#like i still love her music but the memoir was... boring. or maybe i just had really really high hopes

[haveyoureadthistransbook]

Tranny by Laura Jane Grace

goodreads

The provocative transgender advocate and lead singer of the punk rock band Against Me! provides a searing account of her search for identity and her true self. It began in a bedroom in Naples, Florida, when a misbehaving punk teenager, armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar and a headful of anarchist politics, landed on a riff. Gabel formed Against Me! and rocketed the band from its scrappy beginnings-banging on a drum kit made of pickle buckets-to a major-label powerhouse that critics have called this generation's The Clash. Since its inception in 1997, Against Me! has been one of punk's most influential modern bands, but also one of its most divisive. With every notch the four-piece climbed in their career, they gained new fans while infuriating their old ones. They suffered legal woes, a revolving door of drummers, and a horde of angry, militant punks who called them "sellouts" and tried to sabotage their shows at every turn. But underneath the public turmoil, something much greater occupied Gabel-a secret kept for 30 years, only acknowledged in the scrawled-out pages of personal journals and hidden in lyrics. Through a troubled childhood, delinquency, and struggles with drugs, Gabel was on a punishing search for identity. Not until May of 2012 did a Rolling Stone profile finally reveal it: Gabel is a transsexual, and would from then on be living as a woman under the name Laura Jane Grace. Tranny is the intimate story of Against Me!'s enigmatic founder, weaving the narrative of the band's history, as well as Grace's, with dozens of never-before-seen entries from the piles of journals Grace kept. More than a typical music memoir about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll-although it certainly has plenty of that-Tranny is an inside look at one of the most remarkable stories in the history of rock.

Mod opinion: I've read it and meh- for the title I expected more from the book?

[pynkhues]

The reunion scene really just packs such an overwhelming punch. It's just such deep, visceral emotion. And it's not just, oh they're crying--I'm sure we've all seen scenes with actors crying a lot where you're left cold. So it's the writing and the acting just getting to such a raw nerve kind of place. I could go on about all the little moments I love, and I REALLY want to read your longer thoughts on the scene, but Sam's voice breaking like that on "Did you hurt yourself" lanced through me so intensely the first time I heard it, and it gets me every time. For someone with such a deep voice (both Sam and Lestat lol), to be so overwhelmed with emotion that he loses control of his voice completely....just, wow.

I am SO so so so excited to read your reunion fic, you have no idea. :)

It's everything to me, anon!! It really is just so loaded with emotion, but I also think what makes it so cathartic and resonant is that it really feels like the culmination of these two seasons, both in the sense of Louis' arc, but in the connection these two characters have. It's so, so affecting, and I promise, I'll finish my big post on it soon, haha.

And thank you!! I am hoping to post my reunion fic today (although I'm also out for half the day to have lunch with friends and see a Q&A screening of Memoir of a Snail which I am very excited about), but have the opening scene (and maybe a little bit of the scene that follows ;-):

-

It had been a gloomy fall for London in 1958 when Louis and Armand had gone to see the play.

The decision itself had marked a - - transition for them. After all, Louis hadn’t found himself inside a playhouse since he’d burnt the Théâtre des Vampires and all those who tread her boards to the ground, lucky, perhaps, in that he’d never felt a real inclination for the stage, although he knew Armand still held the artform close with something akin to fondness. In fact, Armand had made a point in those years of regularly attending the West End during their stays at their Chealsea apartment, Broadway the summers they’d spend in their Manhattan townhouse, keeping careful track of productions across both professional and amateur venues. The spectacle of his former career turned specter as he haunted the stages, documenting in the little pocketbook he’d carry with him his thoughts and observations, collecting playbills and programmes, newspaper clippings and ticket stubs with the care of an archivist, documenting a landscape dominated by new musicals and post-war dramas, and by the rise and fall of flush-faced stars.

For a time, Armand had tried to keep this from him. Had been sensitive to the events of Paris and inclined to, publicly at least, make Louis’ interests his own. He’d read the books Louis was reading, attend the gallery showings Louis was attending, travel to the sweating, flyover, working towns Louis would and pretend to see the potential in them that Louis did, and Louis had been amused in part, but bored in almost every other. The feeling of speaking to his own echo dulling his senses as the years wore on to the point that it had almost been a relief, that night in ’56, when Armand let slip that he’d been moved by a new musical – The King and I, at Broadway’s St. James Theatre.

They’d fought, of course. Bitterly and fretfully and Louis can admit cruelly, but it had felt good to fight. Felt like the lick of a flame to a snowed-in life, a heat to thaw the ice of his frigid, shiftless mood, and his temper had risen with his voice as Armand used words like patient and over and almost a decade before they settled it in bed. A rough hand and an open mouth and Armand had played penance like the worst actor in his old revue.

Still, a seal had been broken, and Armand had taken to mentioning his attendance at the Winter Garden Theatre and The Stoll – Kismet and The Water Gipsies and hammy dramas that would last only the blink of a season – and soon Louis was deaf to it again. Found the hurt and irritation didn’t spike for long, but rather blunted through its repetition, which perhaps had been Armand’s intent all along, because one night, he left out the paper on an advertisement for Peter Brook’s The Tempest, set to premiere at Theatre Royal on Drury Lane.

And Louis couldn’t say why he said yes, why he agreed to accompany Armand that night. If it was to shock him or to acknowledge his patience or stir another fight, if it was even to try and set the events of Paris behind him, but he’d quiffed his hair and donned his Roman suit, and settled into the fine red velvet seats of the Theatre Royal with the hope of being moved in any direction at all.

And it had, is the thing. Moved him. Just not in the way he’d expected, nor in the hours, because as the lights had dimmed, the sound had started. A loud rumble of thunder and sudden slope of rain, the theater shaking with the affect of a storm, the sort that avoided London’s dreary isle as it set sail for a newer world, and oh, how the actors had tumbled onto the minimally laid stage. One, two, then several more, rolling around the boards as if on a ship, battling the elements as they tried to secure the hatches, and in the moment of it, Louis wasn’t in his seat in the London theater at all.

No, suddenly, with the wail of weather and the shuddering curtains around the stage, Louis was nine-years-old again and home in Louisiana, chasing after his daddy as he boarded up doors and windows. Louis was fifteen, wind cutting at his cheeks as he hauled a babbling Paul in from what he promised wasn’t any sort of rapture, twenty-four between Jonah’s trembling adolescent legs, down in the liquor cellar beneath the colored hotel off Bourbon Street, thirty-three in flesh, thirty-eight in years, exasperated, hammering nails into plywood and spitting fury at Lestat, who danced through the house like a hurricane all his own, feeding off the weather outside, and - - oh, it hadn’t been fury at all. Not when Lestat had his hands on his, pulling him close, the bright sparking look in his eyes catching in Louis’ own, and Lestat was new to this, new to hurricanes, but it wasn’t dread or terror in his eyes, but enchantment and so much fuckin’ love, and the way he’d said it. Louis, this wild, wonderful city of yours, she’d have us hear her tonight! as he pulled him in for the dance, it - -

Fuck.

And it’s that, is the thing. That that has Louis scrambling up in his seat, yanking at his tie, shoving past the legs of pestered patrons, desperate, suddenly, for the still, the quiet, the drizzly tepidness of London air.

He bursts out the aisle and beelines for the exit, flinging open the theater doors, struggling to catch a breath he doesn’t need to take. He rounds Drury Lane, tries to let the bustle of the people, the honk of car horns, the autumnal chill chew him up and spit him back out into this moment. Stick him steady here in this spot, and he doesn’t even realize he’s crouched on the sidewalk, head in hands, until he feels the weight of Armand’s touch on his shoulder, fingers clutching in a pale offer of comfort.

“Too soon, perhaps,” Armand says gently, and Louis shakes his head, holds onto the thread of Armand’s voice, tries to will it into an anchor.

“No, it’s not the theater, it’s the show,” he wets his lips, takes a breath. “It reminded me of the hurricanes, that’s all. Back home. A lot of memories tied up in all of that.”

Armand’s hand curls a little tighter around Louis’ shoulder, and for a moment, Louis thinks that it’s working. That maybe Armand’s presence here, now, is enough to steady him. To ground him here on the street, among the puddles and the passerbys, that the feeling of being very far from home yawning awake in his chest is nothing that can’t be put back to sleep with a walk, a drink, a fuck in the dewy grass of the park he sometimes picks up in. At that, he feels Armand shift above him, the thought heard, perhaps, and Louis raises a hand to cup the back of Armand’s in an approximation of a comfort returned. Armand could be the fuck in the dewy grass. If he wanted to be.

“We could go there together,” Armand says, and Louis’ surprised Armand would suggest it – he typically prefers their bed – only that’s not what he means at all. “To your New Orleans. It would be good, perhaps, to revisit the places of your mortal life, the places you worked, the - - ”

“Should we revisit your old whorehouses too?” Louis bites, offense at even the suggestion struck like a match in an instant. Above him, Armand’s jaw clicks shut, and the wet breath of regret snuffs out the flame of Louis’ temper almost as fast as it had been lit. He shakes his head, pushing out of his crouch to stand.

He looks over, takes in Armand’s blank expression, his amber eyes carefully guarded, and frowns apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he says, softening his voice, even if the thought of Armand in New Orleans has his toes curling in his brogues. “I didn’t mean that. You’re just - - you’re not to go there, you hear me? Don’t know how she’d treat you.”

It’s a cool look that Armand returns to him, tilting his head to the side, inquiring, dark curls slicked back like he’d often wear them in Paris, and Louis finds himself carefully drawing up those early memories – of his father, and Jonah, and Paul, of juddering windows and roaring grey skies and Grace’s little hand in his and - -

“You’re thinking of him,” Armand tells him coldly, seeing through Louis’ ruse, and Louis stares back at him.

A blink and it all slips to nothing but him as he falls on top of Lestat in his coffin, the creamy silk lining offsetting the pink flush on Lestat’s cheeks, the roof above them shuddering, walls shaking, glass shattering somewhere downstairs, but then - - Lestat’s mouth. Open, warm, wet beneath his, fangs sharp as Louis slides his tongue beneath them to lick his way inside.

His pulse, now, a jackhammer in his chest.

“I’m thinking about the hurricanes back home,” Louis tells Armand, frank. “That’s all.”

*

It’s like a matryoshka doll, Louis thinks now, memories inside of memories, the past a rope that can never be unknotted, and it shouldn’t matter, not now, not when the floor is juddering beneath them, the walls cracking, the lights flickering, because this is not their house on Rue Royale, steady and sandbagged and half-boarded up, and Lestat’s not dancing down hallways, he’s trembling in his arms, and it doesn’t take all that history to know this place isn’t going to hold.

“We gotta get out of here,” Louis yells, pushing a little at Lestat’s waist to give them a degree of separation. Just enough distance to breathe again, but Lestat’s not looking at him, head still dropped, hair a limp, yet still-golden veil around his face, and Louis has to resist the urge to shake him to get him to see what’s happening around them. Instead, he just says: “Lestat.”

[devitalise]

the end up the month always sneaks up on me, i saw your message and was like "oh she's early I have plentyyy of time!" yet here we are two days into April already AHHHH how were your March reads? & i forget, are you doing a no-buy thing or minimal buying for books? how's that been going 🤨

no literally in my head it's still march the last week has been a complete blur especially with the clocks going forward only just got my bearings. but this is now a nice lil springtime treat so let's get into my

march book wrap up

milk fed by melissa broder

i had a real voraciousness when i read this, i just couldn't get enough. not necessarily the writing, but of rachel. i love her. girls with complicated relationships with their mothers. a very unapologetic read i think, i had to do a bit of googling but i love that Broder didn't shy away from presenting the ideas and themes she set out to do in their fullest forms. kind of let down by the ending at the time of reading, but i can respect what it serves the book on reflection.

music: milk fed playlist review: booksburgersandbackpacks

fight night by miriam toews

kind of laughed as i remembered i read this. went on holiday this month, so picking this as my travelling read felt a bit risky i didn't know if i'd have the time to give this the attention it deserved, or if it'd even grab me. but it did. i loved this book so, so much. crying on a 9pm flight as i'm over the English channel unlocked. shiv i just want to hug you. i'm going to try get the physical version of this, i want the physicality of it so bad. equal parts love letter and biographical in nature, made it onto my top 2023 shelf and idk if i even have the words to do this justice!

music: think this was just my liked songs? podcast: shakespeare & company

things i don't want to know by deborah levy

claxon sounds alarm rings horns blare. i read nonfiction. i've heard real high praise of levy as an author. i don't know if there was any rhyme or reason for picking up part one in her living autobiography series, but i'm realy glad i did. how do you judge a memoir? sorry, your life was boring! in levy's case it wasn't. i appreciate how vulnerable it is to unpick your memories and make sense of them almost 40 years later, to revisit apartheid South Africa and digest what that makes you as a woman now in your 60s. refreshingly candid, some real interesting threads on womanhood, displacement, motherhood and agency in this. will be picking up the next in the series.

music: just some indie pop i think (scared to update spotify i've seen there's no more genre filters in liked songs? what's that about!) no review here did some independent thinking scarily

ok i did finish a book yesterday that i want to count but it hasn't been long enough for my thoughts to settle but i'm going to link everything now before i lose it.

let it come down by paul bowles (technicality)

music: let it come down (not period appropiate but perfect for that kind of restless energy) articles: the international zone: expat writers in tangier, what was the international zone, franco-moroccan war

and that was my march reading! still at a slow and steady pace. i am trying to do a no book buy moment! other than me buying 3 books in march, i've been going pretty strong. might break it though because i've picked out two more books set in tangier also by some of bowle's contemporaries and i really want to explore a setting like that as a wider more Themed block of reading if that makes sense. so i'll be buying naked lunch by william s. burruoughs and in tangier by mohamed chouckri in the next couple of days (in tangier is a memoir)

also amazon sent me a notification like maybe its time for a new kindle! my current one isn't even 2 years old and works perfectly fine i won't be giving in

[picklesonjupiter]

Music interview tag game (tagged by @siriusly-sapphic )

put your spotify on shuffle, and use the first 10 songs that come up to answer each of the 10 questions with lyrics!

1. first off, how would you describe yourself in one sentence?

Maybe I'm a fool

Ugly Heart - G.R.L.

2. what kind of [sun sign (Libra)] are you?

I wanna climb into your mind and turn on all the lights

Read all your secrets, see if you wonder about mine

We're just kids tryna' to understand the world

You're still a only a boy, you're scared of a good girl

Ready - Alessia Cara

3. you're visiting your favorite spot, what are you thinking about?

And so I wake in the morning

And I step outside

And I take a deep breath and I get real high

And I scream from the top of my lungs

What's going on?

What's up? - 4 Non Blondes

4. if your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

Look inside my heart and find a perilous ravine

Carved within the beauty, the darkness in between

Standing in the balance of complete and incomplete

I identify the echo of what is and what will be

creature - half•alive

5. say you get a book deal, what are you titling your memoir?

Put all your faults to bed

You can be king again

King - Lauren Aquilina

6. what would you say about your best friends?

With simple songs I wanted more

Perfection is so quick to bore

You are more beautiful by far

Our flaws are who we really are

I Hear a Symphony- Cody Fry

7. think back to when you had everything all figured out in high school, what was your life motto as a teenager?

We are wild

We are like young volcanoes

Young Volcanoes - Fall Out Boy

8. describe your aesthetic now:

Feeling like your life's an illusion

And lately, you're secluded

Thinking you'll never get your chance

Feeling like you got no solution

It's only 'cause you're human

No control, it's out of your hands

It's OK Not To Be OK - Demi Lovato, Marshmello

9. what's a lyric that they'll quote in your euology?

My little love

I see your eyes widen like an ocean

When you look at me so full of my emotions

I'm finding it hard to be here, sincerely

I know you feel lost, it's my fault completely

My Little Love - Adele

10. and for our final question, say we believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of meeting you will be?

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

Heather - Conan Gray

Tagging @smilingformoney @snultiverse @maruke2003

[alywats]

June/ July 2021 Reading Wrap-Up

So, it’s been a minute, huh? I finished my first year of grad school on June 8th, turned 23 on June 9th, and went face-down-head-empty on June 10th. I am trying to be better about managing burn-out, but that is a discussion for another time. Let’s get caught up on my spicy literary opinions, shall we?? I read significantly less than normal in June and July, but we still have 8 whole books!

1. Shrines Of Upper Austria –Phoebe Power (71 pgs) 4

This is a special poetry collection, because it was written by the person who taught me the most about poetry. In 2018 I signed up for a poetry class during my semester abroad in England, and Phoebe was my workshop leader. Cut to 3 years later, and I still think about pieces of advice Phoebe gave me, every time I write. This collection was published while I was there, and I actually went to the release event and heard her perform some of the poems, but for some reason I hadn’t gone back and actually read the whole book until now.  I love this collection a lot, it’s a mosaic of European stories and histories, specifically as they relate to WW2. I think Phoebe has such a strong voice and such a unique style of writing, in ways that may make some of her work a little difficult to unpack for some readers. Anyways, Phoebe was the first person I ever showed my writing to, she even gave me feedback on a poem that went on to circulate tumblr (lol), and she understood my voice before I really understood it myself… anyways I think you should read this if you’re into poetry!

2. Crush –Richard Siken (62 pgs) 5

I don’t know if I have the right words to describe this book. Are they love poems? Sometimes. This was an absolutely haunting reading experience. All of the poems in this book are so desperate, so obsessive, so panicked, that by the end you just need a deep breath. There is so much blood in the lines of these poems, and I think that’s the best sell I can make? I HIGHLY recommend this.

3. Grocery List Poems –Rhiannon McGavin (80 pgs) 4.5

The last thing I read on The Day I Read A Bunch Of Poetry, and it was by one of my favorite poets. This is Rhiannon’s second collection, and uh, can we get some commotion for the fruit imagery??? I really like this collection, it is very cohesive and so full of her voice (which I have come to love a lot). My favorite poem in this book is Elsa la Rose and I want everyone to read it.

4. West Of Here –Jonathan Evison (486 pgs) 3

Here, my guys, is where things took a turn. I started reading this book on like June 10th, and I did not finish it until JULY 12TH. I don’t know if my brain just finally needed to shut down after finishing a year of grad school, or if this book was actually just that painful to read. Maybe it was some combination of the two, but good lord this book was hard for me to get through. The premise was great: historical fiction about when Washington became a state with a current day Bigfoot B-plot. Woof though: I was  annoyed by every character in this book (oh and there were about 37243875 characters to keep track of across two different timelines), plus I was also kind of annoyed by how #woke and #girlboss some of the characters from the 1800’s timeline were? Clearly Evison was trying to skirt around some of the *ahem* problematic elements of colonizing Washington and treating Indiginous people the way they were treated, and also the way women were treated in the 1800s, etc… but it came off as oversimplified and cringy. This would have been a 2-star review BUT THAT BIGFOOT B-PLOT? I am a simple woman.  

5. The Pisces –Melissa Broder (270 pgs) 3.5

Haha, what? This book has mermaid sex. Okay, it also has some big Ottessa Moshfegh-esque character study elements, where we meet an unlikable narrator and relate to her *too much* for comfort. This is a read where you feel uneasy the whole time and the ending kept me awake for a little while after I finished it. It’s gross, it’s weird, and most of all there is a fish man ready for action. Did I like this? Who’s to say, really.

6. All The Light We Cannot See –Anthony Doerr (531 pgs) 3.5

This I read as a buddy read with my good friend Carly! Carly and I met the first day of college and we did music stuff together throughout. Now, we are both yelling about books on the internet (her book instagram is @book.trunks if you want to check out her hot takes!). But on to this book…. sad, just sad.

This book kind of wrecked me? And I did really like the writing. I became invested in the characters immediately, and the structure of the book felt like a kind of fragmented flashback, which is fitting for a traumatic book about WW2. I am becoming really sensitive to the ways authors use trauma like this though, did this book make me feel things because it was full of good, emotional writing? Or did descriptions of extreme suffering evoke those feelings because I am a human and WW2 was a nightmare? Does this matter? I don’t know, but this book was sad and I *think* I liked it?

7. Sweetbitter –Stephanie Danler (356 pgs) 2.5

This is pretentious lit-fic in its most pure essence. An overwritten coming-of-age/ finding yourself novel with minimal plot set in New York City, baby –the city of dreams! Our protagonist has a tragic past, and working in a fancy restaurant shows her things about the city and its people that make her question her place there. There’s sex and drugs along the way, and maybe NYC isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, hmm? Or, maybe this is *exactly* where she’s supposed to be. Does this sound exceedingly boring and predictable, because it was.

8. Supernatural Strategies For Making a Rock ‘n’ Roll Group –Ian F. Svenonius (250 pgs) 4

This is a quirky little nonfiction (memoir?? art piece?) about what it means to start a rock ‘n’ roll band! I thought this was super interesting and it reminded me of Chuck Klosterman’s writing a bit, so no complaints here!

[authorstalker]

My January & February Reads

The Particulars of Peter, Kelly Conaboy - Do you like dogs? Get this book! Do you like to laugh? Get this book! I've followed Kelly's online writing for years - she has such a unique, funny voice and she tends to blog about topics that are vital to my happiness (dogs, Gilmore Girls, scented candles). She's as obsessed with her dog Peter as I am with my dog Pedro, and her essay collection is an exploration of modern dog ownership. She and Peter attend a dog festival, dog dancing lessons and agility classes, and she investigates issues like whether it's okay for your dog to sleep in your bed and the ethics of spying on your dog with a nanny cam. If you are a dog lover or know one, this book is a perfect gift.

Becoming, Michelle Obama - I borrowed this forever ago from my friend Sarah, but I put off reading it because I was too stressed about the election. Thank you to everyone who voted correctly so I could finally read Michelle's memoir! I mean, what is there to say? The woman is incredible. I especially enjoyed the insider info, like did you know that when the president travels, his team has bags of his blood type at the ready, just in case - that's wild.

Fake Accounts, Lauren Oyler - If you read this, don't look up any reviews or interviews ahead of time because they are full of spoilers! Being stuck inside the narrator's head is mostly unpleasant, but the story sucked me in and I read for hours. Plus it made me laugh a lot - the narrator is a miserable bitch, yes, but I loved her mean observations. Will people who are *not* Extremely Online be able to like or understand Fake Accounts? I dunno but I'm curious.

The Finishing School, Muriel Spark - So weird, so funny, and only 190 pages. This is my ideal book. I want to mail it to my friend in Paris because it will also be her ideal book, but I can't figure out if France is accepting mail from the U.S. during Covid. Kate, please move back to New York so I can give you books again.

People We Meet on Vacation, Emily Henry - I hit such an emotional low point in February, but then I got this book via NetGalley and I swear to god it cured me. I read it twice in two days! Friends to lovers perfection.

Single, Carefree, Mellow, Katherine Heiny - Between this story collection, her last novel (Standard Deviation), and her absolutely amazing upcoming novel (Early Morning Riser), it's time to make it official: Katherine Heiny is my favorite contemporary author.

The Morning Gift, Eva Ibbotson - Why don't my friends listen when I tell them to read Eva Ibbotson? If you're reading this blog post, get The Morning Gift and A Song for Summer - those are the two I've read so far and I wish I could exist in a permanent state of reading them - romance, food, art, music, Mozart, family, cozy Christmas scenes, nature, everything wonderful! I loooove Eva's writing but unfortunately she's dead, so I have to pace myself the way I do with Laurie Colwin's books, uggghhhh.

The Power of Ritual, Casper ter Kuile - This one is all about creating rituals that connect you with people and nature. Taking internet breaks was only a small part of the book, but it was the most useful for me! I'm stealing Casper's weekly "tech sabbath" ritual, which I'm interpreting as not going on social media at all on Saturdays (hence why I'm here writing this book roundup instead of scrolling Twitter).

Weather, Jenny Offill - Weather is 200 pages written in Jenny's standard fragmented style, so it was easy to read in one sitting. Her books blend sadness and humor in a way that vibes with my soul, and she packs every page with random facts - her novels are almost like quirky, depressing textbooks, and I mean that as a compliment. I'm not sure Weather will stick with me in the same way her other novels did, however; it is maybe too fragmented and spare. I enjoyed it and I’m still thinking about moments from it, but it didn't feel complete.

Beth & Amy, Virginia Kantra - I'm so grateful for these Little Women modernizations, what a treat! Virginia Kantra took the most boring March sister and the most hated March sister and gave them the best stories, all while staying true to the classic characters.

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Notes from Stephen King’s “On Writing” 03: How to Write

Now that King has laid out the tools before us, he sits down and tells us exactly how he goes about his craft. He acknowledges that everyone writes differently, and that how he writes may not jive with you, and that is okay. He is just walking us through what he does, and you can take what you want and leave what you don’t.

How to Summon Your Muse

“There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you.”

Read a Lot and Write a Lot

“We read to experience the mediocre and the outright rotten; such experience helps us to recognize those things when they begin to creep into our own work, and to steer clear of them. We also read in order to measure ourselves against the good and the great, to get a sense of all that can be done. And we read in order to experience different styles.”

Man, I probably can’t even count how many times I’ve seen this piece of advice. But the fact that I’ve seen it this much means that it must be right, I guess. In particular, King advises us to read bad books, as the bad stuff is usually more glaring than the good, and we can learn from that. 

He also says that reading bad things can provide us positive inspiration.

“Most writers can remember the first book he/she put down thinking: I can do better than this. Hell, I am doing better than this! What could be more encouraging to the struggling writer than to realize his/her work is unquestionably better than that of someone who actually got paid for his/her stuff?”

Certainly, I have to agree with him.I remember the first time I was deflowered with bad fiction.

King also advises us to read good books, because we can learn about style, graceful narration, plot development, the creation of believable characters, and truth-telling. 

On Finding Time to Read

It’s not that we don’t want to read, it’s that we just don’t have the time to read when we’re working and have other obligations and also want to write. So how do we find the time to read? King says:

“The trick is to teach yourself to read in small sips as well as in long swallows.”

Especially with the advent of e-books, it is easier now than ever to have a book on hand at all times. Read in waiting rooms, in transit, in the checkout line, on the treadmill, and the bathroom. Read when you have an hour to yourself on Sunday. Just read when you can. 

On the Importance of Reading

“The real importance of reading is that it creates an ease  and intimacy with the process of writing. ... Constant reading will pull you into a place (a mindset, if you like the phrase) where you can write eagerly and without self-consciousness. It also offers you a constantly growing knowledge of what has been done and what hasn’t, what is trite and what is fresh, what works and what just lies there dying (or dead) on the page. The more you read, the less apt you are to make a fool of yourself with your pen.”

This makes a lot of sense. From personal experience, even though English is my native language and I love reading and writing, I stopped reading English for leisure when I moved to Japan. I poured all of my free time into learning Japanese, and I consumed only written Japanese media for about three years. When I went to pick up a pen again, it felt like a foreign object in my hand. My prose was clunky, the words were stop and start, and I was forgetting words. Especially since I spend a good 90% of my day in Japanese now, I make it a point to come home and read in English every night, and I have seen an improvement. 

How Much to Write?

Okay, so we know that we have to “read a lot” and “write a lot,” but let’s quantify that. (This is the specificity that I really love in this book.) 

King prefaces this section by making it clear that all authors work at different paces. James Joyce sometimes wrote just seven words a day. There was this dude Anthony Trollope who wrote for 2.5 hours every morning before work and stopped even if he was mid-sentence when time was up. If he finished writing a book before the 2.5 hours was finished, he would close that manuscript and start writing the next one. What a machine.

Also, just how many works must a person write to become a Real Writer? Harper Lee only wrote To Kill a Mockingbird. (I know a sequel has been released since King’s book was published, but don’t we all want to forget that sequel exists anyways?) This guy John Creasey wrote five hundred novels under ten different names. 

So how long your works are and how many works you have is your choice. You do you. But if you’re good at it and you love it, don’t put down that pen! 

Writing Schedule

King writes in the morning, takes naps in the afternoon, and spends time with his family in the evenings. That sounds like a dream come true to most of us that are still working a 9-5 and writing on the side. But that’s what he does now. 

To put things more concretely, he says that he has a strict 2,000 minimum that he must write every single day. Even if it’s like pulling teeth, even if it takes longer than he hoped, he does not stop until he has 2,000 new words on the page. 

King also believes that the first draft of a book, even a long one, should take no more than three months to write. (Personally I feel that could be difficult for everyone to do unless they have the ability to commit a certain amount of time everyday to writing no matter what.)

How to Keep Good Writing Habits

King gives us this advice.

Have a “writing room.” For King, this was the cramped laundry room while he wrote Carrie and Salem’s Lot. He isn’t telling you to add a room onto your house. Just have a space that is yours and free of distractions. Have a space that is designated for writing and nothing else, and make sure you can close the door to it. 

Set a daily writing goal for yourself. Even if it’s as low as 100 at first, that’s fine. Just write every day no matter what. He says you can take one day off a week at first. But only at first. 

Eliminate all possible distractions while writing. No phone, no TV, don’t even have the windows open (unless your view is boring). You can have music on if it helps filter out the outside world. 

Have a schedule. Dedicate a certain time before or after work that will be “writing time.” Let’s say mine is 8 pm to 10 pm every day.

Don’t wait for the muse. In King’s words, “Your job is to make sure the muse knows where you’re going to be every day from nine ‘til noon or seven ‘til three. If he does know, I assure you that sooner or later he’ll start showing up, chomping his cigar and making his magic.” Sidenote: King’s muse doesn’t match muse stereotypes lol.

“I think we’re actually talking about creative sleep. Like your bedroom, your writing room should be private, a place where you go to dream. You schedule -in at about the same time everyday, out when your word goal is on paper - exists in order to habituate yourself, to make yourself ready to dream just as you make yourself ready to sleep by going to bed at roughly the same time each night and following the same ritual as you go. In both writing and sleeping, we learn to be physically still at the same time we are encouraging our minds to unlock from the humdrum rational thinking of our daytime lives. You can train your waking mind to sleep creatively and work out the vividly imagined waking dreams which are successful works of fiction.”

The above quote put a lot of things into perspective for me. I had never thought of writing like dreaming, but really, that is what it is. I have a desk that was meant for writing, but is actually for everything now. Eating, chatting with friends, surfing the web, and writing. It is very far from distraction-free. I also just write “when I feel like it,” which means that sometimes I have months-long or years-long dry spells. And that’s nothing but a shame. 

So now I’m looking at getting another smaller, simpler desk to put in my bedroom, upon which I’ll put a tablet with no internet connection and a wireless keyboard. Maybe a notepad. Maybe. I’m not much of a note-taker. But I’ll put that in my bedroom, which really has just a bed and clothes, not even a clock, and I’ll push myself to write more every day, right there, from 8 pm to 10 pm. 

Source: King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Hodder, 2012.

[soliti]

ASTRID SWAN

1. Taylor Swift: Folklore (2020, album) This year the so-called mainstream and the sidelines flow into each other. There are no borders between formula, selling, style and that is freeing for all who make art. Maybe in that sense a global pandemic is putting us on a more even creative keel. It’s providing time for all to actually make art rather than to focus on its marketing. Maybe. Taylor Swift’s first quarantine album became my favorite immediately. I have had it on probably every day for the past months. The marriage of Aaron Dessner’s delicate looping swirling riffs with Swift’s sugary pop vocal hooks and storytelling were just what I needed for inspiration and comfort while sitting at my desk, staring at the screen, writing and glimpsing the sky each day, through the seasons.

2.  Beyoncé: The Lion King – The Gift (2020, visual album) The visual album directed by Bey herself is another border breaking effort, questioning the imagined fencing between super fame and unknown artists, elevating the African continents, black and brown humans and culture and healing with beauty. The music relates to the Lion King film that came out in 2019 and so does the film, but its free too, writing and rewriting additional meanings, imagining differently. It’s abundance, shared space, nature, form – an amazing fiction and a powerful narrative to black and brown children: you matter, you are beautiful. My 8-year-old LOVES every second of it. It is radical to be one of the most famous identifiable voices in pop and to share the vocal space and songwriting with all these other voices. It is radical to believe in your own power to do many things well, and then do it.

3. Fiona Apple: Fetch the Bolt Cutters (2020, album) What a year! It feels like I am 17 again with all these albums that become part of my musical interior. My new, yet familiar furniture to lean on. Apple’s album is an amalgamation of all her albums so far. It’s a language I speak. It’s like listening to my big sister. It makes me glad to be alive in 2020 to hear her be able to bottle the vulnerability and wit and shake shake shake…

4.  Shawn Colvin: Diamond in the Rough (book, 2012) I read a lot this year, which is no news. I’m always reading. Still, this is a revelation: since 2018 I’ve been listening to Colvin’s album A Few Small Repairs from 1996 every week. Yes, every week at some point I have to listen to this. This relates to the fact that I’ve rediscovered a lot of my 90s favorites and realized that I still love them. So, finally I realized that she published a memoir in 2012. I loved reading this book because it hasn’t been so long that I can read books by women songwriters. There just haven’t been that many. And this one addressed song writing and the conditions of her becoming a musician very well. It also dealt with alcoholism, mental health struggles and weaved mothering, romantic love and parental love into the narrative. Again, reading this inspired me to do what I do. Her writing made me feel less lonely and inspired to play the guitar again.

5. Hari Kunzru: Into the Zone (podcast) Podcasts have become an almost too present noise in my mornings, my walks, my cooking, my escape from the family… in a small home with everyone home, you can make space by listening to your own boring talk shows so loud that it drowns out Neil Young and muddles YouTube kids and the endless video game or Lego reviews. So, I discovered Into the Zone. I love it passionately. It’s a literary writer’s and a researcher’s dream. Kunzru is able to tell narratives of far apart subjects and show how they relate and influence each other. He talks much about music, racism, ideas of genre, imagined futures… to be honest, I felt like writing a letter of thank you to him, that’s how much I loved this. I haven’t written the letter though, because I could not find his email address.

6. “How to Stop a Power Grab” by Andrew Marantz in The New Yorker. November 23rd, 2020. This great article looks into what we know about peaceful dissent, interviewing Erica Chenoweth who is an important voice for all kinds of civil organizing and dissent such as the Black Lives Matter -movement. Chenoweth has studied and found that peaceful dissent is more likely to lead to political change than violence. Her book with Maria Stephan Why Civil Resistance Works came out in 2013 and is considered a watershed book for civil organizing. Reading this article gave me hope; maybe instead of a major global disaster bigger than 2020, we are learning, we are on the brink of better times, of realizing that we all have to care for all and act upon the betterment of our conditions. That science is showing us that violence is a dead end. That things are changing. That from the perspective of centuries, our slow learning is accelerating.

7.  I’ll Be Gone in the Dark (TV Series, HBO) Michelle McNamara’s book by the same name was a hit a little while ago and this year, the HBO documentary series brings the entangled narratives of McNamara, the horrific victim stories and the story of the EAR/Night Stalker together much like the book. The criminal titled EAR who violated the lives of so many and killed many from 1960s until recently in California, USA is kind of at the center of the story, but also, he is a side character to something more interesting. For me, the true crime aspect of this program was not as compelling as the story of McNamara’s discovery of writing, her ability to fuse detective skills and storytelling and her inability to address her personal struggles while doing it. It is a tragedy. I was struck by the documentary’s skill at talking also about mothering, a romantic relationship and childhood and to relate all this to the way this woman worked, developed her professional situation. And all this, while investigating murders and rapes that happened long ago and were never solved. Watching this made me a fangirl of McNamara and it made me want to become an amateur sleuth and also a filmmaker in my next life. Finally, during the year I fluctuated between wanting to watch old films, familiar series and yearning to be shook out of my usual corners. Being true crime this series was super scary for me – but it was more about telling stories really than about the crime, so I grit my teeth and closed the blinds and told myself I’m safe and I watched the series twice already. Guardian review of the show.

[broadway-book-badger]

Let’s talk about books

Back in the day, about three years ago, I went through a phase of posting monthly write-ups of what I’d been reading on here. In these trying times there seems to be a little bit more time for reading, plus escapism and procrastination are always fun, so I though I’d share a few recommendations. There’s a few different genres (amazingly, hardly any YA fantasy), and I’ve mostly read these in the last year or so. I’ve kept my thoughts as spoiler free as I can. Read them under the cut.

1. The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

Everyone and their mother has read The Hunger Games. I have read The Hunger Games before. But, a couple of weeks ago, I reread the trilogy for the first time since my first reading, which was around Christmas 2011. And to be perfectly honest, these books hold up! I think maybe it’s because I read so many not so good dystopian YA novels after I first read the Hunger Games that I thought less of this trilogy, but I don’t know. This is a solid series. If you’ve never revisited it (or if you’ve never read it at all), now could be the time! I love the fast paced writing - once things kick off, they do not stop and I burned through the whole trilogy in about three days. The world building is decent, and it doesn’t back away from some pretty heavy stuff. I remember certain scenes being much more gory, but that’s probably just because I’ve read much worse in the past 9 years. Also being older, I appreciate Katniss as a character a lot more. I remember 13-year old me getting annoyed, but now I kind of like that she is allowed to be confused about her feelings and struggle with what she’s been through and generally be a pawn rather than a flawless 16-year old rebel commander as seen elsewhere. The love triangle also isn’t as bad as I remember, although I was reminded of my own love for Peeta. Some people complain that he’s boring, but I think he’s a lovely boy.

2. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

I’ve been wanting to read this since I saw someone on the internet pitch this as something along the lines of “The queer dragon fantasy epic you’ve been waiting for.” I did a lot of waiting for it to come out in paperback, because it is an absolute behemoth over 800 pages, and while incredibly pretty, the hardback was just too big. It was, however, well worth the wait. I haven’t read a ton of adult fantasy, because a lot of it is so big, but this was a good place to start, because the writing style is pretty easy to read and also its a standalone, so the story is told by the end, it’s not the first of like 6 800 page bricks. While the plot and the characters and the love story between a queen and her handmaiden who’s a badass sorceress in disguise are all enjoyable, the thing I loved the most was the worldbuilding. I love the time and effort that was spent developing the religions and mythologies of all the different kingdoms and how they clash in ways such as different takes on the legend of St George and the dragon, and the contrast Western dragons as monsters to be slain by knights vs benevolent Eastern dragons that kind of echoes real world mythology. I saw one review of this describing ‘Priory’ as ‘a feminist successor to Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones.’ While I think you could definitely say that that is the case, I would say that equally being more feminist than either of those titles is not a particularly high bar, given that there are only about 5 named women in the whole of Middle Earth, and most of the women in Game of Thrones are assaulted and brutalized for no good reason. 

3. Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

This book made me so happy, you have no idea. An enemies to friends to lovers story about the son of the first female American president and the Prince of England, that reads kind of like fanfiction but in the best possible way is exactly what the world needs right now. Everything about this book is delightful, from the characters to their relationships to the pseudo-alternate history that its set in. I think the thing that increased my enjoyment of this is the fact that the main characters are in their early twenties. It seems to me that most protagonists, regardless of genre are either 16 or pushing 30, and while I still enjoy their stories, there was just something infinitely more relatable about a character the same age as me. If anyone knows of any more books with characters in this age range, please let me know, because they seem few and far between. Back to this, however, I think I was grinning like an idiot through most of this book. I laughed, I may have shed a little happy tear, I fully recommend.

4. The Broken Earth Trilogy by N K Jemisin

Another foray into adult fantasy, this is such a good series. The books aren’t too long and the writing style is easy to digest, but it is DARK. It’s set in a world which experiences apocalyptic natural disasters every couple of centuries. There are people with powers that can help control this, but they’re super oppressed and treated as evil, rather than potential saviours. The story follows a woman searching for her missing daughter in the wake of an apocalypse, a young girl coming into her powers and others, and it is so well done. It’s such a unique and diverse world, and there are some great reveals as to why the story is being told the way that it is, as well as interesting takes on things like living vs surviving and systems of oppression.

5. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

An aging and reclusive Hollywood star decides that the time has come to share her life story to an unknown journalist and it’s amazing. This is so well done that its easy to forget while reading that Evelyn Hugo is not a real person and you cannot go and watch her films. I first heard about this book and thought it sounded interesting, as I have a love of Old Hollywood musicals. I then promptly forgot all about it, until I heard other people on the internet talking about how it had a bisexual protagonist, which both reminded me about it and made me want to read it more and here we are. Evelyn Hugo had a hell of a life, with seven husbands and another great love story, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading about it. This book does a great job at showcasing both the glamour and less glamorous underside of the era, as well as the lengths people are willing to go. It also had me sobbing at 1am because I couldn’t put it down, and if that isn’t the mark of a quality book, I don’t know what is!

6. Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy

A coming-of-age story following two childhood friends as they move from their small town to Dublin for University in the 1950s. Quite a chunky book, but a lovely story and I found it read pretty quickly. As I was saying about Red, White and Royal Blue, it’s rare to find books about characters of this sort of age range. Equally rare I think are books with a university setting - the only others I can think of are Fangirl, the Magicians and the Secret History - any recommendations, let me know! I enjoyed the characters growing and finding their confidence and independence, as well as the period setting. I also greatly appreciated the ending, in terms of the main character’s love interest, as it’s something that you don’t often see in this type of book. I may have to read more by this author.

7. Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

This is one of those books that I just happened to read at the perfect time in my life, and for that reason it means a lot to me. I read it at the very end of 2018, when I was feeling really down and not myself, and something in there just spoke to me and maybe gave a little perspective. I don’t read much non-fiction and this is just the memoirs of someone as she navigates her teens and twenties. I can see why someone might not like it, but I really did. There’s some relatable content in here. As the book went on and I read all these parts about bad dates and third-wheeling friends, I kept waiting for the part where she said, ‘but then I met so-and-so and it all changed’ but that NEVER happened. By the end of this book, this woman is still single and praising all the types of non-romantic love in her life, and that I think is a bit of a revelation. It is so rare for a woman to stay single at the end of a book (see every YA love triangle ever, even when both boys are terrible), and so this resonated deeply with me. I laughed, I cried, I go back and reread bits every so often, and I wholeheartedly recommend.

8. Chain of Gold by Cassandra Clare

There are those who say that Cassandra Clare needs to stop, but I wholeheartedly disagree. As long as she wants to keep writing Shadowhunter books, I will keep reading them, because they are a hell of a lot of fun. I’ll admit, bits of the OG Mortal Instruments series aren’t the best thing I’ve ever read, but the historical series are in another league altogether. I adore the Infernal Devices trilogy, which features one of the few good love triangles in YA, and Chain of Gold is a promising start to a new series about the children of the Infernal Devices characters. I think there’s something about the historical setting that just works so much better than the modern series, it could be the angst that comes from things like marriages of convenience and ruined reputations, but I digress. I really enjoyed getting to know this new cast of characters, while also getting some appearances from old favourites. The plot was solid too, and I liked the new expansions to the mythology, while wondering what they mean for what’s coming in the rest of this trilogy. I think the fact that I read this in less than 48 hours, mostly sitting in the same spot tells you everything you need to know.

[purplesurveys]

998

survey by starsareonly2nd

How many text messages are currently in your inbox? I don’t know if my phone can provide that particular feature. Suffice it to say there’s a ton because I don’t really do spring cleaning with my texts and I’ve kept messages since getting this phone in 2018.

Is your profile picture in color or black & white? All my profile photos have been in color, and I think I’ve only had to have a black and white photo once.

What's your favorite Christmas movie? Love Actually.

Did you dress up for Halloween this year? If so, what were you? We’re gonna be having a virtual Halloween party at work on Wednesday and I’m thinking of just going as Dora the Explorer again since I wasn’t able to maximize my costume last year anyway (the Halloween party I had gone to didn’t allow shorts - wtf? so I ended up wearing orange pants and looking nothing like Dora) and this time around I also actually have bangs to complete the look. But idk, the party announcement says we also have 30 seconds each to impersonate the character, and I'm just not extroverted enough for individual presentations like that. I’m heavily leaning towards skipping the entire thing because of that one instruction, but we’ll see.

Are there any posters in your room? Of what? Yuh, Nam Joo Hyuk.

Do you read Rolling Stone? I don’t think I ever have.

Which Harry Potter book (if you read them) was your favorite? I read up until the blue book, but I don’t remember which one I had enjoyed reading the most. I do remember breezing through one of them and finishing in just a couple of hours, so I’d say that was my favorite.

Do you have any stuffed animals you still sleep with? No.

What kind of cell phone do you own? iPhone.

Do you have any pets? Yes :)

Are there currently any accessories in your hair? Sure, a hair tie.

Are you involved with any clubs at your school? I was in two organizations in college andddd in high school it was mandatory to be in a club, so I was in one for each year.

Do you have an MP3 player? What kind? I used to own an iPod Nano.

What's your favorite sport to watch on TV? Wrestling!!! My first love, forever and always.

How many people live with you? Four. Parents and two siblings.

Are you good at any styles of dance? Haha, I wish. I’m a terrible dancer.

Do you think that your hair looks better curly or straight? Neither. It’s best when it’s wavy.

Where was your default taken? It’s not a photo of me, first of all. It’s from an episode of Bojack but I can’t remember which episode it’s form.

Have you ever been to another country? Yeah, several times.

Do you prefer cats or dogs? Dogs.

What was the last thing you ate? Kwek-kwek. My grandma made so many pieces for us when she came over yesterday <3

What's your desktop background? It’s of a mountain range and is one of the provided backgrounds in my laptop.

What was the last movie you saw at a theater? For the billionth time, Knives Out.

Did you think it was a good movie? No, but I’m biased because I hate that genre. I’m fairly sure it was well-received and that it’s objectively a good movie.

Are you afraid of spiders? The ones we have here are super tiny and look pretty harmless, so no. But I’ve seen how freaky spiders can look like in other countries and I understand why so many people are terrified of them.

Did you carve a pumpkin this year? If so, what did you carve into it? No, we don’t practice that here.

Which Disney movie is your favorite? Toy Story makes me the happiest.

Are you the youngest, oldest, middle, or only child? Eldest.

If your power were to suddenly go out right now, how would you react? Annoyed at the inconvenience, but glad that my laptop is at 88% and that I have a bunch of tabs with surveys so I can at least do something; unbothered because the weather is cold; and pleased that I have enough mobile data to keep myself from getting bored. Overall I wouldn’t mind it, hahaha

Do you enjoy photography? I don’t enjoy doing it, but I like looking at photos, sure.

What's your favorite thing to do at the beach? Swim and allowing myself to relax and let go in the water.

Are you afraid of heights? Not for most situations, but if I had to do an extreme stunt or dare that involved heights then yeah it would.

If someone were to cut you in line at a store, would you speak up? No, but I’d take a photo of their back and share it on social media and call them an asshole to release my annoyance. I’d probably try to sneakily elbow them as well, just so I can sleep soundly at night.

Are there any foods you enjoy baking/cooking? No.

What website would you say you visit the most? Definitely YouTube.

What book are you currently reading? [continued from yesterday] I don’t think it’s still fair to say I’m reading Midnight Sun anymore. I haven’t opened it in about a month now, even though it’s constantly on my desk just right beside the laptop I work on.

Is it for school or just because you want to read? It’s because I do want to read it and because I like Twilight hehe. I’m not in school.

Are you going to any concerts in the future that you know of? I’m just waiting for my third Paramore show, whenever that is; but otherwise no and I have no clue who or when the first post-Covid concert is going to be.

Do you play any instruments? No. I can play some tunes on the piano but it’s cheating and I don’t count it, because I’ve only memorized which keys to press and I don’t actually know how to read notes or use the proper fingering.

Are you looking forward to the new Alice in Wonderland movie? This question is so cute considering it’s been a literal decade since that movie came out...anyway, no, I didn’t look forward to it as I’m not a fan of the genre.

Do you get seasick? I do but I can handle my stomach for the most part. The only time it got really bad was during my cruise, and the only reason I didn’t throw up was my dad has a cabin at the bottom floor of the ship, where the shaking was a lot weaker.

When was the last time you hung out with your friends? This is so painful to read lol...last week of February.

Do you drink soda on a regular basis? Nopes.

Are you currently wearing a hoodie? No but I can do with one right now to feel cozy. I just don’t feel like getting out of my chair.

What's the weirdest food you've ever eaten? Gulab jamun was personally a unique experience, but weird has a negative connotation so I’m avoiding that word.

What was the last sporting event you attended? I think it was like a UP/Ateneo volleyball game, which was the only type of UAAP event I attended anyway.

Do you understand Shakespeare? Nope, that’s why I got books that had the modern-day translations right beside the original text lol. I mean I would probably be able to understand it if I exerted time and effort into reading Shakespeare, but I don’t have either, so.

Is there a bookshelf in your room? Nah but the top of my closet acts like one.

Do you need to wear glasses at all? Yes, all the time.

What's your favorite genre of books? Anything non-fiction, so books on history, memoirs, etc.

Do you think it's too early for Christmas music? Not in the Philippines. Christmas for us starts in September :) Anyone’s free to put up Christmas trees and lights or listen to Christmas music as soon as the clock strikes 12 midnight on September 1st.

What's the longest you've ever gone without speaking? Maybe during my dark days in 6th grade? I was super depressed, had no friends, had a strained relationship with my entire famly, and was holed up in my room all day long. It’s very possible I went several days without talking then.

Does your house have a garden? I wouldn’t call it a garden but we do have several trees and plants around the house, yes.

What color is the shirt you are wearing? It’s multi-colored stripes.

Do you know what brand of toothpaste you use? Colgate.

When was the last time you were on an airplane? Early 2019.

Do you have a permit or license? A driver’s license, yes.

Did you walk any long distances today? Nope. So far I’ve only gone down to the kitchen to fix myself a cup of coffee.

Are you currently wearing any make-up? I’m not.

How do you feel about bands covering old pop music? I personally don’t like most covers but I don’t take it against the bands. I just won’t listen to those versions.

Are your nails painted? Never are.

Do you use correct grammar online? Sure, unless I want to use bad grammar on purpose.

Do you agree with the statement that Miley Cyrus is a bad role model? I don’t think she even ever claimed to be one, so that’s an unfair accusation. I personally never had a problem with her and I admire her confidence and boldness in her performances and other things she does. Slide Away in particular is a very beautiful song.

Do you give out cards on Valentine's Day? No.

What are you listening to right now? I can hear the wind lightly blowing outside, but thankfully it’s no longer as violent as yesterday.

[thestarkerisobvious]

a sneak-peak of my WIP (which is an AU which is stupid because I DON’T DO AUs) that involves Peter Parker as Spider-Man, and Demon!Tony.

...bit number two (WHICH IS IN TWO PARTS PART 2 IS THE SEX)

How It Feels To Lose Your Mind

Balancing college life, Spider-Man life and a (non-existent) love life had always been a juggling act for Peter, but with his superpowers, he considered himself particularly good at it.

But not any more.  Now his life seemed like a daily chore, a constant fight to keep an eye on the bad guys of New York City despite the constant fog. Not a real fog, the fog in his mind, the persistent distraction in Peter’s periphery now, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.  Like a street musician playing out-of-tune just around the corner, incessantly irritating him to the point of distraction.   Sometimes he felt like he was losing his mind.

It showed up mostly in his work.  College was as easy as ever (in fact he was letting his grades slide a little, now that he had the far more pleasant Tony Crow to concentrate on) but every task Spider-Man tried to undertake seemed either pointless or impossible.  

The disappearance of Cleveland Carter, for instance, the treasurer of the Order.  Peter remembered him as gesturing with an ornate cane and wearing an actual monocle.  Did he also have top hat, or was Peter confusing him with the Monopoly guy? Spider-Man was attempting to investigate what was now officially a missing persons case, but the more he learned about Cleveland Carter the less he wanted the man found.  The man was apparently an Evil Landlord of almost cartoonish dimensions, extorting and blackmailing his tenants and making money from their misery.   Impossible to believe that of the vague, distracted man Peter had met the night of the storm, at least, he thought it was impossible.  It was difficult to remember exactly what Cleveland Carter had been telling Peter that night.  Was it a story about a rival magician?  Or about some kind of femme fatal, some woman that he was afraid of? Or was he complaining about the Virgin Brothers?  Peter actually wondered if he had sipped too much wine that night, because he was having trouble remembering.

The Virgin Brothers, that much he did remember.  How they had talked his ear off for half an hour about the art painted directly onto the walls above their heads, art that couldn’t even be seen when the lights were off and the candles were lit.  They spoke forever about the genius of the artist, some woman, who had worked for over ten years to hand paint each one, spoke until Peter was longing to ditch these old guys and talk to anyone else in the world (ok, he really wanted to talk to that cute librarian translator whom he had just met.)

That had happened, hadn’t it?  Or had he dreamed it?  He often had trouble sorting out the memories of that night and the dreams he had had about it since.  He could often sort them out by a simple rule.  Were the scenes in his head boring?  Then they were real.  Did the scene in his head involve him and Tony naked on the ceremony floor? Probably a dream.

Even his memoires of Tony couldn’t be trusted.  He treasured their time together, remembered it lovingly in his head when he finally crashed at the end of the day.  But sometimes, going over those memories, he wound up with more questions than answers.

Those walks through New York City, for instance.  It seemed like every time they stopped to listen to a street musician (and they stopped at every one) said street musician’s box or bucket or violin case would be steadily filling up with money.  But the more Peter thought about it, the less likely that seemed.

It wasn’t that the street musician’s weren’t good, (some were good, some were terrible.)  Peter wasn’t sure how anyone could enjoy the street musicians’ music.  There was always another tune playing just around the corner, sometimes in sync with the performer in front of him, oftentimes out.  Although it must have been his spider-senses that allowed him to hear it, no one else seemed to be bothered.

But so many of his walks with Tony took on that dream-like quality, as if he had been seeing things, been hearing things that couldn’t have actually been there.  He never noticed while he was with Tony. When Tony talked,  Peter was hanging hopelessly on every word.  It was only afterward, when Peter reached for the memory, tried to lovingly caress it, did he start to notice the difficulties.

Take the conversation about envy and jealousy, for instance.

Perhaps they had just passed a street musician, and perhaps Peter had mentioned how envious he was that Tony seemed to know every one by name.  This had let to a long conversation, sometimes intense, sometimes amusing, comparing envy to jealousy, as they wandered aimlessly, hand in hand, through the streets of New York.

“So, what I hear you saying is, envy is good because it creates more songs, jealousy is bad because it… kills the musician?”  Peter asked, laughing.  

“Yes!  Envy creates more art, although sometimes envy only leads to destruction…. for instance.  The architect creates a notable building.  It is built.  It is a structural marvel, a miracle of science.  The second architect is envious.  He envies the lauds, the praise the first architect has gained.  So the envious architect sets out to create a structural marvel that is bigger, higher.  Now there are two buildings, two works of art because of envy.  Rival magicians, on the other hand, they are jealous.  Destructive.  One magician recreates the perfect ceremony, every detail is accurate.  The rival magician is jealous, so he destroys one corner of the circle, steals a sacred object, kills the High Priests’ handmaiden so the ritual cannot be complete.  So I would argue envy is a good thing among artists, but jealousy.”

“Architects are artists?”

Tony had frowned at him. “Of course architects are artists.  What else would they be?”

“Fine, but we were talking about songwriters, you said envy creates more art and jealousy creates less.”  

They had wandered into a quiet place, Peter remembered.  A place Tony seemed to know, wanted to show him.  Wanted to show off to him.  It was a small park of some kind, surrounded by a low brick wall.  There were blossoming trees and gravel paths  (but no flowers.  It was too early in spring for flowers) and a very still pond with a Japanese bridge over it, just like a painting.  They had only just stepped away from the street, but here, the noises of the city seemed to disappear.

“Let me explain,” Tony was saying, leading Peter to the small bridge, the bridge he had presented with a flourish, as if proud of it.  “The man loves, so he writes songs about his love.  Alas, his love is too beautiful!  He composes a song about how jealous he is of the world around him. Now he is afraid his lover is spending time with someone else, so he writes a song about the hate he feels. Too bad, his constantly jealousy has driving his lover away, so he must write a song about his devastation.  Oh dear, he has killed his lover for leaving him. He is in prison now. No more songs.”  

“I don’t know – ‘Hey Jo Where You Goin’ With That Gun In Your Hand’ still plays on the radio sometimes.”

They were standing on top of the bridge now, completely alone, and Tony had turned to look at him. Peter looked into his face, suddenly overwhelmed with how beautiful this man was, and his heart began to pound as he realized he was about to ask the question that had been burning in his head for months.  (For months? That wasn’t right.  They hadn’t known each other for months.)  “Tony, do you want me?”  “Tony, am I important to you?”  “Tony, are you going to leave me?”

He opened his mouth to speak, and immediately lost his nerve.  His eyes fell.  So instead he just looked at where their hands rested on the rail of the bridge (where Tony’s fingers were brushing against his) and said “Sometimes, jealousy is just a sign of passion.  A sign of … enthusiasm.  It means that the other person… cares… that you’re still there.  That they would care if you were gone.” 

He looked up just as Tony closed the distance between their mouths and kissed him.  Very gently at first, brushing their lips together [insert Von-like description here] until Tony’s tongue was gently moving inside and Peter realized at this moment he’d let Tony kiss him for hours, taste the inside of his mouth for hours, if that’s what the man wanted.  They turned toward each other and Peter let his hands flutter to Tony’s chest and the man’s strong hands encircled his waist. They kissed in the silence of the garden and Peter could hear nothing but the singing of the birds, the pounding of his heart, the men arguing in Arabic outside the gate…

He started in Tony’s arms, but when Tony tried to pull him close he pushed him away, looking at the bridge they were standing on, looking at the gravel path and the strange low wall. “Tony, who’s place is this?”

Tony looked slightly startled as well, but he recovered quickly.  He took Peter’s hand and led him back to the street.  “So Joe shoots his ‘old lady’ and flees to Mexico,” he continued, as if nothing had happened.  “Tom Dooly kills his beloved and hangs for it, The Knocksville girl is beaten to death by a stick by an unknown narrator and her body thrown into the river.  Mayhap I am wrong.  Jealousy does create art.  Still, it is a bad taste in the mouth,” and Peter just grinned.  Of course Tony would describe music in terms of tastes.    

Later that evening Spider-Man went searching New York alleyways for that little park (or maybe someone’s back yard?) but could never find it.  He must have imagined it – he could clearly see the blossoming tree in his memory but there were no trees that blossomed in September.  The more he tried to reach for the memory the more it felt it slipping through his fingers.  The conversation he remembered clearly, but the kiss had happened in a back ally at the side of a restaurant.  The men speaking Arabic had just been standing by the back door. Cooks taking a smoking break.

But that was Peter’s life now, his memories seeming more like dreams, his dreams being mistaken for memories.  Tony’s [musical tour of Europe] tha the had laid of for Peter in such detail, had he really told Peter that, or had Peter dreamed it?  And the stormy night that they had done it on the floor because Peter didn’t want to wait for Tony to clear off the bed, the night he had turned his head and realized the room was filled with other people, dear lord did he actually fall asleep during sex??  Embarrassing.

At least that, he knew, was a dream.

It was far too erotic to be anything else.

(Part 2 coming next)

I was asked to tag:         @somechick842

[timeisacurse]

Oops, I read the Bell Jar

I’ve been trying to be good. To eat good things. To exercise. To drink less -hard liquor-every night, though I have been slowly draining the box of red wine like a guilty vampire in denial that can not look its victim in the eye. But it isn’t my fault that the box sits in the corner of the room and points its spout at me, tracking my movements, like slow moving figures in a haunted painting.

I had been keeping my head clean. Steering myself clear of sad music or otherwise disturbing media. It has been boring, being trapped in an apartment with two people who can quickly become concerned about your mental state. My feet are itching from all the slivers of eggshells that have cut through the skin and begun to fester.

But, I had been content to go to bed by 10, wake up at 7:30. To sit at my make-shift work from home desk for the appropriate number of hours a day, and pretend the world isn't falling apart outside. I have bolstered the wall against reality for the last week by spending my days listening to my favorite audiobooks, with their calm British voices and inconsequential trials of love and fortune.

 Upon the conclusion of a less than romantic romance, I searched for something new to hold my attention. A risk I should not have taken. It is so much better to just stay in a routine. To simply relisten to the calming words and the slow pace of life before something as intrusive as telephones. But, I strayed from my path of Jane Austin and I happened upon a title I had heard many times, even seen main characters pretend to read in movies, but that I had not found a free copy until this moment. I clicked it. I probably shouldn’t have.

 Fast forward 4 hours and I am laying in the bathtub, with a glass of garnet colored guilt sitting on its rim. It is only 4 o’clock, but since the apocalypse is happening outside, time has become all the more irrelevant, and happy hour exists any hour it takes your fancy. But I am not happy. I am thinking about the girl in the story that is talking about warm baths and sharp blades. A girl who is drowning in her own personal hell, despite everything being fine in her life. A girl who wants to be a writer. 

These stories are double edged swords. I find them addictive- I have read and reread books like Catcher in the Rye and Prozac Nation and Girl, Interrupted. I even picked up a book from my sisters room, out of all the books she has, I picked one about a girl- my sister had said something about it being about a fat girl who overcomes obstacles in life- but I assume she read it a long time ago, because it is about a girl who was raped as a teen and goes into a spiral of over eating and isolation before trying to go to college because it was her dead mother's wish. Her mom was hit by a truck. The girl just tried to drown herself in the ocean while staring into the eyes of a beached whale. I still have half the book to go, but I stopped reading it lately because it was keeping me up past my bedtime, and she was starting to get better, and that is where I always get bored. I would love to write an exaggerated sad memoir type of story, but I hate the endings.

People getting better is a garbage premise for a story. I like the terrible bits. They are the honest parts, even if they are sensationalized. When something seems so hard to do that your body is immobilized, that makes me feel like I am just like everyone else. They make me feel that nothing about perceived misery is unique, it is a privilege. It is nothing special and not worth even writing down. 

Real misery is what people want to see these days- stories about being raised on the streets or in war torn countries. About seeing your parents blown up or living through human trafficking. People want some real gore or sex or violence, so that it can become a movie, because no one reads anymore anyway.    

Maybe I could write like a crazy person, and make other crazy people not feel alone, like JD Salinger makes me feel. Granted, it would have to be fake, because I would never be the type to go into some fancy institution, with no concern about how it would be paid for, to put up a fight with the expensive doctors, and eventually find a path to a vague horizon of recovery, and proceed to write as the story comes to an end. I would have to find a different ending. Those stories have all been written, and rewritten,  and I would know, because I read them. And I reread them.

[floralseokjin]

— crystallised 02 (m)

crystallised /ˈkrɪst(ə)lʌɪz/ (verb) make or become definite and clear

Six weeks, that’s all it takes to forget about the threesome you shared with your boyfriend, Yoongi, and your past...fuck buddy, Seokjin. After all, it’s no big deal. Yoongi and you are doing better than ever, there’s no reason to regret such a night shared. That is until you hear some gossip in the library one day, and then slowly, little by little, everything starts to fall apart... Can you begin to make sense out of all this confusion, or is it too late?

pairing; min yoongi x reader, kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings; love triangle (? if you can call it that, more so just a lot of confused feelings by everyone involved), college au, lots of flashbacks, smut, fluff (take it while you can), yoongi based chapter, angst…welp (sorry) words; 14,895

sequel to;  memoirs of a mistake and lostmyhead

chapters; 01 ⤑ 02 ⤑ 03 ⤑ 04 ⤑ 05 ⤑ 06 ⤑ 07⤑ 08 ✓

Roughly five months previous 

“So…uh…” Yoongi’s awkward sounding voice began by the side of you. You’d been set an individual assignment to do for the last hour of class, but no one was taking that into consideration, and the tutor hardly seemed to care that everyone was chatting away. You turned to Yoongi, watching him scratch the back of his neck. He seemed to always do that when he was nervous. Mostly when he was asked a question, put on the spot, his voice all low, bashful smile on his face… Not that you’d been paying much attention to him. 

You hardly knew him really, had started talking to him because of this class. You saw him once a week when you sat next to him for two hours. You knew of him beforehand. Min Yoongi. Captain of the basketball team with an avid interest in music. Always have his earphones in. He’d only started taking them out in this class since you two had got friendly. Friends, maybe that’s what you were. Slightly. You enjoyed his company in this shitty class and he seemed to enjoy yours. You said hi when you saw one another on campus, and he even added you on Facebook not too long ago, liking your occasional selfies sometimes. (You ended up liking his too. He had a killer selfie game…) You’d even so recently studied together in the library a few times, gotten to know one another better. You’d actually be quite sad when this year would soon be over and this class was no more. He was funny, and quiet. Scrap that, he was normal. Better than most of the guys you knew or had known around here. 

He sounded strange now though, and it caught your full attention, waiting for him to continue with a tilted head. “I was wondering if you–” He broke off to chuckle awkwardly. 

 “–erm, if you’d like to go out sometime…? I don’t know what you like…movies? Food? Both? Something different?” 

His rushed words took a little time to sink in. When they did however, you couldn’t quite make sense of anything. Your cheeks felt hot, which was unlike you. Put on the spot and indeed taken by surprise would do that to a person, you guessed. Your heart was beating a little quickly too, dropping your gaze to your books. He was asking you out? On a date? You hadn’t been on one of those in so long. Your last boyfriend had hated shit like that, and well, Seokjin wasn’t dating material. Unless, you called hooking up in his bedroom a date, then you dated quite frequently… Yeah, you didn’t think so… 

Deflecting. That’s what you did best, and weirdly nervous, this seemed the perfect time to start up again. “That’s different,” you mused, picking up your pencil to jot some notes down.  Yoongi waited patiently. “You’re asking me out on a date date? Or is it a trick?” 

“…A trick?” Yoongi puzzled. 

“My track record with dates and guys hasn’t been… the best,” you explained, unsure why you were giving him the third degree. “Is this another trick? Another excuse?” 

You managed to look up at him, one eyebrow raised. His cheeks were tinged a lovely shade of pink as he tried to fight for his words. You laughed, signalling you were only messing around and he shook his head. “No.” He insisted. “Ah, no,” he tried again, swallowing thickly. “I’m not like tha—I mean, I’m not into that…yeah…” He trailed off, giving up finally. He was just making it worse. Well, that’s what you figured he thought anyway. 

It was actually quite cute. Maybe this was a test? Your subconscious testing his genuineness. It seemed to have some kind of effect on you anyway… Yoongi was a handsome guy, but it was his bashfulness that got you, his shyness… The guy could get nervy over the smallest of things. Cute. He was cute, and he was asking you out on a date… You were the nervy one now. 

You went back to your work, pretty much shutting down the conversation, but your heart was still beating heavily in your chest. Yoongi went back his notes too, but he couldn’t sit still, pulling at his clothes and scratching the back of his neck like he had fleas. He was probably feeling like an idiot for getting turned down. You hated that. That wasn’t your intention, not really. Maybe if you really thought about it, Yoongi and you had been…flirting around lately? You were certainly more aware of his existence recently, content in his presence for those two hours a week, and the rest you’d spent studying. What did you really have to lose? Pretty much nothing. Yes, you and Seokjin were still fooling around, but that’s all it was ever going to be. He made that clear a lot, not that you were looking for more with him. Fuck no. It was just a complicated situation to be in. Thinking of the end... However, it was just one date… There really was no harm in it. 

“So,” you began as class ended and you grabbed your bag, side-eying him almost coyly. God, you were flirting. It felt kind of exciting. “When do you want to do this?” Yoongi looked almost blank, trying to make sense of the turn in events. “Take me out? Are you free this weekend?” 

He blinked away the shock, the strap of his backpack sliding down his arm as his hand went limp, and then he brightened up, the smile on his face making your heart feel weird. “I-I… Yeah, I’m free… C-can I take your number?” 

.

.

“Oh, no,” Yoongi insisted, his hand reaching out to stop yours going into your purse. Your fingers touched and you were momentarily shocked by the warmth of his skin. You blinked up at him, coming to when he pulled away to reach for his wallet in his back pocket.  “I’ll pay,” he shrugged. 

“Really?” You asked, surprised in a different way now. You’d come from the movie theatre to a little diner across the road. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you were pretty sick of burgers because you worked around the smell sixteen hours a week. Besides, you really were having way too much fun to even think about what you were putting in your mouth. 

“Unless you want to.” He backtracked, looking worried. Like he’d said something he shouldn’t. “Did I offend you? It’s just I wanted to take you out on this date so it’s only right I pay.” 

“It’s fine,” you smiled, letting him happily pay for your food. He’d already paid for the movie tickets online, so you’d just naturally taken it that you’d be splitting. 

“But Yoongi,” you nestled up to him as you left the diner, looping your arm inside his. He froze for a second, taken aback by your forwardness. Truthfully you shocked yourself too, but it felt nice, and you carried on walking, slower than before, as he waited for what you had to say.  “I agreed to come on the date, so it’s not like I was held against my will.” You laughed. “I’ll pay next time?” 

“Next time?” He repeated, reaching his car at the same time. You nodded and broke apart, stopping beside him, feeling weirdly nervous. You hoped you hadn’t assumed wrongly. That would be the most embarrassing thing ever. You’d had fun tonight, and it would be sad if that was all it was. One night. You sort of wanted more. Was that wrong? 

But no sooner had he processed your question, he was grinning.   “Right… next time. Where do you want to go? You can choose.” He offered. 

You had a lightbulb moment. “Oh, well… Actually never mind.” You shook your head before you could begin, realising it was probably a stupid idea. 

“No, come on,” he insisted, fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugged gently. Your heart jumped. You were not used to this. Your heart only ever jumped where sex was concerned. A date to watch a movie was usually not what made your pulse quicken. But here you were, desperate for a second one. “Where do you want to go?” He looked like he was eager to do whatever it was. 

You looked down at your feet, and Yoongi’s fingers traveled to your hand, holding it loosely. You hadn’t held hands in while. You remembered you did it once with Seokjin just to freak him out, but that didn’t count because well, it was Seokjin. Your mind fleeted to him for a moment, wondering what he was doing right now… You couldn’t help it. You’d felt a little guilty when you’d told him about the date. Even though you shouldn’t, and he wasn’t even bothered… Whatever. Now wasn’t the time. 

“Well, it’s just I have two tickets at home for a textile exhibition at this museum pretty close by…but it’s tomorrow. So. Short notice.” You shrugged, easily giving him a way out if he found the idea too boring. Lina was supposed to go with you but it turned out she had to go visit her grandparents for the weekend. You could go on your own, it was no big deal, it’s just you had the spare admission. 

“No. That’s fine,” he smiled. “I can do tomorrow. What time is it?” 

“Noon.” You replied quickly, still unsure. “Are you sure? Do you like things like that?” 

He chuckled, letting go of your hand to step backwards and open the passenger’s side for you. You got in as he spoke. “Textiles is like fabric, right? Clothes?” You nodded, laughing along. He shrugged. “I like fashion a lot.” 

“That’s good then.” You suppressed your grin. You could tell Yoongi had some kind of interest in clothing by the way he dressed. No one was born with a fashion sense like that. Actually, that was one of the first things you’d noticed about him. Clothing always caught your eye. You waited until he was in the driver’s seat before you spoke again. “I major in fashion history and design.” 

“You do?” He asked, sounding instantly interested. 

“Yeah,” you lifted your shoulder casually. 

You spoke in his car for an hour before he drove you home. You used the time to get to know one another more, telling him all about the major he previously didn’t know you did. You didn’t know he majored in physical education either, but it made perfect sense. He even invited you to one of his games next month. When he bid you goodnight he insisted on getting out his car, making plans on your doorstep to meet tomorrow morning. You were driving this time. 

.

.

The exhibition date went really well. Yoongi even dressed up a little flashy. Texting you that morning to double check the dress code. You had never seen a guy suit a pair of loafers before, but there he was, looking fine as hell in them. If he found the place boring he didn’t let on, and he even helped you snap photos for your project that was due. By the end of the exhibition his fingers had found their way tightly laced with yours. You could get used to this hand holding lark, you thought to yourself.

The afternoon went by too quickly, and sadly you had to settle going for a quick coffee instead of finding a little café to eat at because you had work in a couple of hours. 

“Where do you work?” He asked, looking interested. 

You wrinkled your nose. “At Wendy’s” 

“You don’t like it?” He chuckled. Even a fool could read your expression.

“No, I love smelling like grease all day.” The sarcasm tasted funny in your mouth before you shrugged. “It’s okay. Could be worse.” 

He gaze on you lingered for a moment before he suggested something. “Wouldn’t you like to work somewhere a little more suited to your passion?” 

“I don’t know,” you said, looking down at your mug. “I have thought about it…” To get out of that burger place would be a dream. 

“Go for it.” He encouraged cutely. God. Cutely. What was up with you? It did make you giggle though. “It’ll look popping on your resume.” And then some. 

“Popping on your resume,” you repeated, high pitched and in disbelief. “What are you? A middle aged uncle trying to be hip?” 

“Shut up,” he whined quietly. 

“But thank you,” you told him, reaching for his hand across the table to give it a grateful squeeze. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Your hands stayed like that until you were ready to leave. 

He kissed you for the first time too that day. Or did you kiss him? You couldn’t really remember, it all happened so naturally. You were at your door again, both hands lightly holding one another’s as you said goodbye. This time there was no talk of a third date, but you could tell it was to be the natural progression. 

He smiled down at you. You smiled back, and then your lips were meeting. It was a brief kiss, lasting no longer than 5 seconds, but it was warm, and gentle. Had your lips tingling all night, made work more bearable. 

“You’re a really good kisser,” you told him as he pulled away, blinking a little too quickly, because you were not used to this feeling. You were not used to a small kiss making your knees weak and your head dizzy. 

“Thank you.” He smiled, cheeks round, growing pink at the apples. 

He text you just as you arrived at work, making you laugh out loud like an idiot, much to the puzzled eyes of coworkers, but you didn’t care. 

Yoongi (17:45pm) Hi  What I should have said was “you’re a good kisser too” 

You (17:46pm)  thank you why don’t you tell me that in person next time :’) 

Yoongi (17:46pm) lol  and when is this next time happening? 

That evening you actually served people with a smile, much to the astonishment of your boss. Little did he know you were imagining every customer to be Yoongi. 

.

.

Dating Yoongi was a new kind of fun. You’d never known the excitement something like that could bring. Although you were insanely sure it was because Yoongi was the guy in question. With each time you saw him, each time you messaged one another, you seemed to fall a little harder. It would be correct to say you’d never felt like this before. Your relationships in the past seemed to happen hot and fast, ended quite the same too. You were into them because you were attracted to them. Most of the time you didn’t take into consideration whether your personalities worked well together. But almost every time, you were left confused and dejected when things ended. You hid it well, but it was a little worrying to think how all your past relationships had ended so offhandedly. The last straw had been when your most recent ex had cheated on you. Nothing had made you feel more insignificant. Unwanted. 

Granted, you had rushed into the hook up with Seokjin, but that was the exact difference. It was a hook up. You’d never done that before, and while dubious at it first, it seemed like the best thing you’d done concerning guys in general. There was no stress, no worry as to if he wasn’t into you as much, because all it was boiled down to was sex. In some ways the arrangement with Jin had been a breath of fresh air. A friendship had formed, and even though you teased one another back and forth continuously, you knew he thought so too. You were unofficial friends. Unofficial friends who fucked.  

That’s why you were a little bit sad when things ended. Inevitable really. Things had been different ever since you’d told Lina. You couldn’t explain it, you’d just become more self-aware. More realistic. You couldn’t carry on this fuck buddy thing forever. It had to end sometime, and well, Yoongi showing an interest in you sped that process up. Since you’d shared that brief kiss with him there’d been some guilt tearing at your chest. With each kiss that followed it grew harder to ignore, and that was what made you acknowledge your feelings towards him in the end. You wouldn’t be feeling like this if what you and he were doing meant nothing. You didn’t want to continue this if you were still involved with Seokjin. It was unfair to both of them. You knew that. 

Although Seokjin seemed unbothered by it. Expected, but it still seemed strange to leave his apartment one last time. The sex that night has been pretty shit, your mind elsewhere, worrying and wondering how things would go. Seokjin felt alien to you now that you were a little besotted with Yoongi. The things he said, the way he acted, they seemed different all of a sudden. He realised things were off too… Maybe that’s why it felt so strange. It was over just like that, you didn’t really have much time to dwell on it. You were instantly distracted, your new relationship with Yoongi taking up every thought and feeling you had.

The guilt gone, you felt freer than ever, could fall for him as hard as you wanted. Yoongi was different to any other guy you’d dated in the past. He was sweet, keen to take things slowly, and in the end that just drove you wilder. With each kiss and hug goodbye he gave you, you were beginning to itch for more. 

“Want to come inside?” You asked him one night on your doorstep, one of his arms slung around your waist, one of yours around his neck. He’d just kissed you so painfully slow you thought you’d surely pass out, tasting hints of his tongue that you desperately needed more of. 

He’d looked a little hesitant, but there was an offer of food to go with it, and that seemed too good to pass up. He’d taken you to a gig, one of his favourite bands were playing down town, and while super fun, there’d been nothing to eat there. You were starving by the end of the night and so was he it seemed. You made him cup ramen as he stood awkwardly by your refrigerator. Adorably cute as always. 

“You live alone?” He asked. It was kind of hard not to notice the one roomed apartment. Small but cosy, you’d fallen in love with this place as soon as you’d viewed it. Your father had been quite pleased with how efficient (and cheap) the place was too, so that helped with getting your own way. You’d been desperate to move out for a while, and your parents had to let go of their baby girl some time. It wasn’t that far away from your family home though, so you didn’t have to admit you missed them quite yet, able to visit regularly. 

“Yeah I moved in not so long ago thanks to my parents.” You smiled sheepishly. You paid all the bills that came with it, but admittedly, they paid the rent. 

“Oh. I see.” He teased. “Someone’s spoilt.” 

You laughed, acting affronted. “That’s what…” You trailed off, realising who you were about to mention. Seokjin always teased you like that. You were certain, although you couldn’t be sure, that Yoongi had no clue about your history with Jin. You’d debated on whether you should tell him or not, but the timing was never right and now it seemed pointless. Besides, there was no competition. If there was a choice, you’d chosen Yoongi. As soon as you’d realised your feelings, you’d stopped things with Seokjin. Simple. 

“That’s not entirely true,” you started again, hoping your save worked. “They only pay the rent.” 

Yoongi carried on smiling, stepping closer. If he noticed something, he didn’t let on. “Fair enough. But I guess that’s why you always let me pay for stuff, huh?” 

“Lies.” You huffed, pushing his cup of ramen to him so he could take it, stopping him short of wrapping his arms around you. Which was a mistake, because you really wanted that. The flirting was fun though. “We share it as much as you let me.” He kept buying things in advance, refusing to tell you how much they were. 

You showed him to your couch where you switched on the TV, hoping this would at least persuade him to stay a little longer tonight. You were still on a high from the gig, feeling all giddy inside when you remembered how he’d held your hips from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. You were desperate to feel his lips on yours again. He hadn’t kissed you all night. 

Once you’d finished eating, empty cups on your coffee table, you settled on watching some lame movie you’d found on one of the cable channels. You hoped as you shifted nearer to him it looked natural. You felt his gaze on you, and when you looked up, he was smiling fondly. Your heart did that fluttering thing again, but it didn’t have time to settle because he was cupping your jaw, leaning down to meet your lips. 

The kiss was quick. He pulled away to wait for your reaction like he usually did. “Finally.” You murmured. “Took you long enough.” 

He whined lowly. “We were eating. Remind me to put mints in my pocket next time.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Like I care about that.” You’d taste the same in the end. That seemed to do the trick anyway, and soon he was kissing you again.

He was slow at first, like he usually was, but this time it wasn’t a kiss goodbye. It was just a kiss. A kiss you’d been longing for. For a while. His tongue swiped against your bottom lip, like it had many times before, but this time he didn’t just stop it at that. He didn’t just stop it when your tongue brushed against his, stealing hints like you did usually. This time he pushed deeper into your mouth, his hands gripping your face tighter, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

It grew hot fast, your mind clouded instantly. No matter how long you’d hoped for this, you still weren’t ready, finding it hard to keep up with his constant change in motions. He kept switching from rampant presses of his lips against yours to wide strokes of his tongue. One of his hands moved to your side, gently squeezing and stroking the skin over your clothing.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, voice shaky when he pulled away to catch his breath. You were about a second away from climbing on top his lap, needing to feel his body against yours somehow, but like minded he began to settle you down into the sofa, following suit as he pushed his body into yours, meeting your mouth again. 

This was even better. The feeling of his weight on top of yours as he ran his hands down your body carefully. The eagerness of his mouth and tongue. You clung to him, hands sliding down his back, one slipping under his hoody because you couldn’t help yourself, feeling the smooth skin of his back under your fingertips. 

You were both out of breath, but he sounded so sexy, each exhale getting more and more laboured, almost panting against your mouth. You panted too, but each one ended in a sweet sigh and it seemed to drive him wild, tongue licking more determinedly, desperate to make you continue. When he groaned in the end, you couldn’t help but circle your hips into his, the heat between your bodies driving you wild, and that’s when you felt his erection against your inner thigh. Your hand slid out from under his hoody, pushing down against his hip instead, desperate to feel more. He gave it to you in the form of a grunt, grinding down against you. 

Something changed that night between you. You’d never been so sure of your feelings.  

.

.

“Are you going to make me cum still dressed?” You laughed weakly, pulling away from Yoongi’s mouth but still unable to stop grinding into him. You’d been making out for what felt like hours, Yoongi underneath you, straddled on your couch, where he was most nights since you’d invited him in the first time. 

He didn’t reply, just gripped your ass, pressing you down on his hard on. It only reminded you how wet you were, underwear sodden, stuck to your core. You ached for some type of release, and if he kept this up, you’d cum soon. You couldn’t take much more, skin hot and sticky, uncomfortable. 

“Yoongiii,” you whined into his mouth, sounding desperate. You hoped it would work. This had been the usual set up for a week or so. Practically dry humping like a pair of hormonal teenagers. It seemed to get worse every time. Sick of only feeling his dick, you wanted it inside you instead. 

He pulled away from your mouth slowly, something in his eyes that told you he was unsure of something. When he spoke, you realised why. “You’re…you’re not still hooking up with Jin, are you?” 

You were shocked to say the least, but you quickly realised how stupid you had been to think Yoongi had no clue about your past. Suddenly, Seokjin and you seemed like a dirty little secret. You panicked. Already fighting over words to try and explain everything but stopped yourself. He deserved the simple answer. At least, for starters.  

“No,” you shook your head slowly, weaving your fingers into his shirt, looking down at him. “I ended that a little while ago.” You really needed to say more. It wasn’t enough. “Yoongi, I—”

“Good.” He cut you off, your mouth open in surprise, but before you could close it again, he was kissing you. Harder. Faster. Hands trailing down your body, slipping under your top, pawing at your clammy skin. “God, I want to feel you so bad.” 

You moaned immediately. His words what you’d been longing to hear for a while. Up until now, the erection was the only real sign that had told you he was into you. Words never seemed to be his forte, but you took that as him just being quiet. However maybe he’d been worried about what type of relationship you had with Seokjin instead. 

“Say my name again,” he asked into your mouth, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the flesh. Your head was a little thrown. You’d gone from horny and desperate to guilty, back to horny and desperate. You knew maybe deep down you should try and at least talk about the Jin thing, but Yoongi seemed like he couldn’t care less now that you’d given him a straight answer. Like he’d needed that confirmation and now everything was fine. 

“Yoongi.” You gasped, giving him his request. “I want you too.” 

“Cum first.” Your body jolted as his command. Woah, okay. Where did that come from? He pulled away from your mouth to smile a little, but he was out of breath, each exhale shaky and he jerked into your touch when you ran your hands down his chest, shuffling closer.

“Cum like this. You’re nearly there. I want to see your face.” He rasped, nudging his hips into yours. It really wouldn’t take you long. You’d worked yourself up all night. Longer than that even, and Yoongi was super hard. His dick rubbed against your core every time you circled over him, getting yourself off on his body as he watched. He stayed silent after his little outburst, which was hotter than you expected, and soon, under his gaze, you came. It was hard and fast, your body almost shivering as you lifted from him, fingers digging into his sides. It was one of those orgasms that were an odd mix between satisfying and frustrating. Satisfying because it knocked you for six, but frustrating because a) you’d given it to yourself, and b) you wanted Yoongi more than ever now. 

“Shit,” he muttered as your hands raced for his fly, unzipping him clumsily. You were acting with a buzzed mind, desperate and impatient. You needed to see him, get your hands on him. You needed to feel his dick in your hand. “Aw, y-yeah,” he panted when you finally did, jutting into you, desperate for some friction. 

“Yoongi, you’re so hard,” you murmured, looking at him with your mouth parted slightly. He was so hot and solid against your palm you wondered if it was painful in any way. It just made you want him more, owning the fact you’d made him this hard. 

“Gonna explode,” he strangled out with a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering downwards as he watched you rake your fist over him. “God.” He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. “Can we? I mean,” he shook his head, correcting himself. “You want to have sex?” 

You could have screamed yes from the rooftops, nodding your head widely. “Took you long enough,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as you moved closer, letting him tug your shorts down. His hands squeezed at your ass, fingers hooking under your underwear to pull that down too, and you worked together to wiggle and kick them down your body and onto the floor. He pushed you back so he could get a look between your legs, satisfaction audible as he began to rub two fingers across your folds. 

No. You were going to blow up if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You couldn’t take much more, especially as you felt his dick graze against your core, making you physically ache. “Condom?” You rushed out, looking down at him, shaking him slightly. “Do you have a condom?” 

“Back pocket, back pocket.” Words jumbled out of him, just as impatient, and you practically lunged behind him, hand grabbing for his wallet clumsily as he tried to hover, letting you reach. “Fuck,” he grunted in frustration as you struggled. It would definitely be easier if you broke apart for a moment, but that didn’t seem possible, and finally you fished the leather out of his pocket, opening it and searching for the little foil packet. You found two, grinning at him. “You came prepared.”

He gave you a sheepish smile but was too horny to let your teasing embarrass him, his hands falling to his crotch to tug his jeans down. Excited, you grabbed a condom and ripped it open, bringing it to his dick. “Ready?” 

He nodded as you slipped it on, cupping your face to pull you closer. He kissed your mouth gently. “If I cum immediately I swear I can go again. Just give me ten minutes.” 

“Yoongi,” you whined weakly as he chuckled.

“What? It’s true,” he grinned, wrapping his hands around your waist to lift you up and align you with his dick. “Now, quit making me wait any longer.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re the one that made us wait.”

He kissed you again, smiling into your mouth before you broke apart. “You can’t rush a good thing.” Your heart fluttered, smiling too. That seemed about right. The longer you’d waited, the happier you’d gotten. Your face may split in half from all the grinning, still there when he slowly stretched you out, never taking your gaze off one another. 

“You good?” You asked breathlessly, once he’d bottomed out, chests rising up and down in sync. 

He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Feel like I’m in heaven.” 

“Wow, cringe,” you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck as you began moving. 

Yoongi made no attempt to speak again, but at this point it didn’t throw you anymore. His silence still made you wet, still got you hot, and by the way he was looking up at you as if you owned his entire world, that was enough. He came in a sweat, arms wrapped tightly around your middle as he stiffened, panting loudly together. When he came to, he tugged at your top, words blending into one another, voice low. “I need to get you out of these clothes.” 

Forty-five minutes later you found yourself wrapped inside your sheets in bed, sticky with sweat and out of breath. Yoongi really wasn’t joking around when he said he could go again. It felt nice to lay beside him, your head on his chest as he played with your fingers, and in the comforting silence, you felt the urge to apologise. 

“Yoongi,” you began, spreading apart from him so you could see his face. He looked at you questioningly. “I’m sorry I never told you about Seokjin.” In hindsight, that seemed like a terrible idea on your end. Yes, maybe Seokjin and you were nothing serious, but that still didn’t mean you should’ve kept it a secret. It should’ve been the first thing you’d told him. 

His expression softened, hand reaching to brush through your hair lightly. “You didn’t really need to,” he shrugged. “Pretty much everyone knew.” His casualness relieved you a little, but if you really thought about it, that made it worse because he knew that you were staying silent. Not that he seemed to mind. You heard him chuckle, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I saw you together at that party once, remember?” 

No wonder everyone knew. How had you been so oblivious? What would people think now? You’d gone from one guy to another. No, you couldn’t think like that. What did it matter anyway? Who cared what people thought. You knew the truth. “What party?” You wondered, curious as to why he seemed so amused. 

You couldn’t even remember what party he was referring to, but he seemed a little sheepish as he shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.  “It’s nothing.” 

“No, c’mon,” you urged, rolling back into him. You were interested now, wanting to recall that night. It couldn’t have been bad if he found it funny. “Tell me,” you grinned as he wound his arms around your waist, squishing you into his warmth. It was hard not to kiss him outright. But if you did that, you’d just get distracted, and you were trying to do the right thing here and talk. 

He lifted his shoulder again, but gave in. “It’s just I went to get you a drink that night. I saw you on your own.” You frowned, trying to rack your brains. “And right as I was coming through the doorway you came whizzing out. Straight upstairs.” He laughed at his own misfortune, making sure to look you in the eyes as he finished. “You came down with him half an hour later…”

Oh. You remembered now. That was the night Seokjin insisted you fuck him in a closet. How could you forget that Yoongi had been there? Thinking back, the memories became clearer. You had liked what Yoongi was wearing that night. You’d said hi to him. Did he ever say hi back? If he saw you that night with Jin, you couldn’t really recall, and now you felt bad…

“I’m sorry,” you winced, pulling a face. It was lame, but you meant it. 

“No, don’t be,” he shook his head, smiling. “It’s kinda funny.” It made you feel better to know that he wasn’t bothered by the past. “Doesn’t matter now anyway,” he added, your heart stopping when he kissed you. You got lost for a moment, just enjoying the way his mouth felt against yours. You really could kiss him forever and never get bored. “I can’t believe this actually happened though,” he admitted when he pulled away, your noses rubbing together slightly. 

God. When had you ever felt this content? It was a foreign feeling, one you had never felt before, and deep down you knew you owed it to yourself to be truthful. You were sometimes so scared of being happy and just letting yourself feel, that opportunities past you by. You didn’t want Yoongi to pass you by. You wanted him to stay. He was a good guy. 

“Yoongi…” You began, voice slightly shaking with nerves. He tilted his head, a hand playing up your back. You took a deep breath. “I like you. A lot.” You had never been so honest in all your life. You could hear your heart thudding inside your chest. You didn’t give him a chance to reply, already freaking out. “Is that scary? It sounds scary.” 

“No,” he exclaimed, moving to cup your face. “No, why would it be scary?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice small. It was scary because you had just confessed your feelings. It was scary because he may not like you back. It was scary because it didn’t seem real. It was scary because this was all new… You could go on, but for some reason, you couldn’t tell him all that. 

“It’s not scary at all,” he insisted. “It’s brilliant, because I like you too.” Your eyes widened, still unable to get your hopes up, but he carried on and it was getting harder and harder to stay pessimistic. “More than a lot. Just wasn’t sure you liked me back,” he smiled. “Now I am.” 

He found your lips again. You got lost once more. This was really happening. Everything really was working out. “So, what does this mean?” He asked eventually, when you were out of breath from all that kissing. “We’re dating?” 

“I thought we were dating this whole time,” you said, voice small. Dates meant dating, right? That’s what you’d been doing for weeks. 

He smiled and nodded, like he’d needed confirmation. “We were. Okay, so…” He raised an eyebrow. “We could make it official? Boyfriend. Girlfriend.” 

“I’d like that.” You’d more than like that. You could probably keel over from how happy you were right now.

“I’d like that, too.” Another kiss. This time he flipped you on your back, rolled on top of you. Once again you were getting sticky under your sheets, out of breath and pulsing with desire. “You know what else I’d like?” He hummed, running a hand down your stomach, hair a little messy from where you’d run your fingers all through it. “To taste you…”

That was the night you found out Yoongi had been blessed by the pussy eating god. You came fast, in a daze, legs shaking, wondering how you’d lucked out so good. Yoongi was a little worse for wear. It turned out going down on you really got to him too. He was hard again, dick brushing between your legs and he whined in your ear, annoyed with himself. “I really wish I’d carried more than two condoms with me.” 

You giggled, reaching for his tongue, tasting yourself. “It’s okay.” He let you roll him over easily, watching you curiously. He looked good in your bed, you thought to yourself. If you had your way, he’d never leave. You smirked. “How about I return the favour?” 

You’d never really considered yourself a nostalgic person. The past was the past for a reason, and you rarely let yourself get caught up in memories. However, that was changing now. It had been three days since the party and three days since you’d seen Yoongi. You were too scared to message or call him, especially because he hadn’t made any attempt to either, and you’d grown sick of religiously checking your phone every few minutes. You didn’t want to assume you were over, especially because there had been no argument involved, but you had a bad feeling in your gut, and with the radio silence, all you had were your thoughts. 

All you had was time to think about how good things had been and now wondering what went wrong? Nothing made sense. Why would Yoongi suggest such a crazy thing? Another threesome? It seemed so absurd, so unneeded. You’d been so happy for these past few weeks, ever since…  Maybe you were stupid. You’d been a little deluded, thinking what happened between you, Yoongi and Seokjin was a good thing. Unconventional yes, but it had seemed to work… There had been no consequences. Until now… 

Now, the first point of call was to blame yourself. Thinking back to the beginning of your relationship with Yoongi, everything had been perfect. You replayed the memories over and over before bed at night. Yes, he wasn’t what you were used to, and sometimes he was hard to read, but you never questioned his feelings towards you. You’d never questioned yours either. You’d just questioned your compatibility. Sometimes it felt like he didn’t get you. Sometimes it felt like something was missing. Was it a sexual thing? 

So what if he liked to stay silent? So what if you didn’t have sex as often as you were used to? It seemed silly now to know you’d felt that way. It was the most minuscule problem in the world, but somehow you’d found yourself comparing everything to how it was with Seokjin. Or at least the sex. Because that’s all you and he ever had been. Maybe you could try and blame him? Seokjin was the one who’d messaged you that night, but it just felt wrong to place all the responsibility on his shoulders. You hadn’t ignored him, you’d played along, and you’d enjoyed it. 

But why had Yoongi said yes? You shouldn’t blame yourself if he agreed to the threesome, if he’d enjoyed himself. Because he had. He was different that night, but it felt natural. Like he’d been holding back on you, and things had changed. Afterwards, you were happier than ever. You were closer. The sex got better, and even though you both outright didn’t acknowledge the threesome after that, you were on the same page. But that night was supposed to have been a one off. 

So you guessed you weren’t on the same page because he’d tried to make it happen again. Why, you were stumped. It made you question everything. You had no desire for a repeat. You were under the impression Yoongi and you were working towards something more serious. This was the longest relationship you’d been involved in. An actual relationship. Where you labelled it just that. How could you have been so wrong? There was no other explanation. The first threesome had happened when you were both maybe feeling the uncertainty of a new relationship, but to ask for a second when you thought you guys were as fine as ever was a blow your heart couldn’t handle. Especially because you had no explanation from his end.

Yoongi was supposed to be different to the other guys you’d been with in the past, but right now you weren’t so sure. You were lost, relationships like this over your head. You didn’t know how to handle it. You didn’t know how to solve it. You’d always looked at Yoongi for some direction, but now he was nowhere to be seen… 

That’s why you were so relieved when he turned up at your door a day later. Any anger you had at him for pretty much ignoring you dispersed as soon as you saw his face. It was a little pathetic, but you didn’t care. 

“Hey,” he greeted you. A tiny sheepish smile tugging at one side of his mouth, hands in his front pockets. “Can I come inside?”

You nodded quickly, stepping back to let him in. You were still a little shocked to see him, honestly about to hit the hay and call it a night not moments before even though it was only 7pm. Classes had been shitty today, and it was getting pretty difficult pretending things were okay between you and Yoongi when it came to Lina. She still had no clue about your threesome, so you couldn’t very well confide in her now. Besides, she was on cloud nine after going on a date with the guy she’d met at the party, so you didn’t want to be a downer.   

“I’m so, so sorry,” Yoongi started immediately as he shut the door. For a moment those words scared you. Were they a I’m sorry but it’s over kind of apology, or I’m sorry, please forgive me? You stayed silent, not really trusting your own voice. He continued. 

“About everything. The other night. The awkward, stupid predicament I put you in.” He raised his hands to his head, tugging at his grey beanie. He sounded sorry at least. The dread left you a little. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. Almost immediately.

He shook his head, insisted. “No, it’s not.” 

“Yoongi.” You stepped closer to him. “I’m just glad you’re here…apologising.” And you were. For days you thought you wouldn’t even have that. You were scared things would just fizzle out without an explanation. That’s how things usually went for you. The relief flooding through your body right now was something you’d longed for. 

“I was really, really drunk,” he said, stopping and starting as he hovered like he couldn’t relax. “I lost my head a bit, and I’m embarrassed.” He couldn’t look you in the eyes, and you felt bad for him, reaching for his hand. He stopped in his tracks, finally his gaze flickering over your face. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see me. You didn’t message me, so I…” 

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me.” 

“No, what?” He sounded guilt-ridden, his hand squeezing yours. That was the first bit of physical reassurance he’d shown you. “Please don’t ever think that.” 

“You said you didn’t want me to go with you.” Your voice was small, and now it was your turn not to look him in the eyes. To feel unwanted wasn’t something you enjoyed, regardless if you were imagining it or not. 

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s just because I felt awful over everything.” 

That did make sense. He was embarrassed because of what happened. You would be too. But still… You didn’t really have a clear enough explanation. He was very drunk that night, yes, but why was his first thought to proposition Seokjin and you? It was really out of character. It didn’t make much sense. Why he’d want a redo if you were happier than ever… You could question him more. Or at least try to, but what use would that do? His apology was sincere anyway, you could tell that. You knew him. Pressing for a logical reason probably wasn’t the best thing to do. You just wanted to forget about it. Move on and pretend it never happened. 

You stretched a smile across your face. It wasn’t fake. It was just a little hard to do. “That’s okay then.” 

He looked over your face, like he was trying to read your expression. He must’ve seen something he was hoping for because slowly he wound his arms around your middle, smiling softly. “I’m sorry for leaving you there. With him…”

The distaste in his voice took you by surprise. Yes, it seemed like he and Seokjin weren’t the biggest fans of one another, Yoongi had tried to fight him after all a few nights ago, but like he said, he was drunk. You really weren’t expecting the outright disdain. Maybe because you never really spoke about the other guy, and more so because Yoongi had been the one to suggest a repeat. He couldn’t have it both ways. That just didn’t make sense. 

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, wanting the awful experience just to be over. There was no point keeping it going. What good would it do? “Seokjin and I talked for a bit. He’s okay with it,” you shrugged offhandedly. 

“It’s not really fine though, is it?” He persisted. “Nothing happened, did it?” Your heart stopped. What did that mean? Was he asking you if something happened between the two of you? The near kiss popped into your head. If it was even that. Seokjin had intercepted it so well you couldn’t be sure if you’d even tried in the first place. You hadn’t wanted to kiss him, you’d just been upset that night. Seokjin had been nothing but a friend. For the past couple of days you couldn’t even let yourself think about him anyway, too distracted with Yoongi and your relationship near to tatters. 

“He wasn’t a dick to you?” Yoongi continued, confusing and easing you at the same time. He wasn’t asking you if anything happened, but he was making stupid assumptions. 

“What? No,” you chuckled awkwardly. “He’s not like that. He’s…” You stopped yourself from sticking up Seokjin. What good would it do? It was pretty irrelevant. It had nothing to do with Yoongi and you. Nothing to do with your relationship. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just forget about it,” you shook your head, hooking your arms around his neck. 

It was strange. You’d resolved things but it still felt weird. Yoongi was acting strange, not like him, and you damned the evening you’d ever agreed to go to that stupid party. It had fucked everything up and it wasn’t fair. You just needed to forget it ever happened. Murmuring his name you kissed him firmly, wanting to distract him. Make things better. It took him a moment to kiss you back, but once he did that didn’t matter anymore.  

“I missed you,” you told him as you broke apart, tilting your head. 

He viewed you once again, gaze lingering, reading you. It was like he was searching for something, a reaction from you. When he smiled and reached for your lips again on his own accord, you felt like you’d passed whatever silent test he’d created. You didn’t care anyway, not when you were in his arms. 

“I’m sorry again,” he said when you began dragging him to the sofa. “It’s okay if I stay?” He asked, when the back of your knees hit the cushions. 

“Of course!” You exclaimed, pouting. “Unless you want to leave…” 

He laughed and shook his head, popping down and tugging you with him. You relished each tug of his mouth, each swipe of his tongue. His arms still wrapped around your body, holding you to him. Your hands slipped under his hoody, wanting to just feel him. Just to feel close in any way possible after you’d been so sure it was over. 

He stopped you soon after that, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Hey, wanna just lie here?” He asked softly, kissing your forehead. 

You nodded. “Yes, please.” To be honest, whatever he thought you were trying to do had been wrong. You were just content with cuddling him, being close in other ways. Kissing and feeling were enough, just to remind you that you guys were okay and happy. He’d probably mistaken your wondering hands, no big deal. 

“Tell me about your day. What you’ve been up to these last few days…” He hummed as you laid your head on his chest, one of his hands playing with the ends of your hair. 

And you did. You talked for so long it reminded you of the start of your relationship where you were just getting to know one another. You spoke for so long you began to get sleepy, eyes feeling heavy and droopy until you were practically asleep. You could tell he’d nodded off too, and you couldn’t wait to follow, but then your brain betrayed you. In the silence it had time to start up again. You were doing an awful lot of thinking lately. 

You should’ve felt happy. At ease now that Yoongi and you had made up, and while yes, you’d spent the evening catching up and acting like usual, something still felt off. You were on edge for some reason, and you hated it. You’d never felt on edge with Yoongi. But now you were impatient, waiting on something you didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Why did your relationship seem stagnant already? Like you’d come to a stand still. Hit an imaginary wall. You’d been together for a few months, shouldn’t things have gotten to the next level by now? Feelings should have grown to their full capacity. You were sure of it, but they seemed to be lying dormant instead. There were no love confessions, no sappy words. In all honestly, that confused you. Like you were expecting something that didn’t seem to be coming. Maybe in the deepest part of your mind this felt like a waste of time. 

You’d felt like this once before. Not earning for more, just bored with what you had. With Seokjin. This feeling right now. It was just like how you’d felt before you began dating Yoongi. Impatient for no reason. Bored and dejected. That scared you. It scared you more than anything. Yoongi was the one. You were sure of it. So why did you feel like this? Why were you letting yourself think of Seokjin right now? 

He hadn’t crept into your mind for so long. Not since the Sohee thing anyway. The library incident had messed with your head, but even after last weekend, you still ploughed on, too preoccupied with your relationship to think about how much you’d enjoyed his company as he’d talked to you and walked you home the night of that party… How surprisingly it wasn’t awkward, despite the last time you’d seen him, the last time you’d slept together… How much his reassurance had comforted you when he’d told you there’d been no one else since Sohee. Just you. You. Seokjin and you. 

What you and he had was once upon a time a friendship. A fucked up one, but it was still a friendship. You hadn’t realised what you would be throwing away once you ended things and got serious with Yoongi. What would’ve happened if you’d never given Yoongi a chance? If you’d never gone on that date? Would you still be hooking up with Jin? Or would it have fizzled out? Maybe he would have been the one to end things. The thought made your heart feel weird. It was getting dark outside now, and with the night brought even more confusion. You could hear Yoongi’s faint breathing, feel the way his chest moved under your head, but now your mind was running away with you. 

It wasn’t Yoongi. It was Seokjin. You wondered what it would feel like to have him hold you like this. It would have to be the twilight zone, but just imagine. When he’d hugged you the other night it had felt nice. It made all your memories with him flood to the front of your brain. Like you said, you had never been a nostalgic person, but something was changing. Everything was changing. Without your agreement, and you didn’t know how to stop it. No matter how hard you wanted to… 

Things continued to feel off for a couple more weeks. On the outside looking in, Yoongi and you looked the same as you had for months. You hung out at one another’s apartments, met up for lunch on campus, held hands, but… You still had the incomplete feeling in your chest. Something was missing. You just didn’t know what. When had everything turned so stale? Like you were just going through the motions, and this time you couldn’t try to blame yourself. In fact, you were trying really hard to get things back on track. It was Yoongi that seemed to be resisting. 

“Yoongi,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around him tighter, attempting to pull him closer. To meet your lips. 

“Mhm,” he hummed against you, not even bothering to kiss you back as his hands slide down your naked body to grip your hips. “Turn around, baby.” He said, lips brushing down your chest before he turned you over. You would have preferred to stay as you were, to see his face, to be able to kiss him, but you couldn't find it in you to complain, not when it felt so good, pleasure clouding your mind. 

“Yeah, that’s more like it," he grunted as you got on your knees, hearing the moan tear from the back of your throat when he slid back inside you. He spanked your ass lightly before grabbing the flesh, thrusting into you harder. “Yeah, you like that." Your noises encouraged him, drilling into you faster.  Your orgasm was close, and you clenched your eyes shut, face pressed into the pillow as it hit you. 

“Always so good for me,” he groaned, not taking long to finish now that he could feel you squeezing around him. He came inside you, pulling out of you quickly. You felt instantly empty. A little cold too, as he touched your back, motioning for your attention. “Wanna clean up first or should I?” 

“You can,” you mumbled, twisting your head to see him already grabbing his sweatpants and making his way to the bathroom. 

That was it? No kiss? In fact, it seemed like you were always initiating the kissing these days. Ever since the party and the make up things had changed. It was so subtle maybe you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already feeling iffy. Apologises were meant to make things better not worse, else what was the point? Tonight was the first time Yoongi flat out hadn’t kissed you after sex. Usually there were a few shared after the come down, a cuddle and some pillow talk. Not escaping to the bathroom first chance he got. Did he realise how shit that made you feel? Like you weren’t worried already… 

You were still lying there when he came back, lost in thought but too scared to bring it up. Expressing feelings didn’t seem to be your forte, and that was okay when you were both on the same page. Now it seemed like one of you had lost it. But you didn’t know which one. 

“Your turn,” he said, in his defence a little lighter than previously, a slight smile on his face as he jumped into bed. He turned to face you, running his hand down your arm, and thankfully he kissed you. It was only small, but it was enough. Maybe you were being stupid. Worried for nothing, expecting too much. “Quick,” he urged. “You’ll get cold butt naked like that.” You giggled and listened, sitting up to grab your pyjamas. 

When you came back from the bathroom, Yoongi was curled up on his side, face hidden by the covers. You quietly crept over to the bed, full intentions of just getting inside too and curling behind him, but that was easier said than done. You wanted to just talk with him and it was still early. Ask him how his day had been. You didn’t have much time earlier, he was getting you naked before you could wonder how he was. Yeah, pillow talk would be nice. Especially now that you were feeling happier. 

“Yoongi,” you whispered, hands on his shoulders. You waited in the silence. “Yoongs.” You sung quietly, shaking him a little. 

He groaned, voice sounding muffled by the pillow. “What do you want?” 

You lifted your shoulder, kissing his cheek. “To cuddle…talk…”

“I’m tired,” he sighed. 

You nuzzled into his neck as best you could, wrapping your arm around his middle. You knew he was exhausted after practice, but what you wanted him for wouldn’t take a lot of energy. “I just want to cuddle you.” You hoped you sounded cute. 

“Please stop being so annoying.” 

It had the opposite effect. Maybe he didn’t mean to sound curt, but you couldn’t help but take it the wrong way. You pulled away from him instantly. “You think I’m annoying?” You asked. “Thanks.” You didn’t want the wobble in your voice, but it was there anyway.  

“Oh, come on,” he exclaimed, turning to face you, immediately sensing the tone to your voice. “Don’t get mad over that.” He had the nerve to sound bemused, like he couldn’t understand why you were so offended. You turned your back to him, staring at the opposite wall, trying to ignore the buzz in your head. Confrontation was a new one for you guys.  

You felt him move closer, the mattress dipping. He said your name. “Of course you’d be annoying if you’re trying to keep me awake.” 

That didn’t cut it. It wasn’t just the comment. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have even bothered you. He’d probably called you annoying before, but tonight it was different. There was a weight to his words. Another meaning. The fleeting hope you’d had earlier was now torn to pieces. Nothing had changed. Well, something had changed. That was the issue. Everything you’d built together was slipping away. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

You twisted around suddenly, sitting up to stare at him. “You know, if you were so tired you could’ve just not come over tonight.” 

He frowned, shaking his head as he laughed in disbelief. It made you angrier. He probably thought you were overreacting. “Or, better yet. How come you’re too tired to talk and just lay with me but not too tired to have sex with me?!” 

Your apartment was beginning to feel suffocating. The words were out, you couldn’t take them back. Yoongi and you had never had an argument. Not in all these months. Now you were on your second in just two weeks. You were scared because all the worries you’d had lately were spilling out of you. You couldn’t stop them. You hadn’t even let yourself think them properly, so it was just as eye opening for you as it was for him. You were shocked at yourself. 

He stared at you, expression hardening. For a minute you thought maybe he was about to help you out. To explain why things had felt so different since the party, but instead he shot you down. “It’s not that deep.” He sighed, two arms folding behind his head as he leant against the headboard. “You’re overthinking everything.” 

“No, don’t do that.” You said flatly. He refused to look at you. “Don’t make it seem like I’m the problem?” You would not have him make you believe you were just imagining all this. Why couldn’t he just acknowledge something was up. You hated pretended, and that’s exactly what he was doing right now. 

“You’re the one making the problem!” He exploded, raising his hands up in the air in bafflement, but still making sure to keep his voice down. That just infuriated you even more.  “We can talk tomorrow. What’s so urgent? Fuck.” He kicked back his head as he cursed, this time a lot louder. The bed frame shook a little. 

You were shocked by his outburst, but did he really not understand at all? Why was he pretending nothing was wrong, when he knew more than you. He was the one who had changed. He was the one acting so strange, doing things out of character. This wasn’t the relationship you once had. Why couldn’t he admit that? What had changed and when? 

The silence ballooned around you and then you were speaking again. Your words heavy, sinking. “I feel like you’re only into me when we have sex.” Your heart was beating with the realisation. Now that you were letting it out, it wouldn’t stop. This was how you felt. Since when? You had no clue. 

Yoongi stared at you like he couldn’t believe it, but you stayed calm, not breaking eye contact until he scoffed and looked away. “Now you’re turning it on me.” 

“How?” You demanded. He couldn’t be outright ignoring your feelings.   

“I’m only into you when we’re having sex?” He wondered, but you didn’t think it was a question he wanted you to explain. He was visibly agitated now, words cramped like he was trying quickly to get them out. “If I remember correctly I thought I wasn’t enough for you.” 

“What the hell?” You cried, shocked by his accusation. “Yoongi…” Where had he gotten that from? 

“Are you never happy?” He wasn’t listening, nor stopping. There was a bite to his voice you’d never heard before. It contorted his face. Made him look different. “Even after everything. Even after fucking both me and him.”  

The room was spinning. Your head dizzy. Yoongi’s words swirling around unable to stop. You couldn’t speak. He saw that, eyes widening as his expression softened. “I’m sorry.” He realised what he’d said, but it was too late. The damage was done. “I didn’t mean that. Shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with his palms. 

You couldn’t be here. Near him. Not when he’d said such an insulting thing so flippantly. It made you feel gross. Like what you’d done had dirtied you. Is that what he really thought? Almost like you were greedy, uncaring, immoral. 

You bolted. There was no where for you to go, apartment so tiny there was only one room you could hide. The bathroom. “No. Wait—” He tried to stop you, reaching out, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I didn’t mean—”

His voice became muffled when you slammed the door shut behind you, visibly shaking as you pressed your back up against it. You couldn’t make out why you were so upset. Your head was a mess. He’d stayed quiet for so long, and for what? Had he always thought like that? When did he get so resentful? When he’d said those words they were filled with bitterness. How was that possible? After everything that had happened two weeks ago? You needed answers. You deserved answers.  

You were storming out of the bathroom before you could blink, back towards the bed. So mad you felt unstoppable. “Is that what you really think?” 

He was lying down again, staring up at the ceiling one hand against his forehead. That made you angrier. He should have followed you. He groaned your name, sitting up as you came nearer. “I said I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about what I said. Come here.” He outstretched his hand, voice gentle, filled with regret, but it was too late. “Let’s talk,” he suggested. 

You scoffed. Like that wasn’t what you’d wanted all evening. “Yeah. Let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you asked for another threesome not even two weeks ago! How care you turn it all on me!” 

His eyes flashed, hardening his features as he gritted out, “you know I was drunk!” 

“No.” You shook your head, indignant.  ‘That doesn’t cut it, Yoongi.” You were sick of him not telling you how he felt. You were sick of walking around pretending you were oblivious. Granted, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, but it was too late now. You’d yell the place down if you didn’t get a straight answer. 

“I let you just brush it off, but I want answers,” you demanded, voice breaking as you stomped your foot and clenched your fists. Maybe childishly, but you didn’t care. You were so frustrated. “I deserve fucking answers. I’m your girlfriend, for crying out loud!” 

He shook his head slightly, looking down at his lap as he muttered. “I told you. I was drunk.” 

Shit. You didn’t want to cry. You really didn’t. But everything had escalated so much you were finding it hard to hold your tears back. Funny thing was, you’d never been much of a crier until recently. Maybe you were weak. When faced with reality it was all you could do. Still, you held it in as best you could, sitting on the edge of your bed, back turned to Yoongi. 

You spoke to the wall, voice tiny. “What’s wrong with us?” You were exhausted. Worn out from the night’s events. But really when you thought about it, what had you expected? If you were both so hellbent on pretending, it was all bound to blow up soon enough. Something told you that you should’ve had this conversation two weeks ago. When he’d arrived at your doorstep with his apology. But you both were too afraid, and now it had come to this. You prayed you could work it out. 

“Something feels like it’s missing and I don’t know what…” You didn’t even know when it became missing. It all happened so fast. 

He murmured your name. It didn’t sound good. Reminded you of the time your parents had to tell you your dog died. “I’m sorry,” he continued. The mattress dipped as he moved closer to you, but you still couldn’t look at him. Your eyes were blurry as you still stared at the wall. “It’s all on me.” 

It’s not you, it’s me. God, was he really going for that right now? It was always that. How many times had a guy told you that with fake sincerity? Yoongi wasn’t supposed to be like them. He was different. He was the one who made you feel all giddy inside. Made you smile, made you laugh. He was the one who encouraged you to quit Wendy’s and take a chance at fashion retail. He was the one who hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek when he missed you. He was your first proper relationship. You felt the difference that night in bed when he suggested you become exclusive. This bed you were sitting on now. In such a short amount of time things had changed. Was it always supposed to be like this? You felt fooled. 

“I just..I…” He trailed off, finding it difficult to continue. You heard him swallow.  “This isn’t working out the way I wanted it to. The way I thought it would.” 

You sniffed loudly, a tear running down your cheek and you acted quickly to brush it away. Okay, that was a new one. You didn’t get what he meant. Especially because everything had been fine for you. You felt his hand on your shoulder, urging you to turn and look at him. “Hey…” He said gently. “Come on, look at me.” 

He sounded like Yoongi, the Yoongi you were used to. So it was hard not to listen. You slowly turned and were met with his face. His eyes looked sorry, eyes glistening a little, and you knew then that this was hurting him too. He wasn’t like those other guys. It wasn’t an excuse. He probably hadn’t wanted to hurt you. That’s why he’d kept quiet, but he couldn’t hide it well. 

You sniffed again, determined to keep your tears at bay. “Is it. Is it because of what happened between Jin?” You stopped and started. “I’m sorry if it is.” 

You didn’t have it in you to feel embarrassed or awkward. The zero acknowledgment had made you question a lot, but if this was going to end, you wanted Yoongi to be truthful. 

“No,” he shook his head, adamant. “No, it’s not because of that.” He reached for your face. His touch was still so gentle. You wanted to close your eyes, to relish in it, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t the same. “Not really.” He continued. “And it’s definitely not your fault.” He stressed. “I wanted that to happen. I pretty much instigated it. I enjoyed it, and for a while I really thought it helped us, but…” He tilted his head, eyes searching your face. “Isn’t that kinda fucked up?” 

It was funny to look back now. To see things in a new light. If you were so happy together why would you have needed that threesome? It had been a sign more than anything. A bad omen. 

But you couldn’t believe that. What you felt for Yoongi was real. Your happiness was real. It was just your thoughts were messed up. Scrambled. The threesome had happened because you had a history with Seokjin. Nothing else. It hadn’t happened because there were underlying problems in your relationship with Yoongi… It couldn’t have been that. How would you explain all the moments of bliss? 

“But we were happy,” you almost whimpered, holding onto his hands that cupped your face. 

“We were,” he smiled sadly. “It’s all my fault.” 

You wanted to ask him why, but your tongue wouldn’t work. The use of past tense was too much. You’d even used it too. He answered without being asked anyway. 

“I can’t fall in love with you.” He sounded a little lost. A little confused. A little sorry. “It should’ve happened by now. I was so sure you were the one.” 

“Oh, my god,” you uttered in complete shock, lifting your hands from his. You moved your head, trying to make him let go of you. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting that. Or at least, you hadn’t been expecting such a frank confession from Yoongi. Maybe he also realised it was time to be truthful. The pain in your chest couldn’t handle it though. 

He held onto your face, desperate to keep you looking at him. Desperate to make you understand. “I care about you so much. Everything about us was real. Is real. I just… We’ve hit a wall and I don’t know how to make it better.” 

His voice was beginning to sound weird now. Hoarse and wobbly. This wasn’t fair. Why did this have to be happening? You’d thought the same thing two weeks ago. Hit a wall. How could you be mad at him when deep down you knew he was right? But still, you didn’t want to let go… 

You wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists, looking up at him, eyes begging. “Can’t you just give it time?” You didn’t care if Yoongi didn’t love you right now. You knew you’d been thinking about it lately. Wondering when it would happen, but it didn’t matter. You could wait. He was putting pressure on himself. You didn’t care about that stuff. Never had. You just wanted him. 

The side of his mouth twitched, face sad as one hand moved to your shoulder, squeezing it gently. He looked you straight in the eyes. “Do you love me?” 

His question took you by surprise. No answer came. You were panicking. Not expecting the mental block. You’d been so preoccupied with him taking the lead, wanting him to confess his feelings, that you’d just taken yours for granted. “I–I…” You stammered, racking your brains for an appropriate way to explain. “I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know what it feels like.” How would you know? How could you be sure? 

He smiled but there was no happiness with it. His voice was light when he spoke, gentle, soft…like he was comforting you. “Baby, that’s a no.” 

You blinked a few times, processing his words. You didn’t love him? You were so confused. “If you felt it, you’d know it,” he carried on. You shook your head, intent on fighting him, but one look at his face and you shut your mouth. He was correct. You wouldn’t be confused if you loved him for real. His thumb caressed your face. “It’s okay. I know you care about me too, but sometimes it’s just better to let go.” 

Let go? You didn’t want to. Yoongi was the best thing that had ever happened to you. This was a relationship, like none of the other shit you’d been in before. Guys who called you their girlfriend but hadn’t cared about you. Yes, maybe you didn’t love Yoongi yet, but that would come in due time. Why was he so hellbent on giving up? It was as if he knew something you didn’t. 

“Maybe it will take some more time,” you said quietly. 

He pulled his hands away from you, making some distance. You knew then there was no more time. “I think,” he began, pausing as he tried to find the right words. “I think the circumstances just aren’t working out of us.” 

Maybe he was correct. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was always supposed to end. 

“Without love we’re just two friends having sex, and I don’t want that,” he said truthfully. You frowned. That was the complete opposite of what you’d wanted with Yoongi. It was the complete opposite of what he wanted too. It was what you’d had with Seokjin. 

Yoongi was saying he would never fall in love with you, for whatever reason, and maybe you would never love him either. That was still a grey area. You were only now realising the reality of the situation. 

“I don’t want to lose you from my life, but if we keep pretending, that’s what’s gonna happen.” He said after a pause. 

“But I’m going to lose you anyway,” you said, voice whiny, desperate. You reached for his hands. He didn’t pull away. 

“You won’t.” He shook his head, letting you link your fingers with his. His hands were warm, like they usually were, but they didn’t bring you comfort. “I want us to be friends. It may take some time, but I promise you, it’ll happen. You mean too much to me for this all to have been for nothing.” 

Friends? After all this? That seemed difficult to imagine. Not even an hour ago he’d been your boyfriend. You had not pictured that changing, despite knowing something was weird between you. Your brain couldn’t cope with the whiplash. 

“I hate knowing I made you feel like shit.” He said, voice low. “I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I wasn’t using you. I just… I’m sorry for everything. I should’ve said something as soon as I was having doubts, but I was so determined to make it work for us… If I could click my fingers and go back to how things were in the beginning, I would with no hesitation.” 

You let his words sink in, getting more and more frustrated. It wasn’t fair. He was telling you things hadn’t worked out as he thought they would, and that just made it worse. Everything that was, everything that could have been. It was a horrible feeling. 

He slowly began to drag his fingers from yours. You used all your might not to squeeze them tight. “The other week… I was drunk,” he started, sounding ashamed. You froze, knowing what was coming. The explanation. You were so scared. He sighed. You’d never heard him sound so afflicted. “I just…I wanted everything to go back to how things were. I thought another…” He groaned, unable to say it out loud. But you understood perfectly. “I thought it would cancel things out.” 

“So what happened is the problem,” you stressed, lifting your hands to your head. How could he say it wasn’t. Before the threesome everything had been fine. 

Maybe it was all your fault. Why couldn’t you have just left Seokjin in the past? Why had he been lingering in the back of your mind? Still was… After everything, and now even recently, you had to physically quash thoughts of him. All the worry and anxiety over your relationship with Yoongi had made you weak, confused. And now to learn it was also the downfall to everything was awful. 

“No. No. It isn’t.” Yoongi shook his head, reaching for you. He hugged you tight. You tried to fight it but you couldn’t. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted to feel him. To smell him. You wanted him. Your mind was adamant, but your chest felt weird. He pulled away after a minute or so, cupping your face once again. It was getting harder to hold back your tears. His eyes still glistened. But he was stronger than you. He wouldn’t cry. 

“I realised this would’ve happened either way.” What did that mean? That these past few months were pointless? A waste of energy. A strain on your heart. He looked into your eyes, like he was searching for something. Or maybe urging you to realise something. To realise the same? You didn’t want to. He exhaled softly, kissing the top of your forehead. You shut your eyes as he did so, hearing his voice fill your ears. “There’s something missing. Something in the way. That’s how life works out sometimes.” 

He pulled away, but you clung to him, lifting your mouth to reach his. “Yoongi,” you murmured, praying he wouldn’t pull away. He didn’t. He kissed you back gently. Each graze of his lips numbing you. You wanted to change his mind. Even if he was correct, you wanted him to be wrong. You broke apart first. “I don’t want us to break up,” you pleaded, fists gripping his t-shirt. 

“It has to happen.” He urged, pressing his forehead against yours. “It’s for the best.” You both fell into silence, chests rising together, breathing together. You couldn’t change his mind. You needed to accept that. He kissed your forehead again, pulling back slowly. “I’ll go…” 

“Please don’t,” you asked, tugging him tighter. This time the tears fell. Hot and thick down your cheeks, voice breaking, turning high pitched. Couldn’t he just stay for tonight? Hold you as you slept? You weren’t ready to let go so suddenly. You needed time. 

“Don’t cry,” he told you, wiping the tears from your face. You swallowed loudly, trying to get ahold of yourself. “I’m not worth it,” he smiled softly, voice lowering as he continued. “Besides, I think you’re crying because deep down you know this is the right thing to do.”

That stopped the tears. Made you think. He had to be wrong, but then…why did his words comfort you? 

He took the opportunity to stand from the bed, saying your name softly. “Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow. We can talk some more. I mean it,” he urged, making you look up at him. “I care about you a lot and I want us to be friends once things are okay.” 

The next few minutes were a blur. You think you agreed, nodding, stretching a smile across your face. He moved slowly, stopping a few times to look back at you as he walked to the door, slipping his sneakers on, grabbing his keys. He said goodbye. The door closed behind him. You couldn’t say it back. You heard his car start. You heard him pull away, and then he was gone and it was quiet again. Your tiny apartment was deathly silently. So silent it felt deafening. What a horrible feeling. 

You didn’t know how long you sat on your bed in the same position. Perched on the edge, arms getting cold until goosebumps appeared. You should get under the covers, try to get some sleep like Yoongi said, but you couldn’t stop thinking, and the sheets would only smell of him. 

Too many thoughts in your head. Too many words. How come everything had collapsed so quickly? So suddenly? This whole time you’d wanted Yoongi to be open and honest with you. You knew something had been playing on his mind, but it wasn’t this. Never this. 

He didn’t love you. Couldn’t love you. Those were his words. Was there something wrong with you? Nobody had ever confessed their love for you. Yoongi was the closest. That night you’d had sex for the first time. You were so happy. Lying in your bed, this bed. He’d told you he really liked you. He was nervous because he didn’t think you liked him back. He had been cautious back then. He knew about Seokjin. Seokjin. No. You couldn’t think of him right now. 

But… How come out of every guy you’d ever been involved with, he was the only one that had never hurt you. The list was pretty long. Starting with your first boyfriend at seventeen and ending now, with Yoongi. Yes, it had hurt him too, but you didn’t want to acknowledge that right now. Yoongi was supposed to be different. You’d been in relationships in the past, called guys your boyfriend, but with Yoongi it was just different. He was quiet and kind. Laid back. Funny. Easy going. You felt at ease with him. Enough to relax and just open up. You let yourself be happy. Finally feeling like you deserved this one, even if sometimes it felt like he was too nice for you. That was just your doubts. Life was finally fitting together. 

People never understood how sensitive you were. You hid it well. You hid a lot of things. Even from yourself. You hid your emotions. You hid your thoughts. So much so, you’d always prided yourself on not being a deep thinker. You acted recklessly sometimes. But never with Yoongi. You thought long and hard before getting into something serious with him. You hadn’t wanted to hurt him. To lead him on. 

How ironic. Despite believing him tonight, feeling the devastation in his words, you still felt betrayed and hurt. Yoongi wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this, but yet here you were. Rethinking every little thing in your relationship. Trying to find where it had all gone wrong. When he’d realised he didn’t, and would never love you… You remembered the looks you’d find him giving you sometimes. Lost in thought. Now it all made sense. His eyes were sad. You hadn’t realised before. He was sad. He was sad because he didn’t love you. 

Love. Once again you were reminded of what bullshit it was. Why had you been so desperate and impatient for Yoongi to make such a confession. Was it because you’d never been in a relationship this long before? You think you thought it was because you believed he was the one. If you could imagine your life with anyone, it would be a Yoongi. So you’d waited for each stage of a long term relationship. A love confession was one of the main things. You hadn’t given much thought on if you loved him too. That just made you feel stupider. How deluded you’d been. Deluded and desperate for nothing. Somehow Yoongi could read you like a book. He knew you didn’t love him either. How? 

However, he also knew tonight would hurt. He knew it would be hard. It was probably half the reason he was ignoring it. That, and wishing it would go away. It was funny how you both wished things could go back to how they’d been. How disastrous if it was all falling to pieces already. 

Maybe you just weren’t cut out for relationships. Seokjin flitted through your mind again. That one had worked well. It was probably because it wasn’t a proper relationship. All you’d been was sex. But it had worked so well. You were happy then too. It was a different kind of happy. More relaxed than anything. Seokjin and you were happy together but you didn’t necessarily make one another happy. You couldn’t imagine Seokjin kissing you or hugging you like Yoongi had, make you giggle as he tickled you… 

Fuck. Why were you doing this again? Comparing them. Using memories you had with Yoongi and trying to imagine them with Jin. It was stupid and didn’t make sense. You were confused and didn’t want to be alone, and in the solitude of your apartment, one thing was painfully clear. Yes, there was only one guy out there who had never hurt you in any way. 

You looked at the clock, it wasn’t even 11pm. Still early. You knew you couldn’t spend the whole night like this. You’d never get to sleep. Your mind was racing. You needed to talk to someone. Lina would be the best person for the job. Your best friend. But that wasn’t whose apartment you showed up at…

It wasn’t until you were on his doorstep, ringing the doorbell did you begin to rethink your decision. What did you look like? You’d thrown some clothes on but hadn’t cleaned your face, the tears from earlier now dried around your eyes. This was stupid. You couldn’t just turn up at his place so late. What were you looking for? He didn’t want a crying girl on his shoulder looking for comfort… But it was too late. He was already opening the door, and your urgency to see him glowed even harder in your chest. 

Seokjin looked confused as he came into view, probably wondering who it was. Knowing him he was probably wishing he’d brought a knife with him. You know, in case it was an intruder. Because intruders knocked doors before the burgled or murdered you, didn’t everyone know that? 

His eyes widened when he saw you, freezing on the spot. He was a whole different kind of confused now, uttering your name questioningly. He took in your appearance, stopping on your face. Yeah, you looked like shit. He frowned, sounding worried when he spoke again. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffed loudly, feeling the chill from the night’s air, and tried your best to at least give him a smile. It was not believable. Nor did it answer anything. 

“Hi, can I come in?” 

Written 2019. Reworked/Edited 2020 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020

[sashas4t]

Rostelecom Cup: Ladies

Not gonna lie, not the most interesting GP stage, and if anything the gold and silver medal were really kinda already determined, but the top 3 really had some wonderful skates!

1. Alexandra Trusova - RUS

MY FAV! The fall before the SP was really cute not gonna lie. Her face when she was starting the program was priceless, trying to hold back laughs at a silly mistake. I’m really worried for her 3Lz+3Lo combo though. This entire season its been rather inconsistent, and she didn’t have even one successful attempt in the competition this time. But her 4T+1Eu+3S is a godly combo, and the fact that its in the second half! I would say its her best quad, tied with her 4T+3T. A landed 4S still won’t peak its head in competition, but I tell you, I’ve seen her practice videos, and that quad is beautiful! In terms of SS, I kind of think she’s improved in the SP, she’s gotten more into character. The FS is still kind of empty, and in the choreo sequence you can see that she is only thinking about the jumping passes to come. But you cannot argue against her win here again. 

2. Evgenia Medvedeva - RUS

Oh my god! Zhenya SLAYED here! Her SP is a thing of beauty, and she performs it with elegance and class. You can see her maturity and focus on artistry through her step sequence and the various uses of her arms throughout the program. I’ve got to say, this SP has to be her best one yet, its choreographed so well, and suited perfectly for Zhenya. I'm so glad that one, she changed the 3Lz in the SP to 3Lo, and that she actually got an “e” call for her 3Lz. Her FS is very good as well. I still feel like the second half of the step sequence could be performed with more speed and flow but the rest of the program is performed wonderfully. Zhenya stays in character and hits all her musical accents, performed all with grace. Her FS music is so beautiful though! I love the Memoirs of a Geisha soundtrack. Her spins are getting better too! I’m so glad Zhenya could perform two programs she can be proud of. Her reactions to performing clean were so cute! I am excited to see her at RusNats! (I really wish she could make the final...)

3. Mariah Bell - USA

The short program just isn’t my thing. I am all for trying new styles and I think Mariah really performs the program well, but I just don’t like it. The choreography is kind of underwhelming for such overwhelming music honestly. But the FS... Oh I love that FS! Hallelujah is actually such a perfect piece for Mariah and honestly, Mariah has got to be one of the most versatile skaters out there. Hallelujah is touching, and performed with elegance and passion. The dress is beautiful, the music is emotional and the skating is just exceptional. Mariah’s spins have got to be some of the best out there honestly... they’re so fast and the positions are interesting and aesthetic. 

4. Satoko Miyahara - JPN

Ugh. SATOKO! I really wanted you in the final! I really wanted to see a 20+ skater at the final, and I really wanted Satoko to keep her streak of qualifying for the final (this would’ve been her fifth year), but I guess not. That FS protocol was scary, almost every triple was called UR. Some of the calls were a little harsh, but I will say, she does need to fix those URs. It’s pulling back her scores and will prevent her from getting on podiums now. But performance wise, she is the TINY QUEEN. The SP is really growing on me not gonna lie, its so interesting, unique and different from her usual programs. And the FS, a masterpiece. 

6. Yuhana Yokoi - JPN

I really like Yuhana’s SP this season, shame she’s more of a FS skater. The FS, I feel like, is lacking a little pizzazz, lacking something interesting, but it still works of course. The 2A on the music is 100% my favorite part, it gives me Hanyu circa 2015 vibes. I actually really like POTO programs, even though its such an overused piece of music, and while Yuhana’s FS is a little boring, not gonna lie, its definitely still a very good program. Her SP is fast, interesting and keeps my attention. It really caught my eye at Finlandia and now I like it even more. 

10. Yuna Shiraiwa - JPN

Ugh. I really like both of Yuna’s programs this season, but it seems her jumps don’t really like to be landed. Yuna’s also a rather versatile skater and can perform various styles well, but I find her “princess” programs really pretty and elegant, and not boring at all. So, I really like her SP. Her FS dress is kind of creepy, but the program itself is slightly boring. Maybe if she lands her jumps it would be better. I love her jump landings and her SS. 

11. Stanislava Konstantinova - RUS I actually kind of like Stasya. She has a very ladylike and mature way of skating (perhaps because she looks so tall) and her jumps look really pretty in the air. Shame she has forgotten how to land them. Again, both her programs this season are good, especially the SP, and yet, her jumps have decided they simply will not be landed (or rotated). There’s a lot of drama in her FS and she performs it quite well, but you can see that her mistakes can affect her performance. Hopefully Stasya can perform at least one of her programs clean this season, they really have a lot of potential.

Also Shoma getting 4th is actually good enough for me. From 8th to 4th, big improvement! Those GOEs for Samarin though... 

[your-dietician]

Breaking Down The Details of Britney Spears' Conservatorship : NPR

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/breaking-down-the-details-of-britney-spears-conservatorship-npr/

Breaking Down The Details of Britney Spears' Conservatorship : NPR

LULU GARCIA-NAVARRO, HOST:

One of the biggest questions surrounding the conservatorship of Britney Spears is how a woman who’s been able to perform, cut records and work for her millions of dollars is somehow unfit to make decisions about her own life. She has been subject to her conservatorship, which gave control of her to her father, Jamie Spears, and others for 13 years. And in dramatic courtroom testimony last month, she claimed she’s being abused by her father, among others on her conservatorship team. Jamie Spears is now asking for those allegations to be investigated by the court, and he has denied wrongdoing, saying he’s acting in his daughter’s best interests.

A new article from The New Yorker magazine has fresh details about why Britney Spears was put into this arrangement and why she is so desperately trying to get out. It’s by Jia Tolentino and Ronan Farrow. And Jia Tolentino joins me now. Hello.

JIA TOLENTINO: Hi, Lulu. It’s great to be here.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: You have an astonishing amount of detail about this story. I think at the heart of it, though, it’s about Britney’s love for her kids, right?

TOLENTINO: Yeah.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: I mean, take us back to 2007, when the paparazzi was saying Britney was, quote, “going crazy.” What was really going on behind the scenes?

TOLENTINO: Yeah, so this is an aspect of the story that I don’t think has been central enough to the public narrative around her so-called breakdown. So she’s in her early mid-20s. She got married six months after meeting Kevin Federline, you know, has two children within 12 or 13 months of each other. You know, many people who are close to her around the time suspect that she was dealing with severe postpartum depression. And we have to remember how famous she was, how central she was to a tabloid industry that was reaching its all-time aggressive peak. Everywhere she goes, there’s mobs of paparazzi, you know, jumping out of their cars in the middle of the road, chasing her down on foot, flashbulbs everywhere, shouting provocations to get her to break down.

And so she gets divorced when she’s still nursing her 2-month-old second child. The more that she’s not with her children, the more she sort of spirals; the more she spirals, the less likely it is that she will have access to her children in the future. And I think it’s important to note that the two incidents that sort of cemented that era as her, quote-unquote, “crazy era,” when she shaved her head and when she hit the paparazzo’s car with an umbrella, those were directly preceded by her driving to Kevin Federline’s house, followed by photographers, asking to see the children and being refused.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: And then enters a man called Sam Lutfi, who got very close to Spears. Can you briefly explain who he is?

TOLENTINO: Yes. So Sam Lutfi, he’s this sort of obscure Hollywood operator with undefinable, somewhat suspicious motives, a history of legal disputes. But he swoops in to her life after Britney has fired her longtime manager, Larry Rudolph, and he sort of assumes this controlling role. And what Lutfi told us in an interview that – one of the things that created this conflict between him and Britney’s parents, who were genuinely worried about her and worried that he was exploiting her, was that he would tell her, you want to cancel that meeting? Go ahead and cancel it. You want to buy this car on impulse? Just buy it. And her parents become afraid that he is just going to siphon her money off while she’s in crisis – that, you know, she’s going to end up underwater in debt, exploited, sort of drained of this fortune that she has built.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: And you and your colleague Ronan Farrow got to speak with a woman called Jacqueline Butcher, a close friend to the Spearses for a long time. And she testified 13 years ago to create the conservatorship because she wanted Spears also away from Lutfi’s influence. But she now regrets that. What did she tell you?

TOLENTINO: So Jacqueline Butcher was a close friend of Lynne Spears and close to the Spears family for, you know, close to a decade. And she was present in Britney’s house and, you know, had good reason to believe that the parents were right in thinking maybe this crisis is due to this man, Sam Lutfi, that is in her house at this time of breakdown. And she gives this primary testimony that is central to the conservatorship going into place. And, you know, she says in an interview, I thought we were helping, and I wasn’t, and I helped a corrupt family seize all this control.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: Well, let’s talk about Britney Spears’ parents because we had then a fragile Spears, surrounded possibly by people who did not have her best interests at heart, and then her father – tell us about him. I mean, once Britney has her breakdown, for lack of a better word, you did tell this horrific scene with her father screaming at Britney.

TOLENTINO: Yeah, so by all the accounts that we heard, Jamie and Britney did not have the best relationship growing up. It’s sort of well-documented. Lynne Spears, Britney’s mother, writes about in her memoir that Jamie was wrestling with pretty severe alcoholism for most of their, you know, life as a family together. And Jamie, though, assumes authority as conservator. And Jacqueline Butcher, who was there in the room at the – you know, at the lawyers’ offices around much of this, she says that one of the reasons was that Jamie wasn’t afraid of Britney being angry at him.

And there is this brutal scene that Jacqueline told us about – you know, it’s shortly after the conservatorship is in place, and they’re all sitting in Britney’s office in her house in Beverly Hills. And Jamie turns to Britney and says, baby, you’re fat; we’re going to get you a trainer. And within eight weeks from now, we’re going to look at that TV, and they’re going to be saying, Britney’s back.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: What did you find out about how her father controlled her during this conservatorship? Because he was controlling, according to your reporting. He wouldn’t allow her to use the phone or talk to anyone. She couldn’t even pay for a fancy dinner because she’s only allowed $2,000 a week while making millions.

TOLENTINO: So it’s important to mention that throughout all of this, she has only ever had a lawyer who was appointed by the court that she did not have a choice in selecting. And she has never been able to hire her own lawyer because in the eyes of the conservatorship, she is formally incapacitated to do so. And so one of the central ways, multiple people told us, that she was manipulated or coerced or coaxed into cooperating with the conservatorship structure is that the conservatorship becomes a singular condition of being able to continue to see her children. And that is one of the reasons that, especially from the outside, she has seemed to cooperate, or so our reporting bore out.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: The judge this past week refused to take her father off her conservatorship despite accusations that she is being abused – accusations by her, we should say. What is next for Britney? I mean, what can she do? And do we know any information about what her diagnosis is?

TOLENTINO: We don’t know. And it’s not our right to know, right? It is not our right to know any of this, really. I think that’s one thing that weighed heavily on me as I – as we were reporting. But one thing that I’ll say about the diagnosis thing – conservatorships, probate conservatorships of the type that Britney Spears is under, these are intended for people that cannot provide for their own food and shelter. These are structures for people who are elderly, dealing with severe dementia, for people with profound disabilities, for people with, you know, sort of catastrophic terminal conditions, right?

And we spoke to disability rights attorneys who – you know, who spoke to the fact that someone might be wrestling with a mental illness, even a severe one, doesn’t mean that all of their rights should be taken away in the form of the conservatorship structure. One pointed out that, you know, Britney could have been found holding an axe and a severed head, and she still would have had the right to hire her own attorney. And she wasn’t in this case.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: I guess, finally, what really emerges from your story is a woman who has, since she was a little girl, been exploited, you know, by the media, by her fans and by her own family and someone who is now trapped. What does it tell you after reporting this that someone as famous as Britney Spears is in the position she is for the whole world to see?

TOLENTINO: There’s a way in which Britney Spears is so talented, so famous and so perfectly suited to the – you know, kind of the terrible celebrity machine that her fame was used against her in this respect. Her fame and success were used against her. She was making so much money. She was so valuable that people said that makes you inherently vulnerable. There’s a way in which she was made to pay for other people’s desire to use her. And it strikes me as a genuine injustice. It is a tremendously sad story.

You know, I don’t know about you, but if you if you’ve heard the audio of her testifying in court a couple weeks ago, I was reminded listening to her of the unbelievable amount of strength that she has to be able to speak up for herself like this after what she’s gone through in the last couple of decades. And you were reminded of why she’s Britney Spears in the first place.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: That’s Jia Tolentino from The New Yorker. Thank you very much.

TOLENTINO: Thank you.

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

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[vectorgallery]

3am magazine 

niconomicon: a conversation with lutz graf-ulbrich

Interview by JJ Brine and Cat Marnell.

Lutz Graf-Ulbrich is a prolific German musician with a varied discography spanning several decades. He’s been a member of many groups, from the 70s art rock band Ash Ra Tempel to his current folk ensemble, 17 Hippies. What might be most intriguing to rock historians, though, is his long relationship with Nico, which he recently documented in his book, In The Shadow Of The Moon Goddess.

If The Velvet Underground was the first “alternative” rock band, Nico—the Andy Warhol Superstar and original art house chanteuse most famous for her contributions to 1967’s The Velvet Underground & Nico, the band’s debut—was the first alternative to alternative music. Warhol essentially imposed the German supermodel on the band, as though she were an art installation. The result, arguably, was the advent of contemporary pop culture.

The solo careers of Lou Reed and John Cale bore traces of their roots in the avant garde, whereas Nico’s musical sensibility seemed to have no roots at all. Rather, it was the zeitgeist that had its roots in her, ones that are still growing. She was not simply the first goth girl, but the first goth (the first use of the term “gothic” in the rock press as a musical descriptive came from Rolling Stone in 1971, in reference to Nico). She was “the most beautiful woman in the world,” whom the Ibizan authorities would not allow out of her home unveiled, for fear that her beauty would cause civil unrest. She was a tabloid fixture who had given birth out of wedlock to the son of the most famous man in France, actor Alain Delon; the model turned actress turned singer who, by Andy Warhol’s reckoning, seemed to change careers whenever something was beginning to really go well for her; the woman whose only regret was to have been born a woman instead of a man; the interdimensional songwriter who taught herself how to play the harmonium and channeled a mystical operatic alien civilization that peaked in its apparent nuclear winter; and the junkie with the lowest female voice this side of everyone.

This past summer, I met Lutz and his wife Daniela at a cafe in Berlin, along with my friend Cat Marnell, a former beauty editor and the author, earlier this year, of the amphetamine-addled memoir, How To Murder Your Life. Considering Nico’s unapologetic, perennial drug use, and the media’s determination to cast her persona in a Warholian mold—something critics have tried to do to my own work as an artist—Cat and I were perfectly placed for this assignment.

—JJ Brine

*

JJ BRINE: How did you meet Nico?

LUTZ GRAF-ULBRICH: We met in 1972 in Paris because we had the same manager. He promoted a concert in Paris and I was playing with a hard rock band called “Agitation Free” in Berlin. Nico was playing there too. That’s when I first saw her. Nobody knew who she really was. There was a strange aura, and lots of rumors, and nobody knew what to make of all that. Before we met she was already a mysterious thing. When she performed it was really strange, with her harmonium and the way she sang. The audience was very enthusiastic. I was stunned. And of course we talked. As we had the same manager, we met a few times. There was a party held by our manager and she took me aside. She saw my record cover and she said it was strange and frightening. Her aura and personality were just so strong that I felt like a little boy. I was 22 and she was 36.

JB: How did your love affair begin?

LG: In ’74 my band split up in June or July. I stayed in France because I loved the people and I wanted to live there as a solo musician. We met again at a musical festival we were both playing at. I was backstage with a band called “Creme Delirium” and I drank some tea, and I remembered that this band puts acid in their tea. It wasn’t normal, I felt intoxicated. I closed my eyes and played the guitar. When I opened my eyes Nico was there. I was on the acid level, and Nico was always sort of over the moon. It was a very good time. After our concerts Nico asked me where I was staying. I didn’t have a hotel and she invited me, she bought me a room. I went to her room and said bye and she said, “Oh no, you’re not getting away.” She was naked on the bed and she was very good looking. I was too shy, I went back to my own room. We sat together on the train to Paris and I played her all of my songs and the whole thing started.

CAT MARNELL: What were you guys wearing at this time?

LG: Nico was wearing a red cloak like a curtain. I was probably wearing a leather jacket.

JB: Were you a fan of hers before you two met?

LG: Of course I had known the Velvet Underground, but only some songs. I hadn’t really connected her history. I only knew a photo of her but I had forgotten about it. One day when we were together she showed me a German fashion magazine, Twen, and it all hit me. Maybe when I was sixteen I had seen this cover.

JB: How was it to be in a relationship with Nico?

LG: Nico generally liked philosophers and drug dealers and gangsters and anything like this. I was an exception to this. She didn’t hold hands in public. She called me her “German friend.” There was one time that she did give me a huge compliment. She did say in public that I was the best lover she ever had. But Nico had many lovers in her life. She could be jealous when provoked. One day she walked into “our” New York restaurant close to the Chelsea Hotel and saw me with the model Angeline, a friend of Nico’s whom she had introduced to me. Nico was very angry and she left.

JB: You and Nico remained close friends even after your love affair ended. But how did that breakup come to pass?

LG: One day we were both in her room and she wanted to be alone but I wouldn’t leave the room. So she threw an iron at me and I went for her and we fought. That was 1979.

JB: Was Nico proud of her body of work? Did she feel that she was a great artist—the greatest?

LG: Of course. I think she found herself underestimated, which was true. A lot of people say, oh yeah, she can’t sing and all that. Of course sometimes when you hear live recordings the tone was sort of off, but at the same time she was such a fantastic singer. When you listen to a song like Tananore, it’s really difficult to sing! She had such a powerful voice. Nico’s body of work was the greatest contribution to music. That’s what makes her so fascinating. The way she was composing and writing songs. There’s nobody who can really explain her music. So dark and poetic. And the combination with her voice. People talk about All Tomorrow’s Parties and Femme Fatale, but of course Nico was more than that. She thought she deserved a better audience, she should’ve sang in an opera hall and all that. But instead she was playing to this young punk audience.

JB: Do you think Nico was thinking of herself as a celebrity—as a star? Was she consistently aware of this?

LG: She was always aware and thinking of things in this way. Nico was a star and everybody knew it.

CM: What kind of scent did Nico have? What was her favorite perfume?

LG: Well, Nico did not like bathing much. She hated water, like a cat she didn’t like to get wet. But she wasn’t stinky, and I do remember her fragrance. It was Chanel. That was her favorite.

CM: Did Nico ever exercise?

LG: One time in Los Angeles, at a friend’s place, I saw her in a bathing suit and I said wow! That was the maximum.

JJ BRINE: What was her attitude toward Andy Warhol? Did she speak of him often? Did they keep in touch over the years?

LG: Andy Warhol I met for like 15 minutes in Paris, actually. Nico had her money stolen and we went to see Andy and she said, “Oh Andy, can you give me some money?” And he gave it to her. He was very generous.

[Warhol recalled this incident in a diary entry from 27 May 1977: “Nico was there with a young kid with a big bulge in his pants, she asked Bob to photograph him. Bob already had. Nico looked older and fatter and sadder. She was crying, she said, because of the beauty of the show. I wanted to give her some money but not directly so I signed a 500-franc note ($100) and handed it to her, and she got even more sentimental and said, “I must frame this, can you give me another one, unsigned, to spend?”]

JB: What do you think of the narrative presented in the documentary Nico Icon about Nico wanting to lose her good looks so as to be taken more seriously as an artist? Do you think this is in any way reductive or misleading?

LG: I don’t know what to say. I know that Paul Morrissey said that.

DANIELA GRAF-ULBRICH: I asked you the same question a few years ago and you told me she was always putting on makeup and that she was very concerned with her appearance. And that she used that as an excuse, like she didn’t want to be beautiful anymore so she gave it away.

LG: It’s true. She could be insecure. When we were living at The Chelsea at one point she had put on a lot of weight. And she didn’t like that.

JB: How do you think Nico wished to portray herself?

LG: More than anything, Nico wanted mystery. And to provide this air of mystery, Nico sometimes lied. Often, in fact. I mean, what happened to her father in WWII, or saying her grandfather was a Whirling Dervish or something, he wasn’t Turkish. Acting lessons with Marilyn Monroe, meetings with Ernest Hemingway, et cetera. She was also very self-absorbed, narcissistic. For instance, she was convinced that right before he died, Jim Morrison came back to Paris just for Nico. I’m not sure that it’s true.

JB: What do you think Nico was most proud of?

LG: Her artistry. She knew that there was nobody else like her, not anywhere. Also, she would always say in interviews that she was most proud to be the mother of her son, Ari [the result of an affair with Alain Delon, who refused to recognize his paternity].

CM: Were there some things about Nico that you came to understand as you got to know her, related to her addiction?

LG: It began when I met her. She was smoking heroin. I didn’t want to take it. But when you’re in love with a person, you want to get on their wavelength. And Nico was so hard to follow as a person, even though we were really close. I could never tell what she was thinking. When she was taking heroin she went even further away. After awhile I gave in to her. I only took it for about a year and a half, maybe in 74 and by 76 I was done. I think Nico thought she was productive! I remember she once said, “I wrote already three albums with a lot of songs. That’s enough, what more do people want?” I think she was lazy actually. She was not productive. She was sitting hallucinating. She wasn’t working on songs all the time. There were two concerts in a month or something. She would rehearse right before a concert or a few notes occasionally.

JB: Did Nico have any phobias?

LG: The sun. And that was what killed her in the end.

JB: I know that you arranged Nico’s last concert, Fata Morgana, where she performed a set of completely new material—hinting at what her next album would have been like, with her alone on her harmonium. Was that the last time you saw her before her death?

LG: Well, she slept at my place after the concert. The next day we talked and she was staying at my place, she was sick of hotels, and I took her to the airport. She was angry at the airport staff because they charged something for her harmonium and she had been told she wouldn’t have to pay but it turned out she did. I remember the woman telling me at customs, you should take care of this woman because she won’t last much longer like this. And then of course six weeks later she died.

JB: Can you tell us more about the circumstances leading up to her death?

LG: I remember she invited me to stay with her in Ibiza, telling me she was going with Ari for three months to write songs or write a book, and I wasn’t sure because she was smoking so much hash, and at that time I didn’t want to do that. But then I had this answering machine message from Ari that said, “It’s so nice, come to Ibiza with us!” And so I bought this ticket the next day. The same day I bought the ticket, I got the news she had died.

JB: If you could say one thing to Nico today, one last thing, what would it be?

LG: I would tell her how grateful I am to have had the luck and fortune to meet her, I still don’t know why she chose me to be with her. That was the great gift in my life.

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWERS

JJ Brine is the creator, owner, and artist behind the Vector Gallery installation project, which also encompasses its own religious movement, a governing body of Ministers for a self-proclaimed sovereign, Vectorian State, and even its own singular Vectorian time zone. Often called the founder of the PostHuman Art movement and the Andy Warhol of our time, you can follow “The Crown Prince of Hell” straight to heaven at jjbrine.com, or Twitter and Instagram (@jjbrine).

Cat Marnell is the author of How To Murder Your Life (2017), a memoir centered on her experiences with the revolving door of drug addiction and drug rehab by way of high fashion offices like Condé Nast, Nylon, and XOJane. Previously, she wrote a column for VICE Magazine titled “Amphetamine Logic.” You can keep up with Cat’s wizardly ways on Twitter and Instagram (@cat_marnell).

https://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/niconomicon-conversation-lutz-graf-ulbrich-nico/