#no beta we die like my respect for disney

[masonjarcollector]

Guilt

Caiden knew that Alix would get pain that made her feel like her joints were corroded and her muscles were atrophied, and on some days it was hardly noticeable, but on other days it was so bad, they’d stumble around lifelessly and down ibuprofen like there was no tomorrow. Similar occurrences happened to everyone within the Unit, but it was Dmitri, Sig, and Alix who seemed to bear that weight the most.

Guilt manifested similarly to that pain, Caiden noted, as she pulled her knees tighter against her torso and attempted to curl deeper into the couch. It was a complex feeling that thrummed dully behind their sternum–embarrassment, nausea, hollow rage. Chattering that whispered endlessly in her ears. A burning itch crawling over their body that would only subside after they ran their calloused fingertips over old scars. 

Sometimes, they would barely notice the sensation. They could joke and smile genuinely and leave the house with little fear and be okay. Sometimes, the day would start out good, and then maybe she was being watched a little too intently by a pedestrian, and then she would spiral. Sometimes, she just woke up like this. Woke up lethargic and malfunctioning.

Symptoms: Disinterested in doing anything involving getting up and moving, hazy attachment to reality, loud thoughts (way too loud), discomfort with reflection, injurious desires, crippling sense of shame.

Official Diagnosis: Known colloquially through the Unit as a “bad day”. Recommended Course of Action: Die. No, wait.

Crash the car in the middle of an intersection.

Fuck, that still isn’t right.

What could possibly be done to make her any better? Sleep? (And what, be disturbed by nightmares and memories and horrible visions of the future, uh, no thanks.) Drink some water? (Caiden was incredibly thirsty, but such predicaments were better left for the living and breathing.) Go outside? (Absolutely not. The outside was crowded and loud and packed to the brim with danger. Threats lurked around every corner, watching and waiting until they found the perfect moment to strike, the perfect moment to grab the little malfunctioning fuck up and run syringes into her spine, wrap chains around her neck, turn her back into the well oiled machine she used to be, or otherwise make her pay for every sin she had committed when she had the foolish idea to live among the innoce–)

“Can I assist in some way?”

Dmitri spoke gently. They stood over her, motionless but ready to spring into action, with their luminous eyes full of concern and hesitancy. They knew they couldn’t help her. Nobody can help anybody when they are like this. But, a thought broke through Caiden’s fog, it was still nice of them to ask. If she hadn’t been so tired, Caiden might have even felt warm gratitude towards them.

Instead, she just stared at them. Burning, itchy, guilty, exhausted. They got the point and left.

***

The Unit had given Caiden her space, and when they had to encroach into her existence (passing through the room to get to another, looking for something misplaced, following an order of Dmitri’s) they were as respectful and gentle as she was when they were having a bad day. For the most part, she hadn’t seen them.

At some point, Caiden had abandoned the living room to go back to the room shared by Dmitri and her. The blankets were cool and soft, and if she pressed the pillows against her head hard enough, her thoughts would be quiet for a heavenly second. Dinner was skipped. The sun went down.

When Dmitri entered the room, they set a glass of water down on the nightstand, and immediately went to Caiden’s bed. Lightly, they sat down next to her, waiting for her response.

“Caiden?”

The chattering in her thoughts was far too loud. And the pillows over her head weren’t doing enough. It was hard to see Dmitri as a caretaker and not an enemy. She was numb and guilty and her skin didn’t feel right.

Caiden realized. With some sort of disordered clarity. That perhaps the recommended course of action. Was to wrap her arms around Dmitri. And press her face against their shoulder. And inhale deeply. And accidentally emit a low keening noise. And relish the feeling of them wrapping their arms around her.

“You’re safe,” they murmured to her. “It’s okay, you can be like this here.” They held her tightly with both arms.

“Why,” croaked Caiden, suddenly afraid that they were going to pull away, and subsequently clutching at them with clenched hands, “why can’t I just be fucking normal?” It was a wail. A forlorn sob. The origin of shame, the insidious child of Guilt, the demonic presence of self-awareness. Why can’t they be normal one way or the other? Must she be a freak of nature, scorned by the two sides she had once called home? Why is divinity dangled right in front of their face yet so far out of reach?

Why does she fall apart during thunderstorms? Feel sick when she’s in a crowd? Grin in the face of adversity? Question morality? Discover autonomy? Why can’t she take what is given, accept what is given, and just. be. fucking normal?

“I know,” said Dmitri, plainly. Because they did know. They didn’t know it exactly like Caiden did, but they knew what it felt like to be a half-programmed mess, yearning for instruction while craving forgiveness for what they did under the instruction. 

They knew how badly Caiden wanted to have friends who hadn’t seen her worst moments, they knew how hard she tried to communicate and how poorly she failed at it, they knew how jumbled her thoughts were, and they knew how thirsty she was and had brought her water.

[gayashelljatp]

James Hook x Morgie Le Fay | You Look Like A Dumb Boy, My Favorite Type Chapter 3/5

Tags Fluff, Roommate, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Magic, Banter, Hook Is Flirty that's cannon btw , I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Boys In Love, Sad and Sweet, Short & Sweet , Himbo Morgie, Bisexual Disaster James Hook, Morgie Has Golden Retriever Energy (Disney), Oblivious Morgie (Disney), Boys Kissing, Love Confessions, No Beta Read we die like Brandy Cinderalla, 5+1 Things

Summary:

Hook flirts with everyone in a five-mile radius. That means the people around him are victims of his often excessive advances. Morgie, however, was unaware that he was Hook’s favorite for a special reason. Or 5 times Hook was flirting with Morgie and it went completely over his head and the 1 time it didn’t.

Content Rating: Teen and Up.

Wordcount: 2,871.

Notes:

Hi, I'm Ace. I decided to finally upload this fic to tumblr it took me a long time to finally finish formatting this. Originally it was going to be all separate posts. But I'm a very lazy author and I'm still very clueless on how to make a blog post that looks good. So I'm compiling it all into one. I suggest you read on AO3.

But here's the playlist that inspired this fic that you can enjoy:

Chapter 1

Another day, another hour of planning and scheming done in the Black Lagoon. Uliana was going on one of her spiels again on how to terrorize the freshmen. Hades and Maleficent were nowhere to be seen, probably enjoying each other’s company.

That left Morgie to either bug one of the VKs he wasn’t close with or talk to the only person he knew who seemed to be doing nothing. That would be Hook, his roommate at Merlin Academy and Morgie’s right-hand (hook) man. He was also the only person who truly gave Morgie an ounce of respect.

Hook was in the corner, polishing his golden hook, the one that replaced his right hand. It truly shined under the light, from its silver base to the golden hook. The process almost seemed methodical. He polished the hook in certain spots and constantly raised it into the light, making sure the hook on his right hand hit the light perfectly. To others, it looked like pure vanity on display, but to Morgie, it was just normal Hook behavior.

“What are you up to there, James?” Morgie asked, giving the pirate a bright smile.

“I told you not to call me James. It’s Hook, or else you get the hook,” the eyeliner-heavy teenager said, pointing his hook towards his friend. Despite the closeness of the hook to Morgie’s face, he wasn’t alarmed one bit; he knew Hook would never actually hurt him.

“Okay, okay, calm down. I just wanted to see what you're up to. Can’t a boy just be curious?” 

“Polishing the old hook, you know,” Hook muttered, returning to his task.

A minute or two passed, and Morgie stayed idle, staring at Hook’s hook. His look was a mix of a dumbfounded smile and complete astonishment despite the rather mediocre and normal task.

“You're just gonna stare at me while I do this?” Hook asked after a moment, glancing up with a raised eyebrow, looking directly into the son of Le Fay’s hazel eyes.

“It’s better than staring at the ceiling,” 

“You're enjoying the view, right?” Hook’s voice took on a flirtatious edge, his British accent hitting just the right spot, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“You look alright,” Morgie responded, completely oblivious to Hook’s suggestive tone and look. He was too sweet and too nice for this world, a sunshine among villains. But a menace when needed.

Hook smirked, shaking his head slightly. “You really are something else, Morgie.”

Morgie just laughed, the sound light and carefree, a stark contrast to the dark and scheming environment around them.

Chapter 2

Sharing a dormitory with Hook was certainly entertaining. Morgie’s side of the room was filled with wilted plants, sadly not by choice—dark magic just kills anything vaguely happy or alive. And, of course, a scatter of green and black clothing items.

Hook’s side was extravagant, to say the least. Opulence was the word Hook used to describe it. But it was still messy, with jewelry and designer clothing placed in certain areas almost like it was a treasure trove.

One downside to having a messy pirate roommate was lost items. Morgie had to learn that the hard way when he returned from his last class to the sounds of one frustrated Hook.

“Thank the seven seas you’re back, you can finally help me,” Hook said in a frustrated tone, clearly preoccupied with the task at hand. His British accent rang around the room. Morgie couldn’t even see where Hook was—the room looked like it had been reorganized by a seasick pirate.

“What did you lose this time?” The teen sorcerer asked, trying to figure out what he had just walked into. Hook’s side of the room had small gashes, probably from his hook. Jewelry was scattered everywhere, and Hook’s canopy was slightly more torn.

“My pearl necklace,” Hook replied. Morgie soon found Hook’s legs sticking out from under his bed. His blazer was discarded on the carpeted floor.

“The one you stole from the mermaid seniors?” 

After a few seconds of searching, Hook popped out from under the bed and shook his head at Morgie’s question. “The other one, silly,” Hook said, grazing his hook against Morgie’s cheek almost affectionately.

Morgie smiled, oblivious to the flirtatious gesture. “Alright, let’s find this necklace. Where did you last see it?” Despite this task being purely based in vanity Morgie was willing to help.

Hook sighed dramatically. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be tearing apart our room, now would I?”

Morgie chuckled, starting to sift through the pile of clothes on Hook’s bed. “Good point. Let’s retrace your steps. Did you wear it to class?”

Hook shook his head, getting up and moving to his wardrobe. “No, I wore it to the party at the lagoon last night. I swear I had it on when I came back.”

Morgie nodded, now digging through a drawer filled with silk scarves and velvet gloves. “Maybe it fell off when you were changing?”

Hook’s eyes gleamed as he moved closer to Morgie. “You’re quite the detective, Morgie. Maybe I should reward you if we find it.”

Morgie, focused on the search, missed the suggestive tone. “Just doing my part. It’s probably here somewhere.”

Hook leaned in closer, his breath warm against Morgie’s ear. “I’d say you’re doing more than just your part.”

Morgie’s eyes widen, he started to feel a strange feeling but he kept his attention on the task. “The bathroom—Let’s check the bathroom next. Maybe you left it by the sink.” He stumbled on all of the words.

Hook followed Morgie to the bathroom, smirking. “Always so practical. You know, Morgie, you’re quite the catch. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Morgie glanced back, smiling innocently. “That’s sweet of you to say, let’s keep looking”

They continued their search, Hook’s flirtatious antics flying right over Morgie’s head. As they rummaged through their shared space, Hook couldn’t help but admire Morgie’s oblivious sweetness.

It was getting dark, and the two were beat. “We’ve looked everywhere. I want to wave the white flag already,” Hook said, lying back on his bed.

“We are probably late to wherever we’re hanging tonight,” Morgie said as he laid on Hook’s bed as well, his side-swept brown hair more disheveled than usual. He turned to look at Hook, who was already looking at him.

“Think Uli’s gonna be mad we’re late?” Hook asked, grinning as he batted his eyelashes.

“Doubt it. You're her favorite,” Morgie replied. As he started to get more comfortable on the bed, he felt something by his head. His fingers brushed against a cool, smooth object.

Morgie sat up, his hand grasping the item. “Hey, I think I found it!” 

Hook’s eyes lit up, and he laughed heartily. “Of course, it was right under our noses the whole time, my dear lad.”

Morgie joined in the laughter, shaking his head. “Well, at least we found it. Let’s get ready to head out.”

Hook sat up, taking the necklace from Morgie with a flourish. “Now, the hard part: putting this on with one hand. Quite the challenge for a dashing pirate, wouldn't you say, darling?”

Morgie watched as Hook struggled with the clasp, the hook on his right hand making the task nearly impossible. “Need some help?” Morgie offered, stepping closer.

“No, I’ve got it,” Hook insisted, determination in his voice. He continued to fumble with the necklace, but the clasp kept slipping out of his grasp.

Morgie chuckled softly. “Come on, Hook, let me help. It’ll be quicker.”

Hook sighed, finally conceding. “Fine, but just this once.”

Morgie smiled, moving closer. “Here, let me take that.” Hook turned his back to Morgie, and Morgie gently lifted the pearls, bringing it around Hook’s neck. 

The close proximity made Morgie’s heart race a little but he didn’t know why, but despite the distraction he focused on the task at hand. As he fastened the clasp, Hook turned his head slightly, their faces just inches apart.

“Looking as sharp as that hook,” 

“Thanks, Morgie,” Hook said softly, his voice carrying a hint of something more.

Morgie’s started to feel a burning sensation on his cheeks, and he smiled. “Anytime, James.” Instead of the usual correction Hook just let that one slide.

They stood up, ready to head out. As they were about to leave, Hook placed his hand on the other teens’ shoulder. “Your looking rather nice tonigth.”

Morgie’s heart skipped as fast as a galloping horse, but before he could think of a respond, there was a loud knock at the door.

“Come on, you two! We’re late!” Uliana’s voice called out from the hallway.

Hook grinned, giving Morgie a playful nudge. “Saved by the knock.”

Morgie chuckled, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They opened the door to find the other VKs waiting impatiently. Uliana raised an eyebrow, looking them over. “Took you long enough. Let’s move.”

As they joined the group and headed out, Morgie couldn’t help but glance at Hook, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Hook caught his eye and gave him a wink, making Morgie’s felt a peculiar feeling once more.

Chapter 3

One VK was hanging out past curfew in the courtyard of Merlin Academy. While the rest of the villain kids were enjoying the night outside the confines of the school, one Morgie le Fay was by a bench, keeping to himself. Morgie often felt left out by the group, but it was a tale as old as time. Having a lot of alone time did come with benefits; it gave him time to experiment and work on his dark magic.

His mother had given him a plethora of magical textbooks to work from. Despite the rocky relationship between Morgie’s mother, Morgana le Fay, and the founder and headmaster of this school, Merlin, the old wizard still gave Morgie a chance to study magic. It was probably a bad move, considering how his mother turned out, but here Morgie was, determined to make the most of it.

Tonight, he was learning to summon a familiar. All good sorcerers have familiars, right? Whether it be a crow, a raven, an owl, or a bird of various sorts. It was no summoning and raising the dead like his mother’s feat, but it was a good start. Morgie, however, went with a more exotic choice: a puppy. Probably not the best choice considering the lack of flight and stealth, but he thought it was cute.

As Morgie reviewed the page over and over, making sure he was going to execute the spell correctly, he started reciting the incantations. His hands were trembling slightly as he muttered the words. Dark magic swirled around him, tendrils of shadowy energy forming shapes in the air. It was supposed to summon a creature of the night, a loyal companion to aid him in his schemes.

The shadows coalesced into a small, winged form. As the magic settled, Morgie blinked in amazement. Before him stood a magical puppy, with soft, golden fur that shimmered under the moonlight and tiny, delicate wings fluttering on its back. It was a golden retriever, its large, innocent eyes looking up at Morgie with pure adoration.

Morgie’s heart swelled with pride and joy. “I did it! I actually did it!” he exclaimed, reaching down to scoop up the puppy. It barked happily, nuzzling into Morgie’s chest. For a moment, everything seemed perfect.

But then, the puppy began to change. Its soft fur darkened, turning a sickly shade of green. The wings grew larger, more bat-like, and its eyes glowed a menacing red. The puppy’s form twisted and elongated, becoming more serpentine, scales forming where fur once was. Claws and fangs emerged, and a low growl replaced the happy barking.

Morgie’s joy turned to horror as he watched his creation morph into a monstrous creature, a grotesque amalgamation of various animals with a serpentine body, multiple limbs resembling those of a panther, and eyes glowing with malevolent intent.

The creature hissed, its fanged mouth opening wide. Morgie stumbled back, his mind racing to remember the counter-spell, but panic clouded his thoughts.

“No, no, no! This isn’t right,” he murmured to himself, his voice shaking. He tried to focus, but the dark magic was slipping from his grasp. The creature lunged at him, and Morgie’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he was frozen in place, unable to move.

Morgie turned to see Hook standing at the edge of the courtyard, his golden hook gleaming in the moonlight. Despite his usual arrogant demeanor, there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Hook, stay back. I’ve got this,” Morgie said, his voice strained.

Hook smirked, though his eyes remained focused on the creature. “Looks to me like you’ve got it under control. Need a hand—or a hook?”

“I said I’ve got this! You’ll get hurt,” Morgie snapped, frustration and fear mixing in his voice.

But the creature lunged again, and to Morgie’s shock, Hook was by his side in an instant, using his polished hook to fend off the beast. Morgie watched in disbelief as the prim and proper, vain Hook wielded his precious hook as a weapon. Hook’s movements were swift and precise, a testament to his fencing skills, but Morgie couldn’t shake his amazement.

“I told you, I don’t need your help!” Morgie shouted, but his voice faltered. Deep down, he knew he was in over his head.

Hook grinned, his charm undiminished even in the face of danger. “You’re always so stubborn, Morgie. Sometimes, even the best need a little help.”

Despite his words, Hook’s actions were anything but self-centered. He moved with purpose, deflecting the creature’s attacks and pushing it back. Just as the creature managed to land a swipe, Hook winced he looked like he wanted to scream but kept it in.

He continued to fight. Morgie watched in awe, his fear momentarily forgotten, until he noticed Hook’s slight limp.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hook managed to drive the creature back into the shadows and put it back to where it came from. The courtyard fell silent once more, the dark magic dissipating into the night.

Hook turned to Morgie, a teasing glint in his eyes. “See? Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“That could have ended way worse,” Morgie replied, still trying to catch his breath.

“The point is that it didn’t, and I would have never let it get that bad,” Hook said confidently.

“What was my little spellcaster trying to summon anyway? That was certainly a strange choice,” Hook teased, raising an eyebrow.

“It was supposed to be a familiar, but I messed that up like I mess up everything I do,” Morgie admitted, looking down at his feet.

“That isn’t true, lad,” Hook said, trying to reassure him. 

“How’s your hook?” Hook examined it before he answered confidently “Still perfect not a scratch,” Giving Morgie a grin.

Morgie looked up, meeting Hook’s gaze. For a moment, he saw something deeper in those brown eyes, something that made his heart skip a beat. But then he noticed the small cut on Hook’s arm, dark magic seeping from the wound.

“James, that looks bad,” Morgie said, his voice tinged with worry.

Hook shrugged, keeping his pretty boy persona intact. “Don’t call me James!” he protested. “And it’s just a small scratch. I’m just mad the thing tore up my blazer.”

“Dark magic isn’t just a small scratch. Let me help,” Morgie insisted, moving closer to inspect the wound.

Hook smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. “Alright, Nurse, do your worst.”

Morgie carefully took his spellbooks trying to find a spell once he found one, he put his hands gentle and precise on Hook’s bicep. Hook watched him, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips. “You know, you look quite cute when you’re all serious and focused.”

Morgie face reddened, his usual naivety kicking in. “Just hold still. This might sting a bit.”

Hook winced slightly but didn’t let it show too much. “You’re doing great, Snakeyes. I knew I could count on you.”

Once Morgie finished treating the wound, he looked up at Hook. “You shouldn’t have helped. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Hook’s expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on Morgie’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back, Morgie. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” Morgie wished this side of Hook was seen more often, not the ridiculously cocky pirate.

“For real?” Morgie asked, searching Hook’s eyes for any hint of insincerity.

“For real,” said the eyeliner heavy-pirate, his voice sincere. “We’re in this together, alright? Just don’t expect me to play the hero too often. It’s bad for my bad boy image.”

“You’re impossible, Hook.”

“Maybe,” Hook replied, winking, “but people adore me.”

“Let’s get out of here before we get caught,” Morgie suggested, glancing around nervously.

As they walked away, side by side, Morgie’s smile widened, the warmth in his chest growing. He was grateful for Hook’s help, even if he’d never admit it outright. As they walked away, side by side, Morgie realized that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to rely on someone else once in a while.

Notes: Idk why anyone would read this on here it's so long. But I hope y'all enjoy if you made it feel free to give your your feedback of course. I'm still tryna decipher how tf Tumblr works.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

In Swooping Sloping Cursive Letters

In Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters https://ift.tt/oJhtuUC by the_oncoming_stormageddon When Dean wakes up in a fairytale world, he quickly learns that Gabriel is back again, ready to teach him a new lesson-- kiss Castiel, his damsel in distress, or stay in an endless cycle of living out Disney movies. Or, "Changing Channels" (season 5, episode 8) meets 3 different destiel fairytale AUs Title from "Paris" by Taylor Swift Words: 9414, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 4 of alfie's destiel oneshots Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Getting Together, Angst, Banter, First Kiss, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester is Like a Disney Princess, idk why thats a tag but it sure fits this fic, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Fluff, no beta we die like my respect for john winchester, Cinderella (Fairy Tale) Elements, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester-centric via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/ZzHbrgW February 27, 2023 at 09:52AM

[candyskiez]

@ ao3 writers what's your favorite shitposty tag you've come up with for your fics. one I am unreasonably proud of is "no beta we die like my respect for disney"

[7cypher]

Tied Together | 01

The last thing you needed when you had a demanding daughter and job was a divorce made difficult by your husband. Luckily for you, Min Yoongi—Seoul’s top divorce lawyer—stepped in to save the day. Well, more or less.

▸ PAIRING: Min Yoongi x Reader

▸ RATING & GENRE: PG-15 ; Angst, Fluff, Divorce Lawyer AU, Marriage AU

▸ WORD COUNT: 9,744 words

▸ A/N: Planned this fic a long time ago but it’s finally done alkwejrkwlejr second part where all the Real Action happens will be out soon!! I hope you like this :’) ALSO huge disclaimer I know nothing about law so I apologize for any inaccuracies!

Part One | Part Two

Divorces were rarely ever a clean slate. You’ve learned that through attending the trials and tribunals of family members, seen how much of a struggle and how costly everything was that plenty of the people you knew chose to stay in a miserable standstill with their partners.

For a little while, you figured that if you had the right resources and helping hands you would be able to sign a few documents and free yourself from all restraints, from the supposedly sacred bond that you and your once-loved one held together.

But things were never so black and white — not when he would never be happy unless you went through enough inconveniences to please him.

When you had married Sungjae years ago, it seemed as if things were finally falling into place. Sungjae was meant to be your happily ever after, your finalized end game to give you that everlasting affection. He had been everything you ever wanted — handsome, intelligent, charming. On top of his academics and extracurriculars that he excelled in, he had effortlessly swept you off your feet.

When the two of you finally got together in college, the label power couple had instantly been stuck on your backs and added weight upon your shoulders. You never thought of it that way before though. Both your competitiveness had driven you two forward, to the success you two so desperately craved. Graduating with honors and having scored a high-paying job in Seoul, you had hoped that you had your future set in stone. Add his proposal in to the mix and you were well on your way to the ideal life you had imagined for yourself ever since your childish mind conjured up a good fantasy of what your existence was supposed to be.

This was supposed to be the dream of all dreamers, a materialization of your imagination constructed from capitalized Disney movies and overdramatic television shows. You wanted what everyone else wanted.

Happiness.

It was a little cheesy to say aloud, but your successes had never been equated to your happiness. Seeing the despair that your family had been through, those who had tasted the highest forms of victory on their tongues, was clear enough evidence that materialistic possessions never lasted very long. Lifetime desolation buried in empty bottles of liquor and ringing screams across cold households seemed to be all that was left. Bars were raised high for people who had achieved what they had, the public’s eyes trained to catch their minutest mistakes to send their worlds crumbling down.

Perhaps you should’ve seen your own downfall coming too. Well, for your marriage at least. While your career skyrocketed and placed you on the position of a parter in your corporation, the love you shared with Sungjae had diminished and scattered like ashes, leaving only anger and impatience in its wake. An early marriage had been a warning from your friends, a warning you chose to ignore. The two of you had been too young, too ambitious. While at the time it had been a logical idea, what with Sungjae and you having been together for six years, held steady jobs, it was clear that that rationalization was not enough.

Then Sungjae lost everything. Economic instability had more than a handful of people, both low-ranking employees and higher-ups, scrambling to maintain their positions, to avoid adding onto the ever-growing unemployment line. It was a shameful place to be for those who had always had silver spoons in their mouths, just like Sungjae.

One thing led to another and, before you knew it, Sungjae had reached to alcohol to cope. The man who had once been so alive, so alight with joy and devotion, fell from his throne.

A divorce had never been on your agenda, not even through all the troublesome nights dealing with his intoxication, nor through the red and pink stains on the collars of his shirts. There were too many attachments, too many memories you clung onto. There was also that last string of hope you held onto, the one that gullibly believed that he would turn around and get his life back on track.

The final straw had been the one night Sungjae unsurprisingly returned with one too many drinks in his system, screaming about the lack of whiskey in the cabinet. You’ve dealt with it before, have a million times. But remember what you said about happiness?

You had found that in your daughter. If there was any saving grace to salvage your marriage and faith, it would be her.

However, Sungjae had jeopardized all that when he had resorted to violence, flinging ceramic plates against walls, shattering its pieces down the walls that fell too close to her. Your daughter had wept and ran with you in tow to console her.

Divorce papers were filed the following day.

Of course, his fierce character never faded. Thinking that Sungjae would go quietly had been an amateur’s mistake. He needed to have the last word each and every time. You should’ve known better than to let him slip through your fingers with flimsy documents prepared overnight. He began to claim too many things, collateral and investments written in contract in both your names, objects he didn’t even care for. But he would be damned if he went down without dragging you with him. So he pushed and pulled, demanded more than he actually wanted to lengthen the process. It wasn’t as if you could just surrender everything to him, you still had your dignity to hold onto. When even your lawyer began to grow frustrated with Sungjae’s antics, you had to call your final recourse.

“You’re getting a divorce?” Namjoon’s voice rang through the speaker and you quickly pulled away the receiver with a wince. His bewilderment was justified considering how close the three of you had been throughout your years of education, admittedly more to you than Sungjae.

After his undergrad years, Namjoon had traded in his custom frat varsities and stroll team (but not his brotherhood obviously, “Beta Tau for life!” he would say) for crisp suits in the courtroom, dick jokes dumped for legal jargon. The two of you had stayed in contact, catching up over coffee from time to time to complain over your respective occupational hazards, which included balding at a young age with how much stress you two put up with.

“Yeah,” you sighed, pressing your fingers to your temple, praying the goddamn headache that was your husband would magically disappear. The papers your first lawyer had prepared sat futilely in front of you, taunting you. After Sungjae had figuratively ripped his plan to shreds, your lawyer nearly resigned with the shit Sungjae put him through. “Long story short, Sungjae is an insufferable asshole I want to be rid of. I need your help.”

“I would,” he started, hesitance in his voice, “but divorce isn’t exactly my forte.”

“Do you know anyone who can help?” you pleaded, “it’ll really save my ass. I just want this to be over and done with, but my lawyer isn’t exactly an expert on handling problematic relationships.”

“Might I suggest a couples’ counselor?”

You drawled, “You’re funny.”

Namjoon chuckled, voice crackling with the static, “There is someone I know that might be able to help. He’s a bit of a hard ass but he’s a good guy, even better at his job. I went to law school with him so hopefully I can call in a favor.”

The relief that flooded your entire body was almost immediate. You sighed, “That’ll be fantastic. I’m really sorry that this is the first thing I’m hitting you up about. It’s a pretty bad way to reconnect when we haven’t spoken in nearly two months.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” he scoffed, “we’re friends. I’ve got your back. I always knew Sungjae was a douchebag.” You snorted at that because Namjoon had been one of many that rooted heavily for your relationship, always shoving you in Sungjae’s direction until you tied the knot. “Anyhow, I will give him a ring. Only problem is that he’s a masochist and would usually turn down easy cases. Yours is a cinch for him.”

“Honestly, I’ll take anyone at this point.”

Namjoon laughed again, the familiar sound putting your heart at ease. At least one of you were calm about this entire debacle. “Babe, I’m giving you the best divorce lawyer in Seoul, maybe all of Korea if he had a more refined public persona. He’ll make sure you get everything you want and more.”

“You’re amazing and I love you,” you grinned, “I owe you a drink, my friend.”

“Make that two and a lunch date,” he corrected teasingly, “I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes so I have to run. I’ll call him and fax you his details. In addition to that, I will personally ensure that he agrees to see you.”

This other lawyer already sounded like a fantastic time (note the sarcasm). “How are you such an angel?” Your secretary entered and handed over the checks to sign for the day. You quickly scribbled on them while keeping your phone pressed to your ear before handing them back to her. “Thank you so much again,” you breathed, “we definitely have to meet soon.”

“You got it. Stay solid, babe.”

Namjoon was a godsend. Now, all you had to do was wait for this supposedly qualified lawyer and hope to God that Sungjae wouldn’t fuck up anything else in the process.

Yoongi wanted to cry and die simultaneously. His head was pounding with the force of a million jackhammers as he clutched his phone in his hand. He growled at the man on the other side of the call, “If he can’t pull his shit together, I can’t get him what he needs. If he can’t work with me, then he shouldn’t have called me. Tell him I won’t finish the case — hell, I’ll make sure his wife gets everything he wanted in his papers — if he doesn’t stop harassing her through every possible social media platform. What is he, sixteen?”

He finally dropped the device back into the receiver, mumbling something about fucking millenials before he returned his attention to his computer screen. His emails were piling up and his secretary certainly wasn’t doing things fast enough to filter through the unnecessary spam that kept adding onto the growing list. So many requests, so many teary-eyed desperate pleas Yoongi wished he could fling out the window.

Sometimes, he wondered why people even got married if they were going to waste more money on their divorce than their wedding. His service was costly, he acknowledged that years ago when he priced his practice, but it was a worthwhile investment.

“Sir,” his secretary knocked, peeking his head in. Christ, what was it now? “Mr. Kim is here to see you.”

Guests? Without an appointment? People really did have a death wish, including his secretary. “What did I say about not booking meeting times, Heechul?”

Heechul seemed to falter for a second, fear igniting in his eyes. “I—um, the man insisted, I couldn’t—”

“Do you humor the insistence of every guest, Heechul?”

His patience was wearing thin with the deficiency of a good night’s sleep over the past few… months. All he wanted to do was swallow a few pills and knock the fuck out, enjoy one night of blissful ignorance towards all the couples drowning his email with the need to terminate whatever was left of their holy matrimony.

“Just this one.” Another voice interrupted, this time a familiar face appearing before him. Namjoon popped into the room, smiling unapologetically. Heechul quickly scampered out of the room in the window of opportunity. Chuckling, the younger man walked towards Yoongi’s desk. His eyes scanned over the amount of work that was visible on the table. “You should be nicer to him, he could poison your coffee.”

That would be a sweet escape from this death trap. Yoongi sighed, gesturing to the vacant seat across from him. If there was anything he could do without, it would be Namjoon’s criticism of his work ethic. So he wasn’t the best boss in the world, but he paid handsomely for people who offered him quality competence. “What brings you here, Namjoon?”

“You didn’t answer my calls,” Namjoon shrugged, waving his phone in the air.

That reminded him, where was his cellphone? He hadn’t touched it in ages. “I’ve been busy,” he replied simply.

“Too busy to answer a friend’s call?” Namjoon gasped, “how endearing of you.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticked. “What do you want?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

Now that was strange. The two had only advanced their acquaintanceship due to their somewhat similar fields and somewhat overlapping social circles, but Namjoon was always too prideful to ask people for favors. Yoongi was the same, he supposed. Owing others gratitude was never particularly favorable when they came to collect.

“What is it?”

“A friend’s getting divorced, she wants it clean.”

Lord help him. Was Namjoon pulling his leg? Breathe, Yoongi, breathe. “Alright,” he nodded curtly, returning his attention back to his inbox, “I’ll hook you up with someone from the firm. I’ll send the details to you tonight.” Another on his to-do list.

“Can you do it?” Namjoon added into Yoongi’s narrowing tolerance. “I know you’re busy, but I promise this one will be quick. Her husband’s a dick and, with you, she could be guaranteed everything.”

“So why are you asking me specifically? I told you I would get someone else to resolve it.”

“She’s a close friend, Yoongi.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “I don’t want want to leave her in the hands of someone incompetent who do things half-assed.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him, taking offense in his words. “Are you saying that my firm does things half-assed?”

“No, no,” Namjoon quickly righted, clearing his throat, “I’m saying I trust you more than anyone else. You’re the best divorce lawyer I know. She’s a wonderful person and I really want things to work out well for her.” Don’t we all. “She’s got a daughter too, I’m concerned about that. Cute thing, not even finished with primary school but already so sassy with a sharp tongue. You’d like her.”

“Great,” he mumbled noncommittally.

“Yoongi, please,” the younger pressed again, “I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t have utter faith in your skills.”

A flatterer. Namjoon seemed to know just the way to his bloated ego. Yoongi finally huffed, tearing his eyes away from his screen to see Namjoon’s pleading eyes. They were practically screaming for help, a skill he had mastered in college whenever he wanted sympathy. “God, fine,” he grunted, “if it’ll get you to shut up and get out, then fine. I’ll look over her case. Tell her to send in an official request and the documents she has so far so I can go over them.”

“You, my dear comrade, are a lifesaver,” Namjoon beamed, dimples dipping in his cheeks, “thank you so much, Yoongi.”

Yoongi waved him off, “It’s fine. Is that all?”

“Oh,” he paused, “can you drop by her office too? She’s quite busy these days so I’m not sure if she can make the time to come down here—”

The elder’s threatening glare was enough to seal his lips. Yoongi loved his friend, but he was this close to lifting the man himself and kicking him out the door. “We may be close, Namjoon, but this woman is a stranger. If she needs the help, we can correspond through emails. I don’t have time to spare the next two months yet I’m making the time to do this. If she can’t accommodate my time then I can assign her to someone else, which at this point I’m very tempted to do.”

Namjoon pouted, his attempt at acting cute was not boding well with the already exhausted elder. “Should I call Jimin in to convince you?” That question had Yoongi scowling. Jimin was one of his closest friends, bordering on winning the title of his mother, and his puppy dog eyes were admittedly one of Yoongi’s few weaknesses. Jimin was also susceptible to sob stories, especially divorces. He always whined about how Yoongi was working against it instead of for it. The kid was an angel, but if he caught wind of Namjoon himself asking Yoongi for help for a divorce, it might just be his undoing.

“My office. If she has her documents by tonight, I can squeeze her in before my eleven o’clock.”

The other looked simply shameless as he stood up, flashing a dazzling smile he saved for moments of triumph. Obviously, he was all too pleased with himself. “Thank you very much, Yoongi. I owe you one.”

“You owe me ten, better break that checkbook, you’re buying my groceries for the next four years.”

Namjoon snorted, “Yeah, like you even cook. Do you even go home anymore? This place sort of smells.”

“You just asked me for help, you don’t have a right to complain. Now leave, I have work to do.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

On your way home, Namjoon had called to deliver the good news. “He agreed to meet you at his office. Be careful, he bites.”

The forewarning was almost ominous and comical at the same time, you weren’t quite sure how to process that bit of information. You profusely thanked him for his help and promised to send him a bottle of champagne for his office. Parking your car in the driveway, you looked up to find the kitchen light on. A small part of you hoped that wasn’t Sungjae digging through your supplies for more drinks. You sighed and made your way inside, heels clicking on the cemented ground and then on your marble floor.

“Mom!” The squeal reached your ears first before you felt a heaviness around your legs. Your daughter, Mia, had wound her small arms to keep you trapped. “You’re back early today,” she grinned, front teeth missing.

“Yep,” you grinned, ruffling her hair. She scowled but giggled nevertheless, fixing up her hair. “Thought I’d cook dinner for you, little monster.”

Mia let a small groan bubble up her throat as she smoothed her dress and pouted up at you. “Does that mean we’re having pasta again?”

This kid. Such a demanding little thing. “Don’t complain,” you huffed right back, “your mother is doing this out of the kindness of her own heart. Where’s the babysitter?” It was strange. Bora was usually there to greet you when you returned, but it was suspicious that—

“I told her to go home,” Mia shrugged as if it was normal for a ten year old to instruct her babysitter to leave, as if it was normal that her babysitter complied.

“And she listened?” you stared at her incredulously.

“I gave her a little bit of encouragement,” Mia grinned, eyes crinkling innocently. Any other time, you would be happy over how adorable she looked, but this was another story altogether.

You cleared your throat, crouching down to her level, “And where did you get this ‘encouragement’ from?”

“I forgot,” she shrugged.

You squinted, “Mia.”

The little devil pursed her lips together, gaze darting everywhere except for you. “I may or may not have sold one of my Barbies to a classmate.”

“Mia, how did you even—actually,” you took a deep breath, looking up to the heavens for some semblance of assistance from a higher power, “do I want to know?” In return, she offered a toothy grin, confirming that she was on the far end of the innocence spectrum. Sometimes you wondered whether she really was ten when she was already exploiting her classmates for cash with toys.

Choosing to drop the matter for now and making a mental note to reprimand Bora later, you focused on preparing dinner. The two of you settled at the countered once the food was ready, Mia chattering animatedly about her day. It had been quite some time since you’ve had the hours to spare to talk to her. Work kept you away from home too often, too late in the day that when you returned home Mia would be fast asleep. A babysitter was usually enlisted to care for her during those days, other times your parents would arrive to help (and they loved spoiling her rotten). Sungjae? You never even attempted to count on him.

“What’s wrong?” Mia’s voice slipped through the cracks of your thoughts. Her big eyes peered at you curiously as if she already knew.

Guilt seeped into your pores, filling your veins and flooding your entire system with remorse. “Nothing, honey. Why?” You pushed your lips to curve into a smile, hoping to appease the concern dripping in her voice.

“You have wrinkles here,” she pointed to her own forehead, “that’s when you’re stressing out.”

You giggled, flicking her forehead playfully and earning a scowl. “Maybe I’m just getting old.”

She tilted her head from side to side, grinning, “I know you’re not that old. Not old enough for wrinkles anyway.”

Narrowing your eyes playfully at her, you leaned closer. “Are you calling me old?”

Mia opted to stuff her mouth with spaghetti instead. Good answer.

Min & Jung Law Firm was a surprisingly modest infrastructure just twenty minutes away from your own office. You arrived earlier than expected to the sleek glass building, sunlight reflecting rainbows off its window panes. The receptionist led you inside and instructed you to wait in an empty room. A man sitting nearby in front of a door paid you no mind, you were probably one of many in this busy place. You quickly typed out emails on your phone to clients to ensure that everyone was updated, as well as texting your secretary to man the fort in your absence.

The plan for your divorce had been kept on the down low—on the very down low—with the exception of Namjoon. The last thing you wanted was for rumors to release to the press and swaying your business prospects away. The industry was already difficult enough for a woman, throw in a divorce into the equation and you could already picture the labels stuck upon the company as if your romantic endeavors had anything to do with your professional career. You could imagine the headlines: “Divorces! No commitment, no business?” Sighing, you locked your phone when a door creaked open.

There were two voices that carried down the hallway before a man in a suit stepped out. His hair was a shocking shade of orange, almost blinding, but it flattered the man’s features. When the man spotted you to the side and turned to face you, you noticed how incredibly young he looked with the softest attributes and lips thick enough to make you jealous. He must be a great kisser. Blinking curiously at you, he approached you with a tilt of his head, “Are you Yoongi-hyung’s girlfriend?”

Yoongi—wasn’t that the name of your lawyer? You were dragged away from your admiration for the stranger to stare at him in confusion. “Uh, no?”

“Oh,” he deflated, lips turned down. “You’re really pretty and you’re earlier than most of his clients so I figured—anyway, sorry,” he grinned, “didn’t mean to assume, I got a little excited there. Hope you have a good meeting!” Without any further explanation or provision of context, he was jumping into the elevator and disappearing with the smile still on his face.

Before you could contemplate the oddity further, the man sitting by the door was already calling you and shuffling you towards the office. He paused to briefly introduce your presence, “Sir, your 9 AM is here.”

The second you stepped in, all your expectations flew out the window. Namjoon’s description of your lawyer being grumpy and temperamental had painted a somewhat more terrifying image in your mind than the actual man standing before you then. The first thing you noted was how the man looked younger than expected and, when he stood, he was definitely shorter than expected. Nothing like Namjoon’s ridiculous height. Yoongi still towered over you, especially with the stern look in his eyes that seemed as if it was shrinking you. Lawyer eyes, you supposed.

“His name’s Min Yoongi. He’s scary when you meet him for the first time—” No shit, Namjoon, thanks for the heads up “—but he’s a good guy and he’ll take good care of you. Let me know if you need anything else!”

You gulped down Namjoon’s words and shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Good morning, Yoongi-ssi. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me.” You accepted his offer to sit across from you as he went back to his own leather seat.

“Good morning,” he began, “with Namjoon on my ass about it, I didn’t really have a choice.” There was a bite to his words that startled you somewhat and it seemed to be evident when he quickly cleared his throat to clarify. “My apologies, that was uncalled for. The kid earlier seems to have gotten more to me than expected.” He must be referring to the orange-haired man. “I looked over your files last night,” he turned the conversation smoothly, “and it should be simple. I’ll guarantee that you get everything from the dirt underneath your house to the sky above it.”

There was a hint of an accent in his syllables, very slight, but it made you wonder where he was from. You pressed your lips together before adding, “Ah, about that, I appreciate that you can promise everything to me. But I would like to leave a few assets to him, just a few pieces of collateral that I think he could still benefit from.”

One of his eyebrows raised curiously. “You want to willingly give him some of your shared property?” He looked absolutely puzzled and understandably so.

You licked your lips, shifting in your seat. His gaze dropped to them for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and looked back at you. “He’s my husband,” you said softly, “he was my friend first. I can’t take everything from him.”

There was a twitch to his lips and you weren’t sure whether that was a good sign or not. “I understand your sympathy for him, but I’d like to bear warning to you now that going soft in a divorce is not the best option.”

“Going soft isn’t the same thing as being compassionate,” you retorted, “I’m not going to strip him clean of everything and leave him dry when I know his reasons. That would be rather cold, wouldn’t it?”

Yoongi remained silent for a beat then two. It was clear that he wasn’t a fan of your methods, but it was still your divorce so he couldn’t argue with you on those grounds—not unless it was needed. He simply nodded and jotted down notes on your documents in front of him. Your eyes roamed his office, a clean setting with a couple of bookshelves nestled to the side filled with volumes thick enough to be paperweight, figurines that were curiously colorful rather than elegant pieces. If you conjured up a stereotypical picture of a frigid lawyer’s office, this would be exactly it.

Meanwhile, Yoongi was keeping his mind occupied on both your case and you. You were admittedly younger than he had presumed—one of his youngest so far. And you already had a daughter. You were beautiful and you had momentarily taken his breath away when you first introduced yourself to him. However, you were just another woman, one of many, and another of his clients, one of many.

He might also be ignoring the strange nagging feeling at the back of his mind that might’ve indicated otherwise. A sign that he wasn’t quite used to having about a customer. The toughness that soaked your voice was a far cry from the damsel in distress image he had pinned on you when Namjoon brought you up.

Yoongi liked that—liked his clients tough, liked his women tougher.

Maybe he really was a masochist.

Shaking the useless thoughts out of his mind, he passed a few pieces of paper to you. “Contract. I make sure my clients understand that I will ensure my services until the end, and, should they choose to break the agreement, there would be penalty involved as I have invested my time and expertise into it. The same applies to me if I decide not to finish a case.”

You briefly skimmed over the paragraphs and bullet points before signing. “Done.”

Yoongi wanted to say that you were a bit reckless but kept his lips shut. “Since this is a personal favor, I will offer you one more opportunity to reconsider. You’re positive about this? The divorce?”

You blinked at him, perplexed, “I hardly find this outcome positive, but it is necessary. What do you mean?”

“I know couples tend to have cold feet to a commitment as great as this, especially since it involves their loved ones. I always make sure my clients are certain that this is exactly what they want.”

Were you certain? Memories in a stream of pictures came flowing through your mind. You and Sungjae throughout college. The nights you both spent curled up in bed, toasting glasses of wine, complaining about professors and assignments. Staying up late in the library and his bringing you warm drinks, a soft gesture that always reached into your heart. His kind smile. Then his proposal, the immense diamond and affection he had presented to you. The joy that had engulfed your heart. The wedding. White lace and roses scattered all over the ceremony hall. Family and friends all gathered for the wondrous ceremony.

The feelings you held for him were strong, you knew. But over the years, those feelings had been replaced by too many arguments, too many nights spent crying over him, worrying over what he was doing. His screaming at you that he was going to be fine, that he was going to take care of the family. False promises. His voice bouncing off the walls. Plates smashing on the ground and broken pieces of Johnny Walker bottles across the kitchen floor. Then Mia.

Mia.

She was what your world revolved around. This wasn’t the way you wanted it to end—Sungjae was no longer a man who held your heart, but a man who had shattered it to pieces. You couldn’t have his behavior influencing her future. Not if everything you’ve done thus far had proved fruitless. Not the counseling, not the group therapy, not your own misery.

Strengthening your resolve, you looked up at him with a determined flame in your gaze. The anger might have disappeared from you a long time ago, leaving a numbing sadness and disappointment that never dissipated. The life you had envisioned for the two of you was nothing more than a mirage in this finite period of romance. All you could do at that point was swallow the consequences of your actions.

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

“Alright, it’s set then. I look forward to working with you.”

Believing that Namjoon would keep your divorce a hush hush had obviously been blind faith. You thought that speaking to him about it and then proceeding privately with Yoongi had been a great idea to keep the spread of information low key and eschew complications and distractions while you tied up the last strings of this issue.

Only one problem.

Yoongi was going over the documents in the meeting room or your office, settled across from you. His sudden, unannounced arrival had caused a stir in your workplace. This was due to the fact that you never took in unscheduled meetings, but you did his. He had shown up out of the blue and told you that he couldn’t get in touch with you, this seeming to irritate him more than anything. It was most definitely your fault since you tended to abandon your phone whenever you immersed yourself in your tasks.

His presence had generated a sudden influx of fabricated stories flying across cubicles and passed over telephone calls, reaching all of your employees and inevitably you. Speculations about a new boyfriend or a secret rendezvous bounced off each person, producing a ridiculously painful headache for you. Most of the people who worked for and with you knew how strict you could be when dealing with unorganized assignments, but also knew that you were somewhat of a softie at heart—a fact they took advantage of from time to time. The thought of you having an affair was ultimately scandalous. Even your secretary abandoned the tight camaraderie to hop in on the fun, winking at you and mouthing something along the lines of he’s cute as she closed the door behind the room.

That had been a hectic morning and you could still see some of them peeking over the walls of their boxes to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man in the meeting room. They were going to get an earful later.

Yoongi was discussing your financial documents when you received a notification from Namjoon, prompting you to look at your screen for the text.

Namjoon [ 12:45 PM ]: I’m sorry

What the— your phone blasted a song that had Yoongi glaring at the deafening device as it cut through his speech and train of thought. After working with him for a week, you realized how particular of a man he was and apologized quietly before answering it. “Sorry, my mom,” you mumbled to him only to be greeted by a screech.

“You’re getting a divorce?!”

Fucking Namjoon.

“Mom—”

“You’re getting a divorce and I had to hear it from Namjoon? Your own mother had to hear about your divorce from Kim Namjoon?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the pounding in your head seeming to crescendo with her every word. Parents were going to be the death of you if this divorce wasn’t. Why your mother was even speaking with Namjoon was a curious thing as well, it wasn’t as if they were best buddies who had afternoon tea every once in a while. “Mom, please keep it down, I think your neighbors can hear you.”

Your mother scoffed, “Oh, that girl can go screw herself. I can hear her and her boyfriend every night! It’s ridiculous how loud they get. I’ve had it with their thumping anyway.” Jesus Christ.

“Mom!” you chided. Yoongi perked up at your tone, raising an eyebrow in question. You were as confused about the call as he was. Offering an apologetic look, you grumbled into the phone again, “Look, I’m in a meeting right now so can we talk about—”

“This is your divorce!” she interrupted again.

“And I’m currently talking to my lawyer about it, so please—”

“When were you going to tell me?” she pressed again as if this was more important than your actual divorce, “when you’re eighty and I realize that Sungjae has been gone long enough?”

You sighed, “Don’t be so dramatic, Mother.” Then added quietly under your breath, “I was going to tell you once it was over.”

“I’m your mother.”

“And I’m getting death glares from my lawyer who’s very, very mean,” you argued. Yoongi looked insulted at the accusation, glaring at you, though they weren’t exactly death glares. He clearly wasn’t a fan of the name you had plastered on him. “Anyway, why were you even talking to Namjoon?”

“He was worried that we weren’t dealing well with something we didn’t even know was happening!”

You were going to slaughter Namjoon after this whole issue was settled. “I’ll call you back,” you huffed.

“Let me talk to that lawyer if he has any complaints.”

“Mother, I will call you back.” Before you could hear another round of arguments, the genetic stubbornness preventing her from ending the conversation unless she had won, you quickly hung up and set your phone to the side after putting it on silent. You weren’t going to hear the end of hanging up on her, but that was a matter for another time. “Sorry about that. Namjoon fucked up and told my mother.”

Yoongi looked partly amused and partly bemused. “You didn’t tell your parents?”

You shrugged, “They let me have free reign over my own life and choices, usually supporting me in whatever I decide on. They trust me so I tend to not mention details until whatever it is is done if it’s important, including college and all.”

“This is a divorce.”

“They were cool with Sungjae but never got too attached because they were busy with themselves too. It’s really no big deal.”

Yoongi looked surprised. And you weren’t sure why? Maybe you had come off too sentimental and sympathetic. He probably expected you to be the pampered type, always coddled by your loving parents.

“Should I be offended that you look shocked right now?”

“Not at all,” he coughed, “it’s not a bad thing really. I’m just genuinely surprised. I pictured you more of the tight family type.”

“Really?” That was interesting. Though, thinking about it now, you supposed it was justified how he could come to that conclusion. You could be a dead romantic, but you were also quite realistic. Your parents, what with their fitted and full schedules, had granted you independence from day one. The two of them were even still at their respective jobs until today instead of retiring like you had suggested. Although the three of you were close, keeping things from them to yourself wasn’t a rarity. “Intriguing,” you muttered, “what about you? Are you the ‘tight family’ type?”

He snorted, “Hardly. I haven’t talked to my mother since her messy divorce. She’s out there somewhere, hopefully, probably with one of her many boyfriends. My father’s back in Daegu, wood carver, though we don’t quite talk anymore.”

You winced, cursing yourself for touching what seemed to be a personal subject.

“Don’t say your sorry, there’s no need for sympathy,” he laughed, “it’s been a while. I don’t mind it that much anymore. I check in on my father from time to time, but he seems to be managing well on his own so I tend not to pry too much. He doesn’t seem to want the help, with my being a reminder of what he lost, so I’ve given up along time ago.”

“Even if you’ve given things, sometimes things stay painful if it reoccurs,” you murmured, “and that’s okay.”

Yoongi fidgeted slightly, pinching his lips together. “It just makes it more tolerable, I suppose.” The stiffness in his posture was noticeable and you decided that dropping the matter would probably be best. Yoongi followed your lead and returned to the main reason why he was there in the first place. “Your financials are great and it’ll be enough to assign Mia’s full custody to you. As for everything else…”

“I’m not sure what would be appropriate honestly,” you admitted, teeth catching your bottom lip in wary. “I know that if I ask you, you’d tell me to just take everything.” Yoongi hid his smirk and waited for you to continue. “But I only want to make sure he has enough to get by.”

“You’re all heart,” he said with a shake of his head. You almost felt slighted by the sentiment, but you stopped yourself when you saw the teasing smile on his lips. It was cute, small, and definitely softened his tougher facade if anything. He looked less intimidating. He should smile more often. “Well,” he started again, “how about your daughter?”

You nodded, feeling your heart bloom with warmth and joy at the same time. She was a bundle of sunshine neatly tied with a ribbon of sass. You never quite figured out where she inherited all her energy and wit from. “What about her?”

“Tell me about her,” he requested gently.

Mia. How did you even begin to describe Mia? “She’s great, she’s ten. Very smart, top of her class and always getting into trouble.” The thought drew a small laugh from your throat.

His own lips twitched again in amusement. Pride tugged at your ego for having elicited one and a half smile out of him. Score. This was probably your biggest accomplishment of the year. “She sounds like a real keeper.”

“She is,” you sighed, “I’m just not sure how to break the news to her. I’m scared how she’ll respond to all of it. She’s so young, yet so wise beyond her age. A divorce is still a divorce, and I know how much it can affect children. I’m terrified that it might affect her or her future views on anything remotely romantic. I’ve seen studies on that. As tough and intelligent she is, I don’t want her to end up a complete cynic.”

There was silence then.

You weren’t quite sure how Yoongi would react to your sudden spillage of emotions and your body reacted almost instantly, a flush decorating your face in embarrassment. “Sorry, didn’t mean to just do an instant heart-to-heart.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi chuckled, looking at you with amiability, “I usually avoid my clients’ stories to keep some distance—” you were ready to apologize “—but I appreciate you telling me. I think it’s kind of you to consider the long-term effects for such a permanent decision. I’m sure your daughter will appreciate it as well. She has a great mother after all.”

Speechless, you couldn’t do anything except bite down on your lip again. You cleared your throat, unsure of how to respond to his well meaning words.

Yoongi coughed, “But, since I’m a complete cynic, I take full offense in that.”

You opened your mouth again, apology gleaming in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound like a bad thing. Cynics are great too, I mean, you’re very pragmatic about the world and that’s very important to stay grounded.”

Your word vomit had him rolling his eyes but not without the threat of a grin on his lips. “I’m kidding,” he stressed, “it’s a joke. I made a joke. Get it? Ha ha. Tried to make you laugh.”

The words sounded so foreign leaving his mouth and, once what he said dawned upon his realization, his face colored a shade darker, the rosy hue giving his pale face an endearing glow. You could only manage a small “oh” in response, which proved to humiliate him further.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi chose to redirect the conversation back on route. “Anyway,” he coughed awkwardly, “what I meant to say was that it’s alright to give it time. You do have to explain things to her eventually, before things are finalized though. It will give her time to churn everything. She may be furious like any other child would be with a huge change in their life, but she will come to realize why you did what you did. Like you said, she is a smart one so I’m sure she’ll understand that you have her best intentions at heart.”

The burden in your heart seemed to lighten, floating the weight away with your worries. Yoongi could be blunt, could come off as a little standoffish, but you trusted his instincts to have faith in his wisdom. It was the sort of practical comfort that reassured you that maybe everything was going to be just fine. “Thanks, Yoongi,” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow, “Dropping the honorifics already?”

You snorted, wiggling your finger at him, “You know everything about my personal life now—my marriage, my kid, my job. Hell, you even have my bank statements. We’re basically best friends.”

He rolled his eyes, turning his gaze back to the documents in his hands, but you didn’t miss the way his lips adorably quirked up on the corners. That counted for two smiles, right? You grinned right back at him.

That day, Yoongi had left your office in a flurry, realizing that he had been indulging too happily in the delicious coffee you had prepared for him that the meeting he had half an hour later slipped his mind. You hadn’t seen the  man since. The two of you were caught in the whirlwind of your professions, seeing the workload begin to build on your desks as the days went by. While Yoongi shared bits and pieces of the ridiculous clients he was working with, you gave some insight into how tiring your own employees could be.

However, the divorce was a matter still at hand. With you both having been so swamped with work, it was near impossible to work over weekdays. This was why you decided to invite Yoongi over bright and early on Sunday morning. It was the only time he had off for the month that worked with your own schedule to finalize the last details of the agreement you were to bring to court. The week had gone by in a blur and, before you knew it, the end of the week had arrived, which meant that you had to face Yoongi, Mia, and your parents.

As your luck would provide, all of those affairs bumped into each other that fateful day.

The platinum-haired man was seated in your dining room, nursing a cup of black coffee you had brewed up as you got Mia ready for her playdate ( “it’s not a playdate, it’s actual serious business!” ).

Your parents had arrived around the same time Yoongi had, the two parties regarding each other with vague interest as they stood next to each other by your doorway.

Your mother’s first instinct was to greet you with a “I’m disowning you for having kept this a secret from me.”

Yoongi had choked a little at the statement but you casted his surprise aside, far from astounded by your mother’s renouncement of her motherhood. “Yes, mom,” you drawled, “alright. You’ve made the same threat since I was six, it doesn’t work anymore. Come in, come in. I made breakfast already so get settled.”

Introducing Yoongi to your parents as a single, successful lawyer was your first mistake. Key word: single. That seemed to be the only word that mattered to your mother who immediately began assessing the possibility of his being a future in-law, ignoring the obvious fact that you were still married. Your father, on the other hand, had taken a more protective stance as he seemed to square up the lad with a stern look.

God, could they be anymore embarrassing? You weren’t five.

“This girl, honestly,” your mother huffed to Yoongi who seemed to be straining to appear relaxed. “I cannot bring myself to believe Sungjae was such a man. I thought he was rather handsome at first, both in his character and looks, but now his attitude is completely unbecoming.”

“He was a good guy, Mom,” you defended, “shit happens, can’t help it.”

“That’s hardly an excuse for poor behavior,” she scoffed, turning to Yoongi and patting his shoulder. You could see Yoongi visibly stiffen further. “Look at this man here. A world of bitterness in his eyes but you don’t see him sulking like a child.”

“Mom!” you scolded, squeezing your eyes shut before turning to Yoongi with an apologetic glance. Your mother’s words seemed to humor rather than insult him. “I am so sorry, Yoongi. My mother here does not have a filter.”

“Quite alright,” he murmured thoughtfully, expression unreadable as he hid his emotion behind the steaming cup. He instead looked down to scan over his papers again.

Your mother harrumphed, pointing her nose to the air, “We’re more than happy to cover the costs of the legal obligations. I refuse to let my granddaughter be exposed to such a toxic environment where her father is nonexistent. I’ll put my absolute faith in you, Yoongi-ssi.”

You huffed, glaring at her, “I can afford to pay my own lawyer for his services, Mother.”

“We just want to be assured that you can wipe your hands clean of a man without balls.”

“Mother! Do not speak of his—oh my God, don’t, just don’t.”

“You’ve seen it first hand,” she grumbled, “you know it’s true.”

“Mother!”

Yoongi followed the exchange with mirth dancing in his eyes. However, that happiness was short-lived when your mom directed her attention towards him again, asking him an array of questions, some leaving the great Min Yoongi looking utterly mortified. You had to banish your parents into the living room where you could still hear their complaints.

“God,” you massaged your forehead, pressing the migraine away, “I’m so sorry, it’s been such a mess of a morning for me.” You were barely dressed, only clad in a loose t-shirt and a pair of shorts that were both wrinkled with sleep. “My parents will be out of ours hairs soon, hopefully,” you muttered under your breath, “and so will Mia.”

Luckily for you, Mia barely had the chance to examine Yoongi’s presence with her big, curious eyes. She was quickly strapped to the backseat of your parents’ car once she was dressed and ready to go. You swiftly placed a kiss on her forehead, telling her to behave for your parents before watching them disappear down the street.

“Sorry about the hassle, I must be intruding into too much of your time,” you offered a remorseful look.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved it off. Funny, you figured that, by this point, he might’ve called the entire morning a waste of his resources and precious hours. Instead, the only thing you could find in his eyes was hilarity.

“What?” you asked.

He echoed in confusion, “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not,” he rejected with a failed effort to suppress his grin.

“You are,” you insisted, squinting at him, “what’s so funny?”

The corners of his lips tugged up again. “Nothing, it’s just—you and your family are interesting.”

Groaning, you reached over to grab his cup and pour him another from the machine. “They’re terrible really, but I have to love them,” you joked with feigned exasperation.

“I can see now why you are the way you are,” Yoongi stated simply.

“What? Crazy?”

“I was going for affectionate but if the shoe fits.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving the mug his way. “You’re funny.”

“I’d like to think so.” Yoongi caught it easily in his hands and grinned, gums and teeth all out in the open.

Somehow, working with Yoongi turned out to be much easier than Namjoon had made it out to be. His exaggeration of Yoongi’s character had at least prepared you for the worst and allowed you to loosen up whenever he was around. For some time, you thought that, with Yoongi taking care of everything, it would be fine. But splitting assets and property seemed to be the one thing the two of you couldn’t agree on.

It was over a late weekday when Yoongi had shown up at your doorstep again. He looked drained from work and you could only offer consolation in the form of a homemade meal, which Mia had whined about earlier because it was the most you could do. Yoongi appreciated the gesture though as he thanked you for the meal and seemed to empty the plate in a blink of an eye. You wondered if the man was eating well with how much time he spent in the office.

However, the peacefulness never lasted very long. Yoongi was lecturing you for going too easy on what you were offering to Sungjae. “Listen to me,” he hissed, anger bubbling up in his tone, “you’re actually asking me to put down nearly half of your shared possessions to him. Half. That’s ridiculous.”

“But that’s not the point,” you argued, equally as frustrated with how much he was insisting on this.

“Then what is the point?” he spat out, letting the papers fall to the counter with a flutter. “Why do you even want a divorce when you can’t bring yourself to cut this connection you have with him? Sympathy isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

You gritted your teeth, hands clutching the edge of the marble, knuckles whitening. “This isn’t your choice to make, Yoongi. I understand you’re my lawyer but I get to decide the final settlement.”

“Why did you even need me in the first place?” he rolled his eyes, “You’re basically giving him everything he wanted. You might as well fire me now and save yourself the trouble of fighting with me on something I’m knowledgeable about.”

“You’re just being difficult. I understand you know best about these things, but I also need you to understand how I feel about this. You don’t understand the guilt okay,” you sighed, slamming your eyes shut. Your head had been throbbing for the past hour, but you wanted everything to finish clean.

Yoongi sighed, his face flickering with conflict at your admission. “I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’m speaking from your side here as your lawyer, I can’t sympathize with him when you’re my client.”

“Yes, I’m divorcing him because he’s a complete ass but I’ve just about—” you press your lips together, rambling again until you were interrupted by another presence.

“Divorce?”

Your heart stuttered, your words falling back down your throat. Your eyes flew to the doorway where Mia stood, pajamas creased, hair bedridden. Fuck, fuck. You were a fool. You couldn’t believe you forgot that your daughter was asleep upstairs. She was looking at you with wide eyes, gaze glazed over with the weight of slumber still hanging upon her eyelids.

“Mia—”

“You’re divorcing daddy?” Her voice was small, her eyes looking up at you with a small waver. She clutched onto her stuffed animal, tightening her grip on the flimsy thing.

Daddy. God. He didn’t even deserve the title. He hadn’t been home in weeks and Mia was still referring to him as her father. Your heart broke for her, she deserved better. “Sweetheart,” you started.

But Mia stomped her foot down, lips quivering, “Tell me!”

No, this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. “Honey, look, let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay? You need sleep—”

“No!” she cried again, this time with a frustrated glare, “why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed, blinking away your own tears and swallowing the thickness in your throat. “I’ve been busy and I didn’t have time, but we will talk about this tomorrow. I promise.”

“You could’ve told me!”

“Mia, that’s enough,” you growled. With all the stress that had piled atop your mind from work coupled with this entire mess, it was as if everything you’ve been bottling up was beginning to tumble over and spill all over your responsibilities. “I don’t want you raising your voice with me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but you still have school tomorrow and that should be your priority.”

Mia pinched her lips together defiantly. Any other time, you would applaud her for her tenacity, but you couldn’t put up with disobedience in that moment. “I would’ve understood,” she pushed again.

“No, Mia!” you snapped, “That is enough. You are still a child and this is an adult matter. I won’t have you speaking to me like this.”

That seemed to be the last straw. Her eyes had been glistening with waterworks before they finally broke, her lips trembling and her small body quaking with anger. Regret immediately flowed through your system and your fury ebbed away into a deep throbbing of your heart.

“Mia—”

“I hate you!” With that last declaration, she ran off up the stairs. You were left to follow the fading echoes of her footsteps disappearing up the stairs. In the silence of the room, it sounded thunderous, like lightning had crackled down upon the household and electrified the once warm home into a cold, uncomfortable quietness.

You could barely muster up the strength and will to chase after her, your body moving automatically and carrying you to the second floor where you rapped your knuckles against the door. “Mia, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Go away!”

“Baby, please, can we talk?”

“Go away!”

Nothing in the world could’ve compared to the pain of your own daughter refusing you. You couldn’t press further, you knew, because it was in her character to be this stubborn, perhaps taking after your own trait. You leaned your forehead against the door, hoping to hear some sign, any at all to indicate that she was okay.

“Mia,” you whispered again, quieter this time.

For a few seconds, you stood in the utter hush of the house. The hallway unnatural without the cheerful shrieks of your little one. It wasn’t until you felt weight on your shoulders that you pulled away. Yoongi stood there, face void of any emotion that you could name. He steered you back to the kitchen and sat you down, and you could do nothing but comply. “Stay here okay, drink this,” he offered you a small cup, the brownish liquid puffing up curling smoke.

You did as he told almost robotically. Your mind was numb, actions paralyzed with fear. This was the one thing you hoped wouldn’t happen, the one thing you wanted to shield from your daughter from because of this exact risk. Postponing the acknowledgement of your divorce to your daughter perhaps had been one way of coping with that trepidation, but it had happened all the same.

“Would you mind if I went and speak with her?” Yoongi asked quietly, his hand on your shoulder almost like a comforting presence if you weren’t still shaking with fright.

You shook your head, wiping away your tears again and clearing your throat. It suddenly felt so dry, as if all the air had been sucked out of your body. “No, but she—she’s a little stubborn so I don’t know if that’ll help.”

“I’ll take my chances, I’ve dealt with you before after all,” Yoongi said, his voice with a light lilt that did little to pacify your dread. So you only respond with a small nod and the man left you in the overwhelming silence of the dining room.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Alphas: Part 5

Pairings: Charles Xavier x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst.

Word Count: 2,958

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3��/ Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had never seen your students so happy in your entire life. Some how, you had managed to convince the X-Men, the Avengers, and the other teachers at the school to organize a mass field trip to Disney for your 100th birthday. Which meant you had managed to corral seventy-eight teenagers and 22 adults into the Quinjet and the X-Jet to travel down to Florida for the day.

The plan was to have each adult be responsible for three or four students with the intention of at least two adults leading a small group for everyone’s safety. On top of that, Tony had created a tracking system for the students (and Peter Parker because you couldn’t leave him behind) and each adult had an app on their phone to be able to keep track of them all through out the day. You and your two Alpha’s were responsible for the most… you didn’t want to say vulnerable because they were more than capable of protecting themselves. But they were the mutants that would either draw the most attention from the other tourists or be the most likely to respond with their abilities because of said attention.

“How many of those windows do you think I can knock out with one blast from back here.” Scott joked as he gestured to Cinderella’s castle in the distance.

“None because you’re gunna behave for my birthday, right?” You said as you followed your group of eleven kids with Bucky and Charles on either side of you. He glanced back at you and mock saluted as his girlfriend, Jean tugged on his arm.

“I’m quite proud of you, Omega.” Charles said as he took your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “Using your birthday to let the children be children for a day.”

“I think it’ll be good for them. And with Disney, from what I read, the people who work here are a lot better at seeing kids that are different. They always get the strangest looks from the employees at Hershey park so hopefully, Disney is different for them.”

“We’ve got one good Omega.” Bucky said as he put his metal arm around your shoulder. You smiled up at him as Charles nodded his head in agreement and squeezed your hand. You were so grateful that the two of them were getting along as well as they were since Charles had started the slow process of ‘fixing’ Bucky’s mind.

“John! Not happening! Lighter, now.” You called out as you let go of Charles’ hand and ducked out from under Bucky’s arm. They both shook their heads and huffed a laugh as you pocketed the lighter and held out your hand for any backups you knew the boy that went by Pyro had before he lit the wooden statue of a bear on fire just for fun.

——

You stood outside Space Mountain with Emma and Ellie, two Betas that didn’t want to ride the rollercoaster as Charles and Bucky took the other kids on the ride. You smirked at Ellie (Negasonic Teenage Warhead) as she sat, annoyed with life, like a typical teenager and Emma, who was taking selfies with the castle in the distance. You bumped your shoulder into Ellie’s, and smirked down at her.

“You know, you’re allowed to smile.” She looked up at you through her lashes and a smile pulled at the corner of her lip no matter how hard she tried to fight it. You were always the one who could get through to her.

“It hurts.” She joked as she snapped her gum and fought to get her smile hidden once again. You both looked over at Emma as an older, creepy Alpha walked up to her. You could see instantly that she was uncomfortable and your Omega instincts kicked in.

“Stay here.” You said to Ellie as you got up from the bench the two of you were sitting on. You forced a smile on your face and walked over. “Hey Em. Ellie and I are going to go look at the…”

“I’m talking to her, Omega. Know your place.” The man snapped as his eyes shot up to you. You reached out and grabbed Emma’s hand as you stood up a bit taller and held your ground.

“And I’m taking my kid away now. Have a good day.” You pulled Emma behind your back and gently pushed her toward Ellie. The Alpha growled and quickly shoved you against a rail. He put his arm across your chest painfully and held you in place as he stared you down.

“Who do you think you’re talking to, Omega?” He snapped. You held your hand up towards your students as Ellie and Emma jumped up to help you and Charles’ voice asking if you were alright echoed in your head. You thought a quick ‘no’ as you glanced over at your students to make sure they were OK.

“I suggest you back up now.” You said calmly despite the fear that was pouring out of you. “My Alp…”

“Your Alpha needs to teach you to respect other Alphas you little bitch. Looks like someone has to teach…” You let out a squeak and cringed as the man pulled his hand back to hit you when the familiar whirl of Bucky’s metal arm stopping him in his tracks made your eyes fly open.

“Back up.” Bucky growled as Charles stepped around the pair and stood in front of you.

“Alphas. Plural.” You said with a smile as Bucky bent the mans arm back, sending the man to his knees. “As in more than one.

“I suggest you apologize to our Omega.” Charles said as he gestured to Bucky. “Because he will break your arm.”

“Sorry!” The man yelped over Bucky’s rolling growl. You shook your head as you leaned around Charles and pointed to Emma.

“Not to me. To her.” He opened his mouth to protest but Bucky pulled his arm a little farther back.

“Sorry!” The man shouted. Bucky instantly let go and shoved the man back. His eyes widened as he got a look at the super soldier for the first time.

“Go.” The man jumped to his feet with a scowl and stormed off. Charles and Bucky were instantly in front of you and your students crowded around.

“Let me see.” Charles said as he stepped forward and lifted your chin. You barely heard Ellie demanding everyone take a step back as your Alphas looked at the light bruise forming on your chest and lower back.

“I’m fine.” You said softly. “’s’alright…”

“Not alright.” Charles said. Bucky shook his head in agreement.

“Absolutely not alright.”

“OK, so it’s not alright but I’m not doing this in front of the kids. You both can worry later, OK?” You reached up and cupped both their cheeks as they looked at each other.

“Every other ride?” Bucky suggested, receiving a nod from Charles. You rolled your eyes as Bucky gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into his side.

“I’m fine, Alpha.” You sighed as you all headed toward the next ride. Charles put his arm around your waist and growled at an Alpha that was looking over at you. You sighed as the Alpha students of your group moved the Betas and Omegas into the middle of the group. With a huff, you rolled your eyes again and moved into the line for the Carousel of Progress, knowing full well that no matter how much you protested, your Alphas were going to stick to your side like glue for the rest of the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why do you still keep those memory boxes, doll? Stark gave you that flat computer thing that you take photos with all the time.” You giggled as you looked up at Bucky while putting your Disney World tickets and the ‘Happy Birthday’ pin in a white cardboard box marked ’twenty-teens’.

“Because apparently, I don’t die so in a hundred years, I’d like to be able to look back on the time you, Charles and I took the kids to Disney. And by then, who knows what technology will look like.” He nodded and pointed at you as you put the lid back on and pushed the box into the corner of your closet. You walked over and flopped down on your and Bucky’s bed with a sigh. “I feel like we should go out and do something tonight but I really, really don’t want to.”

“Ooook.” He laughed as he reached over and pulled you up toward him and the pillows. “So what do you want to do because I’m kinda tired of movies.” With a sigh, you looked over at him and snarled your lip up, playfully.

“God, where’s Charles when we need him. He’s always got some kinda crazy idea to entertain us.”

“(Y/N)…” You sat bolt upright in bed, nearly hitting Bucky’s head with your own as Charles’ weak, pain filled and panicked voice called out in your mind.

“Charles?” You asked out loud as you covered your ears in an attempt to hear him better. He sounded a million miles away and he was starting to unknowingly pass his pain on to you. “Charles!” You screamed as pain ripped through your stomach and back, like a burning fire that couldn’t be snuffed out. Almost as quickly as it started, he thought your name once more before everything disappeared. You sat panting on the bed as Bucky scrambled to figure out why his Omega was screaming.

“(Y/N)!” You looked up as Logan ripped open your bedroom door, doused in blood. You searched his wild eyes as he shook his head. “It’s Charles.”

“Where?” You asked as you flew out of the bed with Bucky on your heels. You stumbled slightly as Charles’ voice and his pain flooded your mind again. You barely felt Bucky scoop you off your feet and continue through the mansion after Logan while you tried to calm Charles down.

“Charles, breathe. I’m here, Alpha.” You said as you covered your ears to block out the shouts around you from your students. You closed your eyes and squirmed against the pain in a desperate attempt to get away from it.

“Omega, please…”

“I’m coming, Alpha. I’m coming.” You said as you curled yourself into Bucky’s arms. You tried to calm him down as his cries of pain moved from being in just your head to completely surrounding you.

“I can't breathe.” Charles cried as you scrambled to get out of Bucky’s arms; forcing yourself to ignore the gut wrenching, nauseating pain that didn’t belong to you. Your two personalities collided- Doctor verses Charles’ Omega as you looked at the blood dripping on the floor of the medical room in the basement.

“What happened?” You screamed as you ran over to the cabinets and began ripping them open for what you needed.

“It was an accident.” Erik Lehnsherr, Charles’ long time frenemy said, his voice obviously shaken. “I didn’t mean…”

“Erik!” You snapped as you started throwing things onto a metal tray. “What. Happened?”

“Bullet to the stomach.” Hank said as he came running in from the hanger. You nodded as you kicked through the locked, glass door of the medicine cabinet and grabbed a sedative and a strong pain killer. You grabbed two syringes off the tray and forced yourself to swallow back tears.

“Bucky, hold his arm out.” You said over Charles’ pleas as you filled the syringes as fast as your shaking hands would allow. You glanced up at your other Alpha as you set the bottles down on the counter. “James!” His head whipped up toward you as you grabbed a rubber tourniquet off the tray.

“I can’t help him if he keeps giving me his pain. I need his arm!” Faster than you could blink, Charles’ suit arm was ripped away and his arm was held still for you. As quickly as you could, you gave your Alpha the two shots and held your breath for a moment until he passed out. As his breathing went from short, pained pants to simple breaths, you burst into tears and took over for Jean with your hands on the wound.

“Erik… you need to leave.” You said after a moment as you forced yourself to stand up straight. You glanced back at him and pointed toward the door with a nod. “And don’t show your face in my home again.” With a half nod, he walked out of the room with his head hung low. You heard Bucky call your name and you couldn’t do anything but shake your head. “I can fix this.” You said, more to yourself as you took a deep breath and looked at your blood splattered night shirt.

“Alright, Hank get the x-ray machine up, quick. Jean, stay with me and stay in Charles’ head. Make sure he’s OK, alright? Logan, make sure everyone else goes back to bed.” You heard Logan start to coral everyone out as you started a heart rate monitor and grabbed the electrodes you needed. “Buck, I need you here.”

“‘mega… can you fix him?” You looked up at one of the loves of your life and the only thing you could do was shake your head.

“I’m gunna try, Alpha. I’m gunna fucking try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did good, Omega.” You couldn’t look up at Bucky, nor could you accept his compliment as you sat on his lap in the med-room in the basement of the mansion. Your Alpha dragged his fingers up and down your spine as the two of you watched the steady rise and fall of Charles’ chest. He had gotten lucky that Erik was there but you would be damned if you ever admitted that out loud. He had managed to stop the bullet before it did any sever damage, but it still went into a loop of his intestines. While you were not and had never been a surgeon, you were able to get him patched up and into recovery within a few hours.

“Can I admit something?” Bucky said softly as he slid his hand down your back and around to your hip. He curled his fingers into the shirt he had forced you to change into post surgery and laid his cheek on the top of your head. You felt a tear fall onto your cheek and you finally picked your head up off his chest and looked up at him. He avoided your eyes by looking down at your lap.

“I can’t lose him either. I…” he sighed and closed his eyes with a shake of his head. You reached up gently and cupped his jaw in your palm. He sighed and leaned into the touch. “I think I love him. Not in a ‘I want to sleep with him’ way. It’s just… fuck.” He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tighter. “I don’t know how to explain it, ‘mega mine.”

“I do…” Both your heads whipped over at the sound of Charles’ voice and you lurched to your feet as fast as you could.

“Don’t move, Alpha.” You said gently as you carefully sat on one side of the bed when he tried to sit up. “You have seven stitches in your stomach.” He nodded and settled back into the bed with a slightly pained face. Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out to cup his jaw but his eyes found Bucky’s as he sat down in a chair beside you.

“I know how you feel, James. When I was lying there, essentially dying, I saw your face. Both of you.” He looked at you with a smile and you nodded for him to go on. He looked back at Bucky and reached for his hand. “I love you, James. Which wasn’t always the case but today, I couldn’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know if you realize it as much as I have but when our Omega isn’t there, you and I turn to each other for companionship where as it used to be Hank and Steve respectively. I know it’s not the same type of love we feel for our Omega… but it is love.” Despite the slight blush on his face, Bucky nodded in agreement and let Charles lace his fingers with his.

“I couldn’t lose you.” He said softly as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb along Charles’ thumb. “Either of you.” He smiled up at you and you took Bucky’s other hand with a smile.

“God, I love you both so much.” You said as you looked between your two Alpha’s. Both smiled at you as Charles took your other hand.

“As do I.” Charles agreed as he gently squeezed both your hands.

“Me, too.” With a bigger smile, you gave both Alpha’s hands a returning squeeze before standing up from the bed.

“Alright, you need rest, Alpha.” You said with as much authority as you could. “You’re lucky to be alive. And if I ever see Erik near you again, I’ll shoot him myself.”

“No you won’t.” Both Alphas said as Bucky stood up beside you.

“Come on, Omega. Let’s go drag the other bed in here so we can all go to bed.”

“Oh, love?” You and both looked back at Charles and he smirked. “I’ll need to come up with better nicknames. Think I could get something for the pain, doc?” You smirked back and shook your head.

“The doc in me says yes, but your Omega is very, very mad at you for getting shot.” He huffed a laugh and instantly cringed, causing you to lose all fight. “OK! Pain meds, on the way.”

[formerprincess]

Part 7

I know I took my time with uploading this part but now it’s here and I hope you’re as excited as I am. Liam tries his best to be there for Theo when his mate needs him the most.

Since Theo moved in with the Geyers they had learned that despite the chimera acting all confident and cocky, he was still fighting his demons, especially in his sleep. His nightmares were something that has woken up the whole family in the beginning and Ilona Geyer and her husband were shocked to see a young man so traumatized by his life that he had such drastic nightmares.

It had gotten better after Liam and Theo became a couple and slept together in the same bed. Being around Liam helped Theo to feel safe, Liam knew that. He couldn’t keep all nightmares away from Theo but he could help his boyfriend to feel better. 

Unfortunately, there were still moments when Theo’s demons got him in their claws and you never knew when it happened in advance. So when Liam was in the bathroom washing his hands and he suddenly felt a rush of panic through the mating bond, he was immediately alerted. Theo was downstairs, had watched TV, and last time Liam checked he had been okay. That obviously changed now and Liam wasted no time in leaving the bathroom and running down the stairs, listening to the sounds coming from the living room; he heard his mother and Theo, Theo’s frantically heartbeat too.

“Theo, Theo, calm down, you had a nightmare. You fell asleep on the couch and you had a nightmare.” Mrs. Geyer said. “It’s okay, sweetie.” “Where’s Liam?” Theo asked panicked. “Where is he?” “He’s upstairs, honey, want me to call him?” But Theo left the living room and all but ran out without answering her.

They met at the last step of the stairs and Liam’s heart clenched at the look of pure terror on Theo’s face. He was literally bolting from the living room as if something was chasing him and his heartbeat still beat rapidly and he breathed hard. It tore Liam’s heart open to see his boyfriend in this state.  When Theo saw him, he whimpered and Liam immediately wrapped his arms around Theo, shielding him from whatever had made him so scared. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He muttered and stroke over Theo’s back, all the time he held him close, and Theo clung to him in desperate need of consolation.  When Liam raised his eyes, he saw his mother standing in the doorway and watching them with pity in her eyes. She had no idea what Theo’s nightmares where about but she felt immensely sorry for the young man. But she also knew Liam did the best he could and there was no other option to help Theo, so she just let the two boys stand there.

Liam still held his mate when his stepdad stepped into the house and frowned at the sight. His mother looked at her husband and then at Liam and Theo and sighed before she grabbed her coat and put it on.

“Liam? We need to go, the traffic will be too bad otherwise. If you need something, just call us, okay?” His parents would be gone to a conference this weekend so the two boys would be home alone. Now Liam nodded and still held Theo who slowly calmed down again but didn’t react to Ilona’s words. Ilona ruffled her son’s hair and gently stroke over Theo’s back and then they left, Liam’s dad waving before he closed the door. Liam heard them getting into the car and the car pulling out of the driveway and then they were alone.

“Tara?” Liam asked softly when it was just the two of them and he felt Theo nod. The chimera pulled away from Liam and looked at him with tears in his eyes. “But this time she didn’t rip my heart out. She took yours.” He told Liam and Liam’s eyes widened when Theo started crying again.  “Oh, baby, I am so sorry. But I am here, just like you. We are both alive and it was just a dream. A terrible dream but a dream nonetheless. You are safe now. I would never let her get you.” Liam assured Theo while he stroke over his cheeks.  Theo grabbed his wrists.  “Promise me you won’t die on me.” Theo pleaded, voice soft and young, and he looked at Liam with the honest fear of losing him. Liam nodded and stroke over his cheeks once more. “Promise.” He said and kissed Theo with all the love he had for the older boy.

When they parted, Liam smiled weakly. “Want to watch movies?” He asked and Theo nodded while wiping his eyes. Liam smiled and kissed Theo’s cheek and then pulled the older into the living room. There Liam plopped down on the couch and sighed softly. Theo grabbed the remote and sat back on the couch.  He curled up next to Liam and Liam grabbed the blanket from the backrest of the couch to cover them both with it. His arms stayed around Theo while his boyfriend flicked through a movie and finally decided on Disney. Soon enough 101 Dalmatians appeared on the screen and Liam smiled softly. He liked that movie and so did Theo as it seemed. He lovingly kissed his boyfriend’s forehead and stroke through Theo’s soft hair. 

But the longer they stayed there, Liam noticed something that made him frown. “You’re cold. Are you freezing?” He asked and closed his hand around Theo’s ice-cold fingers.  “I’m always cold after a nightmare.” Theo muttered almost as if he was afraid to admit that. Liam kissed his forehead again. “Hm.” He sat up and made Theo do the same so he could get up from the couch. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Theo asked but followed Liam out of the living room and upstairs. Liam led them into their bathroom and turned the heating up before he plugged the bathtub and turned on the faucet.  “A hot bath will help.” He explained to Theo who sat on the closed toilet seat and watched him. “Are you sure?” The chimera asked. “It always helped me.” Liam replied and tested the temperature of the water with his hand to decide if it was good or too hot. “Liam? Thank you. For everything.” Liam looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I love you and you deserve to feel good.”  When he got up to add a bath bomb in it (not too scented since they both hated that but just to add a little touch), he leaned over and kissed Theo gently. Theo kissed him back. “I love you too.”

Liam smiled and finally the tub was filled and he made a hand movement. “Go in.” He gently adjusted but Theo hesitated. “Do you...can you also get in?” He asked. Liam had usually planned on just sitting by and talking but if that’s what Theo wanted...

He pulled his shirt over his head and then quickly undressed completely before slipping into the water. Theo undressed too and followed soon after, slipping between Liam’s spread legs and leaning against the younger Beta. He sighed when the hot water surrounded him.  “Feels good?” Liam asked and Theo nodded.  “Helps to relax.” He admitted and Liam kissed his cheek before slowly stroking over Theo’s shoulder. Theo leaned into his touch and Liam wrapped both arms around his boyfriend.  “Tell me something. Something nice.” Theo muttered. 

Liam thought for a moment. “When I was younger, my grandmother loved to tell me fairy tales and I loved to hear them. The thing is, my grandmother had slightly different versions of the fairytales but I didn’t know that. So when I learned about the difference from other kids, I was highly confused and still insisted the version my grandmother told me was the real one. And my favorite was Red Riding Hood. Don’t laugh because of wolves, yeah what a coincidence.”

Theo chuckled but he continued to listen to Liam’s words. “In the version, my grandmother told me, Red Riding Hood went out to visit her grandmother and came across the wolf before the wolf could eat her grandmother. Instead of running away and alerting the hunter, she stood her ground and didn’t back down from the wolf. She looked the wolf dead in the eye and in the end, the wolf respected her because the wolf saw her as equal, as Alpha if you want. The hunter who later appeared and Red Riding Hood stepped between him and the animal, saving the wolf from getting killed. The hunter was so impressed by that, he took her in and trained her. From that day on, Red Riding Hood and her wolf wandered the forest side by side, helping those who needed their help.”

Theo was silent for a while. “That is the best version of Red Riding Hood I ever heard. Your grandmother is a very intelligent woman.” Liam smiled and kissed Theo’s temple. “She is. I loved this story because as a kid I loved wolves and the aspect of becoming friends with a wolf was just so amazing to me. I used to play hours pretending I had my own pet wolf.” Theo played with Liam’s fingers. “Did your pet wolf have a name?” “Bolt. I know, not the most creative, but he had a little white patch on his ear that looked like a lightning bolt.” Liam chuckled. “He was a black wolf, now that I think about it.”  Theo laughed and after him being so completely broken before it felt good to hear this sound from his beloved. “Should I be scared to transform and then wake up with a lightning bolt painted on my ear?” He teased Liam and Liam poked his rips. Theo jumped and grabbed Liam’s hand. “No tickling!”

So Liam just hugged him tighter and kissed his temple again. Theo relaxed against him again, soaking up the warmth of the water and from Liam. “Do you still love wolves nowadays?” He asked. “A bit. But nowadays I love chimeras more, you know.” Liam replied and Theo turned his head so he could kiss Liam’s jaw. 

“And you say I’m the charmer in this relationship.” He told Liam and kissed his jaw again. He moved again to have better access and kissed up to Liam’s earlobe to suck on it. Liam moaned softly. His hands ran over Theo’s body, stroked his chest and his abs, his thighs and finally between his legs. Theo spread them as good as he could and leaned against Liam while he moved his boyfriend's hand to his cock. Liam got the hint and slowly pumped the hardening length. Theo moaned and pushed against Liam’s hand while he tilted his head back. 

“Damn, you look insanely hot like this. Like a living sin. How are you even real?” Liam muttered and licked over Theo’s neck before biting down on the skin.  Theo gasped and Liam licked over the hickey. “You look even hotter covered in bite marks.” He told  Theo and continued to assault Theo’s neck as good as he could. His grip on Theo’s cock never stopped and he was pumping and stroking him until he was fully hard.

Theo gasped over and over and pushed against Liam’s hand and when he was achingly hard, he turned around to straddle his mate. His hands cupped Liam’s face and he pulled him into a hot and messy kiss. Liam moaned into the kiss, completely lost in the feeling. His hands roamed Theo’s back and grabbed his ass, leaving red stripes in their wake. Theo hissed and bit down on Liam’s lower lip before he sucked on it and teased the abused flesh. It was Liam’s turn to gasp now and Theo used it to let his tongue slip into Liam’s mouth and tease Liam’s tongue. 

They made out for a while, then their kisses got even more intimate and traveled over every patch of skin they could reach. Hands stroke over heated skin and the air got even more fogged up than it already was. It was the most sensual Liam ever experienced and all of his encounters with Theo were sensual, but this one was special. It was so incredibly intimate and Liam’s head swam. Theo pressed against him, made Liam feel how hard his mate was, and alerted Liam to his own leaking cock that pressed against Theo’s ass. 

They moved together, in complete sync, bodies reacting to each other. When he was with Theo, Liam always let himself fall. The outer world didn’t exist when it was just him and his boyfriend. Theo was his world, his everything, and he wanted to cherish him and show him that. So he licked over Theo’s neck and his ear, loved to hear Theo moan and see him shudder due to that, and then he nibbled at Theo’s jaw. The chimera gasped again.

“Liam...”

His wet fingers ran through Liam’s hair and pulled Liam’s head back so Theo could pull Liam in a messy kiss. Liam didn’t need to be persuaded to respond to that and again their tongues tangled with each other and their bodies moved without further words. When the need to breath became too strong, Theo broke away and pressed a kiss to Liam’s chin before he hoisted himself up to get in an even better position.  He reached down to spread his own cheeks and then slowly sunk down on Liam’s erection. They both moaned and Liam would have tilted his head back if the picture in front of him had not been so breathtaking. And it was not just the fact how tight Theo was around him, no his boyfriend also looked incredible. “You look so beautiful.” He told Theo and Theo smiled softly.  “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He replied and licked over Liam’s lips. “And you feel so incredible inside me.” He whispered into Liam’s ear and then started to move his hips in a slow, sensual way. Liam groaned and held Theo’s hips but not too tight, he didn’t want to restrain him. 

Theo moaned and closed his eyes while he rode Liam and Liam kissed his throat and his neck, hands gently rubbing Theo’s sides. Moans and pants spilled from his lips all the time and after a while, he could not stop himself from fucking up into Theo. Theo groaned again and pushed back down and now it was Liam who groaned.

“Fuck, T...” He gasped and his grip momentarily tightened and Theo’s movements turned faster. Some water was splashing out of the tub but Liam didn’t care at all. He would clean later. Now Theo took all his attention and he took it in a great way. Liam leaned back against the tub and just raked his eyes over the glistening body of his mate, water shimmering on his lightly tanned skin and a flush spreading across his cheeks and his neck. He was so incredibly lucky and when Theo opened his eyes and looked at him, he smiled. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Because you are the best thing that ever happened to me.” Liam explained and Theo smiled happily before leaning down and capturing Liam’s lips with his. He never stopped riding his boyfriend and slowly both were brought to their climax. Liam’s hand wrapped around Theo’s cock and he jerked him off in sync with Theo’s movements.  

Theo groaned and gripped the edge of the tub, claws scraped over it, while he shuddered for a moment. Liam squeezed Theo’s cock and his thumb stroked over the tip a few times just to tease Theo. And then Theo looked at him with glowing eyes and when he smirked, Liam saw Theo’s fangs. His own fangs scraped his lip and his eyes flashed to show his partner how much he desired him. 

Liam jerked his hips up and pushed deep inside Theo, which resulted in a loud scream from both of them. Good thing they were home alone. Liam held Theo’s hips again and gave his ass a light slap, caused Theo to wink at him, and then their lips were on each other again and they kissed filthily and passionate. Mews and groans and pants filled the air while Theo still rode him and Liam fucked into him.

And then the heat inside his stomach could no longer be contained and Liam gasped loudly when he finally came and reached his climax. Theo followed almost the exact same second and both called out each other’s names. Liam sank back again and wrapped his arms around Theo when his boyfriend collapsed against him. 

Silence fell over them and just their ragged breathing and the thrumming of their hearts could be heard. Liam finally raised his hand and carded it through Theo’s hair. “I love you so much.” He muttered and kissed Theo’s ear. “I love you too and I can’t thank you enough for being there for me.” Theo mumbled back and Liam shivered at hos hot Theo’s raspy voice sounded. Theo moved softly so Liam could slip out of him and then kissed Liam again. They looked at each other and smiled. “I want to marry you. I really do.” Theo told him.  Liam smiled and pulled Theo in so he could rest his forehead against the chimera’s. “I want to marry you too. Can’t wait til we’re old enough to do so. Because if we do it now, my mom will probably have a heart attack.” “Your mom or Scott?” Theo joked and Liam laughed.  “Both probably. Now come on, the water’s getting cold.” 

Theo nodded and got out of the tub before he helped Liam out and grabbed a fluffy towel to wrap around Liam. Liam smiled at him and stroke his wet hair back. “We should take hot baths a lot more often.” He said with a wink and Theo laughed. “But only when your parents are gone, we have a tendency to be loud.” “Oh yes, we have.” Liam had to admit that too. He considered that and Theo seemed to notice it because he looked at Liam.  “What? You have this look on your face.” “No, everything’s fine.” “Come on, tell me.” “It’s nasty.” “Tell me anyway.” “I usually don’t compare you but...Hayden never liked me getting loud.” Liam tightened his towel around his waist after he dried off. “Sorry.” “No, hey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to say this, I’m not mad. And she was clearly missing out.” Theo said with a small smile. Liam gave him a grateful look and then he kissed Theo softly. 

They wandered into their room and got dressed in comfortable shirts and pants and then Theo tackled Liam on the bed. The younger one laughed and wrapped his arms around Theo. He loved their passionate moments, he loved their sweet moments, and also their silly and fun moments. Now he looked up at Theo and stroke over his arm. “You still look gorgeous and you’re not even having any product in your hair.” He praised and stroke through Theo’s damp hair. “When did I get so lucky?”

“You deserve the best in the world and I’m trying.” Theo replied.

Liam gently hit his arm. “Stop that! You, Theo Raeken, are absolutely perfect for me and I am honored that I can call myself your mate. If you say I deserve the world, then please believe me that you are my world.”

Theo looked at him and then smiled. He leaned down and kissed Liam again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Liam replied and snuggled closer when Theo moved into a better position to curl up under the covers with Liam. They just laid there in their embrace and enjoyed the silence as well as being close to each other. The heating was still on and it was cozy warm in the room and even though Liam liked some cooler air for the night, he could not stop his eyelids from dropping right now. The combination of great sex, the warmth, and feeling safe in Theo’s arms made him feel sleepy and his eyes closed. Tucking his head under Theo’s chin and hearing a snore from his boyfriend, Liam fell asleep.

It felt good to write another part for this and I know some people requested Liam fucking Theo so there you have it. I had this planned since the beginning and now felt like a good time to actually write it :D What do you say?

[paradox-oflife]

massive q and a post part 4 ignore this pls

1. Is the grass greener on the other side? It depends on perspective I guess. To me, not really. All of us are going through some stuff in the inside.

2. If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around to hear it does it make a noise? uuuuuh yeah, i’d say so!

3. Why does it always rain on me? (idk how to respond to this)

4. Have you ever sailed a boat? One time. It was kinda scary ngl but my brother basically did most things for me.

5. Do you love or loathe Harry Potter? Love. Bro, 2nd grade me reading books under the covers. Catch me with some Percy Jackson or HP.

6. Do you do your utmost for the environment? Of course mate. Though one person won’t have much effect on global warming, you gotta respect your surroundings.

7. Do you love or loather Eurovison? I only watched it once. Reminds me a lot of the Voice. I don’t really watch that type of stuff though.

8. Have you ever wielded a sword? YEAH. I got a plastic one for a skit in school and god it was so much fun doing choreographed fights. I felt cool.

9. If you were famous would you want a statue or a building names after you? Maybe something small. Nothing too big. Depends what I did to become famous too.

10. Whats your favourite type of fish? Why the Blobfish of course.

11. Which do you prefer pony tails or pig tails? Ponytails. I wear low ponytails like everyday because my hair makes my face irritated sometimes.

12. Whats the ultimate cake topping? Fruit. Enough said.

13. Do you like marzipan? It’s no bad.

14. Whats better? Center Parks or Butlins?  (I’m assuming this is another British thing for hotels)

15. If you were in a band, what instrument/role would you play? I actually was in a band during high school with my friends, except we barely performed. We just hung out in the garage playing songs we liked. I was the bassist, or sometimes when the keyboardist couldn’t make it I’d play piano. I wanted to try drums but i can’t move my limbs independently enough. I tried picking up the guitar but there’s too many strings lmao i can’t memorize enough chords

16. Can you erect a tent? Nope

17. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Suck it until I get bored, then i CRONCH it

18. Have you ever used a telephone book? (yeah im old enough to remember these things) I used it as fuel for a fireplace lol

19. If you have an mp3 player what size is it? I used to have one. It was smaller than my hand.

20. Do you still have any music on vinyl or casettes? No :( I don’t have a vinyl player but I have old casettes of Chinese Children songs lmao

21. Do you still have a camera that uses conventional film? My dad has one, but it’s out of batteries.

22. Approximately how many DVD's do you have? A lot. I have one of those books with DVD holders and they’re just movies like Shrek.

23. Approximately how many Albums do you have? Downloaded on my phone - a lot.

24. Do you talk to yourself? When I’m alone. I’ve done it before at school and I got crazy looks

25. Do you sing to yourself? ONLY when Im by myself. God forbid anyone hears me singing.

26. Do you know any identical twins? I know two pairs that’s my age, and a pair that’s 27 I believe.

27. Have you ever given blood? No, I really should as someone with blood type O+ but im a big WUSS when it comes to needles.

28. Could you ever be a medical guineapig? Nah. I need something that’s been tested. Because if they screw up, chances are they won’t know how to fix it.

29. Whats your favourite radio station? Classical music station for short drives because I don’t know like any of the “mainstream” stuff. But I just connect my phone to the car and listen to my own playlists.

30. Whats your favourite letter of the Alphabet?  X feels so exotic

31. Which is better? rollerblade or rollerskates? Rollerskates.

32. Have you ever written a love letter? No

33. How many valentines cards did you recieve this/last year? 5. They were all from my friends :)

34. What are cooler? Dinosaurs or Dragons? Dragons for SURE

35. Have you ever made your own ice lollipops? No

36. Have you ever made your own Ice cream? No

37. Which foreign language did you have to learn at school? and do you still remember enough to hold a conversation in that language? I did two years of Spanish in middle school, but for high school I went the easy path and took Chinese. Then again, most people who take Chinese already speak Chinese. I did it to jump to AP faster.

38. Do you know CPR? Only from the Office, but I’ve never had to do it before. I heard you have to keep pushing until the ribs break?? 

39. Do you have any swimming badges? Nah, I can swim but I sure am slow

40. Do you prefer digital or rotary/analogue clocks? I’m alright with either

41. How tall is the tallest person you know? 6′7″. Mate, I’m 5′1″, I literally have to tilt my head so high just to talk with him.

42. Have you ever got lost in a maze? omg yeah in New Zealand there’s this thing called a sensory maze. And at one point you go into this room where the seizure inducing lights are flashing on and off super quickly and it’s filled with mirrors. Me and my cousin were basically crawling on the floor because we kept crashing into mirrors.

43. Have you ever been attacked by a wild animal? No and I hope I never do

44. Have you ever ridden a camel? No. Don’t see a lot of camels in California

45. Whats your opinion on rats? They’re alright. As long as they’re not in my house

46. Have you ever been to a gym? Yeah.

47. Have you ever been in a helicopter? No, but it seems kind of fun

48. Have you ever cheated at a test? Okay, maybe a couple times but after 9th grade i STOPPED

49. Have you ever ridden a tractor? Yeah, I even wore a bandana.

50. Are you a gossip? No. I only spill tea around people I know who can keep secrets.

51. Have you ever cried at a film? Yeah. The last time was during Avengers Endgame when Black Widow sacrifices herself.

52. When you're ill do you struggle on regardless or just curl up in bed as much as possible? Well, coming from an Asian family, I developed that type of mentality where if it’s just a cold, then I keep going. If I have a fever, then I stay home.

53. Do you need to write down things to remember them? Most of the times

54. Do you keep a diary/journal? I’ve kept one since 6th grade. It’s so interesting to see how my mentality and thinking has changed over the years. From my lowest points to my highest, it’s so cool.

55. Are you scared of thunderstorms? Nah, unless there’s lightning close by. One time I was at Taiwan and there was lightning like right outside my house. Bro it’s the scariest thing ever. You see a flash of lightning next to the window and the house rattles with a BOOOOOM. Legit, it’s so loud

56. Do you have any unusual fears or phobias? I mean, needles are a pretty common fear so I guess not.

57. Whats your favourite disney movie? Lion King. The remake wasn’t that bad imo.

58. Have you ever slept in a caravan? Nope

59. Have you ever painted a house? I’ve painted inside one

60. Have you got green fingers? I mean, I’m alright with plants. 

61. Whats the tallest tree you've ever climbed? Not that tall because I slipped and fell one time and had the air knocked out of me. Thought I would die there lol

62. Have you ever dialed the talking clock? (another uk thing)

63. Do you always wear identical socks? I try to but hey, if I don’t care, then it’s a free for all

64. Do you live by any motto or philosophy? A couple actually. A lot of comes from the Bible, specifically the whole  Matthew 5-7 sermon on the mountain

65. Do you lick the yoghurt or desert lid? Yes, there’s so much on there.

66. Do you lick the spoon clean after making something sweet? Usually, unless it’s like raw or something

67. Do you like the sound of music? (the musical/film) I remember watching that on those old TVs during elementary school. I think it’s a pretty nice film!

68. Have you ever made your own orangejuice? Yeah

69. Have you ever sucked on a lemon? yes and i think i had a sweet lemon because it was honestly not sour

70. Have you ever licked a battery? no WTF

71. Are you a good aim with a rubber band? Ah, not really.

72. Have you ever played golf? Yee

73 .Whats the most unusual name you've ever come across? I met a Jezebel before. The name meaning itself isn’t bad, but that character in the Bible is associated with pretty bad things

74. Do you prefer to wash in the mornings or evenings? Evening showers>>>> you literally CANNOt change my mind

75. Have you ever danced in the rain? No. because I hate getting my shoes wet.

76. Do you like long or short hair? Long hair

77. Have you ever sworn at an authority figure? Nope. I’m a good kid

78. Have you ever walked into a wall? Yes. So embarrassing.

79. Whats your favourite precious metal? N/A

80. Whats your favourite precious stone? N/A

81. Could you ever hunt your own meal? No way. 

82. Have you ever read any comics? None of your standard American DC Comics, but yeah.

83. Where do you like to go to on a first date? Somewhere personal. Doesn’t matter where really. I mean personal like, a picnic on a grassy plain, or under a starry sky. Studio Ghibli vibes.

84. Do you prefer vertical or horizontal stripes? Horizontal I guess

85. Have you ever baked your own bread? Yeah and it came out like pita chips lol

86. Can you believe I can't believe its not butter is in fact not actually butter? I don’t eat that much butter, but I guess it’s what it says in the title?

87. Can you name all 50 American states? Yes. Capitals though? Maybe 70%

88. Have you ever owned a goldfish? Ive had a beta fish and two guppies in second grade. 

89. What was your favourite school subject? Orchestra and Literature. A lot of people are surprised at my choice of lit. But I actually love reading and analyzing, though writing papers kind of suck. The problem for me when it comes to writing papers isn’t coming up with a topic, it’s wording it in MLA format. Like I could discuss with people all the time but its hard to organize my thoughts.

90. What was your least favourite school subject? Math. Which is a bit odd because I’m actually not too bad at it. But I’ve had the most mental breakdowns when it comes to math. Geez, AP Calc was a ride. I also cried in Chemistry once. 

91. Have you ever passed wind in an embarassing situation? Not that I can’t think of. And Im sure if I have, it would be engraved in my memories.

92. Have you ever played the bongos? Yeah. Pretty fun.

93. Have you ever handled a snake? Yeah it was a smol milk snake. He was a shy boy.

94. Have you ever assembled furniture by yourself? OMG YEAH from Ikea it was such an experience. The satisfaction of sitting in a chair you built all by yourself is so satisfying.

95. When did you last go to the beach? Like... a while ago. A year ago maybe.

96.  When if ever did you last go to london? Haven’t been there, but totally would!

97. What do you do to cool down when its hot? Sit inside with a fan, or A/C

98. Whats the most unusual thing you've ever eaten? Okay now don’t judge me on this one but i LOVE century eggs. It’s not too uncommon to find them in Taiwan.

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/the-love-song-of-dril-and-the-boys/

The Love Song Of Dril And The Boys

I have not read dril’s book. I cannot read dril’s book. 

Dril Official “Mr. Ten Years” Anniversary Collection compiles 1,500 of the pseudonymous Twitter user’s greatest tweets, and it is simply too funny for me to read for more than a page or two at a time without laughing so hard, I feel physically ill. Ask my family if you don’t believe me. Ask the patrons of the West Babylon Public Library, who have been shooting me dirty looks since I began writing this essay. Every time I crack the book open, I’m seconds away from hitting something like this … 

“hello 911 I need a moat dug around my house immediately” “sir this line is for emergencies only” “Thuis is an emergency moat”

— wint (@dril) May 18, 2014

 … or this …

koko the talking ape.. has been living high on the hog, wasting our tax dollars on high capacity diapers. No more. i will suplex that beast,

— wint (@dril) September 7, 2014

… or this … 

where do girls live

— wint (@dril) October 20, 2010

… and that’s it. Show’s over. “Goodnight Irene,” as Gorilla Monsoon would say. (“I will suplex that beast.”)

Dril’s blend of fist-on-the-table bluster, abject confusion and burned-toast syntax — the style of humor he pioneered, which became the lingua franca of Funny/Weird Twitter in toto — has my number. Like Monty Python’s run-on sketches, non sequiturs and Terry Gilliam animation; like the endless awkward pauses, omnipresent electrical humming and recycled animation of “Space Ghost Coast to Coast”; like Tim and Eric’s garish colors, glitchy video and non-actor stars, dril’s tweets are a new way to be funny, with a rhythm and vocabulary all their own. I love it.

But dril? Dril loves the boys. 

A recurring collective character in dril’s oeuvre, the boys occupy a unique place in his taxonomy, which, thanks to the book’s arrangement of tweets by topic, is easier than ever to get the hang of. For example, girls are mysterious sources of intermingled awe and terror, like the monoliths in “2001.”

ah, So u persecute Jared Fogle just because he has different beliefs? Do Tell. (girls get mad at me) Sorry. Im sorry. Im trying to remove it

— wint (@dril) November 1, 2015

Brands are icons of integrity, as admirable as they are untouchable.

just deleted 23,000 tweets at the request of Sbarro. feeling Purified

— wint (@dril) July 5, 2015

The trolls are contemptible pests, an implacable obstacle.

will no longer be livestreaming foreskin restoration process; the trolls who attempted to summon [インプ] (Imps) into the chatroom are to blame

— wint (@dril) February 3, 2012

And then there’s rival Twitter user @DigimonOtis, a class by himself: He is nemesis, the anti-dril.

(reading my latest death threat ) “from the desk of DigimonOtis…” this is bullshit. digimonotis has never owned a desk

— wint (@dril) November 6, 2014

But the boys are on dril’s level. The boys welcome dril with open arms. They share his hopes and fears, his loves and hates. He’s one of the boys.

Just met w/ Boys Lunch Club. Seems to me, That we are very pissed off that teen girls would rather kiss, “Soldier Boy,” than Actual Soldiers

— wint (@dril) May 16, 2016

pleased to report my custom beer tap that makes a dramatic diarrhea noise while filling the glass is a hit with the boys at the fondue club

— wint (@dril) October 16, 2014

best 90s memory is gathering around the old oak tree with the boys and passing around trading cards featuring all of our dads #DamnGood90s

— wint (@dril) April 30, 2013

Crucial to the boys’ appeal is their exclusivity. Like any clique, they’ve invested their aesthetic preferences with moral weight, and those who violate them do so at their peril.

darknet 2002: pics of dead guys in bath tubs, warez darknet 2017: discussions amongst the boys as to which of our acquaintances aren t funny

— wint (@dril) August 11, 2017

me & the booys are riffing on 78 hours of stolen walgreens security cam footage. this guy on here just bought a toilet brush. bitch!! bitch!

— wint (@dril) December 8, 2014

me and the boys have decided that the least gay way of wiping your ass is to dump a quarter bottle of Palmolive Spring Sensations back there

— wint (@dril) September 17, 2016

Dril may be a member in good standing, but membership brings responsibilities as well as privileges.

the boys held an intervention about me “Going hollywood” because i;ve been buying plastic toothpicks now

— wint (@dril) June 1, 2018

THE BOYS: were watching the mr bean episode where you can see his ass. get over here ME: cant. wifes making me watch mr beans holiday (2007)

— wint (@dril) June 14, 2017

If the boys function as dril’s superego, instilling and policing values, they are also his id — an embodiment of his most voracious physical drives.

pussy log 12.29.11: justin unscrewed the knob from the door to the ladies’ room and now the club boys all take turns cradling it

— wint (@dril) December 30, 2011

“Ah!! Lunchtime, Boys!” i snort several lines of Hamburger Helper, tilt my head back and shake with unbearable agony as my head turns purple

— wint (@dril) May 15, 2013

The comedy and tragedy of dril is that he is a man without ego, the mediating force that balances the needs of id and superego. He is perpetually out of balance, careening from excess to shame. He requires the intervention of the boys, the example they set, just to function.

This is why the saga of dril and the boys is a love story — conditional and occasionally unrequited though that love may be. It is poignant because it is impossible to imagine dril living without them any more than Juliet could live without Romeo.

When the lovers are in harmony — when the needs of id, ego and superego are aligned at last — the result is a thing of beauty.

going ape shit at the gym. rotating in full 360 degrees with the boys, flawlessly synchronized

— wint (@dril) November 28, 2017

The boys can be peers, contributing to the good posts for which dril is best known at a level beyond dril’s own imagining.

cant wiat to see what devilish thanksgiving scenarios me and the boys of twitter can conjure up. “The turkey was taken by spiders? ? Whua??”

— wint (@dril) November 24, 2014

Together they can be silent guardians, watchful protectors, dark knights, defending boys both within and outside the circle from the depredations of rival groups.

me & the boys will be holding hands., forming a Covenant Ring, to protest girls who only want to fuck the main pirate from the pirate movies

— wint (@dril) June 4, 2017

the epic shit of 2017; is the boys getting TheSegaPimp fired from his job at The Red Cross for not wishing me a “Happy Halloween”

— wint (@dril) January 2, 2018

the boys are enjoying their fave jukebox when ths sarge steps in SARGE: TURN OFF THE DAMN JUKE BOX! ITS WAR ME: Fuck u sarge. The armys crap

— wint (@dril) July 7, 2015

Not every tweet about the boys made it into the book. This is fitting, as when they’re operating at full force, nothing can contain them. 

thje opening riff of “Life In The Fast Lane” repeats over and over forever while me and the boys shoot at a septic tank with airsoft rifles

— wint (@dril) August 1, 2014

me N’ the boys eating messy sandiwches, sneaking around with big binoculars looking for girls & letting every one know who runs this TJ maxx

— wint (@dril) July 21, 2016

So we come to the crux of the matter. Dril and the boys are the great love story of our time because their insecurities, their mania, are our time’s prime motivators.

Dril and the boys wallow in the same miasma from which all our era’s reactionary movements have emerged — the MAGAs and Pepes, MRAs and incels, GamerGaters and ComicsGaters, Sad Puppies and Proud Boys and all the other doofuses with unwittingly infantilizing sobriquets.

With “the boys,” the humorist behind dril has tapped into the overall vibe in this country that there exists, somewhere out there ― perhaps in a TJ Maxx ― a lost masculine ideal. No one agrees on what it is, least of all dril, whose psyche is as piecemeal as his punctuation. It could be yelling at NFL protesters to stand for the national anthem or screaming at Disney for committing white genocide in the “Star Wars” films. It could be having sex all the time or having no sex at all. It could be respecting the majesty of the law or flouting it or both, depending on whom the law is meant to penalize. It’s the nightmare superego-id hybrid, 10 pounds of Blue Lives Matter shit in a five-pound “Live free or die” bag.

When men fail to live up to the puritanical amorality of the boys, they’re less than men, which is to say — as women have a lifetime to learn — they’re less than human. Such men earn sexualized insults like “betas” and “cucks.” They’re reduced to contemptuous acronyms like “SJWs” and “NPCs.” They make the soy face. They listen to dad rock. This blend of macho aggression and childlike vulnerability cannot be resolved in the real world, where it results in a racist, revanchist, minority party controlling all branches of government and installing sexual predators in every available position of power yet still acting like the David to the Goliath of Me Too, female gamers and the theoretical casting of Idris Elba as James Bond.

me and the boys watching james bond morph into a black guy before our very eyes , and braying at the movie screen like distressed cattle

— wint (@dril) September 4, 2018

Dril and the boys reside in this all-American astral plane where the Large Son–Libtard civil war rages, where misandry is real and must be guarded against with magic spells. We recognize our own reality in their incoherent but nevertheless militant search for reasons to hoot and holler. As such, their romance presents us with an opportunity to convert the problematic into the pleasurable, just as surely as antihero dramas or even halfway decent kink.

In the world of dril and the boys, all the pride and greed and wrath and lust and envy and sloth and gluttony of the movements that have fouled the entire adult lives of multiple generations of Americans can be boiled down to a gaggle of morons screaming about toilets. It’s a beautiful fantasy, and like all fantasies, it’s as romantic as it is remote.

Sean T. Collins has written for The New York Times, Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, Esquire and Vulture. He and his partner, the cartoonist Julia Gfrörer, are the co-editors of the art and comics anthology Mirror Mirror II. They live with their children on Long Island in New York.

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/dril-and-the-boys-twitter_us_5bb66529e4b028e1fe3bfd71

[imspardagus]

Talking about Depression : Part II – The Alpha in Your Head

From Part 1 - This will not do

{This two-part paper - and especially Part II - is a work in progress. The deeper in I go, the more precise I have to be, the less confident I feel that I am up to the task of writing it. But it is important, to me at least. So I have published it in this inchoate form in the hope that the help of others, challenging its ideas and offering suggestions, will help me to refine and strengthen it or else to see where it is misconceived.}

This is what I think I have discovered about clinical depression.

It is a point I have reached by lengthy interrogation of my own condition, from wider observations, and by reading about depression. But, having said that, all it is is a theory.

 Core proposition: Depression isn’t what we think it is. And what it is wasn’t always an affliction. It started out as a survival mechanism.

If you are a creationist, you will feel obliged to discount what I am about to argue. To you, we are of God’s design and devising. You do not accept evolution so what I will say will make no sense to you. So be it.

But even if you do accept the process of evolution, you will probably already be raising the eyebrow of scepticism.  Depression is antithetical to survival, surely? How can we have evolved such a dark and debilitating threat to our very existence? But that’s what I want to try to explain. So if you are skeptical about the notion of a genetic basis for depression - and some people get quite angry about it - I ask you, please, to set it aside for a while. What I am about to try to argue simply uses genetics as a starting point: because it is our starting point.  

Survival of the friendliest

You cannot make a judgment about evolution in our species by looking simply at the present day, or even the past thousand, or hundred thousand years. Evolution is a continuing process, of course, and that means that we are evolving even as I write. But everything about us as the species we have so far come to be – as we presently stand (as opposed to how we presently live) - was just about settled a very long time ago. And that is where I want to take you.

In fact, I want to take you back before there were us. Back to species that we evolved from.

We are primates. Primates have always lived in families, troops or tribes. We are not alone in that. There are many species that have evolved a group (pack, herd, troop or tribe) strategy for survival and there are different versions of that strategy.

Already, this begins to sound as if these creatures - our ancestors - chose group survival, much as you might choose one package holiday over another at the travel agency. They did not. So I must despatch that image. Each organism’s survival “strategy” is simply how it has evolved to act, the product of the programming that built it: its genetic programming. 

If you have a simplistic grasp of genetics and take the idea of an anthropomorphised “selfish gene” (“Disney Darwinism”) literally, you should be perplexed by this. How can gene-driven evolution recognise and embrace something as extrinsic, as apparently un-self-serving and as transient as a “social” solution? The gene does not plan or make informed choices about the body it has generated. It is (famously) “blind”. Your body is unknown to it. Altruism is unknown to it. The whole universe is unknown to it. It only looks out for itself. It just goes about its business doing what it does. 

But if you strip out the anthropomorphism - the false image of the gene as some kind of sentient creature, a kind of mole beavering away in the darkness - you get down to the proposition that the gene is just a piece of coding written in DNA or RNA: a line in the recipe for an organism. The coding is written into a chromosome and the chromosome gets passed along each time the organism replicates, so the line of code gets passed along to the next generation, and the next... From time to time, however, accidentally, the code gets imperfectly transcribed. That alters the recipe. And that in turn modifies the organism. If it was a deleterious change, the survivability of the organism will suffer and both the organism and, with it, the altered gene will probably die out. If, on the other hand, the mutation was neutral in effect or brought advantage, the organism is likely to prosper and the altered instruction will continue to be passed along. 

In short, evolution is simply an accidental change at the genetic level that gives rise to a change to an organism that is not antithetical to its survivability in the environment in which it exists and lasts because it is replicated by reproduction.

Change is of course a relative commodity and if a creature fails to adapt to a change in environment (that is, if an environmental change means that the organism needs a modification in order to survive and that modification does not happen because the change to the genetic code that would bring about that modification does not happen) then that too may bring about both the creature’s and, with it, the gene’s extinction.

But still, how does this explain social behaviour, the underpinning of a group survival strategy? 

Some species, as they have evolved, would be too vulnerable to survive alone. Their predators may be stronger or faster than they are. Or it may be that alone they cannot forage sufficiently to keep alive. Or it may be that the offspring of a species are, for some reason, especially vulnerable for a period after birth, requiring a lot of parental care. In these cases, the grouping together of the individual members of the species may improve the odds of at least some, and possibly most, of them surviving. Those that survive will be able to produce and nurture the next generation. 

So those with a propensity to be able to live together (in other words, not to fight to the death on every encounter) have a better chance of survival than those who lack that propensity. And those that breed dictate the propensities of the next generation. The propensity to get along gets passed along. So the group strategy becomes embedded and gets passed on. And repeat.

The presence of an extended group around the immediate family may afford additional protection that is conducive to the young creature’s survival into maturity. The propensity for social co-existence may, in other words, be important in sustaining the evolutionary developments that required elongated gestation periods and extended infancy: notably enhanced brain capacity. Higher intelligence creatures are particularly vulnerable for long periods after birth. 

Stripped down it is this: creatures that are individually vulnerable may survive by co-existing. Propensities that favours their ability to live in groups will aid their survival. Propensities come primarily from, and are passed on by, genetic coding. No concept of selfishness or altruism is needed. It works because it works.

I am not, by the way, implying that selfishness and altruism do not exist. Manifestly they do. But they are higher brain constructs. No less important for all that. It is a nice speculation that altruism derives from the mind’s need to rationalise and give expression to this hard wired social obligation that has evolved within us. Its roots are deeply embedded. While selfishness is a reaction against the natural order and, to a large extent, is only able to exist as long as most people respect the need to be socially aware. Selfishness, on that basis, is a parasitic indulgence. But it too may have its roots in something much older and deeper. Read on.

Knowing (and not knowing) your place

For the next part of the argument I’m going to over-simplify again. The group strategy for survival relies on the ability of the members to rub along, yes. But a group of higher mammals is more than a congregation of individuals each living out a separate mechanistic existence. They are not a shoal of fish. They are all to much the same extent sentient and intelligent. They think. They form judgments. These are traits which, unchecked could lead to fragmentation and fragmentation increases vulnerability. For the group to survive requires strength, cohesion and direction. They have to have, recognise and respect a common purpose. A common purpose requires order and decision. 

Our remote ancestors did not have the tools of debate and consensus building that we have (or only had them in embryonic form). As means of reaching decisions these are very late additions to our skill set. Order and decision for them came out of hierarchy. Most animals that have evolved a group survival strategy have developed hierarchies (on both the male and female side). The classic model divides the group into alphas, betas and omegas. The alphas dominate the group. They get the VIP breeding and feeding rights, which again reinforces the structure and development of the group. If life is an airline, the alphas fly first class. The betas are middle management. They get business class. The omegas know their place – in economy - but at least they still get to fly. 

I need to pause again here to stress that I am not about to make the case for aristocracy. I am simply observing that this is how it was, and for most group animals in their natural environment still is.

Take a snapshot and, yes, it looks quite like British society. Ordered, class-bound, immutable. But in Britain (and in most ordered societies for the past few thousand years), privilege connotes alpha status and alpha status promotes privilege, the middles scrabble for whatever respectability they can get at the expense of whoever gets in the way and those at the bottom? - “I know my place,” says the omega in the shabby clothes. 

Being an “alpha” in society of primates living in the wild is not just about privilege. It carries responsibility. The security and future of the group depends on the ability to command, and the quality of decision-making, of the alpha. A poor leader will, unless deposed, lead the group to extinction. So status within the groups that we see in nature is built around competence. And because nature is not squeamish, the best animal to lead is determined by subjecting the holder to challenge.

These challenges are not in fact restricted to contenders for alpha position. Across the board, there will be struggles for ascendancy. And inevitably the challenge is physical and brutal, not cerebral. It is not a clash of certificates or bankrolls, still less a race to produce perfect soufflés.

Not all the members of a group will be driven to challenge those of higher status (so already the identification of three classes, alpha, beta and omega, is an over simplification). Some are content with their lot. And some are simply accepting of it. But among the betas some will be aspiring to the alpha’s throne. They don’t have that ambition to take on and unseat the alpha on any conscious level (please, hold onto that thought for a while). Aspiring alphas have to challenge the incumbent alpha. The drive to challenge (often associated with breeding rights) is another characteristic has become in-built because it has proved successful to survival and has been passed down as a consequence. 

And so there are fights for supremacy. But here is the crucial consideration. Injury within the group weakens and endangers the group. The alpha and the aspiring alphas are, by definition, the strongest in the group. That strength is not primarily needed for in-house tournaments. It is needed to keep order, to guide the group wisely and safely, and, crucially, to protect the group from predators. This is especially true when you start to consider groups of non-tree-living primates. They are particularly vulnerable, living and competing in a hostile environment. If the alpha challenges were to be fought out to the finish, with serious wounds inflicted, the strongest in the group may be fatally compromised. And if they are compromised, the survivability of the group is compromised.

That doesn’t happen. What you see instead, in all these group-living creatures, is a cut-out mechanism: submission.

Submission kicks in before any significant damage can be inflicted on the two protagonists. Typically, it will involve the weaker fighter backing down and becoming cowed or supine (wolves, as I understand it, will roll over and expose their bellies and will allow themselves to be nipped and abused. You see this ritualised behaviour still in domesticated dogs, which we humans misread as an endearing invitation to tickle them). The fighting thereupon ceases, the victor walking away. The loser will remain in a cowed posture briefly then return to normal. And life goes on. Until the next challenge.

This cut-out mechanism is in fact not confined to higher creatures. I have seen it employed by beetles and spiders, both of which, when under attack, will adopt a frozen, death-mimicking appearance for seconds before switching back to life and scuttling away. If it exists in these very simple creatures it cannot be conscious behaviour. It must be a triggered reflex. One that has helped those who have it built in to survive and, by surviving, reproduce.

The cut-out is just the most extreme form of submission. Primates have been shown to have a whole range of submission indicators, smiling being one, the lowering of the gaze another. It may seem odd that we laugh when we are afraid. It isn’t at all odd. We are full of residual deep-set behaviours that, because we cannot eliminate them, and because they keep on being triggered, we have re-interpreted to match our super-social modern lives. So the smile that the old brain triggers because we are insecure and need to bare our teeth becomes a gesture of reassurance, the lowering of eyes becomes, in some cultures, a gesture of politeness. I am going to call these “old-brain” responses, to reflect the fact that they exist, or at least the conditions for their triggering, lie well out of reach of our more recently evolved conscious brains.

So I come back to my original proposition. Submission appears to be an embedded survival mechanism just like the propensity to live socially. In its proper context it is – was - a positive evolutionary development, an advantage. And it was one that our predecessor primates had, and unconsciously deployed. It worked to defuse potentially damaging, life- and group-threatening, conflicts. And it was not disruptive because, like a trip-out mechanism in a consumer unit, as soon as the trigger event was over, the system of the submitting creature rebooted and normality was automatically restored.

But that was when they lived in small, closely interdependent communities when danger was a real presence in everyone’s life, and the issue was stark: will we survive?

Move forward with me now to the present.

No more heroes anymore

I have called this piece “The Alpha in your head” because, to be frank, it is catchy (unlike, say, “the Beta in your sock drawer”) But I am now going to be very annoying and make another big assertion. Alphas don’t run things anymore. Not in human society.

It is fashionable at present for people to use the term “alpha male”. We use it – or rather misuse it - , as a term of abuse used to describe dominating and greedy men – or sometimes to attack those we want to stigmatise as dominating and greedy, perhaps because we resent the power and position they hold.

But I return to my description of the alpha in the rest of the animal world. It is not a position of privilege but a position of responsibility. Greatness is thrust upon the alpha, and, with it, the protection and management of the group.

No, we are mostly betas. And the reason we are betas is because of the world we have built for ourselves: a world that prizes homogeneity and conformity over most things. We have killed off or neutralised most of our predators (with the exception of the viruses we cultivate by destroying all but the most potent of them). Most of us live in a sprawling, jarring, invasive and competitive world that bears very little resemblance to the world of our primate ancestors. The “communities” we live in are vast and largely indifferent to us, except to bear down on us with cultural expectations and behavioural norms that have little to do with what we are, save to belittle and supress it. The only ambitions that count are mostly cosmetic, materialistic and selfish (our self-centredness will often still reach back to embrace the needs of our immediate family and friends but we find it difficult to empathise with the needs of other, more remote neighbours). And those ambitions usually require us to participate in hierarchical groups that are mere parodies of the tribes our ancestors lived in. They are empty of kinship bonds. We are expected, on pain of exile, to conform, to show “loyalty” and to compete only in displays of a limited range of manipulative skills.

Let me now clarify the opening assertion of this section. Almost certainly there will be people who, deep down, in the territory of the old brain, are active alphas. You do sometimes see what may be throwbacks – men, and sometimes women, who build up around them an extended family over which they exert a more or, sometimes frighteningly, less benign physical despotism. Their alpha propensities have no place in our modern societies. They tend to be outsiders, on the fringes of our communities, and we mostly feel threatened by them.

No, ours is a beta world, full of machinations and manipulation. Our tyrants tend to get others to do their dirty work (in fairness, there is too much dirty work for one man to attend to). And when they are brought down it is not by direct combat but most frequently by the plottings of other devious men. Physical prowess is now prized mostly as an entertainment (football, athletics, extreme sports and ballroom dancing).

Not that high levels of intelligence or fine motor skills fare much better. Our leaders are either inheritors of privilege – kings and sultans, and now spiv billionaires  – or else politicians and souped-up barrow boys (is that one category or two?) who have, or whose parents have, wheedled, charmed, thieved and twisted their way to the top. Our weapons of choice are no longer the strength of our bodies and our courage but deviousness, association with power and of course money. Position in the modern hierarchy – status – matters, of course, hugely, probably more than ever. But it is most often a cosmetic thing: the question that used to be answered by ancestral strength is now answered by wealth and influence (who you can buy). Value to the community is more frequently an accidental outcome of the pursuit of personal advantage, even when it is claimed as intentional. We are, societally, the busted flush that bluffs its way to winning over a full house.

But, deep inside, as I have tried to explain, we are still the sons and daughters of those old primates and we have inherited from them their old brains and a whole host of old brain devices and conditioning.

If you creep up behind someone and say “boo”, they will jump. They cannot help themselves. Even though our subjugation of the natural world has made it extremely unlikely that a tiger will appear in the kitchen, the old brain is waiting for that sudden unexpected noise to press the release button on our adrenalin and say “go, go!” to our flight response.

And in just the same way I suggest that old beta/alpha rivalry is still wired up, waiting for the trigger. Where will the challenge come from?

Comfort stop

This is getting very long and drawn out so here is a brief recap: 

I have suggested that in our distant ancestors, those who preceded us and whose old brains we have largely inherited, with all their genetically accrued propensities and reflexes, there was a survival strategy that ensured that the group would be led by the most suited to the task; and that the strategy had a clever cut-out mechanism built in which was an advantage because it prevented the best in the group from physically damaging themselves and in the process compromising the integrity, strength and safety of the group.

I have suggested that the old world, old brain hierarchies of alpha, beta, omega have been displaced: that alphas no longer rule; that they have been pushed to the fringes of our modern world. The life that we have built in place of tribal cohesion is a world of manipulation and striving for personal success. For all their strutting self-regard and belief in their right to rule, our leaders are betas, mostly driven by ambition and greed, not by an inbuilt need to take charge of and protect the group. Even the best among them are not, in the old world sense, alphas.

In this world, the struggle for ascendancy is rarely physical and close. Our adversary is not the primate that sits atop the highest mound. But I have suggested that, just like a number of other reflexes and behaviours, submission – the cut-out mechanism I refer to – lives on in the old brain, waiting for the trigger: the point at which you, as the aspiring, or faltering, leader, are going to lose.

But my purpose was to write about depression: the sources of depression. Where is the link?

Triggers

Let me now make my third proposition: depression behaves very much like submission. It shuts you down. It is an overwhelming tide that floods your system with negative feelings, closing down your thinking, your emotions and even your body, heightening the sense of threat to the level of paranoia, and caution to the level of immobilised terror. It is like drowning from the inside out. You fight, you struggle but you can’t oppose it. You try to think your way out of it but it is not susceptible to your rationality. It has its own and it is implacable. You can, if you are strong-willed enough, haul yourself above it for a while, pretend to be normal, but the effort is exhausting and all the while the flood is swirling just inches below your feet and you know it. Eventually you will crash back down.

(This is why you should never say to a depressed person “What have you got to be depressed about?” She or he will probably be thinking the same thing, but more in the terms of “Why is this happening to me? For God’s sake make it stop.”)

For a thing to be like something else does not mean that it is that other thing. We all know the idea of false syllogism: “the moon is yellow; cheese is yellow; therefore, the moon must be made of cheese”. If I intend to liken the impact of depression to the impact of this behaviour I have called “submission” how can I persuade you that I have not just mistaken analogy for identity?

Up front, I can’t. I am just offering a speculation.

In support of it, however, I have this: that submission and depression both come from inside us. They are not like the moon and cheese, two distant and, in all other respects, unrelated objects. They are both processes of a single brain: your brain. They are things our brains do to us.

Brains, like computers, use simple mechanisms to create astonishingly elaborate functional structures. Stripped down to its most elemental operation, your massively powerful and capable PC or Mac still functions through the binary choice of 1 or 0 – on/off. Everything is built on just that. With just that device, it has been possible to build processing instructions – code. Bundles of code form programs. Programs enable your computer to execute at breathtaking speed the hugely complex operations you ask of it. Without them it is just a useless box full of circuit boards and processors.

But each program is not bespoke. Within the program I am using to create this document there are whole strings and pages of code that it shares with the program for creating a spreadsheet, writing an email or assembling a slideshow (the same bloody annoying autocorrect, for example).

The brain doesn’t use numerical binary. But it uses essentially the same simple mechanism, cells firing or not firing. And instead of electrical current it uses chemical “messengers” to achieve this. Out of this simple organic operation, it too builds processes to execute the operations that allow you to function and determine how you behave. The rudimentary brain of very simple organisms has evolved into a massive multi-compartmented organ but the process has been one of incremental accretion. 

So, even if depression and submission are separate creations of our brain, if the analogy with computers holds good, the likelihood is that they will not simply resemble one another but that they will have substantial commonality in their make-up: strings of shared coding.

But I think it goes further than this. If I am right, the response that in other primates constitutes submission and the response we know in humans as depression are one and the same.  Seated in a deep part of our brain, out of direct reach, it is a response we do not control through conscious thought (this, as David Eagleman has sought to demonstrate, is in fact true of most of what our brains do). It is a response triggered when that old brain thinks it recognises the signal to proceed.

Step sideways a moment. Consider the brief sadness you feel when you watch a weepy movie. It is a triggered reaction and it not just a mimicking of the emotion of sadness. It is that same emotion: the same that you feel when something actually sad happens in the real world (you hear that your granny has died, or you drop the donut you have been looking forward to on your way to your seat). It is the same emotion of sadness even though you know that in this case the trigger (the sequence of celluloid images flickering in front of you) is a fabrication.

Okay, that’s another inference rather than a fact. Do I have anything approaching real evidence to lend weight to what I am saying? What can I put forward to link submission, depression and the old brain?

The vagal nerve

The what now? I confess that in all my reading and research into depression and anxiety, I had never encountered the vagal nerve until recently. My attention was drawn to it by an article in the Guardian: Hitting the right nerve: the electronic neck implant to treat depression. The article describes a treatment that is showing some positive results in the treatment of depression. It involves stimulating the vagal nerve with a tiny current of electricity.

So what is the vagal nerve? It is the nerve that links the brain to the heart, lungs, stomach and digestive tract. As such it is a vital part of the very core functions of living creatures.

We don’t generally like to think about it but in essence we, and all organisms from worms downwards (using Darwin’s preferred direction of travel, the descent of man), are a mouth, a digestive tract and an anus. Everything else is a bolt-on or upgrade. The vagal nerve runs down from the brain along this path carrying messages to and fro, keeping the fundamental systems of life working. (There is a branch of it in us which affects the throat and there are fibres of it now that reach the ears, which, interestingly, is why we may cough when clearing out wax.)

The vagal (or vagus) nerve is linked to heart rate and blood pressure, insulin secretion in the liver, stomach acidity, gut motility and the suppression of inflammation in the colon, and the gag reflex. The vagal nerve also has a function in recognising satiety - when enough food has been ingested.

But it also controls the fight or flight reflex and adrenalin release. The vagal nerve, functioning normally, creates a sympathetic response which can either dampen fight or flight, trigger the adrenalin rush to make them happen and trigger the withdrawal of the adrenalin so that they stop. And it has been linked to levels of experienced stress and depression and anxiety.  

When “dysfunctional” as we see it, the vagal system can create: hyperarousal,  insomnia, anxiety, increased heart rate and restlessness. And at the other end of the spectrum there is bradycardia, the abnormal slowing of the heart rate. And vasovagal syncope, which is the spontaneous and self-limited loss of consciousness, followed by prompt and complete recovery. Now doesn’t that sound like our old friend submission?

The vagal nerve connects to? The brainstem: the oldest part of the brain.

What I have just described are various functions or dysfunctions of the vagal nerve. Or so they are currently regarded, perhaps because treatment of the vagal nerve appears to alter them. But we should not forget that the nerve is just a highway for chemical messages. The fault, if fault it be, may also lie in the brainstem or in any of the organs linked to it by the nerve. 

But that “fault” may only be a fault to us with our modern lives and our modern perspective. It may be the normal response of a system that we have triggered accidentally: an inconvenient hangover from a very different lifestyle and set of needs.

The emotional parts of our brains are old. In terms of complexity they are Windows 95 to our new brain’s Windows 10. Tracking back to that old weepy film, the brain we use doesn’t have a separate film appreciation society. It’s too old. It has a bank of long-established emotional responses waiting for triggers. When an event that resembles the appropriate trigger (sad scene in a film) occurs, the brain accepts the trigger and switches on one of those responses.

And so it is, I suggest, with depression and submission. Depression happens because something in our modern life is mimicking the submission trigger. This is so much more likely than that the old brain developed two, or more, distinct response programs, one of which is now all but redundant in humans but the other, just like it, has been waiting hundreds of thousands of years just for the insult of modern life to be invented.

What more can I say to, if not convince you, at least make the possibility I am raising seem worth a look. Let me take you back to the symptoms that my daughter developed. Depression and anxiety. Yes. A constant sense of failure in spite of tangible evidence of success. But look what else: stomach cramps; intestinal inflammation; moving in and out of constipation, enervation. Medical tests confirmed that the was no malfunction of any of the organs, blood was fine, insulin levels fine.

Look at my son, now: energetic, bright, loyal, a strong drive to protect and serve others running in tandem with a sense that he is to blame when things go wrong for those under his “protection”. And when they go wrong, eating disorder, anxiety, enervation.

And now me. Never satisfied with anything I done. Never able to accept praise even when intellectually I know I have done a “good enough” job. Driven over and again into shut down, mentally and physically. And stress always goes to my stomach and bowels. Of course it does, you will say. It does with everyone doesn’t it?

Oh and there’s this that I didn’t mention. Ever since I was a teenager I have suffered from tinnitus. It is at times almost disabling, the sound of voices around me almost wiped out by a swirling multilayered fog of high frequency sound.

One of the symptoms my daughter noticed along with her digestive problems was: whistling noises in her head.

And one of the reported effects of vagal nerve stimulation is: tinnitus.

The Ugly Sisters: Depression and Anxiety

One final thing to say before I wrap up this passage. I have often turned to ask myself why depression and anxiety are so closely linked. They seem to be at odds with each other: depression - debilitation, low mood, disengagement; anxiety - over arousal, heightened sensitivity, mental overheating. But maybe, if we step away from the terms, which reflect our modern perception of what we are experiencing, it does make sense. Submission was the old brain’s device for interrupting conflict. It was a circuit breaker. But a stimulus was needed to reset the circuit after it was broken. And perhaps originally what we now call anxiety was that stimulus.

None of this is conclusive, I know. It is shot through with unproven rationalisations. But we have to start somewhere.

This, however, is the big question: if depression is the submission mechanism, what is triggering it?

The Alpha Revisited

If I am right, submission, the cut-out mechanism that, in primates and other group animals, renders one protagonist temporarily inert to put a stop to conflict and harm, is the triggered emotional and inhibitive response to the threat of being overwhelmed by an unbeatable adversary.

An unbeatable alpha adversary.

Suppose our modern brain were to create an alpha in our head?

Why would it do that? Because challenges still exist in our lives. They have just altered radically. And importantly, they have become inward facing.

Look, I am not very bright, not gifted. But if I were to take the judgment of those around me I would have to accept that I am a good cook, a competent lawyer in my field, a generally kind person, a good father. I can accept none of this. I can sometimes see, intellectually, that I have done a good job. 

But inside, and from deep inside, more compelling than my judgment or theirs, it is never good enough. I pick over everything for the flaws. Eventually there is nothing that I have accomplished that isn’t scarred with my picking, its pitted surface reflecting back at me my loathing for my own imperfection. That I am not good enough. There is always a better version of me who could have done a better job.

And that has worn down my ability to feel joy. And it saps my will to try. Starting any project, even one that excites me, I am faced immediately with a seemingly immovable barrier (I have written about this in “Not you, Sunshine”). It tells me that I will fail, that it is, and will prove, hopeless, trying will be hopeless. And for a while it will be self-proving and I can indeed make no progress. Depression? Submission?

And yet I try, have to try, have always had to try. I am like a boxer beaten again and again to the canvas but unable to stop himself hauling his battered body to its unstable feet to continue the fight. 

It exhausts me. Always I end up feeling mentally, emotionally and even physically drained. 

I used to think that I had become like this because when I was young my mother could not accept I was anything less than her bright boy while my father seemed always to let me know that he was disappointed in my abilities. It was only later that I came to see that it was not what they had put onto me but how I had responded to it that mattered. I wanted to be good enough. I wanted to have their praise. And if I had been capable of listening, I would probably have seen that I had their love, and that all the rest was just anxiety, theirs and mine. But I had taken home a different message. It said I wasn’t good enough. I was failing. And it said so constantly. 

I needed to be the better version of me. I couldn't be. The trigger fired.

It wasn’t always so, though I guess that the propensity must always have been there. Up to the age of eleven, my need to be the better version of myself seemed to be matched by continual improvement. I found study easy and I was always near the top of the class. I mixed easily with adults, whose response to me implied liking and respect. But I was in a small, self-affirming family, and my school was a small keep-like community primary occupying one block in a town on the fringes of London. When I moved to secondary school, suddenly I was one barely average boy among 600. They came with skills I had not been introduced to (the gravel playground of our primary school meant no football, rugby, cricket. Even athletics was limited). And because of my appearance - unusually tall at eleven and pencil thin I had grown 15 cms in the previous 6 months, wearing thick glasses, the wrong haircut for 1963 and the wrong trousers, and speaking in the wrong accent, I was, of course, bullied.

But the worst bully of them all was not another school kid. He was inside my head, goading and  taunting me, beating down with my fear of failure. Having been on top of my small world only a year before, I was stunned, unprepared for all the new affronts. In theory, I had two courses open to me: to accept victimhood; or to fight back. In practice I was never aware of the choice. I keeled over, plunged and kept on plunging. And in a terrible way it worked. My body came to my aid with frequent, debilitating illness for which the doctor could find no physical cause. I became quiet and shrank back into the smallest life I could make, regularly signing myself out from school after morning assembly complaining of sweats and stomach cramps (which I was actually capable of inducing in myself) and trudging home to the safety of my mother’s protection. I needed to hold her love even if it meant making myself pitiable. 

That first year was a wilderness through which I miserably dragged myself. I tried over and again to regather my strength but, all the while, the version of me that I wanted to be loomed over me and all I could see was the inevitability of my failure. I would, could only, let people down and I despised myself for it.

By the second year, I had rallied somewhat but I had lost so much ground and so much confidence. And though parents and teachers were concerned, none of them could see what had happened and what support I needed. “Growing pains” was the best they could manage. When I tried to articulate the painfulness of my thoughts, my mother cut me short with “Nobody wants to know”. (It must seem a callous response to an outsider, but I think now that she was talking to, and about, herself.)

And so over and again I found myself semi-prone with my alpha looming over me.

A strange thing happened next. In my solitude I had become observant of the lives of those around me. It seemed as if my own pain had heightened my sensitivity to the pain of others. Meanwhile, my quietness and intense solitude, which must have seemed intimidating at first, now appeared to have transformed into a dark charisma. People started turning to me for advice, mistaking my tongue-tied silence and my fear-frozen disengagement for a kind of saintly wisdom. I wanted to help them. Trying to, I came to feel responsible for their protection and happiness though I could do little or nothing about either. And the feeling grew inside me until I came to believe that I was quietly responsible for the well-being of everyone around me, a burden I could not let slip but was incapable of meeting.

There was a price, as I said earlier. When you come to believe that people need, not you, because you could never be good enough, but an image they have created of you, you become bound up in a performance: a narrative trap. In my mind, it had become my purpose and my duty to serve these people, even to my own extinction. Even though I thought it was only a matter of time before they came to see me as the fraud and failure that I knew myself to be. To keep to the script, to fulfil the play they had come to watch, I had to wear the cloak and mask that they were expecting to see. “On with the motley, the paint and the powder,” as Leoncavallo makes Pagliacci sing into his dressing room mirror. In my tortured thinking, that meant I had to endure the heavy, suffocating misery from which they were made. In that dark theatre and on that stage, the Son of Lassie was, I believe, born. And the course of what is now 50 years of depression was set and locked in.

The Alpha enthroned

It is not a new thing, this striving to be the better version of yourself. It is probably as old as civilisation. It is just becoming more intense with modern life. From an early age we are being told in a hundred ways that we are not good enough. If we listen, if we take it on board, if it matters to us deeply to be the best, or simply not to fail, we respond by creating an alpha in our head. The alpha is the person we “should be”. The version of us by which we must be measured. Being less than the best we could be is unacceptable. We cannot give it up. So, because we have such a strong drive to survive come what may, we eventually take this toxic conflict on board, learn to dance to its tune. And that sets off a chase that has no end.

Because no matter how good at something you are, the alpha in your head will always better. And you are doomed to challenge it and you are doomed to lose.

And then the old brain is triggered. Beaten by an alpha. Roll over. Submit.

But here’s the twist. When the submission is over, you go to stand. And the alpha is still there, looming over you. Submit.

It’s about how you judge yourself

There is a risk that what I have been arguing will seem elitist. All this talk about alphas misinterpreted as an attempt to found a claim that depression is all about the intelligensia and high achievers. How can I dispel this?  Because it is by no means about our modern conception of excellence. It’s about what was built into you in a time when this world could not even be imagined. You can be brilliant and not suffer chronic depression or anxiety. You can be living a mundane life and be crucified by them.  You can fail or under-achieve at everything you turn your hand to and be contented. You can, in the eyes of the World, be the embodiment of success and be tortured by them. Whether you are a concert pianist whose interpretations are applauded the world over, or the most lauded country and western singer of all time, whether you are a politician who saw his country through an unwinnable war to an unimaginable peace, a comedian who wanted her comedy to be taken seriously, a feted rugby player, a mother of perfectly wonderful children, a doctor who has saved the lives of thousands, or a child who is loved by his or her parents and peers, if you are beset by the deep seated belief that what you are is not, and can never be, good enough - you have created an alpha version of you in your head. And then nothing from the outside world will be able to convince you that you are good enough and every attempt you make to improve will be a potential trigger for submission – depression.

Depression is not an evil interloper in your life. It is an age-old response that hears something that sounds like the call to end the conflict and dutifully, but wrongly does.

The anxiety that attends it has the same source.

Taking back control

But if it is this deep-seated, how do we deal with it? Nothing as superficial as CBT can reach that far down. And if it is genetic then no drug is going to touch it.

I’m going to suggest that we do not need to try to eliminate depression and anxiety. We need instead to learn to moderate their impact. We have done this in so many areas of our lives. There are many old brain drivers that we have learned to control or accommodate. We once had no sense of property, life was about survival and reproduction, physical domination was the norm. Now property is the centre of our world, coercive sex is frowned on even if you are a movie mogul and physical domination has been sanitised and ritualised in sport. 

Our modern world is equally full of constructs that have no basis in the creatures that we were. We have learned generally to regulate our natural selves, to make them fit with, and support, the lives we now lead. Where we have not, where we have become complacent about our control of these “darker” aspects of ourselves or excusing of their unmanaged intrusion ( sexual assault -”boys will be boys”, exploitative greed - “just the politics of envy”, racism - “the natural expression of people whose fears have been ignored”), they have a habit of making us feel more than just uncomfortable.  Now, as we struggle to hold on to our gains in human decency, more than ever, the imposed and learned “morality” of our modern cultures needs constant reinforcement.

And so it could be with depression and anxiety. If we can stop seeing them as diseases and instead accept that  they are simply the triggering of an old brain response, then we can focus on the triggers, learn the warning signs, but also learn to intervene effectively. The propensity to create an alpha in our head will always be there but we can refocus our education of our young so that their development embraces and takes positive control of it, making it the enabler of improvement instead of the disabler of it. To have a sense that you can do better and to try to do better is stimulating. To have instead a sense that no matter how much you strive you can never be good enough is defeating.

There may be times still when moderation is not enough, and depression and anxiety have become a mutually reinforcing destructive loop. For those chronic situations a stronger intervention may be needed to interrupt the cycle of circuit breaking. But maybe, just maybe, that intervention needs to take place somewhere between the vagal nerve and the brainstem, rather than by chemical duplicity corrupting the messages passing between the parts of the higher brain.

And, with that, I yield the floor.