#like there was her balancing being a popular girl at high school with borderline being a stay at home mother bc her parents were never-

[mayoiayasep]

thinking about the horimiya character arc potential friday....

[graceslavenderhaze]

haunted {connor stevens}

synopsis: connor knows your soul and you know his.

authors note:

 friends to lovers? fuck yes! forbidden love? hell yes! ‘no one gets me like you’? double hell yes! ‘we balance each other out because we’re exact opposites?’ triple yes! 

also readers outfits are high key inspired by the iconic julie molina bc she’s a style queen.

fem! reader because request asked for a female reader, usually i write gender neutral unless specified. 

 i threw another jatp easter egg bc we haven’t gotten a renewal and i am on the borderline of becoming feral. 

also this is going to be split into two parts for maximum angst and fluff purposes.

Your parents were always hard on you. Tough love was their specialty, as one would say. So they had certain expectations for you. They wanted the best for you. So there were rules to make sure you always did the best. No going out late on school nights. No slacking off in school. No disobeying.

However any adult who had ever been a teenager should’ve know that challenging authority is a coming of age tradition. You snuck out on school nights for midnight society meetings. You managed to keep good grades in school while being involved in a few clubs to look good for college applications. And for your parents sake you’d managed to be obedient almost all of high school. The ‘perfect girl next door’.

But it was all bullshit. The only person who ever managed to see through it was Connor Stevens. There never was an odder pairing to walk the halls of shadow bay high school than the two of you. He rocked the classic ‘dark and distressed’ aesthetic. He was on the wrestling team and was popular. He was a natural born risk taker and ignored everything that had a warning sign. 

You on the other hand were everything Connor wasn’t. You clashed standing next to him with the bright colors you usually wore in your daily outfits and bracelets that adorned your wrists. You were in the environmental club, art club and theatre. You weren’t popular is the same sense Connor was, sure people knew your name but you were nice to everyone so it was a given that no one forgot the girl who gave out lollipops on valentines day so no one felt left out. You strayed away from trouble and gave distance to warning signs.

You met Connor through Hanna, well sort of, she was in environmental club with you and eventually talked to the midnight society about accepting a new member, you. Everyone knew of with you ,except Connor. He swore he’d heard your name before but he couldn’t put a face to that name at all. So he’d hung around after one of your environmental club meetings with the intention of bumping into Hanna and her introducing him to you. But the day he’d hung around Hanna had a dentist appointment and not knowing anything about Connor’s plan whatsoever, he was left in the dark. 

September, sophomore year

Connors eyes skimmed over the crowd of various classmates but he failed to find his red headed friend, his lack of subtlety gave him away. You were walking with your friends Carrie and Kayla. When you noticed the lanky boy dressed in all black. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You said to your friends as you parted ways. Once Connor noticed you he tried his best to look as if he wasn’t spying.

“Hey.” You introduced yourself playing with the strap of your backpack as your looked at your classmate who was currently leaning against a tree. He turned acting as if he hadn’t been caught by you. “Hi. I was just.. hanging around.” He said brushing several fallen leaves off of his jacket that had fallen from the light fall breeze that had started to roll in. 

You nodded, “You totally weren’t spying or anything like that right?” You crossed your arms in front of you. His face went slightly red with embarrassment before he started to stutter. “N-no. I was waiting for Hanna.” He said with composure. 

You laughed dipping your head down for a second before looking up at him again. “She had a dentist appointment today.” His face drops flat. You tilt your head. “I knew that.” He rebuttal quickly. 

“You’re Connor right?” You asked. “You’ve heard of me?” He asked with confidence. “Oh yeah, Hanna talks about her friends a lot. Luke, the mr. perfect, Gabby, the smartest girl she knows, Jai, the comic book nerd that everyone loves and Connor, the lanky stalker.” You said with a satisfied smile. 

“I’m not a stalker.” He defended himself. You nodded. “I’m Y/n and I’m not a stalker either.” You said with a wink before you walked away. Connor smiled to himself before pulling out his phone and clicking the messages app. 

October, sophomore year

You laid on your bed, clad in your costume aimlessly scrolling through your instagram feed. Your parents had given you a sun down curfew and due to daylight savings it was dark by six. Halloween was your favorite holiday and you felt like a prisoner in your own house. It wasn’t fair, you followed their rules and were in turn met with more rules and restrictions. 

You sat up sighing, you had been so excited about this night for weeks. Hearing rustling at your window you stand up and cross towards it. Startled slightly when you see Connor there in his ghost face costume. You opened your window leaning against the frame.

“What are you doing still inside its halloween!” He said with excitement, like a kid in the candy store. If anyone loved halloween more than you, Connor came neck and neck. “I’m aware it’s halloween and keep your voice down.” You said to him looking back at your bedroom door listening for your parents footsteps before turning your attention back to Connor.

“Are you grounded?” He asked with a hint of confusion in his voice as to why you would be grounded. You didn’t answer, which only egged him on. “What’d you do?” He scoffed almost not believing you had it in you to do anything bad. You cross your arms sitting back against the windowsill. He noticed your mood change.

“Hey, you can tell me what’s wrong you know.” He said gently, no longer mocking or teasing. He laid his hand on top of yours his thumb stroking back and forth. “I didn’t do anything. I do everything they ask of me and it’s never good enough. They gave me a sun down curfew.” You said to him making sure your volume stayed low in fear of alerting your parents you weren’t alone. 

Connors eyebrows furrowed, “The sun went down at six. Seth has a later curfew than you.” He joked as he let out a laugh but once he noticed that you weren’t amused he stopped. “Sorry.” You let out a frustrated groan, “ I get perfect grades, I act like the perfect daughter that they want at my own expense, I sacrifice my own personality for them and its never enough.” You said looking out at the sky that had a full moon. 

Connor sat there in the full moonlight. Your colorful bracelets were discarded, your smile that always was on your face was gone, your eyes were slightly teary eyed, and looking slightly past you saw your room. your doors had artwork and posters on the back but the rest of the room was calm. 

“I think you’re enough. I know you’re enough.” He said in almost a whisper but even if he said it any louder no one else would hear other than the stars and the moon. Your attention turned back to him. “You’re just saying that.” You said looking down at your lap. He placed a finger under your chin and lifted your head back up so your gaze was back on him. 

“No i’m not. I’ll say it everyday until you start to believe it if i have to.” He said looking in your eyes. “I really want to kiss you. Is that okay?” Your voice was so quiet that if Connor wasn’t so close he probably wouldn’t have heard it. He smiled, “Yeah, that’s okay.” You leaned in and closed the gap between the two of you. Through all of this Connors hand was still enveloped over yours. Breaking apart with huge smiles you both giggled. 

“C’mon, we have halloween plans and your parents are asleep on the couch downstairs.” He said standing up and outstretching his hand to you. You hesitated, you’d never snuck out before. “You trust me right?” He said. “Duh.” You said. 

Turning around you grabbed a jacket then, went into your desk drawer grabbing your array of colorful bracelets and hastily putting them on. Turning around Connor still had a hand outstretched for you as you slipped your shoes on. Climbing through your window and regrettably, looking down. 

“Have you never snuck out before?” Connor said concerned about the way you were looking at the ground. You turned your head and shook it. He nodded. “I got you.” He grabbed your hands and lead you along the incline of the roof. Turning around so he could climb down. “It’s okay.” He said before climbing down leaving you up alone. You swallowed hard, was it too late to go back inside? 

“Okay, swing your legs over the ledge.” He said in a hushed tone. You hesitated for a second before slowly moving over the ledge. “There you go!” Eventually you got your legs steadily over the ledge. “Okay so place your right foot right there and then turn around and place your left foot parallel.” Your fear filled eyes met Connors. “I’m right here.” At a turtle speed you started to shift down the shaft. Slipping once or twice and white knuckle gripping the side of the shaft. 

“Are you okay?” You swallowed. “Is it easier getting up than down?” You asked. “Much.” He said bluntly coming closer to make sure you’d be okay if you slipped.  “Thank fuck.” You nervously laughed. “Okay now just go down one at a time.” He said standing at the bottom ready to catch you when you got to the bottom. 

“There’s no more.” You said after your foot slipped. “Yeah now you jump.” He said. “You said nothing about jumping.” You argued. “You’re a foot and a half off the ground, i’ll catch you. I promise.” He said. You turned looking down. “Do i just let go?” You said hesitantly, part of you wishes you stayed in your bedroom. But part of you is glad you didn’t. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna put my hands on your waist, is that okay?” He asked looking up at you. “Whatever gets me on the ground faster.” You said as you felt his hands fall onto your waist. After a few moments you loosened your grip on the shaft and then completely let go putting all your trust into Connor. 

Falling into his chest and your feet plant onto the ground your eyes stay shut as a reflex. Once you were still you opened them, turning around you looked at Connor who had a hard time reading your face. You started laughing. “I just snuck out. With a boy. That i kissed! My heart is racing!” You said taking Connors hand and placing it against your chest. He smiled looking at you. 

present day

“You are blowing things out of proportion.” You said to your mother as you were practically prison marched into your house. She scoffed at you. “Oh i’m blowing things out of proportion! What have we talked about and instilled into you your whole life?” She said rhetorically, she didn’t want an answer but you had one granted she wouldn’t like it. Your dad stood by the door silently as if you’d make a run for it. 

“To do everything and anything to be perfect regardless of who you have to destroy even if you destroy yourself!” You exclaimed crossing your arms. If your parents wanted to play manipulation games you could too, after all you were their daughter. 

“We break our backs to give you amazing opportunities and this is how you repay us? Lying and going behind our backs? Like an ungrateful brat!” Your father finally spoke up. You were never ungrateful for those opportunities, you just wanted to be a normal kid and when you were with your friends you felt like one. 

“I never said i was ungrateful! I just want to be a normal teenager, hang out with my friends and be myself! You guys have made me disregard all mentions of who i am for the sake of this nuclear family image that you so desperately want to achieve.” You said spilling out years of emotions. You hadn’t known how long they’d been in there. Bubbling over and just poisoning your happiness. 

“You just want to hang out with that trashy shawn hunter wannabe!” Your mother exclaimed about Connor. Low blow to an already low battle. “This has nothing to do with Connor and he’s actually a really great person! The only person who seems to care about the real me.” You exclaimed. Your parents were slack jawed. 

“You are to never hang out with that boy again, do you understand us?” Your father said coldly. You were taken aback. Your heart had sunken to your stomach. “We forbid it.” Your mother added on. “You forbid it?” You scoffed. 

“Do you understand?” Your father asked again. You crossed your fingers behind your back. “Crystal clear.” As you turned to go upstairs to your bedroom tears of anger and frustration filled your eyes. Opening your bedroom door and closing it shut. You looked at your window, you were already in trouble. What’s a little more? Shooting Connor a text you then climbed out your window. Connor was right, it did get easier the more you did it. 

After a sneaking around to his house being quick to avoid anyone who you knew would tell your parents about seeing you, you made it there in the average fifteen minutes it usually took to get to his house. “You look like you need a hug.” He immediately after opening the door pulling you into his awaiting arms. You wrapped your arms around his torso. You pulled away and he gently grabbed your chin a sad look washed over his face. “You’ve been crying.” His tone wasn’t questioning it was more of a matter of a factual. 

Your silence only proved what he thought. “Please just talk to me, i hate seeing you upset.” You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d even inhaled. He grabbed your hand and lead you to his couch for you both to sit down. He threaded his fingers and yours together, a habit both of you developed during the time you’d started dating. 

“My parents found out about everything and now they’re forbidding me from seeing you.” You said with a bitter tone in your voice, through the whole year you’d managed to keep everything up. Your grades, your attendance in the clubs, and anything else that tied to your limbs pulling you like the puppet your parents treated you as. “Did you sneak out to see me?” He said with a smirk.

“Possibly.” You said quickly biting down a smile causing him to lean in and steal a quick kiss. 

“Wow i’ve really corrupted you.” He whispered, up close you noticed the eyebags from the lack of sleep, his room had light shining that was brighter than usual, and a quick look into the kitchen when you first walked in showed freshly brewed coffee. “Are you okay?” You asked. You could tell the gears in his head were turning at half speed. 

“I’m always okay when you’re around.” He said slyly. You didn’t wanna pry but he looked exhausted. “Did you sleep last night? Like at all?” You said softly. He looked down. “Con, what’s going on.” He thought for a moment about telling you but he couldn’t. He’d be putting you in direct danger, offering you straight to the shadowman. So he did what he did best to protect those he cared best about, he pushed away. 

“Why do you care?” He said swallowing harshly, protecting you was breaking his own heart in the process in a way he thinks might not be fixable. You were taken aback. “”Because i love you, i have since halloween.” The pieces that broke? Yeah they just shattered into more pieces, those pieces all loved you fully. 

“Your parents are right, i’m not good for you.” He had to hold his own tears back before continuing. “You shouldn’t be here.” You had tears welling up in your eyes for the second time that evening. Both your broken hearts were breaking and you had no idea where this was coming from. 

“I don’t want to lose you, i don’t want to lose this.” There had been numerous times during your relationship where you and Connor swore that you were soulmates. There was no word for explaining it, it was just this immense feeling that was mutual and overtaking. Like a wave that constantly crashed over you both every time you saw the other smile. 

“Someday, i hope you’ll forgive me.” He said with his own tears going down his face, and you nodded. Nothing lasts forever. No matter how much you want it to. You stood up and his heartbroken eyes followed you as if you were the sun constantly orbiting. You went for the door. 

“Wait!” His voice beckoned, you turned. His arm outstretched holding out a jacket for you. “Here, take my coat.” You had no fight inside of you. You took it. 

“I’m not your girlfriend anymore you don’t have to.” He cut you off. “It’s an old one from sophomore year, i have a new one. Plus its freezing outside and we both know you look better in that than i do.” He rambled before stopping himself. You nodded and slipped the jacket onto yourself which loosely hung off your figure. He gave you a tight smile. You noticed from the zippers that it was the one he was wearing when you first met and kissed. That was salt in a fresh wound. 

You both stood there, he couldn’t turn back now and you couldn’t know what would happen in the coming week. Neither of you wanted to say goodbye. So you didn’t, you went to the door without saying anything else to him. Then, he just stood there watching. When the door closed he inhaled. 

His lights flickered and he realized he was running out of time. He had to get the cottage and do the ritual before it was too late for him. But he was already out of time. 

[toonstarterz]

BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #167

Hey, I’m not dead!

Yeah, sorry that took a while. Had a lot of real-life shit to work through, honestly. In any case, I finally sat my butt down to really crack down on yet another fun-tastical chapter. Tomoko’s actually doing what a lot of quasi-incel degenerates are afraid to do in high school and is taking an actual stab at self-improvement. Will karma rear its ugly head, or is the series now beyond that point?

Chapter 167: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Spend My Time Wisely unlike me

This is a really pretty shot and...that’s about it. Real pretty. 

Oh dear! The friendship disease has disrupted Tomoko’s gremlin-like body clock and has her waking up early like a healthy human being!

Reminds of that one Gintama episode. You know, that one with Kagura and the sick kid and you don’t care, do you?

I know Japan prides itself on its cheap, quality goods, but Tomoko is a real penny-pincher, eh? Well, she’s a Gen Zer, so I can’t complain.

Not sure if this makes me sound like a perv or whatever, but hot damn, the detail on this model is stupidly good. I mean, just look at the patterning on that bra. You can really tell when Ikko’s really getting into the art.

They’re really milking the armpit fetish, aren’t they?

Tomoko...sweetie...my girl...

You don’t even have a dick. I mean, sure, you could find it fascinating from a purely educational, not-applicable-to-you perspective. And yeah, I suppose it could be useful if you were to start a sexual relationship with a noncanonical male. But to be honest, I can’t help but take it as more signs of your gender dysphoria here. 

I mean, hey, whatever floats your boat.  

Well, they say kids learn more about practical knowledge out in the real world than in school, don’t they? 

Then again, coughgoogleitcough.

I always thought Tomoko was just having some kind of psychosomatic experience when she talks about being de-energized from a lack of sexual stimulation. 

Now I’m inches from calling that shit an actual, physiological withdrawal.

Ah, the good ol’ days. Back when future prospects felt like a lifetime away and you could spend days on end dicking around, lamenting the need to get serious, and disregarding your resolve right after because you secretly didn’t really care.

...I gotta stop projecting.

Despite Tomoko proving time and again that she can be a crass-hole with a negative outlook on life, it’s when she does childish things like laying your head on your arm when studying and cuddling her plushies that her innocent side pops up and you realize that Tomoko’s a legitimate cutie. 

Fake-smoking? Tomoko, stop! If you keep this up, you’ll turn from a deconstruction of a cute, moe girl to becoming an actual cute, moe girl.

I only just noticed that Tomoko’s wearing a “happy” shirt. Remember when she was sporting the “alone” shirt back in year one? Even her clothes get character development.

Oh, shit. Your girl Yuu-chan talking this whole cram school thing seriously even though she’s at a disadvantage. You see, this is why Yuu is literally the best. Despite being at the “top” of the school clique food chain, she has not once ever felt like “bottomfeeders” like Tomoko and Komi were below her in any way. Sure, she knows they’re weirdos, but she makes those acknowledgments without judgement, and all while putting herself on the same leveling field. She doesn’t love them ironically–she loves them sincerely, and that’s why Yuu is awesome. 

Sorry if this turned into a ramble, but Yuu only gets like, one panel of dialogue nowadays and I wanted to make the most of it. 

Tomoko be raising that “phone-call” flag like a motherfucking chad. 

...

...

...

Oh, sorry. I saw Yuri with her hair down and lost track of time.

...

...

...

Damn, Yuri’s pretty.

Black leggings at home? That’s exactly the kind of conservative attire Yuri would wear and only Yuri could look amazing in. Seriously, If Ikko hadn’t become a manga artist, she would have made a damn fine fashion designer.

And Tomoko be crushing that “home-visit” flag like a motherfucking chode.

I could make a pretty tasteless joke about how “haha, Yuri will never look at you like you’re trash like she does at Tomoko,” but, 

a. it’s just the angle of the smartphone like Yuri said, and

b. you’d probably prefer to get denied like that, wouldn’t you?

I can’t help but wonder if Tomoko realizes just how homoerotic she sounds. Like, does she have any inclination that her borderline-sexual harassment jokes could easily be misconstrued as flirting? Sure, she might be using the old excuse that “we’re both girls, so it’s fine right?”, but given that Tomoko at least knows about LGBTQ+, you’d think it would have at least crossed her mind.

Or maybe, on a sadder note, Tomoko doesn’t see it as flirting because she really does have zero faith in her own attractiveness...  

There is no heterosexual reason for this exchange whatsoever.

Alright, so I’m a dude, so...hell do I know. But do girls typically not wear bras when just lounging around the house? I know Tomoko is the kind to just wear tank tops if she can help it, but I always thought that was a characterization unique to her, and that other girls wear bras for the comfort and support like any other undergarment. I mean, sure, Yuri’s kind of reserved, but I wouldn’t think wearing a bra at home would be considered an oddity, yeah? I ask this out of genuine curiosity, but I’ll stop before it gets too creepy.

Side note, you can officially tell when Yuri gets pissed by her nose crinkles.

I could give a long, analytical spiel about why Yuri didn’t give Tomoko a straight answer and speculate on what she was doing, but I eventually realized the answer was actually really simple:

It didn’t fucking matter to the story.

The last time Tomoko had one of these “I know!” moments, she ended up trimming her pubes on a class trip. But surely Tomoko’s character growth wouldn’t allow something like that to happen again, would it not?  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Adorbs.

Can’t fight awkward with awkward, can you?

Tomoko, what are you playing at? You just said that video chatting was erotic and tried to get Yuri to lewd herself for you. And now you were planning to appear on-screen totally naked and you somehow don’t see any sexual implications for this at all? Finding it funny would be an elementary schooler’s mentality. If you seriously have no confidence in your sexuality, then sweetheart, you need some help. 

You ever notice that Tomoko can lie through her teeth when trying to screw with people, but when lying to be nice, it sounds so phony? I think that says a lot about the kind of person she is.

Ya’ll knew I was gonna add this panel, didn’t you?

I was never one to go crazy about blushing anime girls ‘cause to me, it always felt like it stemmed from some sadistic desire to see girls look uncomfortable. So while I can’t get behind it for reasons like that, I can admit that Yuri’s blush is fucking precious and I think that’s because I love seeing her so emotionally transparent for once. It feels rare, raw and well-earned after all this time, so yeah. A++ 

Oh, Tomoko, if only you knew that skill often has nothing to do with it. Yuri’s not embarrassed because she sucks at humming, but because you saw a side of her that she only lets out in private. Trying to reassure her is a good move, but putting the girl on blast like that is not going to end well.  

I felt like the vibration alone would’ve left a huge-ass crack on Yuri’s phone screen. This whole moment is like eleven tiers of funny because even though Tomoko is probably miles away, the impact of Yuri’s punch still jostles her. It also helps that we can visibly see Yuri’s fist come down mere millimeters from Tomoko’s mug. 

There is no escaping her wrath, Tomoko.

I feel you, girl. For me, nothing beats a good ol’ burger and fries after a hard day of studying.

Careful there, Tomoko. If there’s one thing that studying has taught me (other than I hate it), it’s that you could get serious burn out if you go all-out on the first day, especially if you’re typically not a regular studier. Always make sure to get dem breaks in. 

That sounds like the kind of line you’d see in a mainstream shounen action manga like [ ]. I don’t even have a direct reference here, so feel free to fill in the blank.

Hey, with Tomoko’s luck, I was expecting karma to hit her harder than Truck-kun in an isekai anime, so I consider this a small loss. 

Man, remember when we were young and had ambitions as high as the sky, and we all wanted to change the world by being firefighters, astronauts, idols, and presidents?

Kind of sucks that “financial stability” has become our goal in life as we enter adulthood. Perhaps that’s just the mindset creative-types like Tomoko have towards the STEM industry when it’s hard to see what makes that world so personally fulfilling. 

Oops, my opinions are starting to seep in, so let's move on.

Nooo, don’t do it, Nico Tanigawa Tomoko! Don’t sell out your passions for financial security even though it’s a totally viable career decision! How else are we going to validate the pursuit of our artistic dreams?  

How in the hell is Tomoko balancing that drink? I’m willing to let it pass for rule of cute, but I don’t care how secure that cup is. One wrong move and those practice sheets are done for. 

Jesus Christ, Nemo is on some otherworldly dimension of cute right here.

I don’t even think Tomoko is trying to one-up her or anything. This is already the most effort she’s given to study in a single instance, so I think she genuinely just wants to share this personal accomplishment.

You know, while it’s already been established that Tomoko and Nemo have different tastes in anime, that doesn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t watch the same show, right? Just for different reasons. While Nemo would watch her cute slice-of-life series earnestly, Tomoko would probably watch them ironically MST3K-style. In any case, it’s a good way for them to find some common ground.

Bruh, Nemo must be over the fucking moon for this opportunity. Think about it: when was the last time she’s had someone to watch anime with her? After concealing her power level for so long, this could be the first time Nemo has had a fellow anime fan to geek out over a series with. And not just discussing it afterward, but actually reacting to a live episode together.  

Nemo may give Tomoko all kinds of shit, but this is actually what she wanted all along, wasn’t it?

Boy, Tomoko sure gets pretty demanding when she’s sleep-deprived, huh? I’d hate to see how loose her inhibitions get when she’s stark-raving drunk.  

Is this referencing the Quintessential Quintuplets anime? I don’t know anything about it other than that’s a kickass title.

Hey now, Tomoko, beggars can’t be choosers. Let Nemo give you the play-by-play at her own pace. She’s even acknowledging that you hate the source magazine without a hint of judgment. She’s gonna go places.

At first, I thought all this recent armpit content was just an incidental joke. Then I thought it was the mangaka slyly inserting their fetish into the series. Then I realized the series turned the joke on its head and made it a meta-reference about their very thing their readers were accusing them of. 

Well played.  

You ain’t slick with that leg service, Nino Tanigawa. Just sayin’.

Seriously though, I love the dynamic going on in this conversation. Tomoko and Nemo are approaching the discussion from different outlooks, the former looking at it from a degenerate’s perspective and the latter looking at it more optimistically. But even so, they’re not trying to “get the upper hand” like they might've done before. They’re simply having a totally organic talk about what they do and don’t like about the series, while still recognizing each other’s personal preferences. For once, it’s completely devoid of passive aggressiveness and it really shows how earnest their friendship has become.

At some point, I think Tomoko’s consumed so much near-pornographic content that pretty much all anime, manga, VNs, etc. looks like the same hentai to her.  

Every fiber of my being says that this is a reference to Komi-san Can’t Communicate, but it could just as well be the mangaka shooting themselves in the foot for a good joke. In any case, I do like how they point out shy, socially awkward girls is a rising trend that borders on romanticizing communication problems. 

Does that make Watamote a hipster manga since it did the whole “social anxiety girl” shtick before it was cool? 

I wanted to make a pretentious joke about how basic that anime sounds and how I’m so above a show that panders to the masses, but even I like junk food, so I’ll spare you the hypocritical humor.

If Ucchi caught a glimpse of this, she’d probably explode right on the spot.

I spent a good five minutes trying to decipher how Tomoko’s sleeping expression could be seen as “happy”, and I realized that it’s not that she looks happy. It’s that she doesn’t look unhappy. I’d imagine that those plagued by anxiety and stress have it evident on their face when they sleep, so the fact that Tomoko fell asleep in relative bliss must mean she’s had a pretty satisfying day. To top it all off, this is one of the few times someone–and Nemo of all people–has seen Tomoko in all her vulnerability. 

And you know what? Nothing bad happened. No punchline undermining the moment, no sarcastic quip, no embarrassment. Just genuine sweetness and it really speaks to the series’ faith in its heartwarming moments.

As a final note, I just wanted to thank everyone again for their patience. I’ve been trying to put a fresh spin on this, making it a little more comedic since its honestly getting harder to “analyze” without constantly repeating myself. It’s a lot of fun, and I hope you guys enjoy it for what it is.

[dawnoftime21]

Good Influence (Billy Hargrove x Reader) (possibly part one)

Warning(s): slight mention of sexual contact, teasing, borderline submissive Billy

Summary: Your mom being friends with Susan, automatically made you the designated person to take Max under their wing but with her comes her older brother, Billy.

A/N: I was thinking of making this a one off but if you guys like it I may have to make this a little series

There he stood, waiting for Max to arrive as she's late as always. He waits about 10 minutes, being the generous he is, and there she is... only not alone, she's walking next to a girl (Y/H), with (H/C) hair. A dark green sweater softly off your shoulders, showing your bra straps. A pair of blue jeans hugging your legs and sporting a thick red heeled shoe and a red lip.

You were laughing and talking to Max, but stopped when Max stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Billy, she'd forgotten all about him and she could tell by the scowl on his face that there was no good outcome. But when you look his way a smirk creeps it's way to your face. You were no longer in highschool but you'd heard all about the infamous Billy Hargrove, mainly from your female classmates he's screwed. But he was indeed good looking.

"Go on Max, don't want him to explode and get denim all over the parking lot" this earned a smile and laugh from the red headed girl as she nodded. "I'll see you later (Y/N), just know I'm blaming my lateness on you!" You smile and wave, "I wouldn't want it any other way!"

Turning around, you make your way over to your motorcycle, putting on your helmet and starting the bike. One last glance over at Max, sending a head nod her way before zooming off.

"Who's that?" He pays no attention to Max getting in the car but his line of side was more transfixed on you riding off.

"She's no one you'd be interested in, that I'm sure of" Max sighs, looking at her step brother and back at the vacant parking lot in front of her.

"And how the hell would you know that?" His eyebrow raises giving Max the most uncomfortable side stare known to man. "She's mom's friend's daughter, no big deal, mom thinks she'll be a good role model for me"

"Of course, Susan with the bright ideas...how come I've never seen her around before?"

"She's a college student"

"So you're telling me... you're hanging out with a college student?"

"Yeah... problem?"

"Watch it Max."

"Oh, did I forget to mention she's coming over for dinner?" Max smirks, knowing this is the last thing he wants to hear because he'll be forced to stay home.

Billy headed out of the parking lot and headed towards home, thinking of how Max was hanging out with a college student when she was barely even a high school student yet.

--

Over the past few weeks, Max was telling you how she was bombarded with questions from Billy about you. So you decided to visit him when he least expected it...during school. You didn't like people asking about you, especially him.

Walking into the high school, gave you major nostalgia, you weren't popular in high school but when you graduated you finally began to blossom. Walking past the gym doors you look in and spot just who you were looking for, Hargrove in flesh and blood. He was standing on the basketball court, shirt off and gym shorts on. You had to admit, he was a beautiful sight to behold like this. Your click of your heels was very much prominent over the squeaking of sneakers as you made your way across the gym floor.

You look over at the gym teacher and smile at the fact he was still working and hadn't retired yet. You were always his favorite if you were being honest, you never made his life any harder than it had to be when it came to being around high school kids. You two exchanged a hug and you went to go sit on the bleachers, watching Hargrove play basketball.

Looking over at you caused Billy's eyes to widen, he could feel his senses heighten just at the sight of you alone, legs crossed and sunglasses over your eyes, staring him as if he were your prey. He knew he had to play harder than ever, to show you he was the best, there was a lot at stack at this moment.

Steve, who had his back turned to you, saw Billy staring and turned to look and see what had caught his gaze, and when he sees you he smiles and waves, which you gladly reciprocate. Billy feel his stomach clenching at the sight of you smiling for another guy, Harrington of them all! He takes this time to dribble the ball and shoulder Steve, knocking him over and shooting the basketball, making it in with the satisfactory swish.

Looking at you, eyes meeting through your sunglasses, he sauntered slowly and briefly, tongue out and licking his lips.

You could feel the small smirk appear onto your face, although Steve was your friend, you had to admit that having Billy Hargrove himself go out of his way to get your attention was quite a thrill.

He continued to play this way, aiming his aggressions solely at Steve. It was Steve's turn to have the ball and Billy was directly behind him like a fly on honey.

"How do you know her?" He interrogated, occasionally reaching out in front of him to snatch the ball.

"She's friends with Max, I'm friends with the whole gang, so we sort of just met... Why do you ask Hargrove? Scared I beat you to the punch and claimed her first?" Steve had a smug smirk plastered across his face as Billy rendered himself momentarily caught of guard, allowing Steve to run and make the shot.

Steve laughed softly at the slight look of anger on the long haired boy's face, he knew he didn't like competition and he feels as if he should always win...and although you and Steve were just simple acquaintances, borderline friends, he would never let Billy know that.

You stood up once the boys were and headed into the locker room. You leaned against the wall next to exit leading outside, awaiting Billy's arrival.

He spent about 5 minutes looking at himself in the mirror, fixing himself up for you. Shirt slightly unbuttoned and cologne on, makes his way out and into the gym, debatably the last one out.

"I heard you've been asking about me, Hargrove" the way his name left your mouth was as if you were calling out for him, seductively. It was pure bliss. That shit faced grin appears onto his face and he raises an eyebrow, following you outside. "So what if I have?" He muses, leaning against the brick wall.

You turn to face him, crossing your arms "I wanna know why" oh you knew exactly why, big bad Billy was infatuated with you. You walk closer to him looking up at him slightly.

You're caught off guard however when you feel him pin you against the wall, his pelvis against yours, lips against your ear. "I can't seem to get you out of my mind, especially these curves of yours" his voice low and hands trailing up your waist toward your breasts.

You took the opportunity to knock him off balance and onto his back onto the ground. Straddling him, you take his hands and put them above his head. Now it was your turn to have a shit faced grin. "If there's one thing you need to know about me Hargrove, it's that I'm not one of these little high school girls you chase around-" you grind down once softly against him and you instantly feel him tense up, hardening. Your head goes down toward his neck, leaving a few kisses before continuing. "- I can break you sweetheart, i can take big bad Billy Hargrove and make him cry out for me in more ways imaginable" your right hand makes it's way to his neck, applying slight pressure. Moving your face to hover just above his, his eyes darken in lust. You knew you had him in the palm of your hand. You could feel his Adam's move beneath your hand as he swallowed hard and took a breath.

A giggle leaves you as you lean down, your lips grazing his, "Keep telling yourself that you're so dominant... it'll make ruining you so much sweeter" you smirk before getting up off of the California boy and walking away toward your bike, looking back slightly along the way, only to see him sitting up in the grass, staring you down...not in anger but, determination.

[blaugreen]

Nine Albums Later, Tegan and Sara Are Finally Ready to Discuss High School

In a new memoir and an album of songs they wrote as teenagers, the feminist pop stars look back at their traumas, triumphs and life as identical twins.

By Jenn Pelly and Liz Pelly Sept. 24, 2019 Updated 6:33 p.m. ET

To be a twin can be a psychological house of mirrors. And so where better to meet up with Tegan and Sara Quin — feminist pop heroes, freshly minted authors, and, like us, identical twins — than at a kaleidoscopic infinity room in Chelsea? As we left the small mirrored room at the kitschy Museum of Illusions, where our likenesses warped and refracted, we encountered a third set of twins. Reality grew ever more psychedelic, and we snapped a photograph of the six of us to commemorate it.

In their new memoir, “High School,” the Quin sisters alternate chapters to detail their teenage years. Growing up in Canada, they worshiped Nirvana, Green Day and the Smashing Pumpkins. They discovered and explored their sexuality. They sneaked out to raves, dropped acid, fought authority. When a classmate spewed homophobic statements during a lesson on STDs, Sara hurled a chair across the room. In the end, the twins competed in a life-changing battle of the bands. “If we don’t win tonight,” Tegan said onstage, “our mom is going to make us go to college.” They won.

While gathering their research for the book, Tegan and Sara found cassettes of some of their earliest songs. And so “High School” is accompanied by a new album, “Hey, I’m Just Like You,” featuring polished-up re-workings of those unearthed demos. Some of the songs evoke the ’90s indie pop of the band’s Lilith Fair era, while others could be the seeds of electronic-dance bangers. The connective thread is the unguarded emotionality of a teenage perspective.

This multimedia set is yet more experimentation from a band that, across nine albums, has moved from folky indie rock into synth-driven dance tracks and mainstream pop. Tegan and Sara sang “Everything Is Awesome” (“The Lego Movie” theme song) at the 2015 Oscars, and have performed with Taylor Swift. In 2016 they launched their Tegan and Sara Foundation, to benefit organizations committed to health, economic justice and representation for L.G.B.T.Q. girls and women.

During a conversation at a downtown cafe, Tegan was forthright and unapologetic, while Sara was analytical, using an app to astrologically survey our twin-by-twin dynamic. They frequently chipped at each other’s memories and perspectives to hone the truth and soon turned the questions on us: Did we feel ever competitive with each another, or encroached upon, as twins with the same career? These are excerpts from the conversation.

JENN PELLY As identical twins, we have strengths and weaknesses that are different but complementary. I often think: If you put us back together, we would be a perfect person. Do you relate?

TEGAN AND SARA QUIN 100 percent.

SARA I wouldn’t be as extreme, if Tegan wasn’t Tegan. I would have balanced myself differently. When Tegan would go through a dark stage, and be a little more chaotic, I would straighten up and be more disciplined. When Tegan went through a punk stage and started getting tattoos everywhere, I was like, I’m going to wear tailored clothing.

LIZ PELLY I think some twins learn early on that collaboration requires compromise and patience.

SARA A lot of people will say, “I have mommy issues” or “daddy issues.” I have Tegan issues. A lot of my hangups or dysfunctions in relationships are based on our primary relationship as children — what worked for us, what didn’t, how difficult it was to share the same face.

Most people sort of break up with their mom or their dad when they go out into the world and become adults. With us, it’s like we broke up, but decided to co-parent our music career.

TEGAN I believe there is a deep desire in Sara to define herself outside of this duo, like she’s cutting off an appendage. It’s not sad for me anymore, but it was at first. We are better together. Our songs are more developed together, and we stand out in a crowd together. It’s very complicated, to want to sever and tether at the same time, this mix of emotions that’s feuding inside of you at all times: We desperately want to be apart, and be our own people, but I need her to thrive and survive.

JENN Explain the mirror on the cover of “High School.”

TEGAN The mirror is distorted, and so is our perception of ourselves, and of the past, and of each other. In writing the book, it was like: That’s what you remember? That’s what you thought was happening? Over the years, I’ve realized there’s this unfair weight put on our shoulders to represent both of us. It’s a psychic burden; you’re responsible for each other.

JENN One passage that shocked me was when you discover you’ve both been playing music alone. Liz and I talk about cryptophasia a lot, a secret language that some twins share. Is that how it felt?

SARA When I discovered the guitar, I didn’t need to know Tegan was also discovering the guitar. When I figured out I was attracted to my best friend, I just assumed Tegan was figuring out she was attracted to her best friend. I assumed there was this parallel experience happening at all times.

TEGAN I was shocked you had been doing the same things.

SARA Discovering the guitar and writing songs felt like an epiphany, like a miracle. I had been so bad at so many things. This was the one time in my life I picked something up, and I knew how to do it. It felt like a gift, like it saved me. I wanted to protect that for a second, in that little tiny moment where I was doing it alone. But playing with Tegan, I knew it was bigger and better and more special and more seductive to people.

JENN You write about not fitting in with the punks, while also offending people in school because of the way you dressed, like outsiders among outsiders. Did you embolden each other?

SARA I felt alienated at punk shows. I walked in with that chip on my shoulder — “I don’t belong” — and Tegan threw her bag on the wall, walked into the pit, banged her head and thrashed.

TEGAN I always felt, if you want to be in that room, go in that room. If you want to be invited there, go. If you want to be a part of things, be a part.

JENN I wonder if some of this confidence comes from having a built in support system — the us against the world type thing.

TEGAN I never needed an external source to inspire me. It’s inside of me. I want to make my own rules. I don’t want to ask permission. There were long stretches of our career where I felt Sara dwelled on meaningless things. But she was finding a way to work through, and I worked my way around.

There were certain criticisms made of us, early on, that felt unfair. They did not feel like musical criticisms. They felt borderline or blatantly misogynist. My reaction was to design a T-shirt with all of the quotes — Spin magazine: “Wicca-folk nightmare.” Pitchfork: “Tampon rock.” I wanted to sell it on our website, and embrace the part of our history that made us as tough as we are now — not hardened, not bitter, but thrilled to be a part of this still. Because we got around it, and she got through it, and we’re still here.

SARA I always had a more institutional perspective. It wasn’t “tampon rock” that bothered me, it was sexism that bothered me. It was homophobia that bothered me.

The only reason I’m still making music, in this band, is because Tegan was championing me and cheering me on and trying to get me past these obstacles. But I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I felt furious at the industry, at the institutions that were inherently flawed and discriminatory. Even as a young person, I thought: If we’re the ones making it, and I feel this bad, Jesus, what does it feel like to be the artist that isn’t breaking through? I appreciated Tegan going around the obstacles, but I was like: I want to put dynamite under the obstacle and blow it up. We really have struggled with that dynamic.

A lot of that was planted early in our lives. Tegan’s coming out story is so different. She didn’t face the same type of homophobia. She didn’t have the same type of trauma as I did. Tegan holds her girlfriend’s hand on the street. I don’t. I’m afraid. I don’t care how big WorldPride is or how many cool new queer artists are on the covers of magazines. My experience informed how I react to the world. And that sometimes is hard to reconcile.

JENN I was thinking about your song “Nineteen” from “The Con,” which also describes your teenage years. Do you feel you’ve been reflecting on this part of your life for a while now?

TEGAN When we started talking about other songs that could be included [on our upcoming tour], the first song I thought of was “Nineteen.” I thought about how much of our music harkens back to that high school period. We’ve been diminished over and over throughout our careers for only writing love songs. But what we were really writing about was relationships, including the ones with ourselves — about family, friends, work. You talk about everything when you’re talking about relationships. There’s something about tethering the old songs to the modern age that becomes very cinematic for me. It starts to tell a bigger story.

LIZ You’ve described “You Go Away and I Don’t Mind,” from the new album, as being about the futility of fame. What is it like to reflect on that now that you are famous?

SARA I think that is the most strangely prophetic song. It was very surreal to read those lyrics all of these years later. Because for me, it’s very coherent. Since we were little, we had drawn undeserved or unearned attention. We would go to the mall as little kids and people would touch us. And that’s very disorienting and destabilizing as a young person. I think we did feel popular but it felt false. And in a lot of ways that echoes what it feels like to be famous or to be a celebrity in some ways. It can feel very empty.

JENN In part of the book, a friend’s brother asks you to jam, and you talk about how badly you wanted to be taken seriously. Was there a point in which you finally felt like you were taken seriously?

TEGAN To this day there’s a part of us that doesn’t feel like we’ve been taken that seriously, and I think all women probably feel that way. But we’ve now spent the majority of our adult life doing the thing we love, and we’re approached every day by people who are like, “I exist because of you.” Things like the Grammys become less important when you have an entire generation of people who are grateful you were bold and open about being gay before it was cool.

SARA We want journalists and fans, and culture at large, to reconcile how we see young women as artists — and when we begin seeing art as valuable. With our new songs, there are going to be people who say, “Oh, isn’t it cute? They released songs from when they were in high school.” But we want this music to be taken seriously. Not because we’re 38 years old and rerecording these songs, but because we were 15, 16 and 17 years old when we wrote them. And as 38-year-old women who have been around the world, who have experienced so much, I still think there is value in what I had to say. I went back and listened to that music and decided it is valuable.

TEGAN Actually I did first and then you did two months later.

SARA We are challenging people to see this work as sophisticated and mature and ahead of its time.

When we were teenagers, our music was written about as “rudimentary, but geez, there is something there.” It wasn’t rudimentary. There was something remarkable about what we were trying to say. There is something so profound about your first experiences. I fell in love multiple times. I was depressed. I was suicidal. I was passionate. I fought with my mother. I broke up with my sister. Those are some of the biggest moments of my life. How am I supposed to just write them off, like, “Oh who cares, I was a teenager.”

LIZ We’re taught that thinking in an emotionally-charged way is something for your teenage years. But actually, that sort of emotional intensity is powerful to carry with you throughout your life.

SARA I have a visceral memory of sitting down to write the song “Hello” at the end of grade 12. I had been devastated by this girl, Zoe, in the book — I loved her, and she was like, “I don’t like girls.” I was grappling with all of these big things. And I remember thinking, “I wish I was older. I wish I knew how to get through this.” I’m 38 years old, and every time I sing that line, I feel that right now. I wish I knew how to do this better. I don’t understand why I’m still suffering. I don’t understand why I’m still not better.

TEGAN It’s powerful to acknowledge that you don’t have all of the answers yet.

SARA When I sat down and listened to the demos, I just thought: I’m so glad little Tegan and Sara wrote all this music. They were better at addressing my feelings than I am right now.

[captaindaddykru]

you hurt the ones you love (i don't believe that)

for @obviesbellarke based on this photo ;)

Raven has always prided herself on her work ethic. She didn’t come from much, her parents did not plan on having a child which about described her relationship with them, and she worked part-time jobs ever since the goverment allowed her to. (Since they put her in the system and the system failed her, she felt like she could pretty much do whatever she wanted to the system. So sometimes she repaid the cards they dealt her by doing some not so legal hacking into college databases to slightly change rich frat boy GPA’s and make some extra cash.) 

It paid off, because now Raven works for NASA and she didn’t even apply for the job. They asked her to come work for them. Who can say NASA asked them to come work for them? Raven Reyes can. Why? Because she is a certified genius who worked her way through high school, and college, and a master degree, and still managed to look halfway attractive, get in thirty minutes of exercise a day and keep a semi-active social life throughout it all. 

She loved her job. She did, but—but it also meant long days, a lot of overtime, even more time spend on business trips and conference calls. If it wasn’t for her boyfriend Zeke working in the same building as her, she’s pretty sure she would never see him either since she barely ever goes home. She just happened to luck out and get the most amazing, understanding and supportive friends in the universe. 

Besides, after spending half her life ‘being friends’ with Finn—who fucked her over and ghosted her after mere nine days apart at different colleges—Raven has come to learn what real friendship is. Emori tags her in a meme at least every other day, Harper brings over fresh vegetables from her and Monty’s garden whenever she looks extra pale and Clarke dutifully keeps her up to date on all her favorite shows she has zero time to watch. They’re as real as it gets. 

Hence, when things start to cross over from a strong work ethic to borderline workaholic slash inevitable burn-out and her boss Sinclair forces her to take two weeks off, she is disappointed when the first three people she asks to hang out on her first free Saturday night that year already have plans. They barely hear from her in months beside a quick ‘what’s up’ in their group chat before she falls asleep on her couch every Saint Glinglin and they have the audacity to not keep their nights free in case she might ask them to hang out sometime? Assholes. 

Since Emori and Murphy are out of town (probably robbing a house or something, she still doesn’t know what they do in their free time), and Harper and Monty have dinner with her parents, Clarke is up next. Raven texts her asking what she is doing that weekend, opening up a bottle of wine before padding over to her living room without a glass. She deserves the entire thing. Raven starts up Netflix on her smart TV while she waits for her friend to reply. 

Twenty minutes deep into an episode of Homeland, her phone buzzes annoyingly on the armrest. 

CLARKE [8:51 PM]:

who’s number is this?

RAVEN [8:54 PM]:

very funny griffin. drinks on saturday?

It takes a surprisingly long time for Clarke to answer her text, even though she isn’t a notorious bad back-texter unlike her boyfriend. One time like two years back, Raven asked Bellamy if he wanted to chip in on Murphy’s birthday present and he still hasn’t replied to this day. She’s pretty sure he isn’t even aware of the fact iMessage exists.

Raven has almost single-handedly finished off a bag of Cheetos before her phone buzzes again. She unlocks her phone to find a photo of a pregnancy test staring back at her, balanced precariously on what she assumes is Clarke’s knee, like the night terrors she used to have in middle school, terrified to end up like the other girls in her neighbourhood, sure a boy even looking at her could knock her up. 

RAVEN [9:08 PM]:

so no drinks then???

The reply comes faster this time, Raven sure that Clarke was just jumping for her to something. Anything.

CLARKE [09:09 PM]:

i just found out and my first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer, i’m fucked

She’s not sure what Clarke wants from her here—that one always had more up her sleeve than expected—a congrats or a condolences, so she settles on the safe middle of comic relief. 

RAVEN [9:10 PM]:

who’s the father?

CLARKE [09:10 PM]:

seriously?

RAVEN [9:11 PM]:

what? thought you two went to that swingers club the other month

CLARKE [09:14 PM]:

that was a teacher’s conference. he begged me to come

RAVEN [9:15 PM]:

i thought YOU begged HIM to come and now we’re in this whole mess?

A reply doesn’t come for two minutes, and then three, and when the clock ticks closer to five minutes, Raven decides to dial her number. It switches over to Facetime, but the screen is black, static commotion of the phone being moved around the only sound between their two devices for a good ten seconds. Finally, she asks, “Clarke?” 

“I didn’t plan for this, Rave,” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Raven has to bite back a smile. Clarke is such a in-the-closet neurotic mess and she missed it. The screen turns very bright, then finally she can make out her friend. From the looks of it, she is on the floor in her bathroom, mascara smudged lightly under her eyes, wavy hair a mess on top of her head. “I haven’t even finished school yet. My NCLEX exam isn’t until next month—“

“Sound like perfect timing to me,” Raven snorts, keeping her tone very bored. Is this all she has? Are these her best arguments? She’s off her game. “You’ll ace the exam, get a few months of nursing experience at the hospital and then you can go on maternity leave. Your mom owns the surgical ward, I’m pretty sure she can make it happen.”

She watches Clarke draw her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on top of them for a moment before looking back up at her phone. She does look wrecked. Raven hesistates for a second, then inquires, “Have you told him?”

“No,” Clarke replies, and then she is quiet for another second. She sounds softer this time, “What if he doesn’t want this?”

Raven almost cackles out loud. That loser would do anything for her, even if he didn’t want a baby with her—which seemed very unlikely—he would probably go to his grave swearing it was all he ever wanted. Besides, Bellamy has a few years on Clarke, is a well-known mother hen and is practically smitten with his sister’s toddler. (The only pictures he ever posts on social media are either of Clarke, his sister, that bratty little Octavia look-alike, or the three of them together—which was probably Nirvana by his definition.) He was more than ready, Raven’s sure that his old man primal hormones are just off the charts.

“Fat chance,” Raven settles on, instead of manic laughter because she’s a good friend, eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline. “You’re talking about Bellamy Blake? The same Bellamy Blake who, when you introduced him to me and I told him I would kick his ass if he ever hurt you, said he couldn’t wait to have your babies someday?”

Clarke scrunches up her nose in disbelief, and Raven wonders if she needs to get her sight checked. Does she not see how that buffoon looks at her? “He said that?”

“Yep,” Raven drags out, seemingly unimpressed.

“He was drunk,” she argues, brushing her off as she runs a hand through her tangled blonde hair. 

“That makes it more true, Clarke, not less,” Raven replies without skipping a beat, can’t help but sound a little tiny bit judgemental just because of who she is as a person. There’s more silence, Clarke chewing on her thumbnail as she stares off in the distance and Raven sighs, softening her voice. “No offense, but why are you complaining to me about this, babe? It isn’t like you to be this insecure.”

Was this not the Clarke Griffin who marched up to their arrogant orange-President-affliated professor and told him he might be an art teacher, but she was an artist? It was a popular meme around their college for weeks, black sunglasses and a animated blunt photoshopped onto her yearbook picture and plastered around the halls. The same Clarke Griffin who punched through a glass window because racist campus police let her go and took Monty into a interrogation room alone after catching the both of them with some weed brownies and still has the scar to prove it? Was she not the Clarke Griffin who got everyone to sign a petition to get Kyle Wick kicked out of school when he tweeted out a sexually suggestive picture of Raven?

“Because you know he’ll be excited,” she presses, aggrevated, blue eyes dark as she stares at her camera as if she can stare straight into Raven’s soul. “And I can’t break his heart and tell him that—”

“That what?” Raven cocks an eyebrow, figuring it’s time for some though love now. “You dont want a baby?”

“No—“ She tries to get it, but Raven doesn’t relent, keeps pressing, “That you don’t want his baby?”

“No!” Clarke blurts out harshly, cutting her off as her eyes brim with tears. “That I didn’t plan for this!” She swallows tightly, and Raven just watches her, chest heaving up and down erraticly, blue eyes darting from left to right as she tries to get her thoughts together.  “You know what happened when I started medical school, why I had to drop out,” her voice finally breaks, lip trembling. “This time, I was going to better. I was going to do it right.”

“You had a nervous breakdown, Clarke,” Raven snaps, tired of the sugarcoating. She was so hard on herself, and Raven still feels the slighest pang of guilt at that because she used to encourage that quality in her, held her to even higher standards. Maybe at first because she was jealous of her, of the golden girl who got everything handed to her. When she realized that wasn’t true, it was more because Raven knew she could be brilliant. Then after everything went down, she realized Clarke had already been brilliant all along. “You were making eighteen hour days, Lexa broke your heart and then your dad died in your arms. I think not having a breakdown over that would’ve qualified you as a sociopath.”

Clarke quickly wipes at the wetness trailing down her cheek, like she is trying to keep Raven from seeing, hugging her knees closer to her chest. Quietly, she sniffs, wondering, “What if it happens again?”

“It won’t. Because you’ve learned you can’t plan everything because life comes at you fast,” Raven says, authoratively, like she’s reading it from the pamphlet her therapist got them back then. “—and to communicate about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Eat enough vegetables and sleep enough hours.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand as she lets herself nod. Raven can’t help but press, “Isn’t that what you and Bellamy use as foreplay? A good old fashioned emotional conversation?”

Clarke scoffs. “No, like talking shop doesn’t get you and Shaw going.”

Raven lifts a shoulder, indifferent. She’s not going to sit here and pretend like him being able to name every component of a Harvey Davidson motorcycle in alphabetical order doesn’t get her all hot and bothered.

Clarke wipes her palms on her jeans-clad thighs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “What if I’m not any good at this?”

“Then the child will have the most awesome aunt to fall back on,” Raven smirks, and luckily, Clarke finally cracks a smile too. “You’re Clarke fucking Griffin. If this is something that you want—“ She drags out the last word, pausing to get her confirmation (she’s pretty sure it’s something she does want, deep down, but it doesn’t hurt to check before she rolls out the whole peptalk), and reluctantly, her friend nods, corners of her lips turned up almost shyly. “If it’s something that you want, you’ll succeed at it. You care about everyone, Clarke, to a fault.”

Raven finds herself smirking again, pretending to be half-distracted with re-tightening her brace. “And I know it’ll be hard to care about that baby knowing it’s Bellamy’s—“

“Shut up,” Clarke deadpans, and her eyes look brighter, clearer. Tentatively, her hand comes to rest on top of her lower belly, fingers flexing on top of her shirt for just a second. Raven can’t help but smile, happy for her friends. It’s what they deserve.

“You should really call him,” Raven pushes, pursing her lips satisfactory, “He’s going to be so salty you told me before him.”

“Probably,” Clarke snorts, just the slightest bit of nervousness flashing across her eyes before they soften as she says, “But, thanks, Rave. I’m glad to see NASA lets you out on probation every six months.”

“It’s NASA though,” she responds—a little boastful, because it’s NASA, she gets to be boastful—then stretches out her free arm. “Also, mocktails Saturday?”

Clarke beams. “Deal.”

(The next time Raven gets a text from Clarke, it’s a photo of a ring on her finger.)

[mermaidsirennikita]

March 2018 Book Roundup

I read a lot of books this month!  And two of them were actually five star reads, which I would recommend for completely different reasons.  Read A Girl Like That by Tanaz Bhathena if you want to be completely devastated.  Read To Kill A Kingdom by Alexandra Christo if you want a fantastic fairy tale romp with a good bit of blood.  But like, read both?  There was also one pretty big disappointment (that was still by no means a failure, this book just got hyped to hell) and a book I actually hated.  So like, a mixed bag!

The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton.  4/5.  In Orleans, beauty drives people--in part because they don’t naturally have it.  They’re born gray-skinned, red-eyed, and ugly; and this can only be changed with the help of a Belle, one of the lovely young women with the power to (temporarily) manipulate people’s physical appearances.  Camellia is making her Belle debut with her sisters--but only one can get the coveted spot of the queen’s favorite, working on the royal family.  Initially, Camellia is passed over; but when her winning sister mysteriously vacates the spot, she is thrust into the role of favorite and tasked with the seemingly impossible feat of healing the queen’s older daughter who’s been in a coma for years.  As it turns out, the fate of Orleans could very well hang in the balance.  On the surface, I thought that The Belles would be like a lot of those YA fantasy/dystopian books centered on looks that is basically a transparent riff on reality shows/21st century pop culture meets Harry Potter/The Hunger Games/What Have You.  In fact, the way the Belles work in their world is very much its own thing, and Clayton does a lovely job of weaving in these super sugary descriptions--obviously drawing from the French royal court of Marie Antoinette or Louis XIV--while never dropping this sense of mystery and dread.  Part of that mystery revolves around what the Belles really are, and to be honest I’m still not 100% sure about that--but this is the beginning of a series, and it’s incredibly intriguing.  Furthermore, the horror factor was much more present than I expected.  It’s a book that gets a lot out of the eeriness behind what people do for beauty--the only thing it needs to work on, for me, is fleshing out the characters a bit more.

Bygone Badass Broads by Mackenzi Lee.  3/5.  Lee expands on her popular Twitter series, telling the stories of women who have been scrubbed from history because they’re not white enough, not straight enough, not cis enough, or otherwise too transgressive in some other ways.  Basically, this is one of those books that lists dozens of rebellious or unusual women, and I tend to love that.  I wouldn’t say that this book is bad, but it also doesn’t rank super high in the subgenre.  Yes, Lee does a great job of digging up women that even I hadn’t heard of (and I say “even” because again, I read a lot of books like this) but the write-ups are so short (about three-ish pages on Nook each) that I didn’t get a lot out of them.  Which of course allows Lee to include more women, but I would have rather seen more about each woman and less women in general, especially as some were honestly--less impressive than others.  As important as lady publishers are, I feel like there’s less intrigue and yeah, importance overall to their stories compared to those about women like the Maribel sisters.  There were a couple of women included who were borderline legends as well, and I don’t know...  Maybe cut them in favor of the women who definitely did something?  Furthermore, there’s a huge imbalance in time periods, or at least it felt that way--I mean, it seemed like most of the ladies were from the nineteenth century and onward.  And that’s just a matter of personal taste--I’m more interested in history from ancient times to the eighteenth century.  Nineteenth century is where my interest begins to wane a bit!  But with that being said, it’s not a bad book and definitely a nice, quick read when you want to discover some interesting women written about in a chatty tone.

A Girl Like That by Tanaz Bhathena.  5/5.  For most of her life, Zarin--an Indian immigrant to Saudi Arabia--has been viewed as a bad girl.  She’s seen that way by the mentally ill aunt who raised her, subjected to abuse in part simply because she’s a “bastard orphan”.  Her uncle sympathizes but won’t actually help.  The girls at school and their mothers see her as a flirt and a bad influence.  The only person who seems to give Zarin a chance is Porus, the boy who worships the ground she walks on, no matter how careless she is about his feelings.  Now Porus and Zarin are dead in a car accident, and few know what actually lead up to it; in bits and pieces, from multiple perspectives, we learn the reality of Zarin’s life, and why she was far more than “a girl like that”.  First off, this book is absolutely heartbreaking.  Though you know from page one that Zarin and Porus are dead, you still fall in love with them and there’s this sense of dread throughout as you get closer and closer to their deaths.  Zarin is one of the best YA protagonists I’ve read about in a while--flawed but incredibly human, easy to relate to, and terribly wounded in a way that isn’t over the top.  And Porus isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a romantic boy in love with a girl who may or may not want him back, and the book doesn’t hesitate to call him out for his white knight-ing while not abandoning his inherent goodness (which is implied to be present because he had the influence of a good father, whereas the other, less good boys in the book are following the examples of shitty fathers).  It was great to read a YA contemporary novel that was set somewhere other than America, or even Europe.  The author has a background similar to Zarin’s, so she’s not talking out of her ass here.  And there’s a deep sympathy for almost every character in the book--even when they’re horrible, they aren’t mindless villains.  There are cultural and religious elements at play, and none of them are good or bad without cause.  As a warning, rape and abuse (sexual and otherwise) are themes throughout the book, as is depression, suicidal ideation, and more.  It’s not an easy read.  But it should absolutely be read.

The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn.  4/5.  Anna is an agoraphobe and classic cinema fan, spending her days talking to fellow agoraphobes on a message board and her nights watching movies--and spying on her neighbors.  She hasn’t left her home in ten months, doesn’t live with her husband and daughter anymore, and seems beyond hope when her new neighbor Jane visits and breathes new life into her boring routine.  No sooner has Anna made a friend, however, than she sees something horrible happen in Jane’s home.  The issue?  Everyone--including the police--say that it didn’t happen.  This book is a clear Rear Window tribute, and acknowledges as much--in fact, Anna’s obsession with classic thrillers, along with her alcoholism and psych meds, probably contribute to her status as an unreliable narrator.  And I love an unreliable narrator.  Anna is flawed without losing my sympathy (another favorite character type) and while I can’t say that this is the most original thriller I’ve read, it’s entertaining and well-done and even a bit emotional.  Definitely satisfying.

Rosemarked by Livia Blackburne.  2/5.  Zivah is a healer, struck down by the same plague she’s been treating people for--the rose plague.  It will shorten her life but kill her slowly, isolating her in a little cottage (think shades of leprosy, but not as gross, of course). Dineas has survived the same plague, leaving him immune, and has escaped the Amparans who tortured him to the point of breaking.  His desire to liberate his people brings him to Zivah, who wants to make the remainder of her life mean something--and together the two unite on a mission to steal from the capital.  I think.  Honestly, this book was so boring that I wasn’t really absorbing much of the plot.  In theory, it’s such a cool idea: a slow-burn romance between a warrior and a dying healer that has them acting as spies.  But it’s told in alternating perspectives, and Dineas and Zivah are both so bland that I couldn’t really tell the difference between the two of them. There was a lot of summary without much urgency.  Also: the romance is clearly meant to be a big part of the story.  However, Dineas and Zivah lack chemistry, and this issue is only exacerbated by the fact that... for reasons... which I didn’t totally get... Dineas keeps having his memory taken away?  Willingly?  “For the mission”.  So Zivah is supposedly falling in love with amnesiac Dineas, who isn’t even really Dineas completely--or is he???  God, it made no sense.

Awayland by Ramona Ausubel.  3/5.  A collection of short stories capturing the feelings of dreaminess and wanderlust, often with a dose of magical realism.  This book is very difficult for me to describe, in part because it’s just kind of weird?  Definitely well-written if you like pretty, sometimes purple prose.  There were a few stories I really liked, some that simply baffled me, and in general I loved the sense of the different lands the author described.  However, one story made me particularly uncomfortable in the almost fetishistic way that it described Africa, and I can’t help but feel how... deliberately vague... it seems to be.  And I’m not sure what to think about that.

To Kill A Kingdom by Alexandra Christo.  5/5.  Princess Lira has seventeen hearts in her bedroom.  The daughter of the siren Sea Queen, Lira waits for the day that she takes her mother’s throne, building a fearsome reputation by taking the still-beating hearts of princes.  Prince Elian isn’t so dissimilar--however, he sails the seas killing sirens, and his reputation has made him a prize for the sirens.  After killing one of her mother’s subjects, Lira is punished with a human form.  The only way she can return to her true body--and remain her mother’s heir--is to get Elian’s heart--without any of her powers.  This Little Mermaid retelling is dark--focusing a good bit on the effects of abusive parenting--and bloody, starring a monster princess and a prince who isn’t so nice either.  Yes, it’s a story of two people who are mortal enemies hating each other until they maybe don’t so much.  Yes, it’s full of the various lands Elias and Lira visit and all of their royal families.  Yes, it was one of the most fun and engaging books I’ve read in a long time, and certainly one of the best fairy tale retellings I’ve read.  READ IT.

Blood Water Paint by Joy McCullough.  3/5.  A verse-driven retelling of Artemisia Gentileschi’s rape and its aftermath, interspersed with stories of the women who would inspire some of her most famous works.  Let me tell you this upfront: I feel that other people would enjoy this book much more than I did.  It’s written in a lovely way--the stories of Judith and Susanna are told by Artemisia’s mother, almost as bedtime stories, which is... a bit weird, but cool--and it is an incredibly important, if brutal, story.  It’s also, at face value, pretty accurate: Artemisia was the daughter of a mediocre painter who she learned from and surpassed; she was raped by Agostino Tassi after an initial romance; she was tortured in court to prove that she wasn’t lying about her rape.  The story does skirt over the fact that Artemisia wanted to marry her rapist, and his refusal to marry her drove her to seek justice--not the rape on its own.  And that bothered me, the lack of real confrontation of that fact.  Because it renders Artemisia an “imperfect victim”, and few rape survivors ARE perfect victims.  Certainly, few in the seventeenth century fit a twenty-first century idea of what rape survivors are like.  And that was a huge issue with the book in general.  Artemisia--and her mother, to an extent--thought and sounded like twenty-first century women.  Artemisia approached painting like a twenty-first century artist.  As someone who has studied Italian painting of this era, and how Italian women painters were treated and acted, it just... didn’t sit well for me.  Sure, the whole book was stylized, but you can have a stylized story without losing authenticity.  Again, this will probably be a fantastic book for people who don’t share my background with the story.  But it didn’t work for me.

The Wicked Deep by Shea Ernshaw.  1/5.  Two centuries ago, the people of Sparrow drowned the three Swan sisters, all accused witches.  Ever since then, the sisters have returned every summer, possessing innocent girls until the solstice to seduce and drown boys.  Penny Talbot is familiar with the legend, and therefore hasn’t let herself get attached to the local boys.  Bo isn’t local--but he does have a connection to the sisters.  As they zero in on a boy she’s growing increasingly concerned for, Penny hunts for an answer to what the sisters really want and how she can stop them.  This was so bad.  So bad.  Bad because the idea was really cool--ghost witch sisters, possession, seduction, drowning--and there were some really interesting descriptions.  Basically, some of the bits that were just about the Swan sisters’ past were cool.  Some of them.  Until the end.  The rest was basically a hodge-podge of incredibly predictable “twists”, chemistry-less instalove, and a total inability to write people as people.  They made ridiculously stupid choices, experienced inexplicable emotional reactions, and in general just felt fake.  This should have been SO cool.  But it just made me want to write the opposite thing in order to prove a point.  (Also: it is set in OREGON.  Near Portland.  In our time, or at least a time where stereos are a thing.  I know that shady shit can happen anywhere and especially in small towns, but fuck.  Around 3 or more young boys from this town drown EVERY SUMMER, and not only is the town able to sustain itself but the FBI hasn’t gotten involved?  These all seem to be young white boys, in Oregon, just drowning.  Literally if this had been set in a made-up town in a made-up time, this would have been much more believable.)

The Merry Spinster by Mallory Ortzberg.  3/5.  A collection of short, spooky retellings of not only fairy tales, but classic children’s stories like “The Velveteen Rabbit”.  Overall, I’d recommend this book if you’re in the mood for something lyrical yet genuinely grim--but be warned, it can be a bit self-important sometimes.  A few of the creepier bits felt almost too self-aware; like, “this is scary because these are children’s characters acting really weird, oooh”.  Some of the stories I could have done without.  Standouts include “The Daughter Cells” (The Little Mermaid), “The Six Boy-Coffins” (The Six Swans, also the best story in the collection), “The Rabbit” (The Velveteen Rabbit) , and “Cast Your Bread Upon The Water” (Johnny Croy and His Mermaid Bride).  

The Radical Element ed. Jessica Spotswood.  2/5.  An anthology of short stories about young women who are “radical” in some what, from the nineteenth to twentieth century. Because really, for a historical fiction anthology, this is pretty limited in time periods and locations--it’s nineteenth and twentieth century America, barely stretching a century. Which is something I found irritating about the last anthology edited by Spotswood that I read (A Tyranny of Petticoats) but I liked that more because there were more stories for me to connect with.  Honestly, many of these read very young to me, so regardless of the writing quality I didn’t like most of them.  The only one that really stood out to me was Anna-Marie McLemore’s “Glamour”.  But this isn’t a bad anthology, in my opinion--I just think I’ve outgrown much of these stories.  

Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney.  2/5.  Amber is in a coma.  She can sense everything around her, hear everything people say, but can’t move her body, even to open her eyes.  She remembers nothing--only that her husband doesn’t love her anymore, and she believes that he had something to do with the “accident” that people refer to.  Alternating between Amber’s present in the coma, the days leading up to the accident, and a series of diary entries, the truth slowly unravels--or maybe.  Because sometimes Amber lies.  Basically, this had all of the plot elements it needed to have... But it moved at what felt like a glacial pace, and I couldn’t get into anything because the voices were dull.  Also: Amber has no control over her bodily functions while in a coma, and is sure to remind us of this every possible moment.  Furthermore, there is such a thing as too many twists, and to a degree, this book went there.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi.  3/5.  The land of Orisha was once full of magic--and Zelie’s mother was one of those who had it.  Until, that is, magic disappeared.  King Saran conducted a raid that killed all--or supposedly all--magic users, including Zelie’s mother.  Years later, Zelie and her brother Tzain embark on a quest to restore magic, aided by the runaway Princess Amari, and pursued by Amari’s brother Inan, who is determined to inherit his father’s ruthless legacy.  So...  This book.  I wanted so badly for it to be at least a four star read for me.  It’s been intensely hyped up, with the movie rights being sold ages ago.  Is it worth the hype?  For me, obviously not.  The hype oversold it.  Because Children of Blood and Bone is an enjoyable read with a ton of potential--but it’s also one of those books that was so clearly written by a debut author.  And I hate to say that, because I want to be a debut author someday; but there is a standard we need to hold ourselves and others to, and to me, this book needed some editing.  It was very overlong, with some parts dragging because I wanted to get back to the action.  The character beats sometimes felt rushed, comparatively--especially when it came to, you guessed it, the two central romances.  One of them was MADE FOR ME, but though I liked the pairing I wished that there had been more a realistic buildup.  The interesting thing about Children of Blood and Bone is that Adeyemi--who as I understand it is Nigerian-American, raised in America--based it off of West African culture.  As a white American, I obviously cannot speak to the authenticity of the usage of Yoruba, but I have seen a couple of Nigerian reviewers claim some issue with it, and that does make me wonder.  I do know that Adeyemi used, again, Yoruba in her book as well as several real place names.  This bugged me a bit.  Orisha is a fictional world--why refer to real African cities and a real language?  Obviously, most of the dialogue is in English, but Adeyemi could have referred to an imagined language as many fantasy novelists do.  To me, this all felt like... I don’t know, Jon Snow saying that he’d learned French from a tutor, or Gandalf saying that he was from Belfast.  It was a worldbuilding issue that knocked me out of the story.  For that matter, the fact that the catlike animals were referred to as “leonaires” (leopards), and so on... it seemed kind of weak.  There were a ton of very usual beats here--rebellious princess, young characters doomed from the first page, evil king who is evil because he is evil and had a dead love that is the sort of root of all of his problems...  It seems like I’m critiquing the fuck out of this book, but it had such a great idea and was so set up to be great that I don’t know.  I’m just disappointed, and it all could have been much better because the bones were there.  All that said, I’m probably going to read the second book because I was invested in the characters and do want to see what happens next.  But if the next book isn’t better, I probably won’t read beyond that.

In Search of Us by Ava Dellaira.  3/5.  Angie has never known her father; the biracial child of a white mother, she has never known the black side of her family, as her father apparently died before she was born along with his brother.  After discovering that her uncle is actually alive, Angie embarks on a trip to LA with her ex-boyfriend to seek the truth about her father.  In a parallel story, we see the journey of her mother, Marilyn, as a teenager being pushed by her mother to support them through a modeling career she doesn’t want.  After meeting James, Marilyn sees the opportunity for a new life--the question is how she’ll come to be the single mother of a daughter she keeps secrets from.  This book is really lovely and sweet in a lot of ways--the writing is quite pretty.  Marilyn’s story is, to be honest, much more compelling than Angie’s simply because she has a more dramatic arc.  Angie is essentially on a trip to uncover something you can probably guess fairly early on, and though her struggles are totally understandable, it is kind of difficult to watch her treat her very sweet ex like shit and kind of take advantage of his feelings.  Marilyn has this struggle of attempting to escape her mother’s impossible dreams, while engaging in genuinely sweet and sad romance.  The issue for me was that nobody quite as accessible as Marilyn, and while I appreciated the message the book was sending, it seemed a bit heavy-handed and abrupt towards the end.  Tacked on for points, to be frank.  Also, there was one sex scene that seemed... while not physically impossible, very unlikely.  But overall, if you want to read something sort of gentle and sad with good romance AND mother-daughter elements, I’d recommend it.

The Flight Attendant by Chris Bohjalian.  3/5.  Flight attendant Cassie is something of a train wreck, using her career to facilitate a habit of heavy partying and one night stands.  In Dubai, she has a one-nighter with a man named Alex, only to wake up to find him brutally murdered in the bed they shared.  Unable to remember the entirety of the previous night’s events and terrified of what will happen to her, Cassie sneaks out of the hotel room and finds herself embroiled in an international scandal.  The book follows not only Cassie’s perspective, but that of the mysterious Elena, who seems to be keeping tabs on Cassie.  This is definitely a gripping book, and I sped through it.  Honestly, much of the interest had to do with just how odd and intriguing a flight attendant’s life can be, and it was certainly a great profession for the main character of a thriller--Cassie was constantly jet-setting.  The issue was that she was also a total idiot, to the point that sometimes her stupidity felt less like a character trait and more like a plot device.  But I could have gotten over that.  What bumped this down from a 4 to a 3-star rating was the ending--the big twist wasn’t something I called, but it also wasn’t very thrilling.  You pretty much knew what was going on before the end.  And of course, everything was tied up in a very... borderline sexist way?  But it’s not the worst thriller I’ve read; I mean, it wasn’t even the worst one I read this month.

[btsreactionsandtexts]

BTS Single Parent AU

kookies-and-myrok asked: Hello, sweets! I love your writing and I'm not just saying that Lol i always get excited when you post smt, anyways do you write parent au's? If you do can I get a BTS reaction about what they would be like as a single parent? If not then its okay! Keep up the great work 💜

This doesn’t necessarily work as a reaction, but I can do a little like... bullet drabble or whatever on this. Either way, very doable. - Admin Dayna

Seokjin

There’s like... this anime called Amaama to Inazuma (a.k.a. Sweetness and Lightning) which is basically about a single father who raises his daughter to the best of his abilities but he can’t cook as well as his wife (who passed away). I see Single Parent!Jin being like that... except in Jin’s case he can actually throw down in a kitchen

Lots of love and affection

Smothers his baby girl with kisses before dropping her off to daycare and after picking her up

The daycare moms thirst after him bOI

His cookies sold out the fastest at the school bakery

Partially because Daycare Moms are trying to give him the succ

Mainly because his cookies are bomb asf

He got hoes

Reads/sings his daughter to sleep at night religiously

Chocolate covered Strawberries while they watch cartoons together

Shed a single tear in the beginning of Finding Nemo evRYTIM

Was literally floating on air for like a month because his daughter told him he was the “handsomest appa”

Tries really hard to scold his baby girl

Can’t look her in the face when he does it because she’s too damn cute

Puppy Dog Eyes work every once in a while tbh

Will cAUSE A FUCKING SCENE IF HE EVER HEARD SOMEONE WAS BULLYING HIS CHILD

Dad jokes, fucking duh.

Yoongi

Picture this: Yoongi is chilling, right? Lounging on the sofa, watching some psychological mystery film or whatever emo shit he watches. His face is pretty indifferent. He’s unbothered asf. His right arm is covered in scribbles and squiggles. His 7 year old son is currently surrounded by markers, casually doodling on his dad’s arm.

Lets his son choose whatever toys he wants

If his baby boy wants a nerf gun, he’ll get a nerf gun.

If his baby boy wants a fucking bubblegum pink barbie jeep atv, he’s getting a fucking bubblegum pink barbie jeep atv.

Also lets his kid wear whatever he wants

Supports the creative and imaginative endeavors of his child

Does not support coloRING ON THE WALL YOU LIL DEMON BABY

Sometimes stares at his child and thinks “whose mans is this?”

Also looks at his child and thinks “that’s the love of my life”.

One time considered redecorating his closet just so that he can hang a bunch of mirrors on the wall so that whenever his child does something stupid, he can sit him in that closet and close the door so that he can look at his reflection and reevaluate his 7 years long life.

All in all he’s a super supportive daddio.

He’s not like the other dads.

He’s a Cool Dad™

Hoseok

Sitcom dad.

Literally Phil Dunphy from Modern Family.

Tell his kids a lot of stories about his “glory days”

His preteen daughter is like... hella embarrassed by him, but is highkey just as dorky as he is

Still got the juice

Can be super stern when need be

His kids knows that if they have an issue they can always talk to him about it

Has the warmest hugs when the days been rough

Shares both maternal and fraternal instincts 

Can flawlessly switch between motherly and fatherly traits

Tries to make inside jokes with his children

It never works.

“Stop trying to make fetch happen, Hobi. It’s not going to happen”

The best hype man tbh

“YOU SEE THE KID IN THE WHITE SHIRT? THAT’S MINE. I MADE HIM”

Namjoon

You know that cliche where it’s like... the mom leaves the kids alone with the father for a day. And the dad is like “don’t worry honey, I got this” but then the second the mom leaves, there’s toys everywhere, the kids are running around naked, the water he was boiling is on fire, shit has literally hit the fan, the groUND HAS ACTUALLY SPLIT OPEN INTO THE FIERY PITS OF HELL - but he last minute manages to get everything together and in order before the mom comes and finds out? 

That’s Namjoon.

Except like... 24/7 without the mom

Super fast dad reflexes

Also kinda annoying dad noises?

Really good at tutoring the kids with school work and stuff

He taught them majority of their math and science formulas by turning them into catchy songs

Has given up trying to be the cool dad yEARS ago

He’s just not about that life

It’s okay though because his kid’s friends thinks he’s cool

Makes sure his children are WOKE ASF

Tries to enforce bedtime

Keeps them up at night by playing games and/or watching movies together

Lets them go out whenever they want as long as they keep in touch often

Lets his kids make mistakes and learn from them instead of sheltering them from harms way

Motivational Speeches that are actually motivational

God awful happy dances

Hangs his kids A+ test papers on the fridge

“If you show me you got straight A’s at the end of the semester, you can absolutely get your nose pierced” (he says to his 14 year old daughter).

Jimin

Everyone knows that one person who has that really young but super hot mom or dad. Like, they’re lowkey popular and often have friends over because their friends kinda just want to be around their good looking parent.

Stacy’s Mom got it going on

Except it’s like... idk... Park Jae Sun’s Appa got it going on...

Whatever you get what I mean.

He’s a Dilf

Lets his kid invite his friends over whenever they want to

Doesn’t realize that his child’s friends are high key checking him out

Constantly checking up on them to see how they’re doing

“Are you guys okay?”

“Is the house too cold?”

“Would you like something to eat/drink?”

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Don’t be afraid to ask”

A little overbearing if I’m going to be honest

May even shelter his child a little too much

Good morning texts and sticky note reminders around the house

Makes sure his child has food for school everyday, never missing a beat

Proud Dad always

His son is bigger than him

Has to look up at him in order to look his son in the eye to properly reprimand or lecture him

Gets pissed whenever he isn’t taken seriously when giving scoldings

Feels really bad whenever he punishes his kids, and makes up for it with like ice cream or something

Babies make his little mochi heart flutter

Taehyung

He’s the epitome of husband/daddy material. I think Taehyung would make a great dad. He’s the perfect balance of literally all the others.

Which one is the parent and which one is the kid?

Knows how to get down to the level of a child, and properly play with them

Inside jokes with his kids

They say goodbye with aegyo

Openly tells each other they love one another

Likes to squish his baby’s cheeks and blow raspberries on their tummy

Loves the satisfying feeling that follows finally putting a crying baby to sleep

Watches his baby’s tummy rise and fall as they breathe

Hysterically laughs at his child’s laughter

His box smile is strong, and can literally be found in all of his kids.

Also has like, three dogs, but the more the merrier, right?

Isn’t too hard on his kids, but isn’t lenient on them either

Is a healthy medium between strict and easy going

Enforces a proper education but also lets them know that school isn’t the only way to a successful and happy lifestyle

Plays pretend with his children on the weekend

Always ends up in a too small princess dress with ribbons in his hair

Jungkook

You know those kids who are extremely close to their parents to the point where it’s like... and outsider watches the way they talk to their parents and finds it their causality with each other borderline disrespectful? You know those kids who can like... curse around their parents and talks to their parents like it’s another one of their friends and their parent talks back to them just as casually? 

That’s the type of dad Jungkook is.

Plays video games with his kids whenever their schedules allow them some free time together

Him and his kids have a group chat together where they share memes and ugly selfies but also like... keep up to date with school events and whatnot

Follows each other on Snapchat, Twitter, and Instagram

Not the best with giving advice, but his kids know that he’s a shoulder they can cry on

Offers to help them with homework, but ends up just as confused 

They all live off snacks and the neighborhood ahjumma had to start cooking actual meals for them

His kids actually care and asks their dad’s opinion on stuff about like... hair or clothing or something

He picks up on his kids habits and his kids pick up on his

they look like a bunch of bunnies tbh

They all have their own rooms, but Jungkook and his kids always manage to fall asleep dog piled on the living room sofa

[coeurdastronaute]

Giant: Ch. 4

When you know I don't have nowhere else to go Does it feel good to leave me on my own?

Previously on Giant

Though it was summer, too much happened after the funeral. Lena stayed at her apartment in the city for the summer. Work kept her busy, preparing for grad school kept her exhausted, keeping an eye on her father and brother kept her borderline crazy. Long ago, her duty washed away any artifact of herself, and of that she was damn near certain. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but if they had to place blame, it was time and distance and life. In moments of frustration, when Kara would think about her friend, she second-guessed every step taken since that moment on the beach when they could have ran away. And as summer slipped into fall, and the year passed as it was known to do, with little regard for anyone arguing against it, Kara found herself far away from Lena, seeing her more in newspapers than in real life, getting voicemail more often than not.

Superman grew in popularity, grew in responsibilities, and reading the newspapers and seeing the toll it took on her cousin, just affirmed Kara’s mission to be normal, to have a proper, non-alien life.

There were a few lunches after school started again after the holidays. A few nights of drinks. A hang out one weekend, but other than that, everything stopped, and neither Kara nor Lena knew how or why or when to save it. Instead, they grasped at straws.

Lena felt herself getting pulled deeper into research in order to keep up with her brother, to counteract anything he came up with or tried. He worried her sick, kept her up at night with this sick feeling that her father wouldn’t listen to, despite her protests.

After the funeral, Lena pulled away. Gone was this seeming bright spot in their universe, gone was the woman who brought balance to her and kept the family rooted. She only made it into one semester of grad school before she found herself moving to Metropolis, tugging the friends even farther apart.

Eventually, a month turns into missed calls and texts, turns into just growing up and growing apart. Every single August twentieth, without fail, no matter where they were or what was happening, they ended up on the top of the water tower back in Midvale, waiting for each other.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Kara smiled as Lena crawled up the ladder behind her, her heels kicked down at the bottom in favor of bare feet and summer. She helped the youngest Luthor take her seat.

“This night has been the only thing I’ve looked forward to in months,” Lena confessed as Kara pulled her into a tight hug.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in decades.”

“I saw you… New Years. And your graduation.”

“I guess this is what becoming an adult is like,” Kara sighed. “How’s Metropolis?”

“It’s… tall. Everything is so big,” she realized. “It’s a lot of trying to do what my mom did, and also what my dad does. I don’t know. I like my little office where I get to build things.”

“How’s things going with Lex and Lionel? I’ve seen… um…” Kara fiddled with the railing. “I saw the quotes in the paper… about Superman, and weapons.”

“It’s like babysitting toddlers. But making money on people’s fears is working.”

“Did you… um. What Lex said, at the funeral? Kryptonite?”

“I was doing some digging into it. I think… I don’t think it's harmful to humans, but it could accelerate already malignant cells. And Dad was doing research on it in his office at home. I don’t want to think about it, honestly. She had it in her, and something happened to accelerate it. It’s that simple. She’s gone. Nothing changes that.”

“How are you?” Kara asked in a whisper.

The science and business part was easy to talk about, thinking about anything else was difficult and painful. But Kara smiled and the sun was out and Lena remembered the feeling of sand and simpler times. She became a different person near Kara, someone she wasn’t quite sure existed anymore any other time. 

“I’m alright. Good as can be. How have you been?”

It was easy to trigger a ramble, and just as it started, Lena breathed a sigh of relief, welcoming it yet again, something true and honest and adorable. The only good thing about being apart, about distancing herself was the small, tiny hope that perhaps she’d be a little less in love with her best friend when she saw her again. Lena found herself always disappointed with that fact. Because she would see Kara, and listen to the flowers in her voice, and be reminded of goodness. Oblivious to it at all, Kara didn’t seem to notice the glances or sad smiles Lena had as she reminded herself of these things.

And as she talked about her sister, Kara’s hands would wave around, excited that they lived in the same place now. And when she talked about her new apartment and how nervous she was for her job, Lena promised it would be okay, and she would be magnificent.

The night rolled on, and the city looked exactly the same as they could remember from every other year. Five other nights they’d done this exact thing, looked at the exact view, were mesmerized by its exact feeling.

Lena wasn’t afraid of her answers for Kara. She might be the only person she didn’t have to be guarded from or against.

“I don’t know. I like Superman,” Kara shrugged. “Kind of nice to think of someone just trying to help people.”

“I see both sides,” Lena agreed. “But Lex has a point. What stops him from… being human? From losing control and leveling Metropolis or DC. If he’s human enough to understand justice, isn’t he human enough to be corrupted?”

“I… Well. It. He wouldn’t.”

“Can you be certain?” Kara remembered the night she beat someone raw, put him in a coma for three days, how she didn’t want to stop, how she couldn’t make herself.

“Yes,” she decided with a nod, steeling herself. “That’s part of why he’s so important. He’s the thing we get to believe in.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“They can be.”

“The last time things were simple, we were sitting on a beach and you wouldn’t run away with me. Since then, we’ve had aliens and weapons and space rocks and near disasters.”

“Were you serious that night?” Kara asked, leaning her cheek  on her elbow that hung over the rail. She stared at the profile of her friend who clenched her jaw and flexed it, the telltale sign she was upset and swallowing it.

“You know I was.” It came out through gritted teeth and with a sigh.

The look was hard and honest, toO honest for Kara. To help herself, she retreated to the safest form of self-denial.

“So, I saw those pictures of you and that girl,” she needled, chuckling as she nudged her friend’s shoulder with her own. “What’s her name again?”

“Veronica?”

“She looks like a model.”

“She’s… okay,” Lena shrugged with a coy grin. “We’ve had dinner a few times. You know how the tabloids read into anything.”

“I can’t imagine dating a Luthor would ever be easy.”

“Yeah,” Lena remembered. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“Your brother’s engagement got called off. Was it because of that?”

“Of what?”

“It being hard, to be in love with a Luthor.”

“My mom once said that being in love with a Luthor was like being in love with a wildfire. Beautiful and keeps you warm, gives you life and helps keep the scary things out, but if you leave it unattended it’ll burn the world down. I guess we’re prone to being high maintenance.”

“I don’t know. If I was lucky enough to love a Luthor, it’d probably feel pretty good, to be loved by something capable of such things. Like Superman, the power for destruction comes from the same reserve as the power to love, you just have to pick which one you want to live by.”

“That would explain why my dad is still grieving.”

“He loved so hard it filled him up.”

“That’s a nice thought,” Lena smiled and leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder.

In the distance, the waves were crashing. Kara heard them before she focused on Lena’s breathing and the grip her friend had on her arm.

“I told you.” 

“Told me what?” Kara sighed, resting her cheek on her friend’s hair. She turned her head and dug her nose into the crown. 

“It’s too late. We should have left while we had the chance.” 

“We can still go. Book a flight tonight. I’ve been enamored with Morocco lately.”

“It’s too late,” Lena simply repeated and held her bicep harder. “My brother and father need me too much, and you are about to start your life. We missed our shot.” 

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” 

“No Morocco with me?” 

“I’d leave right now if it was an option,” Lena smiled as lips kissed her head and she felt Kara take a huge breath. “Every year we come up here, I feel a little farther away from... I don’t know what... from just something. Like... life is pulling me like a riptide away from shore, and the more I struggle, the worse it gets.” 

“I’m a fantastic swimmer,” Kara whispered, earning a chuckle. “I get it though. I can kick and struggle and try to figure it out, but its never simple. For me it’s like a funhouse. Where I open every door hoping that what I’m looking for is on the other side, and the second before I swing it open, I have all of this confidence, and then I open it and I’m just... more confused.” 

“About what?” 

“Life... I don’t know. I guess if I knew that’d help.” 

“You were crafted for great things. I knew it the moment I met you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Without a doubt.” 

“I thought that you were by far the coolest thing to ever exist,” Kara confessed. “Even in that moment, I knew you’d be important. Not just to me. But to the world.” 

Far out, the sun came up behind them, the sky turned that fait kind of grey. Lena’s heart did flips and she gave up her struggle against the riptide that was her last name and duty.

“Morocco you said?” 

The arrest came just after a rather lonesome holiday. Christmas spent alone in the house on the edge of Metropolis while her brother stomped around and her father retracted more within to himself, Lena was grateful to be back at work, until the arrest came.

Splashed across the news, pictures of the billionaire’s face with the title of War Profiteer smeared across it. The lawyers worked around the clock to get it dismissed, but the idea of Lionel the terrorist, creating weapons of mass destruction, it was too big. The videos were of him being led out in handcuffs, screaming against the government, against Superman, his own innocence as to how that bomb in Central Station was designed to save them all.

Hundreds of people died. Chaos reigned and more was promised. Hatred reared its head with the voice of Lionel Luthor elevating it to national discourse. The greatest threat to the world wasn’t itself, but aliens. And Lena watched it all happen, unable to form a word. 

Kara tried to call, but the voicemail was full. She sent emails and texts, but got no answer. It was to be expected. Every day, she looked at the paper at the newsstand and saw Lena’s face, strong and resigned, behind her father in the orange jumpsuit.

It was fast, the fall of LuthorCorp. Even before the verdict was announced, the stocks started to plummet. When he was cast guilty and thrown in prison, Kara watched the announcement on the news, where Lex and Lena stood up and he said he was taking over the business, that his father was wrongly persecuted for trying to help the public.

That very same night, Kara decided she couldn’t wait any longer. It’d been months between using her powers, but she flew and strained to find Lena in the chaos of the world. It came as a surprise to find her back at the home in Midvale, but still, Kara smiled as she touched down on the familiar balcony.

The rest of the house was silent, but a familiar playlist echoed through the speakers, one that Kara always mocked the pristine, palaced princess for having, that no one else would ever know about, the oldest, most classic punk rock, the good stuff, as Lena had explained though Kara never appreciated it, it blared and for a second, Kara thought about the teenage girl who danced around to a similar song, with a beer in her hand and a soccer trophy in the other senior year.

She looked more relaxed than the girl on the television. Gone were the pearls and the tight dress, the perfect make up and the tight pony tail. Back again was sweatpants that had seen better days and an old college work out shirt with the name Luthor still there, despite fading from being washed so often.

This was her Lena, the Lena she knew and understood. So often, she found herself looking at her friend’s picture and seeing those dead, cold eyes, with nothing but malice behind them. So often, she was unsure if they were directed at her or the world or both. 

It felt as if they grew up quickly and were being pulled apart, and Kara didn’t know how to stop it, and then she would see Lena, and it was as if the world made sense, and that feeling was made up in her own head.

“I half-expected you to show up,” she muttered without looking up from her packing. “Like my own personal Superman, you just swoop in and out when you think I need saving. But I don’t, Kara.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t… You… I was worried, Lee. You haven’t called, or emailed.”

Kara barely made it inside the room, deciding to stay close to the door if need be, suddenly feeling very out of place.

“I’ve been a little busy. I should have asked the judge for a recess, you know, so I could text my friend. Because nothing else important was happening.”

“I know, but… It can’t be easy. I know you weren’t--”

“Don’t try to make me feel better. That’s why I haven’t called,” Lena yelled, tossing whatever she was packing on the ground. “I don’t deserve to feel better. Not for what my family did.”

“You’re not your family.”

“Jimmy Garcia. Adrian Yates. Tara Mann. Fred Warren. Celia Wells. Holly Reyes. Darryl Malone. Archie Cohen. Archie Cohen, Jr. Darlene Hardy. Rose Page. Hugh Kim. Gwen Cortez. Dominick Conner. Connie Hanson. Samantha Hanson.”

“Lena...” 

“Vernon Hart, fifty three, just welcomed his first granddaughter. Dead. Nina Torres, seventeen, accepted to Kingsmont for the fall. Dead.”

“Lena,” Kara stood a little firmer, moving to take the notebook away from her, the one filled with tiny notes and tiny words that were her reckoning. “Please.” 

“Here’s some a little closer to home. Harold “Oikbar” Peters, crashed here from Saxon 5 thirty years ago. Spent his life caring for homeless in the sewers,” Lena shrugged, not stopping. “Or Taulai, the district representative from Southside who was the first elected alien official. Or Dolov from Arawak, who you might know better as Thomas McKirk, the cop who saved a family of four from a mugging last summer.” 

“Lena, you can’t--”

“I can’t what, Kara?” she screamed, throwing the notebook until it exploded against a wall. “I know their names. I count them every day, all day. I repeat them like the Rosary. It takes me eight minutes and seventeen seconds to say them all. And then I start over again.”

“You can’t do this to yourself!” Kara yelled back. “You can’t push me away, and you can’t quit.” 

“I should have done more.”

“You’re not your family.”

“My father took away people’s mothers and sons and grandpas and I’m just supposed to be okay? I’m not supposed to be okay. I’m supposed to be this fucked up. Do you not get it?” 

“You’re not--”

“No, I mean it. Do you not get it? Your dad died, so you’re an expert on pain? I wish my father was dead. I wish I had killed him. Do you know I thought about it? Three months ago, after a meeting.” Kara swallowed and watched the flames dance across Lena’s face and eyes. “It was late, I knew something was happening. In my gut I knew it was bad. I just knew. And I remembered holding this pair of scissors from his desk. Those old, old sharp kind. The heavy kind,” she held up her hand as if they were phantom there. “And I said to myself, ‘Do it. Just do it.’ And I wish to God I had.” 

“Lena...” Kara cocked her head and knit her brow. The amount of pity to which she looked at the Luthor was enough to stun the harshest critic. Lena felt the shame rise up like bile in her chest and cheeks and throat. “I know what it’s like to lose everything, to lose your entire world and to always feel like... like... you just don’t fit--”

“This isn’t some damn after school special, Kara,” Lena drank the last bit of Vodka from her glass and threw the empty glass against the wall. “My father wanted to kill Superman. My father lost his mind. My brother is losing his. And I lost everything.”

“Not me. “

The music finally stopped and Lena took a deep breath before running her hand over her forehead. The days caught up with her, the feeling of loss, of not knowing who her father became until she was suddenly the last one standing in their family home, packing up the remaining bits before it was potentially sold. It fell on her, and she lost both of her parents, and she didn’t know why or how or when she became this person who didn’t deserve saving.

“You’re always the one that has to come help me. I don’t need help!” she yelled.

“I know, but I thought you might need a friend anyway.”

“SuperKara, here to cheer me up once again,” Lena sighed and took a seat on the couch. The glare she gave her friend was challenging, begging her to tell her the truth. She was exhausted and weak. “Just go, please. I can’t… don’t attach yourself to me. I mean it. It’s dangerous.”

“You’re a full-time job, Luthor,” Kara smiled. “So, do you want to drink too much and dance around to this terrible music, or are you too fancy and cultured now?” She ignored her friend’s words because that was all they were. “I don’t scare easy. I’m not going anywhere, Lee.”

For too long, Lena stared at Kara from under a heavy, gloomy brow. Too much concentration went into this. She wanted to yell and kick and tell her to leave and never look back, but it was impossible and she was weak.

"Please go.”

“You’re no match for me, and I like that. Makes me feel powerful,” Kara observed. “Scotch it is.” 

“Please, Kara.”

“Shut up,” she groaned and picked up one of the half empty bottles from an already packed box. “You don’t scare me.”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

The evening, they passed it commiserating and complaining, Lena upset and reeling against her father, against what her life would become, against what a mistake it all was. Kara listened, feeding her alcohol and promising it couldn’t get worse. And Lena danced and yelled, they bowled with old vases in the hall, they slid down the bannisters and skidded around on socks and fancy floors.

Eventually, the liquor caught up and Lena fell asleep on the mattress they dragged into the living room. Kara took great pride in at least helping her friend for the night, a small drop in a large bucket of what her future held as a Luthor.

By the time the first bit of sunlight slipped through the windows, just above the trees, Lena woke with a throbbing headache and a blonde curled against her side.

“Two more hours,” Kara begged, rolling over.

For too long Lena laid there in her empty home and let the foggy thoughts of her father come back to reality. She knew what was coming and what she had to do. Though she half thought Kara would come by because of her uncanny ability to just know when Lena needed her, she full prayed that she wouldn’t. It made it a little harder, to protect her.

Lena let Kara sleep, left the note on her pillow, and said goodbye to her home. Before Kara even woke, her friend was on the plane, running as best she could.

The first summer Lena missed their standing date at the water tower, Kara didn’t want to believe it. She sat there for hours, just in case, making a million excuses. Even though she’d gone months without a glimpse or word from her friend, she had this mighty, irrevocable belief that this mattered more than anything else.

It made sense though, and she couldn’t find it in herself to hold it against Lena. Her father killed people, trafficked in dangerous weapons, waged a war against aliens. It was a lot to have attached to a name, and her brother was not shying away from the same kind of roving madness, ruthless in business and weeding himself a nice plot of future space tech, reaping the benefits of his fear that was shared by more and more people. Lena escaped because it was safer, because it was good for her, and Kara took some solace in that, or at least she tried.

Still, she sent emails and texts and called from time to time, though the voicemail stayed full and everything went unanswered. She wanted to search, to fly up and hunt her down, just to see her, to make sure she was safe and happy, but Kara respected the need Lena must have felt to escape. She’d been right, that if they didn’t leave, they’d never escape, and Lena did what she had to do.

The second summer, Kara was excited. Superman was a hero and popular beyond reproach. She had a new job, almost a dream job, working for an amazing woman, surrounded by people she thought of as friends. She had a new apartment, and a cranky neighbor, and her mother was happy, and Alex was around, sometimes, more often.

It felt like a kick in the chest, like shotgun blast at close range, like a boulder landed on her when she realized Lena wasn’t coming. It was almost perfect, and then Lena didn’t show.

The rest of the year was spent with half glimpses of eyes that were a hue off from the green she loved. The rest of the year was spent like the previous ones, occasionally searching for Lena Luthor. Her heart ached so hard, she was certain it would hurt less to yank it out completely. Those were the moments she sat on the water tower and realized she’d loved her. They were followed by the moments signaling she’d lost her. 

The third year, Kara had hope again. Lex in jail, the tragedy of the battle between Superman and the metal suit wearing Luthor replayed for months after, the death toll, the fact that Clark left soon after, leaving the world without their symbol, coming back only when Lionel escaped. It all pointed to Lena coming back, taking her place as the last standing Luthor. 

Supergirl existed, in the world. Kara took the night off though, knowing that Lena had to show eventually, that she had to miss her, that the mess between the Luthors and the Supers was nothing, because it didn’t have to be.

With a sigh, Kara left the little box and present she brought for her friend atop the water tower and flew home, vowing the same thing she did every year, that she would never go back. 

Deep down she knew it was a lie.

The top floor of Catco was always a state of organized chaos, a fact that Kara was always in constant battle in, one that she occasionally was able to beat out, until she got her job moonlighting like her cousin. Now, she more often than not just tried to manage the chaos as best she could, a juggling act that took a lot of energy, but felt rewarding enough.

Long ago, Clark had been right, to tell her to just be normal, and finally, Kara felt as if she had the best of both worlds, she found the balance of herself.

“Didn’t you used to know her?” Winn asked, staring at one of the screens projecting one of the news channels Catco ran.

“Who?” Kara didn’t bother looking up, busy sorting Ms. Grant’s mail in the order she liked.

“Lena Luthor.”

The name felt foreign and far away, but the girl on the screen was a blast from the past, was a sight for sore eyes, reminded Kara of a part of herself that was long since gone.

“We went to school together,” she swallowed and nodded, adjusting her glasses as she watched.

The years had been kind to her, Kara realized, as she gulped and let her eyes make the trip up Lena’s profile, from her long legs, to her round hips, to her tight dress, to the same jaw and lips and nose and those eyes that Kara could never forget. She was beautiful and strong and so far away despite never being closer. There was no mistaking that Lena Luthor was beautiful, always had been, and it made Kara’s throat dry in the same way the fact always did. 

It was an unfortunate realization to have, that she was still in love with her, that she still felt angry and betrayed. But there stood Lena, the girl who laid on the grass with her after letting her do hand stands instead of studying, who stole heart-shaped sunglasses and drank wine that turned her lips so red they looked delicious. There stood Lena, and Kara felt her heart sink into her shoes. 

“Can you imagine?”

“What?”

“Having the same last name as someone who murdered so many people in one instant?”

“She didn’t have anything to do with it though,” Kara argued, not able to move her eyes from the screen of the girl who smiled, that fake, Luthor smile, as she took a podium.

“I heard the tech at her company is miles ahead of DOJ models. Alien detection, surveillance, intelligence, bio-engineering,” he whistled appreciatively. “I’ve seen her work. She’s brilliant. Sucks that she’s a Luthor and will be put down by Supergirl.”

Kara couldn’t help it, she ripped the stack of mail in half, staring at it in her hands before coughing and trying to cover it up. On the news, Lena spoke about being a publically traded company, with full transparency, and for a second, Kara believed her, her default setting. For just the briefest, most shameful of instants, she had the thought to roll her eyes at the thought of Lena ever being transparent, even just slightly.

After the quick briefing on the news, Kara found herself unable to think of anything other than her old friend. She couldn’t even stop herself from hovering outside, watching her work, surprised to find her still there, afraid almost that she was a mirage.

Accidentally, or so she told herself, Kara found herself walking in the park during the unveiling of L Corp. The press flashed and took pictures, the board sat behind her, the day was full of morbid fascination, though for a different reason than why the alien found herself blending into the crowd.

“My mother was a force of good in the world, and before the wayward actions of my father and brother, our company was a strong name, a good, honest name that emphasized the good, that grew ideas, fostered brilliant thinkers, lived outside of the box,” Lena explained into the microphone, strong and firm.

Gone was the angry girl who complained about soccer scores and blasted terrible punk, replacing it was a demure woman who Kara saw as so much Lillian Luthor, so much perfection, it was daunting. 

Kara met her eyes and remembered the feeling of crushing her lock between fourth and fifth period so, so long ago.

“From our company came good research and products that drove sales, not sales that drove our research. We traded in hope, not profited from fear. After the actions of my family, I wear my name and feel the debt it owes to this world, to our community, and we here at L Corp plan to pay it back, tenfold. I only ask that we be judged on the merit of our actions moving forward, as a whole, and not by the past outbursts by two individuals.”

She wasn’t sure if Lena saw her, or even if she did, if she recognized her, but Kara held her gaze until the youngest Luthor looked down at her notes and smiled to herself, small and different than the assuring ones she gave to the press.

“I left after my father. I wanted to get away, to be my own person, and I ignored the signs of my brother’s madness. I left because I am human and decisions are hard things to make. Not a day goes by that I don’t personally blame myself for my contribution to the horrors of my family by simply deciding to look away. We will not look away again,” she promised, finding Kara again. “L Corp will look directly in the eyes of what scares us the most and not shirk our responsibilities.”

There were a few forgiving claps, a few gentle mumbles in the crowd. Kara held her breath and disappeared into the crowd, unable to handle those eyes or that person.

One month in, and Lena was exhausted. Only just after lunch and she found herself in her office with her fingers massaging her forehead as it worried over stacks of budgets and proposals. She knew it would be a slow start, even a non-started, to rebrand, to start again. She knew no one would trust her name, but deep down, despite trying not to, she believed her father’s words, that the power her name had came when she gave power to it. It was impossible odds, but it was what she was meant to do, and despite what happened to her family, she was going to do it.

For just a moment, she sat back in her chair and turned toward the sun that streamed through her balcony windows, allowing it to warm her face and ease the tension in her jaw. She gave herself another chance, to hover of Kara’s name in her phone, to will herself to press the button. But she didn’t know how, didn’t know what to say or even if Kara would pick up. But she thought she saw those eyes at the press conference, she was certain.

With another frustrated sigh, for about the seventieth time that month, Lena tossed her phone onto her desk and went back to rubbing her forehead.

“Miss Luthor, it’s time to leave for your meeting,” Jess called over the intercom. “Shall I tell them to wait?”

“I’ll be upstairs in two minutes. Make sure you gather the prospectus from the legal team together, and the files from the pitches for small business loans. I’ll take them home with me tonight. “

“Yes ma’am. Would you like to schedule a meeting with Catco, they want a quote on the Alien Amnesty Bill. They’ve called a dozen times.”

“Not just yet.”

Lena shrugged on her coat and grabbed her bag before making her way out into the hall where her assistant was still talking to her over the intercom.

“Be sure to schedule my lobotomy and or death by firing squad for first thing in the morning. Try to get out of here early, Jess,” Lena smiled. “If the boss is away, let the mice play. Just have those things sent over to my place.”

“Yes ma’am,” she nodded with a smile, renewed with the duties of her job in the hopes of getting out so much earlier than she’d been the past few weeks.

Carefully, Lena used a side door and took the stairs until she reached the creaky thing at the top of the building where the helicopter waited, it’s blades lazily swinging around, waiting for her.

“Hi, Billy,” she smiled and took her seat, putting on the headphones. “Skies look lovely today.”

“Not nearly as lovely as you,” he nodded politely to her. “You break my heart, Ms. Luthor.”

“I’ll tell your wife,” she teased, glad to have friends, or people she paid that came back despite her brother and his rage firing of the entire staff she grew up beside. “Get us there in one piece this time, will you?”

“Fly me to the moon,” he crooned. “Let me play among the stars….”

His voice wasn’t terrible, and Lena liked the elderly pilot. He was reliable and made her get over her fear of flying. He was nice enough to share the banana bread his wife baked from time to time, and those were important things to Lena.

It was a short flight, just across town to a research lab on the outskirts, in the warehouse district near the port. It would save her about an  hour of traffic, and it was a beautiful kind of commute, with onboard entertainment in the form of butchered Sinatra ballads.

They made it halfway before the systems started going haywire and the explosion from the back blade severed it in half. The entire carriage began spinning at a terrifying speed as it dropped and loped its way toward the ground.

Somewhere between realizing she was going to die and hitting the ground, the force made Lena pass out. Not until a familiar pair of blue eyes were staring down at her and soft hands were rubbing her cheeks did she furrow and realize she didn’t.

Her senses came back slowly, but sitting in the field where Supergirl gently placed the broken helicopter, Lena second-guessed herself. She furrowed and stared intently at her savior before she nodded and disappeared in a blink.

“James, where are the pictures?” Cat asked, not looking up from her desk as she perused the layout for next week's magazine. “The ones of Supergirl saving her and the others.”

Kara clung to her notebook and tried to focus, while the bulk of her effort went toward figuring out who was trying to kill Lena Luthor. She caught bits and pieces of the conversation, most of it mingling somewhere with the evidence her sister has collected after the attack on the helicopter.

“It’s an effective stunt,” the editor waved her hand. “I don’t want the Heir to the Luthor Fortune with kids playing soccer. I want the harrowing helicopter attack. I want her dressed up and smirking at men’s ego, eating them for dinner. She’s a giant, and she’s either next to follow in the family footsteps or she’s going to flip it on its head. We need--”

“It’s not a stunt,” Kara murmurs, a familiar name making her ears perk up. She surveyed the image, of Lena at a soccer camp, guarding a little girl and laughing as she moved. If she hadn’t known Lena, she would have said that she was happy.

“What was that Kiera? How many times do I have to ask you to stop mumbling. If you’re going to speak,” she waved her hand disinterestedly, already bored with repeating.

“She’s… It’s. Not. She’s played since she was five. Won a state championship. Played in college. She likes the game. She set up a few camps in low income communities with her mother and Kingsmont University.”

Even without the pure silence that followed, Kara knew to be embarrassed, but she couldn’t stop once she started, and so she kept talking until it was all out there. She felt nine sets of eyes on her and she closed her eyes for longer than a blink, hoping a merciful god would let the floor envelope her.

Cat’s face betrayed nothing. Instead, she was the first to move, pulling her glasses off of her nose and setting them on the desk.

“You, Kiera, are either an incredibly boring stalker, or perhaps happen to know Ms. Lena Luthor from your dreadfully dull childhood, and have since remembered this fact just this minute, seeing as I’ve been personally calling in every favor I could to try to get her to sit down with this publication for the last six weeks!” Her voice rose as she spoke and Kara swallowed before meeting her eyes again. “Which is it, Kiera? Are you a boring stalker or potentially fired?”

“Potentially fired,” Kara whispered.

“Out. Everyone out.”

Her eyes never left her assistant’s face as the room emptied in a shuffle. She didn’t move until the door closed, at which point Cat leaned back and gestured for her assistant to sit.

“Ms. Grant, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just… It felt unfair to dismiss something important, or that you think would diminish her power or na--”

“You’re talking.”

“Sorry.”

“How well do you know Lena Luthor?”

“Um,” Kara thought for a second, genuinely thought about it, as it was, perhaps, more complex than Cat Grant could realize.

At one point, she might have said she knew her as well as she knew herself. Maybe she still did. But Kara was stung with the rejection of abandonment, and it clouded her. Long years, and sitting on a water tower alone, it made her think twice. And then she thought about stopping the helicopter, her heart freezing, unable to beat as she wrenched open the door and carried Lena out of it, checking for a pulse after the explosion. And just like that, sitting there with emerald eyes on her, time hadn’t passed.

“Um,” she shook her head again. “You know. Well enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Since senior year. We were, um, inseparable. She was my best friend, I think, next to my sister.”

“The abridged version,” she snapped her fingers and leaned forward.

“I haven’t spoken to Lena since she disappeared before her brother’s… you know,” she shrugged, adjusting her glasses.

“Perfect. Don’t you think it’s time for a reunion?”

“I couldn’t… No. I wouldn’t. I. No,” Kara huffed slightly. “No. There’s… no way. I don’t--”

“I think it’s time for a reunion,” Cat decided. “She won’t speak to the press about anything other than that damn company. If you want an honest story, unbiased and not absolutely boring to our readers, I’d suggested you make it happen.”

“Ms. Grant I--”

“That is all.”

NEXT

[sideshowjazz]

The Subtle Art of A Balance Life

Summary: Jon is most of the way through his first year of university at The Magnus Institute of Arts. He's stuck in a melancholy of nostalgia for a past that he hates and pining for a future he can't possibly know.Then Michael shows up. and things go horribly, wonderfully wrong.

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Alcohol Mentions

Read On AO3

“No, absolutely not.” Jon says firmly.

“Please Jon!” Georgie puts her hand on Jon’s shoulder and gives him those puppy dog eyes that used to get him in so much trouble back when they were dating. Now he doesn’t have that romantic obligation to do things for her. And yet, he feels that tugging in his chest to do this for her.

Jon sighs. “Alright fine.”

Georgie squeals.

“But,” Jon raises a hand. “I will not drink.”

“Oh I don’t care about that.” Georgie waves her other hand. “I just need a plus one. It’d be weird to go with just those two now that they’re dating. So I need you to tag along. And no, before you start, it’s just a friend thing.”

Jon winces. He really didn’t need reminding that they were no longer a thing. They’d broken up in high school and now she was moving on with Melanie, and Jon felt even more alone. Speaking of which…

“Why can’t you just go with Melanie?”

Georgie crinkles her nose. “She has to work a late shift again, so no dice.”

“Right,” 

“Look,” Georgie gestures. “I don’t need you to be social. I kinda don’t even wanna see you try.”

“I’m not that socially inept!” Jon interjects. 

Georgie ignores him. “I just need your physical presence.”

Jon sighs. “Glad to know you want me to be a part of your life.”

Georgie pats his shoulder before removing her hand. “Of course, Jon.”

...

Jon stood outside The Salty Pug. The pub was a two story building. The bottom floor being the actual pub while the top floor was an upstairs loft that the owner presumably lived in. It was one of those new trendy pubs that popped up around universities all around London. This one seemed geared more towards the young hipster demographic. For starters, the name. The Salty Pug, what a ridiculous name. According to Tim, it had gotten that name because “pugs are popular in London and being salty is a thing”, which while technically true was still stupid. 

Jon was staring at the pub sign, a stylized neon orange pug with a disgruntled expression when he heard Georgie and the other two girls coming. They were already starting to chat animatedly and Jon could feel his mind start to check out when Georgie called his name.

“Hey Jon!” She smiled that cheerful smile of hers and for a second he forgot that he didn’t want to be there. “I’ve brought company!”

The two girls had one thing in common, they both had the same stern confidence. One of the girls was tall, with dark brown skin and eyes and was wearing a red and white headscarf. Jon assumed this to be Basira. The other was short, with pale skin and green eyes and hair that seemed to almost smolder with how red it was. He assumed this to be Daisy.

“You remember Basira and Daisy right?” She gestured to the two girls standing beside her, confirming Jon’s assumptions in the process.. “They were in our Calculus class back in secondary school.” 

Truth be told, Jon had spent most of that year preparing his portfolio and hadn't paid much attention to the other students in his year. Still he smiled. “Yes I remember. What uh, have the two of you been getting on with since then?”

Daisy fixed Jon with a hard look that told him point blank that she didn’t give a damn about what he was saying, but Basira answered kindly enough. “We’re both trying to join the police academy. It’s been slow going though since we’re so young and neither of us have our degrees yet.”

Daisy nodded sagely as if to confirm Basira’s statement. Then she asked. “Are we gonna drink or what?”

Georgie smiled. “We are, Jon doesn’t drink.”

Jon waited for the inevitable mockery that always came when people found out he didn’t drink. Instead Basira said. “Yeah I get that. I’m technically not supposed to drink but here we are. Let’s go inside.” 

...

Jon was really starting to regret coming out here a couple of hours into the night. The bar was crowded and the loud sounds of university students having fun was almost too much on it’s own. That coupled with the smell of alcohol and the sound of Georgie complaining drunkenly to Daisy about how her girlfriend was always ditching her for work or studying and you’d have a recipe for a very miserable Jon.

Jon’s mind started to wander off to the cold embrace of a melancholy nostalgia. It was surreal being here. He was surrounded by former classmates and his former high school sweetheart. Had this happened maybe six months ago, he might have been happy. Now he just felt nothing. He wanted to be like Georgie, to be able to move on and start over with his life after her. But he couldn’t. Though to his credit, he almost had. 

Martin had been in Jon’s first year drafting class. He was quiet but not the way Jon was quiet. Martin was timid, borderlining on shy. But when he talked to him, Jon could feel his entire world come into focus. His mind always felt sharper when he sat beside Martin. 

Once, when they’d left class late. Martin had asked him for a ride to the bus station. It was dark and cold and the air was thick and heavy with the smell of an approaching storm.

“Sure.” Jon had said, unable to disguise his own eagerness. “What station?” 

Martin told him the station and they got in Jon’s car. It was old and cramped and had that weird used car smell but Martin seemed to blend right in until he just looked like he’d always been there. Like this was an old routine coming to fruition. They’d talked for the entire ten minute drive. Jon mostly tried to keep the conversation off himself. He was boring, pedestrian. It was Martin that was interesting. Jon learned that Martin was a fine arts major and that he dreamed of becoming a gallery artist. This had struck Jon as very odd. Gallery work required a lot of networking and one look at Martin had told him that Martin was not very good at networking. 

When Jon had dropped Martin off at the bus station. Martin had smiled at him with the most charming of smiles. It was soft and warm with a subtle hint of sadness to it. Martin had thanked him for the ride and said, “See you later, Jon.” before boarding the bus that presumably took him home. That was the last time Jon ever saw Martin

They’d barely know each other more than a semester but Jon knew that he had fallen hard. He’d known it from the moment Martin had bumped into his drafting table that first day of class. So when Martin had stopped coming to class entirely, Jon had been worried. Martin was a lot of things; clumsy and timid being the two major ones. But he was always punctual. 

So every day Jon kept an eye out for Martin and every day he felt a pang of disappointment when Martin was in absentia. Finally he just straight up asked his professor where Martin was. They’d told him he’d dropped out. 

Jon had no reason to feel hurt by it. He barely knew Martin. They’d had one conversation outside of class. And yet, Jon couldn’t help the sense of hurt that flowed through him like boiling tar. Martin had just decided to drop out without a word to him. And Jon had no way of contacting him. No way of getting any explanation or closure. All he had now was the faded memory of a wonderfully mundane conversation and a horrible crush. 

Jon forcibly roused himself from his destructive day dreaming and stood up from the booth. “I need some air.” He said, more to himself than to the group.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to come with you?” Basira asked but Jon just shook his head before walking back outside. 

The night air was cold on his face. The sky was a deep inky black with the lights of the shops and bars illuminating an otherwise empty street. Jon stood under the neon orange sign of The Salty Pug and tried to focus on the world around him. Directly across the street from him was a dark alleyway. Bin bags were piled high up beside the overflowing dumpster but otherwise he couldn’t see much inside it. But he knew something was in that alleyway. He could feel it in the cold sweat that began to trickle down the back of his neck and in the shake of his palms. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know?” The voice that came across the alleyway was quiet but also loud. It felt like the sound was coming from directly in front of him but he knew it was coming from inside the darkened alley. The voice was cold, and shook with a deep tremor. Not like the tremor of fear. No whatever was in that alley was not afraid of Jon. 

Jon watched in horror and one of what he had thought was a bin bag uncurled itself into the vague outline of a man. He was shrouded in darkness but Jon could see that the vague shape of his hands, his large and sharp hands.

With a courage Jon didn’t know he possessed, he called out. “It’s rude to yell at people from across the damn street.”

“Hmmn,” The Quiet But Loud Voice spoke. “I suppose you’re right.”

There was a gust of warm air and the unmistakable sound of a wooden door slamming and then Jon felt a presence beside him. He turned to see a tall, blonde man standing beside him. He was handsome, but in an uncomfortable sort of way. His features taken on their own were beautiful: long curly blonde hair that fell to his waist, a high sharp face, and eyes that were neither brown nor blue nor any other shade that Jon could recognize. Assembled together however, it came to be quite unsettling a picture. Jon looked down at the man’s hands and saw that they were perfectly normal.

“Well Jon, you have my presence. What did you want to do with it?” The man’s voice was that same combination of quiet and loud. A combination that shouldn’t be possible and the impossibility of it made Jon’s head ache. Wait…

“I didn’t want your presence and how did you know my name?”

The man laughed and immediately Jon felt woozy. The sound seemed to bounce around his head like a bullet. “Oh but you did want my presence.”

“No I didn’t and how did you know my name? “Jon repeated. 

“What is a name really but a sequence of letters and sounds used to denounce identification? It has no meaning or purpose.” The man grinned at Jon with shining white teeth that seemed to glow in the dark. 

Again Jon repeated. “So why do you know mine?”

“I have been here for so long Jon. Do you think I do not know who comes and goes?” The man’s voice was dry with irritation and Jon felt a low dread settle in his stomach. 

“I suppose.” Jon stammered. “But um, who are you then?”

The man smiled again. “I am not merely a who, I am a what Jonathan. But you may refer to me as Michael.”

Michael reached up and set his hand against Jon’s face and the buzz of fear and panic that shot through him was almost enough to send him to the floor in sheer terror. Michael’s hands were heavy, heavier than they should have been, and the ends of them were sharp and cutting. His, or possibly it’s, nails dug into the side of Jon’s cheek. 

“See you later, Jonathan.” There was a slicing sound as Jon’s cheek was torn open.  He hit the floor hard, clutching his face in pain. There was so much blood, more than there should have been. Jon must have hit the ground hard because he could feel a cold darkness seeping into the edges of his mind. The last thing he heard as unconsciousness began to overtake him was the sound of a wooden door closing. 

[shardvixen]

What Suit is best for the Ocean? An Autobigraphy Paper from 2003From the Den

Greetings All, Shardvixen here.  When I first enter college for my Master's degree, I already knew that education equaled a lot of writting.   but there are all kinds of different writing styles and in college at any level you learn different ways.  I do best in fictional writing because article writing has real weird and fancy ways of doing things and if you don't do them right, you look at the least stupid and at the worst a fake, so your words have no meaning.   

I love to write but the format of writing and spelling are difficult for me.   Mostly it is because of my processing disorder. And partly my outlook on life. For me "Just good enough" works.  Why spend more energy on something for the best out put when just good enough gets you to the same place.  Basically why spend more time on something you don't like or care about, when you can put time into things you do.  Been that way all my life.  This pushes against my need to do the best I can and usually wins when things get to frustrating.

So I had to write an autobiograhpy upon entering college to finish my BA.  I wasn't graded on the material part but on grammer, spelling and format.  I did just good enough.  It is always hard to be graded on something that has personal value.  The worse part for me was, the instruction and most of the class failed to understand it which is also a common occurance for me.  Sometimes I feel like an alien where ever I am at because for what ever reason I fail to communicate properly leaving most of my conversations with people lacking in some way.

As I go through my papers from college and decide what to throw away and what to keep, I have also decided that some of them will go into this blog site.  Maybe to be used as a vlog down the road.  It will make finding them easier and to allow others to reflect on them as well.  So here is the first one, my first paper of my Master degree.

Life is a rollercoaster is a famous metaphor.  I understandit but it just doesn't work for me.  The type of rollercoaster that would represent my life would defy the rules of sscience and never get any willing riders except for the death seekrs.  The only control, on has with a rollercoast is whether or not to ge on the ride and I would have never gotten on this ride willing.

For me, life is an ocean.  There is life above and below.  If you flip over, you end up in the same place with the same but yet different landscape. I once saw how a dolphine sees their surroundings, which is an upside down landscape with the bottom being up and the top is down.  This is a perfect metaphor for my brain. I am sitting in a little ru-a-dub tub and I am perfectly balanced in it.  Sometimes I see the land and franticly try to get there becasue that is what a functional person does.  The land represents the  things that most people seem to have an easy time attaining.  I just have to decide on a regular basis whether or not they are things I want.

I was born disfuntional into a disfunctional family with gernerations of disfunctional history.  At the age of 38, Year 2003, I was told i had peronality disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder.  On the website National Institute of Mental Illness, "borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a serious mental illness characterized by pervasive instability in moods, interpersonal relationships, self-image and behavior.  This instability often disrupts family and work life, long-term planning, and the individual's sense of self-identity.Originally thought to be at the 'borderline' of psyhosis, peoople with BPD suffer from a disorder of emotion regulation. While less well known than schizophrenia or bipolar disorder(manic-depressive illness, BPD is more common, affecting 2% of adults, mostly young women." https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/borderline-personality-disorder/index.shtml

The same site states that the mood swings can last up to a day, for me they can lat a lot longer.  I can go into swings that last up to sixmonths which is why they took so long to diagnose.  my road to self discovery stated withen I was 14, a day that is crystal clear in my memories.  I woke up feeling different not like myself. I have no clear connection to my child self and my teenager self.  It was like I was now two different people

There are many accounts of what it  is like to be mentaly ill from all knds of different mental illness. There is a very good book about Borderline personality Disorder by Rachel Reiland.  The Book is called " Get Me Out of Here".  Parts of her life arin ways very much like mine, butin oterhways not.  That is because mental illness tends to customize tot he person who has it. If a peerson has a curved spine, then he/she will learn to live a the spine that is bent and that changes lots of actions like how clothes look and how a person walks.  It is the same for mental illness. I believe that all people know they are ill whether it is a phyical ill or a mental one. How they deal with it will differ, thus making it hard to diagnose.

i have many people from both professional and personal areas ask me what it feel like inside my head.  I have thus come up with the iead inspsired from the movie "Men in Black".  There is the scene where J and K are asking Beatrice about the bug that took over Edgar. She said, "It was like a big Edgar Ssuit."  Thus I describe my illness as suits.  Lately I have added color because color is a good way to describe my likes, dislikes, and emotions.  So one morning I wake up with the blue suit on.  the blue suit is that over happy state that reminds me of a Car Bear catoon. Little hearts and cute little yellow birds sing witht he happy face sun.  The blue suit describes a manic phase.  All the suits have different characteristic moods and likes/dislikes.  I like the pink suit the best because that is the even keel where I walk like a normal person.  I deal with emotions pretty well and seem to have aporopriate responses.  An orange suit could be an angry suit or even diestructive ideal.  Something will happen and I will wake up with a new suit.  I have learned what kind of things trigger different mood swings.  Most come as a hindsight of information.

Some suits are multi colored becaue inside of me, it is very easy to feel like yes or no to things.  i am totally a maybe child, like waves that are hard and fast on top and cross waves down below.  When someone sys, ' you know I like him an I don't, I totally get it.  That is how I feel all the time.  Emotions are not easy for me.  Sometimes body language messes me up with how a person is talking.  I tend to show an emotional face to the world but that is because that is the mask of control.  If I can wait before making a choice, I love that but life doesn't always give us time to make the choices slowly and then my reptile brain needs to be kicked into overdrive, to deal with things quickly and usually ends up making the less then desirable choice.  I live in that flight or fight pattern daily though I am now better at maintaining a balance due to self understanding i have learned over the years.

Now that we have established that I have had many large tital waves in my life and things from beneath the waves deciding to move me in other currents it is easy to see that my experiences with counselors has best been interestig.  As a child my teachers liked me and wanted to care for me, while my peers didn't.  I loved to do school work which made me very popular with the teachers.  Learning is to this day very exciting to me and helping others to learn is what moved me towards my carreer choices.  I was tutor in high school and Jr. college for people who had issues learning to read.  My first conselor I remember meeting was in 6th grade getting ready to go to Jr. High School and he seemed to feel i was going to hae problems.  He was right.  Academically school was always easy, it was the peer interactions that prove to be trickier.

In high school, my counselor made the recommendation that I see the school mental health worker.  I did not do well with him and he did not do well with my parents.  At this time my parents finally seperated and my whole got a whole lot stormier.  I was forced to take care of myself and proceeded to do a horrible job of it.    It was decided I need to see a therapist more often but my parents refused to participate as was required and I stopped receiving any menatl health help.  I was removed from high school and sent to a continuation high school for drop out, criminals and pregnant teen girls.

At my new high school, my art teacher was also my counselor.  He was one of the main reasons that the school staff became my new family to take over with the one that had left me out in the cold.  I wish I could say I trusted them all but I didn't because my mental health wouldn't let me.  Adults lied all the time and hurt you because they had the power and many refused t o see how the world really treated me. It was always my fault somehow for eevery thing that happen.  My fault that my father was a drunk, my fault that my uncle abused me, my fault my mother decided to relive her teen life, my fault that the peers hurt me.  Always my faut.  How could I trust anyone when those i should have been able to trust had failed me.   It is a lesson that I have worked hard to correct.

I was once told that other people can sense when a person isn't quite right and that is why many children will shun a child who is menatlly ill.  Mentally ill children make great targets especially when others support the attacks.  Teachers, parents and others were quick to ask, "waht did you do to make them act that way towards you?" I have not only in my own life found this to be true but also in other children's lives that I have been lucky enough to be a part of.  For me, I just learn to work hard to make people feel comfortable around me, but teaching children to social can be a bit harder.  

All of my adult life there has been a need to ehlp if I can because that is something that was always missing in my yout, people who wanted to help.  Really help, while my teachers were kind they never pushed to find out what would be really helpful for me.  I learned that there are people who just need a little extra help for all kinds of reasons.  Since I was 16 years old I have tutored peers, adults and children with special needs in one way or another.  Social skills is one skill that many people seem to lacking or just need a little extra help in understanding.  I think because there isn't a course on can take to learn what they need to know, it is just taken for granted that we will all learn it by being part of a group(family, peers and society).  Sometimes thought these groups take it for granted that every one knows how to interact with others, especially if the individual is very smart.  Really smart children can get lost in social actions and few peoople realize that even now in 2003.  I am  very good at observing a person and seeing where they may be missing an important of the silent code that every society has when learning and using social interactions ad cues.

When I decided to pursue the careeer of behaviortherapy, I was told I needed a masters degree.  At the time I was following the path of a teacher, even though I didn't really wantt to be a school teacher.  I have a talent that kind of has moved me down a certian career path. I can desing a lesson plan for anyone, I have a way of understanding how people learn.  I learn this while in school of computer software programing.  Though I had really been doing it for a long time, like teaching people to read.. i have a talent for teaching the most unteachable(described that way by others who tried and failed to teach them anything) children.  I have changed many children's lives and many have come back over the years and thanked me for doing my best with them.  I don't really believe that anyone is unteachable but that rather it is our own expectations of what is needed to be taught based on what their brains can do.  I am very proud of the work I have done and the accomplishments I have helped others to achieve.

In my life at this time, I sit and wonder do I have what it takes to be a counselor, I have to think do they let crazy people become counselors.  Most of the psychologists I have worked with in the school systems have told me yeas because we are all crazy and a few of us are menatlly ill.  I believe it is important to tell people I am mentally ill.  Most people have their own concepts of what mental health issues look like and how each one should be treated.  Many people are afraid of mentally ill people espcially mentally ill children.  They are fearful of asking questions.  I know that sometimes it is hard to know what is appropriate to ask.  When peoople ddeal with mental illness they still want to put peoople int an area or slot that is very easy to understand, but it is never that easy because well, people really are not easty. It would be grand if we were all like those cookie cutter perfect people and we all came from cute little perfect homes and lives but imperfections occur in all kins of different ways. And while many peoople may understand this logically, they fail to refelct it in their own lives and the lives around them.

One of the things I think I can bring from my own history to my career as a counselor is that I do know how it feels.  There is none of theat, " Wow did she really say that or do that?"  I know that people can do the things that makes most of the societies' population go, "wait what?"  I observe people and wait to see what is going on before I decide if they need help or not.  People say "help me" in many ways without saying they need it..  I know how to wait for those signs.

I have been an employee of various schools for over ten years working with all kinds of school populations.  I have been working in both regular education and special needs.  I like working with children and find joy working with those that others have gotten very frustrated with. I know how it feels to be held hostage by your brain and your illness.  I have been a caregive and taught people how to care for themselves and their children.  All of these jobs will help me become the best helper I can be in the therapy field.  I do believe I am sensitivite to the needs of people and nojudgemental about their choices they make and the lifestyles they choose to live.  I very much believe that every one has the right to be happy and content.

one of my biggest challenges is that I nned to understand my own illness and then to get others to understand it without it becoming an issue to how well I can do in being helpful.  People are very leery about letting people with mental illness work with others.  I can understand why, but not all people want to hurt others.  I want to help, but I can't fix people only guide them to make their own choice to helpthemsleves.  

So as i float in my ocean learning the suits I need to be successful and  knowing what kind of suits I am wearing and how that helps or disrupts my life, I think about how maybe I need a super hero suit.  One that can protect me while helping others. I know i will do good in this new career path I have choosen and it may move me in another current as I learn more about myself and what I have to offer the world.

The End:  Not really.  This was written about  16 years ago and a lot changed along the way.  But I kept learning about myself which was very helpful.  I don't have many manic eposides.  I have learn that PTSD can cause a lot of suit changing, so I feel like I am in and out of the closet of my mind.  But through all of it the one thing I did learn is the best thing you can do for yourself is not give up or give in.  Sometimes it is just best to float in the sun and bask while taking a moment to reflect in the waves that life is most certianly interesting and rarely dull.

I know this was a rather long bit of writing but most papers in college are required to be long.  I hope this gave you some insight to how I use to think of myself and how far I have come.  Catch you all on the flip side and i am outta here....Peace all.

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[dyscopian]

A Year on My Own

I’m terrible about blogging, or journal keeping in general. I’ve tried them all: previous tumblrs (agentslander which is now just a mess of SPN memes and gifs; the other is brendonurie, given to me by a friend years ago that kind of just turned into reblogging fan art because I feel obligated to post something when I have over 75k followers), word presses, bound books, composition notebooks and ugh, I wish that I could keep up with my bullet journal as well as I’d like, because I’m always coming across new spreads for it but I never stick to it.

It’s doubtful that this will be any different, but I’m into my third glass of wine and instead of working on any of my novels like I should be, I’m tinkering around with all the thoughts about my own life.

A blog has to start somewhere, and while I hope to use this more to run around with ideas for novels, character development and short stories, I also want to use it as a place to just work through my own thought processes.

My lease is almost up, which means it’s been almost a year now since I started out on this little venture that feels like true adulthood. I’ve been reflecting on that a lot over the last few weeks and just processing everything that’s happened in a year and what I’ve learned.

It’s funny how I have a ten year old daughter and had been married for several years but this last year has been the first year since 2008 that I’ve been on my own without living with roommates, friends, family or lovers. It’s given me a chance to really explore myself and find my identity in solitude. The last time I lived alone it was about finding my identity outside of my broken marriage, but this time around it’s had a more positive spin even if there’s been trials and tribulations.

I can sage my house without religious judgement, light incense and sit in a lowly lit room with a glass of wine or a bowl of weed and write, listen to music, read, mess around with tarot cards all while listening to music loudly or letting repeat episodes of Doctor Who play, or just enjoy the silence with the faint sound of my cat purring next to me or my chickens clucking around at my feet with their happy little trills.

That’s me, curled up on the couch watching documentaries on things that will kill in the Victorian home or watching Outlander and wishing the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who were real, because how awesome I think it would be to be sent back in time. I get to be weird and I get to be myself.

In the last year, I’ve graduated from college, learned how to take care of chickens of all things, found what I will and won’t tolerate in a job, friends and partner. I’ve met some of the most incredible people who have helped me discover things about myself. I’ve gotten out of a dead end relationship. I’ve learned the struggle of balancing bills on a low income, which has been a greater struggle than when I had been balancing them in a marriage.

I’ve been to a protest and experienced the rage of knowing the way the media twists events in favor of the system, in order to protect what’s broken rather than stand with the truth to fix it. I can stay out if I want to stay out and come home when I want without having to check in with someone.

These all seem like simple things and maybe I’m experiencing them later in life than a lot of other people but I met my ex husband when I was nineteen and from there never got to experience the independence that so many other people I know had before they settled down. And you never really know independence until you’re truly on your own.

I found out I can still break my own heart by falling for the wrong person. That may not seem like a beautiful thing, but it is. It’s been almost eight years since my divorce and nearly a decade since I let myself feel anything even close to relating to passion. People can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in and despite all my desires to let others in and trying my hand at a few relationships, I could never bring down my walls enough to give them any vulnerable part of me.

It threw me into this whole idea that I might be asexual, but I’m not. If anything, over the last year I’ve begun to embrace the fact that I am bisexual more than any other box that I might be shoved in and I’m standing up for that now, speaking louder about it rather than just shrugging it off and trying to figure out what’s so wrong with me that I can’t open up to the men that I thought I should be able to.

I chose relationships with people who I was better off being friends with and because of such the relationships lacked passion and chemistry because I tried to force myself to feel something that wasn’t there for me, like I was trying to fill a role I was supposed to fill;  but, I know now that I am fully capable of feeling passion and taking risks in being vulnerable. That, regardless of the circumstances that make it impossible for anything to develop, says I’m not as dead inside after my divorce as I thought I was after nearly a decade of being shut down towards others. Which is incredibly beautiful. It’s the latest lesson I’ve learned and I almost didn’t get that chance.

I tried to commit suicide back in July. I downed an entire prescription of Amitriptyline days before Chester Bennington committed suicide and ended up in the hospital two days after I took the pills. It wasn’t rational or thought out. I was just exhausted. Every paycheck coming short for rent and my other bills. Starving myself for days to make sure my child got fed and utilities stayed on. Unhappy and unheard in my relationship.

I had gotten into a fight with my psychiatrist the day of the overdose because I had gone off a medication that was interfering with the Amitriptyline I had been given for my migraines by the neurologist that she had recommended I see. She took me entirely off my anxiety meds because I wasn’t “compliant”, when those were the pills I needed more than the ones I had been told to go off of by the neurologist. It was just a catalyst after trying for over a year to work with her to get into TALK therapy, only to be thrown on all these medications that were making me sick and making my mental state worse.

Just a few months prior I had lost my circle of supposed friends over childish drama with some girls whose popularity on the internet trumped rational thought and whose mindset hadn’t moved past the he said she said of high school. After my overdose, I lost the last one in that circle because my attempt was inconvenient for her and she put my business on the internet and the circumstances for over 1,500 strangers to see on her Facebook on how people shouldn’t talk about suicide to her because it upset her; almost within the same breath of having told me to always come to her when things get to how they were.

My attempt and Chester’s suicide so soon after was a wake up call. I hadn’t been that low since my ex husband and I had separated before the divorce. Even my miserable experience in Pennsylvania hadn’t gotten my mind that bad. I’m not a suicidal person by nature. I fear death, because there’s too much left in this world to experience and I thrive off learning. Can’t do that if you’re dead. I went off all the medications entirely and I’m myself again, able to cope better with my ups and downs without the chemicals in my head being thrown off by all these artificial replacements.

Not that I’m an advocate for that as it does help some people function better depending on their condition. It’s just I’ve never had a condition that anyone’s ever been able to pinpoint as one thing, so they never could figure out what medications I might actually need. Ask one doctor and they’ll tell you I’m bipolar. Ask another, they’ll tell you I suffer from PTSD from my childhood. Another tried to diagnose me with summer seasonal disorder. My old boss thought I was a mix of OCD, anxiety disorders and cyclothymia. As a teenager, they tried to diagnose me as borderline personality disorder, which has NEVER fit me and came with a stigma I never earned or deserved.

They don’t know anything and they don’t take the time to talk to me to find out anything, they just throw labels of diagnosis around. Psychiatry isn’t an exact science because we still don’t fully understand the brain. Pills don’t fix me, getting me to focus on my proper coping skills fixes me. I can only rely on myself for that. That’s why I art in any form I can, but most importantly, it’s why I write and I couldn’t write while so sick and drugged up.

The cocktail of medications I was on was what was killing me, not the stress, as I’ve been able to manage it better since my system’s been clean of anything but weed, my mini pill birth control (so no estrogen) for my endometriosis and B complex. But it’s another lesson I’ve had to relearn while balancing adulthood on my own and I’m thankful for that too, that I’m even still here. I shouldn’t be. Not after that much Amitriptyline. I’m not a religious person, but clearly I’m not done learning and experiencing. Chalk it up to whatever you believe in. I just think my story isn’t finished.

Being on my own has helped me escape. I grew up an only child, so I need space. I’m an empath by nature. My dad used to tell me I was too sensitive and I had to learn to quit, but I never did. It’s why I hate religion because I see how it hurts others and I feel that. I feel the political situation in this country and all the damage it’s causing to humanity. I’m a sponge for information, but I also take in all those emotions of everything and everyone around me. Animals, peoples, things. I feed off energy. It’s draining. I have a certain allotment of what I can handle socially and then I need my space from all human contact.

The independence I have now gives me that and I get the chance to detox from the world. I haven’t had the ability to do that in a long time, but I’ve had the chance this year to recognize how badly I needed that opportunity and to do so again, without judgement or people jumping to conclusions as to why I might not have any interest in socializing. It’s not a lack of interest, it’s too much interest. Now I know that it’s okay that I do that, that I step back sometimes, and I recognize that when I couldn’t before because I was always surrounded by people. It’s just me, who I am and I get to embrace it and that’s been eye opening. Everything this last year has been.

There’s no rhyme or reason for any of this. Consider these all just wine thoughts and reflection. I like to ramble. If anyone even read all this, kudos to you.