#let us deal with existential angst like adults

[alfgifu]

analysing my own fic: the navel, the gaze, and the wanging on about it

So.

I used to be fairly active online in fandom-adjacent spaces but almost entirely as a lurker. I was still following various tumblr accounts through a feed-reader, but had otherwise kind of switched off for a decade or two. I spent more time online in other places, discussing religion and politics mostly, and hadn’t really done much for myself or for fun.

I kept writing, both at work and in my spare time. I got better at explaining things concisely and persuasively. I spent hours over drafts of novels that I knew were shit, partly because I wanted to improve but partly because [black hole of self-sabotage due to stress of undiagnosed autism].

In the autumn of 2022 I was doing what I imagine a lot of us did that year - getting my head around life adjustments after the acute phase of the pandemic. The trauma, the impact on my spouse and kids, the impact on my job. Jobs, I should say, because I had whirled through a lot of them in the previous couple of years and ended up somewhere I couldn’t have predicted and wouldn’t necessarily have wanted to land.

It was by chance that I found and enjoyed Victoria Goddard’s writing that year, when I was unsettled and reaching around for things to try. There was a link to a fan-run discord community in the afterword of At the Feet of the Sun and I was curious enough to check it out. I had been disengaging from social media for a while - algorithmic feeds drive me up the wall - but there seemed no harm in finding a new place to lurk.

I hadn’t realised that new arrivals are actively welcomed in discord servers. I also hadn’t realised how easy it is to join a voice channel by accident while you’re trying to figure yourself out. Two interactions with friendly people - enough to lower the internal friction to posting something else. And something else after that.

And I had been thinking, hadn’t I, that I might want to write some fanfiction? Twenty years of reading and not writing… It was surely my turn. It would be good practice, a chance to test myself on sharing fiction in public.

Perhaps, I thought, one or two people will read it. Perhaps I’ll get some feedback.

Welp.

I hadn’t allowed for how welcoming and supportive the community would be. I hadn’t realised how hungry a tiny fandom is for new content. I hadn’t known how addictive any kind of validation about my writing would prove.

Anyway my fingers slipped and

So that happened.

In November it’ll be two years since I joined the fandom; in December, two years since I first posted a fic chapter to AO3. It seems like a good time to take stock.

My writing pace has dropped like a brick in the past six months due to other life stressors, which has kiboshed both fanfic and the ambition to finish another original novel this year (and with it the hope to maybe, this time, writing something less shit and more shareable).

This month I’ve mostly been drawing Inktober doodles instead of writing. I hope to recover a bit that way. The other life events continue but unlike earlier this year the stresses seem likely to end in a good place - eventually! - and when things are less full-on I have to believe that the urge and capacity to write fiction will recover.

For now, having blown the dust off this tumblr, I’m going to do some processing by taking a look here at the various things I’ve written and contributed to over the past two years. I’m planning to reflect on how and why they came about, on what worked and what didn’t, and on what I learned from writing them.

[yoongsisbae]

Handshakes of a Lifetime - Chapter 6

BTS soulmate AU. OT7 x reader / Taehyung x reader focused in this chapter, slight Jungkook x reader and Namjoon x reader

Usually by the time I finish a chapter, I will have a nice chunk of the next chapter done, when I finished chapter 5 I had TWO SENTENCES FOR THIS CHAPTER cries, ugh this was a journey lol but I had fun along the way :). Also, I wanted to shoutout @missseoulite I remember having a really bad day when I saw your sweet comment about being eager for the new chap and just knowing someone cared enough to wish me safety and care about my well being, well it meant a lot to me, so this chapter is dedicated to you my dear!!!! <3

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: death, mention of a suicide, if you’re like me and don’t like to think about being old this chapter might trigger an existential crisis lol, cheating, men being sexist, angst but also fluffiness, sex with Taehyung, breeding kink, a character calls you and Tae children but you are two very grown adults I just wanted to make that super duper clear.

---

“I want to try, I think it would be worth it, you’ll be worth it.”

‘Why did he have to say that,’ you wince, looking over at the idol. He is beautiful, way out of your league, above you in every way, and he’s looking back at you like his whole world hangs in the balance. How could you reject him now. You groan.

You stand up. You place your palm in front of his face, your fingers splayed out, you can see his wide excited eyes in the gaps between them. You look at him expectantly. Taehyung nods, places his palm to yours, interlocking your fingers together.

Your heart thumps wildly as darkness fills the room. You open your eyes once you hear the familiar voice of your husband call out to you, “No need to fret anymore, my beloved. I’m here now.” Taehyung’s hand covers your old and frail fingers. You lie in your bed, body tired and weathered from all the years you’ve spent on this earth.

Your eyes roam over the room, taking in all the faces of your beautiful children and grandchildren. The pain in your tired joints fades as you focus on the man you’ve only grown to love more in all the years you’ve been together. It’s because of him you’ve lived a fulfilled life full of love. With him by your side you’re ready now.

You look up from your crouched position, the flowers you’ve picked lie fresh and pretty in your basket. You look to the dirt path where a man is running towards you. ‘What is a man doing here of all places?’ you think.

He comes to a stop once he sees you, hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. He looks young and beautiful, though his robes are askew and torn and his face glistens as sweat drips from his chin. You almost decide to ignore him and go back to your duties until you notice the red lines that peak from the uncovered parts of his torso. The cuts look painful. You hesitate, “Do you need some assistance?”

“Don’t mind me, fair maiden,” his breathing is still heavy as he speaks. He looks around, taking in his surroundings. ‘What is he looking for?’ you wonder. You can tell he is trying to hide his panic, but it comes through in his tense movements and jittery eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

Four men on horse approach you. You notice they are soldiers by the gold plates that cover their body. You hold the flower basket a little tighter to your chest. The first soldier speaks, “Have you seen a man come through this way?”

“You’re the only men I’ve seen for days.”

You feel their lewd stares on you, your stomach churns from the unwanted attention. One soldier dismounts his horse and stalks closer to you. “A pretty little thing like you wouldn’t dare lie to us?” he questions.

“I swear on goddess Athena.” You stand still and look to the ground as he invades your space. The soldier brings a calloused hand to your chin to make you look at him, his companions snickering at your discomfort.

“For days? You must be lonely, poor sweet thing you are.” The other soldiers dismount and circle you. You try to keep your face neutral from the disgust you feel as their eyes rake over your body.

“It is as I said,” your eyes shift to the marble walls of the temple behind you. “I would not lie in Athena’s name, I am protected by her watch.” You emphasize your last words, keeping your limbs close and suppressing your instincts to fight and draw this encounter out any longer than need be.

The men look over to the temple and begin to move closer to the entrance. You follow after them, dropping your basket and letting the flowers scatter into the dirt in your haste.

“No men shall enter, unless you want to face the wrath of the goddess herself,” you yell from behind them. The men laugh. You find the courage to pull at the leader’s armour to cease his advancing. “You will be cursed if you go in there, sir!”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide as he hides underneath the blanket you’ve covered him in. He removes his hand from the temple’s wall, and brings his knees up and off the floor, trying to touch as little as possible of his surroundings.

The men scoff at your words, the leader shoves you away but does not advance any closer. You’ve taken up enough of their time, and they need to find this criminal before The Queen bestows her own kind of punishment upon them.

“Be careful, girl. There is a dangerous man fleeing prosecution, pray to your Goddess we find him before you do.” You find their warning quite ironic as you watch the leader kick your basket. You assume in an attempt to be intimidating, but in your opinion it makes him look more like a petulant child, your brow ticks in annoyance.

Only when they are completely out of your sight do you let go of the breath you were holding. You run into the temple, crashing into the stranger as he runs out.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, his hands grabbing onto you to keep you from falling. Electricity zips through you as you both break away stunned. You rub at your arms to take away your goosebumps. The stranger lowers the hand that clutched at his chest, his wide eyes looking at you in question.

“Is it true? A curse is the last thing I need right now!” he laments. You giggle. The soldiers called this man dangerous?

“The rules say no man is to enter, yes.” His horrified expression makes you laugh even more. “But...they are more like guidelines,” you assure him. “Enough temple priestesses have brought their fair share of men back and nothing too sinister has happened yet, by the gods.”

It does little to lessen his worry. He looks at you skeptically. “I thought Athena’s priestesses were supposed to stay virginal in honor of the goddess’s protection.”

“Oh,” you offer him a smile, “that is her protection. It is perception that protects us.”

You eye the man, his features are sharp, striking; almost intimidating; but his aura is quite soft. “...protects us from men. In this world there are very few true heroes, I’m afraid most only live inside songs.”

He looks at you in understanding. “My apologies, you had to deal with those soldiers alone. I couldn’t do anything to defend you.” He winces at the thought, “For you to have shielded me instead, I thank you.” He offers you a deep bow and you feel butterflies dance in your chest.

“Can I ask as to why you’re running?”

He looks to the direction he came, unable to meet your eyes. “Ahh, well...I am in poor favor with The Queen.”

Your eyes widen, you’ve heard rumors of her beauty even in the remoteness of your area, and even more of her kingdom’s hedonism. The man in front of you is truly beautiful. He could be one of her lovers, you think, he most definitely looks the part. His robes though now disheveled are of expensive fabric and show off his lean body, and the way he holds himself you can’t imagine him to be a common worker. “So, you and The Queen, I see...”

“Oh! It’s not what you think...I’m a mere poet. I sing to The Queen and her Court, but she suddenly wanted more of me than I am willing to offer. I-I rejected her.”

Your eyes widen again. “That was most unwise.”

He smiles, his eyes cast down. “I can bear the weight of my faults. I plan to leave to another province.”

“You’ll rather leave your home? But it is The Queen!”

“As you can see, there is punishment in denying The Queen of her desires.”

You’re astonished. “I can’t imagine being with her to be so horrible you’d choose to run instead, give up all you’ve acquired?”

“I rather give myself to someone for love.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken at his words, ‘so idealistic.’ You’ve never encountered an individual with such delicate presence, a trait you find most unconventional. A smile pulls at one of the corners of your mouth, “Aphrodite must favor you.”

Taehyung laughs, his eyes softening, “Thank you again, someone must favor me to put you in my path.” His warm dark eyes hold your gaze. “I mustn’t stay too long…”

“Yes, of course! Well then…” You falter in your farewell. He struggles with the decision to leave. Taehyung knows he must, The Queen’s soldiers could come riding through again at any moment, and he doesn’t want to think of the punishment they would bestow upon you if they learned of your lies, so why can’t he seem to let go of your company?

He notices the trampled flowers littered on the ground around you, the colorful petals lay beautiful and ruined, a fate he worries will become yours if he doesn’t make haste. He picks up an unbroken blossom. “Thank you again.” He places the flower in your palms, a warmth spreads over you through your fingertips as you hold your breath in reverence. His thumbs stroke your fingers gently, and then he nods at you one last time and moves to run again. You feel a pressure building in your throat, unready to bid him farewell, and you don’t understand why this man whom you’ve just met is affecting you so. His kindness and his gentleness makes your body yearn to learn more. What can you do, he’s a stranger and not yours to keep, you must let him go.

His flower stays cradled in your hands, you feel your chest tighten more and more with each step he takes that brings another stretch of distance between your bodies. Your limbs itch to move. What should you do? It is what you want to do that makes you so afraid. You silently ask Athena for guidance. It is only when he turns past the treeline and out of sight that you can’t take it any longer.

You run into the temple. You race to your small quarters, and gather anything you deem valuable, not very much. Pushing down the thoughts that tell you you’re acting crazed and without reason, you fasten your belongings to your body. You race out of the temple's entrance and crash once again into a body that jolts your nerve endings with an undeniable energy. You stare into his eyes once more, the man you saved. He looks down at you, eyes wide with surprise but full of mirth.

A horse carries you and Taehyung farther North. You travel in comfortable silence, as your hands rest snugly around his waist. After riding with him for so long, you are no longer shy to hold him, accustomed to being pressed up against his back. You listen to the steady rhythm of horse hooves against the earth. It is peaceful and you find yourself smiling against Taehyung’s back.

The bright lush green landscape turns dark and threatening as the two of you ride past an abandoned village. The wooden wreckage smolders still. You gasp at the sight, so many homes lost. Taehyung taps the horse’s body with his foot to quicken its step.

“Stop!” You yell at Taehyung once you notice a shift amongst the rubble. You jump off before he properly stops his stead, running towards the wreckage to confirm what you thought you had witnessed.

Taehyung runs after you, warning you to be careful. Once you reposition a large plank of wood, you gasp at what you see. There’s a bleeding old woman pinned underneath, still alive. You call for Taehyung’s help, the both of you pulling her as delicately as you can manage from beneath the rubble.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive, it’s a miracle by The Gods.” Taehyung holds the old woman’s hand as you run to the horse to fetch a canteen of water.

“Oh, a miracle yes,” the old woman coughs out, “fate has blessed me after much burden.”

You work to clean her skin of dried blood and ash, offering her water to drink. “What can we do to help?”

“My walking stick, it is most important.” Her eyes stay closed shut in pain, as she gestures to the place you’ve pulled her from. Taehyung rummages around until he pulls an item from the wreckage, an impressive staff decorated with gold markings and a large green gem adorned at its apex.

The old woman offers Taehyung her gratitude, feeling much more at ease she opens her eyes to look at the pair of you. You stare into the old woman’s clouded grey eyes in surprise.

“Thank you child, but hurry, the rain will wash the flames away, but will halt your journey for the day.” Taehyung looks upwards at the old woman’s words, white clouds are traveling across the bright clear blue sky.

You can’t leave the blind woman alone after everything she’s been through. “If it’s going to rain, please let us take you to the next village for shelter.” She nods and walks staff in hand towards Taehyung’s horse.

“Only a bit further, we will make it before it rains,” the old blind woman promises. Sounds of thunder echo faintly in the background. The sun is no longer out, hidden behind dark grey storm clouds. You shiver and rub the exposed skin of your arms for comfort next to Taehyung as the two of you walk next to his horse. He grasps your hand and pulls you closer to him. He radiates warmth. You never know how to react to his kind gestures. You look up at him and meet his gaze, sending him a shy smile. He rubs his thumb on your knuckles, smiling brightly back. If his intentions were to make you warm, he succeeded, your heart feels full.

“This is a farming community. They are a kind people who serve Demeter, the two of you are safe here,” At the old woman’s declarations you and Taehyung look at each other, exchanging unspoken words.

“This is where our paths must diverge. If you continue to follow this road, you’ll find sanctuary for the night, I promise.” Taehyung helps the old blind woman down from his horse. “Thank you again, children. I don’t have anything to offer you in return for your help, but I can give you some words of wisdom.” She smiles kindly at you both.

The old blind woman still holds Taehyung’s hand in hers. She turns his palm upward, her fingers trace the lines of his hand. You watch her curiously. “Ahh, your soul holds so much talent, you’ll find it’s both a blessing and a curse.” You giggle, Taehyung shoots you a look, his lips curving into a half smile. “Ahh, you know of it already. In the future, you’ll have a great choice to make, I can’t choose for you, but as someone who's lived many years and knows how dreadful and gray the world can become, my advice is to choose the path of love.”

“Always,” Taehyung’s eyes cast a look over to you and you feel shy once more under his gaze.

She brings her hand to Taehyung’s face to pat his cheek. “Dear child, too beautiful for your own good. It won’t be easy for you, for either of you, this path before you. Hermes wings have found your heels, you won’t find much rest in this life.” She looks sympathetic as her head turns towards you.

“Much like the universe has brought you to me, I see destiny is not a stranger.” She smiles at you knowingly. You hold your breath as she reaches for your hand, studying your palm alongside Taehyung’s. “Your souls...they have been linked together. I see the red string of fate wrapped tightly around you both.”

You find yourself wanting to believe her. Her words seem heartfelt and true, and you can’t deny her strong aura despite her fragile appearance. You catch Taehyung’s eyes again. Has he been looking at you this entire time? She continues, “This bond you have is quite unbreakable, not even death can cut what tethers you together.” She studies your hand more carefully, “Ahh, peculiar...”

“Do you see something worrisome?” you ask, concerned.

“It is nothing to worry dear, you have much love that surrounds you. Let yourself love. There will be those who will try to keep you apart, but take it from an old old woman, love is a stronger force than even the gods can imagine. It glitters brighter than gold and gives you riches greater than Kings. In the end, you’ll find a way.”

You think of her words all night. You look over to your companion, he sleeps peacefully next to you. Do you love him? Is this love? Is he your destiny? You pray to Athena for answers, but only more questions arise in your mind.

You think to the day you first met him, the memory bringing a smile to your face. You left with him, in the end. It was you who found the courage to ask him to take you with him, on the premise of wanting to see the world while moving to another temple. You expected him to let you down gently, you remember his hesitation still, but instead he had not refused you, and you have been traveling with him ever since. Being with Taehyung filled the holes of loneliness that punctured your existence before meeting. Your world had been small, consisting only within the temple’s walls. Now your world feels infinite, it’s thrilling and terrifying, and at the center of it all is Taehyung, gentle and kind and sincere in his affection.

---

You are jostled from your sleep. Taehyung pulls you gently from your bed, his lips placing tender kisses across your forehead as he pulls you to your feet. “I’m sorry, we have to leave again.”

This is not the first time you've had to run, or the second or third. So you pack the things you cannot part with and say goodbye to the rest.

Taehyung, the beautiful poet with a voice that can capture any audience's attention, has always been able to afford you both a roof and a meal. Taehyung’s performances become the talk of whatever acropolis you find yourself in, and his fame grows until his looks and voice catch the attention of someone too important to ignore. Fame is a wonderful thing until it becomes too much, too demanding, and all too quickly can Taehyung’s admirers turn into attackers, vilifying his every action. When that happens he decides to run, and you follow. You worry if it goes on like this you’ll have no more places left to run to.

You liked this place the most, it pangs your heart to lose your home again, but you know your true home is in Taehyung’s arms. You pack as many mementos of this place as you can carry, and hold the rest of your memories close in your heart.

---

“Like this,” you pull your bow back and look to the trees ahead where three pheasants sit perched. You choose the biggest bird and aim your arrow. You make sure Taehyung is studying your form and then you let the arrow go. The bird squawks sharply before falling to the ground, and the others scatter to the sky.

“See!” you laugh at Taehyung’s astonished face.

“How are you so much better at this than me?” The poet whines as you hand him back his bow and arrow. You laugh again. You and Taehyung have been learning to survive by yourselves through trial and error, more error than not. You’ve never had to hunt for food before, but you quickly found yourself skilled, and you think it’s quite fun. At least when you’re not starving, stomach already full from fresh berries Taehyung had picked for you to share. He had picked you flowers as well. They sit in your hair in an intricate pattern after you complained to him you couldn’t eat flowers. You slowly remove the arrow bag from around your neck, so as not to ruin the halo he so carefully crafted.

“I caught it, so you cook it,” you tease.

He brings your hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “That, my fair maiden, I can do!”

---

It is late and Taehyung has not arrived home. His performance should have been done hours ago. You try not to let your thoughts wander into the dark depths of your worst fears as you settle into a restless unease. Your home is quiet and still, too quiet. You keep your ears focused as you wander around the house.

It goes from quiet to chaos too quickly, you hear shouting in the distance. A hand grabs your mouth before you can scream, you start to kick but strong arms hold you tightly. Taehyung shushes you as he pulls you to the back entrance of your home.

You’re running into the woods with the poet, he pulls you to the ground and holds you beneath him. From the bushes you watch men with swords circle your house. You feel violated as you watch them enter your home. Crashes inside make you flinch in Taehyung's arms. “We’ll go back to fetch our things once they leave,” he shushes you.

The soft warm glow of your house becomes bright, light filling up the night sky as a fire breaks out and the men continue to destroy your home. Taehyung covers your mouth to stifle your cries and holds you close to him, whispering countless apologies. You can only whimper in his arms, your shoulders shake in grief as you watch everything you own go up in flames.

When you first came to this place, you and Taehyung stood out too much for the villagers' liking. You were strangers, you didn’t look like them, and they targeted you constantly for the pettiest of things. But this area was remote so you endured their hateful ways. It didn’t help matters when Taehyung, a much better singer than the locals before him, was offered an audience with the region’s King. Taehyung never made an appearance, letting other singers he befriended attend in his place, hoping to gain some favor with the locals, but it only angered the King. Feeling insulted, he killed the poets. And now, with enemies at both ends, and anger consuming the villagers, Ares wrath scorched your home to the ground.

You’re quiet next to Taehyung. Your feet ache from walking. No horse, no food in days. It’s nightfall and cold, you wear his cloak and shiver still. You walk beside the poet, but he feels oceans away. His usual bright eyes are dull and full of sorrow. You didn’t realize how accustomed you were to his touch until he had stopped. Your body aches to be in his arms, to hold his hand while you walk. You feel loneliness twist around you instead.

It is Taehyung who breaks the silence. He speaks softly, “There is a famous temple of Athena in this city, hopefully we can convince them to let you stay.”

The idea revolts you, pulling at the pit of your stomach. The thought of going back to your old ways, as if it would be a reprieve or something you missed, makes you nauseated.

“No.”

“I thought it would be enough...I-I was naive. I’m truly cursed. I can sing all about love, paint beautiful stories of love’s triumph, but when I cannot give you anything else but my devotion, it’s not enough. I can’t stand to watch you wither away in front of me. You deserve more.”

“The oracle said-”

“What kind of life is this for you?” He stops walking, his voice breaks in his anguish. “I-I’m sorry. I should have never taken you away from safety into this reckless existence. This should have been my burden alone.” Tears fall down his face as he shudders. You reach for him, cup his face in your hands. How can you make him see he’s all you want? He lets you wipe away his tears. You pull his head down to meet yours.

“What kind of life is this? The best life I’ve ever could have wished for. A life full of love. I’d trade everything I have for you.” You brush your lips against his, it stops his tears. His eyes fill with adoration, a blazing intensity that makes your heartbeat quicken.

“Stop this worrying, let’s go.” You grab his hand and pull him along. The silence hangs heavy in the air, the stillness of the night frightens you.

“Sing me a song please.”

“From now on I’ll only sing for you.” Taehyung says his words quietly, but his resolve thunders to the heavens, shaking the course of your lives.

The light of day shines through your open window, it illuminates the thin white fabric pulled over your head and wakes you. The white cloth flitters in the breeze of your bedroom and you catch a peak of the handsome man lying next to you. His dark warm eyes are already open as he watches you stretch your sleepiness away. He lifts his head, pulling the sheet higher, so he can get a better look at you, “Good morning, my beloved.”

Taehyung’s dark hair and tan skin against the glowing white backdrop of your bed sheets makes him look ethereal. You watch him in awe, “Good morning, dear husband.”

Your body feels heavy and rested. Your bare skin is warm against his and the sun heated sheet, the soft fabric pulls over your bodies, everything is so soft and warm.

Taehyung buries his head in your chest, smiling against your skin. “I love you.”

Your fingers play with the curls of his hair. “And I love you.”

Underneath the covers, you create your own little world, away from the responsibilities of your lives, the expectations of the day.

Taehyung runs his lips across your naked chest, kissing, licking, biting all over your body. You giggle at his playful teasing touches. “You’re perfection, so soft and pretty.” He captures your lips in a kiss, moving his mouth against yours slowly as his body rests between your legs. His hands find your waist and pull at your skin as he explores your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your moans.

Your legs wrap around his torso, you can feel him growing against your slick core. Taehyung's fingers find yours and he intertwines them together, pulling your arms above your head. He nibbles on the sensitive skin below your jaw.

“You smell so good,” he moans, “you taste so good.” His low baritone voice sends shivers down your body. You whimper, breathless from his caresses. He thrusts in slowly, rolling his body into you, slow and steady until you’re both feverish from mounting pleasure. “What do you want, my love?”

“Just you, please, I want all of you.”

He rolls you over so your body is on top of him. “You have me forever. Now show me how much you want me.” Your playful lover bites his lower lip, pulling on your hips to make you move against him. Your body moves up and down his length, Taehyung’s moans and devastating lustful looks spur you on to please him.

You roll your hips faster, so close to release. Taehyung notices your frenzied state and grabs your hips to hold you still, thrusting up into you instead. His hard length fills you up so deliciously. His grip on you is searing yet soft, you focus on his body below you, his tight muscles and golden skin. “I-I’m close.”

“Touch yourself for me.”

The room fills with sinful noises as your bodies converge again and again and you cry out in euphoria. Taehyung stills inside you as you reach your high, mesmerized by the way your body twist in pleasure in his arms.

Taehyung lays your trembling body down against the soft sheets of your bed, grinding his hips into you as you continue to pulse around him. “Eyes open, look at me my love.”

You struggle with his command, but hold his gaze as best you can, his physique shines with sweat and his hungry eyes roam over your spent body, the erotic way he looks at you ignites the desire in between your legs once again.

He’s so close to release. Taehyung quickens his pace, making you tighten around him, senses overloaded. You moan, encouraging him to keep going.

“You’ll let me fill you up? Have my baby?” His long fingers find your sensitive nub, applying pressure and making you cry out.

“Y-yes!” You can only feel blinding pleasure as Taehyung thrusts into you deeper.

“How beautiful you’ll be, glowing and pregnant with my baby growing inside of you.” He groans. Your stomach tightens as his cock swells, pressure filling you before you feel yourself snapping again. Taehyung’s own release following, your tightness too much for him to handle.

You hold him close to you as you both work to steady your breathing, “We have to start baking soon,” you softly remind him, “before the market opens.”

Taehyung cuddles closer to you, “It’s okay, they’ll wait for my bread, it is the best in the city.” He grins, kneading at your breasts with his large hands. You laugh, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay okay, we’ll stay a bit longer.”

Your children gather around you in prayer. You take in a ragged breath. Your bedridden aging body feels heavy. Soft light begins to cloud the edges of your vision as you listen to the wistful voices of your sons and daughters shower you with love. Taehyung's fingers brush against your wrinkled digits.

“My beautiful wife, how I missed you.”

You call out his name. Your eldest daughter soothes you, brushing her hand over your forehead. You thought you would be afraid once teetering on the edge of your own mortality, but with him here, holding you again, fear is unable to reach you. You’re already so full of love.

Taehyung comes into your focus, still beautiful in his old age, still the gentle man you love, he places a feather light kiss on your temple. Relief washes through you, the currents pull the burdens on your soul away, and you feel light, floating between worlds.

“I’ve waited for you,” Taehyung’s deep voice fills your mind, “Are you ready to travel with me again?” You know your answer, innate as the love you felt when you first met him.

You take one final breath, letting go and following Taehyung again.

---

Your eyes flutter open. You’re lying face down on the hotel bed. As your eyes begin to focus, you are met with the singer’s face next to yours. Taehyung is lying on his back next to you, grinning from ear to ear, your fingers are still interlocked by your heads.

“What happened?” you whisper.

“I don’t know, I think we passed out, I woke up right before you opened your eyes.”

He looks at you, still beaming, a boxy smile plastered on his face. You try not to smile back. He shouldn’t be this happy!

“That wasn’t bad. You made it sound bad.” he pouts.

You hum, looking at your still intertwined fingers. You study the smooth skin of your hands, the wrinkles and veins you’d seen now only a fleeting memory. You feel tired.

Taehyung feels like he’s just woken up from a long dream. Memories of last night feel far away, more distant than memories presumably lived centuries ago. He focuses on the only constant, you.

“Do you regret it?”

You let out a deep exhale, you move your hand to trace his cheek, his nose, his eyebrow; he watches you quietly. You flick him on the forehead.

Taehyung yelps, looking quite betrayed by your actions. You smile, and his expression switches easily back to happiness. “It’s okay, you don’t have to admit I’m right,” he teases.

You let out a huff, “Doesn’t it bother you? It should bother you! Why is this happening...it’s exhausting...”

Taehyung wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to his body. “I don’t care why,” he mumbles into your hair. Your breath catches in your throat as he cuddles closer to you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your heart pounds. You try to stay calm. “No,” you whisper.

His arms tighten around your frame. His warmth envelopes you, it feels like there’s fire inside you, burning down all your apprehensions.

“So this is how it feels. I thought I understood Jungkook. But this is....” you feel his body vibrate as he laughs to himself. “It’s not something you can put into words, right? I understand what he means, about not wanting to let you go.”

Closing your eyes you can picture yourself being in a different place, a different land, another time, you let yourself relax into Taehyung’s embrace. You can feel his hands caress your body, his long fingers travel to the back of your neck and down your spine and the curve of your back.

“I know I’ve never hugged you, but it feels like I’ve done this a hundred times before. Like you belong with me.” His voice is low in your ears. You try to ignore how you feel, how true his words are, but you can't.

“Right? At least admit that to me, y/n.” He whispers. His fingers dig into your skin as he pulls you even closer.

“Hm?”

“You belong with me.”

“I-” A knock on your door makes you break away from him. Taehyung flops on his back, sighing. You open the door to the youngest and oldest members smiling at you.

“Good morning!” You internally wince at your unusually high voice. Jungkook looks over your shoulder, noticing movement inside your room. He sees Taehyung sitting cross legged on your bed, leaning back on his palms with a grin on his face. Jungkook’s doe eyes go wide as his head turns slowly over to the eldest, who then mirrors his expression. Their surprised faces would be comical to you if you didn’t feel responsible for their reactions.

Everyone’s silence is making your stomach twist into knots. You clear your throat. “I touched his hand, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Unable to meet their eyes, you feel the need to add, “That’s all that happened. So...okay, let’s go!”

---

Everyone is sitting in the penthouse, around the coffee table filled with plates piled high with different breakfast foods. Some are sitting on the floor, some on the couch with plates in their laps. Jin ushers you next to an open spot next to J-Hope and sits on your other side. Taehyung and Jungkook have been quietly talking behind you and find seats in the empty gaps.

“The food here is really good,” Hoseok says in between bites as Jin serves you a plate. He smiles brightly at you. Hoseok wishes he wasn't so apprehensive with you. He aches to get to know you, learn all your quirks, learn about your childhood and what makes you happy so he can shower you with more of it; and what makes you sad so he can make sure you never experience it again. But he's too scared, Hoseok feels too much guilt.

His hair is messy and sticking up in weird angles, you resist the urge to fix it. ‘Just keep your hands to yourself, y/n. He’s not your friend,’ you chant in your head. You look around at the men, cozy and warm in their group. You realize how much of an outsider you are.

“Here,” Jin places a triangle of sweet toast on your already overflowing plate. You eat quietly while the members talk to themselves and check their phones. It feels nice, like a big family dinner on the holidays. You watch Hoseok take a selfie with his phone, a minute later you feel your phone vibrate with a notification.

“You posted to twitter just now?” Hoseok notices the panic in your voice as you magnify the picture to make sure there’s no item or reflection that might incriminate you.

“Err yes, why?” he scoots closer to you to see what you’re doing.

“I just-didn’t think it was that easy.” You scroll quickly through your timeline now that you’ve made sure you’re safe, Jin and Hoseok both moving in your space to stare at your phone much to your dismay and you think it’s time to put it away after the third photo of Namjoon’s toned arms pop up on your feed.

After stuffing yourselves full, the time has come to address the elephant in the room. The members take turns reliving the moments of last night, and in Taehyung’s case this morning, explaining everything so the group could all remain on the same page.

Namjoon should have been upset, once Taehyung shocked the rest of the group by speaking, but being in the same predicament himself, he was not surprised to learn Taehyung sought you out, he had barely slept toying with the idea himself.

You don’t talk much, just confirm certain details. You noticed how the men glossed over the most tragic parts of your visions, and you don’t care to interject. You learned new things as well...

Jimin finding his way back to your farm, only to find it destroyed and you gone, and unable to live with himself after that. You can’t meet each other's eyes when you tell him your own version of events.

Jin wanted to propose, he had picked out a ring, a bright blue gem like the ocean.

Taehyung had convinced you he stopped singing as a bard because he grew to hate it, but he confessed, to your suspicion, that wasn’t the case at all. He promised you he never once regretted his decision.

Hoseok took the job as a DJ because when you were younger you were obsessed with your local station, swooning over the DJ's voice and always calling in to win contests for you and Hoseok. He always had an affinity for music, but mostly he did it for you, to impress you.

Yoongi almost didn’t admit he had never really left your side, how he never stopped protecting you. That had shocked you the most. Your heart screams to comfort him, to comfort all of them.

Jungkook excitedly tells you everything he had planned for your escape, he used his life’s savings to find you and him a new home far away. He tells you how if you both had succeeded you would have been so happy with him.

It felt weird. All these lives inside you itching to burst through, you didn’t feel like yourself anymore. You meet the idol’s eyes sitting next to you, and when he looks at you so tenderly, you wonder who he really sees.

“Yoongi’s life was the coolest.” The quiet rapper keeps his head down, only nodding in acknowledgement at Jimin’s comment.

“Well I liked mine,” Taehyung declares. “Which one was your favorite, y/n?”

“I’m not answering that,” you mutter, growing hot under the sudden attention.

“Hmm I don’t see a connection.” Namjoon hums. “Apart from y/n.”

“Should there be one?”

“I’m assuming nothing strange like this has ever happened to you before?” Namjoon turns to you. You shake your head. “Have you ever had dreams, um, of us?”

“No! I mean-what? No.” You pull the neck of Jungkook’s hoodie over your mouth to hide your embarrassment, with no intention on admitting anything. What does dreaming have to do with this?

Namjoon stays silent in thought. Should he tell the group now?

“I should probably go now.” It’s no longer morning after talking for so long. You have a life to go back to; chores, work. You hope being back in your home will make you feel more like the old you, before everything you thought you knew was turned upside down.

Jungkook stands up, “Why!”

“I have work in the morning? Not everyone is a famous world class musician,” You try to keep your tone light, but you’re bothered.

His lips press into a tight line. “I know, just…”

You have responsibilities, a job to go to tomorrow, you don’t want to entertain the wild fantasies arising in your mind at the way he looks at you so pleadingly to stay. “I can’t stay here all day.” You stand up as well, the members’ eyes dart back and forth between you and Jungkook, like they were watching fighters in a match.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Jungkook blurts out.

You close your eyes and rub at your temples. It’s becoming too hard, to keep pushing these feelings away, you cannot allow yourself to feel things for these men. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. What do you want from me?”

Jungkook speaks louder, “Do you not want to be with me?”

“I’m-that’s not-it’s not that simple. You don’t even know me! Do you want to be with me-”

“Yes.”

You let out an incredulous laugh and look around the room, but the men look starkly serious. You focus on the youngest again, raising your voice so everyone can hear you clearly. “I’m a nobody. You don’t know me. Name one thing you know about me other than my name...name my favorite color! If you can name my favorite color I’ll sta-”

Jungkook names your favorite color. His eyes piercing through you. Your breath catches in your throat.

‘How did he-wait...was it her favorite color too?’ Tears well up in your eyes. “...I’m not her.”

Jungkook winces at your words, “You’re right, I don’t know who you are right now. But you are...I know you are...the woman I fell in love with. What are you so afraid of?”

You look down at the ground to your feet. You can only shake your head at him and keep your mouth shut so you don’t start crying in front of them. You feel a hand wrap around yours and you already know who it is. You yank your hand away. If Yoongi is hurt, he doesn’t show it to you.

“I’m sorry, I know my life is difficult, that I’m a ‘famous musician,’ but isn’t it better than a poor stable worker? Can’t you see how meeting you again, this might be, maybe...fate?”

A pained laugh escapes your throat, letting go of the pressure you built up in your forced silence. “Oh my god. This is not happening.” Yes, maybe you can finally admit what happened was real, but what does that change? It’s not like you can run away with him in this life either, the entire world recognizes him now.

Your hands hold your head, your nails dig into your skin to concentrate on anything other than Jungkook’s continuing pleas. It’s just laughable to think this idol is begging you to stay with him. A sick thought invades your mind that maybe you’re doomed to repeat your transgressions. The memory of his bleeding body flashes in your mind, you’re not meant to be with them, how could you be? They’re the most famous singers in the world, yeah, you are afraid.

Jimin tries to calm down the youngest, “Kookie, you can’t force her to stay here…”

Jungkook is beside himself. He feels you slipping through his fingers again, away from him and even if it’s different now, it feels too sickeningly similar.

“Hyung please, you’ve been with non-idols, please talk to her...please!” Jungkook is crying, begging Jin.

A strangled sob escapes your throat at his cries. Hoseok rushes over to you, but you scramble away from his touch. You know you’ll break the second you let him comfort you.

Jin’s heart is breaking; for Jungkook, for you, for himself. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s just afraid as Jungkook of letting you go. Finally Namjoon decides to take control of the situation, the only one with a clear head. “Everyone leave. Now. Y/n deserves her space, and we still have four more days left in this city. Alright go!” The boys pull each other away, holding onto each other for strength, trusting their leader.

Yoongi pats a crying Jungkook on the back, “It’s okay, Joon will convince her.”

---

Your eyes hurt from crying, puffy and dark. You feel pathetic. Your head is pounding, you lean against the car window as you watch the blur of the city go past.

“Here.” Namjoon sits across from you, leaving the middle seat open. He hands you a cell phone.

You hold the sleek new model in your hand, “What is this?”

“It’s a hand phone,” the idol says teasingly.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh. “What is this for?”

“For you, to contact us.” Namjoon shrugs, “If you want to.” You sit in silence as his driver takes you home.

“You haven’t asked to touch my hand. Do you not want to?” You ask, sneaking a glance at the rapper.

“Of course I want to,” he speaks softly. “It’s all I’ve thought about since I saw you. But you’ve gone through a lot. I’ll let you decide if it’s something you want to do, and when you’re ready I’ll be here.”

You bite your lip. “For four more days.”

Namjoon smiles, his dimples on display. “Yes, I’m guessing you didn’t get tickets for the next city?”

“No, I wish. Those fanmeet tickets weren’t exactly cheap.”

Namjoon chuckles softly, “Ahh sorry.”

“Well, I did get a free breakfast with BTS, lucky me,” you hum. He nods, his eyes cast down. You hope he didn’t catch any bitterness in your tone, under any circumstance you would be dying of happiness.

You let the silence envelope you again, as you start to recognize the streets, you’re getting closer to home and to being left alone. You sigh, running your hands over your face, “Oh god, this is a mess.”

“I don’t think it is. I think there’s a reason for everything. And I think there’s a reason why this happened to you. To all of us.”

“What could that reason be?” You ask him genuinely, maybe the genius idol sees something you don’t.

“I don’t know. I do know it’s lonely being an idol. It’s hard to love, to find someone to love you and not break under the constant pressure.”

“I don’t know if I can be that person.”

“Well to me, it sounds like you’ve already been that person.” You want to scoff, but the sincere look in his eyes makes you stop. The GPS signals your arrival home.

The air is heavy as you gather up the strength to leave, “I will message you later, I promise. Just give me some time.”

You watch the expensive van leave your entrance. You couldn’t see through the dark tinted windows, but you had a feeling the idol was watching you, so you held yourself together and waved goodbye.

---

You know you should have just gone inside your home, but you had something to do first, it was driving you mad not knowing. So now you stand in front of a door that’s not your own still in clothes that are not your own. You send a text of your arrival and knock.

“Hi!” You pretend you aren’t exhausted, “I just have to try something-”

He looks at you dumbfounded as you grab his hand and start shaking it. Nothing. ‘Of course, just wonderful.’ You switch to two hands, shaking more forcefully.

“What’s going on...” his voice is shaky from the intense movements of your greeting. ‘Why is nothing happening, why is it only them, Ugh, why!’

“Earth to y/n...” why why why why.

He grabs your arms to stop your movements “Hey, are you okay? You never responded to my calls, I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you look into his concerned eyes. It feels like eons ago, whatever budding feelings you had for him. Why.

“Do you want to come in?”

“No, I better go.”

“You came all the way over here and you don’t want to tell me how last night went? You meet BTS and now you’re acting all crazy! You didn’t decide to leave me for one of them, did you?” your friend jokes.

“Ah ha aha…”

He raises his eyebrow at you. “I have work tomorrow...I just wanted to see you.” It’s the truth, you’re not lying. “I’m sorry for not responding last night. I’ll see you later?”

He gives you a kiss goodbye. ‘Oh no.’ It all feels so wrong.

---

The first day, you send Jungkook an apology. He sends you a ton of voice memos and selfies, just happy to talk to you again. You respond with light replies, trying not to dig your hole any deeper.

The second day, that night you break down. You send all the boys a simple “hi”. Yoongi, Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Namjoon all respond. They send messages about their day. Jin sends you a picture of his food. Yoongi says he misses you. Against your better judgement you tell him you miss him too. Suspiciously, after your reply Jungkook and Taehyung message that they miss you seconds apart from one another. You tell them you miss them too, when Taehyung says he wants to see you, you’re too scared to respond.

The third day you stay busy with work. Hoseok sends you a picture of the sunset, his first message to you, nothing else. You wait until the night comes and send a picture of the moon from your window, and ���Goodnight. Sweet dreams.’

The fourth day the pressure becomes too much. You hover over the call button all day but you can’t do it. By dinner time, you get a call from Jungkook. You try to swallow down the tears you’ve cried all day and sound cheerful when you answer.

“I just wanted to call before we get on the plane,” he says.

‘It’s too late. No.’ you think. “I’m sorry, tell Namjoon I’m so sorry. I should have seen him before you all left, I should have...”

“Don’t worry y/n. No one blames you.”

“That doesn’t mean what I did was okay. I wanted to see you all again.”

“You did?” The way his voice becomes more cheerful tugs at your heart. “You can make it up to us by talking more. Can I video chat with you later?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, got to go...Bye Beautiful.” He sounds like he’s in a much better mood, you can hear the teasing lilt to his words.

Weeks go by. You keep your promise. It’s easier communicating through the screen of your phone. You can imagine them to be online friends, people who are not famous. Some conversations stay light, some become deeper. They pry information from your life, learning more and more about you, and you feel yourself getting attached to their morning greetings and late night calls. Meanwhile, with family and friends you try to act like everything is normal, keeping this weird new world hidden, but you’re still constantly haunted by your memories with them. Your past lives play through your mind all day long and replace your dreams. Everything else felt so wrong now, so not you anymore, so gray. You feel like a bad friend, a bad daughter, a cheater.

---

Namjoon wakes up, groaning, his body still heavy from sleep. He quickly changes into a pair of slacks and a button down shirt. He chooses a forest green vest to wear, like the plants in his room. He runs pomade in his hair before heading downstairs to get ready for the morning.

He unlocks the door to his bookstore, before he can turn around the door opens with a loud ding. You walk in and make a beeline to the center table. Namjoon laughs, “Back so soon?”

“Of course, I’m so bored! My crops won’t be harvestable for another couple of months. Any other recommendations? I loved your last one.” You smile brightly at the bookstore owner, he’s always so kind to you and doesn’t make you feel like an outsider when you visit. If you could, you would spend all day in his store, talking about the latest novels and picking each other's brains. “Before I forget! For you...” You hand him two jars of homemade jam.

You're his favorite customer. And if Namjoon is being honest, he has a crush on you. He pulls a book from high above a shelf, a pristine copy. “This one, it should keep you busy.” Your eyes sparkle as you take in the large leather bound novel, gold letters adorning it’s spine. “How much?”

“Don’t worry, this one time I’ll take jam as payment.”

“No, that was a present,” you pout.

“Well, then this is a present for you.”

“Sir, if you don’t let me pay, I will throw a fit! I need you to stay in business.” It’s always like this with him, you’ll be damned if he doesn’t let you show him how much you appreciate him.

Namjoon laughs, “Alright alright. Then promise me you’ll come visit as soon as you finish.”

You nod, holding your new purchase close to your heart. He watches you leave, his eyes lingering on your body. You hold onto his book like a prized trophy. It’s another thing he loves about you, the way you treat things with so much care. His eyes still linger on you as you stand outside his shop. He sees a stranger run into you, you stumble back and almost fall, he rushes to the door to help you but stops in his tracks as the man's face comes into focus. “Jimin?”

Namjoon wakes up startled. He runs his hands through his hair, disturbed at what he saw. He’s covered in sweat, inside the cold room of his bedroom. Every night he’s had dreams of you, but this one was different. Should he go talk to someone about it? Who would believe him? He feels like every day he’s slowly getting closer to losing his mind. Today is going to be a long day full of press junkets. He rubs at his eyes trying to forget what he saw, what he felt.

---

Today you decide to call Namjoon. Usually, you’ll wait until one of the members decides to call you, but you had to talk to him before you lost your nerve. He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, I can’t talk for that long, is everything okay?” you can hear how busy it is in the background.

“No it’s my fault! I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, of course you would be busy. Call me when you’re free.”

“No! I have some time, we can talk.” You hear him shuffling to a quieter location.

Are you going to regret this? You take a deep breath. “I want to see you again. I-I don’t want to forget about what happened and go back to my life like everything is normal when it's not. You were right. I’m sorry...I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.” You wait for Namjoon’s response, the silence fills you with anxiety. You would completely understand if he brushes you off now.

“I’ll figure something out. Okay y/n?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

That night Namjoon sends you a series of text messages with instructions. Your eyes go wide over the new information. You look around your home, you know you should feel some sadness, but only excitement bubbles inside you. ‘I guess this is it.’ How are you going to explain this to your family and friends, to your boyfriend? A special internship in South Korea, you guess is how you’ll start.

---Three Months Later---

Namjoon splashes cold water on his face, he looks up into his bathroom mirror and blinks at his reflection. Namjoon’s eyes are not his.

Namjoon wakes up yelling. He falls back into bed, catching his breath. He checks the time. You should be on the plane right now. The idol rapper has always appreciated the wealth he’s accumulated over the years, but he feels especially grateful in this moment, now that he has found himself in a position of power large enough to secure you with a translation job within his own company.

---

A man holds a sign with your name on it. You walk towards him, your suitcase ticking on the airport concrete as it rolls on the ground behind you. You spent the last three months preparing for this, studying over language books every night and saying goodbye to family and friends. Your parents didn’t understand your sudden change of career, but you promised them the pay was better and it wouldn’t be forever. Your boyfriend was not so understanding, especially when you wouldn’t give him any details as to why you’re leaving the county. You and him weren’t even that serious to begin with but the breakup was messy.

You followed the driver’s instructions once he dropped you off in front of a very posh looking complex, entering key codes, up the elevator, down the hall, until you stood in front of the correct numbered door. You use the key he gave you to unlock the large door and walk into a massive apartment. Every member is already inside, waiting for you. You feel relief wash over you, you can’t help but smile at the group. They cheer at your arrival, you notice balloons and a makeshift welcome sign. The mood is definitely much more relaxed from the last time you all gathered together.

“Is this your place?” You ask as Jungkook takes your suitcase.

“No, this is your apartment.”

Your eyes go wide, “This is way too big!”

Taehyung jumps up and gives you a hug. The months you talked made you feel much more comfortable around them, but you still weren’t prepared for the rush of emotions that filled you once in his embrace again.

“It’s the smallest unit in this building,” Yoongi lets you know.

“And I’m guessing I can’t go to another building.”

“Our dorm is in this one,” The youngest member explains.

“How…” You take a deep breath, eyeing Jungkook up and down, “...convenient.” You take a seat with them on the ridiculously huge couch, next to Yoongi and Jin.

You sigh, stretching your sore jet lagged muscles. “Need to go to the bathroom?” Yoongi whispers at you teasingly.

You snort, his words taking you out of your worries. “Funny,” you mutter.

The eldest helps you fill out a stack of forms for your employment while the rest set plates of takeout on the living room table. You eat your first meal in Korea together. Sitting together, laughing together, you feel better than you have in months. It’s that feeling you get when you’ve finally completed a puzzle, placing the last piece in its place. You feel complete.

Taehyung’s words pull you from your thoughts.

“So y/n, when are you gonna hold Joon’s hand?”

“Oh, um…”

“You came all the way to Korea for him, right!” Taehyung teases.

“She doesn’t have to...” Namjoon murmurs.

“Oh c’mon! You can’t tell me you haven’t been going crazy waiting!”

“Yeah, I agree with Tae!” Jimin laughs.

“Do it!” Jungkook cheers.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” The youngest members are chanting at the pair of you. You feel the heat rise in your face. You had planned on it, you wanted to find a way to get Namjoon alone, but now with all the attention on you, you feel apprehensive. You look over to Namjoon who looks equally as embarrassed. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ the thought screams in your head.

It has been months, Namjoon has waited for this moment. Now that he’s being put on the spot, he’s apprehensive. Ever since his bandmates touched you, they have acted differently, it might not be noticeable to anyone around them, but Namjoon noticed. Would he change too? Before he can yell at his bandmates, you stand up and walk over to his seat. “They aren’t going to stop,” You whisper, holding out your hand. He sighs and stands up.

“So?” Jin asks when he notices the lack of reaction from both of you as you grip each other's hands.

“Um, nothing is happening.” You stare at the rapper, but his attention is on the place where your hands meet, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“This doesn’t make sense..” He starts shaking your hand up and down as if that might help, it reminds you of the night he dropped you off, and you know exactly how he feels.

“Maybe it’s because I’m jet lagged or something? We could try again later...” you try to soothe the rapper but you can tell he is growing more and more upset with each passing moment, and your arm feels like it's going to dislodge from your shoulder the more he shakes.

The members have all gone silent.

“Maybe you don’t have a past life together?” Hoseok places his hand on Namjoon’s shoulder to stop his movements. No one expected this.

“No, that’s not-we have to-I know it!” Namjoon tries to stay calm but his voice is full of panic.

“Maybe it had something to do with that time, the planets aligning or something?” Jimin says. Is this your fault? Because you were too scared. What have you done? You’re rethinking everything now, you shouldn’t have come here.

“No.” Namjoon is right, he knows it, “that’s not it...” It doesn’t make sense, he knows there’s a connection between you and him. He lets the confession tumble out of his mouth before he can properly think. “Your name, I knew it! How would I know your name?”

You look at him confused, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon bites his tongue. He lets go of you. He blinks his eyes to get rid of tears threatening to spill. The mood is gone and everyone is silent. You feel horrible. Somehow this is your fault, you know it.

“Joon...” The eldest member calls out to him.

“I-I need some air.” Namjoon breaks away from the group.

“Wait!”

---

OOOOooo you had a whole ass boyfriend and you went and tongued Yoongi, scandalous. Looks like poor Joonie got the spiritual cockblock. Should I explain myself lol or do you like drawing your own conclusions?

Oh! Fun fact, the two sentences were this: Your eyes flutter open, you’re lying face down on the hotel bed. Taehyung is lying on his back next to you, grinning from ear to ear, your fingers are still interlocked by your heads. That’s what I had to go on T_T hah. Anyways let me know what you think <3

[atamascolily]

So I want to talk about one of Luke’s less publicized fails in Legends, namely with Cray Mingla and Nichos Marr in Children of the Jedi by Barbara Hambly. It’s not as flashy and obvious as his failures with Kyp Durron and Kueller, since only two people die, and the New Republic government doesn’t get involved. It’s framed as the result of his students’ choices, rather than their teacher’s, and Luke benefits a great deal from the fallout. But the more I study the backstory for fic purposes, the more convinced I am that Luke Majorly Screwed Up, and I want to call him out on it.

When we first meet Cray and Nichos, the situation is presented as both a tragic love story, and also a Done Deal. Two Force prodigies (and childhood best friends?) fall in love and come to Yavin to train, only for one to be diagnosed with a fatal illness, and the other uses their life’s work to save them. It’s a Nicholas Sparks novel with robots.... except it doesn’t work.

Instead of successfully transferring Nichos’s spirit into a new body, Cray creates a droid replica straight out of the Uncanny Valley, with life-like face and hands. a metallic body, and all of Nichos’s memories. (How she does this is handwaved as techno-wizardry, with a little bit of Ssi-ruuvi techniques thrown in the mix, which is... even more horrific if you start to think about it.) The result isn’t the “real” Nichos--it’s not the man she fell in love with. It’s a construct, a copy, not a human being.

I get where Hambly was trying to go with this meditation on what constitutes personhood, but I feel like dismissing the new Nichos as “just” a droid” is kinda sketchy, given that machines and droids in the Star Wars universe have emotions and personalities and are clearly capable of independent agency not directly contradicted by their programming. Maybe this new Nichos is “another Corellian by the same name”  and not the original, but does that make him any less deserving of autonomy and personhood? I don’t think so.

Droid-Nichos is clearly aware that he’s not human--he pretends because he wants to please Cray (and there’s a not-so-subtle implication she programmed him to do that, which is hella creepy)--but his conversations with Threepio make it equally clear that he sees that as his only function, and he’s not of much ‘use’ for anything else. His very specificity makes him an outlier among droids. He doesn’t fit into either world, which is why he’s so willing to sacrifice himself at the end of the novel--besides the fact that Cray asks him to and he’s not in position to be able to say no.

But Cray is so deep in denial she refuses to admit that this isn’t the original Nichos until droid-Nichos is unable to rescue her from torture because he’s wearing a restraining bolt. Then she breaks down completely, sending droid-Nichos up to shut down the ship and be shot to pieces while she commits suicide by letting Callista’s spirit take over her own body.

So where does Luke fit into all of this? Isn’t it unfair to hold him responsible for Cray’s decisions, given that he was unconscious at the time and determined to sacrifice himself instead? At twenty-six, Cray was a grown-ass adult; if she wanted to create a walking RealDoll with the memories of dead lover, that was her business, right? Right?

The thing is that Hambly makes it clear during Cray’s breakdown that Luke knew all along that Cray hadn’t saved the “real” Nichos.

“Luke …”

He looked up quickly, to meet the blue glass eyes. In the shadowy gloom the face that he’d known so well was almost a stranger’s, affixed monstrously to the silver cowl of the metal skull.

“Am I really Nichos?”

Luke said, “I don’t know.” He had never in his life felt so helpless, because in his heart—in the secret shadows where the truth always lay—he knew that this was a lie.

He knew.

Luke knew exactly what the new Nichos was, and he never sat down with Cray and talked about this or staged an intervention of any kind. He let her deceive herself, even though one of the foremost principles of being a Jedi is self-knowledge and facing grief and failure directly. He knew and he never said anything, because....  I don’t know, exactly.

The Doylist answer is that Callista needed a hot young body to inhabit, and Cray’s entire existence was to provide her with one, more or less guilt-free. (I still think it’s incredibly creepy, and I know I’m not the only one, but most of the characters in-universe let it slide, and I just... can’t even...)

“Am I ‘another Corellian of the same name’?”

“I’d like to tell you one way or the other,” said Luke. The bolt came away from the brushed-steel chest, lay thick and heavy in Luke’s hand. One hand real, one hand mechanical, but both his. “But I … I don’t know. You are who you are. You are the being, the consciousness, that you are at this moment. That’s all I can tell you.” That fact, at least, was true.

The smooth face did not alter, but the blue eyes looked infinitely sad. “I had hoped that, being a Jedi, you would know.”

And Luke had the uncomfortable sensation that, having been a Jedi, Nichos knew perfectly well that he was keeping something back.

It’s worth noting here that Luke is one of the few people in the GFFA who we see treating droids as people. He’s not dismissive of Nichos’s existential angst, and he’s not going to dictate what Nichos is, no matter how much Nichos wants to be reassured one way or the other. I don’t know if other characters who are less sympathetic to droids would react this way.

I also like the juxtaposition between Nichos’s metallic body and Luke’s mechanical hand. Luke is human; Nichos isn’t--where’s the line between them? Isn’t Luke’s point here is that the line is where you define it to be?

Or at least that’s the image Luke wants to project. He’s still holding something back--namely, the real truth, which he shares with Callista:

“Is Nichos all right?”

Luke nodded, then caught himself, and shook his head. “Nichos … is a droid,” he said.

“I know.”

Callista sees right off that Nichos is a droid; she calls him “the droid with the human eyes” and asks if he’s some new creature of Palpatine’s when she and Luke first meet. Luke can admit to her that Nichos is a droid, but not to Nichos or Cray--not even when Nichos directly asks him. So, #TeachingFail there, I think. What the hell was Luke thinking?

This gets even worse as Callista continues:

“Luke,” she said gently. “Sometimes there is nothing you can do.”

He expelled his breath in an angry gust, fist clenched hard; but he did not, after all, speak for a time. Then it was only to say, “I know.” He realized he hadn’t known that, two weeks ago. In some ways, learning about Sith Lords and cloned Emperors had been easier.

So if Luke didn’t know there was nothing to be done but accept the situation as it was, why didn’t he try to do something for Cray before now? Why did he let her coast along in denial with her robot boyfriend for months?

Which makes it all the more ironic that the conversation turns to the role of mistakes in the education of a Jedi, as well as recounting of Luke’s other teaching mistakes.

“I just wish some of those one thousand eighty mistakes didn’t involve teaching students. Teaching Jedi. Transmitting power, or the ability to use the Force. My ignorance—my own inexperience—cost one of my students his life already, and threw another one into the arms of the dark side and caused havoc in the galaxy I don’t even want to think about. The whole thing—the Academy, and bringing back the skills of the Jedi—is too important for … for ‘Learn While You Teach.’"

Luke isn’t responsible for Nichos’s illness or his death, but he is responsible for letting Cray keep her illusions for so long. He isn’t responsible for the dramatic, over-the-top way in which Cray’s fantasies come tumbling down--but why did he let it get to that point in the first place?

Here’s Cray’s reaction when Luke does try to talk to her about Nichos:

“I know he had a scum-eating motherless restraining bolt, you jerk!” She screamed the words, spat them at him, hatred and fury a bitter fire in her eyes; and when the words were out sat staring at him in blind, helpless rage behind which Luke could see the fathomless well of defeat, and grief, and the ending of everything she had ever hoped.

Then silence, as Cray turned her face aside. The nervous thinness that had advanced on her during Nichos’s illness had turned brittle, as if something had been taken, not just from her flesh, but from the marrow of her bones. Over the torn uniform, grimed with blood and oil, the blanket hung on her like a battered shroud.

If they had had this conversation before now--after Nichos’s death, or at any point before that trip to Ithor--would matters have come to this?  Is Luke culpable for all the things he didn’t say to Cray, as well as the things he did say to Gantoris and Kyp (cited above)?

Does Cray fall prey to the Dark Side here? Is that why Callista loses her powers? I don’t know. I love this novel, but so much of its logic is incomprehensible to me, and I don’t understand it. Maybe that’s why I love it so much, because it keeps me thinking about it.

“Don’t hate him for being what he is,” he said, the only thing he could think of to say. “Or for being what he’s not.”

The words sounded puerile in his own ears, like a half-credit computerized fortune-teller at a fair. Ben, he thought, would have had something to say, something healing … Yoda would have known how to deal with the wretched ruin of a friend’s heart and life.

The mightiest Jedi in the universe, he reflected bitterly—that he knew of, anyway—the destroyer of the Sun Crusher, the slayer of evil, who’d defeated the recloned Emperor and the Sith Lord Exar Kun, and all he could offer someone who had been disemboweled was, Gee, I’m sorry you’re not feeling so well …

Luke, you should have had this conversation with her months ago. Or if you didn’t feel up to it, you should have insisted she go to THERAPY as a condition of her continued training at your school, you knew damn well she wasn’t okay, and you just let her go on her way as if nothing was wrong and I just... 

As a result of his screw-ups with Cray and Nichos, Luke survives, his ghost girlfriend gets a body, and the Eye of Palpatine is destroyed, so I guess it works out pretty well for him. Cray and Nichos, not so much, sadly. Does he learn anything from the experience? I don’t know, because nothing quite this weird happens ever again.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one point from a novel published twenty-five years ago that only a handful of people remember, but I can’t read it anymore without wanting to smack Luke here for his part in this whole mess. Even though I think I understand why he holds back, why he’s afraid he’ll make matters worse, and why it’s easier to just to leave Cray alone and hope it all works out, it’s still the wrong decision and Obi-wan and Yoda and I are all shaking our heads at him, because really, Luke, why did you do that--??

[osita-iza]

Want: Chapter 1

After high school, you’re an adult. And when you’re an adult, life gets really confusing (and depressing). You’re reminded again of how confusing it is as you head back home for the first winter break from university, spending time with people from high school once again. 

The most confusing is your ex-boyfriend, Oikawa Tooru. Because you still couldn’t answer the question on everyone’s minds: Why the hell did you break up with him?

At least you have your best friends, Kuroo and Kenma. Right?

Pairing: Oikawa x gn!reader x Kenma

Genre: Existential angst, fluff later on 

Word Count: 3,353 

There were a lot of things people knew about you. If someone had surveyed your high school class, they would have all agreed on two things about you: 

Your best friends, Kenma and Kuroo would always be a part of your life. Despite them going to a different school, you three seemed to always know everything about each other’s lives. 

You and Oikawa were going to be the high school sweetheart story from your class. You were going to make it. Never any fights, jealousy, or possessiveness. A match made in heaven.

Those two facts were indisputable. 

And that was why, on the first winter break after graduation, everyone was shocked to find out that Oikawa showed up to the party alone, and someone broke the news that you two had broken up. People didn’t want to ask him ( he was tearing up after only one shot) what happened between the two of you. He was going through a lot without their probing questions.

However, Kuroo and Kenma were fair game. Everyone was more confused when they found out that your best friends knew nothing. Kenma stuck to the corner; if someone looked closer, they would see that his eyebrows were slightly furrowed. He hadn’t seen you since graduation, while Kuroo had last seen you at Thanksgiving break. Kuroo was dodging questions the entire time. However, they both made eye contact, and there was a silent agreement that it must be Oikawa’s fault. 

It was an hour after the news of your break-up hit the party that you showed up. An old teammate had let you know that Oikawa was there. The nerves were already buzzing as you walked through the door. There was a small group by the front entrance wearing volleyball jackets; none of them gave you friendly looks when they saw you. You set your jaw as you sped walked towards an emptier room. 

The only occupants in the kitchen was one couple flirting to the side, but if you didn’t mind them, they wouldn’t mind you. The countertop was lined with an array of drinks. While you were debating on whether or not you wanted to stay sober tonight- the looks some of Oikawa’s fangirls were sending you would not be fun to deal with- two hands came up to your waist, pressing just enough to tickle. You whipped around to see Kuroo’s devilish smile. You hit his arm with a smile. “That was 100% unnecessary.” 

“It was fun though,” he retorted, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” 

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure myself. But I needed a break from my parents,” 

Kuroo nodded, taking a step back. “Me and Kenma have been in the backyard,” 

“Kenma came?” You asked as you grabbed a closed water bottle and followed Kuroo. 

He sighed, “It took a lot of convincing and bargaining on my end,” 

You decided that you would ask about those bargains later. “Has it been fun so far?” You stepped out into the backyard, and the chilly night air surrounded you. The noise from the door caused a couple of the girls to look over, glares immediately falling onto their faces when they recognize you. 

Kuroo leaned closer to your ear. “It was alright, but you should know-” 

“People are talking about me?” You asked with a tight smile, walking to one of the tables set up on the lawn. Kenma was leaning back on the chair, looking at something on his phone. His natural color was starting to grow in, and the way he had his hair pulled back almost hid his dyed end, emphasizing his grown in roots. 

His eyes shot up when he heard your voice, and a smile came up on your face. You were reminded of how much you had missed his voice as he spoke up. “People are kind of obsessed with you, ya know?” 

“Sadly,” you chuckled, sitting down. The cold metal of the chair was able to sting through the fabric of your jeans. 

“So, I have to ask-” Kuroo sighed, raising his eyebrows, “Why didn’t you tell us about you and Oikawa?” 

You groaned, avoiding both of their gazes. “I just��� really didn’t want to talk about it to be honest. I told my Mom, and her reaction was enough,” Kenma furrowed his eyebrows, a silent question. “”When I told her that we broke up, my Mom went on a rant about how she was sure we were going to get married,” 

“Oof,” Kenma muttered. 

“Pretty much,” you chuckled, rubbing your arms as goosebumps appeared from the night air. 

“Why did you break up with him?” Kuroo asked, “If you’re okay with that,” 

You felt nauseous at the question; it was a question that you had been asking yourself for a long time as well. Right after you said the words, you were mortified at your decision. Oikawa was great. You were spoiled with having as your boyfriend, let alone your first love. Most people would have killed to date someone like him. But… 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Kuroo reminded. You looked up, and Kenma’s eyes were focused on you. 

“It’s not that,” you exhaled, “I just felt that I couldn’t be with him anymore. It’s hard to put into words,” 

They both nodded, and a silence fell over the three of you. There was a roar of laughter from one of the nearby tables. You couldn’t help but feel like they were talking about you. It had felt that people here had been talking about you nonstop since your first date with Oikawa. “Are either of your families doing anything special for the holidays?” you asked. 

Kenma shook his head, but Kuroo spoke up. “We have some extended family coming over next week to trade presents. It’s a pre-Christmas, since a lot of my cousins are working that day,” 

“At least you’re getting to see them,” 

“I also have to figure out gifts a whole week early,” 

Kenma spoke up. “How many gifts do you have now?” 

“Two,” Kuroo groaned.

You shook your head with a smile. “Don’t you have like a million relatives?” 

“Fifteen, I’ll let you know, but yup,” He popped the ‘p’. “Would you guys mind helping me find presents?” 

“Sure” “No” You and Kenma answered at the same time. You sent a weak look at him, and the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly. “Fine.” 

Kuroo was about to make a comment on Kenma’s lack of enthusiasm when a wet coldness ran down your back. You flinched, immediately jumping up to your feet. Turning to see where it came from, your eyes connected with Kaori’s. 

A smirk was evident on her face as she took in your drenched top. She had been pining over Oikawa just as your relationship with him started. The hatred she had for you clearly took enjoyment at the fact she could finally mess with you without fearing Oikawa’s judgement. “Sorry, I tripped,” 

You forced a smile and sighed. “It’s fine,” you turned to your boys, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom before I start stinking like alcohol,” 

Kenma stood up, pulling off the crimson hoodie he was wearing. “Here, you can change into this,” 

You smiled, taking the clothing. “Thank you so much, Kozume,” 

Kaori’s voice rose to a higher pitch as she walked away to her friends, “Thank you so much, Kozume,” 

“I’ll be back,” you muttered to the boys. Kaori’s drink was already leaving its alcoholic scent on you as you trudged your way to the bathroom. It felt like everyone was staring at you, and Kaori’s antics made it difficult to tell yourself you were imagining it. 

You pushed at the bathroom door, but it refused to budge. Your hand met the door as you knocked, but there was no response. A groan escaped your mouth as you went to find the other bathroom you knew of across the house. 

Every time you passed into a new room people would turn to look at you. Grabbing the doorknob and turning it, you sighed out of relief as you opened the door, although you weren’t sure if some of the relief was at the idea of getting to be alone. 

That relief disappeared as you saw your ex-boyfriend kneeling over the toilet. “Tooru?” 

He looked up, frowning. “Y/N?” 

“How drunk are you?” 

“Not at all, Mom,” he said before spitting into the toilet. 

You pressed your lips together before locking the door behind you. Turning towards the corner, you pulled off your shirt and rushed to get the hoodie on. It smelled like Kenma; he had been using the same detergent since you were kids, and the scent reminded you of walks from school. 

“Did you seriously just change in front of me?” Tooru asked. His eyes were squinting at you like he was annoyed, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was slumped against a bathtub. 

“I had a drink spilled on me.” He tried to respond, but it was indiscernible. “Are you alright?” 

“Peachy.” 

You rolled your eyes at his curt response, more mad at yourself for continuing the conversation than him. Why were you even talking to him? “Do you have a ride home at least?” 

He spit into the toilet again before grumbling, “Why do you care? You’re the one who broke up with me,” 

You wished he wasn’t right. He wasn’t the type to get drunk like this.The back of your mind reminded you that you were the reason he felt the need to get drunk tonight. “I still want you to be safe.” 

Oikawa shoulders slumped further. “Gonna walk home,” 

A million images of him tripping somewhere and getting stuck in the cold played in your mind. He wasn’t exactly a smart or stable drunk. “I can walk you home.” 

“No.” He shook his head, making his hair go everywhere. It would be cute in a better situation.

“I don’t want you to go alone.” He mumbled something about exes to himself. As you tried to follow along, your phone vibrated. You reached down to read a text from Kenma. 

You good? You’re taking a while. 

“I-” You put your phone down and sighed, “If you saw me drunk and vomiting, would you want me to walk home alone?” Oikawa sighed, a clear tell that he was close to giving in. “Your house is only a block away from mine. I’m heading there anyways,” 

He gripped the tub and groaned as he stood up, “Fine,” 

A small smile set itself on your face, and you put a hand out to steady him. That nausea in your gut multiplied when your hand met his warm skin. His nose scrunched up as he looked at you. “You smell like alcohol,” he muttered as he dragged himself to the door. You immediately pulled your hand away from him as the door opened and hung your head down lower. God, you hoped no one saw you two. The rumor mill would only have more to talk about.

Tooru walked through the hallways towards the front door. Something you had always admired about him was the way people instinctively moved out of his way when he walked. He didn’t even have to ask for attention. His confidence and looks just brought it to him. You pulled your phone out to answer Kenma. 

I’m going home. Do you mind if I give you your hoodie back later???

Oikawa stopped by the front door to hug Iwaizumi and say bye. You stepped through the door, exposing yourself to the chilly weather again; you didn’t think it was your place to say bye to Oikawa’s friends anymore. Iwaizumi had always been nice to you. You liked hanging out with him and Oikawa together because of how he calmed Oikawa down. He always took your side in the teasing too. A part of you wondered if walking home with those two were some of your favorite memories of high school. 

Your phone dinged, lighting up with a text from Kenma. 

Sure. Bring it back whenever. Let me know if you need to talk. 

A smile graced your face. The memories with Iwaizumi and Oikawa would have to beat the memories with Kenma and Kuroo first. You knew you weren’t being the best friend right now. They had stuck with you for a long time; it would be sad to lose them now. There was a feeling in your gut that was telling you that you would lose them. 

Thanks, i mean it. We should all plan to hang out soon 

Oikawa burst through the door before a reply came in. You crossed your arms and smiled at him. “You good?” 

He nodded and stepped closer to you, following you. You began walking towards his house. It felt weird walking with him to his house and not being close with him. You spent three years of your life walking this path while holding his hand. Kuroo’s question popped into your head again.

‘Whose hoodie is that?” Tooru’s voice was quiet. 

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him. 

“The hoodie you're wearing. Whose is it?” 

You glanced down. The red color staring back at you. “Oh, it’s Kenma’s. He gave it to me, so I could change,” 

“Kenma’s?” Oikawa’s brows furrowed, and there was a small frown in his face. 

“Yeah, why?” 

Oikawa shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. 

You didn’t believe him, but you decided against probing. “Are you feeling any better? Not nauseous or anything?” 

He shook his head. “I think I got most of it out of my system.” You nodded. “Did you drink at all?” 

“No, I basically just talked to Kenma and Kuroo and left,” you said. 

Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows at you. “You didn’t have fun?” 

“No. I’m glad I went because it’s been a while since I’ve seen them, but I felt pretty awkward,” 

“That’s not like you,” he muttered. 

You weren’t sure if he was right or not. He was right in that you had gone to a lot of parties before, some with him and some not. You were always a social butterfly at them, pulled into conversation after conversation. But you were also always aware of how your voice sounded, the way you were sitting, how long you took to answer. You always felt like you were playing a role, like you were in a video game. You controlled your actions, but there was a disconnect. “I don’t know. It was just different tonight.” 

“I felt that too,” he said. 

You had a feeling that it was you that made him feel different. It was only a couple of blocks until you got to his house. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“No, I do. I could’ve handled it better,” you said, “And I know I hurt you, so I’m sorry,” 

“I know.” Oikawa gave you a feeble smile. You both stared at each other for a moment before he sighed and looked forward again. “How are your parents doing?” 

“Pretty good, my Dad just got a promotion at work,” you answered. You felt like a video game character again, even with him. “My Mom’s really excited for the holidays. She already has a list of traditions planned,” 

“I always really liked your Mom,” he smiled. “She’s really sweet,” 

You laughed at his reaction to you just mentioning your Mom. “She really liked you too,” you said. 

Coming up to his house, you both stopped in front. “Well of course she liked me. Who wouldn’t?” He winked at you, smiling when you cracked up. 

“I don’t even know if I should dignify that with a response,” you smiled. 

“You don’t need to dignify the truth, sweetheart,” 

You rolled your eyes, and Oikawa’s smile grew wider at your reaction. “I should probably head ho-” 

Oikawa leaned down, pressing his mouth against yours for a moment. You froze. It had now been a couple of months since you last kissed him, and you forgot how soft his lips were. How he would barely push against you. How one of his hands would always travel to the back of your head with just enough pressure to keep you steady. 

Before you could react, he had already pulled away. He stayed close enough that you could feel his breath on your face; the alcohol he drank earlier was more noticeable now. Oikawa whispered, “I’m… Do you want this?” 

You let out a shaky breath. “I- Tooru…” you mumbled. 

Oikawa sighed, shutting his eyes as he pulled away completely this time. The cold air hit you again without his body there to shield you. There was a part of you that wanted to pull him back; instead you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I’m sorry. I think I’m still drunk, and I really miss-” Oikawa said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled. A silence fell over the two of you, and you became focused on your breathing. “I should probably be heading home before it gets too late.” 

Oikawa nodded, backing up towards his house as you turned to walk away. “Can you message me when you get home? So I know you’re safe?” 

A small smile appeared on your face as you nodded. “Tell your Mom hi for me,” you called back. 

“Tell yours too,” he said with a smile. 

You sighed as you began walking towards your house.You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself as a breeze came by. The winter used to be your favorite season, but the coldness just served as a reminder that Oikawa wasn’t there. That one moment of having him against you made the air colder. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, burning against the wind.

After the breakup, you had only cried twice- right after and three days later. Even though you hadn’t been sure if the breakup was the right decision, you had been good at learning how to live with it. Until now. Until you had to deal with reminders of him from people asking about him to Kaori and the rest of his fangirls being pissed at you. You felt like you were back in high school, except at least in high school you had teachers telling you what to do. 

Your house came up in view, and you let yourself in quietly. Your parents were probably asleep by now, and the last thing you wanted to deal with was your Mom asking you a million questions. Slipping off your shoes, you tiptoed over to your room and locked the door behind you. 

You grabbed your phone before collapsing onto your bed. 

To Oikawa: I’m home, didn’t get murdered 

Kenma had sent you a message sometime while you were walking. Me and Kuroo are gonna go xmas shopping tomorrow. Wanna come with??

Breathing felt hard. You typed ‘yes’ to Kenma as Oikawa’s message came through. 

Glad you got home safe! Goodnight :) 

You dropped your phone to your side, choosing to stare at the wall in front of you instead. You didn’t want to cry. You were the one who broke up with him; you’re not supposed to be the one who cries. Despite your disagreement, tears began falling. You covered your mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. 

Oikawa had been perfect. He treated you great. Even tonight. He loved you. What would have happened if you had grabbed him and pulled him in for another kiss? Would he have wanted to talk about it, or would he have wanted to just keep kissing? Was that all he wanted, or did he want to get back with you? 

You remembered how warm he had been tonight. How you felt safer the second you were with him. 

“Do you want this?” 

You willed yourself to at least stay quiet, since you couldn’t stop the tears. You had missed your chance to answer him. 

And you had no idea what that answer would have been.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

If Lily and Lenin had a child what do you suppose it would look like? (I'm very much looking forward to seeing the Egg from "Wearing the faces of men" hatch) Would Lenin even want to have children? Or would it be an Oopise? PS: I ship those two so much, you literally have no idea. I really hope that your main work has a happy ending (because I'm a basic bitch) but I would honestly just love reading it however it ends

Isn’t that the question of the hour?

So, first things first. It’s funny that you bring up the Lily/Lenin children scenario because for most of the other pairings I’ve written Lee/Lily with I have a very good idea of what this kids look like/their personalities/etc. 

Lee and Minato, a daughter named either Naruto or Hari depending if Kushina’s in the picture, because neither of them have any imagination. Looks and acts a lot like Minato, has Lee’s hair texture and some of her facial features.

Lee and Obito, well, for reasons called potential spoilers for “Finishing the Hat” I won’t get into it, but take my word for it that I know what the children are like almost embarrassingly well. 

Lily and Wizard Lenin though, honestly, that’s for some reason harder for me to picture and I can’t quite explain why. And it’s not the pairing, clearly, they’re the main deal in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus”, they’re just hard to picture. But let’s try, it’ll be an adventure for all of us.

First, the easier question, does Wizard Lenin want children? No. First, being immortal, he has a) no need for a legacy/immortality in the form of children and b) he’s guaranteed to outlive said children unless they pull some seriously gnarly shit. I think having an heir would be the most compelling argument but since he intends to live and rule the world forever what’s the point of that? It’d just give everyone the wrong idea. Worse, the kid might get the wrong idea and try to kill him to take the throne. And then there’d have to be an execution and it’d all get very messy. 

More than that though, he would completely panic at the idea of fatherhood. He never had any family of his own, basically raised himself (and did a craptastic job at that), and has no idea what good fathers even do. More, he knows exactly how difficult he was as a child and teenager (especially since being forced to confront Wizard Trotsky). The idea of having to deal with a young Tom Riddle himself? He’d probably laugh and then he’d cry. 

Then of course, while Wizard Lenin is above such things as attachment to other human beings, I think he’d recognize that having this squishy, mortal thing, that will inevitably die while he reigns the cosmos would be really depressing. And if they have kids you’d get this long line of descendants to which Wizard Lenin is this weird ageless god uncle. Can you imagine those family reunions? Yikes.

So children for Wizard Lenin would definitely be an “oopsie”. An “oopsie” likely involving a copious amount of alcohol, suppressed feelings, and a much older Lily.

I picture maybe fifty or sixty years in the hypothetical future where everything goes Wizard Lenin’s way and he and Lily get over their current tiff. Wizard Lenin’s still ageless and Lily’s now a creepy adult who’s stopped aging and looks like an elf from Lord of the Rings. He’s been ruling forever, it’s boring, all his original followers are dead and his second generation followers (i.e. Draco Malfoy) are old men, and now becoming a Death Eater is a prestigious competitive ridiculous thing for eager eyed youngsters. Lily wanders the world/cosmos, is on speed dial but tries not to make messes too often for Wizard Lenin (which is hard because he now rules everything), and is desperately trying to keep busy despite the fact that she has nothing to do. Lily’s his pretty much wife except he’s never married her because god emperors don’t need wives (unless, of course, he got tired of people trying to get him to marry wizarding nobility and he just couldn’t take it anymore). They reminisce about the good old days, Wizard Lenin probably confess that it was a lot more fun chasing the car than actually reaching the car, Lily probably talks about all the traumatizing adventures she’s had with robots, alcohol gets involved, then unprotected sex then, SURPRISE!

But anyways, right, what the children look like.

First, we have the “what the fuck” option that always must be considered when mating with a god. Lily could give birth to herself in a very traumatizing experience for both her and Wizard Lenin. It could be just a giant ball of mysterious light. It could be Rabbit. It could be some mysterious green eyed shadow blob that eats children. It could just be a regular mysterious blob. It could be The Key/Dawn Summers and look/act like a perfectly normal child until Wizard Lenin discovers it’s actually something so horrifying and inhuman it’s been disguised as a human child by monks with too much time on their hands.

But let’s take this a little more seriously/get to what you were probably asking me for. Though the “what the fuck” option is always a hilarious one to consider. 

So appearance, the hair’s probably going to take after Wizard Lenin’s in color just because of how genetics work. They could have anywhere from auburn to black hair. I’m going to go with auburn because I enjoy red. It’s probably thick and probably curly. 

Eyes are probably going to be anywhere from green to blue but more likely to be blue for similar reasons. 

Since Wizard Lenin and Lily are both ungodly pale creatures the kids, sadly, will not be able to tan. However, being Wizard Lenin’s children and the heirs to his empire, they’re probably not allowed to do anything so pedantic as tan. 

My first thought was that any kid should not be good looking. They should have all the right bone structure, thick eyelashes, hair, etc. to be good looking but too much of Lily’s intrinsic weird seeps in and you just get these kids who look like they should have walked out of “Children of the Corn”. 

But since I promised we’d stray from the “what the fuck” option they’d likely be very good looking kids. Wizard Lenin’s gorgeous and I always imagine Lily grows up to be a very attractive adult.

But descriptions are boring, I can doodle.

Let’s say that the “oopsie” produces a set of twins. 

First, we have the daughter, who clearly takes a lot after Lily both in appearance and personality.

Likely, when Wizard Lenin got over his existential/fatherhood crisis he and Lily bickered for months over names. Both are convinced the other is terrible at naming children. Both of them are right.

In the end I imagine they flip coins for who gets the middle name vs. first name.

Wizard Lenin wins the coin toss and we get: Mab Luthien Riddle

Mab at first is a plucky young girl but shifts into a moody teenager. Despite being powerful she’s well aware that she has two monolith reputations to live up to: Wizard Lenin and Lily’s. More, she clearly has a role for her to live out and fill and she wants some independence! This causes a lot of teen angst.

She goes from wearing very expensive wizarding robes to whatever the equivalent of hipster is in the distant future. I just stuck her in plaid with shades because I have no imagination. 

She gets sorted into Gryffindor, because anyone who’s willing to be a punk to Wizard Lenin has guts. This, of course, is terrible for everyone. However, especially for Wizard Lenin, because can you imagine him dealing with a teenage daughter?

Second, we have a son, who has the K-pop/Legolas/Sasuke pretty boy good looks that have fourteen year old girls scribbling hearts with their names together in notebooks and writing some seriously bad fanfiction.

Continuing on with the atrocious/nerd name theme we have: Mordred Beren Riddle

He’s a far more sensitive soul, to the point where everyone wonders how the hell he fits into this disaster family/came from two giant assholes. Regardless, he is, he tries his best to please his father and live up to expectations. So he keeps his fancy robes, cries thanks to Wizard Lenin’s mean words, and eventually gets sorted into Hufflepuff.

Thanks to his sensitive nature and good looks he’s the tween heart throb of Hogwarts. His sister is dying.

These are all hypothetical kids of course. If I ever were to write something involving Lily and Wizard Lenin’s kids, I’m not sure it’d be these two that show up (in fact I’m 99% sure it won’t be).

But I hope you guys had as much fun on this brain storming journey as I did.

As for that happy ending in the main story, well, I think it’s happy. Whether the rest of you will agree with me I’ll leave to the end of the story. Whenever we get there.

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 24

Formerly A Funeral.

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood, pregnancy, Drug Use, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Protective Arthur, Minor John Marston/Abigail Roberts

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big, all of which bring them closer to one another, as well as to their future. But they’ve fallen in love during hard times. With the gang tipping dangerously close to a breaking point in a changing world, Arthur must make a difficult choice. Can he escape the past, as well as the outlaw life and start over, building a family of his own? With Mary Beth by his side, one thing is certain: redemption and second chances finally seem within his grasp.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog ^_^***

Chapter 24: The Heartlands

In any case, I have grown tired in ways I cannot rightly explain.

I’m not sure what might have happened to Kieran. Most likely, he ended up out on a fishing trip, or a gallavant that simply extended beyond his original intentions. Diana could have spooked and tossed his ass and hightailed it back to camp without him. It could be anything. Mary Beth wants to come along and I had no choice but to let her. I ain’t her father. And I know she can do okay in a whole host of situations, but if it comes to shooting I don’t know. She may be a damn good conwoman and a savvy pickpocket, but she ain’t no killer. I love her. I’d do anything to keep her safe, and in any case, I guess I’m just afraid. I can’t shake that part of myself. I fear it will always be there—after everything. She knows it. I just don’t know how to protect her and how to keep making this life work no more. And Jesus Christ I have been so careless. We’ve been. Careless. I don’t know why. It just feels right, letting go inside her like nature running its course, like the way it’s supposed to be but shit. If she gets pregnant while we’re still here, toiling in this war of ours…I’m right terrified. I don’t know what to do. I should’ve said no to Dutch, and yet, I did not. Hosea was right, as usual. I need to use my goddam head.

I just always want to believe. I’ve been so blinded by my desire to just…please Dutch. It ain’t fair no more. I’m still out on this limb, and now Mary Beth is out here with me. And if we keep making it like we do, soon it’ll be an innocent among us and I ain’t letting no more of my own blood spill into the earth. I ain’t doing that. Not again.

Dutch thinks we can get money out of this Bronte fellow. He talked to me about it last night, after that fool’s party we attended. Something about a trolley station. A poker game on a goddam river boat. I see things differently, and Mary Beth confirmed my suspicions. Of course, she did it with intelligence and grace, whereas my thoughts tend to come out as gravy these days. Mary Beth was a sight to see with Bronte. Once again she’s proven she’s too good for me, and yet here we are. We’re getting married. Still ain’t told no one—not sure why. It just don’t feel right yet to make a big deal. But I do know that it ain’t like last time. It ain’t Mary. Mary could not commit to huge parts of me, my life. With her, I was a fool. But Mary Beth’s love for me feels…honest. It’s for the right reasons. She is loyal to me. I don’t know what I have done to deserve this bounty she brings, but I ain’t letting it get away.

We are setting out to find the O’Driscoll boy as soon as this storm clears. It rains so goddam much down in this hellhole state I have forgotten what season it is. It’s perpetually the hottest it’s ever been, and I will say, I miss the fresh air to the north. She does, too.

They rode out of Shady Belle at about four o’clock. It was later than Arthur had hoped for, as this meant they would most definitely be gone into the night, but putting things off would have been worse. The rain had brought a chill to the air that made everybody uncomfortable. It was a damp chill. Mary Beth wore a brown leather scout jacket with an ornamental purple tether around the waist. It had a hood, which she kept fashioned over her tightly braided hair. Arthur outfitted her with that same shotgun from their trip to the north and a whole shitload of slugs. She wanted the gun, and it was the right choice. But once again he told her: “Do not use that gun unless you absolutely must. Understood?” by which he meant: “Do not use that gun unless you have reason to believe that I have died or will soon be dead and cannot defend you no more. Understood?”

Charles led the way to Rhodes. It was easy business, tracking Kieran at first. The clouds had gone on and most of the the townspeople were back outside and about their business. It looked like a big wind had come in and blown over a carriage full of feed corn right outside the train station. A couple of working boys were hustling to pick it all up, but the axel on their carriage was broken, and the the job looked too big for just the two of them. Arthur and Charles gave them a hand while Mary Beth went to the saloon to inquire upon whether anyone had seen a young man fitting Kieran’s description.

“He’s got long brown hair, to his shoulders,” she said, “a little scraggly, about this tall, has a scratchy voice. He would have been wearing a straw type hat, cowboy boots, dressed like a rancher, riding an Ardennes. He’s twenty years old.”

“May I inquire upon how you know the young man?”

“He’s my brother, sir. Been missing from our ranch in Scarlet Meadows for three days. Mama and I can’t make ends meet without him.”

The bartender was taken with Mary Beth. He did not even require payment for his information as he wiped down a glass with his linen towel. “I think I seen a boy like that,” he said, leaning in on his elbow. “Was in here two nights ago, waiting out the storm. Sat by himself, caused no trouble. Ordered a glass of milk.”

"That’s him,” she said. “Did he say anything about where he was headed?”

“No, ma’am,” said the bartender, topping off her glass of rose. “But toward the end of the night, a couple boys crowded him in the booth, right over there. They all left together. It was sudden.”

This was alarming to Mary Beth. “Do you know who they was?”

“Didn’t talk like they was from around here,” said the bartender. “Yankees. I heard one of them mention that they was headed in from Riggs Station, way out in West Elizabeth, if that helps.”

“It does,” said Mary Beth. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.” She finished her wine and left a generous tip. He tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted. She then went to wait for the boys in a booth at the front of the saloon. It took about ten minutes before they arrived, and she told them all about her findings.

“He said it was Yankees?” said Arthur, smoking, sitting next to her, wearing his hat with the pretty brown feather.

“Yes,” she said. “Said they crowded him and left all of a sudden.”

Arthur glanced across the table to Charles who became apprehensive.

“You think it’s O’Driscolls?” said Arthur.

“Sounds about right,” said Charles.

“What would they doing in Lemoyne?”

“Could be they tracked us here, after that nasty shootout with the Grays, then ran into Kieran by mistake, maybe took advantage of an unlucky circumstance.”

Arthur swore under his breath, looked around, smoked. Then he looked back at Mary Beth. “Mary Beth, I think Charles and I ought to finish this one alone.”

“What?” she said. “No. I got the information. I’m coming.”

“It ain’t safe,” he said. “I’ll ride with you back to camp.”

“How do you know it ain’t safe?”

“Because I just do,” he said. “I got a bad feeling. And my bad feelings got a bad habit of coming true.”

“He’s right, Mary Beth,” said Charles. “If it is O’Driscolls, there is bound to be bloodshed.”

"I ain’t scared,” said Mary Beth.

Arthur shook his head, serious. “Please,” he said. “This ain’t for you. Let me take you back.”

She stared at him in defiance. “You know what else ain’t for me?” she said. “Hitting a man over the head with a frying pan, saving your life. Or getting carried off by Murfree Brood in a thunderstorm. Or shooting a wolf mother in the face.”

Arthur sighed.

“What’s she talking about?” said Charles.

Arthur ignored him. “You near on shot me with that gun of yours in a panic,” he said to Mary Beth. “You’ll be in danger. These boys, they ain’t no turtles in the marsh.”

“Oh please. I didn’t shoot you,” she said. “I listened to you. Granted it took me a moment. But I can listen.”

Arthur shook his head. He didn’t mean to, but all this made her feel small. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Please, Arthur. I can’t sit back at Shady Belle, just waiting on you. I can’t. Don’t make me.”

There was a commotion then, as two people walked into the saloon, coming through the doors with gusto. At first, Arthur didn’t know what was going on, but then he recognized their faces right quick. “What the hell?”

“Dutch and Sadie?” said Mary Beth standing up to see. “What are they doing here?”

“Only the lord knows,” said Arthur, getting up to tip his hat and address them. “To what do we owe this fine pleasure?”

“Sit down, Arthur,” said Dutch, pushing in next to Charles. He was looking serious. “We need to talk.”

Arthur glanced at Mary Beth. She was apprehensive. A hush came on down between them all like a big old curtain. Then Arthur looked at Charles who had stuffed a fat wad of dipping tobacco into his lower lip, and he was spitting said dip into a wine glass, and he shrugged.

“What’s going on?” said Arthur. He pulled up a chair. Sadie gave him a polite but serious nod and sat down in the booth next to Mary Beth. She was wearing a tough yellow blouse that made her look like a cowgirl.

“Sadie here tells me that Diana showed up at camp this afternoon without her rider,” said Dutch, real quiet.

“That’s right,” said Arthur, lighting a cigarette. “Kieran’s missing.”

“How long.”

“He went missing a few days back,” said Arthur. “Day of the storm. We’ve tracked him through here, all the way out to West Elizabeth—near Riggs Station. Mary Beth here got the information. We think it’s probably O’Driscolls.”

“Good work, Miss Gaskill,” said Dutch, nodding. This made her feel tremendous pride. “And, Arthur, it is O’Driscolls, but it ain’t just O’Driscolls, boy, and that is the reason we are here.”

Arthur smoked. “I don’t catch your meaning.”

“It’s Colm.”

Everybody straightened up. Dutch had his whole, massive hands splayed out on the surface of the table in front of him. The room became heavy and distant all around them. Dutch had a way of doing this, making any and every space into his own.

“Colm himself?” said Arthur, shifting in his seat. “How do you figure that?”

“Because,” said Dutch, staring down at those hands. “The last time a horse showed up to my camp without its rider, it was in Denver, Colorado, and it was Annabelle’s.” Then he looked up at Mary Beth, looking sad in the low light from the saloon. It was a strange sight to see. “A pretty little spotted Apaloosa, just like yours, Miss Gaskill.”

“Annabelle?” said Mary Beth.

“That’s right.”

“You think this is a trap, Dutch?” said Arthur, tense. “You think it’s Colm, trying to lure you in again?”

Dutch puffed up. “I don’t know. But this certainly ain’t no coincidence. We ride. Tonight.”

Arthur became tense. “I ain’t riding the women into no trap, Dutch.”

“Calm down, Arthur,” said Dutch. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with just yet. For now, we’ll get as far as the Heartlands and make camp. Tomorrow morning, we head into West Elizabeth and…see what we can see. Sadie and Mary Beth can be of use to us. They can get information where we cannot. Comprende?” He looked around to wide gestures of agreement.

Arthur hesitated, but he eventually played along, sighing, finishing his cigarette and tossing it to the floor where it burned out into black.

Riding out, for a long time, it was silence. The sun started to melt off over the horizon at some point, and the air got crisper, and there were coyotes, it seemed, everywhere, and wild horses hustling out to the coast. Around the time they they were passing through Scarlet Meadows, Mary Beth rode up beside Arthur and asked him to hang back. Arthur obliged. They slowed considerably, making sure they could still see the rest of the group up ahead, but far enough behind to stay out of earshot.

“Arthur,” she said after a little while. The air was purple. It was getting past dusk now as they crested into the Heartlands. Soon, they’d need to make camp.

Arthur wouldn’t meet her eyes. “What is it, Mary Beth.”

“I know you don’t want me here.”

This broke him. He shook his head. He felt bad. “That ain’t it, Mary Beth. Of course I want you here. I always want you here.”

“Okay,” she said, looking around with her hood up. She looked sweet and kind. She looked like his girl. “Then I know you’re freaking out.”

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t even know what we’re up against yet,” she said. “Just give me a chance. You were willing to do that a few weeks ago, when we left for our hunting trip. What’s changed?”

“You know what’s changed,” he said, looking at her, lowering his voice. “I took a leap. I landed on my feet, somehow, and now I’m looking around, and I see us going backwards.”

“Arthur—”

He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands on the reins. “We ain’t been thinking.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, we got real deep, real fast, before we paved our exit. Putting you in danger, with so much goddam uncertainty? It’s making me crazy, Mary Beth. And Dutch, well.” Arthur laughed, cynically, under his breath. “Well he’s making me crazy, too. First that god forsaken party, Angelo Bronte, and now all this nonsense about Colm O’Driscoll. He ain’t even explained what the hell he’s going on about yet. Just expects we ride along with him, and look at us, doing exactly as we’re told. I’m a goddam fool.”

“You’re talking in code, Arthur,” said Mary Beth, pulling Watson up a little closer. “What the hell are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I just—”

“You said you talked to John,” she said. “Last night, before we went to sleep. Has he made up his mind?”

“Yes.” Arthur nodded. “They’re in. He’s just waiting on me.”

“Good,” she said. “He should be. You know what to do, Arthur. You need to stop second-guessing yourself. And try to just…breathe. I wanna get outta here, too. You know I do. But we gotta get Kieran back. He’s put in his time, and his heart. He’s one of us, and we owe him this. And you gotta deal with Dutch, Arthur. We can’t—there’s too much at stake.”

“I know,” he said. He closed his eyes, thinking. “I just—I know I’m talking nonsense, Mary Beth, but the more time we spend, heming and hawing in the swamps, the more foreboding the feeling in my gut. Like, the longer we wait around, the closer we get to the end. I can feel it. And riding out with you tonight, it’s bringing all that to the surface.”

“The end of what?” she said, watching him in the coming darkness. “What are we getting to the end of, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed. He shook his head again and again, staring off into the darkening path ahead where Dutch rode his pretty white horse at the helm. “Everything,” he said, real low and mean. He looked at her. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what it felt like to be free. “Come on,” he said, opening his eyes again, picking up the pace a little. “We can talk more later. I’m good with you being here, I just—I need you to listen me, okay?” he said, switching gears, looking at her. “Whatever happens, Mary Beth, when we get wherever it is we’re headed, I need you to listen to me and listen to what I say to you.”

“Okay,” she said, earnest.

“I’m serious,” he said. “And I ain’t saying this because you’re a woman, and not because I love you and I’m terrified that something might happen to you. Or, maybe that second one, just a little, but mostly I’m saying this because you ain’t never been out on a job like this before. Because you’re a rookie, and I’m your lieutenant, and I need you to do what I say when I say it, or else we ain’t standing a chance. You understand?”

“Yes,” she said, becoming eager. “I understand.”

“Good,” he said, and he gave her a strong nod, and then he led the way out ahead so they could catch up with the rest of the gang.

She felt validated by his pep talk. He didn’t altogether know how much she aimed to be strong.

They rode till they found a good valley to camp in south of the Heartlands, not far from the lake. The scenery, even in darkness, reminded Mary Beth of Clemens Point. She became full to the brim with sadness and nostalgia. She almost started crying. The romance of it all, its highness and mighty feelings, had started wearing off, and now it was just her and Arthur, and she looked at him, stoking their fire, and she felt such love in her heart so as to help her do anything. Such fortitude. But everything seemed much easier when they were up at Deer Cottage, all alone in what had felt like a primitive world.

At some point Dutch Arthur and Charles grouped up beneath a nearby tree smoking and discussing their manly options for the next day. Sadie and Marybeth were aced out of this conversation, left to their own devices at the fire where Sadie was cleaning her sawed-off, and Mary Beth was making them a batch of whiskey tea.

"What do you think they’re talking about?" said Sadie.

"Who knows," said Marybeth.

"Fucking egos," said Sadie, looking crass. "The only reason Dutch brought me along was because I made a goddamn stink in front of everyone. For such a drama queen, he sure don’t like it when others cause a fuss."

Mary Beth laughed. "I know what you mean," she said. "You want some tea?"

"Sure," said Sadie.

Together they sat, by the fire, sipping their tea and looking at their boots. Sadie drew real quiet. She held her cup with two hands, looking down into it like it was no tomorrow. She took it down in three gulps. Mary Beth offered her some more. Sadie nodded and held out her cup.

“I hate this damn Heartlands country,” said Sadie. "It smells like fish and buffalo shit. Where are you from Mary Beth?

"Kansas," send Mary Beth.

"Do you miss it?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

Mary Beth took a long drink of her whiskey tea. It was strong and dark and tasted good. "Too many reminders," she said.

Sadie laughed to herself, sounding resigned. “I hear that."

Mary Beth looked up at the wide open sky. The clouds had exited. The stars we’re bright and swimming like fishes. “Why did you want to come anyway?” she said.

Sadie swallowed down that second cup of whiskey tea. She set down the cup and went back to cleaning her gun, polishing it with a dirty linen rag. At first, she didn’t say anything. She just sat there, sullen with her eyes downturned. But sooner or later she spoke.

“I ain’t ever known a man as good as my Jakey,” she said, subdued. “Colm O’Driscoll took him away from me. I want my revenge.”

She said this with such clarity of mind. Such purity of darkness inside her. Mary Beth could feel the whole world narrowing around them, becoming a tornado, crushing into the walls ahead. She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t even begin to understand what you been through.”

Sadie looked up, surprised. She ceased cleaning that gun. “Sure you can,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“You been in love,” said Sadie. “If somebody shot Arthur dead and left his body for wild animals to come and scavenge in the middle of a fuckin snowstorm, wouldn’t you do anything to watch them burn?”

Mary Beth got quiet after this. She was listening to the crickets. She looked down at her freckled hands, and then she closed her eyes.

Sadie swore under her breath. She seemed filled with remorse by what she'd said. She realized it was unforgivable. She set down her gun and leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees. She dropped her chin to her chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Mary Beth,” she said. She placed her hand on Mary Beth’s hand, just for a second. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get so…mean sometimes. Without him.” She kind of sniffled, looked away like she was crying. “So angry. It makes me say and do terrible things.”

“It’s okay,” said Mary Beth. “You don't have to explain.”

“It ain’t okay,” said Sadie, wiping her tears on the back of her hand. “After Jake, up in Colter, you was nicer to me than anyone. You and Arthur, I mean. And here I am, scaring you and making you feel bad.”

“You ain’t. I promise.”

Then she pulled herself together and looked back at Mary Beth with a whole lot of resolve in her face. “Arthur is strong,” she said. “He’s a survivor. He knows what he’s doing, and he loves you. That much is clear. You got nothing to worry about.”

Mary Beth nodded. She took another long drink of her tea. It was starting to cool.

Together, they watched the boys talking under that tree.

“Is he your first love?” said Sadie, getting dreamy.

Mary Beth smiled. “Mostly,” she said. “I mean, I had puppy love once. With a boy back in Kansas City, but it wasn't nothing like being with Arthur,” she said. She didn’t know how old Sadie was, but she figured she was at least enough older to be able to understand what it was she was saying. “He gets real protective sometimes, you know? But I don’t want him to think I’m weak.”

“He don’t think you’re weak,” said Sadie.

“How do you know?”

“Because he knows you, and you ain’t.”

Mary Beth watched Arthur, smoking, listening to Dutch, flexing his jaw like he was thinking real hard. She nodded, following Sadie’s gist. She was pretty sure she understood.

That night, in their tent in the Heartlands, Arthur and Mary Beth lie side by side with a little lantern lit up by their faces. Mary Beth was reading her Yates while Arthur was drawing something in his journal and chewing on a toothpick. Outside of their tent, it was a quiet world. All was calm except for Charles out by the fire, sharpening his knife.

“What are you drawing?” said Mary Beth after a little while, turning her head to look at Arthur.

He took a deep breath, studied his work. “You,” he said.

It was a surprise. Mary Beth felt herself kind of pluck up and blush furiously. She straightened and closed her book and asked if she could see.

“Sure,” he said.

He showed her.

It was two pictures. One of her eating a peach, wearing a dress, sitting on a blanket by the river. The other one was her with that shotgun, shooting a turtle. She laughed. “Arthur!” she said, wacking him on the shoulder. “Not the turtle again.”

He laughed, too. “What’s wrong with the turtle?” he said. “I like that turtle. I like that day. I don’t wanna forget.”

“Me neither,” she said, gazing up at him. She felt that whole host of romantic dreams returning to her. Then she kissed him, getting breathless.

[speedy-1236]

I'm going to be that asshole who takes the short meme and throws an essay at it. Apologies in advance. ;-)

It's not untrue what the original post says, but it's superficial, and I'm going to do in-depth now, because there's more to it. The meme makes it sound like hypocrisy, but I feel that's not what it is. It's cathartic fantasy. It's one of the core elements of fanfic culture. It's the Fix It™.

We, as fanfic people, both as writers and readers, I think are not an emotionally constipated crowd. Quite the opposite. Fanfic is such a character and emotion driven genre because we as the creators and audience look for emotional depth in our fiction. How much fanfic is basically "we're taking a potentially emotional moment from the source material that didn't get much screen time and write 10+k words of character angst about it, and oh, here's another 10k of fluff to chase it down with"?

We're an emotional crowd. We're doing fanfic because we are. We're not unaware of how we feel, nor unable to express it. Technically speaking, the average fanfic person is more than well-equipped to talk about their feelings.

But we live in a world that doesn't want us to. I'm going to freely extrapolate from my own perspective here, but it's never been about not knowing how to put my feelings into words for me. I've never struggled with that. There are pages and pages of diary-like rants and musings to prove it, along with the tip of the iceberg that actually ends up being in stories. It's not about the words. It's about the audience.

The society we live in doesn't want us to express our feelings. It wants us to walk through life pretending we hardly have them, and if we're encouraged to express something, it's something superficial and inconsequential most of the time. Nobody wants you to talk about your existential angst or your identity or about what keeps you up at night or what dreams, however unattainable, keep you going when you're at your worst. Nobody wants to see the deep sea. They allow the shallow tide, but show them an actual proper wave and they're running.

Most adults are scared of feelings. They're fucking terrified when you express them, or when you recognize theirs and dare put that into words. As an emotionally aware person, you learn to be quiet about it. You don't talk about your feelings, no matter how well you understand them, or how much talking might help in growing to understand them, because you learned that nobody will listen. You'll earn mockery for your troubles ("don't be so dramatic, you're making too much of a big deal of it" and so forth), or you'll embarrass people, or downright frighten them off, or make them angry because it's easy to be angry about something you don't understand, and a disturbing amount of adults don't understand feelings, their own and other people's.

I think in all of our lives there are very few people we feel safe letting in, letting close enough to really know us. A few close friends and loved ones we can trust to actually listen to us when we put our feelings into words and to not judge us for it. In real life, someone to talk to about your feelings is a rare treasure, and even with friends and family you often have to jump the not insubstantial hurdle of "nobody ever told us how to talk about feelings properly" first.

But this is fiction, and as such it's a world we can control. A world that follows whatever law we want it to. The "characters don't talk about their feelings" trope isn't so popular because it mirrors reality. It doesn't. It's a fix it.

They say every story needs a conflict to resolve, and in this case it's "these stupid characters don't talk to each other properly". But the key word here is "resolve". That's what the overwhelming majority of these fics do. Sure, the characters grapple with not talking, the story might grind us through chapter after frustrating chapter of those idiot characters not talking to each other and it drives us slowly mad, but in the end, the whole point is that they overcome that hurdle of not putting their feelings into words. No matter if the fic is shippy or friendshippy or working through trauma or whatever else you have, the resolution is usually some variant of "they solve the problem". They talk to each other, and even if it's not all the thousands of words we learned about their unspoken feelings in the parts of the fic leading up to it, in the end they talk, and it's good, and everyone feels better.

The "they don't talk about their feelings" fics aren't about the frustration of watching characters have the same problems as you have in real life. They're for the catharsis of seeing their struggles and relating to them, and the relief of seeing them finally triumph over them. The "they need to talk about their feelings" fics are a discreetly raised middle finger to an emotionally cold society, and I love them for that. Let's never stop writing them, friends.

Me, at fictional characters: THIS WOULDN’T BE A PROBLEM IF YOU JUST TALKED ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS

Me, in real life: if i give even the vaguest notion of my feelings to anybody i would die

[psychologeek-blog1]

A to Z of Human Emotions

Let’s do a quick test: list every emotion you can recall without searching anywhere or asking anyone.

You ready? Go.

I’ll wait.

…

How many words did you come up with? 4? 8? 10? More than that?

Every day, you experience a wide range of emotions you aren’t even aware of (yes, even as an adult). Recognizing different types of emotions and facial expressions build up your emotional intelligence which is the key skill you need to thrive in the world.

(GIF by JosepBernaus on Dribbble)

In this post, I’ll give you an A to Z of of emotion vocabularies. You’ll find some of words from different cultures and languages (some of which are taken from Tiffany Watt Smith’s The Book of Human Emotions). Instead of trusting your memory, I recommend you to save this post to come back to it from time to time to increase your emotional awareness.

Now without further delay, here’s the list of human emotions and feelings arranged in the alphabetical order:

A

Acedia or sometimes called accidie, is an emotion that has no real equivalent today. It was a short-lived but disastrous emotional crisis, usually striking between 11 a.m. and 4 p.m. Its first signs were listlessness and irritability, but it didn’t take long to turn into desolation and despair.

B

Bafflement is a condition when someone faced too many options, particularly those poorly arranged in a disorderly heap, make it hard to follow, or know which direction we should proceed, leaving us feeling frustrated, or angry, even bilious, but most of all exhausted by a surfeit of information that creates a sense of blockage, and precipitates a feeling of existential angst for the random purposelessness of things.

C

Cheesed off is a form of irritation feeling; often described as being ‘browned off’. The expression ‘cheesed off’ can be traced back to the nineteenth century, used by the pilots comparing themselves to rusting engines. The reason why it became so popular among airmen remains a mystery. Some say it’s because cheese turns brown under a grill. Others, because cheese on toast was obsessively eaten while waiting, and the men were, quite literally, fed up with it.

D

Dismay is a feeling of horror and paralysis. It flattens us; it might make us cover our eyes. The term descended from desmaier–Old French, came to describe a feeling; in other European languages, desmaier morphed into words for falling unconscious; in Spanish, desmayo is a swoon; in Portuguese, desmaio is a fainting fit.

E

Envy is a desire to have the material possessions and advantages of others. It’s the sickness that comes on hearing another’s happy sigh, the ache of contemplating their success. As adults, we mostly feel it as a secret vice. It’s there behind the rictus grin that celebrates other people’s successes.

F

Fago is the pity felt for someone in need, which compels us to care for them, but it is also haunted by a strong sense that one day we will lose them. Fago comes in those moments when our love for others, and their need for us, feels so unexpectedly overwhelming—and life so very fragile and temporary—that we well up.

G

Gladsomeness describes the appearance of a glittering, shining thing. This meaning still lingers in the expressions “glad rags” or “glad eye”—the twinkle that attracts a lover. In the fourteenth century, gladsum, or gladsomenesse, began to be used to describe a brightening of the soul too, a sparky, bouncing feeling, which today we might be more likely to call joy.

H

Hesitant (rooted from Latin word, haesitant), is a condition when you’re slow to act or proceed (as from fear, indecision, or unwillingness). If you are hesitant, you do not do something immediately or quickly because you are nervous or not certain. 

I

If you are inquisitive that means you love to inquire; you're always asking questions. You are eager to know a lot about people or things, sometimes in a way that annoys people. 

J

Jealousy involves the fear of losing a person or their affections to someone else. It is triangular: me (the victim), you (the traitor) and the other (the thief). Such treacheries are all the more painful for the feeling of having been discarded. It is this threat that makes jealousy so inflammatory—and intimacy such a risk.

K

Keen came from the Old English word, cene, that translates to ‘bold and brave’ and while the spelling is now really different, the sounds are similar. If you are keen on doing something, you are very interested, eager, or wanting to do that thing very much.

L

Lenient means tolerant or relaxed, and is usually used when we’re talking about someone’s attitude toward discipline. If you're not overly strict, and you show tolerance and mercy when someone does something wrong, then you're being lenient.

M

Malu, roots from Bahasa Indonesia, is the sudden experience of feeling constricted, inferior and awkward around people of higher status than us. You might be experiencing malu if you clam up before your partner’s parents, or a conversation with a former headmistress leaves you staring at the floor and sweating.

N

The word neglect comes from the Latin verb, neglegere, which means ‘disregarded’. Neglect is worse than ignoring something. It's ignoring it, failing to care for it, and probably harming it in the process.

O

When something isn't fair, or offends you, it often results in your feeling outraged. When you're outraged, you're furious. When you're outraged, you're furious. You might be outraged over the rude treatment you get at a fancy, expensive restaurant.

P

Pathos is a quality that stirs emotions (especially pity or sorrow). A song with a lot of pathos hits you right in the heart. When someone tells a story about people suffering that makes you feel for them, that's pathos.

R

Came from an old French word meaning ‘carried away’, rapture is a feeling of emotional ecstasy so magical it's almost as if you've been transported to some other world. It's happiness so extreme that you just about float to heaven, complete with big goofy grin plastered to your face.

S

Serenity came from the Latin, serenus, meaning ‘calm or peaceful’, plus the English suffix -ity, meaning ‘quality or state of’. Serenity used to describe a state when your mind is still and perfectly calm.

T

Triumph came from the Latin, triumphus, which means an ‘achievement, success, procession for a victorious general or admiral’. It'll make you pump your fist and yell "Hurrah!"

U

Uneasy describes an uncomfortable feeling. You might feel socially uneasy when dining with your girlfriend's parents if they don't like you very much. Your stomach may also feel uneasy at that same dinner and gurgle in an embarrassing way.

V

If you spend all day admiring yourself in reflective surfaces — mirrors, pools of water, the backs of spoons — people may think you are conceited, or vain.

W

The German word Wanderlust describes a kind of longing for movement that runs as deep in the human psyche as love or fear. It’s the desire, as old as human life itself, to see what lies beyond the next mountain, or outside the boundaries of the village—and may leave us with the gnawing feeling that life only makes sense if we are traveling in some direction or another.

Y

A yearning is a strong desire. If you have a yearning to travel in Maldives, it means that you dream about it and intensely hope that one day you'll end up there.

Z

Zeal is dedication or enthusiasm for something. If you have zeal, you're willing, energized, and motivated. If you have passion for something, you have zeal, which is kind of a mix of eagerness and energy and devotion.

That’s all, folks! Isn’t it amazing how many of these emotions we already felt but didn’t know there was a word of it?

If you keep expanding your emotional vocabulary, you’ll be much more comfortable when dealing with your negative emotions and much quicker to appreaciate the positive emotions.

How many new words did you learn today from the list of emotions? Share this post with your friends with one new word you learned today.

[clarenceomoore]

Voices in AI – Episode 86: A Conversation with Amir Husain

[voices_in_ai_byline]

About this Episode

Episode 86 of Voices in AI features Byron speaking with fellow author Amir Husain about the nature of Artificial Intelligence and Amir’s book The Sentient Machine.

Listen to this one-hour episode or read the full transcript at www.VoicesinAI.com

Transcript Excerpt

Byron Reese: This is Voices in AI brought to you by GigaOm, and I’m Byron Reese. Today my guest is Amir Husain. He is the founder and CEO of SparkCognition Inc., and he’s the author of The Sentient Machine, a fine book about artificial intelligence. In addition to that, he is a member of the AI task force with the Center for New American Security. He is a member of the board of advisors at UT Austin’s Department of Computer Science. He’s a member of the Council on Foreign Relations. In short, he is a very busy guy, but has found 30 minutes to join us today. Welcome to the show, Amir.

Amir Husain: Thank you very much for having me Byron. It’s my pleasure.

You and I had a cup of coffee a while ago and you gave me a copy of your book and I’ve read it and really enjoyed it. Why don’t we start with the book. Talk about that a little bit and then we’ll talk about SparkCognition Inc. Why did you write The Sentient Machine: The Coming Age of Artificial Intelligence?

Byron, I wrote this book because I thought that there was a lot of writing on artificial intelligence—what it could be. There’s a lot of sci fi that has visions of artificial intelligence and there’s a lot of very technical material around where artificial intelligence is as a science and as a practice today. So there’s a lot of that literature out there. But what I also saw was there was a lot of angst back in 2015, 2014. I actually had a personal experience in that realm where outside of my South by Southwest talks there was an anti-AI protest.

So just watching those protesters and seeing what their concerns were, I felt that a lot of the sort of philosophical questions, existential questions around the advent of AI, if AI indeed ends up being like Commander Data, it has sentience, it becomes artificial general intelligence, then it will be able to do the jobs better than we can and it will be more capable in let’s say the ‘art of war’ than we are and therefore does this mean that we will lose our jobs. We will be meaningless and our lives will be lacking in meaning and maybe the AI will kill us?

These are the kinds of concerns that people have had around AI and I wanted to sort of reflect on notions of man’s ability to create—the aspects around that that are embedded in our historical and religious tradition and what our conception of Man vs. he who can create, our creator—what those are and how that influences how we see this age of AI where man might be empowered to create something which can in turn create, which can in turn think.

There’s a lot of folks also that feel that this is far away, and I am an AI practitioner and I agree I don’t think that artificial general intelligence is around the corner. It’s not going to happen next May, even though I suppose some group could surprise us, but the likely outcome is that we are going to wait a few decades. I think waiting a few decades isn’t a big deal because in the grand scheme of things, in the history of the human race, what is a few decades? So ultimately the questions are still valid and this book was written to address some of those existential questions lurking in elements of philosophy, as well as science, as well as the reality of where AI stands at the moment.

So talk about those philosophical questions just broadly. What are those kinds of questions that will affect what happens with artificial intelligence?

Well I mean one question is a very simple one of self-worth. We tend to define ourselves by our capabilities and the jobs that we do. Many of our last names in many cultures are literally indicative of our profession. You know goldsmiths as an example, farmer as an example. And this is not just a European thing. Across the world you see this phenomenon of last names just reflecting the profession of a woman or a man. And it is to this extent that we internalize the jobs that we do as essentially being our identity, literally to the point where we take it on as a name.

So now when you de-link a man or a woman’s ability to produce or to engage in that particular labor that is a part of their identity, then what’s left? Are you still, the human that you were with that skill? Are you less of a human being? Is humanity in any way linked to your ability to conduct this kind of economic labor? And this is one question that I explored in the book because I don’t know whether people really contemplate this issue so directly and think about it in philosophical terms, but I do know that subjectively people get depressed when they’re confronted with the idea that they might not be able to do the job that they are comfortable doing or have been comfortable doing for decades. So at some level obviously it’s having an impact.

And the question then is: is our ability to perform a certain class of economic labor in any way intrinsically connected to identity? Is it part of humanity? And I sort of explore this concept and I say “OK well, let’s sort of take this away and let’s cut this away let’s take away all of the extra frills, let’s take away all of what is not absolutely fundamentally uniquely human.” And that was an interesting exercise for me. The conclusions that I came to—I don’t know whether I should spoil the book by sharing it here—but in a nutshell—this is no surprise—that our cognitive function, our higher order thinking, our creativity, these are the things which make us absolutely unique amongst the known creation. And it is that which makes us unique and different. So this is one question of self worth in the age of AI, and another one is…

Just to put a pin in that for a moment, in the United States the workforce participation rate is only about 50% to begin with, so only about 50% of people work because you’ve got adults that are retired, you have people who are unable to work, you have people that are independently wealthy… I mean we already had like half of adults not working. Does it does it really rise to the level of a philosophical question when it’s already something we have thousands of years of history with? Like what are the really needy things that AI gets at? For instance, do you think a machine can be creative?

Absolutely I think the machine can be creative.

You think people are machines?

I do think people are machines.

So then if that’s the case, how do you explain things like the mind? How do you think about consciousness? We don’t just measure temperature, we can feel warmth, we have a first person experience of the universe. How can a machine experience the world?

Well you know look there’s this age old discussion about qualia and there’s this discussion about the subjective experience, and obviously that’s linked to consciousness because that kind of subjective experience requires you to first know of your own existence and then apply the feeling of that experience to you in your mind. Essentially you are simulating not only the world but you also have a model of yourself. And ultimately in my view consciousness is an emergent phenomenon.

You know the very famous Marvin Minsky hypothesis of The Society of Mind. And in all of its details I don’t know that I agree with every last bit of it, but the basic concept is that there are a large number of processes that are specialized in different things that are running in the mind, the software being the mind, and the hardware being the brain, and that the complex interactions of a lot of these things result in something that looks very different from any one of these processes independently. This in general is a phenomenon that’s called emergence. It exists in nature and it also exists in computers.

One of the first few graphical programs that I wrote as a child in basic [coding] was drawing straight lines, and yet on a CRT display, what I actually saw were curves. I’d never drawn curves but it turns out that when you light a large number of pixels with a certain gap in the middle and it’s on a CRT display there there are all sorts of effects and interactions like the Moire effect and so on and so forth where what you thought you were drawing was lines, and it shows up if you look at it from an angle, as curves.

So I mean the process of drawing a line is nothing like drawing a curve, there was no active intent or design to produce a curve, the curve just shows up. It’s a very simple example of a kid writing a few lines of basic can do this experiment and look at this but there are obviously more complex examples of emergence as well. And so consciousness to me is an emergent property, it’s an emergent phenomenon. It’s not about the one thing.

I don’t think there is a consciousness gland. I think that there are a large number of processes that interact to produce this consciousness. And what does that require? It requires for example a complex simulation capability which the human brain has, the ability to think about time, to think about objects, model them and to also apply your knowledge of physical forces and other phenomena within your brain to try and figure out where things are going.

So that simulation capability is very important, and then the other capability that’s important is the ability to model yourself. So when you model yourself and you put yourself in a simulator and you see all these different things happening, there is not the real pain that you experience when you simulate for example being struck by an arrow, but there might be some fear and a why is that fear emanating? It’s because you watch your own model in your imagination, in your simulation suffer some sort of a problem. And now that is a very internal. Right? None of this has happened in the external world but you’re conscious of this happening, so to me at the end of the day it has some fundamental requirements. I believe simulation and self modeling are two of those requirements, but ultimately it’s an emergent property.

Listen to this one-hour episode or read the full transcript at www.VoicesinAI.com

[voices_in_ai_link_back]

Byron explores issues around artificial intelligence and conscious computers in his new book The Fourth Age: Smart Robots, Conscious Computers, and the Future of Humanity.

[paganchristian]

I’m remembering the scent of these nasturtiums that I grew from seed, and their beautiful colors, so brilliantly fiery.  A pack of seeds, from Dollar General, 25 cents or was it 50?  And a bunch of pansies bought at this special nursery where we lived, ruffled, most beautiful bicolors of pastel and dark purple and maroon, yellow and pale storm blue.  And their scent was amazing, as were the hyacinths so heavenly a scent.  The heirloom rose was almost like a fruity berry scent but lasted one year before it soon began to waste away in our humid climate, and the peony the same.  The tuberose and the flowering tobacco were my favorite of flower scents, except that the tuberose was so overpowering that it started to make me feel ill.  Nicotiana, flowering woodland tobacco, is said to be intoxicating in fragrance, and I agree, ... ahh..  

Anyway, as I sit and smell the grass mown sweet smell and the herbs drifting from my patio, I am here today, without any particular fragrant flowers yet this year.  But the wifi is picking up outside the house and I am just sitting here, instead of petting the cat who has become more like the average cat, in a short time, just sitting nearby after a little bit of petting and playing, but then not as active or interactive, just a pleasant presence.  But my daughter, ever-attentive, wants to spend the whole evening here with the cat and really I don’t think I mind.  Everything is peaceful when you can just be so calm and the whole world about you is just serene, country life, is it numbing, too simple, too easy to be happy?  To ignore pressing concerns in ignorant bliss and in soothing ease and pleasure?  But before i had my daughter, the same things didn’t cheer me.  It was pure numbness to the point of depressive emptiness and futility, meaninglessness.  

So,... I guess that numb feeling would return again when she is grown and I’m alone one day again, with my husband, it would return unless I learn the ways that my daughter seems to cheer me up and am able to cheer myself the same.  Is it the same, can it be the same, if you’re actually an extrovert instead of the extreme introvert you had to learn to act like, but never really was happy with that?  What will it be like when my husband and I are alone?  Or is there another way, besides being a crazy cat lady all alone with my cats, and cats, though I love them, won’t be enough company for the deprived and starved extroversion in me?  

And maybe I could be like those families all over the world, in many other parts of the world, where the children don’t move out when they grow up and maybe that is the answer, if my daughter is really happy to do that, but maybe.  Or maybe my family member will grow close to me.  

Or maybe I’ll make friends, but making friends feels like more and more of a distant dream that I don’t know if I’ll ever stumble on the luck of finding a really good friend, and if I did then what save it from the same tarnished hollowness or the false, draining polite numb emptiness that my friendships became or the final insulting drifting thoughtlessly without a warning away from what was for many years the deepest love, or meaningless misunderstandings to show that they forgot what we once shared and so clearly discussed and agreed so perfectly,...  what once was the height of closeness.  So I then feel, I thought you knew me, but you aren’t the same anyway.  So any friendship has that potential.  The more I see and learn and know the more likely it seems most friendships could become that way in time with me because I’m too different.  I don’t fit in any of the comfortable predictable roles in most anyone’s lives so I just get displaced in time.  

 But with my daughter, that feels so much safer.  I just have to teach her all that she needs in life before she is too old and grows beyond my influence anymore.  Then she will keep those things close to heart all her life and we’ll be close all our lives together.  And I have to just protect her from ill influences, until she is old enough to see for herself and judge well.  I really think most children and most teenagers and most young adults for that matter are led astray and hurt so much by ill influences, even all the way up into their perhaps mid twenties, perhaps even later, because though we are expected to be grown up and think and figure out things for ourselves when we’re in our twenties and 30s, it’s not so easy after all.  But, it’s not to say parents could teach their kids better, because if they knew better themselves it’s often still hard to teach, if you even have the time and energy for it.  But with my daughter, I feel like maybe I could teach her so much to help her.  I am weird, my life has been weird, and I’ve had all this time to learn, think out and write out so many things and I hope that it could help her a lot, so I’ll see, I guess, when the time comes.  

But I really feel anyway that most young adults really suffer because of all they don’t know and understand and choose wrong, ignorantly, maybe up till their 30s or beyond often.  Especially if life is hard on us, or we have unusual difficulties that no one taught us to deal with.  But maturity for everyone is not as thorough and well-formed by then as people seem to think.  We generally cope well enough, so to speak.  But not necessarily so very well.  

So many causalities can occur because of the foolishness that we take on in these not so mature times of our lives.  I know that there is only so far I can go or so long before I will have to let my daughter have more freedom but I actually thing that in many ways, I can protect her even into her early twenties, maybe beyond, while still letting her have a healthy life and social opportunities and so on.  I won’t be controlling or anything, but just guiding, if she also agrees. 

 And I would have liked this for myself, really, I think, when I was that age, because if my mom had been so close and such a  good friend to me as my daughter and I are, then I think I would have willingly learned all that I want to teach my daughter, and I would have willingly went along with the guidance and carefulness that I would advise my daughter to have about the world, about romance, about friends, and other things.  

But what happened to me was a much more average life, in which I was trying to find romance, find a religion or spiritual path, find my career, find myself, cure my depression (bipolar, which I didn’t know then), anxiety, existential angst, despair, find self-worth, find purpose, heal the gaping despair and confusion and meaninglessness I felt, feel I mattered, feel people wanted and liked me and that I had a place and meaning in the world, and feel safe, feel I had a future, get away from parents who really didn’t want me around and felt I was a problem, ending up marrying quite young, because it was better than the other alternative, and felt hopeful, a soulmate, who I’d been with (off again on again) for a few years,...  even though I was too naïve to see that the relationship was full of warning signs of the abuse that would later unfold. 

Oh well, life is life.  I have learned a lot.  I hope I can teach my daughter a better path than what I had to take.  I have so much I can see to teach my daughter, to learn for myself to be a happy crazy cat lady, or crazy cat family, too, lol, but not just that.  Happy spiritual person, happy introvert by necessity not choice, happy artist, and all these things that I can be and my daughter is and we already are but are learning more and more to be and as time goes on I think we will be really well settled into this humble, simple and joyful, but calm life of depth and yet childlike mindful ease, work but not overwork, rest but not laziness, play but not too much escapism, spirituality but not being too detached from reality and the present world and other people.  And I can share those things with my relative too.  

[sleeplessnightwithphan]

Expect Nothing

Summary: Phil was expecting a restless sleep and lots of crying. He was expecting having to move on without his best friend and feeling lonely. He was expecting a life filled with regret and the question “‘what if?’.

Phil wasn’t expecting a familiar figure crying on his bed.

(But hey, life is full of surprises, isn’t it?)

Genre: Angst, post-breakup, bit of fluff in the end (I couldn’t not)

Word Count: 6.4k

TW: Alcohol, mentions of wounds, hospitals, mentions of cancer (very briefly), mentions of death (very very minor character dying)

A/N:  Thank you so much to @snowbunnylester for helping me to continue writing this fic instead of just deleting it when I got stuck, and @phillybops for making sure everything I had written was actually in English instead of some alien language. I love you both! <3

I have literally been writing this story since March/April, back when Humpty and Dumpty were still living in their old place, so imagine it taking place there (I was too lazy to change it all.)

I had already posted part of this as an attempt to write a chaptered fic, but I feel like it works better as a oneshot, so yeah. Here it is I guess? 

I hope you enjoy the story, and feedback is always appreciated ^^

Readon AO3: X

At nine o’clock, Phil hesitantly opened the door to the apartment. Dan had told him that he should be done packing his stuff and on his way out by six, but he hadn’t actually built up the courage he needed to return until now.

He was scared to see the place half empty, no proof left behind that there were once two men living their lives together in there, being very much in love.

He wouldn’t be able to wear one of Dan’s jumpers at night anymore when he was feeling lonely, wouldn’t be able to go into Dan’s bedroom and be reminded of all the good things that happened in their relationship (even though Dan’s bedroom had unofficially become the spare bedroom a long time ago, it was filled with little things that made it distinctly ‘Dan’.)

Nothing left behind to remind him of making dinner together after a long day of work, which would always end up in them almost destroying their kitchen. Nothing to remind him of sitting on the carpet in their hallway beside his boyfriend, talking him through another existential crisis.

Nothing to remind him of the smiles, the tears, the fights, the making up, the ups-and-downs. Feeling alive, the exhilarating knowledge that no matter what happened, Dan would always be right beside him: being able to take on the world together.

Seeing the apartment half empty would make everything real. It would force him to accept the fact that Dan had moved on, and he had left Phil a broken mess.

Having felt sad, lonely and scared all day thinking of what he had to face when he came back home (it felt strange having to refer to a place without Dan as ‘home’), Phil just wanted to go to his bed and fall asleep, tired out by constantly worrying about his future and missing his best friend.

He was so lost in thoughts that he failed to realise that there was another set of keys on the table in their hallway when he emptied his pockets on there. He was oblivious to the fact that the lights were still on, even though Dan always turned them off when he left (quite a few arguments had started with Phil forgetting to do so). He didn’t notice the boxes in the hallway that hadn’t been there when he left the place to go out earlier that day.

It wasn’t until he walked into the bedroom and saw a familiar figure sitting on the bed, crying his eyes out, that he realised that Dan hadn’t left yet.

***

Phil just stood in the door frame, staring at his past lover.

His first reaction was to run away, leave the apartment again and come back after a few hours. Phil never was one for confrontations, always wanting to do everything he could to make everybody happy. He hated awkward meetings, discussions, or fights -  usually opting to avoid them altogether.

But then again, this was Dan they were talking about. The man he had known for years now.  The man he witnessed growing up from an awkward, starstruck boy who managed to grab his attention on the internet, into a confident, beautiful adult. The man he fell in love with, and even though they broke up, he still felt his heart beginning to beat faster when he looked at him.

So no, Phil could definitely not leave him here alone.

He decided to take a step into the room and softly knock on the open door, as to not startle Dan. However, he didn’t acknowledge Phil at all, but just kept his face buried in his hands and continued to sob.

Phil tried again, knocking on the door a bit louder, and when Dan still didn’t seem to have heard him, he decided to speak up.

“Dan…why are you still here? Why are you crying?” he asked with utmost carefulness in his voice, as if he were trying to approach a young animal in the woods.

Finally, Dan had noticed him. He lifted his head up to see who had walked into the room, but when he saw it was Phil, he quickly looked away and tried to hide his face with his hands again.

“Please, don’t look at me like this. I’ll leave in a bit. I’ll let you continue with your life without me, I’ll go away, just… give me a minute, please.” He spoke, words becoming nearly incomprehensible through the layer of hands and the result of crying.

Even if Phil was to ignore the state he had found Dan in, the words he used didn’t help to assure him that Dan was alright. It sounded almost as if he thought that Phil hated him. If only he knew…

They had decided to break up a month and a half ago, but it was a long time coming. They had found themselves fighting with one another more and more often, most of the times over trivial things they couldn’t even remember afterwards.

Dan had started to get more and more guarded again, seemingly not wanting anybody to see how he felt, putting up an act. It was as if current Dan had switched places with the 2012 version of himself.

This shift in behaviour had caused Phil to have to be extremely careful around his boyfriend, picking every word he said with care, constantly walking on eggshells. And even then, there always was something Phil had apparently done or said wrong.

Their final night together, Phil had decided that he had had enough. He wanted an explanation for Dan’s sudden change, he wanted to stop feeling like Dan was a ticking time bomb that could explode at any time. So he had gathered all of his courage, and went up to Dan to express his concerns.

“Dan, can we talk for a minute, please?” Phil had said while taking a seat on the couch. It was apparent in his the shaking of his voice that he was very nervous and even a bit scared, but he knew that this was something he needed to do.

“There is something that’s been… bothering me, I guess? And I just wanted to discuss it with you.”

Dan, who had been busy on his laptop, sighed, put the laptop away and turned to Phil. “What’s wrong?” he said, sounding annoyed with Phil.

Oh great, this had gotten off to an amazing start.

Taking a deep breath, Phil ignored the small voice in the back of his head that was screaming not to do this. They couldn’t go on like this.

“I...I don’t really like the way you’re acting lately. It’s constantly making me feel like I’ve done something wrong, and I don’t want to have to worry about that all the time,” he had said with all the courage he could muster, looking down at his hands.

“What do you mean, the way I have been acting? I haven’t been acting any different. What has gotten into your head?” Dan spoke, raising his voice just a little bit, but enough to make Phil want to back out of this.

But Phil knew that he couldn’t. He had to do this.

“I just… I constantly feel like you’re shutting me out, you’re not talking to me anymore. We’re always fighting about nothing, and it’s been making me feel like you’re superior to me.

Phil started playing pulling on a loose thread on the bottom of his shirt, anything to avoid making eye contact.

“And, I just, I don’t want that, I want us both to be equal in this relationship. We used to have that, but I… I feel like we don’t anymore. I just want what we used to have.”

That, apparently, hadn’t been what Dan wanted to hear.

“I have been shutting you out? What do you mean, I have been shutting you out? I have been acting superior to you? Phil, those are lies!”

Dan had started properly shouting at this point, something Phil hated. He crawled away into the corner of the couch, but that didn’t seem to stop Dan from fully blowing his lid.

“I have never, never acted superior to you! If anything, you’re the one who has acted superior to me! Always expecting me to tell you everything, acting like you’re the only one who knows how to handle things, but guess what?! I’m an adult as well! I can deal with my own shit, and I don’t need you to baby me!”

“I’ve never done anything but try to help you, Dan! I was trying to be a good boyfriend! Why are you getting mad at me about that?!” Phil started crying at this point, out of frustration and anger, not knowing what he did wrong.

But Dan never answered the question, instead collapsing onto the couch and starting to sob as well.

Phil, out of habit, tried to wipe away his tears and go over to Dan, hold him and calm him down. He moved over to sit down next to Dan, and put his hand on Dan’s shoulder.

Dan’s reaction, however, wasn’t what he had been expecting, not at all. Instead of accepting his embrace, he pushed Phil away, hard enough to making him fall to the ground, and began screaming again.

“You see, Phil?? That’s what I mean! You always have to baby me, act like I’m a child! I’m not anymore, I’m 26 years old for fuck’s sake! And you, you just, you don’t listen when I tell you not to!”

They both stared intensely at each other for a moment, trying to calm down, before Dan stood up and started walking away. Phil was still laying on the floor, in shock over the fact that Dan, his Dan, had actually pushed him.

But he did still hear the words Phil had always hoped he would never have to hear come from Dan’s mouth.

“This isn’t working anymore. We’re over.”

***

Everything after that was a hazy mess clouded with tears, his brain struggling to understand what was going on.

Phil couldn’t remember getting up, didn’t remember moving around. Somehow he ended up banging on Dan’s locked door, begging to be let in, begging to be given a second chance.

Dan hadn’t let him in, hadn’t talked to him, hadn’t acknowledged him at all.

In the end, they had gone into their separate rooms, not sleeping in the same bed for the first time in years. Phil just lied there and stared at the ceiling, listening to any sounds that might be coming from the next room.

Eventually, Phil had fallen into a restless sleep, vaguely aware of the sounds of someone packing a suitcase coming from the other bedroom.

By the time he woke up, he was alone in the apartment.

That’s when he fell apart.

Phil had spent the first week in their – no, his - bedroom, crying the entire day, lacking the energy to do anything. He usually was full of joy, but apparently that part of him had left together with Dan.

He had lied awake at night, thinking about every possible way that he might have been able to save their relationship. Yes, they had been very busy over the last few years, and yes, they hadn’t been spending as much time with one another as they used to, working on separate projects a little more. But it wasn’t as if they never saw each other anymore, they still spend most of their time together, nothing had happened that seemed big enough to cause Dan’s behaviour to change so much.

Should he have noticed it earlier? Was there a very obvious reason for Dan’s behaviour that Phil had managed to miss completely? Was there anything he could have done differently?

He came up without an answer every time.

Dan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have been sad for a long time after their break-up. Phil hadn’t been able to make himself turn off the notifications for Dan on all his social media until three weeks afterwards, and the pictures and tweets he had still been notified about had shown him that Dan was doing just fine without him.

The Dan currently sitting in front of him didn’t even remotely resemble the Dan he had seen in pictures from those three weeks.

It was then that Phil spotted a bottle laying next to Dan on the bed. He couldn’t make out what the label said from where he stood, but he had a feeling it wasn’t just a bottle of water. Upon further inspection, he noticed that it was completely empty – that could explain at least part of Dan’s behaviour.

“Dan, have you really drank an entire bottle of alcohol on your own?” he asked, slowly stepping closer to the bed, sitting down far enough from Dan as to not make him run out of the room.

“I did, but it was nearly empty anyway. I’m not completely drunk if that’s what you’re thinking.” The tears had stopped falling out of his eyes, Dan had removed his hands from his face once again and was staring at the carpet at his feet.  “I just… needed it, I guess.”

“And why is that?”

“I…I…I…” Dan tried to respond, but instead he started bawling his eyes out again, and throwing his arms around Phil’s neck, pulling him closer and nestling his head into the crook of Phil’s neck, soaking his shirt with his tears.

Phil just held Dan in his arms, caressing his back and allowing him to cry, keeping him safe and warm.

It brought back memories of all the times he used to do exactly that, comforting Dan and guarding him  from whatever it was that was haunting him. How he was the first person Dan would come to when he felt sad, lonely, or doubtful. When negative comments on his videos got to him, or even just when he was exhausted from a long day of work, Phil was there for him.

They would cuddle for hours if needed, not saying anything, the feeling of being in Phil’s arms enough to calm Dan down and bring a smile back onto his face.

Here they were, in the exact same position they had been in so many times over the years, but everything felt different. Phil was once again reminded of how much things had changed. This time, Phil somehow was the reason Dan needed protection and consolation. He was the one who caused this, and he had no idea how to make Dan smile again.

Sitting here like that also brought back those painful memories, reminding of the last time they’d been in this situation, and how Dan had gotten angry with him for trying to console him. How he had pushed Phil away, breaking up with him only minutes later.

He tried to blink away the tears he started to feel building in his own eyes, holding onto Dan out of selfish reasons, trying not to fall apart himself.

He needed this just as much a Dan seemed to need it.

After a while, he noticed that Dan had stopped crying and his breathing had evened out. Pulling him away from his neck a bit, Phil saw that Dan’s eyes were shut and his face looked peaceful with just a hint of sadness; he had fallen asleep.

Given the fact that Dan had most likely been just as exhausted as him, Phil really didn’t have it in him to wake him up and make him collect all of his stuff. They would hopefully talk about what had happened tomorrow morning, but for now, they both just needed to rest.

He quickly moved Dan around so he was properly laid down in bed, tucking him in and making sure he was comfortable.

Not being able to resist, Phil brushed Dan’s hair out of his face, caressed his cheek, and softly placed a kiss on his forehead, before leaving the room to go sleep in the spare bedroom.  

The soft smile that formed on Dan’s face after the kiss went unnoticed by Phil.

***

Phil

I’m so sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to trouble you in any way at all.  I don’t know why exactly I thought that drinking half a bottle of vodka would help me accomplish that goal, but apparently, I did.

I will ask Louise if she can come by sometime next week and pick up my stuff for me. I’d hate for me to trouble you anymore than I already have.

Thank you for allowing me one last night in our your apartment, you really are the kindest soul to ever roam the earth, and you deserve so much more than what I was able to give you.

I truly wish you all the best, and I hope you find the love of your life soon, so you can finally become happy.

Again, sorry for last night. I won’t be giving you any more trouble ever again.

Just... thank you, I guess.

Now go and have a happy live.

Dan

***

No. No no no no no. This wasn’t happening. This was not allowed to happen.

Phil had woken up the next morning, feeling quite optimistic. He was hoping that Dan had been able to get a good night sleep, and they’d be able to sit down and discuss what had happened the night before - why Phil had found Dan drunk and crying in his old bedroom. He had been hoping to at least get some closure, an explanation on why Dan had behaved to strange in their last months together.

Now that they had spent some time apart, and after seeing Dan being so miserable the night before, Phil was actually feeling like this time, Dan might actually tell him.

That was, until Phil walked into the bedroom to see it empty, bed being made, and a note left behind.

Reading it, he felt himself getting angrier and angrier at every word he read, his blood starting to boil.

So, Dan had just decided to run away again? Leave Phil with all the questions he had? Send Louise to pick up his stuff in order to not have to see him again?

And as if that wasn’t enough, tell Phil that he deserved better than Dan? That he hoped Phil would find the love of his life soon?

Fuming with anger, Phil crumbled up the note and put it in his pocket.

He had already found him. He had found his true love. And there was no way that Phil was going to let him run away a second time.

So Phil did what he decided he should have done the first time already. He took his phone, keys and wallet, put on a coat and walked out of the house. He was going to find Dan and finally talk to him.

Dan wasn’t getting away again.

Not like this.

Once Phil had pulled close the door of his apartment behind him, he realised that he had no idea where to start looking first.

He tried to call Dan and talk to him, but it went straight to voicemail, so Phil presumed that Dan had either turned his phone off, or it had run out of battery (given the fact that Dan had spent the night at their apartment, and Phil hadn’t thought to plug in his phone overnight).

In the end, he just started walking down the road, hoping to find some inspiration.

The last thing he heard, Dan has been spending a few days at his parent’s house, but that had been right after they broke up, and he doubted that would be where he still was.

(Not that Dan didn’t love his family very much, he just always valued his independence, and he didn’t want to feel like he was bothering anybody.)

Maybe Dan had been staying over at a friend’s house? Or he had found a new place to live?

By the time he decided he should try and call some of their friends, Phil had made his way to a small park and sat down on a bench. If anything, Dan might have been in contact with some of them, or maybe one of them could help in his search. Trying was the least he could do.

Bryony hadn’t seen Dan since before the break-up, but she promised to let Phil know if she heard anything from him.

PJ had let Dan stay over at his place for a few days, but that was two weeks ago, and Dan had taken off without telling him where he was going. (PJ did end up talking to him for an hour, allowing Phil to vent, express his worries, and calm down. PJ also promised to keep an eye and ear out for Dan.)

He even reluctantly called Dan’s mum, but that only ended up in making her worry about her son. It might not have been the best idea Phil had had today (but hey, he was desperate).

After Phil hung up the phone for the fifth time, he could feel his eyes starting to water, but he tried to blink the tears away, refusing to cry over this in public.

Why was Dan making it so hard for him to be found? What had he been thinking when he wrote that stupid note? Why did he say that Phil deserved better than him?

Phil honestly couldn’t imagine ‘someone better’. Sure, Dan had his flaws. Yes, Dan could be stubborn, he could be lost in his existential crisis for days, or never believe anything he did was good enough. He could be incredibly loud, but also incredibly quiet and shy. He was unpredictable.

But all of that made him incredibly ‘Dan’. Incredibly familiar. Their relationship had always been easy, it had always felt natural for them to be together, as friends and later on as lovers. They balanced each other out perfectly.

The sky has slowly begun to get darker and darker while Phil had been sitting in the park, and he could feel little drops of water beginning to hit him.

It almost felt like the clouds were mocking him.

Sighing, Phil slipped his hands into his pockets to protect them from the cold weather, when his fingers skimmed a piece of paper.

Dan’s note. He still had it on him.

He pulled it out and started to read it again, trying to find any clue on where Dan could be.

And Jesus, how could Phil have been that stupid?

I will ask Louise if she can come by sometime next week and pick up my stuff for me.

Louise. Of course. Phil had completely forgotten to call Louise, when she was the most obvious person to know where Dan was.

Louise must know where Dan was.

Quickly, Phil dialed her number, and held his breath as he heard the phone going off.

First ring. Second. Third. Fourth.

He was almost afraid that she wouldn’t pick up the phone.

“Hello, Louise speaking.” Phil’s heart skipped a beat when he finally heard the familiar voice.

“Louise, it’s Phil here. Listen, I-” he got out before Louise interrupted him.

“Oh, hi Phil! How have you been? I haven’t heard from either of you guys in months, we need to get together sometime!” Louise told him cheerfully, as if nothing was wrong.

Phil felt as if he just stepped into a cold shower. She hadn’t heard from either one of them in months… surely that must mean that she had no idea what had happened.

“Louise… have you heard anything from Dan these last few weeks? Anything at all?” He asked, desperate for any sort of news, but he already knew what she was going to say.

“Dan? No, I haven’t heard from him since the last time we went out together? Why, is something wrong with him? Are you alright?” She asked, sounding worried.

“He is… we didn’t…he went...” is all that Phil managed to say, before he fell apart.

If he hadn’t already been sitting on a bench, he was sure he would have collapsed onto the floor. Tears started rolling out of his eyes, mixing with the raindrops already covering his cheeks. He managed to hang up the phone with what seemed like his last bit of energy left.

No, he wasn’t alright. He was far from being alright. He felt completely exhausted. He was tired of looking for Dan, tired of trying to make things right, tired of having to make such an effort.

But also tired of not having Dan around to make everything better, tired of missing Dan, tired of feeling like he did something wrong and not knowing what it was.

He really needed to find Dan.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there on the bench, lost in his thoughts. It could have been 10 minutes, could have been an hour, could have been multiple days for all he knew.

When he was slowly beginning to calm down a bit, he noticed that the that the rain had stopped pouring down and completely soaking him, and instead had subseded into a light fall of small water droplets you had to pay close attention to to notice. He was also hearing a sound he couldn’t quite put into place right now, one that was slightly confusing him; what kind of weird bird made those noises?

It took him a few seconds to realise that the weird sound was his phone ringing, but once he did, he immediately fought to pull it out of his pockets (when did he even put it in there?), hoping it would be PJ or Dan’s mum (or even Dan himself, but the odds were not really in his favour today).

This enthusiasm and wishful thinking was why he felt a wave of disappointment and sadness crashing over him when he saw it was an unknown number.

“Stop pretending he’ll come back, Phil. You messed up, you don’t really know how, but you obviously messed up. He’s not coming back.” He thought to himself, putting the phone to his ear and answering subconsciously.

An unfamiliar male voice that came through pulled him back to reality quickly.

��Mr. Lester? My name is Elyas Basheera, I’m a nurse at the Royal London Hospital. I’m calling you in regards to a patient that was just admitted, Daniel James Howell.” The man spoke.

“Hospital… Dan? But, what… how…what? Is Dan alright? What happened?” Phil stuttered out. Suddenly, it was getting hard to breathe, the air not quite seeming to reach his lungs, his head starting to spin.

Dan, in hospital. This couldn’t mean anything good.

“Mr. Lester, are you still there? Are you alright?” The voice came through the phone again. Phil was vaguely aware of the man giving him an answer, but with his thoughts going a hundred miles per hour, he hadn’t paid attention to what he had said.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really listening. What were you saying, sir?”

The man made an understanding noise before repeating himself. His job probably involved a lot of dealing with people who were reacting very emotional.

“I said that Mr. Howell was found in South London, collapsed on the ground. He seems to have suffered a head wound, and we also suspect he has had one too many drinks. He was brought in here in order to receive medical attention, but he’s in a stable condition at the moment. Since you’re his emergency contact, we would like to invite you to come to the hospital as well.” The nurse spoke calmly, trying to reassure Phil of the fact that everything was allright.

Phil doesn’t think he ever ran to get a taxi faster in his life.

***

Hospitals were something Phil had never taken a liking to.

His earliest memories of them was visiting a distant relative, he hadn’t really known who it was, a cousin of his father or something like that. The man had just received chemotherapy, and Phil clearly remembers how poorly he looked, as if he were a ghost just hanging to his body by a small thread.

Considering the fact that the man had passed away just a few weeks later, he might as well have been.

Every hospital visit ever since, he’s been confronted with people who were trying to battle for their life, people who were grieving, crying, feeling the absolute worst they could. People who were doing anything but being happy. Being the optimistic, happy guy he always was, he didn’t really know how to deal with it.

But here he was, walking down a hallway, passing by rooms that all held people with their own struggles, their own worries and sadness.

And Phil couldn’t care less about any of them.

The only thing he cared about was reaching room 215, the room he was told Dan was currently in. He was almost running down the corridors, trying to reach him as fast as possible.

But when he was almost there, he stopped. 5 steps separating him from being able to walk in the room and hold Dan close, but he had to stop.

What would he even say? Dan obviously didn’t want to see him anymore, wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. He had somehow hurt Dan, even though he never intended to, and he didn’t know how or why.

Should he even be here? Should he just waltz right back into Dan’s life, while he had made it so obvious he didn’t want him anymore? Should he be so selfish and force Dan to talk to him, just so that Phil could feel better?

He was seriously considering walking out of the hospital and asking Dan’s mum to go pick him up, when a nurse walked out of the room. Upon seeing Phil stood in the hallway, she smiled at him.

“Mr. Lester, I presume?” she spoke with a soft, calming voice. “Mr. Howell is just in this room, but he is asleep at the moment. You can go in, but don’t wake him up. He’ll need all the rest he can get in the next few days. The doctor will come in in a few hours, and he’ll most likely be allowed to go home then.” she told him before walking away and disappearing into another room.

Hearing that Dan was asleep helped to calm Phil’s nerves a bit, and he took the last few steps and entered the room.

Taking a deep breath, Phil walked over to the chair standing next to the bed, avoiding to look at Dan for a moment. Sitting down, he took another deep breath before finally allowing himself to look at the figure in the bed.

Head bandage. IV. Hospital gown. A few scratches, bruises and bandages. The wounds weren’t as bad as Phil had feared they might have been.

It was Dan’s expression that surprised him more than anything.

Asleep, Dan usually looked calm, peaceful, all his worries that haunted him during the day disappeared from his face. Even when he was sick or stressed, sleep never failed to make him look young, careless and innocent.

But right now, even sleep didn’t manage to fully erase the pain and the hurt from his face. It wasn’t obvious, barely even there, but Phil still noticed it. Dan was hurt.

They were both hurt.

Phil took hold of Dan’s hand, and lost every sense of time.

When Dan was woken up a few hours later to get his final check up done, Phil never left the room, just kept looking at Dan. Dan didn’t object to him being there, didn’t even acknowledge it. He just walked along with Phil out of the hospital after being told by the doctor to take things slow for a few weeks.

Not really knowing where else to go, Phil told the taxi driver the address of their apartment, and the two of them remained silent throughout the journey, even though there were so many things Phil wanted to ask.

They could wait. He first needed to make sure that Dan was alright.

***

Once they had arrived at the apartment, they made their way over to the lounge. But Dan kept hovering awkwardly in the doorway, not seeming to know what was acceptable or not.

Sighing, Phil decided to put aside the questions that were floating in his head, begging to be answered. They couldn’t have a proper conversation when Dan was feeling this on edge, he needed to calm him down first.

He went to the kitchen to get them both a cup of tea, and when he came back, Dan was sitting on the couch, staring at the floor in between his legs. Upon hearing Phil entering the room again, he looked up, and Phil swore he saw a shadow of a smile on his face, before he turned his face back to stare at the floor again.

“I really don’t get why you would still want to see me after everything I did to you.” Dan laughed, but there was no amusement in his voice. “Damn, I fucked it up really bad, didn’t I?”

Phil sat down next to Dan, put the cups of tea on the coffee table, and turned his body so he faced Dan.

This was it. This was he’s been wanting to do for weeks now. This is why he had tried so hard to find Dan.

To get an explanation. To ask what he did wrong.

“Dan, could you tell me -”

“I found the ring.”

“- what I did… what?”

If Phil wasn’t fully lost for words before, he was now.

“Ring? What ring? What are you talking about? I didn’t - “ Phil said, before he finally caught onto what Dan was talking about.

The ring.

The ring Phil had seen in a shop one day, more than a year ago, and it reminded him so much of Dan that he couldn’t not buy it.

The ring that had been hidden in his sock drawer ever since, waiting for the perfect moment, and where is probably still was now, because Phil had completely forgotten about it after everything that had happened in their lives since.

The ring Phil was going to use to make Dan his forever.

Dan’s voice sounded like he was on the brink of crying again. “Yeah. The ring.”

“But, why? I don’t understand? What does you finding the ring have to do with this?” Phil was utterly confused at this point.

Dan turned to look Phil in the eyes, trying to be brave, but Phil could still see how scared he was.

“Because, a ring, and what you were going to use it for, has so much that comes with it. Marriage is something for adults, people who have got their life together, people who know what they’re doing. Not people like me. People who are relying on medications to get them through the day, people who have no idea what they’re doing with their lives, people who are in so many ways still needy children.”

Once again, tears were making their way out of Dan’s eyes, but Dan didn’t seem to notice that.

“I found the ring, and I was up in the clouds at first, because I really wanted it. But then I realised that I wasn’t worthy of marriage, wasn’t worthy of you proposing to me, I had to fully grow up first. But whenever I tried to act like a proper adult, I did something wrong, and I ended up pushing you away. I couldn’t stand to see you waste your time on me anymore, so I had to let you go to find someone you deserve.”

Somewhere along Dan’s little speech, Phil had started to cry as well.

Some part of him wanted to smack Dan Howell right in the face. Because how dare he think he’s not good enough for him.

How dare he think he has to change even the slightest thing about himself in order to ‘deserve’ marriage.

Instead of telling Dan all of this, he pulled him into his arms, and he didn’t intend to ever let him go again. Dan went very willingly, and slotted his head in the crook of Phil’s neck immediately.

Dan had missed him too, and this meant the world to Phil.

“I would never want you to change anything about yourself,” he muttered into Dan’s neck. “ I wouldn’t have bought the ring if I wasn’t fully in love with every last part of you. You’re just as much of an adult as I am, there is no reason why you wouldn’t deserve marriage. And if there’s any other reason why you left me, if I hurt you in any way whatsoever, then I’m still allowing you to go, but if that’s the only reason you walked out, then please come back. We’re both hurting, I need you.”

Phil pulled back a little bit to look Dan in the eyes, but still kept him safe in his arms. Dan smiled softly at Phil, his eyes filled with tears and joy at the same time.

“There is no way you could hurt me, it’s all me. But I need you too, I’ve been miserable on my own, and I still very much want you.”

Very gently, Phil pressed his lips to Dan’s, and immediately felt his heart skip a beat. He’d missed the softness so much, the way their lips moved together with such familiarity.

Kissing Dan again felt like coming home.

Pulling away reluctantly, he couldn’t help but start to smile widely, seeing Dan doing the same thing.

“Good, because you still have me.”

***

The ring stayed safe in the sock drawer after that, both of them needing to heal, needing to work on their relationship again. They weren’t ready for it yet.

The two of them went through a lot, and there would undoubtedly be a lot they still had to go through.

But the ring would come out of it’s hiding place eventually. Maybe in a year, maybe two, maybe in a month. Phil didn’t know when. And he honestly couldn’t care less.

Because when he woke up in the morning, and got to see the early sunlight reflecting off of Dan’s sleeping face, there was nothing else he needed.

[lovechristion]

A year of firsts.

With all honesty, I prayed so hard that God would make this year disappear, and literally, a few days after that, he snapped my USB thumb drive filled with all the memories I made this year. Everything. Gone. ‘How did He snap it?,’ you may ask. Let’s just say I was used by the Lord to drop my laptop while my thumb drive was connected to it. But I have to say, the last few remaining months of 2017 made me realize this year was actually not as bad as I thought it was going to be. To put it simply, it was an eye-opening, learning experience…and/or a holographic experiment, if you will, filled with a massive amount of overthinking and existential crises to prepare me for what’s cooking in 2018. But for real, was anything really real?? It all started at the Smithsonian air and space museum…what am I even saying, and why does it sound like I just did a lot of weird arm/hand emotions? This segment pretty much concludes all of 2017.

ALL awkwardness aside (heyo), my 2017 was the year of firsts. From small things like having my first dirty chai (baked and wired, ily) to making a huge living transition to DC and a lot of major personal firsts (close friends, you know what I mean lololol), this year was the weirdest yet groundbreaking year I think I have ever lived so far. When they say being 21 is the first official year of being an ‘adult’ adult, never did I think everything I wished I had experienced sooner would all condense and pour into ~o n e  y e a r~.

A couple of favorite and honorable mentions before getting into the nitty gritty, were memories of my first time driving an hour with friends on the way to VA Beach, the massive amount of laughs, going to the Philippines for my brother and sis-in-law’s wedding, seeing my relatives, being a wedding photographer, days of road tripping to the west coast, moving my brother into his Seattle apartment, and of course my internship experience.

This year was an unforgettable season of surviving my first year’s in my twenties–yes, I am using this word–’adulting.’ And by that I mean, surviving on a budget, figuring out transportation on my own, dealing with 21st’s angst and emotions, discovering what I wanted to do or see myself doing for the rest of my life/post graduation, being in touch with familiar and lost feelings, and simply beginning and ending things I knew I had to.

From resurrecting my local artist videos to actually being a part the biggest satellite radio company in the world, I gained so much direction, so I just want to thank everyone who had helped me make achieving this possible. Living in one of my dream cities, along with being the first LU intern at SiriusXM, has definitely become a favorite chapter in my life. Looking back, I had transformed in ways I did not even notice until now, and learned (and still am learning) so much about the industry I always knew I wanted to be a part of.

Through out the process of sharpening different niches, I had to refrain from neglecting what needed to be fixed inside. All outside/real world transitions aside, I encountered some minor mental health distress this year, and when I say condensing was a huge part that had help me make it through this year, I had to put -everything- I learned so far in life to the test. It was by the end of my time in DC and the amount of preparation I had set for myself, I understood the things that happened could not have had better timing.

I want to thank my mom, specifically this year, for reminding me to take control. To take control of situations I knew I could control unapologetically. To feel confident about my art, and to love the amount of determination and potential I have within myself. To remind myself that there are actually things that people love about me that I should love too. To be present and direct focus onto real issues that are more important and worthy of bringing into light. And to give that control to God in directing me where I needed to be.

To the tune Auld Lang Syne (1788) and 2017 gracefully closing to an end, ultimately, I want to mention how blessed I am to live another year. I thank this year for being the ultimate scam and God for bringing me into this once what was so ug and now so beautiful, peaceful state of mind. I am still learning, hopeful, and the amount of patience and drive I had worked for this year is something I look forward to bringing and protecting in 2018.🤞🏼

And to that, with all of my heart, I wish everyone a happy New Year! This upcoming year’s journey starts off as all aspiring journeys do: with Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve filled with sparkling grape juice and awkward New Years texts.:) Tbh, I should blog more often…my poetry gets emotional from 100-100.

Love, Christianne. x

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

3) No continuity baggage.

 “For new readers, getting into comic book series that have decades of history can be intimidating.”

 Then new readers need to learn to get over that and dive in because that’s honestly the only real way to do it.

 “No matter the amount of recap pages, helpful captions or so-called “jumping on points,” there’s always going to be an unspoken baggage of continuity underlying the modern-day issues they pick up, which, at best, make old enemies feel less stale to new eyes and at worse render plot twists, cliffhangers or entire storylines completely incomprehensible without knowledge of prior arcs involving these characters.”

 Tell that to everyone who ever picked up a Spider-Man comic book in the 1980s and 1990s (which was way more than today btw, with the 1990s having the highest selling issue ever) who didn’t have many jumping on points, new #1s, the internet, that many reprints, no Marvel Unlimited and 20-35+ years of Spider-Man history but became regular readers anyway.

 Shit tell that to anyone who picked up Spider-Man in the 1970s after Amazing Spider-Man #100 who had to somehow find out what happened across 100 issues they had to track down due to a lack of reprints, no electronic services and had to cope with those being collector’s items in high demand and even higher prices.

 Once upon a time comics were written in such a way that every issue was somebody’s first. There was no ‘unspoken baggage’ bullshit like the author is pretending there was.

 Readers went back if they could or wanted to but generally they could roll with the story as was.

 I did it. my first Spider-Man comic book was literally the last part of the last story in the 2+ year long convoluted nightmare that was the Clone Saga and it thrilled me because it was well written and well drawn.

 That’s all you need.

 A good writer writes to the old established fans AND the new comers alike.

  “Spider-Man has a particularly cluttered biography, between the “Clone Saga,” “Spider-Verse” and the history-altering “Brand New Day.”

 Spider-Verse wasn’t a cluttered biography it was one arc. The clone saga makes sense when read in sequence though it is long and BND never altered history, OMD did.

 And the degree to which it rendered Spider-Mans’ history more convoluted was AT LEAST comparable to how Secret Wars fucked Miles’ history.

 But we’re gonna conveniently ignore that so the author can continue to shill Miles I guess.

 “Those coming from other Spidey media expecting more fun stories of a webhead fighting bad guys and maybe tussling with other animal-themed villains might leave disappointed.”

 Nowdays sure because he’s Iron Man.

 But hand them a decent older run and they won’t be.

 “That is, unless they pick up a Miles Morales book,”

 Or the David Michelinie run, or the JMS run, or Marvel Knights Spider-Man, or the Lee/Ditko run, or the Roger Stern run, or the Tom DeFalco run, or the DeMatteis runs, or the Peter David run or the Marv Wolfman run.

 “which despite their own origin in universe-rupturing crossover events are about as accessible as a modern Big Two superhero series gets, lacking that excessive amount of history and backstory.”

 See above about accessibility.

 And...no.

 Kamala Khan and other new characters existing in the same universe they were created in less than 5 years ago is as accessible as it gets.

 Finally Miles’ got shittons of baggage by virtue of switching universes, having his origin story invalidated and you know continuing shit from the ORIGINAL Ultimate Spider-Man series.

 It’s not like Miles series starts fresh that you don’t need to have some familiarity with Peter’s adventures. Ultimate Spider Woman, Mary Jane, Electro, Gwen Stacy, Green Goblin, Aunt May. All these characters are present in Miles’ first arc with a presumption that you know who they are already.

 Also that backstory makes the franchise RICHER not poorer.

   2) He’s still a teenager

 “The debate over whether or not to allow comic book characters to age will never be done.”

 Only because morons keep bringing it up and not recognizing you obviously should let them age.

 “On the one hand, you have the example of “The Simpsons,” where Bart Simpson has been a rabble-rousing 10-year-old for over 20 years and likely always will be there.”

 Putting aside how cliché this example is, the Simpsons stopped being about Bart by like season 3 or 4 and it stopped being actually good in season 10 which was nearly 20 years ago. Which blows up the argument here.

 “On the other is John Constantine who, in the original “Hellblazer” run, aged in real time. Most superhero books land somewhere in the middle, with the de-aging properties of reboots and relaunches accepted into the fold.”

It’s not accepted. It’s practiced by DC to obviously crappy results hence Rebirth is a thing.

 “It can be difficult removing a character from the original age, however.”

 No it isn’t.

 Peter Parker, Smallville Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Harry Potter, Son Goku and Son Gohan prove that to be the case.

 “Spider-Man is a character whose entire existence is rooted in teenage angst and the drama of high school.”

 No he isn’t. He’s rooted in down to Earth realistic life experiences and the responsibilities one has to contend with as part of that whilst balancing that against the realities of living up to the responsibilities of being a superhero.

 If you think Spider-Man is anything other than something along those lines you do not understand Spider-Man.

 The author is a superficial idiot who’s never read much Spider-Man and is parroting erroneous lines they’ve heard elsewhere, like from Tom Brevoort’s lying mouth.

 Spider-Man was in high school for 28 issues before his creators graduated him.

 He isn’t rooted in angst he simply felt it because all 1960s Marvel characters did but Spidey especially since he was a teenager initially but that changed over time.

 The drama of high school wasn’t that big of a deal early on next to the drama of Jameson and Betty Brant who were unconnected to Peter’s high school life.

 “Removing Peter Parker from that made sense at a certain point, but after he graduated college, creators have floundered to find something for adult Peter to do, cycling through freelance photojournalist to scientist to CEO to public school teacher.”

 Yes.

 The acclaimed Roger Stern, Tom DeFalco and J.M. DeMatteis runs of Spider-Man sure are great examples of ‘floundering’

 Him having to cope with dark stuff like gritty street crime, marriage, existential issues self-identity challenged by the presence of his clone, impending fatherhood, and his own mortality sure was the writers floundering.

 Seriously, all the examples the author listed were just different JOBS Peter has had, not proof writers have floundered constantly since 1983. They don’t even prove Peter’s JOBS have floundered in real life adults often change professions.

 “Miles remains a 14-year-old high schooler,”

 No he doesn’t. He’s been allowed to age and is closer to 17 years old currently.

 “that rich vein far from fully tapped at this point.”

 Because a high school adventurer who deals with crazy unordinary events as well as regular high school experiences is something comic books and pop culture as a whole hasn’t revisited ad infinitum as the default setting of countless series.

 “For fans craving the classic high school Spidey experience, look no further than Miles Morales to deliver the hormone-fueled goods.”

 Or you know read the older Ultimate Spider-Man comics, the Ditko Spider-Man comics, Spidey or watch the Spec Spidey cartoon.

  1)   He Still Has a lot to Learn

 “Miles Morales is still relatively green. He’s been receiving a helping hand from an Avenger here, another Spidey-adjacent hero there, but the fact is he’s a kid. A kid of better-than-average intelligence and the proportionate strength and agility of a spider, but a kid nonetheless. There’s still an almost infinite amount of scope for him to learn and grow, and also for him to completely mess up in the way rookies do, all of which make for interesting stories and a clear character progression in the years to come.”

 Peter Parker has at least 30 decades worth of character development in him if you make him a father, let alone anything else you wish to do with him.

 And this is such a bullshit goalpost moving argument to make.

 Miles is better because he has LESS character development and is at the start of his career as opposed to Peter.

 Okay...I guess every new TV show that just started this year must be by it’s nature automatically better than the Sopranos, the Wire and Game of Thrones.

 I guess Speedball was an inherently better character than Peter Parker because he was 25 years behind Peter.

 I guess every Robin ever is automatically better than Batman and Superman combined.

 I guess the Iron Fist TV show is better than the Daredevil TV show because it’s only had ONE season instead of two.

 I guess the DCEU versions of Superman and Batman are inherently better than the MCU versions of Captain America and Iron Man because they’ve only had 1-2 movies about them whilst Cap and Iron Man have had a minimum of 3 each.

 The POTENTIAL for character development doesn’t make you better than the character who HAS the character development.

 Practically EVERY character has potential for growth. But staying stuck there, or going downhill (as Miles has since his inception) kinda makes you far LESS than a character who’s got the character development.

 Character development>>>>Hasn’t got there yet.

 “Peter Parker, comparatively, is spinning his wheels.”

 Yeah right NOW he is. He didn’t USED to do that, he wasn’t even doing that a mere 15 fucking years ago. This isn’t going to last.

 “He’s done everything, beaten everyone, self-actualized several times over as a spider-god, the literal center of the multiverse in “Spider-Verse,” and now as an international industrialist.”

 a)   Being an industrialist never self actualized him

b)   He was never a Spider God, the author needs to read the damn books

c)   He was also never the centre of the Multiverse

d)   What the hell does self-actualizing even mean in this context?

e)   He’s never been a father in 616?

f)     He’s never owned a small business

g)   He’s never had to make peace with his abusive father-in-law

h)   He’s never turned evil

i)     He’s never learned magic

j)     He’s never swapped powers with anybody

k)   Oh look there seems to be lots of shit whether good or bad he’s never done

 “At this point, writers have to keep applying new gimmicks to the original Spidey to make him interesting, and though the results have sometimes been magnificent — thanks to Dan Slott, J. Michael Straczynski and their innumerable collaborators — it feels like arranging deck chairs on the Titanic.”

 With Slott sure.

 With JMS no it was never a gimmick it was all natural.

 Notice the author only citing the most recent regular ASM writers as though they did a quick google search and nothing more as research.

 We don’t need to apply gimmicks to make Spider-Man interesting. We just need to allow him to progress again. Renew Your Vows proved that.

 “With Miles, the fascination and entertainment comes naturally.”

 Well it would do if Bendis wasn’t writing him and hadn’t fucked him by switching his universes.

 And it would also help if the fascination with Miles wasn’t rooted in yet another teenage superhero story. It’s been done to death by this point and this is another teenage superhero story about another smart kid who has spider powers and calls himself Spider-Man. 

  What can we conclude form this ‘article’?

 1)    The author is a Miles Morales shill who will move the goal posts and stack the deck in order to paint Miles in a light that puts him over Peter

2)    If this article is indicative of the attitudes surrounding Miles Morales on the whole then Miles Morales is excruciatingly overrated

3)    The author doesn’t understand much about storytelling

4)    The author doesn’t understand or know much about Spider-Man in general (specifically Peter Parker) or the defining philosophies underpinning the franchise

5)    The author wants to generate cheap dishonourable clickbait

BONUS!

CBR is such clickbait bullshit they even made a crappy video to go along with their crappy article for anyone too lazy to read it.

See this video indicates to me the speaker and/or writer and/or researcher of the artcle and video really don’t know what they are talking about.

·         Because they only site Dan Slott and JMS among the creators who;ve worked on Spider-Man beyond the early days which says to me they did a quick google search of Spider-Man writers and since those are the latest two with full on runs they threw the names out to look smart.

·         Because no self respecting Spider-Man fan doesn’t know how to pronounce John Romita’s name

[amazinganxietyisnotonfire-blog]

trapped behind those pretty blue eyes

CHAPTER ONE

chapter two >> 

AO3 LINK

Summary: Dan recalls Phil’s spiral down into a psychotic fit. I tried to make this as brutally honest as possible but there’ll be more fluff in later chapters.

Quote: I can't believe that I was sat at dinner complaining about a lack of sex when Phil was going through hell on earth, and I didn't even understand. I still don't, to be honest.

Genre: heavy angst 

Word count: 2069

Triggers: mental illness, schizophrenia (implied), near death, suicide attempt (kind of, not really), kissing, vomit, termites, hallucinations 

Uh, hello internet I guess

AmazingPhil's channel has always been filled with stories about strange people he's met or other bizarre little occurrences. He's a magnet for the unusual. It makes sense, in a lot of ways, as he's unusual himself. He's always been an imaginative person, and maybe that was why I never noticed. I knew Phil as this incredible, happy, brilliant, amazing man and maybe that was my problem. I'd spent so much of my life idolizing him that I struggled to see the cracks forming in his foundation. I don't know... I don't know if I'll ever be able to post this but I just need to talk.

- - -

Phil's weird stories had started to clump up. That afternoon he was telling me about a strange man "woofing" in his ear, and making me laugh. We were sat on the couch, his head leaning on my shoulder. Still giggling, I tackled him onto the couch. I couldn't help it. He just looked so happy. I was always jealous of that, of his happiness. Whenever I ended up crying on the floor because I was hopelessly upset about nothing, in particular, I envied him. I wanted to see what it was like inside his brain.

Anyways, we were kissing, and before long he tried to flip us over. He succeeded, but he also managed to roll us off the couch. I landed rather softly and couldn't be bothered to care, especially not when he started to plant kisses on my neck. I promise this story has a purpose other than kissing, I just, I--It's hard to talk, uh. But, we were kissing until he froze. He tilted his head to the side as if trying to hear something. Something about Phil's look told me to be quiet. Before long he shook his head and we went back to kissing.

I let myself forget about how strange that was almost immediately. There just wasn't any reason to worry. He seemed fine. I have to tell myself that no one could have seen what was going to happen next. I can't--I can't deal with the regret. I, I'm sorry.

Okay, I can do this. I need to do this.

It took another month for me to notice something else happening. I suppose there might have been other, little signs but this was the next really important thing. I'd woken up, for some reason, and Phil was gone. I decided to go see if he'd just decided to sleep in his own bed. I know it's dumb, but I get nervous when I don't know where Phil is. He was always so good about that. Anyways, sorry, so I was walking down the hall when I heard it. It was quiet but I could make out what sounded like Phil arguing with someone. I couldn't make out the words but he sounded really upset and I felt weird about eavesdropping. If Phil had woken up in the middle of the night to go make this call it felt wrong to try to figure out what he was saying.

But who am I kidding? Of course, I wanted to know.

I tiptoed over so I was standing by the door and could just barely peek through the crack. He was saying things like, "no... no I can't... you need to leave... leave me alone... shut up," and I couldn't guess who he was talking to. I moved a little closer to try and make out the mumbling I heard between those words when I heard him jump to his feet. I panicked and ran back to my room as quietly as I could. I hid under the blankets until Phil came to lay next to me. I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to confront him. I know, it was cowardly.

After that, little things kept happening. He started to be missing from the bed a lot more and started to get twitchier than usual but I didn't ask him about it. I tried, once, but he laughed it off and I just let him. I just let him pretend to be okay, maybe because I needed him to be okay. I needed him to be the one to ground me after my latest existential crisis or remind me that life was just as exciting as it was scary. So I just let him pretend to be okay.

It really started to get worse two months after I started to think anything was wrong. We were home, late at night, and Phil was lying on the couch on his laptop when all of a sudden he bolted upright and shouted, "shut up," at the top of his lungs. I was in the bedroom when he started screaming. Naturally, I ran out to see what was wrong. He just kept screaming at something to shut up. I didn't know what to do. I tried to argue with him that there wasn't anyone making noise but he looked so terrified that eventually I just stayed with him until he collapsed into tears. I remember him whimpering about how loud they were, and I didn't know what to do. All I did was help him to bed.

The next day he convinced me that it was just stress. I don't know why I let him convince me, but I did and we spent the next week being lazy. We called it pajama week, and he seemed to be getting better. Or, at least I let myself believe he was. I love him so much, and I didn't want to scare him away like I almost did back in 2012 so I just let him tell me he was okay. I gave in and nothing changed.

Phil got very secretive after that. He avoided me as much as possible and he stopped leaving the home. He only got dressed to film videos. The rest of the time he stayed in days old clothes and started sleeping in his own bedroom. He said he was sick and didn't want to get me sick, but the days turned into weeks and before I knew it he'd been "sick" for a month. It was believable because he'd lost a significant amount of weight and always looked ill, so I let myself fall for it. I let myself ignore all the times I would catch him talking to himself or looking over his shoulder. I tried to convince him to go to the doctor's, but whenever I brought it up he got really angry with me. Like swearing at me. Phil never swears. But there he was, swearing at me.

None of you guys ever knew because he could hide it so well for short amounts of times, and when he could reshoot videos a million times it was easy to pretend, but he was getting worse.

I didn't understand it. Most of the time he would just avoid or lie to me, but sometimes he would crack. There were a few times that he would crawl into my bed, what used to be our bed, and cry that they were too loud and beg them to stop. I would hold him, but the next morning when I tried to confront him he would scream and I would tell myself that I couldn't force him into doing anything. I was always the stubborn one, and he was always the older, smarter one. I used to run to him whenever I needed anything, whether it be permission to leave uni, a hug, or even editing tips. Now he was the one falling and I didn't have anywhere to run to, anyway to help him.

So, I just let things get worse. I would soon come to regret that. By then I knew something had to be seriously wrong, but I guess part of me didn't want to admit it. I couldn't just force myself to man up and do something to help the man that had saved my life countless times. So I just let him fall and tried to convince myself that I was helping him by just being there for him.

I don't even know why we had that stupid thing of pest killer. I must have bought it when we found rats, but we ended up learning that we didn't need a jug of the stuff.

I went out, to get dinner with a friend, and I complained about Phil. I complained that we hadn't had sex in weeks, that he was always irritated with me, that he'd gotten so reclusive. I complained about him but I didn't tell the truth. I didn't tell about the voices or the fear. I can't believe that I was sat at dinner complaining about a lack of sex when Phil was going through hell on earth, and I didn't even understand. I still don't, to be honest.

I went home and it was so quiet. I was used to it, so I didn't think much of it and hung up my coat. I stumbled into the kitchen, a bit tired and a bit tipsy, and was immediately hit by the smell of vomit. I looked down and Phil was sat curled up, shaking, in a puddle of his own sick. Next to him was the opened thing of pest killer. I shouted at him, asking what he'd done. All he could say was that they were gone, that the bugs were gone. I called the hospital and told them everything I knew, crying. Phil just kept going on about the termites in his organs and puking. He screamed, trying to point out the termites that he saw in the vomit.

This next part gets blurry. I remember crying, and feeling like I'd been shot in the stomach. As I waited to see if Phil would even live I couldn't believe that I'd let him get this bad. I blame myself, logically that doesn't make sense, but I just keep wondering what I could have done differently. I had no idea how much pain he was in. I used to wish I could live inside his mind, but now I don't think I could have survived it.

Phil did. He was on life support for eleven hours before the dialysis managed to rid his system of the chemicals. I stayed with him the whole time. Once he came to he panicked, screaming, and they sedated him. The next time he woke up he was a little calmer. While he was sedated I had to sign off on his transfer to a psychiatric ward. He's an adult so they can only keep him there for 72 hours against his will, but they're hoping that he won't want to leave.

I'm trying to get a power of attorney to show that he's not mentally well. I have to. I let him fall, I don't want to take him home and let him kill himself. He isn't safe. They say he's having a psychotic episode. They say that it might be schizophrenia. I was filling out forms all night. I don't understand how my Phil ended up drinking pest killer. I can't understand this. I know that he'll be safer at the hospital, where people understand his illness.

But it hurts so badly.

When I told him where he was going he screamed at me that they were going to kill him and that I was abandoning him. He screamed that I hated him. I told him I would visit him tomorrow. He told me to fuck off.

I love him, and I know this is his brain chemistry talking, but it just hurts. I just want him back, and I'm willing to put in the work to help him. I owe him. This isn't a romantic illness, and I don't think love will cure him, but I can't imagine it will hurt. It'll be okay. We'll go to the doctors and therapists and he'll get better. He has to. I need him to. He was always the most positive part of me, but now all I can see when I close my eyes is him screaming that he hates me.

That's all.

I guess if I ever post this, you guys didn't even know that we were dating, but right now that doesn't feel like an important secret anymore.

Bye.

// wooh, that’s my first tumblr fic. let me know your thoughts!

[let-it-go-and-let-it-live]

Let Them In

Reader x Avengers (Mostly Platonic)

Summary: You like to keep people at a distance. It’s easier that way. Then Steve and Natasha sit you down. They’re worried. They want you to talk, but you outright deny them. Much to your dismay, this hurts them far worse than expected. So when Bucky shows up at your bedroom looking to comfort you, will you let him in? Will you let him talk you into letting them in?

Word Count: 1636

Warnings: Language, Angst (like extreme amounts of it)

A/N: Guys, I’m rarely apologetic about my stuff, but I’m sorry. It’s almost 4 am as I type this, and I’m having a minor existential crisis. That angst warning doubles a trigger warning so CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK. Again, I’m sorry. 

You’d been with the team for almost a year, and the list things they knew about you could fill the front side of a sheet of notebook paper double-spaced and still leave a bit of space at the bottom. Even after being brainwashed and ordered to kill dozens of people, including his best friend, Bucky was more open with them than you were. 

Here’s a few examples from the aforementioned list: (#insert your info here)

Name: __________________________________

Age: 22

Date of Birth: ____________

Place of Birth: _________________________ (Though there was still some argument on that.)

Hair Color: _____________

Eye Color: ____________

Height: ___________________

Skills (Superhuman or otherwise): Telekinesis, Telepathy, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Knife Throwing (Knife anything really), (insert other standard training bullshit here)

Habits: Minimal appetite, insomnia punctuated with 3am workouts and sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, Not following orders or at least reluctantly following them while simultaneously searching for loopholes, EXCESSIVE cursing (much to the Captain’s dismay), EXTREME road rage, and one other thing (but we’ll get to that a minute)

You knew the list read like a good resume for a bad influence, but you also didn’t care. The downside to not giving a shit, though, was that everyone had a habit of trying to save you from yourself. If they ordered out for dinner and you didn’t feel like eating, someone was always pushing their leftovers toward you. They tried to get you on a normal sleep schedule. Someone was always partnered with you on missions. You’d heard the word “language” and gotten the great “eyebrow raise/nostril flare of disappointment” from Mama Steve so often, it haunted you. The road rage could hardly be fixed; that one had been with you since your started driving.

Now, that last thing, the one we said we’d get to… It was the one thing that drove everyone crazy: promiscuity. 

Your promiscuity, to be exact.

Now that’s not to say you slept with everyone that asked. You had standards, but attraction was attraction and you usually just ran with it.

Most of the team stayed silent but gave their looks of disappointment. Natasha and Steve, on the other hand, were very vocal about the issue.

That’s how we find you here, sitting on the couch in the common room with them sitting on the coffee table across from you looking like concerned parents who just caught their daughter having sex in their bed.

“You two do know I’m an adult, right?”

“Are you sure? Because you sure don’t act like one.” Steve chides; there’s that fucking eyebrow.

“I don’t have to listen to this.”

You stand up but before you can take a step, Steve’s hand locks around your forearm.

“Sit down.” He says, his voice steady and firm, “Now.”

There is no denying the tinge of “captain’s orders” in that one little word. So you sat back down.

“It’s every week, Y/N.” Natasha states, trying to fight the tears in her voice. Was this really hurting her so much? “You bring home someone new while the one from the week before is still calling. We just want to know why.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You’re our friend so we’re making it our business.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it, and we can sit here all day. I won’t say a word.”

Natasha looks up to the ceiling, her eyes now blazing red. Steve puts a reassuring hand to her upper back, trying his best to comfort her as he lowered his own gaze to the floor. His other hand is fisted and resting on his knee.

It’s like you just broke their hearts.

You couldn’t understand why it mattered. Nothing you did had ever mattered before. Even the people who were biologically predisposed to care, never really paid much attention. They had their own problems to deal with, and you had put on a great enough façade that they never asked questions when you would go out and not come home until 2am. You were the good kid. So why are you being treated like a pariah by these two people who are barely a decade older than you.

“Can I go now?” you ask, your voice soft.

Neither of them say a word as their gazes shift to one another and then to you. Steve nods, his mouth a hard line. You move quickly, trying to get away as fast as possible, but you didn’t move fast enough. Just as you’re closing your bedroom door, you hear Natasha’s sobbing. She’s never been one for tears so why is this breaking her?

You crawl onto your bed, sitting crossed-legged with your back against the headboard. It seems like forever before her muffled expressions of pain fall silent.

Another half hour or so, there’s a soft knock at your door.

“FRIDAY,” you call out in a whisper, “who’s at the door?”

“It’s Mr. Barnes. Would you like me to send him away?”

“No. It’s okay. Let him in.”

A moment later, he’s inside the room, his back nearly against the closed door.

“Hey.” He says softly, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Like I said, I wanted to.”

You look up at him, “I made Natasha cry, Buck.” You reach up to quickly wipe at the tears that threaten to fall, “I’ve never seen Steve look so hurt.”

His footsteps are soft as he crosses the room to you. “They’re just worried about you.” He sits at your side, “We all are.”

“I wish you guys wouldn’t worry so much. I’m fine.”

“Except you’re not.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I spent a long time telling everyone I was okay when I wasn’t. I know the difference between a fake smile and real one.”

“What made you start telling the truth?”

“I had to come to terms with the fact that I had people who genuinely cared for. I had to let them in, and when I did, I started getting better. Maybe you should give it a try.”

You scoffs, shaking your head as you look down at your hands, “I can’t.”

“Then what about me?”

“What?”

“I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. I’ll sit here, and you can talk. Nothing leaves this room until you’re ready.”

“You mean it?” I mutter, meeting the steady gaze of his stormy blue eyes.

“100 percent.” He replies with a gentle half-smile.

So he sits there, and you talk. You tell him about your fucked up childhood, about your mom’s drinking problem and your dad’s minor indifference to it. You talk about your brother’s divorce and how hard it was not getting the chance to know the son he’d had. You talk about college… the four years of your life when you were actually happy. You talk about the move to New York, your time with SHIELD before it fell, and your time in Sokovia during the war.

Maybe that was where it started. You knew Wanda and Pietro from a distance, but unlike them you left, you escaped, after you got your abilities. Once the Avengers invaded the facility, you got out of hiding and went back to New York.

Nick Fury had found you in some coffee shop downtown, insisting that you join the team. You hesitated at first, but the job you were at sucked and at least you wouldn’t be seen a freak anymore, right?

So you moved into the facility and kept your distance. You didn’t want to care for these people. The people you cared about always hurt you or got themselves hurt because of you.

But you bonded with each of them one by one. Then to compensate for the emotions, you turned to the one thing you knew emotions would never play a role: sex. Sure, when you were younger, the act was “special” and “meaningful”, but telepathy didn’t offer that false comfort anymore. You knew what those guys were thinking before they could get the first word out of their stupid mouths.

Then the next morning, you sent them packing with barely a goodbye.

“So it really never occurred to you that you matter to everyone here?”

“I don’t matter or at least I shouldn’t. I don’t want to matter. I don’t want to sit here feeling guilty for how I make you all feel. I don’t want to feel the pain that comes with breaking Steve’s heart and making Natasha cry. I want to go back to when I didn’t have to give a shit. Things were easier then.”

“That’s too bad, sweetheart, because you’re stuck with us.”

“This would be so much easier if you guys would just hate me.”

“You have to know that will never happen.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, if you know, then let them in, Y/N. I got better. I know you can too.”

You can hear him picking his words in his head carefully as he speaks. This is trust. This is caring. This is affection that you didn’t ask for, but you find yourself appreciating it.

What is it about this man that makes you melt in just one long, yet meaningful conversation? Why is he the one you chose to open up to?

For whatever the reason, you let him in. You told him your whole life story with barely a second thought.

Maybe he was right. Maybe, after year with these people caring about you, it’s time for you to let them in.

It wouldn’t happen all at one, at least not with all of them, but you know it’s time. No more maybe’s.

Natasha first. You think, leaning forward to hug Bucky tight around his neck.

Maybe it’s nothing, but your heart flutters a bit in your chest as he hugs you back.

Maybe this could become something too.

[nindysm]

The predictable downfall of Rory Gilmore

First, let's establish some things that are NOT news. As always, I am stressed about work - more precisely, about not doing and achieving as much as I should have. I am under pressure of turning 30 in six months with no significant change in any aspect of my life. I have this looming fear of becoming irrelevant and replaced by younger, better, more humble, more flexible, more talented people. I am nowhere near financially thriving - I am struggling just to be stable. I feel like I am wasting my life and nonexistent career path. I am crippled with an immense guilt of not learning to deal with capital F Failure sooner. I KNOW that I SHOULD turn my life around quickly and get my shit together before all opportunities slip away, but wow why am I still here, whining and oversharing on the internet.

I have been re-watching Gilmore Girls. Growing up, when the show was still airing on TV, I did watch some episodes of it and was familiar with the big arc but I was never really into it (I was more into Friends and Sex and the City hahaha). However, sure enough, I took pride in being compared to Rory. When people told me that I reminded them of Rory, the bookish, studious girl from Stars Hollow, I couldn't help but feeling this sense of accomplishment. Like Rory, I also wanted to be a journalist and author. Like Rory, I dreamt to enter Ivy League schools. And I'll admit, I too wanted a strings of cute, devoted boyfriends like Dean, Jess, and so many others haha.

Anyway, in the past year, I've been trying to revisit some old habits that I did in my youth, which I believe contributed to being driven and actually getting things done well. Included as part of this nostalgia was listening and watching stuff that were a big part of the period. Thus, my intention of re-watching Gilmore Girls is simple, I want to study Rory. I want to see this determined girl that I grew up being compared to. I want to see what makes her tick and more importantly, how she copes with the real world as an adult.

And boy. What the fuck.

Watching the show as a 29 year old, I must say that I find Rory Gilmore insufferable. She is a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks the world must revolve around her because she is oh-so-very special. She treats people around her poorly, from her boyfriends, best friends, and especially her family. The fact that she is now stuck as a thirtysomething is actually predictable because she never puts in the work. She expects things to just be handed out to her in a silver spoon and that her rich grandparents will always come to her rescue. No wonder, she doesn't go anywhere when she could've been going places.

Everything that happens to Rory in adulthood can be traced back to her teenage years. Even in the pilot, I had this slight annoyance when she had her mom's staff at the Inn helping her with her school assignment. That's her responsibility? Not to mention the meltdown she had at Chilton when she couldn't take the test because she was late. And don't get me started at how Rory treats Lorelai. That being said, I wish Lorelai was more assertive towards Rory. I think Lorelai tries so hard to be the cool mom but on the way, she excuses many bad behaviours. If only she uses the mom card more often, maybe... Rory wouldn't grow up to be so bratty after all? Of course, it's not entirely Lorelai's fault, I mean Richard and Emily had some fair share of overly indulging Rory, but at least Emily sometimes called Rory out when the snobbery escalated.

Nonetheless, I could not help but to be self aware. Am I turning into Rory Gilmore myself? Have I been a Rory?

Many have pointed out that Rory is such an only child, the ever-pampered baby who never learn how to share and accept failure. Could it be that I am in the same path as hers then?

I always think I'm different from other only children, in the sense that I am to a certain extent self-reliant, but am I though? Haha. Isn't feeling "different from the others" is in a way a form of entitlement and superiority?

Unlike Rory who thinks that some jobs are beneath her, I pride myself in wanting to put in the work, in taking any job no matter how small or big. But is it really? How about some projects I did not put some thoughts into because I felt it wouldn't look so good on my portfolio? How about those easy-money stuff I take purely for the money? Am I still better than Rory? How about this chronic, ongoing mallady in which I feel that I have poor work ethics?

I feel like, with all that goes on with Rory, she deserves it. That being said, do I deserve this anticlimactic journey? Maybe, I mean why not? I am not exempted from reality. Am I plunging into my own downfall?

I know that I have a choice to turn things around, that things can change, that it ain't real until it happens. But I'm running out of optimism. I genuinely thought I'd achieve something by now, something that is my own. I am aware that things like this take process, but it doesn't help to be constantly reminded that I'm going past my prime soon. No more under 25, under 27, under 30. On one hand I realize that this society's obsession with youth is toxic and that most young achievers are incredibly privileged. On the other hand, a part of me feels that I'm just saying that to excuse myself, to justify my own's mediocrity.

There's nothing inherently wrong with being mediocre of course. It's just that with the resources that I was provided with, the opportunities that I had... it's easy to see myself like a failed "investment". I can see it in people's eyes, when I told them about my studies, where I live, my age... there's always that look, that "What are you doing here? You should be doing something big." Is it wrong to want to be doing something small, or am I just too afraid of failing big?

I feel like this blog has chronicled all of this existential crisis for like a decade now. I feel bad, really. I was hoping that things would turn brighter.. But I can still feel the same angst I had at 21. Nothing changes significantly. Will I still feel the same at 31? 41? Maybe not. But I just wish by then I'll grow more comfortable with it.