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neutron-stars-collision · 1 year ago

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

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upon-sunflower-trails · 6 months ago

Text

love, well i've waited for you... (part 16)

richard hayden x fem reader | 2012 words

work below the cut

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The boys' antics continued into the next two days. You all continued to sell like crazy, and the goal of saving Callahan Auto began to seem that much more attainable. The three of you had found a new motel to settle into for the next day. You were all lucky to have finally gotten a break. You had been hard at work writing the report to management, employees, and the general population of Sandusky-- all separate reports, of course. You scribbled in your notebook and jotted down fleeting ideas. Journalism hadn't always been your passion. You knew you had wanted to do something with writing, but the course you wanted to go wasn't solidified until one of your high school English classes.

A journalist had been brought in to visit the junior year English classes of Chaparral High, to speak about his career and experiences while writing for papers as big as the New York Times.

As he spoke to your class about changing the lives of ordinary people he reported on, or bringing truth to others who needed it through his work, or even a touching recollection of how his stories helped him to look within himself and become truly happy, you realized this is what you had wanted to do for the rest of your life, no matter what it took. You kept the dream to yourself for a while, opting to simply continue your pursuit of learning as much as you could in various English, composition, and writing classes.

Junior year came to an end, and the night of your last day was spent on the top of Tommy's roof after an end-of-year party. You were sobering up after downing as much bourbon as you could due to a dare from one of Tommy's close friends. Though you were mostly quiet and kept to yourself, your high school self would never turn down a dare to prove somebody wrong. You had dragged Richard up to your shared friend's rooftop to look at the stars while everyone else occupied themselves with the party below. You both laid next to each other, gazing up at the stars.

You had missed the way that Richard stared at you instead of the painting of lights against the night sky, comfortable silence settling between the two of you before you finally decided to speak.

"You know, sometimes I wish I could freeze moments like this, so my future self can look back and laugh at how much I’ve changed."

Richard had shifted to his side, propping up his head against his palm to face you. "What makes you say that?" he teased. You sucked in a breath, small smile creeping onto your face.

"It's a picture perfect night-- I’ve just committed the ultimate crime of underage drinking, the night sky has never looked more beautiful, I’m here with my best friend to soak it all in, and... I finally know what I want to do with my life," you mused, casting a glance at the blond boy sitting beside you. He offered you a smirk, eyes soft with fondness.

"What is it that you want to do with your life?"

You immediately launched into happy, drunken rambling. “I want to be a journalist. It's all I want, and it's all I’ve been able to think about. ever since that man... Ernest Grover... ever since he visited my class and shared his experiences with journalism, it made me realize what I wanted to put my talents towards. he talked all about changing lives, even his own..." you trailed off, sitting up to face Richard as your smile grew. "It was amazing, Richard! To think that all of Mr. Grover’s stories had some sort of impact on someone out there, whether he knew it or not... it's just incredible. I want to do that. I want to make a change, not just for myself, but for everyone that lives here. It's all I want."

Richard faltered for a moment before deciding to put an arm around you, pulling you closer into a side hug for a brief second. As he pulled away, he just smiled. "If there's anyone I know who's gonna make it, Y/N, it's gonna be you."

You thought of that night every once in a while, even when you were going through the rigorous coursework of university or working your ass off to meet a deadline. It seemed even more relevant to you now as you were nearing the end of what seemed to be the most stressful journey you had faced thus far.

Your daydreaming was interrupted as Richard sat next to you, comforter sinking under his added weight.

"Still hard at work, huh?" he teased. You bit the inside of your cheek before replying with a, "yeah" and continuing to write down an outline.

"Well, take a break. I’m going to get donuts and make a call to one of the places that told us to call back later. Tommy's still asleep, so I figured I’d have you come with me. You know, since there's no use in waking him up." A warm feeling settled in your chest, before Richard added, "Only if you're feeling up to it, of course!"

You briskly shut your notebook, tucking your pencil into the page you had been on. "You know I can't say no to a treat, Richard. Let's get a move on before sleeping beauty over there stirs at the mention of food." You pointed your thumb at the bed next to yours, occupied by a snoozing Tommy. Richard snickered, and the two of you rushed out of the door to get into Richard's car.

You blasted The Boys Are Back in Town by Thin Lizzy as you and Richard cruised down the road to the nearest donut establishment you could find. You shouted the lyrics with Richard, everything in the world seeming right. God, at this point you didn't even care that you were in love with him-- it was worth it. You'd refused to let yourself even focus on relationships during college, and things just never felt right once you moved back to Sandusky. But you didn't mind the all-consuming feeling of adoration, not this time. You were okay with letting yourself get lost in such a feeling for the first time.

You both made light conversation as you picked up the donuts and coffee, continuing some debate about the best flavor of donut as you drove back to the motel.

"Glazed is just too boring to be the best, you know?! Chocolate may be a classic, but even the old-timers have to make way for the new generation sometimes," Richard argued. You hummed, drumming your fingers against the dashboard.

"That may be so, but jelly-filled? Come on! There’s no way that a powdered, jelly-filled donut is better than any other flavor out there."

Richard shrugged as he turned into the motel parking lot. "Hey, we'll have Tommy settle it once we get back. Besides, at least neither of us said..." he shuddered, and you both said at the same time,

"Maple bacon." The two of you shivered dramatically before chuckling.

He found a parking spot, both of you walking over to the telephone near the motel building. You stuffed your hands in your coat pockets, the crisp autumn air finally getting to you. Richard dialed the number he pulled from his pocket, tapping his foot and shooting you a nervous grin as the phone rang. "Auto Tech," he mouthed before the other line picked up.

You tuned out the conversation as you took Richard's things from him. You held the warm box of donuts in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other-- you couldn't complain, it was keeping you warm for the time being as you hummed 'the boys are back in town' to yourself.

"Yes, sir, I can have that for you tomorrow..." Richard's voice cut through your thoughts. "Well, that'd be great. Thank you, sir." He hung up the phone before turning back to you.

"Y/N, you're gonna wanna set down that stuff for this..." He began, taking the box and cup from you to set on top of the car’s hood. He gave you a wide grin as you softly gasped.

"Did we..?"

"Yep."

You practically jumped into Richard's arms, engulfing him in a hug as he returned the tight embrace. you both laughed before pulling away. Your face grew ten times warmer as you both looked at one another, farther apart but arms still around the other. Richard's face reddened and the two of you suddenly dropped your arms as you fiddled with your hands and Richard smoothed out his hair.

"Well, that's-" "Let's-" you both began at the same time, clearly flustered and trying to change the topic.

"Oh, you first!" Richard chirped. You shook your head, insisting he continue. He seemed to shrink the more time went on. "Well, uh... let's go tell Tommy the good news...!" He finally said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

The awkwardness slowly dissolved as you two began bantering again, deciding to joke around a bit with Tommy to wake him up. Richard knocked on the room door.

"Housekeeping!" he sang in a high-pitched voice. You stifled a laugh by slapping your hand over your mouth. No noise was heard from inside the room until Tommy groaned, "No thank you, sleeping," giving you the signal to continue.

You knocked this time, voice slightly louder as you raised your pitch uncharacteristically. "Housekeeping!" Richard snickered and you swatted at his arm, playfully scowling.

The man inside the room raised his voice a bit more. "Could you come back here in an hour?"

Richard decided to continue on with the joke, knocking once more. "Housekeeping! You want towels?" Tommy whined, crying, "No towels! Want sleepy!"

You giggled, "Housekeeping! You want mint for your pillow?"

Tommy was clearly growing more annoyed as the sheets rustled and he shouted, "Please go away, let me sleep, for the love of god!!!"

You and Richard devolved into a fit of laughter, both leaning on each other while picturing how pissed Tommy was. You both knew better than anybody how much the man valued his "beauty sleep." Richard decided to get one final joke in.

"Housekeeping! You want me to jerk you off?"

You let out a snort, swatting at Richard's arm again as you both tried to regain your composure as you heard Tommy mutter, "What kind of hotel is this?" and spring from his bed. His footsteps grew closer as the two of you straightened up, still grinning at one another. Tommy flung the door open as he looked incredulous, hissing, "What the hell are-"

His expression immediately washed away with a sigh of relief. "Oh, it's you guys."

You shot him a smile, holding the donuts out in front of you. "Gooood morning, sunshine!" you sang. He eyed the donuts, Richard clearing his throat to get the man's attention.

"Hey, guess what?" he started. "I just called Auto Tech, and they decided to make an order. So, according to my calculations..."

You cut Richard off excitedly. "That puts us over the mark!"

Tommy's eyes widened as he looked between the two of you. "We did it?" he gasped.

Richard nodded. "We did."

Tommy flung his arms out to his sides, blanket that had once been wrapped around him dropping to the floor. "Oh, I’m so happy! Guys, hold me!" he cried out, smiling. You grimaced as you realized he was wearing nothing but his underwear. Richard narrowed his eyes, sucking in a breath.

"Well." "Yikes."

You both backed away, Tommy following the two of you out of the door with his arms still outstretched. "Don’t run away from your feelings!" he announced.

The three of you all laughed at his antics. The road back home was still a long one, but you knew you could fully enjoy it now that you all had finally met your goal. You couldn't have asked for two better people to achieve it with.

#x reader #richard hayden #richard hayden x reader #tommy boy richard #tommy boy #tommy boy 1995 x reader #tommy boy 1995 #david spade #david spade x reader

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meanlesbean · 2 days ago

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Commentary for Chapters 3 and 4 of Cadence. I got some requests for this a few weeks ago and then um. I forgor.

Chapter 3 - The Stock Pot Inn

In my outline, chapter 3 was supposed to cover all of the events of what is now both chapters 3 and 4. Yes all 24,000 words of it. Let’s all take a moment to point and laugh at me for that.

One of the reasons why I felt okay with going all out and making Mask really, really abrasive from the get-go is because I knew we would be getting an entirely different perspective on him from the Termina residents right after his introduction. Anju’s scene in particular was very fun to write.

Up until like two days before publishing I just had this as a placeholder in that first scene: “He hasn’t seen the old man this mad in a while, not since [?? SOMETHING THAT WOULD MAKE TIME VERY ANGRY].”

I was going to use the like-like scene from the comic as a fallback, but I wanted Time’s level of anger to be more clearly justified

Something that I’ve never vibed with is characterizations of Time where he’s really strict just for the sake of being strict. I don’t think he is ever going to be the kind of guy who respects authority for authority’s sake, so he’s not going to expect that from the others. But I do think he feels responsible for everyone’s safety, so when you have situations like “we are in unfamiliar and potentially hostile territory and need to find shelter before it gets dark” and he finds a large group of them goofing off, he’s going to be really mad because the group’s safety comes first.

Anyway the first thing I could come up with was a cliffside pissing contest, which I decided to commit to because I think that the boys, even as heroes, are not entirely immune to the comedic sensibility of your average 16-year-old boy.

I know we got Warriors referring to Twilight as his brother to the innkeeper in one of the Sunset comics, but I stuck with calling them cousins instead because it’s a way more believable story to outsiders IMO

This is also based on my extended family and having a lot of cousins around my age. When you are walking around in a group of ten and you all look vaguely related but there are also way too many of you within a close age range to conceivably be birth siblings, people will ask questions.

My mental image for Isa is that she looks like the Kokiri girl who sits above the shop, in keeping with MM tradition of reusing the OoT npcs

I did not intend to torture Twilight with sensory issues in these chapters, but I already committed to giving him heightened senses as a Hylian, and I think he’d need a bit of time to adjust whenever he’s in a new place.

I don’t think he has this same problem as a wolf even though his senses are way stronger because things that smell bad to humans just smell really interesting as a canine. All my fellow dog owners who have found their dog rolling around in mysterious, pungent substances can attest to this.

The end scene first originated as a joke about bomchus because bombchus (specifically the OoT/MM ones) are my favorite Zelda weapon hands down. I don’t think there’s ever been a more perfect mini game than bombchu bowling.

Legend being the Hero of Time’s secret third successor is a dynamic I am so fascinated by. I chose him for the ending scene conversation because of this + the amount of quests he’s been on + the fact that he hasn’t been deeply insulted or emotionally impacted by Mask appearing, which all leads to Legend almost immediately putting together that a hero cannot refuse the call of a quest.

Chapter 4 - The Milk Bar

This ties in with chapter 3, but one of my favorite worldbuilding things to explore in zelda fanworks is the cultural impact of religion and how the average person might approach it.

Like, you have worlds where magic and spirits and gods are very much present and impacting society, but being able to use magic and having direct interactions with spirits/gods seems to be more of a rarity than the norm

I’ve seen a lot fics where the divide in religion is “atheists and believers” which has always been kind of weird to me and clashes with the bit that we've gotten about this in the games

Generally, I imagine that there's universal-acknowledgement of the existence of higher powers but disagreement over how much power and influence the spirits and gods actually have.

This is shown a bit with Emery and Captain Viscen. Viscen doesn’t object to the existence of the Giants, he just believes that the gods are a lot more hands-off than what Emery believes

Warriors’ army division is a little easter egg for what number his game would be if it existed in mainline Zelda continuity.

The original Hyrule Warriors game would have been the 17th game in the series. If we ignore the first version and go with the Hyrule Warriors Legends version that added all the Wind Waker content (the version I played), it would be the 18th game. Which also sounded better than 17 so that’s what I went with

Warriors’ last name, Hargrave, is likely a place-name that means “from the grove on the border” but also has possible army-related roots. I think Warriors’ family historically lived either in or very close to the Faron woods, which is how they’d get the name.

I likely won’t include any other surname headcanons in the story though because I have such a hard time finding last names that sound fitting for the character and Hyrule as a setting. I’m actually a little surprised I was able to settle on something for Warriors

Most of the Links being too poor to have a last name does have historical roots though. In most of Europe, surnames didn’t come into universal use until the 11th–15th centuries. And in a lot of places, surnames originated in the upper classes before widespread adoption.

Speaking of history, Milk punch is a real drink that got carried around in bottles.

The flirting scene with Emery and Twilight took me so long to get right and I almost cut it altogether. But I really wanted to keep it, firstly as a little fuck-you to the prevalence of homophobes in the LU fandom. Secondly, sex and intimacy are really interesting ways of exploring characterization, and I wanted to touch on it with Twilight while I had the chance.

I think the way that Twilight, in the comics, has either dodged or played his relationship with Midna off as a joke says a lot about how he’s dealt with it, which in my interpretation is: extremely poorly.

Specifically, Cadence Twilight is in a situation where he’s been cutting out the parts of his life that make him think about his trauma. Romance and sex had to go because it reminded him of Midna. But instead of fixing anything, he’s got all this unaddressed trauma seeping through the cracks. So something that should be fun and innocuous and really low on the “emotionally intimate” scale like making out with a hot stranger at the bar is now a minefield of triggers

The dream sequence was another bit that absolutely dragged while writing, and I’m still not totally happy with it, but the character introspection that comes after was too important for me to cut it completely

Not to tell on myself but the thing about Twilight having recurring dreams of reuniting with Midna is inspired by my own recurring dream of reuniting with a former very close friend who I haven’t spoken with in years. Luckily for me, I can deal with my problems by shoving them onto fictional characters.

One thing that is really key to my conception of Twilight’s character is that I don’t think he divides his life into Before and After his adventure as much as he divides his life into Before and After Midna breaking the mirror.

Which is another commonality he shares with Time, who sees his big defining before/after as Zelda sending him back in time and losing Navi right after

#cadence fic #cadence commentary

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ansbobcar · 2 months ago

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A memory [More orter-centric tidbits from my fanfic rewrite]

This is bits and pieces I was really proud of writing! Trust me guys, I'M PRACTICING MY MCQ QUESTIONS FOR PHYSICS!!!

This happens within A letter from Miley/Stalker chapter.

Tldr; orter finds out his girlfriend has a stalker who wants to kill him or something and... some... slight mental confessions from him.

_ _ _

“So you want me to deal with this stalker?” Yes he did. Pinching onto his nose bridge, he sighed. “I’ll drop the search after a week since that’s how far I can meddle with the schedule. I’ll keep you updated.”

That’s a lie.

He can meddle with the schedule as he pleases.

Would he be an asshole? Yes. Was he still considered and viewed as an asshole? Yes. It didn’t really matter t that he had to make adjustments for this unforeseen impromptu investigation. He needed a breather anyways.

The issue was that the week that Miley Cyrus chose to raise alarms was on a jam-packed week for them. The workload was almost exclusively meetings which neither of them liked and it was completely unavoidable. Mandatory.

Initially it had been split in half between the two of them. But with his absence, she’d bear the brunt of back to back meetings. He quickly flipped through the papers. He rolled his eyes when he saw a clipped in part she had added. The excess. If it wasn’t the Director’s orders he would’ve tossed it aside and removed her from Magical Items as a whole.

That department functions perfectly fine without her interference.

She holds it too close in her reach.

_ _ _

He can only afford a week for this wild goose chase. But he confirmed they were a man. A sense of bitterness pervaded his very being at a cumbersome thought that resurfaced as he marched through a familiar town from his old internship days. He remembered how his head and heart pounded as his fingertips and feet stung from the initial impacts before drowning themselves to a numbing repeating motion.

‘If it’s that crippled old man again, I’ll kill him for real this time.’

He could vividly relive the satisfaction of botching that haughty face into dark plumes. The whimpering mess, the begging—he hated that in particular. “What did I do wrong, Officer?! I’ve paid my taxes for the last decade!” He was grovelling on his knees, covering himself like a cocoon if the dust didn’t stretch him out thin, as the young man clad in a borrowed (actually stolen) magic police uniform, dug his heel deeper into the aristocrat’s back. The man cried out in pain.

He scoffed at the sight before him. “Is tax evasion the only crime you’ve ever committed, Pinhead Larry?”

“Why don’t you think very carefully about what you’ve done over the last week?”

“I… I visited the Church.. agh… tea—party at Boulevard… I… went to the Bureau of Magi—ACKGHHH”

“And? What did you do?”

“... how does an officer know about what I gav—AHUGHH!!”

_ _ _

Absolute bangers. I tell you. Pinhead Larry is a name my friend came up with. Idk what it means lol.

Now... SPOILER-y territories cuz I wanna explain stuff.

So basically, in my fic rewrite there's this peculiar line that Orter says to Kaldo regarding his honey obsession.

And that's because of Pinhead Larry.

What Pinhead Larry was going to say in full was: How does an officer know about what I gave to the Blood Cane? (Rinka)

Orter was in high school, first year at the time of this man's be-cripplement. You will find later on in the currently published EP.... 22 and the upcoming winter ball rewrite arc that Orter knows about what happened between Kaldo and Rinka due to Pinhead's gift (Mad Honey) to the latter.

But nobody apart from Kaldo and Rinka is supposed to know about that night and the be-cripplement of Pinhead. Which is why Kaldo's first conclusion is that Orter himself is her stalker (which is impossible, due to his massive respect for her in general).

So Kaldo is genuinely puzzled at who Orter is or was in Rinka's life. For context, Rinka herself at this point in the story has confirmed that Orter is not her 'Dear Junior' from her Easton Days (even tho he is), so Kaldo simply crosses out that option.

#mashle #mashle fanfic idea #mashle oc #mashle x oc #divine visionaries #orter madl #mashle fanfic #orter madl x oc #for future reference

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chibrary · 2 years ago

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today in chontent: july 30th

source: motorsport.com & twitter series: 2014, karting

In 2014, Jules wrote a series of columns for Motorsport.com following his quest within F1:

"Starting today, Jules Bianchi will guide the readers of JA on F1 on a unique journey of discovery of Formula 1, as seen through the eyes of one of the best young driving talents on the world motorsport scene. Jules has been a driver with the Marussia F1 Team for a year and a half, fulfilling one of his boyhood dreams, to drive at the pinnacle of the sport. He has another dream to fulfill, one with a red tone to it; to drive for the famous Scuderia Ferrari. Since 2009 Jules has been part of the Ferrari Driver Academy and a few weeks ago he was called in to an official test at Silverstone for the Maranello team."

His first article was posted in July 2014, titled "Voyage to the centre of Formula 1":

Jules Bianchi writes: “Realizing your dreams is one of the most beautiful things that can happen to a person and I am happy to have fulfilled the biggest dream, which is to drive in F1. I have been dreaming of it since I was a kid but only when I started racing single seaters did I realize that my hopes could become a reality. If you had told me this would happen, when I was 13 years old, I would not have believed you.

But I’ve done it and I’m half way through my second season in the top category and I want to try to take all of you behind the scenes and show you my life and my journey, to show you what it means to be part of this special world, which seems so remote and unattainable.

Let's start by saying that to race in Formula 1 is something that gives me a lot of excitement: this is the first word that comes to mind. The second is professionalism: if you want to excel you have to be professional in every little detail and that is true for us drivers as much as for all those who work in the various roles. It 's something that I realized immediately; right from the first time I was able to see up close how Ferrari operates. Even at Marussia, although the scale of the operation is certainly different from the Scuderia, the level of professionalism is really high.

Ours is a very tough sport, where if you do not always give 100%, whatever the circumstances, you risk falling behind straight away. This means that you always need the utmost concentration, both when working on the track and when you are free from specific commitments, because you can never back off. This is why ' if I have to choose a third word to associate with Formula 1 I would say tiredness: not only physical - to drive these cars is not exactly a breeze and to do this job you have to work a lot on athletic training, even during the race weekend - but, more important, mental tiredness.

I never get bored by the routine; it 's true that the Grand Prix weekend is a bit like a theatre show, which you repeat in exactly he same format every time, in nineteen different venues. But I don’t mind this repetition at all.

The two-week summer break comes at just the right time. We’ve been on the go, travelling the world, pretty much since the end of January, when I started driving in the winter tests. But now we can kick back a little and try to recharge the batteries for the second half of the season.

In the last few races I could really see our guys in the pit garages beginning to feel fatigued and I too cannot wait to get a rest. I'm not planning anything special, not even to celebrate my 25th birthday on August 3; a few days at home in Geneva with the family and then a little sunshine with friends at the beach somewhere, but not to some far distant place with more time zone changes - I’ve had plenty of that already and more lies in wait for me from late August to late November.

When I have some free time I like to play sports with my friends. I always try to organize a small competition, either karts or playing squash or football: this is what I will be up to before restarting the engines at Spa, where we’ll race in the Belgian Grand Prix.

Of course I have some time now to think about what has happened in this first part of the season because it is not that you can completely clear Formula 1 out of your head, even on vacation.

I'm happy with how things have gone so far: we have made a big step forward compared to last year and you can begin to see the results. The points finish in Monte Carlo, with ninth place was definitely the best moment and it was important to be able to get into Q2 twice (the second part of qualifying for the top 16 cars) in Silverstone and a few days ago at the Hungaroring: it means that we are approaching the core group even though the distance is still quite wide.

The worst day? That’s an easy one - Sunday in Montreal where I was unable to complete even the first lap, boy what a shame ..

Another beautiful moment was the Silverstone test with Ferrari. Putting on those scarlet overalls with the Prancing Horse on the chest is always an unbelievable feeling, as is climbing into the cockpit. I’ve done it before but the emotion is very powerful, very beautiful.

For me Ferrari is like a second family and to drive full time with that Prancing Horse remains my goal, my ultimate dream.

Will I ever get to realize that dream? I don’t know. But given that I have fulfilled my first goal of driving in F1, why not aspire to fulfilling the even bigger dream?

Until next time..

Jules

#vgp:today in chontent #series:karting #driver:jules #year:2014

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wayward-sherlock · 1 year ago

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Heyy, i was wondering if “girl crush” is still in the works??? I LOVED the plot so much but I haven’t started reading yet bc i read SO many abandoned fics and my heart can take it anymore 🫠

hey there !

first of all, i’d like to remind you that girl crush was updated three months ago, which in the grand scheme of things, is not a very long time. in the time since, i’ve had to complete college and scholarship applications, attend school and sports commitments, cope with family emergencies, and deal with my own personal/mental health problems. girl crush is not my overall priority and never has been. i would apologize for putting my own Real Life first except that’s ridiculous.

second of all, i made it clear from the beginning that there was never an update schedule for girl crush. even if there was a schedule, sticking to it takes time, effort, and energy to brainstorm, outline, write, edit, and post in the set time. update schedules are brutal, and i knew from the beginning i wouldn’t have the time or energy to do that. so i’m going to ask that you reflect on your expectations of me - a complete stranger on the internet.

which brings me to my third point. no author sets out to abandon a fic. the only thing that ties an author to their fic is passion and dedication to the story and time to complete it. if any one of those three things dies - which, in real life, happens more often than not - then it just…happens. but authors do not owe it to their readers to update their fics. authors don’t owe anybody anything; and if they are kind enough and the stars align enough for them to share their art - because that’s what it is, is art, not content or whatever other tiktok-esque terms there are - then you just have to appreciate that they were willing and able to do so.

if you’ve read some fics that have been abandoned, then im sorry, but that’s just the way it goes sometimes. i’ve read a number of fics that have been abandoned; i’ve read a number of fics that have taken years in between updates, then update when im no longer in the fandom. it happens. one of the saddest things for an author is to leave behind a story - a universe - that they created with their own blood, sweat, and tears. nobody wants to do that, so please be kinder when talking about abandoned fics - or even other mediums of art, including comics, art series, or other things!

im sorry if this isn’t the answer that you were looking for. girl crush, ctm, mike wheeler vs gay quizzes, inthaf - they are all very near and dear to my heart in different ways, but i just haven’t had the motivation, time, or energy to work on them as of late. i’m determined to finish them at some point, i just don’t know when. and that’s okay. i need you to understand that it’s not my responsibility to make sure you have fics to read; it’s your responsibility to be kind to authors and artists to encourage them to make more art if they choose to. it’s your responsibility to explore more within the fandom space - in a kind, respectful manner - to find other fics to read.

#i realize i went off but i’ve been sitting on this for a long time.#and this isn’t just you anon this is a general observation about the treatment of authors in fandom spaces recently.#okay i’m leaving for a little bit. maybe. bye.#🫧🪴#asks #💌#anon !!

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tasmparkerr · 2 years ago

Text

The Snake: Pt 1

Sebastian Sallow x MC

word count: 2.6k

summary: Sebastian Sallow was arrested in Fifth year after the murder of his uncle, now he's returned to Hogwarts for his Seventh year after tricking the ministry into thinking he's innocent. This story follows Maeve Caillouet (MC) through the struggles of her final year at Hogwarts as she tries to handle her past traumas, a Weasley and a Sallow, her best friends Ominis and Anne, as dark magic begins to sprout once again and escaping Death becomes a lot harder. warnings: foul language, angsty stuff

A/N: ope not me posting something, it may not be smut and I may be heading towards a HL fixation but oh well, thought I’d post something that I’ve been writing for shits and giggles maybe I’ll do more, maybe I’ll ignore this account again for a year lol who knows

————————————————————————

It has been two years since Sebastian Sallow was arrested for the murder of his uncle. Not a day has passed without his name crossing my mind. So much has happened since that fateful day.

The memories of that day flood my mind...

. . .

"No! You can't! He's innocent! He's fucking innocent!" I screamed, desperately struggling against the grasp of a Ministry official. "I know he didn't do it. He's a good person, he didn't fucking do it!"

But the truth was, I was lying. I was there when he committed the act.

Yet, I didn't care. I couldn't let them take him away. I couldn't.

Sebastian's eyes held a hollow emptiness as I saw him for the last time. They conveyed so much yet nothing at all. A sad smile played on his lips, a bittersweet farewell.

Just then, Ominis appeared, panting from running. "Oh, Merlin... Sebastian..." he whispered, anguish evident on his face.

I kicked and twisted, refusing to give up. "I will fucking-"

"Maeve," Professor Fig's voice rang out above the commotion, "Stop it. Stop it now."

I stared at him, bewildered. I wasn't going to stop. I was standing by Sebastian, I was there. They didn't know the whole story. They weren't there. Maybe if I...

Professor Fig's eyes flashed with a warning, tapping his temple.

Oh.

If I revealed the truth, that I was there, they would take me in as well. They might want to extract my memories to uncover everything, including the ancient magic. It would put the world at risk and potentially ruin everything.

Sobs shook my body as I succumbed to the overwhelming sense of defeat. The Ministry official released his grip, and I crumpled to my knees. Tears fell onto the cold stone floor of Hogwarts.

"Get away from her," Ominis's voice warned, and I felt his cold hand on my shoulder as he knelt beside me. "It's alright... It's okay. It's going to be okay..."

"No, no, no... He's..." I sobbed, my whole body trembling.

One of the Ministry men cleared his throat. "Alright... I know it's an emotional moment, but we must be off. We can't keep Azkaban waiting."

A surge of rage and hatred coursed through me. His name burned into my mind—Zephyr Mumblethorn. I would never forget his face. Witnessing his magic binding Sebastian's hands together ignited an indescribable bloodlust within me. One day, he would pay for what he had done.

"Sebastian... Sebastian, I promise I'll take care of Anne. I will find her, and I won't let her die. I swear. I will never stop. I swear," I called out to him.

He gave me one last soft glance, and then he was gone. Aspirated from the room. All that remained were Professor Fig, Ominis, and a few lingering students.

I never heard Sebastian say the word 'goodbye.'

. . .

Now, it was the first day of our seventh year at Hogwarts. It was also Anne's first year back.

Walking by my side, her brunette hair longer than when she was last in school, I had braided it delicately to keep it away from her face. She grew stronger with each passing day.

Finding a cure for Anne had been a challenge. Ominis and I had started searching the day Sebastian was taken. We delved into books that mentioned curses, even those unrelated to Anne's condition.

We pored over every healing book, every potions book—everything we could find in the library. But we found nothing.

It wasn't until we looked beyond Hogwarts that we discovered something—a magical item. It was a necklace with a shining diamond at its center. Legend had it that it was one of the most powerful enchanted items ever created. It emanated a protective spell for the wearer, guarding against curses, harmful potions, and poisons. Basically, anything that wasn't a physical attack.

Once we found Anne hiding in an abandoned home on a desolate farmland, we explained everything that had happened and gave her the necklace. As soon as she put it on, the diamond transformed into an emerald green color.

Since then, she has been cured. We don't know what would happen if she took it off, so she never did, and she never will. Anne was destined to live a long life.

But I didn't stop there. I took Anne in.

We lived in a small home outside Hogsmeade. I found a job at the Three Broomsticks, working with Sirona Ryan, who pays me generously for the summer. I also work on weekends during the school year.

Anne works at J. Pippins' shop, following the same schedule as me. Pippins adores her, and her skills have enhanced the quality of his work, boosting his business.

We made our lives work. We took care of each other. And now, we were returning to school together.

As students, both new and returning, streamed into the dining hall, we found our places at the Slytherin table, right next to Ominis. His cloudy eyes brightened when he heard us sit down.

"Hello, Ominis. It's Maeve and Anne," I greeted, pleased to see our friend.

Ominis's face instantly lit up. "Ah, my sweet girls. Welcome back to Hogwarts, especially you, Anne. How does it feel? Are you excited?"

Anne blushed and replied, "Yes, I'm excited, but also nervously anxious. I'm so far behind."

I chuckled, recalling the same feeling when I was a new fifth year. "Oh, I understand. You'll be fine. Omi and I will help you catch up. If needed, I'll speak to Professor Weasley to adjust your schedule, ensuring that at least one of us is with you in every class."

She smiled gratefully, nodding her thanks.

Anne had never fully warmed up to me, and I couldn't blame her. She held me partially responsible for the death of her uncle. I understood her feelings, and if she asked, I would openly admit that I would do it all over again.

I would do anything for him. I would do anything for Sebastian.

His name remained unspoken between us. We hadn't uttered it since that day. The pain was still too raw, too unbearable.

A pair of lips suddenly pressed against my cheek, startling me. I relaxed as I saw Gareth, someone who had been trying to court me since our fifth year. We had gone on a couple of dates, but I hadn't been sure if it counted as dating. Nevertheless, Gareth was sweet, caring, and respectful. We enjoyed each other's company, though I didn't feel the same depth of connection as I did with Sebastian.

"Gareth, how nice to see you. How was your trip to your grandparents?" I inquired.

He smiled and took a seat next to me. "Oh, it was wonderful. The states are unbelievable—so different from here. My grandparents plan to stay there permanently. You should have seen it—the hills, the culture... it's brilliant. The muggles there are a different breed of humans! Maybe next summer I can take you with me?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. Thankfully, Headmaster Black's clearing of the throat signaled the start of the sorting ceremony.

Gareth gave me a small smile and rushed back to his table. I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Ominis chuckled.

"When will you let that puppy off his leash? It's not fair to string him along," Ominis commented.

I crinkled my nose. "Yeah, I know. It's just... I don't know. I don't mind him. He's kind, caring, and treats me well, but he's just not..."

Anne shifted uncomfortably beside me. Ominis's lips curved into a sad smile. "He's not who you truly desire. I understand. Believe me, I can only handle so much conversation with Imelda Reyes before wanting to lose my hearing as well."

I smiled, my eyes briefly darting toward Imelda's bitter face. Ever since I beat her flying record, she had despised me. I giggled at the memory.

Ominis brightened at the sound of my laughter. He had taken it upon himself to ensure my well-being, a silent promise made to Sebastian I was sure of it. I had sworn to take care of Anne, and Ominis had made the same commitment to me. I would never forget everything he did for me during our fifth year. The thought of it still sent shivers down my spine.

We happily consumed the feast laid out before us as the first-year students were sorted into their respective houses, the three of us half-heartedly cheering for the brand-new Slythrins. The whole room erupted in gasps and cheers, and I found myself searching for the cause.

"What did I miss?" I asked, my head shooting up.

Ominis stared ahead, his interest piqued. "Quidditch is back this year. Oh, I wonder... It's going to be an interesting year. And it's our last one? How exciting," he mused.

I had never experienced a Quidditch match. My mood lifted, realizing that this year would bring something new. Perhaps Quidditch would become my new distraction.

Anne seemed indifferent, poking at her pudding. We were quickly dismissed and made our way to the Slytherin common room.

Deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts, accessible through a hidden entrance, lies the Slytherin common room. Once inside, it exudes a distinct and memorable atmosphere.

The Slytherin common room is located deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, accessible through the hidden entrance. Once inside, the common room presents its distinct and memorable atmosphere.

The room itself is a spacious, low-ceilinged chamber, adorned with emerald green and silver accents. The walls are made of rough-hewn stone, giving the room an ancient and somewhat foreboding feel. The light is provided by dimly lit sconces that cast eerie shadows across the room, creating an ambiance of secrecy and mystique.

Plush, comfortable sofas and armchairs upholstered in rich green velvet are arranged in small conversational clusters, creating a sense of exclusivity. Dark wooden bookcases line the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and ancient scrolls, showcasing the house's emphasis on knowledge and cunning.

The room is adorned with various symbols and decorations that represent Slytherin's traits and values. A large silver serpent sculpture coils sinuously around a marble fireplace, its glowing eyes and flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. The snake symbol can be found throughout the room, engraved on the chair legs, woven into tapestries, and even etched onto the grand oak door that leads to the dormitories.

A massive bay window showcases the Black Lake, offering a breathtaking view of the dark waters and the aquatic life that lives inside it. The window is adorned with emerald green curtains that billow gently in the wind, allowing soft moonlight to filter into the room.

I soaked in the familiarity of the common room, the familiar smell of spices and firewood seeping into my lungs. It was always bittersweet coming back here. The memories were almost too much but it was better than living at the shitty small cottage outside Hogsmeade. Even Anne seemed relieved to have such a comfortable space.

I took in the familiar surroundings, the comforting scent of spices and firewood filling the air. Returning to the common room was always bittersweet. The memories were almost too much to bear, but it was still preferable to living in the small cottage outside Hogsmeade. Even Anne seemed relieved to have a comfortable space.

Ominis waved his wand, taking in the surroundings with a contented smile. "Alright, let's change and meet back here in half an hour. We need to compare schedules and make a plan for this year's activities and studies."

Ah, Ominis's annual debrief and game plan. I had been introduced to it last year when he took me under his wing.

Anne chuckled, "Oh god, you still do that? Can't it wait until the Undercroft?"

Ominis looked offended. "Absolutely not! Having a game plan and being on the same page is crucial for ultimate success!"

"Alright, alright... We'll change and meet back. I promise, Omi. We'll be quick," I teased, nodding toward the witch's dormitory. "Come on, Anne."

She followed me up to our room, located conveniently next to each other. We changed swiftly, and as I glanced at Anne. She's a girl with soft features, her face exuding a delicate beauty. Her skin is pale, lending an ethereal quality to her appearance.

Her eyes, a deep shade of brown, have a sunken-in quality that adds a touch of exhaustion to her gaze. Long, flowing brunette hair cascades down her back, framing her face in a captivating manner. She had continued to sport her chopped bangs.

As for her attire, she chose an emerald green nightgown that drapes gracefully around her figure. The fabric is silky and smooth, shimmering ever so slightly in the light. The gown is designed with intricate details, perhaps delicate lace trimmings or subtle patterns of snakes, going down to her knees.

If only she had freckles, she would look just like her twin brother.

My chest twisted. It always did when I looked at Anne for too long.

Turning my attention to the mirror, I beheld my own reflection. Silky black hair flowed in natural waves, cascading down my shoulders and framing my face. The light caught the glossy strands, giving them a shimmering quality.

My bright green eyes, like emerald gems, captured attention with their vibrant hue. Anne often expressed her envy, but I always found them to be a distraction, drawing peculiar comments from others.

Taking in my petite yet curvy figure, I felt a mix of pride and frustration. Anne had made remarks about my body, expressing her desire to look like me, but I brushed it off. While I knew I possessed attractiveness, I didn't believe I deserved to be idolized.

As for my attire, I had chosen a simple and comfortable ensemble. A gray tank top hugged my figure gently, showcasing my slender arms. The soft fabric felt soothing against my skin. Paired with it, I wore emerald green sweatpants that added vibrant energy to my outfit. The rich green color provided a pleasing contrast.

Gazing at my reflection, my eyes fell upon a mesmerizing snake tattoo that elegantly wound its way up my spine. The intricate design began at the base, just above the small of my back, and coiled upward with sinuous grace. The back of my tank top dipped low enough to reveal the initial section of the tattoo.

The tattoo itself was a work of art, its details vivid and lifelike. The scales of the snake were meticulously etched, creating a textured pattern that gave the illusion of real skin.

The snake's body twisted and turned, following the natural contours of my spine. Its lithe form seemed to move with an illusion of life, forever coiling and uncoiling on my skin.

The colors of the tattoo were captivating. Shades of emerald green and deep, rich black blended seamlessly, forming a striking contrast. The green shimmered and glimmered, catching the light, while the black added depth and intensity to the design.

I had gotten the tattoo at the end of my fifth year, as a tribute to my house and my journey. It represented my pride, the hardships endured, and the ancient magic within me. The snake symbolized the cunning and ambition that Slytherin valued.

A sigh escaped my lips as I stretched my arms above my head. Anne sat on her bed, crossing her arms. "Are you done yet? Ominis can't even see you, so who cares if your hair is perfect?"

I laughed. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if his wand could sense the state of my hair. Plus, it would be rude to show up looking disheveled."

Anne smiled. "You sound just like my mother."

We descended back into the common room, where a small group of people had gathered. Among them was Headmaster Black and... his face. My breath caught in my throat, and the air rushed out in a single gasp.

It was Zephyr Mumblethorn.

"Are you sure he's innocent?" Headmaster Black asked, his hands resting on his hips.

Mumblethorn shrugged. "There's no evidence. The investigators at Azkaban couldn't find anything. No proof. We can't keep an eighteen-year-old imprisoned without evidence. He insists it was an Inferius. Swore it under Veritaserum."

Headmaster Black nodded. "Alright... Sallow! Get in here!"

To be continued...

#sebastian sallow #sebastian #sebastian x reader #ominis x sebastian #hogwarts oc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow fic #anne sallow #ominis gaunt #ominis hc #angst #emotional #enemies to lovers #i love him

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breakerwhiskey · 2 years ago

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097 - NINETY-SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

I’m on my way to Salt Lake City, land of the Mormons. I have no idea what to expect from a city built by people who don’t drink or smoke or, god, even have caffeine. Maybe it’ll be just the same as every other city in America - half of the ones back East were founded by Puritans and teetotalers.

I never had much use for religion. I remember my parents bringing me to church sometimes when I was a kid, but they weren’t that devout themselves so it never really sunk in.

And no, my weeks on the road have not changed my mind about God. Not even that weird encounter in Colorado. Whether it was a trick of the light or a hallucination I was having…

[click, static]

Who am I kidding. Trick of the light? It wasn’t a trick of the light. And I’ve never hallucinated in my entire goddamn life, I can’t imagine that all this driving has had such an impact on me that I’ve suddenly started now.

I’ve mostly been trying not to think about it. A ghost, a spirit, some kind of angel or demon…whatever it was, I haven’t seen anything like it since and I’m—

Even if it was a ghost, just because I believe in the afterlife doesn’t mean I believe in gods. And I’m not sure that’s what it was! I’m not sure I do believe in the afterlife! Maybe it was just…

[click, static]

Maybe I should pick up some Mormon writing in Utah, see if they have anything to say about it.

I have always wondered about the multiple wives thing. How does that work exactly? Even if all the women really were happy with the situation—which I’m not saying is impossible, it just seems like a system where maybe they don’t get that much say either way—I can’t really fit the puzzle pieces together in my head. Is it easier if you all have one relationship within the larger…structure, or does everyone have relationships with everyone? I mean, I lived in New York for years and hung out in the art scene, I knew people who had both kinds of situations, and it never made sense to me in those cases either. Not to say it didn’t work for the people I knew, I’m just not sure it’d work for me.

With the benefit of hindsight and plenty of time to reflect over the last few years, I’ve come to recognize that I…fixate. It hasn’t happened very often in my life, but when I lo—when I like someone, really like someone, I get a little bit of tunnel vision about them, whether I realize or not. And if I ever got that person, I don’t think I’d be selfless enough to share.

Maybe that’s unhealthy, I don’t know. It certainly hasn’t helped me have good romantic relationships. I think one of the reasons I never was really able to commit to Martha is because by that point I was already crazy—

[click, static]

It wasn’t fair to Martha. The way I was I just wish I’d figured it out at the time, either to tell Martha the truth, make her understand it was never about her or to, ideally, give myself a smack upside the head and get over whatever feelings my heart decided to develop without my consent. If I’d known what I felt back then—really felt—I would’ve done everything in my power to make sure I stopped feeling that way.

[click, static]

What about you, Birdie? Did you leave a partner behind? If the world were suddenly full of people, is that something you’d want?

I guess I can ask you about it on Thursday. Whiskey out.

[click, static]

#breaker whiskey #audio drama #episode #transcript #Spotify

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koasinag · 1 year ago

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The Problem of Pain Is a Problem for Everyone

New Post has been published on https://www.koasinag.com/the-problem-of-pain-is-a-problem-for-everyone/

The Problem of Pain Is a Problem for Everyone

March 28, 2024

by:

Randy Newman

A Problem for Everyone

Over the many years I’ve listened to people share their struggles and questions about faith, the problem of pain is the objection most frequently raised. That makes a lot of sense. It’s a disturbing and ever-present problem. Sooner or later, regardless of how much we may try to avoid thinking about it, everyone will die. As a young child, I learned about the Holocaust—the systematic murder of six million of my people, two-thirds of the population of European Jews. While attending religious instruction at our local synagogue, I watched films of the concentration camps at Auschwitz, Dachau, and the rest. I’ve personally struggled ever since with the question of why a good God allows so much suffering.

Often the problem of pain is raised as an accusation against people of faith. “How can you believe in God in a world with so much evil and suffering?” The implication seems to be that Christians, Jews, Muslims, and adherents of other religions have an insurmountable incongruity between reverent faith and unavoidable pain. But pain is also a problem for atheists, agnostics, “nones,” and “dones”—those who once identified with a religion but now feel as if they’re “finished with that.” We all will (or should) attend funerals of people we care about, and, most pointedly, one day people will attend ours.

For several decades, I’ve had a delightful friendship with a philosophy professor who abandoned his family’s Christian faith in his early teens. He and I kick around issues of belief and nonbelief. I ask him questions about his atheism. He challenges my Christian convictions. We once attended a debate about the problem of evil that featured speakers from a variety of perspectives—Christian, Buddhist, atheist, and agnostic. Afterward, I asked him what he thought of the evening, and he simply said, “I don’t think the Christian had a good explanation for the problem of evil.” I knew I couldn’t do any better than the brilliant speaker we’d just heard, so I asked him about the atheist explanation for the problem of evil. He hesitantly admitted, “Atheism doesn’t have a good answer either.” What followed was a respectful comparison of our two incomplete answers.

A Limited Number of Options

When addressing pain, suffering, and death, most people fall into one of five categories. Each approach is incomplete. No one of them, including the one I hold most tightly, totally satisfies me. But I do find that some are better than others and one is best of all. You might expect my five categories to be religious ones1 —the Christian view, the Jewish view, the Buddhist view, and so on—but I find a great deal of diversity even within those categories. Two people in the same religious tradition may hold dramatically divergent views about pain. And people’s experiences don’t often fit neatly with their creedal statements. I’ve heard Christians articulate views of suffering that fit more closely to a Buddhist perspective. I’ve met Jewish people whose views come from secular psychology, not the Old Testament or rabbinic writings. I’ve also been told that there’s no one agreed-upon perspective on suffering within religious traditions like Buddhism, Hinduism, and Judaism. So here I offer five perspectives with more generic labels.2

The moralistic view. Suffering comes as a consequence of someone’s actions. It’s caused by people, and therefore it could have been avoided. This is a common view, and perhaps the oldest one. It’s the perspective offered by Job’s friends. Job must have committed some sin, they tell him, and that’s why his children died, his property was destroyed, and his body is afflicted with disease.3 In the Hindu tradition, current suffering may even be the result of (Karma for) a person’s actions in a previous life.

The reframing view. We must think about suffering and pain differently. When we do, this will alleviate our pain. The reframing view takes many forms, from very religious to completely secular. M. Scott Peck articulated a Buddhist version of the reframing perspective at the beginning of his bestselling book The Road Less Traveled:

Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult—once we truly understand and accept it—then life is no longer difficult.4

Not everyone who holds the reframing view identifies as a Buddhist. It finds its way into the thinking of many who claim no particular religious affiliation. For example, in the movie Collateral Beauty, a character who embodies the reality of death tells the main character, Howard, a grieving father who lost his young daughter to cancer, “Nothing’s ever really dead if you look at it right.”5

While this life may include great suffering, an eternal afterlife free from pain is offered for those who trust in God’s plan of salvation.

The healing view. We don’t know why there is so much suffering in the world (and it may not matter), but we can work to alleviate it. This view spends little energy on philosophical or theological discussions about why the world is broken. Advocates for the healing view want to spend their energies fixing what is broken. Many Jewish people pursue such efforts under the banner of “Tikkun Olam,” a Hebrew expression that can be translated “to heal the world.” People from many faith traditions (or none) seek to minimize suffering in the world through medical practice and research, relief efforts during emergencies, offering help to those in poverty, legal efforts to fight injustices like sex trafficking, and many other world-improving works.

The secular view. The reality of evil and suffering is one of the strongest arguments (if not the strongest argument) against a belief in God. Richard Dawkins clearly expresses the harsh evolutionary perspective on pain and suffering this way: “In a universe of blind forces and genetic replication, some people are going to get hurt, other people are going to get lucky, and you won’t find any rhyme or reason in it, nor any justice.”6

The redemptive view. The world is not as it’s supposed to be, and suffering is an outrage. But suffering can also be redemptive. It points to an afterlife, when pain and suffering will finally be defeated. This view is found in the Old and New Testaments, and it serves as part of the foundation of Judaism and Christianity. The Hebrew Scriptures teach that a personal God created the world and pronounced all his creation (including people) “good.” He gave people the dignity of choice to obey his commands or reject them. The first people (and all people since then) chose, to some degree, disobedience and rebellion against God. And the world has been out of whack ever since. But the Bible also teaches that God has begun a work of redemption that can extend to individual people for all eternity. While this life may include great suffering, an eternal afterlife free from pain is offered for those who trust in God’s plan of salvation.

This is the view I hold, and I want you to consider (or reconsider) it carefully. In my opinion, it offers a better, more comprehensive answer to the why question than any other perspective. A good God created our good world with good gifts for us to enjoy. But we damaged the good world with our bad choices. While it may seem difficult to comprehend, human rebellion against God damages not only us but all creation. Thus, the reality we observe around us shows us the original creation’s goodness (delightful sunsets, beautiful flowers, and magnificent landscapes) and gives us painful reminders of a fallen, broken world (natural disasters, disease, death, and crime).

But the redemptive view isn’t without its difficulties. I find variances in suffering to be deeply troubling. Some people suffer their entire lives. Others never seem to experience a drop of pain. Some die young after battles against constant pain while others die peacefully in their sleep in their nineties. A tornado rips through a town, leveling houses and killing hundreds while, not far away, it leaves some houses and lives untouched. These inconsistencies disturb me greatly, and though I have a theology that tells me all creation suffers the consequences of sin, I still struggle with the ever-real, inadequately labeled problem of pain.

Despite these challenges in addressing the why question, it’s the redemptive view that offers the best resources for the how questions, because it’s founded on a historical event, not just a philosophical concept. Christians’ entire system of belief rests on Jesus’s resurrection. This establishes our hope in the afterlife on fact, not mere theory. If the resurrection is a fairy tale or lie, all of Christianity crumbles. But if it really happened, the Christian message points us to a world that will be recreated and a reality where pain and suffering will pass away. It provides joy and hope amid great suffering today and a certain future tomorrow.7

Questioning the Problem of Pain

Pain is a problem for everyone. We must find some way to deal with it—in both our thinking and our living. There are only a few ways to handle this issue, and all of them feel incomplete. So the question is this: Which incomplete answer will you embrace to help you with the problem of evil?

Is suffering always someone’s fault? An illusion we need to reframe? A problem we can eradicate? Do we live in a chaotic, purposeless, meaningless world without any design that, oddly, has outbreaks of beauty, splendor, and wonder? Or do we live in a good world created by a purposeful and personal God, with evidence of harm done to that world? One writer summed up the choice like this: “The alternative to disappointment with God seems to be disappointment without God.”8

Notes:

A very helpful resource on this topic is Peter Kreeft, Making Sense Out of Suffering (Cincinnati, OH: Servant, 1986).

I am indebted to Tim Keller’s approach to this topic in his very helpful book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering (New York: Dutton, 2013). My categories do not align exactly with Keller’s, and I have assigned different labels.

For example, one friend, Eliphaz, summarized the whole issue of suffering with these words: “Those who plow iniquity / and sow trouble reap the same” (Job 4:8).

M. Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth, 25th anniversary ed. (New York: Touchstone, 2003), 15. In a footnote, Peck adds, “The first of the ‘Four Noble Truths’ which Buddha taught was ‘Life is suffering.’”

Collateral Beauty, written by Allan Loeb, directed by David Frankel, produced by Bard Dorros et al. (New Line Cinema, 2016).

Richard Dawkins, River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life (New York: Basic Books, 1995), 132–33.

Lee Strobel’s book The Case for Christ(Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1998) and the movie based on the book explore the evidence for the resurrection of Jesus far more than can be explored here.

Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God: Three Questions No One Asks Aloud (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), 311.

This article is adapted from Questioning Faith: Indirect Journeys of Belief through Terrains of Doubt by Randy Newman.

Randy Newman is senior fellow for apologetics and evangelism at the C. S. Lewis Institute. He was formerly on staff with Cru, ministering in and near Washington, DC. He is the author of several books, including Questioning Evangelism and Bringing the Gospel Home.

An Open Letter to Christians Who Doubt

Randy Newman

February 26, 2024

Just defining or describing the doubt helps me talk to God more pointedly about it. And in some instances, he gives me insight or perspective that alleviates (but not totally removes) the doubt.

Why Doesn’t God Do More to Convince Us of His Existence?

Neil Shenvi

December 16, 2022

If the Christian God exists and loves us, and if our eternal destiny hangs in the balance, why isn’t the evidence for his existence absolutely undeniable?

Podcast: Help! My Christian Life Is a Mess (Lewis & Sarah Allen)

March 06, 2023

Lewis and Sarah Allen talk about the painful trials and unexpected disappointments in our lives as Christians and what we should do when our faith feels weak or our walk with Christ feels like a mess.

Podcast: How Should We Respond to Our Doubt? (Randy Newman)

February 26, 2024

Randy Newman explains that when we struggle with questions about our faith, we should view these not as roadblocks to faith but as natural twists and turns that accompany our lives as Christians.

Go to Source Author: Randy Newman

#crossway #the way of CHRIST #Bible Knowledge

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vio1315 · 1 year ago

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I write my in depth thoughts about my brain for 18 paragraphs:

Okay, so... The other day I was thinking about the casual thought I’ve always had that I probably just live each day more or less understimulated. I was sort of aware that daredevils etc tend to have something like that which is what can lead to thrill seeking, so I never thought a lot about it. Like maybe it had autism link, idk. But I realized ‘hm, that’s actually kind of a specific thing to experience’ so was googling around This one thing that I found, which idk if it comes out of any research or just pure personal observation But it’s been stuck in my mind a bit Basically was putting ‘boredom’ as having 3 potential causes (if chronic?)

Keeping self from accessing emotions

Keeping self from having wants/desires (as a whole)

Understimulated, nothing new

And I pretty much fit all three in a sort of overwhelming way. The main issue being idk how to live without these things. So I’m going to go into excessive detail about it.

I think my biggest issue is the shut in thing, of course. I think a lot of the symptoms I have would be greatly reduced if not for that, and I’m planning to do what I can to help with it once it’s warmer out.

However, a lot of this started long before I was a shut in too, and it absolutely lines up with these things. That’s why I’m somewhat okay if this is just an observation vs super substantiated. It is like..... I have literally built the core of who I am around these things wjdnsjdjx

To me, the idea of doing literally anything that causes someone even momentary discomfort was always sort of unbearable. And the fact this little blurb mentioned that communicating your needs etc was important just

Hate that.

Don’t know if I can do that

The idea that existence necessitates inconveniencing and agitating others is something I really can’t handle.

To some degree I can handle if someone is annoyed with just who I am or whatever, because that’s all very passive

But if I say something that causes them to feel negatively, then I’ve just committed something quite bad. I know since I was probably like 4, I had this intense desire not to burden anyone I can’t really remember anything that lead me to conclusions about it, just that I remember having amnesia at the time Waking up and thinking ‘I can’t remember anything that came before today’

I doubt anything that bad happened, but I kind of spiral about things, so I imagine I probably overheard something and just who knows

But unconfirmed, it’s just my best guess

From this desire has essentially grown the fact I really refuse to communicate preferences about things. If something bothers me, I really don’t like to talk about it, particularly with offending parties

If I tell someone they did something that bothered me, they’ll feel bad or something, maybe even become self conscious

And for what? Something I can theoretically get over? Or even for something that shouldn’t bother me? If I do those things, I’m the offending party I hadn’t really realized it before now, but I guess ultimately I kind of just removed my ability to want many things

People often ask my preference on things and I just literally can’t generate one most the time

Thinking about communicating these kinds of things is actually impossible feeling. I’m not a very sympathetic person or anything, I feel guilt so rarely I often have trouble thinking of any time within recent years I did

Yet even so, I am /so/ very adverse to hurting anyone in these kinds of ways I think it has seemed like sin for a long time for me but beyond that, I don’t like the idea of changing how people act either. The unintended consequences will come back around and make it worse for me ultimately Which also I guess is not dissimilar to how I worsened cutting out my emotions.

While of course I always would reprimand myself for wanting things that involved someone else needing to change as like selfish and all that

And that they were 100% fine in what they were doing, and that wanting anything else was abhorrent of me

It’s also like Wanting was one thing, but emotions that came out of that were even more evil So if you’re told ‘no’ for something and feel sad about it: that’s evil. That's wrong. They have a right to say no and therefore being sad about it is infringing on them, is lacking gratitude, and shows selfishness etc. If they knew you were sad you’d be guilting them which is also evil because then they have to feel bad also

So generally in my youth I trained myself out of these kinds of responses through self bullying and such. I haven’t resorted to that since hs probably But even up to recently, I realize I kind of came to hate things like ‘hope’. Eagerness and excitement. I’ve always driven myself to accept what I get and try to never ask for more. So acceptance of circumstances is generally second nature to me now. Be content in all circumstances. Which is to say, the idea that something could improve causes me considerable pain. Because it won’t improve. As far as things involving other people go, they simply never have improved. So holding onto the idea that they could just hurts a lot more than accepting this is the way things are.

Honestly getting excited for anything is just waiting for punishment. There is nobody in my life who is particularly reliable Not in the ways that do anything but disappoint where ‘excitement’ is concerned anyways. I know I very often have thought ‘that’s what you get for being excited’ when inevitably things fail to happen. As far as my memory goes, the ratio is quite literally 100% on the things I get excited for not happening Now we know this is faulty because I have emotional amnesia, so if it was ever fulfilled, I wouldn’t remember it. It’s only because I think verbally about disappointment that it is able to be remembered

Even so, I don’t love how often it happens even with mostly cutting out feelings like ‘excitement’ from most of my life by now

But you literally can’t tell people this. Nobody is really to blame for intentionally causing harm, so what? Cause pain by saying it sucked? I don’t see it as good. It can’t change anything, it can only make things worse. I realize by now my view of myself is essentially that of a liability. Can’t cause good in others, but can absolutely cause harm. I was in the pit again on the topic not that long ago, but God again saved me from committing to self isolation further

I still don’t fully know what good I’ll be to anybody, but God communicated to keep trying, so I guess He might still do something through me, so why not

This does not however fill me with motivation to communicate wants with people. This does not fill me with motivation to be vulnerable. Because there is no risk reward about it. There is a 0% chance of reward. It is all pain. Essentially what I would stand to gain if I ever healed my emotional weirdness is that maybe I could like things again, or form opinions about preference better It essentially isn’t a great deal in my mind. Trade out general contentment to be hurt repeatedly (and go to sin out of that) I can’t really do much about my environment either. Conflicting needs suck.

My parents are going like blind and deaf, so there’s nothing for it, but it’s like All the lights outside of my room are now painful to be around for very long. Everything got painted white so it also reflects way harder (and in general is ugly). Fridge now has blinding lights in it so I can’t see the top shelf All the devices are so loud and generally unpleasant noises

The shut in stuff has made me more sensitive to the sounds of survival like breathing and eating and so on, so that I can’t really stand being in the same room as people very often

And I can hear so much from across the house and I do what I can to drown it out, but I’m sure these measures are offensive

The temperature is always bad and uncomfortable I wait for summer just so I can sit outside basically all day because it’s a lot more livable vs inside

Food stuff keeps leaning to a lot of things that disgust me compared to before. It’s like I still consider my living situation very fortunate and stuff, and a lot of generosity has been extended to me

But it’s something that impacts every day and I have to monitor everything. I can’t be in the same room with people. If not for the sounds then for the lights, I have to carefully listen around to see if people are in the other rooms before I can plan out what I might do People tend to find it all funny.

It isn’t funny

I don’t like how people dismiss me now I don’t like how people don’t believe me now I’ve idly complained about some things, but am I going to make issues out of these things? No. It’s not my house. These things make it so other people can function. I can’t actually change peoples views of me, I can only make them see me as a nuisance, a killjoy, weak

The things that are known like me having to check silverware for several minutes to find something I’m willing to eat with are just things to view me as less for

Why would I talk about it If I tell people that things bother me, I become someone dangerous. I become a risk. Maybe even worse is becoming a novelty

Being bothered by things, to me, seems immoral I’ve put in a lot of work to never be bothered

And the thing I never admit to is that yes. It does apply to everyone. A good 70% of the standards I have for myself I do have for others too. But I can’t be mad at people for not getting it right, so generally I have instead considered that this puts more responsibility on me: someone who can actually handle things

This is of course not fair to people, but like.... it is what it is. And obviously, other people having so much more emotional needs and so many more problems and trauma and grief and (nobody is ever okay) means that I am even further a liability. I can’t afford to have problems or talk about issues (caused by them) because I will put someone over the edge and never know it.

But don’t worry, I also can’t help anyone.

And don’t worry there’s no hope anyways.

Nothing. Changes. For. The. Better.

Acceptance is the only way, except I’m the only one who can come to terms with any of it. Nobody else will or can. So how am I meant to tell anybody anything. How can I afford to let myself feel anything when there’s really never going to be a safe outlet for that. I’m still unclear, but I think probably most of this is something like OCD but idk how to view anything much diff

And the understimulated thing: obviously being shut in. Easy. I don’t challenge myself much in general though, so I should probably do that at least

Anyways, I always say stuff like this on tumblr because I literally am not going to unload this toxic waste anywhere else. And I’ve already had forms of it sitting in my mind for like 15 years anyways. It will go out into the world Somewhere, so here is good. I think probably it would be right that dealing with these 3 things would be ideal to be able to feel stuff normally again but honestly The cost is steep I don’t really want to

I don’t really know if I can afford to

For sure none of it makes me like ~a better person~ I think most people would interpret this as me being worse if they read it through. It is nothing that new to me. I don’t fully get how other people go their whole lives thinking so diff honestly. I’d say good for them because in theory they will experience the fullness of life then, but honestly they seem a lot worse off

Church was interesting to me in that during the sermon, it was mentioned how we tend to try and do everything on our own power without relying on God etc

And for sure, I have that in the weight I put on my errors

It isn’t as though God doesn’t work through these things as well

It isn’t as though I really can be perfect

Of course if I think about praying directly on matters like this, it’s actually terrifying I don’t really trust my interpretation of the world to be so correct that I could determine this line of thinking was bad. I’d be wrong somehow. I’d be asking for something bad when this was actually the right thing. So mostly sticking to things like guidance and wisdom requests because God knows the answer (Surely everything always has just the 1) /s

#Vio's Personal #A novel by me #I'm fine. I just did not think any of this was abnormal so I reflect #I wrote it on Sunday but I'm at computer now jnejkrn

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