#or in the worst case scenario it makes my conscious existence wish for an off switch

[diabolocracy]

I love being schizoid and all but I'd love it even more if there was a cure for anhedonia and avolition.

[wincore]

wasted nights | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x reader

words: 5.5k

summary: firstly, you don’t think you should have survived this long. secondly, this might be the zombie apocalypse but your survival doesn’t feel as threatened by zombies as it does by liu yangyang. thirdly, you’ve chosen the worst time to develop a crush.

genre: zombie apocalypse!au, fluff, humour(?)

warnings: mention of injuries & blood, violence (against zombies), dumbassery, do not attempt during an actual zombie apocalypse

song rec(s): wasted nights - one ok rock 

a/n: october birthdays get halloween specials~ although this one is just full of unnecessary appearances by cats. also campfires because october campfires hit different. (i’m definitely saying this because i was born in october) also not me writing this as a joke and reaching 5.5k words </3

It’s two hours till sundown. 

What would you be doing on a day within the ordinary? Likely getting back from after school activities, chatting with a friend or feeding the stray kittens by the school building, or maybe pretending Liu Yangyang doesn’t exist—the possibilities were endless. Now there’s only one.

“Yangyang,” you call, more worried than not.

On a day out of the ordinary, you wish you hadn’t prayed for your exam to get cancelled the day all of this broke out. You wouldn’t be scavenging like some sort of rodent and you wouldn’t be standing at the gates of an abandoned shrine, though now is undoubtedly a better time to pray. It’s not the best of situations (especially not with a certain little rascal attached to your side). 

And understatements are definitely your thing now.

“Yangyang,” you call a little louder this time, eyes shifting around the shrine area. 

Should you step in? He asked you to wait, the stone steps now looking a little glum without him skipping over them. The only signs of life you’ve seen around has been a family of raccoons looking rather smug and a single spotted dove preening itself atop a branch. The lack of visibility into the forest surrounding the shrine bothers you, like something could jump out any minute and you suck your teeth, growing annoyed. Where is that boy?

You tap your foot against the ground soundlessly. What if a zombie were to pop out? They might be slow but the sight of them is still gross enough to paralyze you. Yangyang has his baseball bat with him, which leaves you defenseless in terms of weapons. Still, it’s not like the bat would have done you any good. You are, in the truest sense of the word, average at any sort of combat and freezing at the limbs comes to you more naturally. Zombies are not fun; whatever nonsense Yangyang has been trying to explain to you for weeks is optional, as is every other suggestion that comes from his mouth. It’s quiet and quiet, creepy shrines have never been your favourite place in the city.

You hear a low growl behind you, stiffening at the sound. Best case scenario, it’s a big rat. You’d rather not think of the worst case. Eventually, you gather some courage and turn slowly only to jump back with a short scream. 

Yangyang takes the old festival mask off to reveal a giant grin on his face, urging you to knock it right off. The anger that follows is natural and he should be used to it by now. Yangyang continues smiling, as if he didn’t just pull your soul right out of your body, and when he opens his mouth to say something, you’re quick to land a swift punch to his gut. He lets out a pained cry, dropping to the ground in a squat.

“Don’t do that,” you seethe. “Why can’t you greet me normally?”

“I’m okay!” He signals a thumbs up while the other hand clutches his stomach. 

“I didn’t ask.”

He moves his hand to place it over his chest. “Ow. Oh, and to answer your question, it’s because you don’t want to do my special handshake with me.”

“Hm. Get up. You said there were supplies here. What did you find?”

He pouts, finally getting up. “I can’t believe you’re just using me for supplies.”

You cross your arms. “Just get up already.”

Yangyang springs up despite the (admittedly) strong blow to his stomach and presents to you the plastic bag he’d been holding. In any other circumstances, it would spark some disapproval on your behalf but it turns out, those things do outlive most everything. For a moment, the ridiculous image of pulling a plastic bag over a zombie’s head crosses your mind. 

Yangyang finally responds, taking out whatever items he recovered. Not everything is useful however; he’s simply taken to collecting knick-knacks. 

“I found toothbrushes! Maybe your breath will stop stinking—”

You raise your clenched fist as a threat.

“—I was kidding. Obviously. You have lovely breath.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to contain your exasperation. 

“Also, I found clean water so I filled up some bottles and yeah, I couldn’t find much else but oh! There was this huge cat and I mean huge like a big chonk kinda guy, you know? And I’m sure he was, like, trying to tell me something, like, he kept hissing when I went near him but…”

You wonder if Yangyang ever gets tired from speaking so fast, his words fading out of your comprehension. You shake your head, clearing your throat.

“Can we leave now?”

Yangyang raises an eyebrow, almost smirking as the gears in his head turn.

“You’re not… superstitious, are you?” he asks. “I heard there’s a lot of reported sightings of ghosts here.”

“No,” you blurt, quick to deny. Yangyang might have seen you crying after getting lost in the dark, almost fainting after encountering a zombie for the first time or even in deep sorrow after you lost your friend—but there’s still part of your dignity to protect before you can admit your fear of ghosts. There’s just something about this abandoned shrine; there are no visitors apart from the caretaker and if loneliness is responsible for anything, it’s making lonely things seem a whole lot scarier. You’d rather leave before the sun sets.

Yangyang laughs. “Who do you think would win in a fight? Zombies or ghosts?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s so stupid. Obviously ghosts.”

“No. Okay, maybe. I just think…”

There he goes again. 

You wonder if he was always this way—when you passed him by in the hallways, when he shot you a polite smile at club meetings or when you saw him being loud with his friends blocking part of the sidewalk. You’re sure he couldn’t have been entirely sane.

“Oh my god.”

Yangyang’s voice jerks you back to the present. You follow his line of sight to a cardboard box beneath a particularly dense shrub; it's a large one—quite possibly a carton of some commercial product which doesn’t matter anymore. However, it’s not the details of the box itself so much as it is the contents that grab your attention. 

You can almost see the sparkle in Yangyang’s eyes as he views the cats huddled together inside the box. They don’t seem to mind each other within their personal space—you count four of them, tightly packed and eyes closed in a late afternoon nap. How the box hasn’t ripped apart yet is quite a mystery, and what’s more troubling is how at ease they seem to be with the entire human race in disarray.

You grab Yangyang by the collar before he can make his way to them.

“Don’t harass them,” you say, massaging your temples. “Jesus, it’s like they’re glued to each other. Do they have to be in the same box?”

“It might just be the last cardboard box left on earth.” Yangyang shrugs.

The cats mind their own business, grooming their fur or closing their eyes in an odd sort of bliss. You wonder what it would be like to be so unbothered by all the chaos. It reminds you of someone.

“Come on,” you urge, thinking back to older times. “Don’t think I forgot how much you used to bother old Louis back then.”

Louis was the university cat, fed with so much love that he eventually started avoiding people like the plague. You wonder how he’s holding up for a brief moment.

“Don’t think I forgot how you were back then too.”

“What do you mean?” you snap, glaring at him.

“You were already a zombie,” he says before engaging in a cheap mimicry of you, drooping his eyelids and taking slow steps muttering, “I… must… maintain… gpa… grr.”

You almost take off your shoe to throw it at him before deciding it’s not worth your time. Ah, if only you had done that during club meetups, perhaps you’d have felt better about him joining. Everyone treated him so differently, and you hate to admit you now understand why. 

Everyone loves a good troublemaker.

And there happens to be another thing special about your sole competitor for the debate club’s president position. Apart from his strange antics (charms, he says), even this virus—this fuckall literal killer virus can’t infect him. He’s immune—an occurrence with a possibility lower than you finding him attractive. (There, you said it.)

You look at Yangyang still talking about Louis and a small smile crosses your face. You’d feed your right arm to a zombie before you admitted it but it’s nice having him around. You furrow your brows at the sudden familiar bubbling in your chest and shove it away in a flash before your conscious decides to tell you what it is. 

Your heart jumps to your throat when you make eye contact with Yangyang, turning away in a rather awkward manner. Oh, the end of the world does awful things to you.

“Are you listening?” Yangyang raises an eyebrow. “Oh my god, you weren’t listening at all.”

You roll your eyes. “I was distracted.”

“By me?” he offers in a sing-song voice, prompting a smack from you. It’s easier to pretend this way.

Yangyang massages his shoulder with a huff. “Why are you hitting me so much today? I’ve counted like eight and the day’s only just over.”

“Sorry,” you mumble before clearing your throat. “I mean, you’ve also said something annoying, like, more than eight times today.”

“I’m not annoying.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

The sun starts to lay in rest by the time you reach the city. Compared to the green, red and yellow of the yet standing shrine, this place is in dull monochrome with the occasional coloured signs that flicker to life. You force yourself to think but have a hard time remembering if it was always this way. Was it any different with the rushing cars or apathetic crowds? You can’t tell. You were part of them, after all. 

“Hey, how about a bottle flip challenge but with traffic cones?” Yangyang thinks aloud, walking backwards as you pass by a particularly well-lit alley. 

You roll your eyes in response. Is it the lack of people making him that way? Your unflustered companion looks at home among neon lights, all of them seeming to point towards him as an answer to a question you haven’t quite figured out yet. 

You glance at the alley just a second longer. The electric lanterns still glow red, and although dim, there are many. The shops almost look like you could enter and be greeted with a crowd of university kids or a group of office workers drinking away in celebration of the weekend. You sigh. It’s most certainly deserted inside; there’s no doubt. At the most, the tables are still arranged neatly and the meat grills aren’t completely rusted. You wonder if it’s a Friday.

There was never much grass in the city but whatever growth there was has withered into a mustard yellow or a lamenting grey. An empty city is hardly appealing, but you can’t deny the ill-favored things you’ve done the past few months in the absence of people—a part of you questioning whether breaking into supermarkets is still against the law when no one’s around to keep it. You smile at the memory of Yangyang pushing you around in a shopping cart, though you’d gotten drunk off the (stolen) liquor prior. The neon lights hanging as a banner over sketchy shops sometimes spark alive before dying down over and over again, and to be fair, you don’t think they ever shined too bright. Ironically, they’re the liveliest thing about the city now. 

The sky’s soaked in ink at a time you assume to be around seven in the evening. You walk closer to Yangyang without realizing; it’s not often you’ve been out this late the past few months.

“Hey.” Yangyang snaps you out of your daze. “Be careful.”

The words are strange coming from him but you understand why. You look up ahead with caution and a shiver runs down your spine as you stare at the intersection, a lone, tattered figure droning aimlessly. It’s only one, you tell yourself. And they’re slow.

The memories of your previous encounters send warnings over your skin, shivers begging you to run as fast as you can. You would if it weren’t for Yangyang’s grip on your hand, tugging you forward gently and though it’s something he does every time, you wonder if he knows how you’re really feeling. His footsteps are soundless, with the same red sneakers he’s worn since the beginning of this but something tells you it’s not the shoes that give him a cat’s footfall. The purple lights flicker on and off over the shop on the opposite street, the suddenness of it making you latch onto Yangyang for a short-lived moment. You’re quick to let go, throat too dry to make any sound. 

You curve around what would be a straight path, careful not to be in the creature’s line of sight when you cross. The streets seem wider when they’re so empty, and somehow it feels more unlawful this way. Yangyang signals to you to stay closer, and you follow before bumping into his back when he stops abruptly. There’s absolutely no sound, the feeling in your gut much worse than at the shrine.

“Something’s wrong,” Yangyang whispers.

A strangled shriek erupts from your mouth when something launches itself onto the two of you, making you land on your butt. You would’ve placed your hands over your eyes, but you’ve learned how to be less of a coward these past few days. 

A shaky breath leaves you. A cat. It was a stray cat. The little asshole looks at you with almost twinkling eyes, tail swishing from side to side before deciding you’re not worth its time. Your shoulders sag, a moment of relief despite your stiff muscles.

“Uh, (name)?”

You look up only for your stomach to fill with dread. The zombie from before is staring directly at the two of you, the same vacant look in its eyes that has haunted you for the entirety of the apocalypse.

“It’s okay, he’s too slow,” Yangyang reminds you, voice barely a whisper as he helps you stand.

“We can just take the other street—it’s a little longer but it’s mostly safe and there’s no way he can—”

Yangyang is interrupted by a sickening growl from behind you and you jump back. There’s another one. And another. You count four more before holding back a swear. Yangyang grabs you by the shoulder and the two of you take a step back, onto the sidewalk. There’s a shop behind you; you read a smeared sign above the plastic door curtains indicating a dumpling place. Even if you were to hide in there, there’s no guarantee you’d be safe. 

But if you’ve learned anything in these months, it’s that anything is always better than nothing.

The night has settled in completely, you realize. You’re about to tug Yangyang to the inside as you turn around, only to freeze up in your spot. A pale woman emerges from the store, her makeup still fresh but you know that look, the look in her eyes. How cruel.

“Please,” she mumbles, taking a step towards you and you think you might just cry. It’s not long before she turns, you think with dread.

You stumble back to Yangyang when she emits a blood curdling screech, lunging at you and to either your alarm or worse, relief, Yangyang pushes you back. You watch with wide eyes as the woman sinks her teeth into his arm, nausea growing at the sight of blood. He moves fast though, his arm swinging the baseball bat to meet the woman in the head, hard enough to knock her out. In these few moments, one of the zombies is close enough to reach an arm out towards you and you swear you can hear the horrid sound of his bones cracking when you step back. The longer you remain in this state, the slower you are. You suppose you should take comfort in these words but when you look at it, you still see a man.

Hollow. They’re all hollow. 

You take a deep breath.

Just as the thought crosses your head, you see Yangyang swing his bat again, meeting the zombie on the head and much to your wide-eyed horror, the head flies off into the dumpling shop and the body reacts with just about as much confusion as you do. It wildly waves about its hands in the now vacant spot before crumpling onto the road with a quiet realization.

Yangyang makes a face, pressing his knuckle to his mouth to prevent himself from what you presume is gagging. However, when you look closely, he seems to be holding back a laugh instead and very painfully so. You know he has a habit of laughing at the most inappropriate times but this, it really takes the cake.

“Home run?” he suggests, turning to you with a sheepish half-grin. There’s no hint of malice in his voice and you think that it’s probably not that he enjoys swinging his baseball bat at zombies. 

“You’re disgusting,” you reply, shaking your head.

“Maybe I should leave you here then.” 

You can’t believe he has the gall to be cheeky with blood running down his arm and four of the undead drooling at the sight of you two. 

“Do you think we can find ingredients that aren’t stale here? I miss having dumplings.”

“Yangyang.”

“Okay, okay.”

The other ones are still far enough and the two of you take this chance to run off towards the street Yangyang mentioned earlier and safely out of view. You notice him panting heavier than before, and your eyes scan over his arm in worry. The bite is ugly, red with oozing blood, and you hold back the urge to ask him if he’s anaemic. 

Yangyang follows your eyes before an ‘ah’ leaves his lips. He spins his head to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the wound in the same manner a dog chases after its own tail. He puts the bat down to try and twist his arm to see the injury but you stop him, clicking your tongue at his silly behaviour.

“You’re not twelve, Yangyang,” you scold. “Let’s get back to the hotel first.”

He shrugs, and you think some provoking words are ready to leave his mouth when he simply picks up his bat and walks off. You blink before quickening your steps to catch up with him. The blood dripping down his forearm makes you feel a little unwell but you know better than to touch infections.

It takes around fifteen minutes longer than usual to reach the hotel—Yangyang was right. It is safer here, with no zombies lurking around the corners. He must have been out late when he was scouting, you think with distaste.

You reach the now-rusting gates of your haven without trouble and the moment you reach, Yangyang falls to his knees, heaving a breath he seems to have been holding. You rush to him, eyes frantic when you reach your hand out to him, and he flinches, moving away from you.

“Don’t,” he mutters before getting up. “You turning into a real zombie would be my personal nightmare.”

It’s not enough to curb your worry but you follow him nonetheless, the stupid, wavering grin on his face making you unable to decipher what he’s really feeling. 

The familiar smell of honeysuckle washes into you as you pass by the entrance, locking the door behind you as Yangyang falls onto one of the chairs in the lobby. Kunhang happened to be passing by, a muffled swear leaving him when he sees the blood on Yangyang’s arm.

“You didn’t touch him, did you?” he asks, pulling on his gloves to further see the wound. A former med student is the best you have here, and somehow, you’ve never seen him complain about having to take care of someone as bothersome as Yangyang. 

You shake your head in reply to Kunhang and watch as he runs from shelf to shelf to procure more bandages than you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ve been seeing an awful lot lately. 

“We’re going to run out of bandages in a week if he keeps this up,” Kunhang says with a frown, moving so fast you can barely see his hands. “He’ll be okay, I guess. The virus just makes him dizzy.”

He’s probably thinking the same thing you are. Something serious happening to Yangyang is a little bit of a miracle. Maybe he’ll finally be set right in the head. 

Even so, you know Kunhang is worried despite his quick response, his frown lines deepening once he’s done wrapping up. He sighs before waltzing off to discard his gloves.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed by Kunhang; you’ve just seen him do that too many times to count. And of course, it’s mostly Yangyang on the receiving end. They might be good friends but this also happens to be the only time they're serious together. Moreover, Kunhang seems to beat Yangyang in the talking-for-twelve-hours-straight department. You have to admit though, being in charge of first aid for the few people stuck in this hotel is not an easy business. 

You take a seat opposite to Yangyang, dozing off in his chair and wonder if you should wipe the drool off his chin. Disgusting, you think to yourself, but another part of you dares to offer the word cute. 

The best thing about barricading yourself in a hotel during the apocalypse is not having to worry about beds. There’s at least five hundred rooms in this skyrise, more than enough for, what, sixteen people? The place is so big that you hardly run into the others. The only rule around here is regarding the pantry—to write down who’s taken what on the notepad stuck to one corner. Despite what movies show, people are far more helpful to each other in times of need, more so than usual even. You relax into the chair, the velvet cushion feeling comfortable against your back. 

There’s a nice communal feeling in this place. 

You frown. It’s not like you can stay here forever. 

At the very least, you can pretend each sundown and sunrise is ordinary here. You close your eyes, and slowly, thoughts of why you’re trying so hard to remember life before this drift away.

//

Yangyang wakes up before you do, grinning like crazy as he shrugs you awake. You stare at him through groggy eyes, untangling your limbs from yourself. The cold seeps into you and you shiver, hugging yourself.

“We found the keys to the lounge,” he rushes, albeit in a gentle voice. “Guess what?”

“Unh?”

“There’s a campfire spot over there! The others already started but I thought I should wake you up.”

It’s just like him to be excited about something like that. You get up nevertheless, Yangyang pulling you through the stairs and onto the only elevator that seems to work around here. There’s quite a few things about this hotel left to be figured out. You’re going to have to start worrying anyway when the power from the generator runs out.

Kunhang and an older man, Mr Kang, are the only ones there once you reach. You had expected it but the lounge is gigantic and a small part of it provides the artificial campfire area. There are paintings of wild animals and trees for children, you assume, on the walls only cut off by a large vent on the ceiling. The fire burns bright over the large circle of soil and firewood, whose authenticity is debatable. You sigh at the warmth, having grown tired of the autumn weather’s mood swings.

Kunhang greets the two of you with a grin before delicately poking Mr Kang to at least acknowledge your presence. It’s funny, the lot of you.

The place is a little small, considering there’s a literal fire in the middle of the room. You almost sit on Yangyang because he shifts too suddenly at Mr Kang’s disapproval of proximity, a small yelp leaving you whereas Yangyang, for the first time, looks like he’d rather die. He mutters an apology, and two of you manage to sit a good two feet apart, sudden awkwardness rising in the air—all of it unnoticed by Mr Kang. You heard he was a banker but if Kunhang and Yangyang had a polar opposite, it would most certainly be him. You can’t even remember the man’s voice.

You think you should say something but Kunhang’s laughter breaks the silence. There’s an unspoken exchange between him and Yangyang, piquing your curiosity though you aren’t sure what you should be asking. You just assume it’s one of their stupid inside jokes.

“I left your gift on your table. You can add it to your dumb shoe collection,” Kunhang tells Yangyang, smiling before standing up to stretch. “I’m going to bed. Mr Kang, won’t you accompany me?”

Mr Kang gets up begrudgingly and you’re about to ask them to stay longer when Kunhang turns to you enthusiastically. “Good night, (name). Don’t have too much fun. Although, I suppose there’s no better time to have too much fun either.”

You watch with furrowed brows as the two disappear into the doorway and down the stairs. You spend a couple of moments in silence before clearing your throat. When it goes unnoticed, you turn to Yangyang despite the warmth on your face. 

“It’s not dumb,” he mutters to himself, a little zoned out.

You stare at him for a few moments and the familiar feeling rises in your throat, now with a little voice to accompany it. 

Cute.

You cough, distracting yourself with any and all thoughts you would rather have, even of the zombies. Now isn’t the time—or is it the perfect time? You shake your head, calming yourself.

“Does it… hurt?” You ask, eyeing Yangyang’s arm.

He looks up as if broken from a daze, the campfire lights still dazzling in his eyes. You hold back a laugh. He really is a child; if he’s so easily mesmerized by fires, that is.

“Probably not any worse than the lady I whack-a-mole’d. Now that must’ve hurt.” Yangyang puffs his cheek before looking straight at you.

You stare back. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s said.

“What? I feel bad beating the crap out of zombies sometimes,” he says, scratching the back of his head. 

You hum in response. The thought of Yangyang developing a conscience is almost as bad as having to think about zombies. Though, you’ll have to admit, it does give you a strange relief. Zombies can’t really feel pain—they are, after all, numb in every possible sense—but some part of you wonders if it’s alright like this. Morals and survival aren’t meant to overlap. 

You feel the need to distract yourself with something.

“Hey,” you call, moving closer to Yangyang such that your shoulders almost touch. Before you know it, you brush the hair from his face, trying to style the mess into something more neat—a thing you’ve been wanting to do since the first time you saw him. Every time you’d see the messy mop of hair at an official event of the debate club, you’d have this strong urge and an almost putrid form of annoyance. You still don’t know how he managed to get in.

“You don’t look terrible with parted hair,” you muse. “You could’ve looked more decent at the debates.”

You look down from his hair to see Yangyang frozen, eyes wide as if a deer in the headlights.

“Are- Are you not breathing?” you ask.

Yangyang sucks in a large chunk of air, fast enough to choke on it and break into a coughing fit as he turns away from you. You reach out to pat his back but he waves his hand at you, indicating he’s fine before he can turn to you.

You look at him with no particular emotion, the night breeze having worked its way to you.

“What was that about a gift? Are you and Kunhang getting things for each other without telling me?” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

There's a short pause, filled with the crackling of fire.

“It’s my birthday,” Yangyang says with a small smile as the campfire lights dance across his cheeks.

And yet, the words come out sad as if he’d been waiting for an occasion to tell you. You look at him, eyes widening ever so slightly accompanied by the loss of words and take a sharp breath.

“I’m not going to ask for a gift,” Yangyang teases. “Don’t look so worried.”

You open your mouth and close it again, unable to explain the gentle wash of sadness overcome you when you see just a boy. For all the talking he does, he never asks for much. 

“I mean, I- I liked spending the day with you. Why do you look so sad? Did I say something? Again?”

You look over his features, from his brow bone to his wide eyes to his lips and the conclusion arrives as gently as the end of the world. What’s the worst that could happen?

You quickly pull him into a hug, still careful of his injury, and a vaguely embarrassing sound escapes Yangyang, something akin to a sheep’s call. He clears his throat which turns into coughing before he can wrap his arms around you, his breathing soft against your shoulder. 

“I’m- I’m alive, you know? I don’t think I’m dying any time soon. I- I can’t even get infected! You know that.”

“That’s not why I’m- I…” You pull back, steeling your eyes so you don’t feel the warmth of embarrassment. 

Just like you prepare for debates, you think to yourself. Maybe Yangyang was right about you being a zombie—the way you follow the same drudging formula.

“I like you,” you say, your words more of a strained whisper but they’re out before you know it. You can fake confidence, you tell yourself. It’s horrible timing and spending your (potentially) last days with someone who rejected you is just another way to shoot yourself in the foot.

But part of you has been wanting to do this for so long that you almost don’t mind.

Yangyang sucks in a breath, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he straightens.

“That was- Wow. Okay. I- Uh. Wow.”

You let the heat grow stronger in your cheeks, racking your head for an explanation or even a lie. Maybe you can say it was a mistake. 

“I- I meant…” You lose track of your words. You can’t lie.

“I’ve never been confessed to,” he blurts, and if you squint, you swear you can see him blushing.

“Huh?”

Yangyang coughs again, followed by the same embarrassing sound. “That was- That was the first time.”

The silence between you is accompanied by the crackling of fire and the soft path-making of wind. You’re at a loss for words, something that you should be used to by now—they clearly belong to someone else.

“Oh my god, that was so stupid,” he says, pulling a horrified face as he frantically waves his hands about. “I meant to say I like you too but I- I guess I forgot to say it out loud. Ah, crap- I sound even stupider now, don’t I?”

Your lips twitch, trying to contain your smile but you’re seized with uncontrollable laughter anyway. The mortified expression on Yangyang’s face makes you burst into another fit of giggles before you can somewhat compose yourself.

“I think that’s the longest you’ve been quiet for,” you say in between recurring laughter. “Did anyone ever tell you being able to talk fast doesn’t get you ahead in debate clubs?”

Yangyang frowns.

“Oh, I just joined because I thought it’d get on your nerves,” he says, not a hint of jest in his voice.

You straighten away from him, the smile dropping from your face.

“You can’t be serious.”

He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and offering no explanation. You huff in exasperation, getting up abruptly to avoid another oncoming headache. It’s a little difficult, considering you have the human version of it right beside you.

“Wait- Where are you going?” Yangyang scrambles up to his feet. “It’s my birthday, you know?”

You turn around and put your hands on your hips, a small smile on your face at the sight of him. “It’s midnight already.”

“Oh. How was I supposed to know?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Maybe the little rascal is special.

“Hey,” Yangyang calls. “You know, since this is the end of the world and all…”

You stare at him, heartbeat erratic at the lack of distance and despite the fading of teenage fantasies. Yangyang shifts nervously, glancing here and there while simultaneously trying to keep eye contact with you, an action which makes you hold back a chuckle. There’s a particular twinkle in his eyes but he can’t seem to be able to look at you straight.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finally.

And what a daring end to the world it is.

[kashimos-hajime]

dear... whoever | b.b.

summary: a mandated series of long and short diary entries from the new head of R&D for Stark Industries. 

WARNINGS: swearing, LOTS of fluff, mentions of drinking and sex and hospitals and guns, general fun and witty attitude, small angst, big jealousy, obviously au after civil war. everything after does not exist. pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 9.5k

a/n: written for @softbiker​ and 100% inspired by @sunmoonandbucky​ with the format. my prompt was let me love you by rita ora and i wrote it from the perspective the singer is singing it to rather than the actual singer. this was super fun to write. enjoy!

July 31/20

Dear…

Whoever is going to read this. So… me, in the future probably. So, it should be dear WHOMever, I think, but it sounds wrong.

Is it too cliché to say dear diary? I don’t know. After all, I don’t WANT to be writing this but unfortunately I am because it’s mandated. Apparently, the psychiatrist that works for Stark Industries thinks it’s necessary that I write down my feelings and show that I’ve adjusted to working part-time superhero, full-time head of Tony’s stupid R&D department.

Something about how that much stress can cause psychotic fractures in the worst case scenario.

Cute.

Anyway, I don’t know what to write. Currently, it’s 4:23AM. The only reason I’m awake is because I have trouble sleeping on the best night. I heard Barnes messing about and because I am the Hermit of the Rec Room Couch (catchy, I know), I can hear him just walking about.

What the hell is he even doing?

To be honest, I’ve never talked to Barnes besides the occasional greetings because he’s the sort to keep to himself, I guess, and, valid. I’m not saying it’s not, considering his history, but you know.

I think I’m a friendly person, and I’m bored. He’s eventually going to hear me writing noisily because of super-soldier hearing or whatever, so I might just get up and introduce myself.

Not that I’ve been working here for years, but whatever.

I’m really bored and hungry, honestly, so a trip to the kitchen would be considered normal (and warranted) in such circumstances.

Fuck it.

Time to make a new friend or die trying. If you never hear from me again, you’ll know why.

.

Aug. 1/20

Dear Jane,

I finally got the time to write in here and you may be wondering why I have named you. Well, after the conversation at roughly 4:30 AM, here are things that’ve changed in a disorganized list. None is more important than the other. I'm just writing what comes to my head.

One: Barnes said he doesn’t really let anyone call him James. I called him James once because I forgot. Profuse apologies followed. He said it was okay and didn’t mind me calling him that. Now, in my mind, I think he’s just saying this to be polite and really just wants me to call him Bucky but he seemed sincere. We’ll see how it goes.

Two: Barnes was awake because his cat woke him up. I didn’t even know he had a cat but it’s a gorgeous white cat named Alpine that Barnes carries around in his half-zipped up hoodies sometimes. It’s adorable. He’s super soft and friendly and I love him already. He showed me all the tricks Alpine could do. Amazing.

Three: Barnes’ favourite movie is the Godfather. Totally surprising there. Please tell me you understand sarcasm.

Four: He said he liked the name Jane when I told him what I was doing up and also in the rec room (couldn’t sleep, writing in my diary) and that I didn’t want to say “Dear diary”

“Why don’t you just give it a name?” he eloquently suggested and Jane was his answer to my question of “Which name?”

Five: Barnes, or James, I guess he is now, is my friend.

Six: We said we’d meet up at 4:30AM or earlier again because I told him I wanted to show him my s’mores dip recipe.

Seven: Wish me luck. Hope I don’t get murdered.

Eight: I think I might be in love with him.

Bye.

.

Aug. 5/20

Dear Jane,

In an effort to summarize what has happened in the past four days, I will open with the fact that James Buchana Barnes is the cutest motherfucker on the planet. He’s super old fashioned, but that’s a given. He opens the doors for me, offers to take my bags up, and in the past four days, we’ve met up at around midnight to just eat and chat. Then he walks me back to my room with a glass of water and I’m left fanning myself because it’s so sweet and he’s so sweet and OH, MY GOD, I am a child.

This feels like a crush. Like, butterflies in my stomach, self-conscious every time he looks at me, can’t stop staring, and wanting to impress him at every turn sort of crush.

AKA, a middle-school crush and I feel completely ridiculous but that is besides the point because he’s just the loveliest person.

Someone should tell him chivalry is dead. Steve thinks he’s just being sweet on me, and Sam says I should flash some ass just to get a rise out of him which would be funny. He’d look absolutely adorable blushing his head off.

We’ll see. I am considering it.

What else happened? I’m drawing a huge blank.

As explained in a previous entry, I was to show Barnes my s’mores dip recipe. Huge success. Crowd loved it. That’s how I learned he has a huge sweet tooth like me. Got an email from Pep about a board meeting which I ignored. If it’s really important, she’ll see me in person. Went swimming with Sam. We started planning Tony’s big Christmas party even though that’s MONTHS away.

But, you know. We’re so busy all the time, it might be worth it planning ahead.

As head of R&D, it’s vital to me that this goes well because they’re fun when they do go well, and a chaotic disaster when they don’t. Also, I have to find a date but details will follow.

I think that’s it.

If there’s more to follow, then I’ll just come back but there really isn’t.

Oh, Alpine found my room. He’s in here right now and he snores. It’s cute, just like his owner.

Okay, goodnight.

.

Aug. 7/20

Dear Jane,

Sam, James, and I went swimming.

Pro of the day: James is ripped and that man was GLISTENING.

Con of the day: I AM STUPID in front of hot ripped men.

Pro of the day: We got ice cream together. Strawberry for me, mango for James because he wants to try new flavours, and Sam ordered some monstrosity with vanilla ice cream, chocolate and raspberry syrups, and a bunch of banana slices. A swirl of whipped cream to finish it off. It looked like diabetes in a cup and that’s coming from me.

Con of the day: James used his thumb to wipe the ice cream off my lip and my brain short-circuited. Sam teased us about it, but James very stubbornly and convincingly said we’re just friends.

Con of the day x2: We are just friends and that is NOT going to change. I cannot explain how much my heart literally fell out of my body in disappointment.

God, and James and I are meeting up at 2AM tonight so he can show me this new stupid stuffed celerey recipe he learned.

It’s not stupid.

It’s really, REALLY cute he researched it.

This sucks.

.

Aug. 11/20

The worst day ever. I don’t want to talk about it but might as well make a note on it. More on it later, I guess.

.

Aug. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry, I’m dramatic. Must get it from working with Tony for so many years.

Let’s just review what occurred on August 11, 2020, at approximately 3:23 in the afternoon.

I learned that James went out on a date. A DATE. From SAM. When James had ample opportunity to tell me at our regular meeting at witching hour over celery sticks.

EXCUSE ME? WHO IS THIS WOMAN?

I’m not even mad. I’m just angry that the man I became friends with only 2 weeks ago and caught feelings immediately for is seeing other people.

I sound like a raging bitch. I promise you, Jane, that I am not. I’m just the insanely jealous type.

No, I’m not.

God, what is happening to me and why does it have to be James.

I never get crushes and the instant I do, it’s for the most emotionally and physically unavailable person ON EARTH.

Also, work was work. I was distracted, drank soup from the canteen, and generally accomplished nothing. Alpine came for some snuggles while James was out. That’s the only good thing.

Thanks, universe.

.

Aug. 16/20

Dear Jane,

So, I brought up this mystery lady over homemade sundaes.

James seems pretty serious about her because he a) apologized for not telling because he wanted to keep it private and asked me not to tell anyone and b) has a second date with her later today.

Oh, GOD. There is no point to this.

.

Aug. 19/20

Dear Jane,

What’s the point of asking someone intimate, personal questions if not because you guys are best friends?

James called me his best friend today. He says he knows me, but if he did, he’d know I feel like throwing up whenever he’s around and that his stare burns through every layer of clothing until I feel like he just knows my secret.

I told him we’ve known each other less than a month, but he said something stupidly charming about “intuition” and feeling and that this feels right and how he knows he can tell me anything and that I was an easy person to talk to.

I should’ve been a shrink.

At least, my trip to Wakanda is going to give me distance. A solid two months of no one else but me, tech, and new faces. Going there to collaborate with Shuri is definitely exciting and taking up more space in my brain than James these days.

Maybe I’ll fall in love with some soldier over there because apparently, I’m catching feelings willy-nilly these days.

See you on the plane, Jane.

.

Aug. 23/20

Dear Jane,

On the quinjet, it’s fairly quiet. It’s one of the things I love about it. The silent yet soft engines that can lull me to sleep. We should be arriving in a few hours so I thought I’d write. I’m getting the hang of this, I think.

There's a press conference later, too, in the trip with the UN and it’s not that I can’t handle it, but that I could’ve done this in my sleep and wished Tony sent someone else. I hate the press, not gonna lie.

Anyway, this gives me time to be introspective.

Is it just me or James always Okay, is it just my imagination that whenever I try to get close to James, he just kinda pulls away? Not in a romantic way. I’m not stealing anyone’s man because girl code, but he won’t even let me just stand near him anymore. It’s like I have an infectious disease only transmitted through physical contact and it’s just weird.

I don’t know.

Before I left, he said he’d miss me and that we should keep in touch through calls (Obviously, I would) and that he hopes I won’t forget him.

So, you say those things but you won’t even let me even hug you?

You’re a manipulative asshole, Barnes.

.

Oct. 20/20

Dear Jane,

I am so sorry that it has taken so long for us to reunite.

In hindsight, I’m a fucking idiot.

I left you on the quinjet which went back to New York and a different quinjet came to pick me up. I came back like two days ago so these past few days have been spent searching for you.

James offered to help, and he seems normal again.

Weird. Guess he was just in a mood with the new girlfriend and adjusting to having me as a friend, too. Guys go through that, I guess.

In Wakanda, I did not, in fact, fall in love with a soldier or anything. I curse every day that I didn’t, trust me. I’m just as disappointed as you are because I just want to get over this stupid crush. For the two months I was gone, it was like I didn’t like James at all like that. Even during calls, I could pretend we were just two teammates keeping each other in the loop. He talked about his girlfriend, I listened, I explained science because he’s a nerd, and he asked questions like he was interested.

It was FINE.

Then, he was waiting for me when I came back to NYC and it slammed into me like Bruce in Hulk-mode.

James asked if I wanted to meet his girlfriend because she’d be coming around for the Halloween party anyway, and he thinks we’ll get along swimmingly.

He really said swimmingly. He is stuck in the wrong era, but we all knew that.

I said yes, to be polite.

Here’s to hoping she’s a vindictive bitch and I am justified in hating her entire being.

.

Oct. 22/20

Dear Jane,

I met her. She’s small and pretty and mature and normal.

If I wasn’t stupidly in my feelings about James, I’d love her, too. 

She’d treat him right, give him a good home to come back to.

Best not to notice the people fighting beside you in that way, I guess.

.

Oct. 25/20

Dear Jane,

God is dead and NO ONE has eyes on the road.

Jesus isn’t even taking the wheel on this one.

It’s a fucking disaster.

I do not want to describe in every little detail the intricacies of dreaming about James Buchanan Barnes fucking my brains out, so I won’t, but this is for the record that it happened and how the fuck am I supposed to come back and see him in his probably gorgeous attempt at his recreation of Brendan Fraser from the Mummy AKA my favourite movie (which HE KNOWS THAT IT IS?? GOD, the audacity.)

Girlfriend (his girlfriend. “Girlfriend” is the name which she shall be henceforth known as in these entries because petty wins are all I have right now) is dressing as Rachel Weisz. Because “couples goals” or whatever.

I wouldn’t know. Sam and I are dressed up as sexy salt and pepper shakers (his idea, not mine) and he made me take the salt stick because I think he knows. Steve’s not dressing up because he’s more focused on handing out candy as Captain America.

Tony is… Tony. Iron Man and all that.

Anyway, I’m out of town in DC for a meeting with the Secretary of State for a few days, but I’ll be back in New York on the 30th so I’ll have a few hours to adjust to being around James again before he dons on that outfit that I know will be totally hot.

He called me his best friend again in his latest email.

Made me smile like an idiot, but I digress.

.

Nov. 1/20

Dear Jane,

Halloween was killer. Sam and I won best duo for costumes because we’re that good. Ate a lot of candy and it seems to be looking up.

I dunno. I didn’t mind James and Girlfriend on the couch that much in the after-party. Mostly stuck by Nat and Sharon and Tony. An ood trio, but a fun one nonetheless.

It was fun, but I still have to go to work no matter how many jello shots and vodka gummy bears consumed.

Wish me luck, not that I need it.

Why do you think Tony hired me?

.

Nov. 4/20

Dear Jane.

Natasha said I smile at James in a way that utterly betrays every emotion I want to hide in my chest.

Note to self: Don’t smile at James, or at his jokes, or at anything he ever does again. Avoid him. Put a stopper on this friendship.

Note to note to self: I can’t. He just makes me smile whenever he’s around and he’s always around. There’s no simpler way to put it.

I’m gonna try this hiatus thing, though. Distance myself a bit. We’ll see how it goes.

.

Nov. 13/20

Dear Jane,

Day nine of this hiatus business and it sucks. I miss my best friend.

We’re scheduled for a mission together, and we’re leaving tomorrow so I was going to have to talk to him during the briefing and the op either way.

Well, glad to know this didn’t work.

.

Nov. 15/20

Dear Jane,

Guess who just got fucking shot!

ME!

Guess even scumbags can’t take a holiday because some stupid arms dealer got a cheap shot on me while I was downloading their whole computer system and other tech mumbo-jumbo I am too high to write about.

James left a few hours ago with the rest of the team, but not before he got me a bunch of ice chips and said he was worried and that he hopes I get better soon. He even promised to get me some flowers to spruce up the room and to say my HEART went CRAZY is an understatement.

He came to my rescue, essentially, as soon as he heard I got pinned. He carried me to the quinjet the instant he cleared the area and stayed by my side the whole time even though the bleeding stopped and I was in good hands. He was just so protective, barking at doctors and nurses. It was embarrassing but also really, really sweet.

Is it weird of me to say that I want him to stay by my side forever? 

I’ve never fallen in love before.

Is it always this fast and this hard? I feel like I’m crashing instead of gently and wonderfully falling. Everything is dumb and awful.

Is this what love is like? Because it hurts worse than getting shot because I think I’m going to vomit flowers or butterflies or something.

God, he’d never love me. We’re just friends and even though we have a lot in common, he’d never. It’s just too much of the past in the present or whatever.

Also, he has a girlfriend but it seems very surface-level. God, that makes me sound like a “one of the boys” type of girl who’s a bitch to one of the boy’s new girlfriends, but I don’t know. James told me they don’t really talk about the deep stuff like we do. But she makes him happy, I think.

In hindsight, one may ask what the deep stuff is.

More on that later. I’m tired.

God, why him?

I HATE THIS.

goodnight.

.

Nov. 16/20

Dear Jane,

James visited again today. He sat beside me and we talked until the nurses had to kick him out. He also brought the flowers.

I asked about Girlfriend casually. I said I liked her.

He said he did, too.

I don’t know why I think he’s lying. No, I do.

It’s because jealousy is the green-eyed bitch from highschool who still shows up in my life because she thinks she’s relevant to society.

That was mean. Unrequited love makes you mean. Side effect noted.

P.S. The deep stuff includes his past, his arm, his memory, his favourite colour. I dunno why that matters. It just does.

.

Nov. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Got out of the hospital today because of advanced technology and all that. Nothing’s left but a scar and residual soreness. James helped me to my room and said to call him if I had a problem.

I joked that he has a girlfriend and for some reason, he got really weird about it. It’s hard to describe. I dunno. Nat dropped by for popcorn and movies.

It’s 2:32AM. I’m wondering if he’s in the kitchen but I’m confined to bed rest so I don’t know. Also, Nat is asleep beside me and I don’t want to bother her.

Hopefully I can get up and move in a few days. Life is boring.

.

Nov. 24/20

Dear Jane,

Sorry we haven’t caught up in a moment. Work’s been hectic and I’ve been working overtime trying to make ends meet. Most days I’m in the office or lab, just trying to get enough things done so I can take time off come Christmas.

James stopped by tonight with Chinese takeout and some sweet buns.

He broke up with his girlfriend, too.

Guess that’s why he was being weird about it.

I tried being as casual as I could asking why, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so I asked why he came by. Couldn’t be for the company because when I’m in work mode, I just don’t talk and he knows that.

He said something about his arm feeling funny so I gave it a quick diagnostics check.

I think both of us knew his arm was feeling fine.

Everything is stupid, life is meaningless, and James’ lips are the prettiest shade of pink in the ugly lights of the lab.

I would very much like to have kissed him, but I didn’t.

Girl code.

It’ll probably be a while before I get another chance to actually have time and energy to write another diary entry. Christmas season’s coming close and Pepper is gonna need help with the party.

Yay, me.

.

Dec. 4/20

Dear Jane,

Morgan asked me in less eloquent words if I had a boyfriend (it was more like “You boyfriend?” But whatever. Who even taught her that word?) and I swear to GOD Nat could not make it anymore obvious looking at James.

Remind me to absolutely throttle her. I don’t care if she’s the infamous Black Widow. She has clearly never seen me hopped up on nothing but a negative amount of sleep and rage/embarrassment/spite/all of the above.

On another note, Pep asked if I was bringing a plus one for the party. I said I’d think about it. Normally I’d just take Sam but he has his eyes on someone at the VA and I like my friends getting laid so no go there.

Might just go alone. I don’t know.

Pep said I should take James, but I don’t really think she knows the truth about that situation. Luckily, Tony instantly rejected the idea and said he’d find me a date if I couldn’t.

Thank the universe for at least placing me in the close circle of the most well-known and richest man in the world because he also gave me his card and said go wild.

He knows me so well. I’m thinking about Christmas shopping when I have another free day, and I’ll pay for that with my own money, of course, but clothes shopping is a free market.

I cannot wait.

.

Dec. 12/20

Dear Jane,

I wish I could show you my haul, but I got so much stuff Happy had to drive to help me. Besides obvious gifts, I also managed to snag a gorgeous dress for the party.

Thoughts on black and gold?

I think it’s beautiful. Hopefully Nat and Sharon think so. We’re having a girls night tonight and showing off outfits, so that’s exciting.

James asked if we could meet up tonight.

I told him I had plans and he looked so downcast.

I dunno. Everything feels weird between us. Like we’re fine, we’re best friends still, but something’s changed when no one was looking. He’s single now. I guess that energy is different because I had gotten used to his energy with ex-Girlfriend.

I don’t exactly mind but it’s not ideal either. I miss summer. It’s much less complicated than winter. Winter, one has to worry about wind and chills and snows blocking roads, black ice, dry skin, freezing fingers.

Summer: there’s just a lot of sun, wind, bugs, and the vaguest notion of being bored.

Look, I love winter. It’s my favourite season. It’s quiet and gorgeous and dreamy, even though it gets dreary in New York. The snow falls slowly sometimes, Christmas is gorgeous here, and I’d rather be cold than sweating buckets, and there are no bugs to bother me. Also, it gives me a good reason to stay in the labs or in my room where it’s warm and toasty.

I just miss the relative simplicity when James and I were just strangers on the edge of being friends, which is, in retrospect, a selfish reason to like one season and hate another.

Well, some philosopher somewhere probably said something about humanity being selfish.

.

Dec. 16/20

Dear Jane,

T-minus nine days until the party.

No date in sight.

Maybe I’ll ask Anderson from HR. We had coffee together a few times and he’s nice. Good catch: smart, not too bad looking, and really nice. I’ll head down tomorrow and ask.

Alpine had purred when I told him my plan and headbutted my hand, so I guess I got the Alpine-Seal-of-Approval.

.

Dec. 17/20

Dear Jane,

Operation: Ask Anderson from HR to Tony’s Christmas Party failed. Granted, it could’ve been because that was a god awful title and that that name, in itself, prophesied catastrophic failure, but also because I was accosted by my best friend.

I wish I meant Sam.

Nope. James caught me in the elevator and we made small talk. Sounds fine, right? Then we turned the topic to the party. Talked about clothes and prospective celebrity appearances and drinks and food. Just about everything, so might as well turn to talks about dates, which meant I had to explain why I was in the elevator in the first place.

Going down to ask Anderson ended in James revealing that he didn’t have a date either.

He doesn’t know who Anderson is, which I thought would be the case, and he popped the question before the doors opened.

Notice how I said “didn't” have a date.

Guess who’s going to the party with James, clearly stated as friends, platonic soulmates, etc.?

Me.

Yippee.

.

Dec. 18/20

Dear Jane,

It’s 3:42AM and I’m in the rec room as usual. I was gonna not write here today but it normally helps me sleep to just write a bit, get what little thoughts are in my head out. Yeah.

I hear James in the kitchen talking to Alpine and it’s making me smile like an idiot.

Oh, shit, he knows I’m in here. He’s making milkshakes.

I am morally obligated by best friend duties to join him.

Goodnight, Jane.

.

Dec. 24/20

Dear Jane,

I’m not sleeping with James Buchanan Barnes tomorrow night.

This is a resolute promise. An early New Year’s resolution.

.

Dec. 25/20

Dear Jane,

Merry Christmas! 

In between jovial festivities, I’ve finally found a little nook that’s quiet enough to write in. We opened presents, had a big family breakfast, went skating and just lounged around, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Need to recharge the old social battery.

Among the assortment of gifts is one that stands out to me. James got me a gift that said “Open When Alone” and I did before I started this entry and it was a fucking necklace. Like, a gorgeous one. It’s gold and thin and it feels wonderful. There’s a little cat paw charm on it and it’s so pretty because he has a matching bracelet for himself and I have still not yet recovered.

It’s just so sweet and it reminds me why I love him.

Yes, love has made me unbelievably sappy. I just heaved the biggest sigh in history.

Unfortunately, I have to go earlier tonight. To the party, as written in previous entries. I remember my oath of one-night celibacy and I intend on keeping it, despite how fucking endearing this gift was, because he said it best: we’re just friends. I’m not about to coerce my best friend into sleeping with me out of a piteous, unrequited love. That’s just gross.

You will either see me hungover tomorrow, or very drunk later tonight. It’s all very depending on how this night turns out.

.

Dec. 26/20

Dear Jane,

Fuck.

P.S. He REALLY does not mind me calling him James. Take that as dirtily or as clandestinely as you wish.

.

Dec. 27/20

Dear Jane,

I spent the entire day in bed with very pleasurable company.

I am SO GLAD we haven’t gotten called in because James doesn’t leave unless to go to sleep in his own bed or to eat, and I do NOT want to explain to the team that James fucked my brains out for two days straight because my heart is bursting.

He’s a good kisser. His lips are soft.

Intimate knowledge of that is now burned into my memory for future reference.

God, this is a dream come true. He doesn’t even question it, he just

It’s like I’m a goddess to him. He treats me like one, at least, and it’s like he’ll do anything I ask. And we act like it’s normal, too. Midnight trips to the kitchen included.

Best Christmas ever.

.

Dec. 28/20

Dear Jane,

I feel like I’m ignoring you but I’m also having the best sex of my life. He’s just… so fucking good and it’s a holiday and holy shit my mind is blown.

Love at first meeting isn’t real.

Well, maybe this one time, it was destiny.

.

Dec. 29/20

Dear Jane,

It isn’t just the sex, you know? It’s the pillowtalk, too. He just makes me laugh so much and everything is so easy between us and it feels real. Popcorn and chips in bed, some mojitos, just each other’s presence. It’s enough like that, you know?

Some quote about how the one you love should be both your lover and your best friend is in my head but I’m too lazy to look it up. James’ head is in my lap and he’s just reading while I’m writing and everything seems perfect.

He doesn’t ask what I’m writing because he knows it’s private and I trust him.

This is perfect.

I think I really am IN love with him.

.

Jan. 1/21

You know that cliché/tradition of New Year’s kisses?

WELL THEN.

Best (and worst) New Year’s ever. I’ll explain more later. I’m too tired and too angry and also sore and bruised.

See you when I’m not hungover.

.

Jan. 5/21

Dear Jane,

I’m finally stable enough to write.

In a crazy turn of events, Barnes and I got into a fight because of what happened after New Year’s Day’s events: I caught him leaving before I woke up and at first, curious questions ensued, and it wasn’t a fight but then it became one and I don’t even know how it happened. I wasn’t even mad. He just started being weird and I got annoyed and we tried and failed to keep our voices down. Luckily, my room is pretty soundproof.

Things just got out of hand and I feel like tearing my hair out. I wanna storm up to him and just yell some more.

Tony came into my room and didn’t say shit about my hickies and the fact that James is avoiding me like the plague. He gave me a really good hug, though and then gave me a few weeks off extra. I don’t know how he knows, but then again, it’s Tony.

He just said love’s tough sometimes.

Yeah, tell me about it.

I’m thinking about just taking a long vacation and disappearing. It seems like a good route to take at this point.

.

Jan. 6/21

Dear Jane,

James is looking at me right now as I write this. I wonder if I should look back or if he’s going to come up to me. We’ll see.

I’m only writing this so it seems like I’m busy. I’m running out of things to say, honestly. Can he just go? What’s the point in staring like that? What’s the point?

I could ask myself the same question. What’s the point in loving someone who’ll never love you? Yeah, he’s sleeping with me but he pulls away every time I try to do something more. Outside the bubble of my room and the small time frame of post-11PM to around 4:45AM, he acts like he’s allergic to intimacy.

It was never like that with ex-Girlfriend.

Maybe it’s something to do with me.

I don’t know, but he keeps looking and I want to get up and leave, but I won’t. I’m not gonna let him win.

.

Jan. 6/21

He didn’t. He just went out. Sam and Steve asked if I was okay because as soon as he left, I got up for the bathroom and screamed into a towel.

I don’t think either of them knows what’s going on, but they have a notion.

.

Jan. 9/21

Dear Jane,

He apologized. Still no explanation as to why, but it feels weird.

I told him I’m going on a vacation to Switzerland. Go skiing or something and asked if he wanted to come.

It was stupid to ask, but he said yes.

Shit.

.

Jan. 14/21

Dear Jane,

Switzerland is lovely.

No work is relaxing. Awkwardness between me and the other traveller on this vacation. Weather’s supposed to be nice when we get there. Sunny snow days, pretty mountains, other Swiss things.

No other comment.

.

Jan. 21/21

Dear Jane,

I lasted all of a week.

Yep, I slept with him again, and yes, he was back in his hotel bed come sunrise.

I dunno. I’m over it. We don’t apologize and hope everything gets back to normal because neither of us want to say anything to ruin it any further and we both have a major fear of the complicated. To be fair, he said he didn’t want to sleep with me if I was completely against it.

Also, I tried calling him Bucky at dinner like ex-Girlfriend (and everyone else) does and he made the most disgusted face.

He said, and I quote, “Bucky? When did I stop being James?”

I told him I was trying something out and he said it failed. Snarky bastard.

I guess if he’s still James, that must mean I’m still special.

That’s the Tony-inherited ego talking.

But it does make me exceptionally happy to play with the idea that I’m special to him. Best friend with convoluted benefits. Sounds like the title of a very long-winded self-help book that doesn’t really help much but that does sound like the story of my life so I can’t complain too much.

We’re going home in a few days.

I’ll probably sleep with him again. Bet Steve’s shield that I do.

.

Jan. 24/21

Dear Jane,

I get three Steve’s shields because I was right every single fucking day.

He’s like a habit I can’t quite kick and don’t really want to.

We snuggled afterwards last night. His arm was around my shoulders, we were naked, I was resting my head on his chest. For a moment, it felt like something couples do and then I fell asleep and woke up alone.

Quantum physics is easier to understand than this but I think we’re being mutually exclusive right now, so it’s almost dating.

I dunno. I don’t mind it anymore. It’s better than nothing.

.

Feb. 2/21

Dear Jane,

I’m absolutely miserable.

I’m still getting laid, but that’s not related. Correlation and causation or something.

Why is New York so dreary and when can everything just stop?

I don’t know. Winter is ending and now it’s in that awful transition phase between seasons and it’s mucky and rainy and disgusting. Tony got these limited edition ice cream flavours though so I’m gonna ask James if we can make milkshakes out of them or something.

He doesn’t like the muck either. That’s not really relevant, I guess.

.

Feb. 14/21

Dear Jane,

I got flowers and chocolate from the department because I think they can sense I’ve been in a bad mood since forever. Then, there was an anonymous delivery and inside was this gorgeous chain bracelet that matches the necklace sort of. I lied and told the department it was from Pepper.

What a wretched holiday.

Yours truly.

.

Feb. 18/21

Dear Jane,

Normally, when boys get their haircut, they look ugly for a day or two after.

Not James.

He got his hair cut shorter and he looks really good. Like unbelievably good. Short hair fits him just as much as long hair does.

No other observations.

.

Feb. 25/21

Dear Jane,

It was Morgan’s birthday party today. James came in one of those brown jackets with the sheepskin wool inside and he looked so good. We mainly stayed apart to prevent any dalliance because one does not disappear from the Madame Secretary’s birthday party and the team doesn’t really know what’s happening behind the scenes except for Nat and Tony, really.

I really wanted to kiss him in front of our friends. I caught him staring a few times, and every time, the smile seemed to vanish off his face.

I’m lying in bed and it feels pretty empty.

It occurs to me that I’ve been in love for a pretty long time and I’m not even in a relationship with the guy.

Energy could’ve been devoted to so many other things and I’d hate being in love if it weren’t for the fact that it’s James.

Again, love making me sappy and all that.

.

Feb. 28/21

Dear Jane,

Jane is such a common name. Some would call it plain yet it means gift from God.

I wonder if James knew that.

.

Mar. 10/21

Dear Jane,

It’s James’ birthday. Birthday sex is a requirement and a desire. I also got him a gift which is a pair of new black Timbs. I hope he likes them. I’m excited for cake, I guess. Morgan did my makeup but I’m gonna have to wipe it off for the small little party tonight.

I think, ordinarily, I’d be in knots because it’s James’ birthday and I love him and he’s my best friend, but I just don’t know. March is fairly boring and contemplative and rainy. Work is work. Helen Cho did a presentation on her Cradle technology. Very cool.

.

Mar. 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s raining and doesn’t feel like spring. Alpine vomited on my bed a few days ago because he’s not feeling well. James and I took him to the vet and he’s on antibiotics. Poor boy. He’s sleeping in the corner of my room right now while James is away on a mission. I think I’ll just work from my room for a bit until he’s feeling better.

Nothing much to report, which is why I didn’t write anything. The month passed by too quickly. James should be back by the end of the month. I miss him and not because of the sex. No one else who doesn’t work for me or pays me listens to me ramble on their own free will. Talking to screens just isn’t the same.

.

April 1/21

James got back really early this morning and I, by tradition, was awake. I sort of wish I wasn’t though. In true April Fool’s tradition, I made fun of him for being a day late to which he genuinely apologized. I told him to shower and get to sleep but he was in that mood where you’re so exhausted you’re wide awake.

James suggested we make really strong cocktails for each other as a celebration for an extraction mission completed successfully.

Who am I to say no to celebrating?

He really likes grapefruit juice so I made a REALLY strong Grapefruit Paloma. He made this really interesting drink that was purple and tasted like oranges and cranberries. A lot of blue curacao was in it so it was pretty bitter but it hit like a fucking truck which is probably why I didn’t understand anything he said at first.

He told me he loved me.

I think, somehow, he managed to get drunk after the Grapefruit Paloma and two more bottles of vodka. Don’t ask me how because Steve NEVER gets drunk. Maybe HYDRA-brand serum is faulty? I don’t know.

I asked if he knew what date it was. He laughed really loudly, said no, realized, stuttered apologies and then said it again.

It was the most perfect sound in the world and it was the best moment in recent history.

Or, the sickest practical joke.

Consensus not yet reached.

.

April 2/21

Dear Jane,

I asked if he remembered what happened yesterday morning.

He did not.

Sickest practical joke confirmed.

.

April 9/21

Dear Jane,

I’ve been avoiding writing because I’ve felt a whole lot of nothing. Everything is abysmal and James’ confession is all I can think about. Tony’s on my ass about slipping and he has half the mind to put me on paid leave until I get my shit together, both as the head of the department and as an agent.

Drunk words are sober thoughts, all that garbage.

I wish I could live my whole life drunk and honest. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this situation where I’m stuck in eternal limbo with my best friend whom I’m in love with. Minus the drunk part.

Duty demands I return to this weathered journal until it’s finished so we’ll see. I might be back this month. Maybe not.

.

May 1/21

Dear Jane,

It rained a lot in April so now the flowers are blooming early. April showers bring May flowers. Guess it has some merit to it.

Limbo sucks. Its inescapable nature, its terrible facade of everything seeming fine when it really isn’t.

Of course, James still makes me smile, but nothing seems really okay when I let myself stop for a second.

I’m going out with Steve to a charity thing tomorrow. Should be a few hours worth of not thinking and free booze. Oh, and James and I made out in one of the quinjets after dinner today.

Felt weird considering we aren’t a couple, but it happened spontaneously as that is the nature of our relationship, it appears.

The cause also happens to be the cure of melancholy. Weird.

.

May 6/21

Dear Jane,

For context, it’s 5:23AM.

Went for a walk in Madison Square and then Central Park with James yesterday, although in my head it’s still today. We met up with Nat for some training at the gym. Got a bit mobbed by fans and the paps who asked if we were dating like we’re the tabloid’s biggest scoop.

We weren’t even holding hands, but I guess it’s just another reason why we shouldn’t be TOGETHER together in public.

We had another deep stuff talk again in bed after the usual business. I wanted to ask what this is between us and if he’s pursuing other options, because I’m not and I wanted to know if I should, but I also didn’t want to ruin the vibe.

He was in a good mood today, and seeing as sometimes he has nightmares, I thought it was best I don’t ruin it. He thinks I don’t notice but how do I not notice? He’s my best friend.

I kissed his cheek when he got up to leave and he kissed me goodbye on the lips.

I guess that means something.

.

May 17/21

Dear Jane,

In a moment of complete boredom, I listened to Imagine Dragons’ new album. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest, but Sharon thought it could’ve been better. Whatever.

.

May 22/21

Dear Jane,

Ran into ex-Girlfriend today. She still has that whole sunshine thing going on still. We had coffee and she asked if I got together with James yet.

I choked on my coffee and nearly died on the spot.

That’s how I learned that James apparently broke it off softly and ex-Girlfriend had, very wisely and knowingly, said that he should chase the apple of his eye before I (the apple) rotted alone and forgotten at the trunk of the tree. Or, as any sane person would say (and ex-Girlfriend DID say), get picked from the tree by another hand.

She said it was quite obvious that I was in love with James even months ago. She also thanked me for being so nice, anyway, and that it must’ve been difficult. What a fucking SAINT.

I set her up with a date with Steve because they have the same energy, honestly, and that’s going down on the 26th barring any emergencies.

Call me Cupid, but I think I just constructed the perfect match made in heaven.

Mentioned this meeting to James minus the apple detail. He asked if she was doing okay, which she was, and seemed glad for that. Between kisses and his sneaking hand beneath the covers, he also asked if there was anything else. Not really much to say on that front.

.

June 3/21

Dear Jane,

It’s starting to dry up consistently, now. It’s getting warmer, too. Sam brought me flowers and told me to at least turn the air-con on if I was gonna be stuck in the lab all day. Oh, the simplicities of summer are hopefully returning. Got out early and hung out with Morgan at the park in the evening.

It’s nice to hang out with someone so blissfully unaware with the stupidity of love. All Morgan cares about is grass and buttercups she grabs from the ground. She doesn’t have to worry about how to tell the guy she’s in love with that she loves him.

Oh, didn’t you hear? Nat said I should just buck the fuck up and tell him.

And Nat is scary when not listened to.

Much to brainstorm about.

.

June 14/21

Dear Jane,

Just here to brainstorm some ideas for future Stark Industries projects and thought I’d preface it with a small diary entry. Nothing really happened. Work’s catching up for some reason and bad guys are acting up. I’ve pulled a few all nighters, not gonna lie.

Really tired, but in a good, productive way. Haven’t thought much on the James front. Gonna have to focus on that after everything calms down.

.

June 20/21

Dear Jane,

It’s officially summer and yet today was awful with only subtle hints of being okay.

So much for simplicity.

In the evening, I read on the hammock on the balcony. No one really bothered me except James, but he’s never a bother.

Steve and ex-Girlfriend (who will now be reidentified as Girlfriend) are pretty cute, and she meshes well with the group. There’s nothing really awkward between her, James, or me, so I guess two people’s summers are going well. Bully for them.

Didn’t really eat. Was too busy working. James got me dinner. Didn’t feel right and just kept working. This whole agreement between us has been very flexible but we really need to fit in a session soon.

I’ll make it work somehow.

.

June 22/21

Dear Jane,

I got my wish and didn’t at the same time. We spent the whole day in the sheets (very blissfully relaxing) and I, stupidly and with very little sleep, let it slip.

In less elegant terms, I told him I loved him. It felt very real and genuine and very-out-of-a-movie, but his reaction was less so.

What did I say? Allergic to intimacy.

He tried to play it off as best friends and even that was uncomfortable, but I, very seriously and very foolishly, corrected him that “no, James Buchanan Barnes, I am IN LOVE with you.”

He left a few minutes ago, saying something about heading down to the gym, but I know he’s just trying to avoid me.

God, how am I so stupid?

.

June 25/21

Dear Jane,

I haven’t seen James in a few days. I thought he was avoiding me but turns out he’s out of the country. Something about protection for whatever dignitary is travelling at the end of the month. I don’t know.

I wasn’t assigned to that op so the details weren’t shared liberally. Sam just said it’d be a while during the ambassador’s entire stay. High threat level which is why the Avengers were contracted.

I just hope he stays safe. I know he probably took off to take his mind off things, but I don’t know how he’s focusing when all I can think of is those three little words.

I love you.

Seems so fake the more I hear it in my head, but his reaction was so real that I think I might’ve just irreversibly messed things up.

.

July 12/21

Dear Jane,

It’s been a hectic couple of weeks. If future me finds this with blotted words, it’s because I am indeed crying while writing this.

James was medically evac’ed last night and transferred back to New York. Helen Cho was flown in from her medical conference in Minnesota where she was showcasing the newest version of the Cradle.

There was an assasination attempt and James is fucked up bad.

Holy shit, I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. It’s like an invisible demon has my heart in his claw-like hands and he’s squeezing with all his might. I think my heart might explode.

I just want to hold his hand but he’s so high risk no one’s allowed to see him right now.

The waiting room is too quiet. Steve’s holding on to Girlfriend’s hand so hard I think her bones are broken but she’s taking it like a champ. Nat’s pacing, slowly patting a sleeping Morgan who she’s carrying. Sam and Tony are talking about stuff.

It’s too quiet.

I’m so scared.

.

July 13/21

They got him into the Cradle. Thank God. I think I might cry some more out of relief, but he was conscious for a few minutes earlier and he’s stable now.

It’s really late at night but they extended privileges to me to stay with him so I’m just sitting here, writing. Listening to the Cradle do its thing and the monitors do theirs.

When he was conscious, I was with him. He said some stuff under his breath but the one thing I could make out was “I’m an idiot.”

Granted, he’s right. It was supposed to be Steve or Tony on that mission. You know, people with more defense op experience, but he had to go out and volunteer himself.

I feel sort of guilty.

It’s partially my fault, isn’t it?

I think I’ll try to tuck in for tonight. I wanna be awake when he wakes up, too.

.

July 14/21

Dear Jane,

James woke up today. He’s still in the Cradle (lots of internal damage spread throughout the body) but he’s conscious. He saw me and immediately tried to sit up which was sweet, but when he couldn’t, he just told me to come closer and then told me that he loved me.

I called him an idiot for running away. I told him he really scared me. I told him that I loved him so fucking much. I told him that I feel so guilty and he just held my face and said that it will never be my fault.

He’s so fucking romantic, even when he’s lying down with a wound being stitched closed live in front of my eyes.

Oh, and he kissed me. I don’t think I noticed how much I actually missed him until that moment.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling in my chest. It’s a mixture between super happy and super scared and super, super warm inside. Summer might be looking up.

.

July 18/21

Dear Jane,

We got home today. James is staying in my room. The team doesn’t say anything about it. We’re best friends, after all, but I think they’ve known for a long time that there’s something more. Some of them are just too polite to say so.

I won’t have much time to write over the next couple of days. James has to be kept on a strict, extremely healthy diet and medicine regime.

I don’t care. I’m just glad he’s home.

He’s kissing me a lot more, now. Alpine likes the fact that his two humans are now in the same room. He purrs so loudly, I can hear him from where he’s dozing, curled up underneath James’ chin. He (James) is resting after his second round of antibiotics for the day while I work from my room, and sometimes I catch myself looking back just to make sure he’s okay.

I’m going to go kiss him now.

Be right back.

.

July 21/21

Dear Jane,

It’s almost Nat’s birthday (the 26th). Super exciting. James is back on solids and I’m helping him around with walking. Even with the Cradle and the healing factor, he’s still super banged up, so it’s better safe than sorry.

We had a really long talk about love and stuff. It’s good to finally have it out in the open. It was mostly me talking about my side of things and he just nodded a lot. I know he was listening though.

We also kissed a lot, like seventeen year old couples who are heavy on the PDA, but within the privacy of my room. I dunno. I like the heat of his arms and the way he kisses the shell of my ear when he’s bored or it’s a commercial break.

It feels very natural.

I am very much in love with him.

I tell him that and he always looks skeptical, but whatever. He doesn’t have to say it back (I tell him that there’s no pressure) and he’ll get it through his thick skull eventually that he’s now stuck with me.

.

July 25/21

Dear Jane,

We made cookies in the early AM as tradition for the party tomorrow and I told him that I love him (again, but this time he didn’t run, nor has he the past few times. Fantastic).

While the cookies were baking, he explained everything on his side of the story: how he was scared to be vulnerable, how opening up to me is just different and new and scary and I get it. I really do. I know how it feels to think you don’t deserve good things and sabotage feels like the only way to save everyone from hurt.

He smiled a lot more after that. I guess he’s just glad I get it.

One day, I’ll successfully convince James that he deserves everything good this world has to offer.

Until then, I’ll just keep trying.

P.S. He said, with less hesitation than the first time, that he loves me, too. Best. Day. Ever.

P.P.S. The cookies are so good and I want to devour them all. I could barely stop James from eating all of them. Again: Best. Day. Ever.

.

July 26/21

Dear Jane,

In summary of today:

Happy birthday, Natasha.

James has been given the clear bill of health which is exciting. Also, I asked him about the Jane and gift of God thing.

He knew. “Intuition” and all that. He also said I looked “like a royal dame” in my swimsuit. Smug idiot just trying to be charming.

I love him and that’s the only reason it works.

Back to the festivities.

.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

Good morning to you and to James who’s still in my bed at a ripe 6:23AM, fast asleep.

Progress. Now, back to sleep.

.

July 27/21

Dear Jane,

It’s now 9:49AM and James greeted me with orange juice and waffles. He said I was cute when I slept. Creep.

He also said he tried so many times to stay in my bed after, before we were like we are now, but he never could, and now he’s upset that he missed out on my cute sleeping/waking up for the day face every time he did so.

He is exceptionally cute when he’s pouting.

I think we’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend, but we’ll work out the semantics on that later. For now, it’s another summer day together. He suggested Chinese takeout for dinner because I have to go dip back into the lab later today to check on some samples.

I agreed and he kissed me in promise like it was our “thing.” I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.

Massive progress.

.

July 28/21

Dear Jane,

He told me I was the only one for him.

Also, he kissed me in front of our friends for the first time. Natasha yelled “FINALLY” and pushed us into the pool. Sam laughed and then I grabbed him and threw him into the pool. Ensuing: a water fight for the ages.

For a day: 10/10

.

July 31/21

Hey Jane,

I think I’m happy.

I’m sorry I ever doubted the effects of writing down my feelings.

James has a romantic trip to uptown planned for our first date and he said it’ll take the whole day so I thought I’d get this entry in the morning. I dunno. It’s really early and the happy thought was the first thing that came to my head.

Weird, but it’s a good weird.

See you in a bit.

[mymadmedleyw]

Death

(ao3), belongs under Certain Moment of Time, could be read independently, just as each for the days will be shorts, but all together forming a whole picture

(As this is the last chapter within the 'Going Angst Week 2021', a little reminder about the right order in reading the chapters chronologically (I suggest CMOT link): 4, 6, 2, 5, 3, and 7, 1)

tw: miscarriage

---

Blood. One could say after seeing it many times, sensing its rusty, salty odour within the air might have lost the sensibility to it after a while. But it never ceased on the weight if it was about loss, about death.

Then it always changed to the horrible, suffocating disinfectant scent with the white surrounding and the sound of silent sobs. Just as this time. They didn't even dare to count for how many occasions they ended up here, broken and devastated.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" mumbled for like the thousand times the hollow voice. "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have- I shouldn't have-" the sentence trailed off by another chuckling, squeezing hard on his hand that was holding hers, never letting it go.

Every attempt, every hopeful try led back here and- and it just twisted his heart, seeing, again and again, the slightly greyishly paled skin that years ago was beaming. Years ago…

Suddenly the picture of the small child in her arms came back, like that could have been a mirage. Sadly, he was well aware it wasn't, that happened, but- what he had done wrong?

Vlad pressed his forehead on her, taking the same question that he was asking from himself during the past few years. Why he hadn't told her? It was the same damn question, but with a different meaning this time. Time… yes, that it was.

He clearly could remember the day in the hospital bed, staring at the black and white photograph, bringing for them good news again… and then he couldn't tell what had happened, but he had woken up with years of memories in his mind and- and then as he had sat up, holding his throbbing head someone put a hand on his shoulder, asking with the greatest concern if he was okay.

It had needed hours to understand it wasn't a dream, and by lunch – made by the most amazing woman on the Earth – his mind settled too.

As much weird it was, but this was the truth. Madeline Masters. His wife. Also aware of his state – that they, according to his new-old memories, together tried to keep at bay. He knew he lied to her about its seriousness. That she only was informed about the simply side-effects: floating, invisibility and intangibility, sometimes glowing hands – but she had no conscious about the rest, about the other form… (which learning from a memory surprised Vlad too).

He kept then on with that lie, just as with the other one too, that somehow, he remembered a time when everything was different.

It worked for years. To tell the truth, Vlad forgot everything after their first positive test, even after the second, or the third, but-

Then he didn't dare to count. He couldn't recall anymore the days when she was happy – except in that other life. He slowly was destroying her, breaking the sweet image of his love… He tried to tell her several times to give up, but as much as stubborn she was, like feeling she should have been a mother, she never listened.

Then he eventually had run some tests (surprisingly facing with the result wasn't even his worst day, because his worst day was now…). The accident in the lab, five years ago ruined his biology. It was his fault. Vlad had been on to tell her, several times really, that they- that they wouldn't ever have a child, but- but he had been afraid. He still was afraid. He was a coward, fearing to lose her, so then he never told her, but now…

"Daniel…" a hollow, weak breath was formed into a name. "I thought- I chose- I really thought this time…"

"It's okay…" Vlad whispered, fighting against the suffocating guilt.

Daniel… he almost could imagine a view of a boy with her kindness, smartness and maybe with his steel bright eyes, and-

A soft sniffling broke the silence in the room, he knew it would take days and weeks to calm her down (or months, especially that this time she really had hoped…). But then she would return to her obsessed determines, again, not giving up until she would be able to fight for it…

But Vlad couldn't watch it, not again. This time, it had endangered her life too. He just couldn't let it happen, not anymore… especially as the date slipped into his mind. It was the same as on the letter, containing the black and white picture of their second child… she would have been expecting her second and-

He bit his lips as hard as it drew blood, rusty, salty and sinner. The sound of the woman, the so loved Maddie died away in a faint snuffling, undoubtedly dreaming about a great life he couldn't give her… Even though Vlad was conscious of their reality, he still wished to fulfil her dreams…

Wish… suddenly his eyes snapped open, remembering word-to-word to his half-mumbled sentence before everything had changed and he had woken up in this dream (nightmare…).

Would it be that easy? –Vlad wondered, sceptical about such childish way, but then he grabbed on it, tight, as ridiculous it sounded, and he'd have literally killed to make her happy. So then, he opened his mouth, already putting together what he wanted to say, and then-

"Won't work." stopped him an abrupt voice, then the owner cleared it. "I set the rules with Desiree. She is not allowed to grant any timeline-altering wishes, unless I allow it." Vlad blinked at the sudden presence of someone else, searching with his eyes immediately to catch the person, but there was no sign of anyone, just a quiet ticking sound was telling someone was definitely there.

A moment passed in silence, making Vlad wondering about if he hallucinated the voice, but then it spoke again. "Clockwork, by the way, Master of Time – though it's rather a given title than a name. Theatrical, isn't it?" Vlad scoffed at the unmistakable enjoying waving of the words, whoever this ghost was – because, based on the invisibility it was undoubtedly an unearthly creature from the other realm –, he clearly was amused by this scenario.

"What do you-?" Vlad started, frustrated by the spectre's presence and mocking.

"Want?" was Vlad interrupted. "From you? Nothing… albeit your stubborn wish created a glitch that didn't suppose to exist. A knot, that tangled the flow of events, blinding me. In short," the ghost took a break. "you scarred the time." well, that definitely sounded like a lecture… but then, the title slipped into his mind, along with the accounting for: Master of Time.

"You can make it back…" Vlad pieced together. "You can change on the time, change on this all." he couldn't tell if it scared him or filled with him hope, but definitely that drew out a way – more like an alternative – after the wish-one. For a short time, the ticking skipped a beat, like the ghost would have been stuck on a thought, but then talked again.

"Yes, I can change on this all." was Vlad's sentence, almost exactly repeated. He didn't have to be a genius, to feel it wasn't an admitting. "But I won't." was it added, not even a second later. "I might be responsible to watch over the timelines, and every single outcome, but on this, I am afraid, I can't do anything. You created it, it's your duty to fix it, and decide." Vlad stunned. Decide what exactly? This or- that? It wasn't an actual question, he could give the answer easily, but-

Suddenly he averted his gaze from the space where he suspected the ghost was floating invisibly – getting on his nerves by that – then he looked back to the woman, gazing at his wife, and gently got out a long curly lock of hair that fell into her face. She seemed so calm, pale, yes, shattered by the tired wrinkles under her closed eyes, and…

"I see you already made your decision." Vlad heard the cursed voice again. He didn't have to guess to know his eyes were burning red, clenching his jaw and fighting inside to not lash out at the ghost, transforming to his other outlook and end the ghost, it that was even possible in case of a timeless existence. Was it really counted as entertainment for him? This?!

"It's not a decision." Vlad spitted.

"No, it really isn't." said the ghost sternly, accompanied by a sound that gave an impression like an old clock would have been adjusted, bored by the current discussion as if it had been something obvious, or expected. "But I am seeing no future over this certain moment, neither in this time or your original one. Just imagine, how it could be to be blind after millennia. Curious, I was for centuries to learn what it caused. Well, it turned out it was just a desperate hybrid's wish, fighting against his true nature, cornering himself to endless suffering than accepting the new him… comical, isn't it?"

It felt harder and harder to hold back and stay unmoved listen to the words, but as much as he loathed hearing it, if this Clockwork could mean the solution from this, then-

"Besides, what happens now, how you decide, is beyond me, I can't see through it, until it happens." defined the being, at the same time out of nowhere a swirling green-ness formed in the air. It was similar to the Proto-Portal, which Vlad had seen many years ago, but this was enough big for anyone to walk through it. "It's either this time or the other one, the knot you created still makes the connection available. But it has to end. Only one could remain."

Vlad swallowed, lost in the neon colour, like an unescapable doom that followed him everywhere. He remembered his time, his muscles still could recall the seizures, the endless days in that hospital room, and reading about his friends' perfect life against his… the ghost was right, he had been desperate, now he could control his other side, but it could be only thanked to Maddie, this Maddie… in that other world, he was nothing but- he was literally nothing… here, now, on the other hand, he had the love of his life, but still-

Suddenly, he put together no matter how he'd choose, what path he'd take, it would turn his heart a stone, destroying by the ghost's words the other time. But then, he took a glimpse at the resting woman, at his Maddie, silently sleeping unaware of another being's presence in the room, only lost in a dream-world her mind created. For a moment, he wondered about the possibilities, about the alternatives, but then, hard, Vlad realised it was out of the question.

He never felt his limbs as heavy as he stood up from the chair, earlier placed beside the hospital bed, to mean support Maddie after the loss... And he never felt more hatred towards anyone – even towards Jack – that now took over his entire body about the ghost.

"I really hope, you are able to see your so cherished future now." Vlad cursed, the sourness and hurt suffocated him from inside as he took a step towards the greenness.

"I do." acknowledged the Master of Time, but not spilling anything else, what it would mean or how things would turn out. But Vlad knew even if the ghost was aware of some outcome, he wouldn't be informed about those. As Vlad disappeared behind the gate between the two realities, he took himself a promise, to somehow, when everything had settled, whatever it would take, he would find Clockwork and claim justice.

[nctinfo]

[TRANS] Renjun, Jeno & Jaemin’s interview with Arena HOMME+ July 2020 issue!

RENJUN

Do you like the summer weather? I like the feeling of a refreshing drive under the bright sky while looking at the sea. I like summer evenings too. The feeling of the sun fading away and hiding.

Are you sensitive to heat? I am, but when I’m relaxed the heat feels more bearable.

Your face is lovely. Do you like your face? I wish people would love not only their assets but also their flaws. In that aspect I do like myself.

What’s your asset? My pupils are big. When talking to people you look them in the eyes, right? This is when I think I can relay my message better.

People say that Renjun is pure. Haha. I think everyone’s got something innocent about them, it’s just that we view it differently. I often have weird thoughts. I don’t know if it sounds ridiculous, but I think about things like why are people born, why people have children and raise them, why life exists. I think about the universe too, I also like documentaries about the animal world. I am curious and it’s not like anyone can just tell me the answers, right? It’s just fun to ask questions and let your imagination run free.

What have you been imagining lately? Before bed I imagine a place and come up with stories and characters. For example if I was a character in a movie like <Avatar> I imagine what kind of creatures would be there, if I would be able to fly and where I would fly to...

Are you a person who needs alone time? That’s right. I used to want company when I was lonely. But these days I think that alone time is good too. I don’t know what kind of person I was before, but now I think I have to focus on myself. I think I need to be firm with myself to take care of other people.

Why do you want to be firm with yourself? I came to such a big company like SM, there’s so many charming people. At first I always cared about other people’s eyes on me. How do others view me, what do they think of me, what should I do to look good in their eyes. But at one point I couldn’t keep up with others. I wanted to walk my own path only.

Do you have a soft side? Honestly yes. I cry easily and I get emotional a lot. Back in the day I wanted to showcase a strong image of me to hide the tenderness, but right now I’m just focusing on making my heart strong.

What is a strong heart? It’s something of my own. So that people can’t shake me up easily.

Are you soft looking but strong inside? It doesn’t matter whether it’s soft on the outside but tough on the inside, or tough both outside and inside. I don’t have to look strong or weak, I just have to be ‘me’. I like drawing, but whenever I drew something off I would stress over it. I use my brain a lot without even realising, unconsciously. So even when a drawing came out well I would still be stressing over it. Now I’m not restricting myself with only drawing well, I don’t erase anything, I just want to draw happily.

Do you know Renjun as a person now? I think I do a little, since I don’t care what others think and express what I want to express. But I also still don’t. Time and experience will solve it.

You said you didn’t do the MBTI test on purpose? To be honest I tried once. But I only want myself to know. I want to be seen as I am. 

What did you dream of as a child? Becoming a star. Ever since I was little I wanted to become an idol. I enjoyed dancing and singing, it’s like I was shining.

Do you believe in destiny? I do. 

Do you think Renjun coming to Korea was destiny? That’s right. It’s unbelievable to me. I applied for an audition but gave up because I didn’t hear anything back. So I was just eating and received a call and yelled on the spot. I was this happy haha. The next day straight away I bought the tickets to the audition place and participated in the global audition. 

Why did you think you couldn’t make it? I’m the type to be prepared for the worst case scenario. So I’m very happy and thankful I made it this far.

How was adjusting to Korea? It wasn’t as hard as I thought. It was something I wanted.

What are fans to Renjun? I too like kpop and idols, so I know this feeling very well. I know how it feels to think of someone as a person who gives you strength, so I change my position. What would I be feeling if I were a fan? We’re giving strength to each other.

What kind of songs would you like to sing? Pretty fantasy songs like those from Disney movies. I want to sing a cover of the <Frozen> OST ‘For the First Time in Forever’.

That would suit Renjun well. What kind of person do you see as cool? Someone who knows who they are. Someone who is impressive even without talking, someone who doesn’t use perfume but still draws people in as if they smelled good. I want to become a person like this.

In that case is Renjun impressive? Hahaha. Although I like how I am now I need to become even better. 

What is something Renjun dreams of now? Self approval. One day I would also like to spend my life travelling around the world and looking at the beauty of it.

JENO 

What do you usually do in summer? Since debut we usually have a comeback in summer and promote. When I was little, my parents and I would always go to a valley. I like swimming. I even learned the butterfly stroke. I’m fairly good at it.

Your body is more solid than expected. I didn’t mean for it to become like this, but I really like sports. I like to make use of my body. I like going to the gym and because I love cycling I’ll occasionally ride to Han River or Yangpyeong. When I was little, I played table tennis and badminton pretty diligently. I usually remain motionless and use up all my energy at once. I’d rather put all my strength into it and then stay exhausted.

Are you competitive? Very. I think a lot about how to win anything. I feel uncomfortable when losing.

Are you goal-oriented? Having no goal makes you sluggish. I have to have a clear goal in order to systematically work hard towards achieving it. My current goal is showing how much I’ve matured for our next comeback. I monitor my seniors a lot. It’s great motivation. I want to become a person who is really good at one thing at least.

Who do you want to be most alike in fierceness? U-Know Yunho sunbaenim’s passion. It’d be hard to catch up, but I really want to be like him.

It’s surprising your name isn’t a stage name. Imperial “Je”(帝), hard work “No”(努). Do you like it? My maternal grandfather picked it. He named me that so I may receive strength from a higher position. I really like it. It’s not common. Haha. I feel the responsibility of living like my name.

Is your dream big? It’s more than high. It should be high. Since I was little, I liked to be praised and wanted to do things perfectly. Instead of praising myself, I always say, ‘No, you’re not there yet.’ I already receive enough compliments and support from our fans. I don’t even need to praise myself. You have to gain strength and train yourself with that support. 

You have a tall nose and defined jaw. Do you like your face? I’m not dissatisfied. Hahaha. I’ve been liking my tear mole these days. I wasn’t really conscious of it before, but lately I’m glad that I have it. If I didn’t have that tear mole, I think I’d give off too strong of an impression. Doesn’t it look good? Haha.

I remember Jeno from the Angpang Milk ad. He was a child model that everyone would remember when mentioned at the time. Back then, I was scared and cried all the time. When I came on set there were so many strangers, and when I was in front of the camera, I cried because I couldn’t see my mom. Hahaha. It got better once I found out the staff people weren’t scary people.

What were you like off-camera? Rather than going out and playing with friends, I liked studying and reading books. I studied very hard in elementary school. Come to think of it, I seem to really like doing things by myself. I enjoyed reading a series of youth novels, conducting scientific experiments, putting puzzles together, or assembling Lego. A homebody to this day. Haha.

What’s the fun part of creating something? A sense of accomplishment. There’s pride and satisfaction in saying ‘I did it!’ I’m a person for whom a sense of accomplishment is of great importance. I also like this sense of accomplishment when I get to prepare and show a performance.

Did having an early social life help you with promotions? Not being opposed to making eye contact with the camera, also smiling/laughing well. I often hear that I look cold when I’m expressionless, but when we are together, I always laugh and everyone knows the real me. Hahaha.

On the contrary, what was regretful about acting since a very young age? Nothing. I got a good opportunity and experienced a lot. Nothing to regret.

You have a strange sense of stability for your age. I’m not very emotional by nature. I don’t cry much and I rarely have mood swings. With other members being so animated and having so much character it may seem like that. But I’m not as calm as I look. I’m just the type to not show when I get irritated or hurt, I talk quietly after a while. I just unwind on my own and don’t want to make things uncomfortable.

They say you’re an ‘FM’ person who goes by the rules. It’s good to be certain about anything. I try my best to perform my duties properly.

What do the other members think what kind of person Jeno is? A reliable one. When I address important matters within the team, I talk about them naturally. Rather than relying on them, it’s like I’m passing on difficult questions… hahaha.

What kind of person do you think is impressive? Someone who does what they want, someone with room for development. First of all if a person does what they want they are less likely to give up, more than anything a person like this is happy.

Is Jeno impressive? I’m trying my best. But I am doing what I want and because I’m receiving support from so many people I am happy for sure. If 10 means the best (in terms of happiness) then it’s a 10.

You debuted as a teen and now you are 20. Do you think you’ve grown a little? My appearance and skills have grown but my mindset is still that of a kid. Thoughts and personality are the same. 

It’s like you’ve grown with the Dream members together without changing classes. Right. I can’t even imagine not having these friends. I’ve been seeing Jaemin for 7~8 years now though so I’m a little tired of him, hahaha. Kinda like even if we buy one thing, we buy it together. We have our own world.

What is Jeno dreaming of now? To become a cool person while being happy. 

JAEMIN

What do you usually do in the summer? I like sports you can do in the water. Jet skiing or riding a yacht. I can already ride a yacht by myself. Even though the summer is better than a cold winter, my favorite season is autumn.

Pretty with round eyes and a bright smile. What's your favorite thing about your face? I like my eyes the most. The fans caught on some details I didn't even know about, so I became more fond of my eyes.

How did you get the nickname ‘Nana’? It's 'Nana' because my name is Na Jaemin. It's pretty and I like it. It's a nickname that's been used since I was a trainee.

When you look at Jaemin, he seems to be someone who likes people and is full of love for humanity. It's been like that since I was born. There's no need to dislike someone when you meet them for the first time. Hahaha. I think relationships between people and friends are the most important part of life.

How is your relationship with the members? It's very solid. Since we lived together for 7~8 years, it is safe to say that we are family. We know each other so well, and can speak our minds right away without fighting. I can talk about things with my members, I can't tell my mother because I don't want her to worry, and lean on them.

You seem to have a lot of natural aegyo, were you born with it? I'm an only child so I received lots of love. It's not something I do on command, but my body expresses the affection my mom has given me since I was young. I want to be someone who gives back the love I received from the fans. When you have received love, you can now give love.

Are you athletic? My mother made me exercise a lot when I was young. I learned sports like speed skating, inline skating, snowboarding, and it suited me well. Once I started, I did it all day without knowing the passing of time. These days, I usually ride a bicycle with Jeno. If you go to the Hangang you can ride about 30km at a time. 

You seem to have endurance. It's in my personality to see it until the end. If what you want to do doesn't work out, keep going with the best of your abilities.

You seem very bright. The words keep pouring out. When I work I try my best to speak as much as possible, flaunt aegyo and show a bright image, but I don't speak much back at the dorm. I'm the type to pour out everything when I'm outside but will need to recharge when I'm home. My bed is my side battery. Hahaha. At home, I like to listen to songs alone, write or edit pictures.

You drink your coffee overly bitter and eat sweets overly sweet. That's right. It's a bit extreme. Hahaha. I do what I want to do! I dislike what I dislike. I'm that kind of type.

I heard you make Tangfuru for the members? Jisung and Chenle eat it especially well. These days I'm into T-bone steak and think about getting a sous vide machine. The kids like meat.

You look like someone who can take care of different things well I take care [of things/others/dreamies] really well. Hahaha. When they are hungry I will make something they want. When they say things like "Hyung, how to run the washing machine,' 'the boiler is not turned on,' 'the internet is not working,' I try to help as much as I can.

When you shot for <Arena> two years ago you were still a teenager, but now you're an adult. Do you think you've grown? I still have pictures of that time on my phone. Looking at the pictures that were taken today, it seems like I've grown up well. When I read the interview from 2 years ago again, I must've thought I was all grown up back then, hahaha. At 20 years old now, I think I'm still far from being grown up. I'm still young. There's still a lot to learn.

What was your dream when you were young? I never thought of becoming an idol. I was really shy back then. Originally my dream was to become a surgeon. When I was young I saw <Mysteries of the Human Body> and had such dreams. Haha. I wanted to save people!

You were cast while you were volunteering. Even after debuting, you continued to show support. I think I should give back to society as much as I have received. Since I was young my mom has told me "If you receive, you must know how to give back." It's normal for me, I used to donate in my name since I was really young.

What kind of person do you think is impressive? Someone who has more to offer on the inside than outside. Rather than being a flashy person I want to become someone solid with substance. 

What are your interests these days? To be honest I’m slow with trends. I find out about things like half a year later than others. These days we talk with the members about what content to show our fans when we’re inactive [not promoting]. I want to post my own pictures and self-edited videos so I’m teaching myself how to do it. Lately, I’ve been wanting to learn how to use photo editing software properly, but it’s difficult to deal with. 

Jaemin is known for taking good pictures. Hahaha. I uploaded pictures I took of the members yesterday and the fans liked it and told me my skills had improved. Since I'm getting praised I want to keep taking pictures and upload them.

It looks like you like to capture portraits more than landscapes. I love taking portraits. For example, trees always stand in a similar shape in the same place. But as for people, I can make them do whatever I want them to do and see various expressions continuously. I think that's much more attractive. It's fun to capture facial expressions, eyes, nose, and other features.

What kind of dreams do you have now? Dreams should be grand and certain. Always set high goals. My dream is to get many more of our fans who love us. And in order to do that I must work even harder. The pictorial we shot today has a distinct sexy feeling. So I hope you’ll enjoy it. Hahaha. 

Translation: Alex, Myeon, Esmee @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: Arena HOMME+ — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Drive Fanfic

Title: Drive

Summary:  Lately, all Virgil has fantasized about is driving away to a place where the Year 2020 doesn’t exist. It’s illogical and ludicrous, because it’s not possible to physically escape it all. But try telling that to Virgil, who’s done nothing but try and run away from his fears since childhood.

Pairings: platonic moxiety

Word-Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Anxiety, Self-destructive habits, Dissociation Sleep-deprived, Sickness, Vague References to Covid-19, Crying, Some Comfort Mostly Angst, Ambiguous Ending

This is...kinda a vent fic? I’ve been wanting to write another fic involving present day events for awhile but this is not the fic I had in mind.

-

The moon greets Virgil with a crescent grin as he pulls out of his work’s parking lot late at night. It’s a comforting glow, soft and warm in ways that the artificial street lights could never achieve. He smiles back at the moon, taking his eyes off the road. Something he knows to be dangerous and his anxiety doesn’t waste time jumping at once to remind him. 

He pushes these worries aside, tapping a rhythmic beat against his steering wheel. Normally, he’d be more diligent. But he’s exhausted and he’s driven the route between his work and home so many countless times that he could do it in his sleep. 

Still, he has to watch himself when he almost makes a wrong turn. He’s lived at his new apartment for four months and yet it’s easy in this state to meander back to his old dwelling like a horse whose rider has fallen asleep in the saddle. 

He thinks about turning on music to keep his mind awake, fingers twitching as he does so, but he does not do so. Instead, he gets on the highway, watching as the world flies past his car. So fast, almost too fast. He’s going at least five, ten miles past the speed limit. A younger version of himself would be freaked by that.

Once upon a time, he hated driving. No, he feared it. The idea of being in control of a machine that could, at any moment, kill himself or others used to petrify him. Now? The action of driving is almost as mundane and monotonous as brushing his teeth.

Physically, he is the one at the wheel, controlling the vehicle. But mentally, he is separated from the action. His thoughts of nothing and everything all at once. Just like the whole year has felt like. A year that has flown by faster than he can process, but has also plodded along sluggishly. 

Lately, all he’s fantasized about is driving away to a place where the Year 2020 doesn’t exist. It’s illogical and ludicrous, because it’s not possible to physically escape it all. But try telling that to Virgil, who’s done nothing but try and run away from his fears since childhood. 

He’s just tired. Exhausted of the world falling apart at the seams when it’s supposed to only be himself doing that. He can’t handle the numbers skyrocketing, the constant flow of new safety measures at work he knows are good yet so tiring to readjust to again and again. The angry dissents, the injustice and apathy of it all. 

Exhaling, he flicks on the turn-signal and the car drifts towards the exit lane. Too far right, almost veering into the shoulder of the road and down into the gully beside it. 

“Shit!” Virgil hisses, the loud vibration of hitting the line marking shoulder keeping him from becoming another highway death statistic. He pulls away from the line, his heartbeat accelerating. He continues off the highway without further incident.

Still, it’s enough to ignite his old fear of driving, enough to force his consciousness back into his body and focus on the road. The rest of his drive home is painfully boring compared to those exciting few seconds. When he does eventually reach his apartment building, he feels himself aching with relief.

 Both his body and mind is craving for sleep, to escape from the conscious world for a few glorious hours. He both loves and loathes sleep for this very reason; loves it because it is a reprieve from reality and loathes it because it is but a temporary one.

After checking, and double-checking his car is locked, Virgil stumbles to his apartment like a zombie from a low-grade horror film. He fumbles with entering his key inside the keyhole a few times. Eventually he manages to get it in.

Prior to passing through the threshold of his front door, he had a task-list floating around in his head. A task-list he likes to call, “Virgil’s Agenda To Get The Fuck to Sleep As Soon As Possible”

It includes the following things:

Nab a quick late-night snack because he’s starving and experts be damned

Go to the bathroom, contemplate brushing his brush for five minutes before deciding the one-minute activity is too much energy

Collapse into bed without changing out of his work uniform

Spend an hour scrolling on his phone until he’s too incoherent for anxious thoughts to keep him awake all night

Sleep until his alarm wakes him up for work in the afternoon.

All of this is thrown out the figurative window when he spies his roommate and best friend Patton curled up on the living room couch. He’s still awake, half-disinterestedly watching an episode of The Office. Normally, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. For as he chastises Virgil for dismal sleeping habits, the man is a hypocrite. Virgil has caught him on numerous occasions on a Netflix binge way past the witching hour.

Something about this time feels off. Virgil can’t decide if it’s his own anxiety or the existence of the virus-that-shall-not-be-named that causes him to feel this way. Maybe both, even. There’s just something about how Patton turns to look at him with a hint of dazed terror in his eyes.

“Hi, Pat.” Virgil says, taking his mask off. Honestly he’s gotten so used to wearing it that he sometimes forgets when it’s on his face.

“You, um, might want to keep that on.” Patton bits his lips.

“Oh?”

“I woke up from my nap today with chills.”

Virgil tries keeping his face neutral, “Any other symptoms?”

“M-my body aches all over, and--and I have a really bad headache--” This is where Patton dissolves into tears and Virgil’s heart breaks right then and there.

He takes a step closer and this freaks Patton out further. “Stay away! I don’t want you to g--get sick!”

Virgil complies, taking a few steps back even. He shakes his head though, biting back a harsh laugh. “I know you’re just trying to protect me, but let’s face it; you and I both know I probably gave it to you. You work from home--I don’t. And even if you didn’t get it from me, we both live together. There’s no way I haven’t already been exposed.”

“I-I know, but just to be s-s-safe--”

“Of course,” Virgil says gently, because while he sees taking precautions a moot point he still respects his friend’s wishes. “Listen, we’ll go to a testing site in the morning, okay? I’ll probably get quarantined from work so, um, at least now I’ll finally have time to rewatch Avatar with you?”

Patton nods but he’s still upset. All sniffles and hiccups with a broken sob here and there.

“Hey, hey, it’ll be okay, alright? Even if you test positive, things will be okay.” Virgil says, desperate to assuage Patton’s fears in some way, never mind his own, “let’s just watch The Office for now and worry about things tomorrow, alright?”

“O-okay,” Patton agrees, wiping tears and snot away with a corner of his blanket.

They watch the show mostly in silence, aside from a few forced laughs here and there. Even the antics of one Michael Scott isn’t enough to break the somber mood. Virgil’s heart beats sluggishly, as if he’s been put to cryosleep. He should be more devastated, his anxiety going to overdrive with presenting him all the worst case scenarios. Instead he feels nothing.

Maybe he’s in denial. Or maybe he has always known this was gonna happen eventually. Either to himself, Patton or both.

“Hey Patton?” He says, “when all of this over, let’s go on a road trip. You can pick the destination. I don’t care where it is other than it has to take a fuckton of hours to drive to.”

Patton is silent for a moment. He doesn’t teasingly ask Virigl to put a quarter in the swear jar. He breathes slowly, peeking above his blanket, “What about Yellowstone State Park? We could go there to see Old Faithful and the buffalo.”

“Yeah, okay we can go there,” Virgil nods, “let's invite Logan, I bet he’d like that.”

“Can we also--” Patton coughs, covering his mouth with his blanket, “can we also invite Roman?”

Virgil rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Sure, we can invite Prince Insufferable if you insist. The more the merrier.”

So lost do they get in a hypothetical road trip, that the show and the world itself fades from the two’s thoughts for the rest of the night.

[saveyourblood]

Stolen Dance | Ch. 2

Notes: Is this only gonna get 3 notes and 0 reblogs? Yes. Do I give a fuck? nope!

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: None I can think of.

Song: Warm With You - Hayden Calnin

Part 1

Spencer was gone by morning. He had a plane to catch, so you understood. A part of you wished you had the chance to say a real, verbal goodbye, but your conscious knew a silent departure was for the better. Watching the only man you’ve had a mental, emotional, and physical connection with walk out the door would be plain cruel. It was better for him to disappear without a trace.

Only… it wasn’t without a trace. 

On the pillow Spencer hardly slept on was a note.

‘702-555-0103           Keep in touch. 

                 -Spencer.’

You were so, so screwed.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, you were still practically vibrating. The more you thought about it, the higher your hopes grew. You started thinking of alternate scenarios, a world where you and Spencer were in love and alone. A world where state lines and job interferences didn’t exist. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized that a world like that could be true.

State lines exist. High-demand jobs exist. Families exist. No matter how badly you wanted it to be true, a single man couldn’t make all those things go away. And yet, you pulled out your phone and added his number to your contact list. Because when it came to Spencer Reid, you went against your better judgement. You ignored your instincts. You broke your own rules. Really, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A knock on your door pulled you out of your fantasy.

You walked to the door and looked through the peephole. With a slight frown, you pulled away and opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner,” you said in surprise.

“Hello Y/N,” he greeted. Despite it being 7:30 in the morning, he was wearing a suit. You wondered if he ever got tired of doing so.

“How do you know where I live?” You asked.

“Sheriff Longman,” he answered simply. “May I come in?”

“If you want,” you shrugged, stepping aside so he could enter. You gestured to the small table in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water..?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks.”

You brewed a pot while you were showering, so thankfully, it sat on the hotplate, full and ready to be poured. You took two mugs from the cupboard, put a splash of milk in one, and let only coffee fill the other. You took a seat across from Hotch, pushing the mug of black coffee towards him.

“Thank you,” he said, then observed the hot beverage. “What makes you think I take my coffee black?”

“You’re a man of authority, and judging by your composure, you have been for awhile,” you said. “The lines on your face and bags under your eyes suggest you don’t get much sleep, so considering this and your demanding career, you drink coffee to function. You got used to the taste, eventually.”

You raised your own mug to your lips, then laughed nervously in realization. “Sorry. After helping with the case, my filter came off.”

“How long have you been profiling?” Hotch asked.

“Since before I knew its name,” you answered. “My dad always said ‘people watching’ was my hobby. Most people just think I’m good at spotting liars.”

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I’ve been profiling for as long as I can remember. I like studying people’s habits, learning the way they think. Humans fascinate me.” You paused. “Why are you here, exactly?”

Hotch smiled briefly, probably at how long it took you to ask. “You weren’t at the station for very long yesterday.”

“I talked to Caleb while you guys were arresting Beck,” you explained. “We talked. By the time you got back, I knew what I needed to know.”

“Which is?”

“I messed up the profile.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Caleb Chasing made mistakes when it came to his marriage, but he’s not a bad man. He told me it was his fault they ever got divorced, and that Stephanie didn’t win full custody, he gave it to her.”

“Really?” You nodded, sipping your drink. “It wasn’t court-ordered, but Caleb took the kids every other weekend. Stephanie agreed to that. I totally misread the situation.”

“You didn’t,” Hotch disagreed. “Your profile was spot on.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Stephanie was his type, and her divorce with Caleb was the stressor.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Austin didn’t kill because he was angry with Stephanie: he was angry with Caleb,” Hotch explained. “His love for Stephanie didn’t go away after she married, but his anger towards Caleb amplified.”

“He loved her so much that he didn’t kill Caleb,” you whispered in realization. “He wanted to hurt Caleb, but he knew it would hurt her, so he refrained.” Hotch nodded. 

“But why not just kill Caleb?” you said.

“Like you said, hurting Caleb would hurt Stephanie. Invert that logic.”

“The women were surrogates for Stephanie, and when he was done with them, he used them against Caleb.”

“Your profile was right,” Hotch repeated. “We brought in the wrong man, yes, but without Caleb, we never would have found Beck. We wouldn’t have found Caleb without your profile.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you ceded. You paused. “Did he ever mention why he washed and folded the clothes?” “He thought he was doing Stephanie justice,” Hotch answered. “He made his victims take off their clothes before he raped them, and after killing them, he wanted to touch the body as little as possible. That’s why he didn’t redress them.”

“So there was no blood on their clothes,” you thought aloud. “Beck just genuinely thought he was doing them a service.”

Hotch nodded. You merely shuddered in response. 

“Have you ever considered becoming a Behavioral Analyst?” Hotch proceeded to ask.

You looked up in surprise. “That’s... not really an option around here,” you replied.

“You could relocate,” Hotch said. “You served in the Army, which means you could attend classes virtually anywhere, and they would be paid for.” 

“Are you offering me a job, Agent Hotchner?” You asked, confused.

“I can’t promise anything, but considering your background and natural abilities, I think it’d be fairly easy to find an opening for you in the BAU,” Hotch told you. “You proved yourself to everyone on my team, including myself. All you would need is the credentials. ...That is, if you’re interested.”

You bit your lip, considering your options.

Hotch wasn’t offering you anything concrete, but damn if he wasn’t offering you something. You hardly knew the man, yet something told you it wasn’t everyday that he told someone they’d make a good profiler, especially when said person isn’t even in law enforcement. Not to mention, he was absolutely right — your service in the Army covered the tuition of practically any school you could dream of going to. You could get your degree in New York, or California, or DC.

You could be within a few miles of Spencer, rather than a few hundred. 

When it came down to it, though, you didn’t live in a fairytale. Similar to your ‘relationship’ with Spencer, conflicts arose. You already had a job, and you loved it. Colorado, though not your favorite place to live, was home, and it wasn’t done with you yet. Life wasn’t as easy as moving across the country to pursue a career while courting a man who might not even be interested in you.

“I can’t leave,” you said quietly. “My life is here.” 

Hotch didn’t seem to react; over the years, he mastered his poker face.

“It’s a lot to think about,” Hotch sympathized, “and I don’t expect an immediate answer. In fact, I don’t need an answer at all. All I ask is that you consider.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card. “If you need anything, give me a call.”

Two phone numbers from two men in the span of two days. It seemed as though your bad luck charm was officially broken. 

It took you 3 months to call Spencer. It wasn’t that you forgot, or met someone else — he crossed your mind everyday. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him.

For a long time, you tried convincing yourself that he didn’t really care. You decided he gave you his number out of charity, or because he didn’t want to be a guy who has meaningless sex. It took you a long time to consider the fact that he might actually like you, might actually want to spend time with you. That he might want to see you again as desperately as you wanted to see him.

Once you came to this conclusion, an opportunity fell in your lap.

You decided to finally call Spencer right before your shift started. Other people probably considered it to be the worst possible time, but you thought through your plan for days before the execution. Your work kept you busy, which meant you wouldn’t have time to think about your boy troubles. You’d be too busy saving lives. Also, your shift was at night, so by the time you got home, you’d be too exhausted to let your worries keep you up. It seemed like a win-win situation.

When everyone left the locker room, you sat down on the bench with a nervous breath. Your stomach was in knots and it got harder to breathe with each passing second. Biting the bullet, you went to your contact list, scrolled down to the “S” section, and dialed the first name you read.

After 3 rings, the call went to voicemail. Though this partially worried you, it mostly made you feel relieved. It would be so much easier talking to his answering machine.

‘This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please, leave a message,’  a recording of his voice said.

It wasn’t a fake number. You sighed, endlessly grateful.

“Hi, Spencer,” you said, sounding like you had just run a marathon. You cleared your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “This is Y/N, the paramedic from Colorado,” you said. “I was invited to this wedding in Vegas, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one. It’s over the weekend, so you should be back to work by Monday.” 

You laughed nervously. “I honestly don’t know if you even remember me. If you don’t, or if you don’t want to go, please ignore this message. If you do remember me, and you do want to go, feel free to text me or give me a call back. That’s it, I guess. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

The butterflies in your stomach dispersed by the time you hung up. You ran your hands through your hair, feeling both triumphant and anxious. You pushed the latter emotion to the side. The worst part was over. The ball was in his court. 

_____________________

Your shift was the longest you’d had in a while. You resuscitated a middle-aged man, tended to to the bloody aftermath of a bar fight, and delivered a baby, all within the span of your 12-hour shift. Normally, your days were much, much slower. The silver lining was that you didn’t have a second to spare, which meant  you went half a day without thinking of Spencer and the voicemail you left for him. That aspect of your plan worked out pretty well.

Once you got home, you tossed your coat onto the table and dropped your bag to the floor. You were exhausted. Despite the change of clothes you went through in the middle of the night, you still smelled like blood and other various bodily fluids. Oh, the glamour of working in the medical field. 

Not wanting to bring the grime of your job into your bed, you hopped into the shower. You were in and out quick, deciding against washing your hair. You only wanted to clean up so you could get some sleep.

Once you were out of the bathroom, you walked back into your bedroom. You checked your phone, which you left on the nightstand. You had one text left unread.

‘Spencer: which weekend?’

So much for sleeping.

_____________________

Over the next month, you and Spencer worked out the details. The wedding was a great excuse, but Spencer actually proposed the idea of spending more time together, which may or may not have made you squeal. Thankfully, you were alone when you read the text, so only you had to live with the embarrassment.

The wedding was on Saturday. The flight he ended up scheduling was for Wednesday. He’d spend the night at your apartment, and on Thursday morning, the two of you would start a 7+ hour road trip to Nevada.

You enjoyed road trips already, so the idea of spending that time with Spencer seemed almost too good to be true. Plus, the fact that two nights would be spent at a hotel was no accident. You wanted to drag those 7 hours out for as long as possible, and Spencer didn’t seem too opposed to the idea. 

If everything went according to plan, the two of you would be back in Colorado by Monday, and his returning flight was scheduled for Tuesday morning. Almost an entire week of nothing but him. You could only hope he was as excited as you were.

Though it seemed like a fantasy, Wednesday did come. You stood in the airport, holding a sign that read “Dr. Spencer Reid”. Mostly, it was a joke, but a part of you thought he may have forgotten your face.

Eventually, you saw a tall, gangly brunette with glasses make his way down the escalator. Your face broke into a smile as you lifted the sign above your head. You managed to catch Spencer’s attention. He broke into a grin. 

Once he made his way through the crowd, Spencer simply stood in front of you for a moment. He looked your frame up and down, taking in every inch of beauty he saw. His eyes met yours.

“Hi,” he said quietly, smiling.

“Hello,” you responded. 

The two of you chuckled and hugged each other.

He was quite a bit taller than you, so moments after wrapping your arms around him, you felt his chin settle onto your shoulder. When he adjusted, you felt his lips against your neck. You held him tighter.

“You look… amazing,” he said breathlessly, pulling away. He kept his hands on your arms.

Your face was beginning to hurt because of how much you were smiling. “Thank you. So do you.”

You reached your hand up, carding your fingers through his hair. “You cut your hair.”

“You like it?” He asked. There was a small, almost microscopic nervous edge in his voice.

“I like you,” you said simply.

That earned you a kiss.

To anyone passing by, the two of you looked like any average couple: happy to be reunited, and happy to be in love. Oh, how you wished it was that simple.

You weren’t sure Spencer was in love. You weren’t sure you were in love, if you were completely honest. All you knew was that around him, the world disappeared, at least for a little while. No one’s made you feel that way in your life, not even before you joined the Army. 

You saw some things overseas, some things you wanted desperately to forget. You thought resigning and returning home would fix that, make you forget. All it seemed to do so far, though, was distract you with other things you also didn’t want to think about. It seemed like, no matter how hard you tried, you could no longer see in color. Since the Army, since your father… you saw the world in black and white.

Not around him, though. Around him, there was more color than you could fathom. Instead of trying to figure out why, you kissed him. You kissed him, and for the life of you, you didn’t want to stop. 

By Thursday evening, the two of you had been on the road for almost 4 ½ hours. You had done most of the driving, but you didn’t mind. With Spencer in the passenger seat, you could be occupied for days.

All you had to do was ask about a highway or a structure you passed, and for the next 15 minutes, Spencer would tell stories. You were sure some people found it annoying — he stopped his rants several times to see if you were still interested. That broke your heart a little. You understood that his job could have intense moments where only basic information is needed, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the only time people cut him off. It made you sad to think he got shot down when talking about the things he loved.

“Are you sure I’m not talking too much?” Spencer asked for the millionth time.

You smiled. Your window was open, so your hair was blown back and your arm rested on the ledge. “I’m sure,” you promised. “Have you ever been to Vegas?”

“Vegas is where I grew up.”

“Wow, really?” you said in surprise. You’d never thought to ask. “You’ll have to show me around, then. I've never been.”

“You’ll fit in,” he assured. A brief silence washed over the car. “Did you grow up in Colorado?”

“Yeah, I did,” you nodded. “I grew up in Grand Junction, actually.”

“You never left?”

“Except for when I served,” you confirmed.

“How did that happen?” Spencer asked. “I mean, was joining the Army something you always wanted to do?”

You stiffened at the question. In an attempt to relax, you cleared your throat. 

���I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled sadly. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I just… I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone why.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Spencer assured. 

You considered for a moment. “I do,” you eventually said, tapping your thumb against the steering wheel. “I want to tell you.”

He didn’t say anything; he simply waited for you to start.

“Do you remember the bar?” you asked, mostly rhetorically. “How you sat next to me, asked me why I profiled Derek instead of you?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember when I said I have trust issues because my father wronged me?” You asked, this time, quieter.

You saw him nod in your peripheral vision. 

“That wasn’t exactly true,” you said. “I mean, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full story. You see, my dad didn’t wrong me so much as he… died.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You shrugged, wishing it was enough to brush off the feeling. “I was 16. Losing him made me lose myself for awhile, you know? He was there one second, gone the next, and I had to live with it. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of Colorado, start fresh. The Army did that for me. Plus, I got to help people. It seemed like a win-win situation.” 

“You made the best of a bad situation,” Spencer said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I did get to help people,” you thought vocally. “That part was nice. The PTSD… not as nice.” 

Spencer laughed sadly. “It never is.”

You decided to leave it at that.

The wedding was the part of your vacation you least looked forward to. However, you had to admit: you and Spencer looked incredible. You wore a short navy dress, he rented a matching suit. You turned heads in the church, at the reception. You swore the bride gave you a dirty look at one point. You didn’t care. All you cared about was Spencer’s hand on your waist as the two of you danced. 

“Why did it take you so long to call?” Spencer asked during a slow song. His lips were close to your ear. His breath against your skin made a pleasant chill go down your spine. 

“Life got in the way,” you muttered. It was a poor excuse, but it was hard to put into words that you wanted to see him but thought you couldn’t. Or rather, that you shouldn’t.

“I missed you,” he admitted. 

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “What did you miss?”

“Being around you,” Spencer said. He pulled away a bit so he could look you in the eye. “You’re the only person who’s never looked at me like I’m crazy. Don’t get me wrong, my friends are great, but… they don’t understand. You do.”

You set a hand on his cheek. He leaned into the touch.

“I wish you were closer,” he said softly.

“Me too,” you agreed. “But right here, right now, we’re together. Let’s make the most of that, hm?”

He kissed you in silent agreement. 

You were pouring a second cup of hotel coffee when you felt Spencer’s arms wrap around your waist. You turned around in his grip, offering him a mug while you took a sip from the other.

“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the coffee. He kept one arm around you. 

“What’s on the agenda today, Dr. Reid?” you asked curiously. 

“It’s a surprise,” he said, pulling you closer. 

“Another casino?” you asked. “I like watching you call people’s bluff. It’s kind of hot.”

He chuckled. “Not a casino. I’m taking you somewhere special. Well, it’s special to me, at least.”

“I’m excited,” you grinned, running a hand down his chest. “You know that means you’ll have to put a shirt on, right?” 

“I will,” he assured, setting his mug on the table. “Eventually.”

He then took your mug and set it beside his. This confused you at first, but you quickly realized why: Spencer picked you up by the waist.

You set your hands on his shoulders, tilting your head back and letting out a laugh. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

Spencer threw you on the bed and crawled on top of you. He kissed you feverishly.

“Still want me to put a shirt on?”

You traced his collarbone with your index finger, humming softly. “Maybe later.”

You let Spencer drive to wherever he was taking you, as the element of surprise seemed to be important. You stared out the window for most of the trip, enjoying the scenery that passed you by. Your hand was on Spencer’s thigh, and his hand was on top of yours. It was brief moments like those that you let yourself believe you and him were in a relationship. 

Spencer eventually pulled into a parking lot. You let yourself look at the building he parked in front of. In a plain, black font, the sign above the  doors read ‘Bennington Sanitarium’. You turned your attention to Spencer.

“Do you trust me?” He asked instead of explaining.

You turned your hand over and laced your fingers with his. “Of course.” 

The two of you got visitor passes quickly; it mostly likely  meant he visited often. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

As the two of you were lead through to building, you held Spencer’s hand. When you were shown to an open room that resembled something of  a lounge, you felt his grip falter. You took it as a queue to let go. You let your hand fall back to your side, suddenly feeling cold.

A woman with short, blonde hair in a long sweater stood up upon seeing Spencer. She was obviously older than both of you, but she carried her age with grace. She had wrinkles only a mother could get.

“Hi, mom,” Spencer greeted warmly. 

The woman smiled and hugged him.

“Hello, Spencer,” she returned. 

When she pulled away, she noticed you. 

“Who’s this?” She asked.

“Her name’s Y/N. She’s my…”

“Friend,” you finished for him. You stuck your hand out with a smile.

Though hesitant, the woman shook your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N, this is Diana Reid. My mother.” 

Diana looked to her son. “She’s pretty.”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s not like you didn’t notice,” she teased. She turned her attention to you. “Do you work with Spencer?”

“No,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “Well, not exactly. We met when he was working a case.”

“No conflict of interest…” Diana noted. Spencer gave her a look, but said nothing. “Do you play poker, Y/N?” “Not as well as Spencer, but I try,” you replied. 

You headed out of Vegas early the next day. You wanted to get a head start before the morning traffic, and besides, you knew it would be nice for Spencer if he got some real sleep before his flight. You didn’t want to think about the fact that your time with him was ending, though, so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. 

“Why did you take me meet your mother?” you asked softly. Spencer opted to take the first half the drive back home. You agreed, hoping the silence would clear your head.

“She’s my biggest secret,” Spencer said. “It took me years to tell anyone on the team she’s been in treatment since I was 18.”

“Why tell me?”

“You told me about your dad. I thought it was only fair you learn something ugly about me and my life.”

You reached a hand out, brushing back some of his hair. “Nothing about you is ugly.” 

When your hand hovered over his cheek, Spencer turned his hand to kiss your palm. You smiled. 

“Thank you for trusting me with your secret,” you told him.

He smiled. “Thank you for letting me.” 

The radio played quietly in the backdrop. The songs changed, and you recognized the faint beginning. You turned up the dial and sang along.

“A year from now, we’ll all be gone, all our friends will move away,”  You sang, mostly to yourself. “And they’re going to better places, but our friends will be gone away. Nothing is as it has been, and I miss your face like hell,” you sang a bit louder, mostly so Spencer could hear. “And I guess it’s just as well,” you reached a hand up, running your thumb along his jaw. “...But I miss your face like hell.” 

The rest of the ride was like a dream come true. At the halfway mark, you pulled over, got some lunch, and switched places. Other than that, the two of you sang, talked, sang some more, and stole kisses when the other person wasn’t paying attention. Of course, you were driving, so the kisses were nothing more than a peck on the cheek. Still, you blushed and giggled every time his lips touched your skin. 

Maybe this weekend was a pipe dream, a delusion you’d soon awake from or a phase you’d outgrow. You didn’t really care. For a brief moment in time, you were in love. That’s what you chose to care about. That what you made matter. 

_____________________

That night, your head rested on Spencer’s chest. You listened to his heart, and it seemed like with every beat, he pulled you a little bit closer. You felt euphoric. 

And yet, at the same time, you felt guilty. 

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, like if you spoke to loudly, the moment would evaporate. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he promised. His hands ran up and down your back, as if to assure you.

“Hotchner came to see me the morning before your flight home,” you said. “He asked if I had any interest in becoming a profiler.”

Spencer shifted, sitting up against the bed frame. You sat up as well. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Y/N, that’s… incredible,” he said with a laugh of blissful disbelief.

Your head shot up. “Really?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Spencer asked. “You’d make an excellent profiler, and you’d be a welcome addition to the team. Plus, we could use someone with your sort of medical expertise.” 

You smiled smally. “You think so?”

He took your hand, squeezing lightly. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” you apologized. “I’ve spent these last few months thinking.” 

“I understand; it’s a lot to think about.” 

As always, Dr. Spencer Reid was completely and utterly right. 

Saying goodbye at the airport turned out to be a lot harder than you thought. 

You sat side by side for a long time, holding hands and listening to music. You shared one set of earbuds, and the two of you took turns choosing the music. Spencer once mentioned that he mostly listened to Classical music, but he seemed to be enjoying the songs you introduced him to. And, surprisingly, you enjoyed the ones he chose too. You used to think you didn’t like classical music. 

At one point, during a song he picked out, Spencer began to tap his fingers against your knee. You were leaned against his body, one leg crossed over the other, so it was easy for him to rest his arm on your thigh and tap your knee. It took you a few seconds to realize he was ‘playing’ the song on your knee as he would play it on the piano. 

Eventually, his flight was called, and the two of you had to part ways. You stood up, and tears began to well in your eyes. You cleared your throat, forcing a smile on your face.

“I had a good time this last week,” you told Spencer. “I had a really, really good time.”

He smiled. “I did too.”

You felt a tear make its way down your face. You wiped it away hastily. “I hate goodbyes.”

Spencer moved in, kissing your forehead and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Hello, Y/N.” 

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. “Hello, Dr. Reid.” 

_____________________

“What did you do with your time off?” your mother asked, pouring hot water into your mug. She insisted on making you tea instead of coffee — something about how you should cut back on caffeine. 

“I went to Natalie’s wedding,” you answered, taking a careful sip.

She frowned. “The one in Vegas?”

You nodded.

“You hate going to weddings,” your mom said, taking a seat at the table across from you. 

“I hate going to weddings alone,” you corrected.

You bobbed your tea bag up and down. You chose to look at the movement rather than the look you knew was on your mother’s face.

“Who did you go with?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” you replied. Even in your peripheral vision, you could see your mom’s jaw drop. 

“‘Doctor’?” She asked. “How old is he?”

“My age,” you responded. “He’s not an MD: he has a few doctorates, is all.”

“A few? And he’s your age? Who is this man, Einstein?”

“He’s definitely a genius,” you assured with a laugh.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, he works for the FBI,” you answered. You tried to sound as casual as you possibly could.

“How did you manage to meet an FBI agent?” She paused. “You met him because of those girls, didn’t you?”

You tried not to think about that too often; it made you feel dirty. What happened to those girls was horrible, and it didn’t feel fair that one of the best things in your life happened because of their suffering. In fact, the guilt that fact caused you was part of the reason why you didn’t tell Spencer about Hotch’s offer.

“I did,” you confirmed. “I like him, mom. I like him a lot.” 

She smiled, setting a hand on your cheek. “I’m glad you do, hon.” she moved her hand away to take a sip from her own mug. “How often do you get to see Spencer?”

“Not often enough,” you said. 

“Is all you wanted to talk about, Y/N?” She asked. “You sounded worried over the phone…”

You sighed. “I applied to the University of Virginia… and I got accepted. I can start in Spring.”

“That’s… amazing,” your mom praised. “Since when did you want to go back to school?” 

“Since I realized the world is bigger than Colorado,” you replied. “Bigger than the Army, even.”

“What will you be going for?”

“Psychology for sure. At least a Masters, maybe a PhD if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Will you be working while you take classes? They could use a Paramedic like you anywhere,” your mom said.

“Mom, I never said I was going,” you told her.

“Why wouldn’t you?! It’s an incredible opportunity,” she argued.

“I know. It’s just… not here. I wouldn’t be in Colorado anymore.”

“So? Like you said, the world is bigger than Colorado,” she said. The expression on her face changed. “Honey, don’t stay here for me. Seriously, don’t. I can’t live with that.”

“It wouldn’t be your choice,” you said. “Besides, it’s not just about you. It’s about me too, you know.”

“It’s about your father,” your mother disagreed softly. She took your hand. “If Virginia will make you happy, then go to Virginia. You’ll visit me, I’ll visit you… We’ll make it work. Promise me you won’t stay for me, for your dad, or for anyone else.”

“I left you once,” you said weakly, shame in your voice and heart. “Dad died, and 2 years later, I left. I can’t just leave you again, Mom.”

“You’re not leaving me,” she promised. “You’re living. That’s what your dad would want you to do.” She squeezed your hand. “It’s what I want you to do.” 

After awhile, you nodded.

You always thought you were good at leaving. Maybe now, you’d be good at living. You couldn’t wait to start living, especially if it meant Spencer would be by your side.  

_____________________

Part 3

[amwritingmeta]

14x14: Noah as Representative of Suppression/Repression

Dean, Sam, Cas and Jack are all at a crossroads. How huge that crossroads is and how long they’ll be stood at it, weighing their options, remains to be seen, but Yockey firmly placed them there in this episode and he did it, to my mind, through using Noah as the needed tool to up the stakes, as it were.

I wrote in an ask response about one side to Noah’s representative qualities in the narrative, where I can see his boredom with the same old routine (his fate, as he calls it) to be a reflection of Dean’s boredom with casual sex and subtle exposition of exactly why Dean hasn’t been engaging with it for so long: he craves something more satisfying. (because he’s in love) 

And though Noah is violent, he’s not violent for the sake of violence, the way Michael is shown to be at the end of this very same episode, and as such Noah isn’t, for me, a representative of toxic masculinity. Mostly because Michael so firmly holds onto that title, but also because of Noah’s distaste for having to cook humans for supper. He’d rather not, but nature left him the choice of this or death. And he’s not going to sacrifice himself, which, as far as the natural order goes, is fairly understandable.

(he’s not a human eating other humans) (he’s a demigod requiring humans for sustenance) (there’s a crude but real difference to the two concepts)

The fact that Noah isn’t a toxic masculinity representative, though, is extremely significant to me.

So, in this post I’d like to outline my thoughts on the second side to Noah’s representative qualities, as I see them, and talk a bit about the deeply ingrained patterns of suppression/repression that exists in each of our main characters.

Definitions -->

Suppression is a psychological term for when we consciously push down unwanted thoughts or urges. Used healthily this is where self-control lies, but when an unwanted emotion or urge is ignored out of fear, this suppression tactic can turn into a pattern of behaviour that may lead to unhealthy coping mechanisms (like drinking, casual sex, violent outbursts, addiction to danger etc) *side eye Dean Winchester* and irrational behaviour and lack of self-control due to lack of self-awareness.

Repression is a psychological term for when we push down unwanted thoughts, urges or very often memories into our unconscious, where our conscious mind is protected from having to deal with these particulars, because our conscious mind is kept wholly unaware that these particulars are a part of us. However, these repressed thoughts, urges or memories will push to be recognised, because anything we try to simply forget, that is deeply affecting, will never stay forgotten, and being unable to confront these buried thoughts, urges or memories may result in unhealthy outlets, such as the coping mechanisms and irrational behaviour mentioned above.

Noah

Though what exactly the gorgon represents truly is up for interpretation, the simple facts are:

Noah the gorgon in and of himself is a snake symbol, and per the ouroboros of the title, the snake symbolism in 14x14 might be leaning towards renewal, rebirth and a conjoining of opposites rather than, you know, the snake that brought knowledge to mankind and helped us rebel........ Yeah, kinda good either way you look at it, no?

Noah also Biblically brought the flood, which is a mighty symbol of rebirth, so he’s this double-edged sword where both edges spell renewal

Noah looks at you, assesses you and sees the truth of you, established with the truck driver, his note to Dean and with Jack - a bit of a narrative tie to Michael in 14x01, who blasted onto the scene reading the truth of people’s motivations left and right, and subtle foreshadowing of how Michael will shed Dean, and go looking for a new skin *shudder’

Noah enjoys both men and women (yes indeed bisexual symbol and nope I am not the first to point this out of course)

That’s the basic makeup of Noah’s demigod character, yeah?

Now, there’s a lot of moments in this episode that, to me, highlight the suppression/repression tendencies in TFW 2.0 and push for the much needed confrontation these moments lead into with Noah, as well as the repercussions that follow this very confrontation, culminating in the deaths at the bunker and Jack’s standoff with Michael.

Self-deception, thy collective face is Three Men and I’m Not a Baby -->

Sam

Darling Sam. He is so deep in his suppression of his superficial fear of how everything is not at all fine or okay, as well as in his deeply repressed fears that go back years and are a part of his identity makeup, that he can’t even stand a fair questioning from someone who knows a great deal about exactly the situation he’s putting himself in, as she later even points out in dialogue.

Sam leans heavily on the belief that everything will work out in the end, as long as they think it will, and his behaviour is, to me, a very sharp critique of the blinding power of the codependency, because the innate fears (repressed fear of failure and loss of identity) that has kept the codependency at the heart of how Sam and Dean relate themselves to each other is what is making Sam incapable of taking a step back and assessing their situation with any clarity. 

Instead, he recites the age old belief system and shuts himself off from questioning it in any way:

Dean will be okay, because Dean has to be okay. 

Jack is fine, because Jack has to be fine.

Sam’s loyalty to Dean is what makes Sam insist on Dean coming home after Sam talks Dean out of getting in that box, and then that same loyalty makes Sam insist on them acting as though everything is normal, thinking this is the only way he can support Dean, because this is how Dean has always handled every situation. 

But Sam in a leader position should think of the safety of those following him, he should see the very real threat of Michael getting free, and should take steps to protect the innocent people who end up dying at the hands of Michael.

I’m not saying their deaths are Sam’s fault, because Sam didn’t tell Michael to kill them, but their deaths are a narrative punishment for Sam’s inability to see past old patterns and learn from old mistakes.

Sam takes a huge risk bringing Dean back to the bunker, especially after he’s knocked out cold in this episode and even Cas can’t see what the hell is going on in his head, and if Sam wasn’t blinded by the patterns of the codependency, he might not have made that executive decision to begin with.

Btw, I’m also not prescribing the brothers shouldn’t have each other’s backs or should look at every dangerous situation with cold calculation, but when the lives of a group of innocent people are at stake, taking that step back and seeing the bigger picture might be preferable for everyone involved. 

Sam’s suppression/repression of his fears, and his inability to confront the fact that his fear of failure is keeping him tethered to his brother (because he’s using Dean’s presence as a security blanket, even when Sam’s the one in the leader position) is manifested through the fact that Sam can’t stop Noah, representative of suppression/repression.

Noah tosses Sam across the room like he’s made out of tissue paper because Noah represents all those things that are continually kicking Sam’s ass and making him run from taking real responsibility. 

And the way for Sam to shoulder individual responsibility and move towards his true identity, an identity that in no way is defined by his relationship to Dean? 

Well, to my mind, Sam needs to dare to believe that he’s a good and strong leader in his own right.

Sam has a default attitude of We Can Fix This Together, which is good, but that attitude without sound leadership and realistic risk assessment is bad. 

He’s the born leader. Once he’s balanced and begins to realise that teamwork still requires a strong team leader, he’ll be fucking golden.

*so Sam stating in 14x15 that he has to stop running made my heart sing* *hoping it sticks*

Dean

Dean, Dean, Dean. This episode made it very clear that he’s still very much not believing at all that there’s any way Sam and Cas can find a way to defeat Michael. He says to Cas that he promised to give them time, meaning Dean’s not part of this taking time deal. This is weighty af, because of course he’s the only one who can actually find another way, if he only dared try.

But he doesn’t dare to, because he’s completely ruled by his fear of failure, just like Sam is, only for Dean, it’s always all on him. 

If Michael gets free on his watch, it’s his fault, and he’d rather just go drop himself in the ocean than work as a team with people who might, and to his mind most likely will, get hurt in the process.

Dean’s risk assessment is always on red alert and there’s rarely any hope or trust in him - at least not on an unconscious, deeper level - that the outcome won’t be the worst case scenario, especially not now, with Michael pounding against his frontal lobe. 

Dean walks around not with a death wish, but with an acknowledgement that he’ll die on the job and with the conviction that what he wants is to go down swinging, and this conscious, defeatist attitude goes against his unconscious, true wish: to live a long and happy life.

His suppressed/repressed fears make even the thought of an actual future impossible.

His suppressed/repressed fears that are tied to his toxic masculinity armour and manifested in the toxic masculinity representative of Michael, ie Dean’s shadow-self.

And in this episode we have Dean incapable of facing his shadow-self for fear of what facing his shadow-self will mean for his ego, ie his conscious view of himself and his understanding of his own identity. 

So instead of facing his shadow-self and engaging in what Carl Jung calls shadow work, Dean has locked his shadow-self away and is, basically, holding onto Plan B, which is the equivalent of him running from the need to own up to fears that have been informing his way of relating himself to the world for far too long, and they’ve done so because rather than risk his long-held idea of who he is and who he’s been taught he needs to be (in order to keep Sam and the world safe), he’s going to put himself in a (societal) box and symbolically drown even the hope of finding internal balance.

This absolute and continued refusal to commit to change, to let go of his suppression as well as his repression of fears that have ruled him from much too young an age, lands him in a moment when facing off with the representative for that suppression/repression - Noah - brings about the narrative punishment of Dean’s worst fears coming to pass: losing his control and Michael breaking free because of it.

This punishment comes about because of the fact that Dean hasn’t been able to internally engage in shadow work, and the suppression/repression he’s engaged with instead now doing what it’s always done, which is take away Dean’s control and allow for his shadow-self to not only break free, but to actually manifest externally and wreak havoc.

But that’s not all. Oh, no.

I’ll talk about Jack a little further down.

Cas

Oh, Cas. At this point his identity confusion reaches a never before seen peak.

I mean, holy fuck, this moment is the moment when his rejection of his angel heritage is put in proper dialogue, but this rejection combined with the impossibility for him to explore what would make him truly happy means that he is stuck in identity limbo.

Not angel, not man, but a thing.

*it’s heartbreaking and stupidly exciting*

Cas is suppressing his longing for more because of his repressed fear of failure (among other fears), and this because his fear of failure is what’s crept up on him over the course of his individual arc, where he’s kept trying to help, and at every turn has faced a bigger and bigger failure, until it became impossible for him to see himself having any other use than to act the sacrificial lamb and constantly throw himself in the path of danger, without even thinking to ask himself if it was what he truly wanted for himself. 

In S4 Cas stated to Dean that he wasn’t just a hammer, but over the course of his individual arc, Cas has slowly made himself into the weapon, this when deep down he’s always been the shield, and he is innately the protector. 

Moving away from Heaven’s doctrine is essential for Cas’ character progression, and the slow nudging over the course of the last two seasons has been rather fantastic to behold, but for all his progress, Cas is now giving into his repressed fear of failure and allowing it to rule him.

Cas is choosing to maintain the status quo, and it’s gloriously frustrating to watch him simply accept the fact that he can’t ever be happy, when what he should be doing is engage in shadow work and question the validity of his shadow-self running the show.

Questioning his shadow-self and facing all those suppressed and deeply repressed fears, though, means the same as it does for Dean: answering the questions Who am I? and Who do I want to be? honestly, and for himself, and the prospect of his idea of himself having to evolve is a scary one, so no wonder he allows his shadow-self to dictate the terms.

Cas comes face to face with Noah and lo and behold, what happens is quite intriguing as Noah slaps Cas twice on each cheek, almost as if to chastise him for sleepwalking through his life, and then Noah kisses Cas on the cheek, effectively paralysing him.

It comes across as a rather marvellous visual manifestation of how Cas’ suppression/repression of his own true wants and needs is paralysing him, leaving him complacent to a fate that he believes is inevitable.

But...

Jack

So then. Jack. This formidable knitting point. This gorgeous narrative tool. This amazing mirror for all of TFW, full of expositional prowess and symbolic value.

Aw Jack.

His fear has always been reflective of Sam, Dean and Cas, because even though he’s his own brand of innocent, he is meant to be a combination of the character traits of TFW, allowing him that expositional prowess, because his character evolution sheds light on the needed evolution of TFW.

*mh mh good*

Jack’s greatest fear is to bring suffering, but in this fear is the fear of failure, yes, that old fear, that’s so overwhelming in all of TFW. Jack wants to do good, and he tries so hard that we’ve seen how it’s sometimes difficult for him to separate good choices from bad ones.

In 12x19 he rejected Dagon and he rejected his father, choosing Cas as his protector and doing everything in his baby Nephi powers to protect his mother. Kelly’s motherly love shaped Jack into the caring and innocent being that he came into the world as, where that moment of his father reaching out to him, at the beginning of S13, frightened him, and where he continuously rejected Lucifer’s influence. 

What 14x14 so gorgeously sets up for us is underlining what Jack’s weakness at this point in his individual arc is: his refusal to acknowledge how he doesn’t know who he is yet. 

I’m not a child. I’m the son of Lucifer. I’m a hunter. I’m a Winchester.

The identity confusion in this statement is pretty amazing, to my mind, because where he’s spent so much time rejecting his father and the heritage of Lucifer, he’s now suddenly embracing it in dialogue and, even more than that, he’s using it as his first identity marker. Clearly he’s seeing himself moving into adulthood, his identity statement after all beginning with him telling us how he considers his childhood over.

And let’s note that his last identity marker is that he’s a Winchester.

Yeah, as 14x15 is already telling us, this probably doesn’t bode well, but I also believe it doesn’t bode well for now. 

The fact that he claims the Winchester name for his is also a very good thing for later, obviously, and one that will most likely be crucial when it comes to the resolution of what is most likely going to be his dark arc. It may last a few episodes or it may build to the end of the season, we shall see, but it seems fairly evident that it’s rapidly approaching.

In a sense, him taking Michael’s grace into himself is him moving from child to teenager, in another sense Jack declaring that he’s not a child is ironic, seeing how he truly needs guidance, now more than ever before.

I mean, he’s literally swallowed down the essence of the thing that’s tripped Dean up his whole life and, by proxy, Sam and ultimately Cas as well: toxic masculinity. 

This is no way to grow up, Jack.

And, of course -->

Jack losing his soul - even though it’s not all of it yet - is a callback to Sam being soulless in S6, where Sam had to confront the side to him that is able to distance itself and look at a situation through a wholly mercenary perspective, fuelling his sense of dependency as he suddenly had to question his own judgement, something that hampers him as a leader as well, hollowing out his sense of self-worth, making it wholly easier to follow than to lead

the possible setting up for Jack trying to help and managing to do the opposite, his growing powers possible sending him off the beaten track, might prove a strong callback to Cas for most of his arc, where his first mistake of becoming Godstiel paved the way for choices that led hollowed out Cas sense of self-worth, leading him into depression

the possible setting up for Jack’s shadow-self to rule him because of Jack swallowing down toxic masculinity is a callback to the MoC arc for Dean, where his lack of self-worth led him to become a demon, the scenario being his shadow-self manifesting his worst nightmare as Dean lost himself in careless, selfish, mindless coping behaviours, dominated by violence

As ever, we shall see how the writers choose to go, but I’m damned stoked.

This whole season has been saturated with the MoC arc of S10 and the MoC arc was all about pushing Dean to change and to evolve out of old, worn patterns. It was all about forcing a new perspective of himself on him, and a new understanding of what he wants for himself. (a long and happy life with the man he loves) And here we now are, with all of these characters facing their suppression/repression as well as the narrative consequences for none of them having properly grown up and grown into their true identities. 

The fact that they can still deceive themselves like this is shown to not be okay, as they’re all hit with equal punishment, all of which now rather neatly knots itself into the fate of Jack.

My hope?

That Jack’s choice to burn off his soul to protect the people he loves and swallowing Michael’s grace and beginning to feel different and possibly starting to go off the rails is the awaited push necessary for Sam, Dean and Cas to reach the point in their progression that it’s necessary they reach if they’re going to be able to get through to Jack, and ultimately guide him or, at the very least, be the role models he truly needs.

Because right now, not a single one of them is anywhere near that point. Well, possibly Sam, as per 14x15, if he’s the first one of them to stop running.

Let’s remember that Jack was the one to chop off Noah’s head as well as put an end to Michael’s new world order: symbolically pretty heavy duty on the probable importance to the actual internal balance being reached for our three main characters, right?

Jack cut the head off two symbolical snakes in one episode.

Both of which were tied to the unhealthy habits of Sam, Dean and Cas.

It’s beautifully setup, whatever happens, and I can’t wait to see what we get!

[thaumatological]

im gonnaaaa revise and post my very dirk centric analysis of the epilogues here as well

also in case it needs stating, spoilers abound!

i read through both of the epilogues simultaneously yesterday, consuming both at the same time rather than one and then the other, and i feel like while it may not have been the most “satisfying” approach from a character-centric perspective, i have a more complete understanding of the stories than those who read them separately. if you’ve read through both and have the stomach to do it again for some reason, i suggest doing it in parallel, m1 c1 m2 c2 etc.

i will warn you though, i ended up having two nightmares at the same time in my dreams last night. like, simultaneously, two separate threads of terror unraveling in my subconscious. i woke up this morning already knee deep into an analysis of the homestuck epilogues, and it was less like “waking up” and more “becoming aware that i was conscious”

anyway, without further ado!

dirk killing himself in candy 14 is the scene that resonates with us as being “dirk” because it is. that’s all dirk, our dirk, the one from homestuck. he Has to do that in order for candy to continue being candy, and part of me believes that he knew that on a conscious level—hence his death being just. he knew he wouldn’t get a nice fluffy outcome in the candy timeline because him, all of him, not just this one instance, was fated to be meat dirk.

—and speaking of, the concept of Ultimate Selves pretty much squares away meat dirk. he doesn’t read like our dirk, the one from homestuck canon, because the narrative explicitly states he’s Not anymore. he’s become all of him, all of him from across paradox space, including notable players bro, doc scratch, and lord english. dirk’s Ultimate Self is a culmination of every possible him taken to the highest intensity. it reads like one of his personal nightmares because it WAS his personal nightmare—the personal nightmare of our dirk. he’s a prince of heart. the ascension to his Ultimate Self resulted in the complete destruction of the barriers between his splinters. the more i think about it, the more brilliant it is. he seems out of character as the dirk we know and love because he isn’t.

i feel like i finally Get it, but i’m still not looking forward to seeing people who dislike dirk using this to discredit the progress he made on his personal journey (ie “see he was evil the whole time!”) nor am i looking forward to all of the “dirk would never do this! it’s ooc writing!” from people who seem to have missed the part of homestuck where what scared dirk about himself most was the undeniable truth in it. there’s more than one example of “bad dirk and/or dirk byproducts” out there in paradox space. it’s more than feeling like you “might” be bad, it’s… being afraid of what you would be if you weren’t so afraid of being it, it’s seeing things that were a result of You-but-not-you and having to stare down the fact that even if you weren’t bad, even if you didn’t, you could have, would have, did. dirk’s Ultimate Self being a nightmare scenario is ..almost a recursive throwback to his fears about his ultimate self (note capitals)

him taking control of the narrative was epic though. it honestly did not catch me off guard? it makes sense. it is a 100% dirk strider move. if you haven’t read it by now for some reason, go read detective pony. i am diagnosing you with read detective pony by sonnetstuck. it’s terminal.

the only two people aside from hussie to have controlled the narrative in homestuck canon are the cherubs. and i did make the point somewhere up there that dirk absorbed lord english, and by extension, caliborn. that’s WHY he got that ability. not because he’s a prince of heart. dirk controlling the narrative makes sense from the perspective of dirk controlling the external narrative as well, ie, the whole thing is on a piece of paper that he wrote as some form of bizarre cathartic self punishment for his existence, but in the grander scheme of things and truth of homestuck dirk controlling the narrative makes sense as the puppetmaster-turned-puppet we see him become in several of his iterations, because caliborn literally becomes part of him.

everything is so skewed by the narrators. yes, both of them, because the whole point of the epilogues is that both of them suck and muse calliope is just as shitty as “impartial” “narrator” as Ultimate Self dirk is. it actually makes the whole thing a lot greyer in morality than it comes across at first. US dirk does a lot of Bad Shit as narrator, yeah, but even as passive as she is, calliope’s narration has its flaws (see: everything relating to trickster mode)

the epilogues are less about the characters themselves and more about a grander conflict between the two cherubs, using dirk and jade as their puppets—and yes, muse calliope is using jade as a puppet LITERALLY, which upsets me on so many levels i can’t even get into it here. let jade be fucking relevant and happy hussie or so help me i will write myself into your narrative and do some renovation of my own. but dirk is equally deprived of his agency in this scenario. i’m not going to debate with anyone about the inherent goodness/badness of dirk strider because that’s an entirely different essay, but in canon, dirk’s entire arc is about NOT becoming exactly what he becomes in the epilogues. the dirk we know didn’t choose to become his “Ultimate Self,” the dirk we know doesn’t get a choice between meat and candy, the dirk we know is at the mercy of the narrative even as he pretends to control it.

and that’s not something new to dirk strider, in any variation of himself. i’m specifically going back to thinking about the term “puppetmaster-turned-puppet” here, because i like it. in canon, we see dirk get out-puppeted by hal. it’s implied that bro is being controlled at least in part by lil cal, who is in turn.. a splinter of dirk indirectly via hal via arquiussprite. i’m getting a little lost in all the splinters. why is dirk’s worst enemy consistently himself? don’t answer that. uhh also it should be mentioned that makes lil cal a puppetmaster-turned-puppet-turned-puppetmaster, both literally and metaphorically. i fucking hate andrew hussie.

anyway, both of the epilogues do all that shit to to drive home the point that both of them (and i mean muse calliope and LE here when i say both, because this has officially stopped being about the dirk we know) are removed from human concepts like “good” and “evil” and represent duality in an alien manner that to a casual observer could be mistaken for some objective statement about morality, but they’re both wrong to us from our perspective as humans with human morals. the choice of candy and meat from the beginning was a cherub one. that’s not a balanced meal! that’s not even a reasonable dichotomy for humans! meat is not more real or “canon” than candy was, both of them are very flawed stories being manned at the helm by omnipotent green aliens.

okay we’re ALMOST done here, i just want to touch on the actual authors of the narrative rather than the ones the narrative insists are its narrators. by which i mean the actual real life human beings who wrote the epilogue. the point i was making above about how dirk doesn’t have any agency? the point of these epilogues were that none of the characters have any agency in their stories. every work is a reflection of its author, even when aforementioned authors are hiding behind pseudoauthors on a narrative level.

the homestuck epilogues feel very meanspirited to me. they punish their readers for not understanding their intentionally heavyhanded meta. homestuck was always very meta, but it was also fun. this, on the other hand, wasn’t fun. i haven’t seen anyone claim that the epilogues were a “fun” read, even those who enjoyed them enjoy them on the basis that “tragedy is a valid form of art,” and,,, ........and their opinions are. valid. and they can have them. sure.

but for those of us who read stories in order to enjoy them, which i am safely assuming makes up the majority of those who read homestuck, the homestuck epilogues are like a final kick in the teeth as a send off to a fandom with barely any teeth left to lose. we’re already having people who refuse to read them, and god i wish that were me, but it’s also.,, you can’t criticize something properly if you haven’t read it. we’re going to see a lot of very bad takes in the coming days about all kinds of things from information proliferating through the grapevine, and personally, i am not looking forward to it. i really hope this is the end, that homestuck is finally fucking over, and the epilogues are done with and we can all live our lives unmarred by strange orange men with typewriters. i’m going to hole up with my cool and new webcomic music albums and all of the good novel-length dirk-centric fic i’ve bookmarked over the years and wait this one out. i invite you to do the same.

cool and new webcomic bandcamp | cool and new greatest hits | my personal favorite album by them

detective pony by sonnetstuck (seriously please read this it watered my crops and cured my lead poisoning)

literally anything by callmearcturus but this is my personal favorite (chamomile, rosewater, and other unlikely intoxicants)

this long winded discworld joke by oxfordroulette that inflicted me with a terminal case of loving jake english despite it being a dirkjohn fic (vanitas vanitatum) also if you finish reading this one and also succumbed to loving jake english, i’m not going to link it but they have another fic that’ll scratch that itch for you. that’s all i’ll say on that matter.

this fic said nonverbal autistic dirk rights and thank god (we were made for another world by princex_n)

thanks for reading

[biglifequestions-blog]

Big Life Questions

In 1991, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes; an incurable autoimmune disease that would have killed me were it not for the discovery of a breakthrough treatment some 70 years earlier. Had my great grandmother—who lived to be an octogenarian with four grandchildren and eight great grandchildren—been diagnosed with the same condition, natural selection would have swiftly eliminated her and the potential for offspring as unceremoniously as it had thousands of others. By pure chance, my mother, uncle, cousins, brothers, and I would never have been born. Twelve unique progenies, gone; an entire branch of the family tree stunted and withered at the hands of a few faulty genes.

As luck or God or the Universe would have it, I was born at exactly the right moment in history to not only survive type 1 diabetes but thrive. And here I am today at age 29: a walking, talking, breathing, body with blood circulating and nerves firing, alive with not only conscious thoughts, but also feelings, opinions, beliefs, quirks, aptitudes, and proclivities. From this foundation, I’ve created a full and complicated life that includes accomplishments, hobbies, aspirations, and emotional connections to other walking, talking, breathing bodies. That I am even sitting here now in a 600-square-foot apartment in Philadelphia with a Chihuahua named Peanut napping sweetly in my lap, able to freely express myself through the typed English word using an online platform capable of sharing those words with millions of people around the globe, all while my loving husband cooks his take on vegan enchiladas in our tiny kitchen is nothing short of a holy-shit miracle.

I wish I could say that the mind-blowing awareness of my mere existence—never mind the trillions of complex, improbable events that coalesced to have me adopt a Chihuahua—has compelled me to live each of my 10,500+ days on this earth to their absolute fullest. I wish I could say the knowledge of my finite and delicate reality has inspired me to follow my passions, live authentically, and weather life’s storms with grace and fortitude all while dedicating my time and energy toward the betterment of society. Surely a life as precarious as my own would catalyze an ongoing quest to align mind, body, and spirit; to be a role model for overcoming adversity against all odds.

Alas, I am not quite so enlightened.

Last Saturday, for example, I spent the entire day in worn-out sweatpants eating buttered toast and playing Candy Crush on my iPad. Between waiting for more bread to toast, butter to melt, and lives to reload, I scrolled through the bottomless pit that is the /AmITheAsshole sub on Reddit, grappling with the complexity of human social norms while also getting my daily bump of “my life really isn’t so bad” by contrasting my comparatively insignificant problems to the drama of Internet strangers. By sunset, I had succeeded only in eating a half loaf of bread and irritating my husband by finishing off the butter and bringing crumbs into the bed. (AITA?)

I’m sure you’re wondering how I’m able to justify such a flagrant misuse of my time. While I don’t exactly know the answer to that question, I can hazard a guess it’s because I’ve collected enough insignia of a successful life—academic degrees, a wedding ring, my handsome husband, a Pinterest-inspired apartment, stamps in my passport—that the pressure to fill my days with meaningful, enlightened activities has lessened. So long as I continue showing up to work, paying taxes, saying “I love you,” and periodically posting #humblebrags on Twitter about some new promotion or my latest vacation, what does it matter if I occasionally splurge on procrastination and carbohydrates?

…right?

Until last year, I had only peripherally considered that there might be more to life than just achieving and owning things. From high school honors to senior job titles to a committed relationship, these milestones were my markers of success, happiness, and security. I craved them, worked for them, plotted how I would make them happen, and invested all my energy into proving to the world and myself that I was smart, hard-working, lovable, deserving; often to the detriment of my own physical, mental, financial, and spiritual health.

Moreover, I was actively encouraged to seek more of these achievements: to play an instrument in both orchestra and band, attend academic summer camps, double major in college, study abroad, work late, work weekends, work, work, work. I believed these tangible symbols would unlock the secrets to all the Big Intangibles: happiness, passion, fulfillment, security, joy, peace, gratitude, love. And when those fleeting moments of accomplishment came and went, and the Big Intangibles didn’t instantly manifest, I turned to my old, worn copy of the “Perfect Life Checklist” (which I wrote myself at the age of 10) and chose my next goal to appease the restlessness and disappointment in my heart.

And then, after years of sacrificing sleep and sanity to acquire these tangibles, it all came to a climax in May 2018: I had just graduated from a prestigious university with my master’s degree, was months away from marrying my soulmate, and had just been offered a dream job in a new city. Life was perfect or as perfect as I could have contrived. I awoke in my fiancé’s bed the morning after graduation expecting to feel elated, happy, fulfilled; or at the very least, well-rested and content. It was the first Tuesday in perhaps my entire life that I technically had nothing to do and I felt completely, inexplicably…. empty. 

Where was the happiness I was promised; the light at the end of the tunnel I built, brick by brick? I felt a sudden urge to laugh followed by the very real experience of tears. 

And then, in response to those tears, a harrowing, gut-wrenching, pass-me-the-wine-no-the-whole-bottle question materialized before me as if posed by some older, wiser, separate self: Who would you be without all these labels, titles, and accomplishments?

Who am I?

The answer that came was enough to make me want to dive under the covers and let the carbon dioxide build up around me.

Before I go any further, I want to recognize that despite living with a chronic illness, the problems and concerns I’m describing here are distinctly privileged-people-problems. I understand and appreciate that my ability to grapple with questions about my identity and personal fulfillment are luxuries only possible because of that privilege. I don’t have to worry about basic necessities like where I’m sleeping tonight or from where my next meal will come. I don’t wake up worrying about whether I might get arrested, mugged, shot at, or bombed if I walk out my front door or if I might be persecuted for my skin color, openly practicing my religion, or loving who I love. That I even have health insurance to afford the medication that keeps me alive is a blessing that I am keenly aware not everyone with my disease has.

Yet it’s precisely this knowledge—that other people who were born into different circumstances must work a hundred times harder and maybe not ever get to the point I find myself at now—that makes answering these Big Life Questions even more important. With all my privilege and so few barriers standing in the way of me living a magnificent, inspirational, blessed life of service and passion, why am I not making every day, hour, and minute count?

I pondered that question again a few months ago when I was asked to give a presentation at an all-employee meeting for work. “All-employee” meaning, of course, the entire company; hundreds of people in-person and remote gathered in one moment to critically judge my outfit, throat-clearing tic, and the way I pronounce “gala”—or at least, that’s what it felt like. A naturally nervous public speaker, I practiced obsessively to minimize the risk of forgetting my own name and spent copious time working through every worst-case scenario. In the shower, on the train, before bed, in my dreams; I worried and rehearsed that speech so many times that my ultimate irrational fear of a light fixture falling from the ceiling and concussing me mid-word could have come to fruition and my lips would have continued mouthing statistics while my hands, of their own accord, gesticulated to slide 5 bullet point 2 at the 20-minute mark exactly as rehearsed.

This exercise was, like many of my endeavors, not borne out of passion and commitment to a good cause, but a calculated attempt to take on another “professional development opportunity” in the hopes that it would indirectly increase the likelihood of my future happiness by one, maybe two, percent. Because more responsibility at work = more money = more success, stability, and therefore infinite happiness, right? The irony of all this calculation is that an activity I expected to yield happiness had the unintended consequences of increasing my stress levels by 1000 percent and costing valuable time with my friends and family. 

And tell me, what exactly is the point of investing all this energy and being so completely exhausted if there’s no greater good, higher purpose, or feeling happy and inspired before, during, and after? What’s the point of tackling any endeavor if it’s only going to lead to a buttered toast/social media binge to cover the feelings of emptiness and dissatisfaction?

Until now, I’ve asked but not fully grappled with these Big Life Questions. But I want to. I want to wrestle and spar, analyze and critique until awareness turns into action and potentially transformation. In my short life I’ve had the opportunity to answer some medium life questions whose answers led to amazing, unexpected changes. Questions like, “What more do you have to lose?”, “Would you be willing to relocate?” and “Will you marry me?” I’ve answered and then watched life shift miraculously to accommodate my new conceptualization of what’s possible. And now, I feel myself standing at the edge of another new conceptualization with an ever-present awareness of my own potential, mortality, limitations, limitlessness, and connection to the rest of humanity. 

This blog is a chronicle of my attempts to answer and act on life’s biggest questions, including, but not limited to:

Who am I?

What is my greater purpose in life?

How can I find joy in the mundane?

How can I make the most of every day?

How can I be kinder to myself in deed and thought?

How can I honor and love my body?

How can I love unconditionally?

How can I forgive myself and others?

How can I overcome my fears?

How can I have more faith?

How can I live in the present moment more often?

How can I align my career and work with my passions and higher purpose?

How can I be of service to others?

If you decide to follow along, I hope my words can provide some perspective on how to begin answering your own BLQ’s, even if what I’m describing is a case study in what not to do. Consider what follows to be a record of hard lessons learned, a magnifying glass for bad habits, an arena for confronting fears and traumas, a whiteboard for exploring crazy ideas, and with a little luck and determination, a launching pad into the magnificent, inspirational, blessed life of service and passion I hope to live.

[thatssomental-blog]

Too Coward for the "Coward's Way Out": Living with Passive Suicidal Ideation

TW: This article may be hard for some to read, but is intended to assist others who may be dealing with passive, or active, suicidal ideations. The following text contains details of suicidal thoughts (without intent) and mentions self harm (briefly, and without detail), in addition to depression and it’s relationship with suicidal thoughts. 

So many people label suicide as the “coward’s way out”. If that’s true, then why is it that I feel like a coward because I could never follow through? Passive suicidal ideation is defined as wishing you were dead or that you could die, but having no intention to take your own life. Whereas, active suicidal ideation means one is not only struggling with these thoughts, but may have full intention, or a plan already in place, to take their own life. Passive suicidal ideation is still a risk factor among patients with depression and suicidal thoughts, and just because you are not planning your great escape from this world now, doesn’t mean you should skip out on your therapy sessions. All that being said, it is very real, your thoughts are just as valid, and you are not alone in feeling the way that you do.

Before I continue, I would like to specify that “wishing you were dead or that you could die” isn’t a reference to how you feel waking up in the morning, before you reluctantly drag yourself to work/school, it is in reference to a very real, deep desire to stop living, that may come or go, or may stay with you incessantly, even on your best days when everything seems hunky-dory. I am specifying this, because as someone who suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the mental illnesses that myself and others suffer through daily are not meant to be #relatable, just because you like things neatly organized or hate your job/school.

My own struggle with suicidal thoughts is a plague that I can't seem to get rid of. I suffered from them long before I even knew what suicide truly was. I was about 14 when the first thought came along, and I clearly remember it. I was putting away the clean dishes and took a knife from the dishwasher. I stood there for about five minutes straight, just staring at it, and thinking that I could just slash my wrist open and the numbness I’d been feeling for weeks would all go away. I scared myself with that thought, put the knife away, and didn’t do it; I couldn’t do it, and I wouldn’t have done it. I can’t remember any other thoughts as vividly as that single instance, but sometimes they were there, and sometimes they weren’t, and every time I had them I could never bring myself to act on them.

Health care is necessary for a healthy life. In the US healthcare is expensive, whether you have coverage or not. Health Insurance, especially with Mental Health included, is hard to come by. Even if you’re one of the “lucky” ones that manages to land a job that provides it, a good plan for yourself, not to mention a whole family, can easily eat up what little bit of wages you work for, and have to live off of. In the past several years, life has been difficult for me, though it was mostly adjusting to living the independent life, learning how to pay bills, and learning how to take care of myself. Despite all of the challenges and obstacles I’ve faced in that time, I was doing pretty well. Even through the trauma of sudden death, which my family is not equipped to handle, I managed. Within the past eight months, I attempted to better my situation by leaving a toxic work environment and moving on to something new. Unfortunately, by choosing to leave that job I also left what little health coverage I had, and since have had to move on to even worse challenges and obstacles, all with untreated, depression, anxiety, body and gender dysphoria, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. If you’ve never been through that, I’ll tell you right now that it is hell, and as petty as I am, I wouldn’t wish anything I’ve been through on my worst enemies.

Factoring in all of the above, with the soul crushing feeling that your whole life and all of your freedom is crashing down around you, like an imploding dumpster fire, it really adds up. In my last few months before moving back home with Mom and Dad, something none of us want to do even if we love our parents with a fiery passion, I was at rock bottom. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but the bare minimum, which made moving day tougher than it already was, and left me feeling hopeless and drained of life. I would lay on my couch for hours, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall with an empty mind and heavy heart, it was the worst I had ever been, and I allowed myself to wallow in it, only making it worse.

Even now that I am home, and surrounded by the love of my family, I frequently wish I was dead. I don’t think such things only when everything is going wrong in my life, but the harder times get the more I just want all the pain to go away. I think of scenarios in which I could put myself out of my misery. I own a gun, I have access to others, and medications, not to mention every knife in the block or kitchen drawer that could easily end all of my suffering. But, why is it that despite my desires to no longer deal with life's stresses, my battle with my seemingly, ever changing, gender identity, and my unbridled hatred for the world we live in and the multitude or horrible people in it, do I refrain? Why, when it seems like the only option for peace of mind and escape from the emotions I can’t control, can I not do it? Why, when I wish for the calming embrace of death, do I fear strangers who could kill me in cold blood? Why, if I want to die, did I seek medical attention, without any health coverage, and go to the ER when I legitimately thought I was dying?

Fear of the unknown. I was raised in the Christian faith from a very young age, and was even baptized twice. My mother was raised within that same faith, and my father is an atheist. Despite my current pagan-leaning/agnostic dogma, there is a fear bread into me from childhood that I will burn in hell. Since becoming “woke”, so to say, I have completely denounced the Christian god for what he is. Despite my genuine certainty that this god does not exist, and if he does, he’s actually quite a terrible deity, because of how I was raised, I will more than likely carry that fear of denouncing him and burning in hell with me, for the rest of my life. Religion aside, and taking things from an atheistic perspective, maybe I’m just going into a hole in the ground when I die, but the thought of everything being black forever is also terrifying for me. Even though I am aware that, in this scenario, I will literally not be conscious of my own death, it is almost impossible for me to wrap my head around it, and as someone who has exhibited a very present case of FOMO all of their life, that just doesn’t fly with me. Regardless of whether we go to sit at Odin’s table in Valhalla, or up to a magic golden kingdom in the clouds where everyone is happy and wants for nothing, or we just literally kill over like a toy with dead batteries, no one actually knows until they actually die.

Fear of failure. I have had a very hard time succeeding at pretty much everything I’ve tried in life. No matter what I do, I never feel like the product is good enough. I am my own worst critic, and, on top of that, I am a rage-quitter. If I am not instantly or naturally good at something, I get bent out of shape when I mess it up, maybe I cry, then I quit, and I move on. (Though that statement doesn’t apply to absolutely everything, it applies to a pretty big chunk of things.) One of the greatest fears that keeps me from “attempting” is knowing that if I mess up, I may not recover. Some people are saved at the last minute, and depending on what you’ve done to yourself, sometimes the wounds or the manner in which you’ve attempted will mend. However, if some things are done incorrectly, i.e. putting a bullet in your brain, or a fall that just wasn’t quite big enough to kill you, you may still survive, but there could be permanent consequences such as brain damage, loss of mobility, etc. I’m sure you catch my drift. I suppose this also technically falls under fear of the unknown, because you never truly know what’s going to happen until it does. Sometimes you just have to stop and ask yourself, would you rather be depressed and fully functional to the best of your capabilities? Or depresses and handicapped, and therefore, with your anxious/depressed brain, if it works anything like mine, an even heavier burden on those around you?

Forcing others to suffer. I am very lucky to have an amazing family that is full of love. Even for those of us living a life that others may not agree with, disowning and/or not loving one another is not in our vocabulary. I am very close to my mother and my grandmother, and it would devastate them beyond comprehension. That used to be my only line of thinking, however things have happened and times have changed. Less than two years ago, we buried my grandmother’s youngest child, my mother’s youngest sister, and one of my best friends, who was more like my sister than my aunt, along with her unborn son. Even if I intended to follow through on my own suicidal thoughts, and even excluding the above reasons, I could never force my mother to bury her only child, or my grandmother to bury another grandchild. I also have an amazing SO and friends who would at least be a little devastated, as well.

I just can’t. Ignoring every other reason I have included, I just can’t do it. Despite my fear of death, failure, and hurting those I love most, I just don’t have it in me. It’s not the pain that I worry about, one could easily swallow a bunch of sleeping pills and hope to not wake up, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have physically self harmed before, way back in my teen years. I don’t know how else to explain it, other than I just can’t. I have a huge fear of missing out, if I don’t know all the details of something it will drive me nuts, and I hate surprises. Despite how great it would be to just not have to worry, and despite how hopeless I feel, there is a part of me that knows something better is coming. If I were to take my own life, there are countless things I would miss out on, things I’ve always wanted and things that I may not even know that I want yet. The future is a mystery, and I’ll never find out what it holds if I don’t have one.

Do those things make my suicidal thoughts invalid? No, and though your reasons behind your lack/full intent may differ from mine, they do not make yours any less valid, either.

I am by no means encouraging suicide, though if you ever lose your battle just know that I will never call you a coward when you’re gone. Suicide is the final side-effect of losing your battle with a very real illness, one that may not be visible to even those closest to you.

My parting wisdom is this: Whether you intend to follow through on your suicidal ideations or not, if you take your own life, you will never be around to see it get better. I know it seems hopeless, I personally feel hopeless about 95% of the time, and I know that sometimes it seems like the only escape from not only the world, but your own mind. I really do. I know it hurts, and even if I don’t know what you’re going through, or how you feel, perseverance is the answer, not death. If you are strong enough to make it this far, through all the grief and torment and suffering, then you are strong enough to build your own future. Please don’t take that away from yourself, no matter how much you may want to.

If you, or someone you love is feeling suicidal, please check thatssomental.tumblr.com/resources for a list of suicide and mental help phone lines, chats, and websites.

©thatssomental.tumblr.com 2019

[undertheinfluencerd]

https://ift.tt/3h42pIx #

Shang-Chi and The Legend of the Ten Rings is a movie Marvel Studios head Kevin Feige has been wanting to make ever since he joined the company. Only the second movie to release as part of the MCU’s Phase 4, Shang-Chi is the first film to get a theater-only release, seeing as Black Widow also debuted on Disney+ through the service’s Premier Access.

Not only is Shang-Chi the first Asian-led Marvel superhero film, but its martial arts also introduces a new part of the franchise to audiences, one that had only been glimpsed on TV with Iron Fist. So far, MCU fans have seen gods, aliens, monsters, and wizards, with some heroes exhibiting unique fighting skills; however, nothing has been on the same level as Shang-Chi‘s martial arts. And now, Marvel can explore this new corner of the MCU throughout Phase 4, 5, and beyond.

Related: Every Marvel Cinematic Universe Movie, Ranked Worst To Best

Screen Rant spoke to Kevin Feige about Shang-Chi ahead of the film’s release about what the movie would’ve looked like had it been released years ago and where the story goes next.

WARNING: This interview contains spoilers for Shang-Chi.

Screen Rant: From what we know, Shang-Chi had been in development, or at least planned, for a very, very long time, but obviously it didn’t happen for a long time. So what do you think this film would’ve looked like had it been released all those years ago?

Kevin Feige: I don’t know. We had a wish list and we still do – characters and stories that we’d love to bring to the screen – and Shang-Chi had been on that list for as long as I’ve been at Marvel, as were lots of other characters that we’ve now since brought to screen. I think it would’ve been different. It’s a good question, actually – a ‘what if’ scenario that is interesting to think about. But I don’t know is the answer, because this movie is the result of the people that made it. Would Destin [Daniel Cretton] have been able to make the movie? Would Simu [Liu] have starred in the movie if we made it 10 years ago? Of course not. So, like all of our movies, I’m lucky enough and very thankful that we made the movie when we did, so we could make it with the people that we did.

With this film – obviously, Black Panther was a massive success and Captain Marvel was a massive success – so what are your hopes with Shang-Chi in terms of cultural impact and franchise impact?

Kevin Feige: I have the same hopes and dreams for this movie that I have for all of our movies. And I feel very good by the initial response from people who’ve seen the movie at press screenings, at the premiere – we did some fan screenings yesterday, and so far, so good with the response to what Destin has done.

In this, Ben Kingsley’s Trevor Slattery plays a bigger role than I would’ve expected – I thought it would’ve just been a cameo. Was that a conscious effort to try to… not necessarily to redeem him, but give him more of a shining light from who he was and not playing a role as the Mandarin?

Kevin Feige: Yeah, it was an idea early on as we were developing this incarnation of the story for Shang-Chi, that the Ten Rings has a history going back to the very beginning of the MCU. And we thought it would be a fun way to acknowledge the twist in Iron Man 3, the fake version of the Ten Rings leader when we meet the actual leader of the Ten Rings, which is his father, Wenwu, in this. And if you get the opportunity to continue working with Sir Ben Kingsley, you want to find every opportunity to do that.

To jump forward to the credits scene; it’s a pretty big credits scene – you have Captain Marvel and you have Bruce Banner there. But he’s Banner, not Smart Hulk…

Kevin Feige: Interesting… And his arm is in a sling. He’s Banner, and his arm is in a sling, if you noticed that.

I did!

Kevin Feige: You’re the first person to ask me that question, by the way. I know you won’t talk about it until after the movie comes out. But you are the first person to pick up on that.

Really? On Banner being Banner?

Kevin Feige: Since the movie’s been screened, yes.

So why is he back to being in a human form? Does this have anything to do with his future in She-Hulk?

Kevin Feige: All good questions, sir. All very good, very observant questions. …You will find out why that is the case. And thank you for noticing. Mark Ruffalo thanks you for noticing.

To go back to the beginning of the film with Wenwu; the Ta Lo village decided not to allow him in. In my mind, with What If…? going on, I think that would be a perfect idea of what if they did allow him into their village. Like, how would that have changed him and his story? Is that something you think could be told in a What If…? season 2 or 3?

Kevin Feige: Another good question. You’re kind of low-key – but the questions are very on-point and I’m very impressed. But… that’s the fun thing about having the What If…? series now; we can explore questions just like that. And I will say, just as season 1 is tapping into films and storylines from the MCU that you’ve seen up to this point, season 2 will definitely incorporate movies from Phase 4. So I don’t want to say any more than that, but yet again, another very good question, sir.

Spinning off of that, a lot of the stories being told on Disney+, particularly, are about the Multiverse. While Shang-Chi has an alternate dimension, the story is still quite grounded and personal. So where do you see his story falling in the grand scheme of things going forward?

Kevin Feige: I think, as with every Marvel superhero that we bring into the MCU, all of them are important and integral in the future, and their characters are what shape the future of the MCU. And now that people have met and seen the origin of Shang-Chi, it is safe to say he will have a great influence on the future. The notion of dimensions and Ta-Lo, that again is the gift of the Marvel Comics – that you have not just other planets, not just other dimensions, but other universes, other realities, and it’s a fun to be at a point now, 25 movies in, 6 or 7 TV series in that we’ve shot, that we’re able to really start playing with the full canvas that the comics have brought to us.

Now that Shang-Chi has come out and introduced this whole new corner of martial arts into the franchise, where do you see things going next – not just with new Shang-Chi stories, but with other characters?

Kevin Feige: You know, I think the sky’s the limit on the type of characters that we can bring to the screens. What I’m most excited about is that we’ve finally been able to tell the story of Shang-Chi, and that audiences are finally going to be able to meet not just Simu’s portrayal of Shang-Chi but the entire cast of characters, all of whom I think are fascinating and audiences will I hope – I think – will want to see more of.

Katy and Shang-Chi’s friendship – everything they say and do throughout the film – felt very relatable in a way that other superhero movies and even other Marvel movies just haven’t been able to do, because although he has these powers, he’s a very grounded character. Even the bit with Katy’s grandmother asking when they’ll get married; that’s something that I, as a minority, have experienced from my own family. Was there a concerted effort in developing that in this film or did it come more naturally?

Kevin Feige: I think both, but I think that’s primarily what our screenwriters, with Destin who’s a screenwriter and David Callaham, who was the first writer to start building the story for us, wanted to bring those personal elements into the story. And it’s been remarkable in screenings. At that very moment with the grandmother, you can hear the audience relate to that and respond to that. So I do think it was very much a conscious effort on Dave and Destin’s part to bring that to the screen, and I hope with all Marvel heroes, it is their humanity that makes them relatable. Shang-Chi is probably a more universal story than a lot of them because of the family element and because of the cultural specificity in which that family exists.

At the very end of the film, you have the card that says the Ten Rings will return, not Shang-Chi will return. What was the reason for that?

Kevin Feige: To be honest with you, I think the intention of the first tag makes it very clear that Shang-Chi will return, so we didn’t have to say it again. The end of that second tag was more about the organization itself, the Ten Rings, which it seems, over the course of the movie, that it’s been dismantled and you learn otherwise in that spoiler-filled tag. But that was the idea; one, we just didn’t want to put a card… (Did we even talk about that, Jonathan? We didn’t even talk about putting in a card for both.) But we think that it’s very clear after that first tag that Shang-Chi is returning.

Next: Every Upcoming Marvel Cinematic Universe Movie

#marvel #avengers #marvelcomics #spiderman #mcu #ironman #comics #captainamerica #thor #avengersendgame #marvelstudios #xmen #dc #marveluniverse #art #cosplay #tomholland #hulk #disney #comicbooks #dccomics #peterparker #tonystark #blackwidow #marvellegends #endgame #deadpool #marvelcinematicuniverse #loki #bhfyp

The post Kevin Feige Interview: Shang-Chi | Screen Rant appeared first on undertheinfluencerd.net.

#entertainment, screenrant #tumblr #aesthetic #like #love #tumblrgirl #follow #instagram #photography #instagood #likeforlikes #s #likes #art #cute #o #girl #followforfollowback #a #tumblrboy #grunge #fashion #photooftheday #tiktok #l #photo #sad #k #frases #f #bhfyp

[musingsfrommayhem]

Beyond worst fears

Last night I went to the ER, and it felt so casual and routine. I had been semi-conscious for over an hour, the usual things weren’t helping. We had no choice but to go, and yet we knew nothing would come of it. I almost felt sorry for the doctor; I could tell he wasn’t used to saying “There’s nothing we can do”. But that’s the truth of it. They couldn’t really help, nor could they explain what was happening, and that’s just how things are right now.

It made me realize that I need to stop putting off making this post. Because for the last few weeks I’ve been radio silent, unwilling to put down the words that need to be said.

This post is about worst case scenarios.

As a child, I did not fear death. I knew I would die someday. I accepted that. I did fear spiders, and tsunamis, and losing the people I loved. And one more thing. One more thing that I didn’t dare say for fear of jinxing it.

That one thing was getting brain cancer. Because before it kills you, it ruins you. It can change your personality, your ability to speak, to think. It breaks apart who you are.

That’s how I saw it anyways.

And because I feared it so profoundly, I was certain it would never come true. Because this life is small and mundane and mine. Because the Big Bad Things happened in stories. Or to people far away. But not to me.

I can’t help but laugh in retrospect. Because, dear god, the dramatic irony is spectacular. When I was 13, my eye doctor said that my optic nerves looked funny. So he referred me to another doctor, who referred me to another, and eventually I wound up in Eye Doctor Grand Central at the children’s hospital of the biggest city nearby. They dilated my eyes, put me in a dark room, and took a flash picture of my optic nerves, so big and HD on the computer screen afterwards that I deemed it as beautiful as an optic nerve could be. They said it looked like a textbook case of Optic Nerve Head Drusen, nothing to worry about! Basically harmless! Except…

Except of course they couldn’t 100% guarantee that. Legally. Because it could also be a sign of a brain tumor. They could do an MRI to make sure, if we wanted! But I did not want. I walked out of the hospital and reassured my mom. Because I knew. I knew it couldn’t be brain cancer. Because worst nightmares stay in your dreams, so long as you wish them there hard enough.

I’ll never know if that was an early sign of the brain tumor I have now. If the tumor was already growing in my head. Or if it’s just another one of those wacky coincidences. I’ll have to live with not knowing that. Because I wasn’t ready to face my nightmare then.

We’re never ready.

We’re never really ready to watch our worst fears become reality. To live out the worst case scenario.

And before I proceed, I have to acknowledge that in many ways life has been very merciful to me, just as it has in many ways been cruel. This is not an “oh-woe-is-me” story, or a “my-life-is-worse-than-yours” story. This is just one little piece of surviving.

When I was first told I had an unknown lesion in my brain, everything went cold. In an instant the blood in my veins turned to ice water, trickling through my body and freezing me with dread. I was filled with fight-or-flight adrenaline, when I had the power to do neither. So instead I froze. A part of my mind schismed off into wordless emotion, shrieking unspoken fears. Another part asked calculating, reasonable questions of the doctor with the bad news, probably scaring the poor woman, because I know my eyes were as cold as the frost that gripped the rest of me. The rest of my being watched, and listened, and withheld judgement.

At that point there were three options: brain infection (virtually impossible as I lacked those symptoms), demyelination (e.g. multiple sclerosis), or a “low grade glioma”. At that point the doctors never used the word tumor. They didn’t say cancer. And when I asked point blank, they dodged my questions.

Three months after, I still had no answers, and I believed it was a demyelination. It fit some of the symptoms I had. It was terrible, but in all likelihood, life would go on.

Four months after, demyelination was ruled out, those symptoms assigned to other disorders and illnesses.

Six months after, they wanted to do surgery. Nothing big. A biopsy, just to make sure. They still didn’t say cancer. There was still a chance, however infinitesimal, that it was some strange infection or scarring.

Then the results. Stage 2 Astrocytoma. Brain tumor.

The doctors parsed their words: “it’s slow growing” “probably been there for years” “should be no problem” “practically benign”.

And then the problems arose. The area was too risky for surgery; they wouldn’t be able to get it all out without breaking me or killing me. And of course this particular type of mutated cell is resistant to chemotherapy.

That leaves one option: Radiation.

And the radiation doctor by no means parsed her words.

Radiation units are the dungeons of the hospital, multiple levels below ground, to keep the radiation from seeping into the rest of the building and poisoning other patients. The air itself is heavy down there,  compressed by so many feet of rock and concrete.

The woman at the check-in desk was too cheerful. The decorations of the room domineeringly bright and happy. That’s never a good sign.

The radiation doctor told me that radiation would wreak havoc on my system, even more so because of my other chronic illnesses. So we would need to wait for my other symptoms to be managed. Wait, knowing the tumor is there, before all hell breaks loose.

She told me that it may cause more brain tumors to form, in years to come. That it may cause brain damage to my memory center, maybe other things too.

She told me that, once it’s been administered, radiation can never be taken back.

She told me that my brain tumor is likely to kill me. But not this year, or next. With treatment, I could have ten years.

My mother sat next to me. I am her youngest daughter. In many ways she has hurt and betrayed me, but still our souls are mirrors of each other, and her life is inexorably tied to mine

Those words fell and I could hear all the breath leave my mother’s lungs as she spoke a single word

-What-

I listened to her fear, her horror, her sorrow. A thousand emotions I couldn’t name, all in a single word. I listened to one of her worst case scenarios, just as I was living one of mine.

Because once again I had gone cold, down to my marrow. This time, my mind broke in many directions, all at once.

I am twenty years old and full of ambition, listening to a death sentence.

I am a young woman, deeply in love, imagining my death with fear for the first time, like a premonition of my partner’s grief.

I am a passionate believer in a better world, seeing my life snuffed out before I can help create such a place.

I am 13 years old again, my world shattering as my worst case scenario crawls its way out of my nightmares and latches itself firmly into the sub cortical white matter of my left frontal lobe.

If I were to tell that situation to a younger version of myself, her image of life would have cut off right then. Right there. The moments beyond the worst case scenario don’t exist. Those are uncharted waters.

But life didn’t end right there. It didn’t end when the doctor left the room and my mother turned to me, words overwrought with emotions unimaginable on the tip of her tongue. Life didn’t end when I cut her off before she could even begin, dashing away the stray tears that had leaked from my eyes. I told her that all I needed was for her to keep her emotions to herself. It didn’t end when we left the office, and I waited outside the bathroom and listened to my mother sob.

It didn’t end.

I keep going with school. I adopted a rabbit, and am in the process of earning my new emotional support bunny’s trust. I make new friends, and sing in my a cappella group, and keep living my normal-not-normal life. I’ve cried a lot alone, and a little with other people. I keep breathing.

I started a blog, because if my days on this earth are more severely numbered than so many other people, then I should probably share what insight I have now, rather than leave the world with no record of my small successes and failures when I do die.

I don’t believe the radiation doctor’s expiration date on my life.

I’ve pulled off miracles before, and I am going to keep pulling off miracles. I’m going to make everything out of my life that I possibly can. I’m going to do my best to live forward with courage, because I must make the most of my precious moments on earth, no matter how much I may be hurt or damaged or betrayed.

I believe that I’m going to live and beat the odds. And in the moments when I don’t believe it, I still tell myself that I do. I tell myself that I believe it with all my heart and soul.

That belief is part of what carries me through nights spent in the ER, when everything hurts and the doctors can’t help. Because if I’ve managed to survive some of my worst case scenarios, then I can keep surviving today.

And tomorrow.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

[shadowedmiracles-blog]

Anxiety misunderstandings

First off, if you believe that anxiety is not a mental disorder, then I highly suggest you don’t even read this. Everything I say will probably irritate you and cause you to come to my ask box with things that will just piss me off further. Honestly, I don’t want to deal with it so I’d love it if you didn’t.

Second, yes, this will sound very aggressive and I can’t help it. I had a situation at work this week that caused a climax in my anxiety that I haven’t experienced since high school and caused me to spend an entire lunch break trying to convince myself that I am worth the air I breathe and definitely should not end my life.

Third, I am fully aware that there are probably a shit ton of grammar mistakes and that it probably doesn’t make sense and I’ve more than likely over simplified certain things. Keep in mind that this is based on my experience in dealing with Anxiety and watching the people in my life do the same. You don’t have to agree with me, and if you have some clarification, by all means, add it. I would love to know more. Anxiety is something that in equal parts destroys me and fascinates me. But again, this is MY thought dump, based on MY life. I tried to avoid generalizing, but I’m also too tired to be constantly vigilante enough to recognize every time I did; again, just let me know.

So without further ado, here is my ramble about anxiety based on some bullshit I have seen and experienced over the years while I have dealt with my anxiety.

1.) Anxiety is not a mental illness.

“Mental Illness: any of a broad range of medical conditions [...] that are marked primarily by sufficient disorganization of personality, mind, or emotions to impair normal psychological functioning and cause marked distress or disability and that are typically associated with a disruption in normal thinking, feeling, mood, behavior, interpersonal interactions, or daily functioning.” (x)

With that out of the way, if you have this argument, odds are you don’t live with anxiety. 

Now, when I speak of anxiety, I’m not talking about nerves before a life changing event, or the fear of telling your parents you don’t fit society norm. While these things can be something that a person with Anxiety deals with, they are also things that people without anxiety deal with often and without being crippled by them. If you do not deal with Anxiety, you experience these situations, handle them, and move on.

For a person with Anxiety, these situations seem life and death. When faced with a life changing event, their mind creates every possible scenario that could go wrong and then makes them believe every single possibility with every fiber of their being. When faced with fears, every basic sense is in overdrive to the point that a person with Anxiety swears they can taste something in the air they’re breathing, and feel every ounce of blood rushing through their veins. However, these are just small examples of the vast universe that is Anxiety.

There are many different kinds of Anxiety, and each is just as exhausting and crippling as the next.

2.) Anxiety doesn’t kill people.

Except that it can. 

Again, there are many different types of anxiety, and some can cause suicide or even homicide.

For example: One of my Anxieties makes me believe I am the world’s biggest screw up. That all I have to do is breathe and I am inconveniencing someone’s life. No matter what situation I’m in, when given a quiet moment to breathe, I will always reflect on my actions and suddenly I will have myself convinced that I did something  wrong and that I should be ashamed of it, even if I don’t know what that thing is that I did wrong. There have been two times in my life where my Anxiety had me convinced that I could only make people happy if I didn’t exist in their life and lead me to the conclusion that I just shouldn’t exist at all. Luckily, I was able to pull myself out of those situations, sometimes by recognizing that I needed help instead of fighting by myself. Not everyone is so lucky, or is able to reach out to their support system the way I am.

Another of my Anxieties is a fear based one. I have an incredible phobia of anything going into my skin, and this includes needles to draw blood or get shots. Now, let me preface by saying, I want to get blood tests done. There is so much fucked up shit in my family’s medical history and I want to know what I inherited. However, no matter how much courage I bolster to get myself to sit in the chair, while the nurse is preparing everything, my mind creates scenarios of everything that could go wrong and (again) makes me believe that they all will happen if I don’t stop the nurse from taking my blood. I was able to hold myself together once, and I almost made it, until I lashed out at the nurse and actually slapped the needle from her hand. I had not made the conscious decision to do so, but my Anxiety told me that if I didn’t, I would probably die, and my body reacted accordingly.

So yes, Anxiety can hurt people, and potentially kill. However, I am just one case. I am not every person with anxiety and these are just my own experiences, so don’t be afraid to be around someone when they are coping with their Anxiety. Be cautious for certain, be aware of what they need and try to fill those needs.

3.) Anxiety is just a bunch of emotions, so control them.

I really wish that were the case. I wish it was just emotions that I could mask with another emotion until the Anxiety emotion was muted enough that I could control it. Honestly though, more often, Anxiety is more like a thought process that you don’t get to decide where it goes. It’s a multi-plot book and simultaneously you are the hero, the villain, the jester, the victim, and the village crazy lady.

Anxiety starts out as one innocent thought that could be a statement, a question, a general wonder, or just something. That thought leads to another thought, and then that thought leads to another thought, and then you mail that thought to yourself, and when it arrives, you get smashed with a thousand pound thought train (x) that leaves you crippled and numb for an awful length of time until someone pokes me back to life and you’re trying to figure out if you figured out a solution to the first thought while that person is asking you if you want to do something that’s probably fun but sounds like a lot of work because you are suddenly exhausted and want to do nothing but curl up in the closest dark space with the hope that your mind is done torturing you enough to let you sleep off the exhaustion.

I’ve just simplified something that is extremely complicated. Just know that Anxiety is not simply emotions, and you can’t just get over it. It takes more effort to pull yourself out of it, than it did to fall down the rabbit hole in the first place.

4.) People with Anxiety are over-dramatic.

Thank you, they are probably very much aware of this, and often times it just further feeds into the Anxiety because they are aware of this and hate themselves for it.

Unfortunately, people with Anxiety are hyper aware that what is going on is illogical, and often times because of that they act illogical. That’s why many people with Anxiety will seek out logic to cope with their Anxiety. I, for example, solve math equations and riddles to cope. To me, that is the very definition of logic; 2+2 is always 4 and my Anxiety cannot convince me otherwise. However, there are times that, before I can get to that blissful paradise of logic, I react very dramatically.

Anxiety is not an excuse for being over-dramatic, but it is a cause, and most people with Anxiety would really love it if you could refrain from pointing out that they are being over-dramatic. Not just because it’s irritating, but chances are high that the person with Anxiety is already ashamed of how they’re acting and their Anxiety is already telling them that they will now go to jail for screaming that you’re an asshole who deserves to choke on a fly.

5.) People with Anxiety only care about themselves.

Quite the opposite actually. People with anxiety tend to care too much. They care about the people around them, they care what others think of them, they care about how they effect the world, and they care about how they are inconveniencing a store owner by only going in to use the store bathroom without buying something because they have no money to spend and just really need to go poop.

People with Anxiety care a lot, and more often than not, that is a trigger for Anxiety. They are probably the people that you see sacrificing their time or money when they really have none to sacrifice, and all because their Anxiety has told them that if they don’t, the world will end and it will be their fault and all the survivors will come after them with pitchforks and torches.

Or they’re just a really amazing person and you should buy them a bouquet of flowers...as long as their not allergic to flowers, then you should buy them chocolates...if they like chocolates, if not then hug them...but maybe they don’t like being touched...you know what, just cherish them.

P.S. Because we do care a lot, please know that we really don’t want to share that facebook post that says, “Only the people who truly care about me will share this”, but we just spent ten minutes crying because if we don’t share it, that means we don’t care about you, so we have to share it to prove that we care about you, but if we do share it then someone else might get offended and we just offended that person, but if we don’t then we’re offending you...get it?

6.) But (insert socially accepted mental illness) is much worse than Anxiety.

Every mental illness is awful in its own way. Each effects people differently, and even if two people are diagnosed with the same mental illness, they can experience it differently.

There is no mental illness that is the worst. They are all horrible and should be treated with love and caring in equal amounts as every other mental illness.

Honestly, I could go on for longer about this, and maybe some day I will. But right now, I am super exhausted and I still need to get a shower before heading to bed so I wont have to get up any earlier to get ready for work because I’m going to a funeral and I feel the need to put on makeup because I don’t want the people at the funeral to feel like I don’t care about my great-aunt. 

So, I’m going to leave this here. Feel free to message me. I can take critique, but I’m not in the mood to handle hate, so I’m seriously begging that you just don’t.

I hope you all are doing well.