#me stumbling upon someone grieving their best friend's suicide

[homosexualasstransbian]

it's always so like, sad? I'm not sure if that's the right word for what the feeling is but just.

I tend to see SO many trans women on HRT saying stuff such as "HRT didn't do anything for me I'm still such a brick" right, and then they post a selfie and.

It's literally just, a cute, incredibly pretty girl, I'll see them saying "i have fucked up ribs that protrude too much" or "my shoulders are too wide" and whatever else one might complain about, It's almost midnight and I don't have the brainpower to think of mote examples.

and they say that and on their selfies it's sometimes people that look exactly like my girlfriend, with the exception of hairstyle and facial features most of the time.

and it's just so fucked up to me because, my wife (very nice) is literally the most beautiful woman on earth, to me atleast, and i look at all the girls complaining, with their fucking drop dead gorgeous selfies, and I can't help but wonder, why? is it internalized transphobia? body dysmorphia? comparing oneself to unrealistic body standards constantly being promoted in 90% of media?

I simply wish all us trans girls didn't have to live in a world that constantly puts us down, says we could never compare to a "real" woman, tries to make us hate ourselves, our bodies, hates everything that we are.

I have no idea what the point of this post was.

We usually only have eachother for support, so please, tell your transfem friends you love them anytime you can, let them know you care, do not end up wishing you had more time with them.

Love them before it's too late.

[pockcock]

if you're okay talking about it can you go a little detail about your break up. i am tryna get over one rn and i don't know what to do or how to react. no worries if you don't feel like talking about it i totally get it���

hi anon <3 I put an undercut to not bother anyone with my ex relationship but I hope it helps you <333 tw: abusive relationship, suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide

I honestly want to talk about it but at the same time, I don't wanna be the person who CONSTANTLY talks about their ex (though my therapist told me it was okay to talk about it since it's a new thing).

We'd been together for 5 years and in those 5 years, he emotionally abused me. I was told by my previous therapist that he was abusive but it's a very... sudden and intrusive almost information. Your lover, the one with whom you wanted to marry, and someone says he's abusive. It's not an easy thing to accept. But even before that, I could see signs, I'd stumble upon other people's posts/videos and be like "they're describing him? no, it can't be..." so it was a painful process.

You may ask "Sun, why did you put up with him for 5 years?" and the best answer was given by my therapist: "He'd given you a cup of water with a drop of poison every day. And now you're watching the footage of that day thinking 'The water did taste funny! Why didn't I realize this earlier?' but it's impossible to know when you're actively in that situation."

I've stayed because I loved him, believed that he loved me and he did actually love me. This doesn't excuse the fact that he's abusive. (Here goes the anger stage of grief~~) He had diminished my self worth slowly but surely, made sure I was being more insecure while feeding me the "I made you more confident," lie, praised himself and belittled me, my traumas and my struggles. He made me believe that I was abuısive, sexist, unsuccessful, ungrateful, selfish, etc. He even said "All you do is lay down all day, you can do your assignments. Had it been me in your situation, I'd still be on top of my classes with 3.50+ GPA," while I was recovering from my leg surgery. He told me this when I was trembling from the pain. I couldn't even breathe from the pain some days, let alone sleep, eat or anything. And amid all this, I was depressed so much so that I attempted and was fortunately saved by my cat <3

He would start fights or escalate the fights I started and would disappear for HOURS. One of those days he told me "you'll start appreciating me when I'm gone," and again, disappeared for hours and I had to call the police to which he responded with "i have enough shit to deal with and now I have to deal with the shit you caused." Same thing happened again and that's when I decided to break up.

These are just a fraction of what he'd said. And, as my best friend said, good riddance. I'm so glad I'm no longer with him.

I fortunately have a great support system. My mom, my family, my best friends and my therapist help a lot. Plus, I'm currently working and that's a good distraction too!

I honestly don't know how your relationship was, how you two broke up but I'm hoping it wasn't like mine. If you want to talk, find people who'll listen and won't judge you. Find friends who'll support you regardless of what happened between you and your partner. It is okay to talk, to want to scream, to cry. You're going through the stages of grief, just like I am and it's health!

While you're grieving, do not, DO NOT hurt or ignore yourself. Do not be angry at yourself. Take care of yourself, regularly shower, brush your teeth, do your skincare routine even when these things feel like a chore. One thing that helps me a lot is to pretend like I'm a youtube who's filming their skincare routine, shower routine, dental care routine etc. It's fun and motivating. You can even film yourself while doing those things!

If you don't have anyone to talk, write. Write about it on tumblr, on twitter, on reddit, anywhere you feel comfortable with. If you don't want it on the internet, write on a paper, keep it or throw it away. But don't hurt yourself. Don't be angry with yourself and don't ignore yourself.

I hope you feel better soon! Break ups are messy and hurtful even when they're not as messy/hurtful. It's going to be okay! I promise <3 Now drink some water, eat chocolate and watch your comfort show/movie! You're doing amazing!!

[aquaticalay]

Centurion .Chapter Seven.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Sequel to For Something Greater

Summary: (Y/n) is an active duty Navy SEAL Commander, the first and only woman to ever become a SEAL. After successfully stopping a genocide with the help of the Avengers, she becomes a bridge between the military and the earth's mightiest heroes. But even as her relationship with Bucky grows, she decides not to tell him about the nightmares and trauma that haunt her. Both their secrets begin to unravel when Bucky accidentally stumbles upon a piece of dangerous information about (Y/n) that she must never find out about.

Genre: Action, Drama, Romance

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, death, eventual smut, PTSD

Warning/s for the chapter: mentions of PTSD, violence, death

Word count: 3.4k

Note: The plot is heavily inspired by the song 'in the dark' by Bring Me The Horizon, and 'Mercy' by Muse. So yeah, go listen to it if you want to :)))  I'll post a new chapter every two days.

Let me know if you want to be in the taglist!

(Taglist will be reblogged)

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO 'FOR SOMETHING GREATER.' IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, THE MASTERLIST IS IN MY BIO.

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS SERIES REVOLVES AROUND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER. (Including, but not limited to: anxiety/panic attacks, extreme mood swings , nightmares, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, irritability, hypervigilance, and hyperarousal)

Bucky had told you he was going to get back in a few hours— maybe an hour or two. The reason it would take so long was because a few military personnel from the US Navy and Marine Corps Reserve in Brooklyn had just teamed up with the NYPD to question him. They think this is a high level military threat, and they were right to think so. With Sam reported missing, you were betting every military base in not only in America, but all around the globe, was on high alert.

You couldn't wait for Bucky any longer. You had to see for yourself that he was okay.

You put on a dark green jacket and cargo pants, as well as taking your silver SEAL trident pin with you. You also put on Bucky's dog tags. Not only because you might need it, but for comfort, too.

You passed the avengers in their meeting room, as they called for an emergency meeting. You could not hear anything from the soundproof room.

You didn't want to disturb them, so you told Friday where you were going.

"Friday?" you called, "When the meeting is done, tell them I'm going to see Bucky."

"Will do," the AI confirmed.

You went down the basement got in a car.

When you drove out, you noticed that everyone on the street looked distressed. They stopped in their tracks to look at the breaking news from TV stores on the streets and in cafès. A lot of them were frantically calling family members and loved ones to make sure they were okay.

Suddenly, a horrible memory flooded over you.

You've only ever seen this kind collective grieving once in your life. 

You must've been twelve or thirteen when the planes crashed into the twin towers. It happened a few years after your parents were killed by suicide bombers in Iraq.

You were already under foster care in New York, under Aisha. You were walking to school then, when your old Nokia phone buzzed and rang with dozens of messages. 

Come home

!!

Emergency

You read the texts from your foster mother.

Sensing distress, you ran back to her apartment, where she was looking at the TV in horror. What you saw on was the most disturbing thing a child had to see.

Live footage of planes crashing through towers, people jumping to their deaths and hit by debris while they try to run for their lives. It was bloody and violent, but you can't look away. You were reminded too much of the reports of your parent's death.

You cried for hours and hours on end that night, curled into Aisha's arms for comfort. Aisha was deaf— she could not hear your howling grief, but she could feel the vibrations of your sobs, humming from your chest and throughout your small, fragile body.

After that day, Aisha got the worst of it.

As a veiled muslim woman, she had to fight prejudice for the rest of her life.

It wasn't fair, you knew, that a whole group of people had to face the consequences of something they didn't do, just because a tiny population who identified as they did were led astray. You remember seeing Aisha come home from the mosque one day, her eyes bruised badly, blotchy and swelling ugly purple. Her hijab was messy and torn apart at the edges. It was clear someone had attacked her.

What happened? you signed worriedly, moving your fingers in American Sign Language. Tears started sting down your chin. She had forced a smile and replied, signing, It's nothing. She took you to bed that night, convincing you that it was nothing she couldn't take.

You were suddenly reminded again, why you wanted to serve and join the Navy SEALs  Because you wanted to stop anyone from doing anymore harm. You did it for your parents, who died in Iraq, and for Aisha, who had to endure years of hatred for something she didn't do; something that millions of innocent people had to go through just because of their religious background, and how the majority sees them. It was unfair.

A noble purpose, but you ended up with blood on your hands along the way. Unintentional, but blood, thick and red, nonetheless.

The grieving people you were seeing right now was somewhat similar, people scared for their lives and bracing in case of a second attack. You didn't blame them, the missile took out two entire New Jersey blocks, after all, with fires creeping up to surrounding buildings.

Your short daze was cut off when your phone rang. Connected to the bluetooth speaker, you hit a button on the console to take the call.

"Hello?" You answered, your attention divided between steering the car and talking to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"(L/n)?" Said a familiar voice, "This is Tanaka. Naomi Tanaka."

You find yourself relieved at the sound of your old friend. "What's going on?" You asked, preparing for the worst.

"Your squadron told me you were in New York," she said, "I'm glad you're okay. Command might need you in Seattle in a few days. But for now, stay grounded. The airspace isn't safe."

You nodded unconsciously, "Okay. Anything else?"

"No, not really," she said, "just stay alert. And answer your calĺs."

"Yes Ma'am," you told her. You hung the call up soon after, diverting all your attention back on the road in front of you.

You arrived at Nick Fury's apartment block half an hour later, or at least whatever was left of it. The block was completely destroyed, going up in flames. The firefighters were still trying to contain the raging fire. The NYPD was evacuating nearby civilians, and you could see reporters, journalists, and news media vans all around, crowding as far as the eye can see. People were shouting and screeching, body bags on the streets waiting to be transported to the morgue, the injured victims being carried into ambulances.

There were 24 confirmed dead when you last saw the news thirty minutes ago, but from the looks of it, the numbers mist have risen. You estimated 40, maybe 50 dead, including bodies of children too small to fit into the big black bags. Sadly, from the looks of the current situation, the casualty rate was only getting higher and higher.

You got out of your car, walking quickly to the site. You flinched as you saw a fireman carry a wounded young man. His scream of pain echoed in your head as half his face was burned off, boiling red and almost inhuman.

Breathe, you thought to yourself.

As you were about to cross the police line and near the missile crash, an officer stopped you. "Miss," he shouted, "I don't care about your news story. Journalists stay behind the line, okay?"

"I'm not a journalist," you pulled your trident pin out of your pocket, "I'm with the navy." You showed the glinting silver pin and he came closer to inspect it.

You pulled Bucky's dog tag from under your shirt, "and I'm here to see Sergeant James Barnes."

He fiddled with it until he was sure it was authentic, then he gave them back to you. "Come with me, Miss."

You walked three blocks down with him and made a turn to a crowded corner. 

It was an NYPD office. It wasn't big, but wasn't small,either. The front of it was packed with reporters, trying to get a peek inside.

"Sergeant Barnes is being interrogated by a detective in there. There are Marines and few Navy sailors, too, I think," said the cop. 

You nodded in gratitude, "Thank you."

He went back to his post, walking the other way. You had to mutter a few "excuse me"s and "coming through"s and you had to push through the crowds of reporters.

You finally made the front of the line and stepped up the short flight of stairs, where two marines stood by the door. You knew they were marines by their service dress uniform– a dull green dress coat and pants with a beige shirt and tie underneath.

One of them saw you step closer and put a hand out to stop you in your tracks, "I'm sorry Ma'am, you're not allowed inside."

Once again, you were forced to show them their trident pin. "Relax, jarheads," you played it a bit coyly with the nickname, "I'm a sailor."

They nodded, letting you pass. They did not question you, or say another word.

Inside the NYPD station was a few other marines and sailors, wearing khaki shirts and black pants. Two Marines were wearing their cammies, and a sailor was wearing their Navy Working Uniform.

You counted five sailors and eight marines in total, including the ones up front.

Police officers were also walking around in circles, trying to respond to civilian needs as best as they could, dispatching units and ambulances. You kept your trident pin up so no one would ask your identification.

"Commander (L/n)!" called a voice, and you turned to the side. You saw and recognized Lieutenant Garrows, one of the people who had trained you during your early days in the Navy bootcamp.

"Lieutenant," you smiled, shaking his hand. He was five inches taller than you, his working uniform complimenting his dark complexion. He must've been in his early sixties now, a few years short of retirement, "I need to know where James Barnes is, sir."

Even though you spot a little doubt in his expression, he lead you in front of an interrogation room, where the halls were dimly lit. It was a one way mirror. You could see Bucky being asked questions by a detective, but you weren't sure if he could see you. The room was heavily soundproofed, which meant you couldn't hear anything.

Still, you were relieved to see him safe. His human arm was only a little scorched by the heat and a couple patches burned through his tactical uniform, but he would get by.

It was hard to know if his heightened vision could see through the glass, but when you saw Bucky smile to the side, just a little, you knew he could. You returned the smile, giving only a slight tug on the edge of your mouth. You could thank the supersoldier serum for that.

"Hm," said Lieutenant Garrows, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, "He seems happy to see you."

You let out a small laugh. Garrows was like a second father to you and Naomi Tanaka in the Navy bootcamp. He was the most disciplined trainer when necessary, but an all-round nice guy that you's get drinks with during downtime. You hated that your reunion was the byproduct of a tragedy, but you were grateful he was here. If you remembered anything about him, it was that he was an extremely skilled sharpshooter, which also meant he had an equally sharp pair of eyes. No matter how small the gesture had been, his trained eye had spotted Bucky's smile.

"Yeah," you nodded, fondness seeping out of your voice.

If he wanted to ask, he did not. An honorable man like Garrows would not want to delve into your personal life. That was none of his business.

"Well, I gotta do some paperwork," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Stay here as long as you'd like to, Commander." 

You nodded wordlessly, and he left you there to watch the soundless conversation. Though your early years with Aisha made you pretty good at lip reading, Bucky's facial hair made him particularly hard to read. On the other hand, the detective was clean shaven, with the exception of the slight stubble around his chin.

'Do you know whose apartment was it?' You read the detective's lips. You saw Bucky shook his head, probably telling him that he didn't.

He was maintaining the lie. Yours, to be exact, covering up your tracks.

'Then why were you there?' You read his lips again.

Bucky replied with a string of words quickly that was too hard for you to make out.

Whatever he said was enough to satisfy the detective. He nodded, writing a few notes before offering his hand to Bucky to shake. 'Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant Barnes,' you read his mouth. Bucky nodded, and both him and the detective head out the room

When the detective opened the door, he looked at you, wondering who you were. He did not ask anything, keeping his head down.

Bucky was behind him, and when he saw you, he gave you a short kiss to your temple, and squeezed your hand once tightly before letting go.

"Hey, you," he muttered, a taint of sadness in his voice, "Sam, he—" He started to say, but you shook your head. "Not here," you told him, "In the car."

-

You and Bucky had managed to evade reporters, since they were too busy covering the crash site. The fires were starting to ease, but the bodies were beginning to pile up.

You entered your car, Bucky on the passenger seat.

"Sam," he finally breathed out, nothing to hide anymore, "this human figure, they had a fireproof suit and mask. They were specifically targeting Sam," there was distress in his cracked voice, which broke your heart. "The figure didn't want me. They looked like they knew exactly what they were doing. I– why not me?" He asked with a slightly shaking tone.

"It's not your fault," you told him firmly, "we'll find him together, like we always do, okay?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. He was calmed down by your presence, and in turn, you were, too.

"What did you say to the detective, anyway?" You asked.

"Told him part of the truth," he said, "That an NYPD officer requested assistance when he found a weird breaking and entering report. I didn't tell him it was Nick Fury's, or that we were there this morning." He took a deep breath, "The only weird thing is that they told me they have no record of which officer requested assistance."

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Are they launching an investigation?"

Bucky nodded, "The case will be investigated by the government."

You sighed in frustration, nearly growling, "then we have to figure it out before they do. You know they wouldn't tell us if they found anything, right? Hell, even when I found Mercy 21, they wouldn't tell me a single goddamn thing about her reports. I found her. I at least deserve to know! but they wouldn't tell me shit!" You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles were red, your voice getting louder and laced with anger, "Hydra took so much from me," your mind recalled of your fallen comrades, killed by King-Carver. "And from you, too, James. Project Mercy and Petrov might as well be the last bit of Hydra still roaming free. We deserve to know," you repeated this point, "They can't keep us in the dark like that, and at this point I'm willing to take matters into my own hands."

Bucky look at you worriedly. He had lost Sam, he wasn't going to lose you, too. "It's too dangerous. We don't even know it's Petrov."

You frowned, disappointed at his words. Suddenly, your voice softened, straining, "I have to take the chance— I can't rest until I know Hydra is completely off the face of the earth. I can't even sleep well, James." Your tone was breathy and desperate, clinging on to whatever energy you had left.

Bucky looked taken aback. Were you really not resting well? Why didn't you tell him before? Did you not trust him enough?

"Doll, I—" he started to say gently, but your phone rang through the bluetooth audio, cutting him off abruptly.

You answered it with the push of a button, motioning him to stay quiet.

"Hello?" You called.

"(L/n)," you heard the voice you had talked to earlier that night. "Are you alone?" Tanaka asked.

You lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Bucky, who remained quiet. "Yes," you lied.

"Good," she said, "We managed to track a bomber plane, most likely the one who launched the missile. We intercepted the signal, and it looks like they're heading to Kaunas, Lithuania. Airmen wanted to take them down, but there's a good chance Sam Wilson is in there."

Both your posture and Bucky's straightened, eyes wide in shock. That was an impressively quick find.

 "What's the next move?" You asked, clearing your throat

"Black squadron will collect intel," she confirmed, "Your squa— white squadron will be sent there in an assault and rescue operation after the plans are cleared, understood?"

"What about the Avengers?" You asked, looking at Bucky from the corner of your eyes, "They will be expected to be searching for Wilson, too."

"I have contacted Clint Barton," Tanaka said, "He said the Avengers agreed to stand down on this one, as written on the council. The council states that as long as they haven't agreed to the terms, whoever response first has full control of the situation. Besides, they agreed because they know you will be leading the operation. They trust you, (L/n). From what I can tell, after the King-Carver incident, they consider you one of them."

You gulped, swallowing a stream of guilt down your throat. They trusted you that much, huh?

"When will we be deployed?" You asked.

"Four days," Tanaka said.

"Yes, Ma'am," it was the last thing you said before hanging up.

"Four days…" Bucky muttered, his voice calculating.

"You know Sam may not have that much time, right?" Your chest heaved and fell in panic, "And you heard where the plane is going, right? This is the confirmation we need. This is Petrov!"

You saw the look in Bucky's eyes, and knew you were right. He also knew the Avengers trusted you and your squadron too much, and that they weren't going against the government again. They didn't have enough intel on this operation, nor were they willing to sacrifice more than they have.

Because last time, the sokovia accords broke them apart, eventually being one of the reasons why half the population of the universe were turned to dust. Even if they made it right in the end, they were risking way too much. 

He also knew that Sam might not have that kind of time.

"We have to get there, the sooner the better," you tried to convince him.

"Alright," Bucky nodded, and this time there was no hesitation in his voice, "Get some good sleep tonight, we go tomorrow at dawn." He rested a hand on your thigh, the slightest grin on his face, "and remember, if you have bad dreams, I'll fight them off with my bare hands, doll."

You felt a sense of comfort roll over you. You believed him.

~

[gwoongi]

ways to say i love you (07)

jung hoseok / reader genre: ghost au, angst rating: mature words: 2.5k warnings: character death, reference to a past suicide, mental health mentions, ghost hoseok, it’s a big ball of angst and i’m really sorry :( a/n: ways to say i love you has come to an end !!!! thanks for joining me on this painful angst series :’) please read the others on my masterlist + listen to the songs/vibes attached to all of ‘em :D (the end is super inspired by goblin)

➸ Imagine the first time they say I love you. Like, properly say it; because they’ve said it before, but today they say it one last time, when it’s the only thing left to say.

���️ this story is NOT intended to glamorise mental health or suicide, and this story should be approached with caution if topics such as those offend or upset. thank u sm for following this series <3

It started with a median.

There had been a time where you prided yourself on your disbelief in an afterlife, dismissing medians on television, laughing at ghost hunters and paranormal movies depicting demons and ghouls climbing out of screens. Although now, those times seem to long ago, phantom memories - even the person you were in those memories seem to be different, as though looking into the mind of a stranger, disconnected and vacant. 

Seokjin had told you that was a coping mechanism. Hyojung assured you it was normal. Your sister said it was mental illness.

After the loss of Hoseok, you didn’t know what to think anymore. After the loss of the love of your life, thinking just became pointless.

When the news of Hoseok’s passing had reached you, it had reached you last. At least everybody in your close circle of friends knew a few hours before you, Hoseok’s family and Jeongguk who had found him being the first who found out almost a day before. The absence of Hoseok for those long and tortuous hours were ones you misjudged. You thought he was going back to Gwangju to see his family for the weekend. Seokjin thought he was with you. Jeongguk had returned to his shared flat and found the truth hanging.

The only reason as to why you were last was because nobody knew how you would react. Amongst the chaos and shock that was Hoseok’s death, the reaction that would be drawn from you would change everything. Looking back at it, you even remember where you were and when it had happened, when the pin dropped. Originally, they wanted Jeongguk to tell you, but, overcome with grief, he sent Yoongi instead. You will never, ever forget the look on Yoongi’s face as you opened the door, and the news followed a cup of tea and an unexpected, clueless, and genuine smile had settled on your lips. “What are you doing here?” you had asked, “is everything okay?” He’d said nothing, and then broke down when you asked if he’d heard from Hoseok this weekend. He’s missing my calls. Has he contacted you?

Even after the funeral, after the original shock and after the news had been broken out around University, people still didn’t know how to act around you. The Hoseok Subject was never spoken about or touched upon. Pictures of Hoseok were turned over or taken down when you came over, his name buried with him in the pretty cemetery by the river. It took some time, a real long time, but eventually, the pain began to ever so slightly fade; only to come rushing back again like the sudden pull of the tide when Seulgi had approached your booth in the dorm common room with a leaflet about a median.

You don’t know why you went.

Hyojung had come, too, as emotional support and because she wanted to be there to see if it was as real as Seulgi and the leaflet were making it out to be. You hadn’t even booked a session, turning up unannounced and anonymous for the meeting in one of the older lecture rooms on campus. The question of why and how a median was permitted onto campus was never addressed - you just had to see and hear it for yourself. Nothing had come out of it, and you were glad to keep it that way. That was until the median called out for a Y/N, and your heart sank.

“There’s a Hoseok in the room, and he’s asking for a Y/N...is there...a Y/N here?”

You had no reaction other than paralysed silence. Hyojung was scandalised, angry and confused. The median surely must have heard about Hoseok’s death here and that’s why the session was on campus. She said all of this accusingly, crying in hysterics, this is wrong, how can you do this to someone in grieving?

You left the lecture hall, leaving a piece of you behind with it.

Since that day, you’d returned back to the comfort of your bedroom, leaving for your lectures only. Seminars were skipped in silence and the teachers understood, sending emails to cover for it, and the notifications piled up like the tissues in the dustbin. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that the event with the median was a scam, something set up as a sick practical joke, you couldn’t shake it off. What if’s and buts whirled around in your head, chaotic, loud, invasive and sad.

Hoseok was gone, and there was nothing you could do about it. But what if you had stayed -? What if it was true? What if you just missed your last, and final opportunity to say goodbye?

(Presently).

“Why are you here? All of you?”

“We never left.”

You blink.

“Does it...does it hurt? Dying?”

You close your eyes slowly. “Quicker than falling asleep.” And exhale.

Something deep into your apartment bumps. 

The noise is quiet whilst still being loud enough to bounce off the volume of the movie, playing quietly on your television screen sitting on top of your desk. Lately, your living room has been pulled into your bedroom, all rooms besides the connecting ensuite now in one. Phone calls from worried friends and family were set to silent and on days where the front door rang, it remained closed. Like you did many months ago, all you need right now is the space. Hyojung had told them why. They didn’t blame you.

Sniffing and wiping your eye with the side of your hand, you push the covers folded up around your breasts down and kick your feet to the floor, staring towards your bedroom door as if probing it for answers. Silence, and then another noise. On a normal day, this might alarm you, but your body is numb, aching and tired, and so you move towards the door without thinking and pull it open, stepping out into the hall. A glance in either direction shows no immediate threat, and you’re too lazy, too tired and too unbothered to step out to investigate. The noise is likely somebody upstairs or down, and if it is an intruder here to kill you, then what do you have to lose?

You move back into your bedroom, shutting the door gently. The bathroom rope-light swings in the breeze from the door moving and you slip into the bathroom quickly. Light floods the box room, illuminating the exhaustion on your face. You look ghastly, sunken and stale. You feel it too. Depression clings to you, life moves outside but stills in. God, you feel so ugly, so worthless and disgusting and alone - splashing your face with cold water, you gasp in the air like you’re depending on the taste, passing up looking at your reflection in the mirror in fear of what you’ll see staring back. When the bathroom light is turned off and you shut the door behind you, you turn to shuffle back into your bedroom and pause.

There is somebody by the window. It’s undeniable, real and solid- but you blink several times, wondering if it’s just a dream. Nothing registers in your body, no reflex to scream or panic. Instead, you simply stare.

The silhouette against the window shuffles, anxious, and then steps into the light. For a while you say nothing, staring in a stunned silence as the figure reveals itself. It has to be a dream. This is a dream. You’ve dreamt it a hundred times. You’ve dreamt Hoseok stepping towards you. You don’t know what to think.

“Hobi,” you say, lifeless. “Am I...dreaming?”

“Baby-” Footsteps across the carpet. Moves like him. Sounds like him. “Oh, my baby girl.” Something cold touches you, but something familiar. Old friends. Old lovers, fleshy hands. Feels like him. “My beautiful girl.”

“Hobi. Hobi?” you stumble. The Hoseok before you watches your eyes fill with tears instantly, and the tightness in your throat he can visibly see causing your hands to tremble. “Hoseok? Am I. Am I dreaming? Am I sleeping?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he settles with. Maybe that’s for the best, maybe that will calm you down. His hands engulf your own, massaging the shakes to sleep. “You’re dreaming, baby.”

“You. You feel so real,” you choke. “Fuck. Hoseok, fuck, what’s happening, why does it feel real-”

“Please-”

“I’m scared, wait, what’s happening, Hoseok-?”

The hands you felt on your hands move to your arms. A tightness follows, like he’s holding you. He did this, he was good at calming you down with his hands on your arms and lips on yours, whispers in mouths. This time he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not now. Not again, never again.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you insist, tears pouring out of your eyes. “You’re. You. Baby, you died, you left me, you left us, why did you. Where did you. Baby, Hoseok, what...?”

“Calm down, Y/N, calm down baby, okay?” Hoseok whispers comfortingly. “Capture your breath, and then we’ll talk okay? I don’t have too long left.”

This repeats for a little while, as Hoseok follows a method he used to when he tried to calm you down. After three long and amazing years of dating, Hoseok had learned what worked and what didn’t, what to say and what not to. The crazy thing about love is how you dedicate everything to getting to know that other person inside and out, learning their secrets and exploring interests, making memories to remember and frame and tell kids about. There was a time when Hoseok thought about all of that, and a time where he could have had it.

“Is it really you?” you ask quietly, after several long minutes of Hoseok holding your head in his hands and bringing you out of the storm onto the calm shore. “I’m not going crazy?”

“It’s me,” Hoseok promises, smiling as best as he can. You’re crying, maybe you can’t see his face. His throat feels hot, tight and firm.

“I miss you.” You rasp out your words, gasping for air every few seconds, “I miss you so much, Hoseok. Why did you leave me, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I. I thought you were going to your parents for the weekend, but. But Jeongguk found you and- why did you lie to me? Hobi, why…? Was, was it me?”

“No.” Hoseok grabs your hands tightly. “Don’t ever say that. It was never, ever your fault. Not at all, okay? Don’t think that.”

“Then why?”

Hoseok can’t think. “I don’t want you to think it was your fault, okay? You were- you are, everything to me. You were the light of my life. But, fuck, I was so unhappy. And I didn’t know how to stop being unhappy. I hurt. It hurt me. I was hurting everybody around me in my own little way. Every time I would tell you that I was doing extra readings at the dorm, all I was doing was struggling, thinking about how unhappy I felt even though I was surrounded by people who made me feel worth it. And you all deserved so much better. Still, you deserve so much better.”

“Jeongguk found you. None of us knew you were hurting, Hobi, I didn’t know. We should have noticed the signs, I should have been more careful.”

“No. I was good at hiding it, I never wanted you to worry.”

Suddenly Hoseok’s eyes widen, his hands stroking your hair pausing. With a quick exhale of breath, his smile tightens and he lets out a shaky sigh. “I haven’t got long left. I need to go soon.”

“Go? No, go where?” you frantically ask. “No, please Hobi, don’t leave me again. You can’t leave me again, please.”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay. I tried to call for you the other week, but you left,” Hoseok explains quickly.

“The median? That...that was you?”

Hoseok laughs quietly, “Yeah, baby. But, I get it, you never believed in all that stuff, huh. I should have known better. I had to come here, come to see you. I had to.”

I had to one last time.

“Please,” you whisper, grabbing his hands. “Please don’t leave me again. Please. I love you so much, please don’t leave me alone again. I need you.”

Hoseok shakes his head, attempting a curly smile that you can’t even see past the blur of his own tears. “Y/N L/N, you have been the love of my life. I have loved being your boyfriend and you are my best friend. I will never, ever forget how amazing you are.” Nodding, sniffing his tears back, Hoseok kisses your forehead. His lips are cold and wet, ghostlike and light. “I love you. I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry, for everything- none of it is your fault, okay, honey? Mmm?”

You feel his hands in your hair as you nod. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry too. I could have helped you.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Hoseok says. “You being happy, and you knowing that it was never your fault, will help me now. Okay?”

Sniffing loudly, you nod again. “Okay.”

For a long moment, Hoseok just stares: “I’m gonna miss you so much.” You mumble something in reply to him, and he sighs shakily, “but now, I have to go.”

You grab his hands as he tries to pull away. “Don’t leave me, you’re leaving me.”

“I never left. I’ll always be here, watching over you. Always, and forever.”

Whether or not Hoseok’s appearance was a dream or not to you, you wake up the next morning with a headache and the memory of him, his voice saying I love you on loop with an echo in your ears. The sun shines into the room, frost outside. On the desk there’s a glass of water, and a letter. He was right. He never left. Not really.

(“All is said and done?”

Hoseok steps into the long hallway and smiles at the hooded man. He’s seen who he needs to; several stops around to his family, one to Jeongguk who had it the worst with finding his body. The final one for you. Y/N, the love of his entire life, remembered in memories and gone in touch.

It’s okay.

“Yeah,” Hoseok nods. Death nods, his hood falling slightly as he points down the hallway with one hand and with the other, passes Hoseok a small cup. Hoseok reaches for it, exhaling gently. “Just like falling asleep.”

He drinks the contents and hands the cup back to Death, heading down the hallway. For a moment, his hand hovers above the handle. He’s said his piece on Earth. He’s done what he needs to do. Now, he can move on in peace.

He turns the handle. The hallway fills with white.)

disclaimer: the choice not to explicitly state a reason towards hoseok’s suicide is because i understand the subject is already touchy enough. with the anniversary of a close friend coming up, unfortunately during a time of my life where i’m going to be stressed due to university, i decided to store my feelings into the final piece of this series. in a way, this is to deal with my own grieving. i’d appreciate consideration into this fact + i also hope that everybody is doing okay with their own issues. please don’t be afraid to speak to somebody about your feelings- a friend, a stranger, me. please stay safe. please stay happy. thank u for everything

[carolynpetit]

Reason to Play, a Journal--Entry One: Fortnite, MGSV, and Finding Ourselves in the Act of Play

Hi. 

This is the first entry in what I hope will be an ongoing journal of play. I wanted to start by explaining my thinking behind this project.

Right now, I’m looking for a reason to play. I’m always wary of games that seem to offer nothing beyond a mildly pleasant occupation of my time, and right now, I find such games downright inadequate. Unworthy. These are horrifying times, and yet, like so many of us, I find myself exhausted by it all. Unable to maintain the levels of rage and resistance that the actions of the current administration demand. I see it all becoming normalized and I feel powerless to stop it. And as the days and weeks and months go by, I feel as if this numbness accrues. I become increasingly detached, not just from the horrors of the moment but from myself. I start to wonder where the person I believed myself to be has gone. 

I believe that art is most vital in times like this. I love this quote from Kafka: 

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?...We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

If a game isn’t going to be the axe for the frozen sea inside me, if it isn’t going to cut through the numbness, shake me up, break my heart, fuck me up, do something to rehumanize me, it is not worthy of this moment. 

But I might find what I’m looking for anywhere. I’m not talking just about games that explicitly comment on fascism or racial injustice or economic inequality. Yes, I think it’s essential that we have art, including games, that confronts these things directly, but it’s also true that a game can have the noblest aims and leave me cold, while a throwaway moment in a big-budget mainstream game of the sort that certain gamers like to call “apolitical” can crack my heart wide open. 

Like most of my writing about games, this journal will be a place where I fully embrace the subjectivity of my own experience with the games that I play.

Okay. Here we go.

Testin’ My Mind, Shakin’ My Body in Fortnite

Yeah, okay, Fortnite’s a Battle Royale. That’s just a fact. If you’re playing solo, which I almost always am--I’m uncomfortable teaming up with random players, though on occasion I’ll play duos with a friend, which makes for a completely different, really exciting dynamic--you drop onto the island with close to a hundred other players, and the way you win is by being the last player standing. Now, I encourage conversations about the violence inherent to the format, as well as about all the other aspects of Fortnite that people rightly raise concerns about--the way in which it’s monetized, Epic’s pattern of repeatedly profiting off of dances associated with artists and communities of color without compensating the artists or communities that created them. All of it. But if we’re gonna go to the mat with Fortnite on these aspects (and we should), let’s also at least have a full, multifaceted conversation about why we play Fortnite, how it feels, and the moments that can emerge from a fully invested experience of the game.

Did you know that earlier this year, a massive beast that had been frozen in ice under Polar Peak broke free, that huge footprints showed it had made its way to the sea, where it’s occasionally been spotted, roaming the waters around the island? Did you know that right now, a towering robot is being built in the remnants of the volcano? It seems inevitable that soon, a massive Pacific Rim-style fight between them will take place, almost certainly resulting in a new wave of major changes to the island. Indeed, the island is always a place in flux, changing in big and small ways. It’s alive in ways that I’ve always wanted my game worlds to be alive. Landing near Loot Lake a few weeks ago, I was excited to see that the massive power cable that runs through the area was shredded and sparking, as if perhaps the monster had taken a bite. 

But the life of the environment wouldn’t mean much if it weren’t for my encounters with the lives of other players. The other day, I was trying to complete a challenge that required me to get a certain score on a balloon board at one of the numerous little beach party setups that currently dot the map. Jumping from the bus, I swooped down to a spot in the desert, opened a chest, grabbed the weapon, and made my way over to the nearby board. Another player got there just before me, and I stood still, hoping to indicate that I didn’t want to stop them from completing the challenge. They froze for a moment, but then proceeded, and when they hit the necessary score, a little celebratory explosion of confetti occurred, and I got credit for the challenge, too. 

Basking in the glow of our shared little moment, I wanted to walk away then, wishing them nothing but the best in the match ahead. But then they took a shot at me. In that instant, a sinking feeling ran through my whole body, a physical expression of “Aw, why’d you have to go and do that?” and in an instant, I obliterated them. It wasn’t a victory. It was more like putting someone down. I didn’t feel good about it, but it sure was a real feeling. Something surprising and immediate that emerged from my encounter with another living person. And that’s what I’m here for. 

Yes, Fortnite is a Battle Royale, but so much of the experience of Fortnite is about unexpected occurrences like this, and about the things we do in the stolen moments between the shootouts and build battles. The other day, I got so caught up in playing a silly memory game I stumbled upon that I wound up getting caught in the storm. Not long before that, I danced with John Wick to raise a disco ball in an abandoned lair so we could snag a fortbyte, one of this season’s collectibles. These are the things I really remember, not my win-loss ratio or all the times I’m eliminated by players much better than I am before I quickly hit play and hop on the battle bus all over again.

I’m eager to return to the island because the island itself feels vibrant and alive, emanating a kind of Spielbergian Americana and optimism, but also because of the vigorous bodies and exuberant identities I get to inhabit while I’m there. The mix-and-match nature of Fortnite’s customization means that one round I might be a sprightly female wizard with a sleek laptop on her back, and the next a nerdy, purple-haired gamer girl with a satchel full of potions and spellbooks. “Fun” may be overemphasized in some of our conversations around games, but it certainly has its place, and playing as these colorful characters, well, it’s just fun.

Every character in Fortnite plays exactly the same, but they don’t all feel the same to me. I just unlocked a black variant of the character Sentinel, a robot or power suit that looks like it might have appeared on Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, and I think it looks kinda cool, but I sure don’t want to be it. On the other hand, playing as Elmira (pictured above) feels good. And oh, do I love the way that some emotes make me feel. Tweeting recently about an emote called the Laid Back Shuffle, I wrote:

I’m almost always pretty uncomfortable in my body, for a number of reasons related to my appearance and my transness and things. The easygoing physical exuberance of this emote, the way that the avatar performing it, whatever avatar that might be at any given moment, appears to feel so loose and free in their own body, makes it really appealing to me, like a virtual experience/expression of a sensation that I’ve never known IRL. I think emotes have some kind of power beyond whatever power we often think of them having, perhaps particularly for those of us who never really feel comfortable in our own skin. 

And all the kids playing Fortnite that we’re so worried about, let’s remember that their experience of this game isn’t as simple as just trying to slaughter everyone else on the island. Setting aside whatever value there may be in the particular type of complex thinking and skill-building that it requires to try to simultaneously outbuild and outgun your opponent, there’s also the fact that they, too, are experiencing the life of Fortnite’s island, having encounters with other players that play out in unexpected ways, and experimenting with self-expression. Yes, their opportunities for that exploration and expression are gated by money, and that’s a real issue, but that doesn’t change the fact that a young person finding that they feel particularly cool when playing as a woman in red with a bionic arm is valid, and maybe even valuable. 

II. MGSV and What I Know Is True

I set The Phantom Pain aside for a few years after hitting a mission that I found maddeningly difficult, but something called me back to it. Now I’ve powered through the mission that gave me so much trouble, and I’m making progress again. I enjoy the geographical roughness of its environments, and the way you really have to deal with that roughness, often lying flat and crawling along the ground. The truth is that I spend far too much time alone in my apartment, and though it’s no substitute at all for the real, natural world, when I take my time being rooted in one spot to scout out locations and tag enemies before making any dangerous moves, I feel the shape of the space around me in a way that I rarely do in games. 

The other day I fought a grueling boss battle and then, finally, when it was over, hopped onto the helicopter to return to base, exhausted by the ordeal. Just as we were about to lift off, Quiet hopped on, hanging off of the side of the chopper as the rotors above her head spun faster until we lurched up and away from the ground. She held my gaze the whole time. I think a lot of games look at the player too much. They want you to feel like the center of the universe, the only person who really matters. But that wasn’t the feeling I got from this moment. I’d just fought for my life, and the way she looked at me, without malice or sympathy for what I’d just been through or anything, made me feel like I was being sized up. Looked at in a real way. Seen.

Do you know that feeling--Does this happen to everyone or just me?--that feeling where, for a moment, your awareness kind of spreads beyond yourself and you’re suddenly very aware that what you’re experiencing is something real that is happening in physical, three-dimensional space at this exact moment in time? It’s a feeling I get sometimes when I’m in a moment that I wish I could make last, or that I really want to remember. Sharing a last drink with a friend before they move away, that sort of thing. This feeling of momentarily being very much rooted in myself but also outside of myself and acknowledging, This is real. This is something that happened. That moment where Quiet was looking at me in the wake of the momentous battle I’d just fought felt something like that. 

It didn’t happen in real, physical space, but virtual space is a valid space, too, a space where real things happen. Sometimes when I’m playing Fortnite I’ll see the hillside where a friend and I once sped away from attackers on a Quadcrasher, bullets whizzing past our heads, and I’ll think, We were there. That happened. These moments become part of my relationship with the ever-changing island, just as my memories of San Francisco become part of my relationship with the city.

On another recent mission, I was sneaking my way through an enemy outpost when, from a nearby building, I heard the familiar sounds of Spandau Ballet’s “True.” To be honest, I never liked “True” much. The Phantom Pain takes place in 1984, and as a kid in the suburbs of Chicago in that year who sometimes saw the video on MTV, the song felt too airy and ethereal to move me. But recontextualized in The Phantom Pain, I heard it differently. That precise ethereal quality made it such an effective contrast to the grim military seriousness and the tactile terrain that my heart began to ache. 

The presence of 80s pop songs in the isolated military outposts of the game is politically fascinating to me. It says something about how American and British cultural exports are absorbed by the entire world, but it’s largely a one-way street. A Pakistani friend of mine in high school had grown up with Sting, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis, but I’d never heard Pakistani music in my life. I don’t understand why so many players are so intent on not considering all the political dimensions of a game like this. They only make the experience infinitely more fascinating, even if and when they reveal the game’s failures.

The songs also allow for the creation of some great moments. I snuck into the building where the song was playing just so I could snag the tape, and the next time I was in the helicopter, I played it, and as the opening notes of “True” played, I panned the camera slowly around Big Boss, creating a very short music video that I honestly found exciting.

I tweeted the clip, jokingly commenting that I’d “won Metal Gear Solid V by creating this beautiful moment,” but it had really felt this way to me. Creating this moment had been as fun and rewarding to me as anything else the game offered. Playing MGSV isn’t just sneaking and shooting, or at least for me it isn’t. This, too, is play.  So obviously, I get frustrated with the “Git Gud” players, those who feel that games are at their best when they’re perfectly calibrated tests of raw skill, that the only thing that matters is having an awesome KDR, or earning the highest possible rating on missions, or whatever. 

But the truth is that it’s not just hardcore gamers who set limits on our notions of play by talking about games like this. A lot of us do it, even a lot of us who consider ourselves emphatically opposed to the “Git Gud’ brigade. We do it when we look at a game like Fortnite and see it only as one simple thing, a struggle to be the last remaining survivor, without at least acknowledging all the other things a player might go to the game for. We do it when we deny the possibility for moments of strange beauty to emerge from even a grim, ugly, grossly misogynistic game like MGSV. We do it whenever we, ourselves, adopt a limited, conventional understanding of what it means to really play a game, rather than fully engaging with all the different ways that we can find ourselves and each other in the spaces that games create.

-----

I’m currently looking for work. If you enjoy my writing and are in a position to do so, please consider supporting me on ko-fi.

[dreameater1988]

Clara’s and Danny’s realtionship

I’ve been talking about the character of Danny Pink with several people lately and when S8 began, I have to admit that I didn’t like him very much. It took me years to understand what really bugged me but now think that it was the missed potential and the portrayal of the character on the show that made me dislike him. While working on several fanfictions, I started asking myself the question why Clara would be in a relationship with Danny and I think that eventually, I realised that we were shown the wrong sides of Danny on the show from the very beginning and even in S9, a lot of interesting details were omitted from the scripts that show us how important Danny Pink really was.

First of all, let’s start with the beginning of S8. The Doctor regenerated in front of Clara, throwing her into uncertainty. Her best friend, the man she has been in love with, changed his face and, by the looks of it, his character in a matter of seconds and Clara finds it hard to deal with that change. Why? Because the Doctor slipped out of her control. Even though Eleven was still unpredictable in a way, Clara knew where she stood with him, but she doesn’t know where she stands with Twelve because he doesn’t even know himself yet. For a control freak like Clara (and we’ll be coming back to that later), that’s a terrible situation to be in because she likes to know exactly what she’s getting into.

And along comes Danny Pink. He’s a maths teacher, he’s cute, he seems sweet and Clara is a young, gorgeous woman who has her life together. You can’t blame her for going after a nice guy who is single and seems to like her back. Danny is the complete opposite of the Doctor at that point because he’s stable and Clara knows exactly where she stands with him. Those are the qualities that drive her straight into Danny’s arms because the Doctor is certainly not nice to her and he certainly doesn’t give her a sense of security - both things Clara craves. Clara is not a person who is immune to a guy’s charms because she holds herself very high (the Doctor described her as an egomaniac) and she likes the confirmation, something the Doctor doesn’t exactly give her in early S8. Neither does Danny, at least not all the time, because their very first date ends in a complete failure. But how was Clara to know that?

Now, as I watched that date scene for the very first time, I knew that I would never have gone back to him after the disaster at the restaurant. But why did Clara? In Listen, the Doctor takes her to see small Rupert Pink and Clara obviously makes the connection to connection to Danny very early on. What is even worse, the Doctor takes her to the future where she meets one of Danny’s descendants who clearly seems to think that Clara is family. I could go on about how this was never really resolved, but let’s leave that aside because it’s not actually important. Clara gets what she craves: confirmation, security, control. She now “knows” that she and Danny are destined to be together and have children and that’s what makes her go back. When she is faced with Orson Pink, she suddenly “knows” what the future will hold for her, again giving her a sense of security and control, so Clara is determined to give Danny another chance.

I have to admit, even when I’m rewatching the scenes with Danny, I still don’t like him as much as I like the idea of what he could have been, of what he was to Clara in moments we just didn’t see. I often get the feeling that the show kept showing us the “worst" sides of Danny when really all he was was a lovely, normal boyfriend. Yet, he was set out as the Doctor’s rival quite from the beginning when he should have been more than that when it was obvious that the Doctor, the hero of the show, is not someone Danny could ever compete with.

Upon learning of the Doctor’s existence, Danny is anything but amused and I think that’s quite a natural reaction. Danny isn’t stupid, but when he follows the strange caretaker and discovers that he’s actually an alien who owns a time machine that sometimes steals his girlfriend, you can’t really blame him for holding a slight grudge. After all, his girlfriend lied to him about a very significant part of her life. And, having experienced danger, Danny is worried about her and rightly so. He is also worried that Clara might be in love with the Doctor, also rightly so, but he never stands between Clara and the Doctor. All he asks her is to be careful and to stop travelling with the Doctor when she feels it’s too much.

When the time finally comes in Kill The Moon and Clara is determined to leave the Doctor, Danny is actually the one to make her second-guess her decision. He encourages her to think about it and he encourages her during the phone call he and Clara have while she is on the Orient Express. Clara told him that she would leave the Doctor, but Danny never specifically asked it of her. I feel like a lot of people in the fandom are trying to view Danny as the person who tried to come between the Doctor and Clara when that’s something he never was. Danny isn’t the bad guy. Danny is the good guy and it was Clara who treated him badly even though she loved him.

Clara lies to him as well as the Doctor after the events on the Orient Express. Why? On the show, we never find out, but The Complete History books shed a little light on what Clara’s motives might have been. “In this version, when Clara looked at the Post-It Notes, she launched into speeches triggered by the notes, explaining to Danny over the phone how having secrets made her feel in control and show she fetishised hero figures.” Clara is a control freak and she always will be.

When Danny eventually finds out in ITFOTN that Clara has been lying to him, he is angry, but he isn’t angry about the fact that she is still travelling with the Doctor but because she lied to him. Danny doesn’t want to compete with the Doctor because he knows that it’s a competition he would lose, he only wants Clara to be honest with him. Danny was a normal, loving boyfriend and we only ever saw glimpses of his relationship with Clara on the show and in my opinion, they’re not always the right ones. Steven Moffat used Danny at the Doctor’s rival in the viewer’s eyes, but that’s not how Danny saw himself. He might not have been happy about Clara travelling with the Doctor through all of time and space, but he was willing to accept it rather than not be with Clara at all. Danny knew exactly that if he made her choose, he would be on the losing side, so he never did. Instead, he allowed his girlfriend to travel with a man he didn’t like (but respected) because he realised how much it meant to Clara. After the adventure in ITFOTN, Danny is no longer angry. He just wants Clara to be honest with him.

Danny’s death is a tragic event and just when Clara decides to come clean, he is torn from her life and even though she had a chance of getting him back, Danny still died and that was probably the most fundamental event in Clara’s life. It changed her as a person.

Those of you who have lost a loved one might understand her a little better than those of you who haven’t, but Danny’s death affected Clara a great deal and I’m very sad that very important pieces were cut from the S9 scripts and episodes. Danny was a young man, he was Clara’s boyfriend, she loved him, she thought they would get married and have children together - and he was torn out of life without a warning and without a chance to make it right. In addition to the natural loss, Clara’s control freak nature is very important in understanding why it changed it because that was something she had no control over whatsoever. Clara is not the type of person to blame herself for his death or to feel prolonged guilt over the way she treated him, but his death still had a huge impact on her character.

Because we never really saw the relationship of Clara and Danny unfold on screen, we can’t know what it was like and how much Clara really loved him (and she did, as is apparent from the omitted details in the S9 script), but with Danny, she didn’t just lose a boyfriend, Clara lost her ties to earth. When she thought she had lost not only Danny but the Doctor as well, she was even ready to commit suicide by staying in the dream world where both of them were still in her life. Luckily for Clara, the Doctor came to save her.

When S9 started, I was a little taken aback by Clara’s character, but it started to make sense to me. During S7 and S8, she already shows a tendency for risk-taking because she’s a brave woman when she gets scared, she gets all the more determined, but thanks to Danny, she always had one foot left on earth. With her ties severed, all she has left is her job and when she runs off at the beginning of The Magician’s Apprentice, it’s quite clear that UNIT and the Doctor are much more important to her.

Especially the first four episodes seem like someone cut Clara loose. She’s out of control. She’s reckless. She seems to be in good spirits, but underneath that, it’s still apparent that Danny’s loss cuts deep, something Clara would never admit to because she’s “trying to be perfect all the time” (The Complete History, Vol 77). Instead, she appears to have it all under control when the opposite is true. This is a very common expression of grief and Clara is still grieving. When in S8 it was the secrets that have made her feel in control, it is now the fact that she keeps on escaping death. She puts all of her faith in the fact that the Doctor is able to fix it all until they stumble upon a point when they can’t. Taking risks makes her feel alive up until the point it costs her life. In Face the Raven, when she finally mentions Danny, it seems to be out of the blue as if she had only suddenly remembered his existence. But that’s not really the case.

Danny was always with her and every time she mentions him, she does so very fondly and full of love. She has accepted his death, but she hasn’t healed yet. In Before the Flood, she tells Bennet: “After I lost someone, I thought my life was over. Because I knew… I know I can’t love again, and surely loving someone is what defines us. But it isn’t. The songs are wrong.” In an earlier draft of The Girl Who Died, she also bonds with a Viking woman (later Ashildr) over the loss of her husband by telling her about Danny. One remark even made it into the final script but was later cut and added in the deleted scenes.

Clara loved Danny even though she didn’t exactly treat him well in S8 and I feel like the show could have done a lot better to portray it. Danny was certainly not a bad guy and he was a loving boyfriend to Clara, but his meaning on the show was never so the viewers would want to see them together. Instead, he played the role of the Doctor’s rival and as such, he could only lose.