeply, squinting her eyes she quickly muttered “...group date”.

OH. Okay, it makes sense that they’d plan to carefully throw this bomb to me, since it’s obvious that I’d say no, because hell NO. These kind of social conventions were the epitome of my social anxiety triggering situations. I mean, imagine the pressure of being set up with a guy you don’t even know, who won’t want you to be his pair and having to interact with a dude forced to talk to you for the whole afternoon. Oh, yes it sounds like a dream come true!  I'm sure it won't be awkward at all and I won't want to flee and curl up like a worm into a safe position into the safety of my house! It sounded like a great idea, right?  And---

“Wait (Y/N), I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t necessarily a triple date, it’s just us and his friends hanging out to have fun, and me trying to get closer to him while we are at it!”

"Well, there will also be as many guys as us girls, but hey, that doesn't mean anything!" snickered Kara.

“...That actually sounds reasonable… But--” I stopped as Kara actually made a pleading look to me. I had to be more reasonable. Mira had gone through a lot because of that Ape, and we didn’t want to see her like that ever again. Going could even help us see if this new guy was a threat Mira couldn’t spy, like it usually happened to her, since she tended to be too naive. Yes, maybe it was time to be less selfish and act for the sake of my friend.

Therefore, I ended up accepting and suspiciously being told the place and the date when it was happening, as if they had been planning it all along even before I accepted.

Will they were both very excited I had a gut feeling that something was gonna go really wrong.

It’s not a date, relax, understood? Understood. There is NO pressure, I don’t need to pretend to be more talkative and friendly than I am, understood? Understood. I’m just going there to make new friends and help my own, understood? Understood. Okay, then, WHY AM I STILL FREAKING OUT.

As you can probably guess I’m not a really a... people person, to put it lightly. 

If there’s something that bothers me is the awkwardness associated to meeting new people. And not only because of my deficient social skills, but the weirdness of the situation itself. The shortest silence makes my brain freak out trying to find a topic that is smart enough to stop the excruciating silence, most of the time failing and not being able to join in the conversation. It's not nice, feeling out of place.

I’d just say I’ve learnt out of trial and error that the wisest course of action is to stay out of this situations the most I can. Maybe that’s the reason why I don’t have many friends. Or maybe the reason is because I’m plainly a strange and awkward person, who knows?

Who’d say that as a college student I’d keep having the same issues as I had when I went to elementary school?

The reflection was worthy, however, the time to leave was approaching. I had already been dressed hours ago and now I was getting urges to either change my whole outfit or just pick the phone and make a shitty excuse to not go altogether.

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. I didn’t choose anything special, just a casual outfit that I’d wear normally but that fit me and made me feel a little bit more safer and confident. The urges kept coming harder and the uneasiness growing steadily as I encouraged myself to just ignore them and crack the door open.

When I finally were approaching my all too familiar cafe, I got angry with Mira for making all of us meet there. I would probably always remember this awkward encounter everytime I went there again.

The door's bell tingled as if it was a sign that I could no longer back down from this. I noticed the usual excited salutation from Mira on our usual table, Kara timidly smiling on her right side and a guy who I suspected was Mira's interest on her left.

He gave off a warm and approachable vibe, with a smile so broad that I could tell right away why she was became interested in him in the first place. 

His name was Namjoon and despite my inherent nervousness he was able to make me feel  a bit more at peace as he hugged me in a brotherly hug after introducing himself.

"Oh, nice to meet you, my name is (Y/N)" I managed to blurt out thanks to being a bit calmer.

"You know, we were just talking about you" Namjoon said jokingly still with a soothing smile that pinpointed why Mira had her eyes on him. The guy gave off a warm vibe, that of an understanding person.

"Oh no, what did you tell him Mira!" my cool went out the window, my impulsiveness striking yet again.

"Oh Namjoon you're such a snitch!!" Mira exclaimed."We were talking about how late you always are..." 

"... and how we - as foster mothers - will have to keep you on a leash to keep you from running away" Kara finished with a smile.

I could feel my cheeks grow redder by the second as I understood they exposed my more than obvious uneasiness in social situation. Maybe explaining why Namjoon so friendly? 

"If my mothers have to be such a snitches maybe I should change families" I said as I averted my eyes and sat on a chair between Namjoon and Kara.

"...well, if it makes you feel any better at least you dared to come here. Jungkook-ah on the other hand blatantly refused to" said Namjoon with a disappointed look while I took a mental note to pat this guy’s head if I ever met him.

"And this other was just too lazy to come and that other one was just too busy cooking... well let's say that the ones we are missing are the leftovers. Expect them to be 2 hours late." 

“...Wow, okay… I guess now we’re genuinely intrigued” we muttered in unison.

The conversation fluently went back and forth. And all throughout it I became aware of the amazing people skill the guy had. He knew perfectly how to joke around without awakening further than necessary my anxiety, nor did he try to make me ‘more outgoing’ like some people would try to do as soon as they'd realize how shy I am. Honestly, he was an interesting guy to talk to, specially how he managed to make me feel comfortable.

At some point, probably after almost an hour, just as Namjoon predicted, the bell rang muffled by the complainings of a pair of boys, which I supposed were the special cookies.

My heart raced at the thought, in a mix of expectancy and anxiety to meet them.

"I told you we should have used google maps!!"complained the shorter and blond one to his tag along.

"Aigo, shut up already, you were as lost as I was" answered with little guilt the other one, with a hint of a strikingly lower voice than the first.

The blond, despite his complaints, left me in awe with how flawless his complexion was. He had plump lips and enviable fair skin, that suddenly drove me self-aware of my own skin, rougher in comparison to his.

This one walked in front of his taller and deep-voiced friend, whom had a white cap that covered his face as he lazily approached the table.

"Hyung! It was Jimin-ah’s fault all along, you know how he's always a trillion years late when he goes to the bathroom" the white-cap guy told Namjoon with a hint of real annoyance in his joking overall tone.

Namjoon facepalmed at the situation.

"AH! What are you saying in front of them!" The blond guy apparently named Jimin whined.

Probably Namjoon’s statement reminded white-cap guy of our existence, since he let out a subtle “oh” as he turned his head in our direction, letting me finally see his face. “Oh, hello” he faintly smiled to us as he seemed to realize he had made a fool out of his friend.

His dark strands of hair messily peeked from under his cap covering his thick eyebrows, and despite his low voice I wouldn’t have been able to decide whether he had a childish face or a manly one. Somehow his smile stirred a certain uneasiness on my gut that not even I understood.

"Hey! My name is Mira, and I'm Namjoon's friend from uni" she started quickly with her trademark presentation. Always a spotless smile in her face. I was always amazed by how she and Kara managed to look so lovely and draw a flawless smile on their lips with little to no effort. 

The nagging uneasiness kept on creeping, growing stronger every passing second as I watched everyone introducing themselves to the newcomers. I had no intention of being the one going next, but at one point it would be my turn right? 

By the time Kara had already started her warm welcoming it was a countdown to me pulling myself together and acting like a normal human being.

Both Jimin and cap-guy looked as if they were from a different whole different dimension from me, even I couldn't avoid noticing how Mira and Kara measured up to those stylish guys. That realization only made me more displeased with the situation. It was a given that I would look out of place.

I could hear a faraway "Nice to meet you too" coming from the newcomers mouths. That was a signal that I was out of time and all the rushing thoughts came to a halt.

By the time they were already finished and it was my turn I had realized I had to pull myself together and stood up from my seat like the others, adrenaline rushing through my whole being. The nagging uneasiness never leaving. It was always better to ignore it in such situations since trying to address the elephant took more time than the few seconds I had left.

I was ready to mask my inner turmoil with a smile, the less crooked possible, when Namjoon grabbed me by my shoulders, and I could swear that for a millisecond his expression was trying to reassure me. He directed me towards the guys and joked again "Aaand this is my new friend (Y/N)."

At any other time I'd have had time to question why was he already calling me a friend despite just having met, but I was already mentally occupied with enough things as I got shoved in front of cap-guy.

Our eyes locked immediately. His pupils were the first thing mine could find as if Namjoon had purposely planned it that way. I was captured by the guy's eyes, fixated for a few seconds they were the only thing I could look at. As if I couldn’t fight how much his eyes pulled me in. His gaze seemed to dig a hole into my soul and back, yet for some reason I wanted to keep on looking at them regardless of my surroundings. 

"Nice to meet you, my name's Taehyung!" his bubbly words, unfitting the mysterious vibes that I had been getting from his glance, burst the bubble that surrounded us. Or maybe that surrounded only me? Was it my imagination?

Still, he greeted me happily as he pulled a grin like no other I had ever seen before, adding an even new flavor to the mix of feelings I was already experimenting.

[mividaeslimones]

Life update: 06-03-20

I cried myself to sleep for the first time in I don’t even remember ... Our president is trying to incite a race war and part of our population is either indifferent, complacent, or actively participating in racism. Being in a place like Albuquerque is weird. It changes you, and the longer you’re here the more it has time to work on you. I remember when there was a time when I felt genuine outrage or bafflement here, but was swiftly met with a shrug and, “that’s just how it is here,” like it was fucking normal. There a lot of instances that fit into that scenario, and I’m not going to talk about them all right now. I just want to talk about what’s actively trying to swallow this place up.

The police have been preparing for a massive riot, some of them are deeply troubled by George Floyd’s death and people finally putting their foot down. Others...they see an opportunity to override the Justice Department’s and civic leader’s declarations for change. They’re blocking main roads, they’re driving recklessly or with intent to cause harm again. In the past I’ve had officers run me off of the road with their spotlight, ride my ass so you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between our bumpers, and do that thing where they speed up and slow down so you hit them, on top of having my plates run and being stopped. They’ve encouraged armed radicals to be in our city and walk around brandishing their guns. Things are steadily escalating (abduction after protest, dude with a grenade, etc) in response to the excessive bullshit brought on by the police and the blind eye of those who are complacent with their lives. On top of this I’m pretty sure the cartels are taking advantage along with the homegrown right wing dingbats. 

I’m so mad at myself. I feel so selfish. I’m so limited on what I can do because I chose to jump at having a hysterectomy and start changing my documentation before all of this. Now I can’t participate or even document things because I could end up in the ER. Shit a car accident would do it too. I would absolutely be running around with my GoPro and extra batteries, because for whatever reason there isn’t enough live feed or recordings from people on the streets. The police scanners say and imply one narrative, while a group of I don’t even know what to call these folks (willful optimists? prideful ignoramuses?) swear everything is okay, while another sector of the population at these protests are screaming something else entirely. And the media? They’re parroting what the police are saying, and I think this goes back to Albuquerque’s efforts to mitigate the image that was made known by COPS (the show). We have so many problems and no money to even put a clean band aid on any of them. People are desperate to get people to move or vacation here that are from out of state. News flash ain’t no body staying or visiting if you don’t actually fix shit, because they know better options exist. We have the five year rule for a reason in the land of disenchantment. For those unfamiliar with the five year rule, it applies to transplants specifically. People will either move because shit is so bad, or resign to die with their career after five years. And yes, the land of disenchantment is a thing, it’s a take on the state’s motto coined by the locals. And you know what? I’m digging my heels in and I’m really telling people not to move here, especially if you’re black, a member of the lgbt+ community, and/or a single woman. Things are bad everywhere, but Burquenos’ refusal to address the problems generated by the state’s isolation and culture make this place hell. 

I really feel like a garbage human being for trying to transition. I just wanted to try to make my life less shity by aiming for a more passable appearance. Life is genuinely harder for trans people if they don’t look or sound how they’re supposed to. My license and tags have expired because of COVID-19 sending California into lockdown. My birth certificate will be here sometime between now and a few ¿weeks? The cops are always actively looking for expired tags because it’s the perfect reason to pull someone over, because you can’t dispute it. I know some of them will relish in the fact they can stick it to someone with an ethnic label and an lgbtq+ person, it’s like bingo for this type, I’ve met them, they’re a fucking delight to talk to. Yes they’re all over world, but for me here and Washington (state) are the worst, compared to California, Idaho, and Oregon. As I wrap this up I realize I have to keep going after updating my documents, because bad and holy shit won’t even cover what some of these cops will try to do if they stop a man with tits. I’m not tagging this post, I won’t be part of the problem that’s trying to take away from BLM and the black community. I’ve already done crappy thing for having a meltdown over all of this in someone’s DMs.

[ittakesrain]

I didn’t make the bed today. I did yesterday. And the day before. I’d made the bed pretty much every day since getting home from the mental hospital, since I discovered for the first time in fourteen years what it feels like to be unburdened, to be free from constant depression and anxiety and chaotic, crazy thoughts. It’s fuckin’ enjoyable, that freedom. And while I’m enjoying it, I’ve been making the bed because why not feel like I’ve really got it all together?

That’s not the only thing to happen since my discharge, though. I could list a few key things, but the most pressing is that basically the entire planet is in quarantine. Maybe you’ve heard?

I’ve felt like I’m in a movie montage, with the days blending together and time passing quickly but also inexplicably slowly, but I think it’s all come grinding to a halt. Maybe there was no grinding; I’ve been feeling the effects of the semi-isolated boredom grow steadily each day. But regardless, today is different: I didn’t make the bed.

I’m sitting here on a mess of blankets and pillows, my stuffed elephant sitting haphazardly where I left him this morning. I’m thinking: I was doing okay with this lockdown for the most part until recently, I think. And now, I just don’t know what to do with myself. It’s the lack of structure that’s getting to me. This beats being at work, there’s no doubt about that. I’m going stir-crazy, though, and I don’t know how to fight back against the boredom.

My only real defense is routine, so I try to stick to one in the morning as rigidly as possible (though I’m not really sure that’s the right thing to do). I wake up early, wash my face, take meds and drink water, get dressed, brush my teeth, make coffee, scroll Pinterest for motivation and ideas, record my moods and meds and sleep, write a journal entry, make a healthy breakfast, take my vitamins, go for a walk. That’s me doing what I can to make the most of this situation (since I’m lucky enough to not be affected by this in a more negative way).

I just want to feel productive and accomplished and proud of myself. That’s basically what I always want anyway. I want to feel like I’m doing things that are important. Like I matter.

Yeah, that’s a bit of a dramatic leap, I know. It makes sense in my head.

Before my hospitalization, boredom and emptiness seemed to be predominant in my life, so much so that it made me begin to question my identity. My therapist and I had spoken about how boredom was a sign that I wasn’t doing anything I felt was meaningful. In a journal from that week, I wrote that “being bored means I’m not being crazy, meaning I’m not in the middle of an episode, meaning I’m really not sure about anything.” That still seems dramatic. Existential. But put simply, boredom is a trigger. Too much time to think, too much time to be unsure. To combat it, I have to “find my why” and “work toward my purpose.” That obviously seems difficult. Do I even know what’s really meaningful to me?

I haven’t spent too much time working to figure it out because I’ve been trying to fill my days will as much good as possible in a more immediate way; while I certainly see the value in looking at the big picture, I’ve felt that throughout this period of uncertainty, it’s better not to zoom out too far.

I’ve had the topic of uncertainty on my mind for a while. Since I was in the mental hospital, actually. So maybe I’m at a particular advantage since I’m a step ahead of most people. Then again, maybe I’m at a disadvantage because I’m crazy enough to have been in a mental hospital (the way I write and speak about my mental illnesses applies only to me, by the mean, and I don’t mean to call anyone else crazy; I identify with it in a very positive way, but that’s just me). But my point is that I already knew I had to find a new normal. I didn’t want to go back to the life marked with such extreme mood fluctuations that I endured before. I couldn’t have gone back even if I wanted to (thanks to lots of new insight and a cocktail of meds that actually work for me). My mood has been stable, my anxiety has been minor if I have it at all. Things are different (and thankfully better!) and I have to start from here now. It’s like when I was recovering from anorexia in high school; I couldn’t return to my previous “normal,” so I had to find a new one.

That’s what all of us have to do now. We have to find a way to gain some sense of normalcy now. And if we can’t find normal, we have to create it. We have to determine how we’re going to survive this…and then survive. It’s scary to not know how, I know that. But I’ve been thinking about that, too (I guess I’m doing more than I think I’ve been doing, because processing feelings and ideas seems to be something I’ve done a lot of).

Fear of the unknown is a unique feature of people with anxiety. I’ve definitely wished that I had the power to know more things with certainty, but I’ve learned the hard way that that’s not how it works. Life wouldn’t be what it is if we had all the answers, anyway. Uncertainty, unpredictability, and doubt are not awful things.

But right now, during a worldwide pandemic, when the death count is rising and there’s still no vaccine, when our lives are disrupted and we’ve had to adjust to working or learning from home, when we’re concerned about our health, our loved ones, our financial status? It’s difficult to think otherwise. We’re living through a historic event. This is huge. And quite frankly it sucks.

I know I’m not alone in the panic-scrolling of my social media and news feeds. It feels like there’s nothing else to do. It feels like at least if I’m updated on what’s happening, I’m doing something. It affects my mental health, though.

And as it is, April has been a little been more varied in terms of my moods. The boredom from the quarantine is getting to me, which is normal, and to be expected. I don’t want to say I’m anxious because this by no means compares to the anxiety I’m unfortunately accustomed to, but there’s a definite increase in that “iffy” and uncomfortable feeling of “what the fuck do I do with myself?” I’m having this back and forth motivation. And when I’m not focused and motivated, I feel this vague sense of “what’s the point?” It’s like the ghost of my depression, something that’s recently become a thing of the past but that I still remember clearly enough to be like “yup, that’s it, that’s the ghost of it.”

It’s worse when I don’t take my ADHD medication (that’s become a complicated issue thanks to my new psychiatrist, who I saw virtually for the first time last week) but it makes sense that the Vyvanse helps my moods; ADHD makes everything more overwhelming and being overwhelmed makes everyone more emotional.

Other than that, my mood is low but it’s probably unrelated to bipolar disorder. It’s definitely normal to be mopier these days. It’s new territory for me to feel emotionally dull, or even sad, and not have it be a warning sign for a major depressive or mixed episode to come. But then again, I still have to keep at eye on things, keep track of my moods, do what’s best for my physical and mental health, and be proactive.

Right now I’m just doing what I can to get by. Like, I’m using technology to its fullest. I video call friends and family frequently. I go for virtual walks with my cousin every day, and I use FaceTime for my therapy sessions now. I’m trying to stay connected emotionally, even though we’re all physically apart. A video call does wonders to ease the loneliness that this situation is causing. I’d include texting in this, but I can’t focus on texting people lately. It’s weird. But I’m dealing with it.

I’m using Hulu to live stream the news (although I’m trying to limit the amount of news I consume because too much is just bad for my mental health). Sometimes I download to podcasts so I have something to listen to while I walk. They’re usually news-related, but I have some in other genres. I downloaded the CDC app too, which I scroll through every now and then for added info.

I use Google calendar to stay organized and track my writing deadlines, as well as plan out a schedule so I can have personal accountability. I’m continuing to track my moods, anxiety, meds, sleep, and habits on my phone, which is important with bipolar anyway, but it also makes me feel kind of like I accomplished something. I’m trying to stick with my goal of drinking enough water. I might as well work on it now, and crossing off the cups I’ve had is a definite happiness booster.

A quick aside about goals right now: So many people have these big plans to use this time to get in shape or start their dream business or begin some sort of tremendous undertaking. And that’s wonderful for those so inclined. But not everyone has the luxury of having that option. Some people have been impacted by the coronavirus more than others. Essential workers are busting their butts every day still. Some people have family who’ve caught coronavirus. Some people have gotten sick themselves. But even people not in those circumstances don’t need to feel guilty for just getting through this time however they can, even if it’s just struggling to stay entertained.

I made a list of how to entertain myself, way back when this thing started. I wanted to stay busy, since boredom has proven itself one of my triggers. So I listed as many things as I could think of, and I planned on referring back to it if the excessive free time started to get to me. There weren’t very many things on the list (read, play video games, puzzles, etc), but I found myself unable to do most of the things on it anyway. It was almost like a depression thing, when you want to do something but can’t bring yourself to do the thing. But either wat, I don’t know if my old method of frantically distracting myself to run from boredom and the eventual mood episode it brings is the right one to use. I need to find and keep a sense of balance. I need to let go of what I can’t control but work on what I can. I need to recharge. I want to recharge.

My plan to do that will involve setting guidelines. I only want to watch or read the news in the morning, and not for too long. It will involve doing things I haven’t been doing lately, any things, just to get myself a change. Maybe I’ll crochet some hats (even though it’s spring now). Because maybe it’ll help relax my brain, help me heal even more. Maybe I’ll be struck with brilliant inspiration while mindlessly crocheting. Basically, my plan is to do stuff that’s helpful and then enjoy the good feelings after.

[femmesafacettes-rparchive]

OOC Update

Hey everyone,

I recognize that my disappearance was ill timed and deeply apologize if I worried anyone. I am alive and well enough, and as of yet free of 19. I’m going to drop a bunch of details under the read more in case anyone wants more explanaiton, but the short version is that like everyone else, 2020 hasn’t been the most welcoming year, and everything struck at once.

PS: You should all ready Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. It is fantastic and fresh science fiction I didn’t know I so desperately craved.

CW: Pet Death, CW: Medical Jargon, CW: Depression, CW: Anxiety, CW: Chronic Pain, CW: Some Self Pity, CW: Life

Okay so. Some of you may or may not be aware that I’ve been out of work on unpaid Medical leave since last March (back in 2020. Yaaay Happy Anniversary? Not.)

I finally got a diagnosis back in December, halfway through the month. Fibromyalgia. Long story short my nerves are wired wrong and are sensing pain where there is none. As a result my entire body responds accordingly. My nerves feel pain where there’s no cause, and thus I feel pain. Further more it keeps my body on constant high energy output. And not in a helpful “burn off all the calories and fat” sort of way.

Slowly but steadily it looked like things were looking up. I was optimistic. Fibro affects every patient differently, so there was a strong possibility I could return to work. The problem now is that required some physical therapy.

Physical therapy that is closed down by mandate of their healthcare system. Shockingly, my retail position in a local store is considered essential. So, I can’t be essential personnel like is needed in this time because...medicine is non essential I guess? I don’t want to be a whiner, and I get everyone is freaked out. But I’d be paid slightly over minimum wage to expose myself to pathogens and people, if I was currently able bodied. The reason I’m not currently able bodied is because local medical facilities (physical therapy, which can’t do much for the crisis) are closed.

On top of that we’ve basically been getting by on the financial mercy of family and friends, but that will not last forever. I can’t currently apply for SSI even if I wanted to because-well, my doctor can’t evaluate me as unable to work and fill out the paperwork as SSI would like. We just paid for this month’s rent-a serious breath of relief.

And at the end of March, the sweetest guinea pig I’ve had the pleasure of knowing passed away in my arms despite best efforts to heal her afflictions. That laid a devastating blow I’m still getting over-I only finally folded up her cage the day before yesterday. Previously I’d covered it with a sheet like a funeral shroud. Albeit it, a pink one with butterflies on it. I was working with what I had available.

My father has COPD and is over 60, making him at higher risk for the virus going around. I’m calling it Pen15. You all know what I really mean. Mom and I were supposed to be visiting him in another state-well, today. We should have been there today, and arrived a few days ago, stayed a week, including Easter.

Our airport is in a city that’s been hit hard by the outbreak. His was in a rural area. He didn’t want to risk us being exposed, and we didn’t want to risk exposing him. That and his state instituted an out of state travel two week quarantine.

Oh, and my seasonal hey fever is back with a vengeance. Because I’ve been flushing my nose with saline more consistently, and using nose spray, apparently I’ve weakened the membranes in my nose. That’s right, I’ve been waking up with nose bleeds. Because that’s not worrisome enough on a normal day, much less when there’s a terrifying virus out there that begins with respiratory symptoms.

So yeah. Everything pretty much happened all at once and I just sort of withdrew and isolated-and not like I was supposed to. I’ve basically been curled up, barely eating (which thanks to my genetic history of my ancestors running from people trying to kill them, does NOT help my metabolism), playing Stardew Valley, writing with my fiancee, and watching stuff with my mom. Bonus, on Mondays I have an online DnD group.

But the long of it was it was all too much, and I went into the red on spoons. (Spoon theory.)

It took a while to make up for the depletion, but I’m here, and I’m going to try to get some responses queued at the very least.