daenylothbrok

[mariocki]

Infinite list of favourite lyrics: 226/?

The Magnetic Fields - Andrew in Drag (2012)

"A pity she does not exist,

A shame he's not a fag;

The only girl I ever loved

Was Andrew in drag.

There is no hope of love for me,

From here on I'll go stag -

The only girl I'll ever love

Is Andrew in drag.

[...]

I've always been a ladies' man

And I don't have to brag

But I become a momma's boy

For Andrew in drag.

I'd sign away my trust fund

I would even sell the Jag

If I could spend my misspent youth

With Andrew in drag..."

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived: Chapter 21: Observations

This is chapter 21 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo

Word count: 3551

Cw: intrusive thoughts about hurting others, overworking, isolation, food, mentions of burning, tension between characters, arguments

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

The ticking of the clock became a constant to Wilbur, in the days that followed. It filled the silence when there was no dialogue between the two. The stacks of books next to him grew, as he tried to sort through them. The information wasn’t very useful for the most part, but there were always more books. More incomplete notes and recounts to look through.

Occasionally he would venture downstairs, to harvest some crops and settle his growling stomach. Once he took some of the remaining blaze rods and made some strength potions that joined their place next to the remaining instant health ones. He placed a finger on the glass bottles of potions, just to make sure they were still there, and then he would return to his seat.

He read whatever he found out loud, perhaps to remind Ghostbur of his presence. To fill the train station with something other than emptiness. He let out a quick breath, whenever the silence was broken by the ticking of the clock, that reminded him to get back to work, instead of letting his mind drift off into prime knows where. Into the void, and to the walls, that he could claw at all he wanted to no avail. 

The ghost spoke less and less as he read, and Wilbur’s hands shook, as he tried to pay attention to the way the arms of the clock moved. The words seemed to flow off the page as he read each one, incomprehensible to him aside from their sound. Information. Work. He needed to do something. Anything.

“Ghostbur, you said you liked writing books?” Wilbur had asked, once his mind had nearly succumbed to the silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Ghostbur had said quietly, a bit of curiosity creeping in. “It helped me remember and understand things better.”

Wilbur had smiled to the best of his ability. “How about we write one! We should keep track of what we know about everything somehow.” he said, finding that the words made more sense than he had originally anticipated, “We could write down what we know about our connection, and eventually figure out how to… Separate us.”

The ghost had gasped, “That’s a great idea!” he said, sounding a little more excited, even if  he still seemed tired.

And so, that was exactly what they’d done. In a chest downstairs, Wilbur had managed to find a dusty old empty book and quill, and had set it down on the nearest table. It dawned upon him that it had been quite a while since he’d written anything at all. Memories of declarations, and lighthearted words of victory, flooded his mind momentarily, until he managed to make sense of the quill’s movements. 

Ghostbur can communicate verbally with me, and I with him. The words seem to be clearer once they are directed at Ghostbur, though it is possible that the connection has simply become clearer over time. In addition to this, Ghostbur can hear the words and sounds of anyone and anything nearby, including muffled versions of them while I am unconscious.

As they wrote down more observations, the ghost seemed a lot more excited by his inclusion in something. By having a project to work on.

Wilbur thought, the self-centered bastard that he was, that perhaps this partially came from himself. That perhaps the ghost’s interest in keeping track of information in a library, or having a plan or something to complete, were some of the remains of Wilbur’s presence. Whichever part of Wilbur’s soul, however faint, that had stayed behind, upon his exit from this world. 

“You should mention that I see you sometimes too!” Ghostbur had chimed in.

Wilbur’s grip tightened around the pen, as he tried his best to remember some of his past interactions with Ghostbur regarding that. “Right…” he said quietly, “When have you seen me, again?”

“First time was right before Phil gave you that gapple, when you were really cold,” Ghostbur began, “Then after Phil left the mansion and you were on the ground shaking a little bit, then that one time with Niki,” Wilbur found his limbs turning heavier at each instance the ghost listed, and Ghostbur’s voice seemed to gain a tint of uncomfortable realization as he spoke as well, “During that conversation with Tommy where he… Got upset, shortly after you were shot, and uh… Under the table in the bunker a few month- days ago.”

Wilbur swallowed something in his throat, pressing the quill harder against the paper than he intended. “Got it.”

Ghostbur is apparently able to see me when I am experiencing intense emotions or experiences. We are uncertain if this works both ways.

Wasn’t that pathetic? That all those times, Wilbur hadn’t even looked up, or paid attention to his surroundings enough, to catch a certain glimpse of the one he had been speaking to ever since he returned? Did it work when Ghostbur was feeling intense feelings as well? Had he been so dense, as to not even pay attention to that?

Wilbur shook the thoughts off, and added a side note at Ghostbur’s request, detailing how it felt to pet Friend. It made Wilbur smile, ever so slightly, that that was something that was considered of utmost importance. 

Ghostbur feels what I feel physically to a certain degree. It seems to be related to the feeling’s intensity, however the longer I’ve stayed alive, the connection to touch seems to have grown stronger. Once again, we are uncertain if this works two ways.

With shaking hands, he added:

If it does work two ways, water appears to be an exception, as it burns Ghostbur regardless of which world it touches us in, without burning me.

He hardly punctuated the last sentence, before he shut the book, memories of pleas and apologies filling his mind. The addictive feeling of control, that was so incredibly unearned, yet appealing nonetheless. Submerging himself in water, until silence was all he would ever hear, and he would be alone. Alone in his mind, alone with his thoughts, and the ghost would never stop feeling the pain.

He kept his hand on the cover of the book, and his other tightly wrapped around the quill, until it felt too much as if both were burning him.

Instead, Wilbur sought out the bookcases, and the information that wouldn’t make Wilbur’s mind overflow with thoughts of the control he had. Because if Wilbur was always mere moments away from grasping at said control, the least he could do was postpone it, until such would only affect himself. Not that he cared particularly, but he could weave a few fragile threads of something that resembled it. Just for the time being.

And when even that became too much, he would lie down on a mattress, or lay his head down at the table, tossing and turning as he tried to drift into oblivion. The comforting darkness, that seemed more and more inaccessible to him each moment, and all the more tempting each day. He would eventually succeed, and would wake up to read a new time on the clock. Sometimes minutes later, sometimes hours, but always enough for him to hesitantly get up and keep going.

Totems weren’t any good for revivals. Apparently they’d tried using them to get Wilbur back. Nearly finding it in himself to ignore the strange improbable fact that there had been attempts to bring him back at all. Was his revival Dream’s own doing? Or the doing of wishes from others? If it was the latter, why had the reaction he’d gotten been so tense?

It was funny that, despite the attempts to revive him, everyone looked to him as if he brought himself back into the world. As if they didn’t spend hours if not days trying to bring him back. How their plans had changed and shifted constantly, and how the universe didn’t care.

There was also a bit of irony placed in Dream and how he hadn’t given a direct account on any historical events, since before L’Manberg. He found a few from George, but none of them were about Dream himself.

So that was what it had taken to take that perspective away from history, Wilbur had thought, ignoring that anything he might’ve said on the matters himself, had likely been blown up along with the nation in question.

Absent-mindedly, Wilbur had reread the parts of the book on Pandora’s box, about how he could gain access.

Not that anyone would let him. Not that the gist of memories didn’t fill him with dread that wasn’t his own. Not that it wasn’t a last resort. Though he latched onto the information nonetheless.

He was about to flip the page when the familiar echoing whisper filled his mind, “Wilbur?”

His voice was hoarse when he first tried to speak. He cleared his throat before responding once again, “Yeah?”

A hesitance lingered in the back of his mind. It oddly didn’t feel like his though. It was a soft blue contrary to his warm browns and occasional reds. 

“So…” Ghostbur took a deep breath, “Y’know how we aren’t going outside and stuff like that?”

Wilbur nodded, though confusion was portrayed on his face, “Mhm, why do you bring it up?”

“Oh! I- well, I was thinking about us going outside again?” Although it was a suggestion, the tilt at the end made it sound like a confirmation of thought. 

“Why would we do that? There’s enough food in here to last a while.” His eyes flickered across the page, “I would read to you again, but this book is about Dream.”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched as he stayed silent for a moment. “That’s fine. I was just wondering about seeing someone again.” Ghostbur quietly added near the end, “It’s been a while.”

“Don’t you want to get out of limbo?” Wilbur felt his words come off as disinterested with a hint of annoyance, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“I mean- yeah, but that doesn’t have to be our main priority right now. You can still enjoy your life.”

The life that no one wanted to be in. The life without a purpose. Well- he wouldn’t necessarily say that. His goal was to get the ghost out of his mind. Preferably, out of limbo as well.

“My life can be put on hold temporarily.”

Ghostbur hummed in a slight agreement, but it oddly lingered in distaste, “What if I want you to live your life?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, “Living my life won’t give me information.”

“Interacting with people gives you information.”

“I can’t interact with people when there’s a ghost in my head constantly asking what I’m doing.” 

The moment he said the words, he was about to apologize when Ghostbur sharply spoke, “Maybe you could interact with people if you stopped running away and talked it out.”

A scowl melted onto Wilbur’s face with ease, “You haven’t even spent a day in my shoes so don’t act like you know everything.”

“Well- maybe I would know things if you talked to me more!”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling upset right now. Wow, Ghostbur, feeling pain again.” He mocked Ghostbur’s voice as if he was imitating a small child, “Oh no, what’s that feeling? I have to react to absolutely everything because I’ve got nothing better to do!”

“I-” Ghostbur sharply cut himself off before taking a sharp inhale, “Maybe I don’t have anything better to do! Especially when you keep on throwing yourself directly into danger without even trying to give me a warning.”

Images flashed through Wilbur’s mind to dunk his hand in the cauldron that was only a few long strides away. Screams that echoed through his mind. The pain would be longer for Ghostbur as well since time passes differently in limbo. Just a few quick moments. Just a few seconds of his time and Ghostbur would finally shut up. 

His legs stood up automatically before he forced himself to sit down again. “Maybe it’s hard to give you a warning. Surprise, surprise, I don’t know when someone is going to shoot me!”

“It’s not about knowing when the moment comes! It’s about you putting yourself in dangerous situations that hurts us.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. Prime. Have you ever thought of why I stay in this bunker? I’ve found a place that’s safe and you just keep on complaining about it. We’ve only been here- what a few days?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose in astonishment, “I’m trying to do something to help the both of us and you’re just whining like a toddler would.” All he had to do was walk to the cauldron. Just a few seconds of his time. It would be so easy. 

Ghostbur’s astonished voice cut through his thoughts, “Whining?” Ghostbur bitterly laughed once, “I’m just offering a suggestion to you, and you’re not even bothering to listen. If anything you’re- you’re the one acting childish!”

“I’m not!” His eyes focused on the cauldron, no longer looking at the air as he usually would when talking to Ghostbur.

“If you really aren’t childish, then go to someone and genuinely apologize!” Wilbur couldn’t even get a word in as Ghostbur continued, “You’ve constantly been running place to place without even thinking how others feel. That includes me! It includes the fact that you don’t tell me what you’re doing and you keep on hurting me with your recklessness!” 

Silence. 

But the silence was oddly different this time. It lingered on Wilbur’s end more than it did Ghostbur’s. He blinked a few times, attempting to pull his thoughts together before they wrapped around the cauldron. It would be so easy to pull a few screams out of Ghostbur. His breath hitched when he imagined pretending to injure himself, just to wash it off with water. The ghost would believe him too. He would believe Wilbur was hurt and willingly let the water be put on him.

Yet, it gave a much different feeling to not warn him. He wanted to hold an ice cube in his hand, explaining it to Ghostbur as he did it. The naive ghost wouldn’t even know what would happen. There would only be the faint burning as the ice cube melted. Even more so if he squeezed it. Sure, Wilbur would feel a bit of pain from the action, but he could always switch hands. He’d hear some new pleas if he did that. More crying if he continued doing it. The ghost would become so incoherent near the end, just begging for it to-

“Wilbur?” A voice made him jump as he looked over to see the source of it. The one and only Ranboo was staring near him, his hands were wrapped around a book he held to his chest. It looked similar to the other books Wilbur had been flipping through, but the cover seemed newer than the other ones. Slightly thinner as well.

“Ah- yes, I suppose that is me,” Wilbur stated.

“I… thought Tubbo didn’t really want anyone down here?” 

Wilbur slowly nodded, “Oh. Yeah, I guess he did say that.”

Ranboo awkwardly bounced on the balls of his feet, “Do you need help leaving?”

Wilbur glanced at the books remaining on the bookshelf, “I’m good.”

Ranboo laughed for a few moments. The sound filling the air rather than joining a joke, “Are you though? This place is a bit funny.” Ranboo quickly added, “I mean, not funny as in a joke kind of funny. But I guess I mean funky in a way, like it’s just sort of weird if you get what I’m saying. When I said funny, I just meant that it was funny the way it messes with your head, not that it’s actually-” Ranboo cut his own rambles off as he appeared uncomfortable, hunching slightly over his book.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha.”

“Yeah, cool.” Ranboo met Wilbur’s eyes for a quick moment, the green one almost mesmerizing Wilbur. “So, is Tubbo asking you to help out?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow before his eyes flickered to the book Ranboo was holding. A look of realization came across Wilbur’s face as he pieced together that Ranboo was probably helping Tubbo with the library. The boy seemed rather reserved, so he supposed that made sense. “Not exactly.” Wilbur continued after a few seconds of the clock next to him ticking, “I just figured I’d stay here a few days.”

Ranboo tilted his head slightly, “You don’t have a house? I thought you ran a nation and all of that stuff.”

Wilbur shrugged, “I don’t know, man. Houses aren’t really my thing.”

Ranboo exhaled sharply in a way that could have been interpreted as a laugh, “So you’ve been sleeping here for how long?”

“I’d say a few days now? Not sure, I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Ranboo nodded, “What do you do for food though? I don’t really see a pantry anywhere around here.” Ranboo inspected his surroundings once more as if a magical kitchen was going to appear right behind him.

“There’s some carrots and melons downstairs. I did see some wheat seeds in one of the chests though. I might start making bread.”

A confused expression came across Ranboo’s face, “Do you know how many rooms our mansion has? You can just go into one of the hundreds and we wouldn't know for weeks.”

Wilbur’s astonishment bounced off of Ranboo’s, “I didn't know I was supposed to break into your home and sleep in a random room?”

Ranboo was speechless for a moment as he starting talking and then cutting himself off before he simply stated, “Or you could have asked?”

Wilbur’s mind went back to Tubbo. The failed comfort as he went downstairs. He shaky arms around Ranboo’s torso as he left. The uncomfortableness that radiated whenever Ranboo was alone with Wilbur. 

Yeah, he’d rather pass on their fake smiles.

“I’m alright.”

Ranboo stayed in silence with him for a moment. It took a few seconds before Ranboo changed the topic, “So you know Michael right?” Wilbur nodded. “Well, we were just inviting some people to our house since we’re throwing a little party for him. Would you like to come?”

Wilbur seemed surprised that he would even get an invitation as Ghostbur quickly chimed in, “Okay, I don’t want to stay quiet anymore. Can we please go? Please, please, please, we’ll get to see everyone again!” Ghostbur’s pleas hit differently this time as they were colored with bright yellow excitement that he hadn’t heard from the ghost in awhile. 

Almost automatically he responded, “Sounds fun, we’ll go.”

“We?”

Embarrassment shot through Wilbur. “I meant I’ll go, my apologies.” He could hardly hear his own words as the back of his neck felt warm and Ghostbur cheered in excitement. 

Ranboo seemed slightly lost in his mind as well, as he quietly mumbled, “Right, yeah…” His face perked up when he added on, “It’s at our house- y’know the whole mansion thingy that you’ve been to a few times- at about noon.”

Wilbur looked to the clock subconsciously as if it was about to turn noon at that moment. He strangely found it was four o’clock in the morning. “Wait, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Panic glazed Ranboo’s eyes before he quickly mentioned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Confusion filled Wilbur’s mind. He felt like the living embodiment of a question mark as he asked, “I already told you I don’t have a house. You have one though. That’s why I’m asking why you’re here since we established I’m technically homeless.”

Ranboo nodded, the movements seeming jerky. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Wilbur was about to press more about the topic until he saw Ranboo’s shifting movements along with the raw fear evident on his face. Perhaps that was a side-effect of being a centrist- never explaining yourself or your views properly. Wilbur awkwardly supplemented, “It’s whatever. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

Ranboo seemed to immediately relax, “No problem.”

“Is it noon as in six hours from now, or noon as in tomorrow?”

Ranboo looked at the clock. “I didn’t even realize it was four in the morning- wow- but yeah, six hours from now. Wait- four plus six is ten and that’s not noon.”

Wilbur felt like an idiot, but in the kind that made him laugh gently at his mistake, “Oh, fuck, you’re right.”

Ranboo let out a short laugh, “Mood.”

Wilbur nodded, “But, yeah that time works for me.” After a short sigh, he realized how exhausted both of them were. The eye bags were present on Ranboo’s face after he looked for a moment. The boy seemed to constantly shift as Wilbur looked away with a yawn.

Ranboo yawned as well, but an enderman vwoop came out instead of the typical human noise. Wilbur wanted to ask why the strange sounds came out of him, but he felt his eyes droop slightly. 

Ranboo noted the energy in the room as he started walking towards downstairs, “Alright, I’m gonna head out.”

“Good night- or rather good morning.”

Ranboo chuckled, “Good morning to you as well, Wilbur.” Ghostbur chuckled along in the back of his mind, seeming much happier than before.

[demivampirew]

So We Meet Again Chapter 8 (final chapter)

Henry x Reader x Chris

Summary: A recent college graduate recounters someone from her past with who things did not exactly ended up in great terms. She holds a grudge on him for that and still has unanswered questions about what happened. And someone new walks into her life.

You can find the rest of the story in the Masterlist

Triggers: Smuff (smut + fluff); drinking; breakup; homesick.

Tag list: @lunedelorient​ @angelofthorr  @henrythickcavill​ @mary-ann84​ @desperate-and-broken​ @peakygroupie @summersong69​ @ivvitm1109​  @peakygroupie @madbaddic7ed​ @iloveyouyen​ @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog​

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

When you started college, writing a book became your biggest dream and after much hard work, that ambition turned a reality. As much as you desired to be a success, you never expected, not even in your wildest dreams, that it would reach that level of recognition among the linguistics field. Now, after a long journey, here you are, getting ready to walk to the stage of the conference room of Havard College to talk about your book and then to have a discussion about it with none other than Steven Pinker, a well-known name in the community. Being able to speak about your work and the subject you're passionate about is breath-taking.  People listened to you and seemed engaged in your lecture. Dr Pinker was a delight; he had an interesting personality while being a total professional he still was funny and made the exchange of views much more fascinating. After the conversation ended, the audience started clapping. Your boyfriend started to cheer very loudly and clapping very excited. As you chuckled for Chris' childish reaction, you noticed that there was another person there, looking you with a huge grin as he clapped. It was Henry. What was he doing there? Have you told him about the event? You didn't think so, so how did he find out? As you were caught on your thoughts, a lady approach to you to show you the way of the stage for the event came to its eventual end. Many linguistic professors were waiting to have a moment to talk about your work, but you were interrupted by the same woman who told you that someone needed a word with you.

- Henry? - asked Chris surprised and confused to see the fellow actor on the audience of the event honouring his girlfriend. - Oh, hi!- he replied as if he had not seen him.- How are you? - Great! How about you? - I'm alright.- he smiled in a friendly manner. - I must say that I'm surprised to see you here.- your boyfriend admitted. - Mark mentioned it a few days ago and I had to go to New York and since I was close I decided to pop up to see the event. - the British man explained- I've known her for a long time so I know how important this book was to her and how special this moment must be, so I thought I'd be cool to be here. -I'm sure she'll appreciate it. Unfortunately, now she's busy but if you want we can find something to drink and have a little chat. - I'd love to but I can't, I'm running late. I've to go back to New York and then catch a flight to London. Would you please let her know that I'm happy for her and her success?- Henners friendly required. - Absolutely! I'll let her know you were here. Sad that you can't stay, we could have gone to eat afterwards. - Maybe next time.- he replied and smiled as they shook hands.

Chris offered to take you out for dinner but you asked him to go directly to the hotel and order something to the room. Taking off your high heels and your pencil skirt dress was relieving. After changing, you sat with your man on the couch and started to make out. - You know, Henry was there. He had to leave early because he was in a hurry but he asked me to tell you that he's happy for you and your success- Chris said. By his tone, you could tell that he didn't suspect anything about your past with the other man. - Yes, I saw him. I was surprised to see him, I wasn't expecting him to be there.- you admitted. - He told me Mark told him a few days ago and since he was in NYC he decided to come. - That's was really nice of him.- you replied, feeling strange: on one side, you still had some feelings for Henry, but on the other side, you were falling in love with Chris and happy with him. -Yep. So tell me, why did you disappear for so long after the talking. You didn't mention anything on the ride to the hotel and I'm curious about what was the important talk you were having.- he questioned. - I was offered a position as a professor in the linguistics department at the University.- you informed him. - That's fantastic! - he replied astonished.- What did you say? - I told them I was going to think about it.- you confessed. - Well, let's think about it, shall we? - he offered. - The money and the job would not be much different than the one I have in London: both pay well, both are in prestigious universities.- you compared - But, there's a perk of teaching at Harvard. - What? - Chris wanted to know. - I'd live in the US and I'd be much closer to you.- you told him and he smiled from ear to ear - Well, that and the fact that I'd have working experience in two prestigious colleges and that would benefit my curriculum.- you added. - It'd be amazing if you would live closer to me, but at the end of the day, you should do what you hearts tell you to do.- he advised as he took your hand and kissed it.

2 years later

- Hi, Mark. Could I have a Guinness? - Henry requested to the bartender. As he waited for his drink, he looked around and saw you sitting on one of the tables. His heart started to beat uncontrollably as he took in your beauty. Gosh, he'd missed you terribly. - Here's your drink.- Mark said handled him a beer and a soda. He looked at your friend confused - She's currently working on a second book, so she doesn't drink alcohol. - Thank you.- he replied smirking and paid for the drinks and then walked towards you.

- Hi, stranger.- he greeted you. - Henry! How are you? - you replied surprised as you stood up to hug him.

It's been a while since the last time you saw each other. You thanked him for going to your even and let him know that you were moving to the US to teach at Harvard University. At the same time, you completely crushed his heart by confessing him your feelings for Chris. For some time he remained hopeful that you were going to return and you would finally be together, but soon enough he had to let you go for his own good. He wanted you to be happy, as hard as that was for him and he knew Chris was a good guy. - Thank you!- you said as he gave you the soda. - No worries! So, how it's Chris? - he asked nicely as he sat on the other side of the table. - We broke up.- you confessed after a moment, taking a deep sigh. - I'm terribly sorry.- he assured you. - It's ok. It's been a few months since our breakup so I'm much better now. At first, it was hard, I'm not going to lie, but eventually, I moved on. - Did something happen between you two? - he questioned - Sorry if I don't seem polite, it's just that you two seem to be doing fine. - Nothing happened. We ended up in good terms. It just that I was homesick; time would past and I never got used to living there. Teaching at Harvard was great, but I prefer to be at home with my friends and family. Moving to London would have been the same thing for him. He's a family man and being so far away from his family it would have been overwhelming for him. So, we realized that as much as we cared for each other, this wasn't meant to be. - I'm sorry to hear that.- he said as he sympathetically reached for your hand. - How about you? Are you dating anyone? - you asked curiously as you took a sip of soda. - I dated someone for a few months last year, but it didn't work.- Henry imitated you, drinking his beer. You starred at each other in silence for a long time. Probably you were sharing the same thought: after so long, you were finally aware of the feelings that you had for one another and you were both single.

Life seemed to like to play with your feelings, but now it was the time: after so long, now your path was clear so you could live your happy ending with the man of your dreams.

He picked you up by your thighs after opening the door to his house. He carried you inside as your lips were glued to his and your tongues collied with one another. Fortunately, he left Kal on his assistant's house because she was going to take him to the vet the next morning, so the house was empty. He took you directly to the bedroom. This was a type of need you haven't had before in your entire life. You always dreamt about this but never would've thought that it'd become a reality. For a long time, it seemed as if you weren't mean to be together, but it was all matter of time. Apparently, he was as desperate for you as you were for him. After putting you on his bed, he ripped your dress and bra - his animalistic side came out: he waited way too long for that moment to care about a dress, he'd buy you a new one later as an apology. He put your breasts on his mouth. Then, he left a trail of kisses all the way down. He pleasured you with his mouth and tongue into ecstasy. You returned the favour, making him moan loudly due to the pleasure. The moment he was inside of you was indescribable. It hurt but in a good way; you felt things that you never knew they were possible. He kissed you over and over, repeating "stay with me forever".

Epilogue

And you would do that.

After just four months of dating, he proposed to you. For most people, that'd be an impulsive decision and a wrong one. For your two, on the other hand, it was the happy ending you always wished. You married seven months after that and welcome your first child a year and a half after the wedding.

[sharethisgemwithme]

Zach and Grace Friday panel at Connecticon 2019

Some highlights and notes from the "Growing Up with Steven Universe" panel featuring Zach Callison and Grace Rolek, Friday afternoon at Connecticon 2019. There are some promo spoilers. Most quotes are approximate from the notes I took on my phone. There may be a recording of the panel, but the camera was blocked by the audience question line for a while and when I got to the front of the line, I saw it wasn't even pointed at Zach and Grace.

Sorted into broad categories:

Movie hype / spoilery talk

Host asked about the poster. Zach said he's kinda looked at it, but not studied it closely. Grace: "Spoiler alert, someone has a neck." Zach: "That's all anyone can talk about."

What's the hardest scene to record that you've done. Zach: "I hate to do this but the hardest scene I've done I did a few weeks ago and I can't talk about it for quite a while." [audience groans]

Audience member: "I have a question about the movie." Zach makes police siren noises, "Oh no the Cartoon Network spoiler police!"

Attempts to get even small details were denied. "So we saw you have a neck. Is your voice going to change?" [pause] Zach: "A week from today (Friday), there's a big panel and there's gonna be a bunch of stuff. I recommend you watch."

This was earlier in the day, when I met Zach in the autograph line. Me: "I'm really looking forward to all the stuff that's gonna come out next week in San Diego." Zach: "There's so much. I'm not going to be there, after six years of going, I need a vacation."

Zach makes ABUNDANTLY clear how excited he is for what's coming up, "I am thrilled with what they've done after CYM."

Reaction to the new gems from CYM. Zach: "Sunstone is one of my favorites now. Like an after-school camp counselor." Grace: "Obsidian is one of the hardest secrets I've ever had to keep on this show." They finished recording CYM in 2017!

Have you ever cried in the recording booth? Zach: "Over a dozen times. One time really badly... with something that hasn't come out yet."

What's the biggest theme you've taken from the show? Zach: "I'm really sorry to do this, but I'm gonna skip this question because the theme I take away is something that hasn't come up in the show yet." He says the show has become intensely personal to him and his experiences, both intentionally and unintentionally, and says if he accidentally gave hints as to upcoming themes, it wouldn't be fair to the crew. (This probably ties in with some of the stuff below under “Outside of SU”)

Favorites and funniest

What's the hardest scene to record that you've done. Among stuff that's aired, Zach: Storm in the Room. Connie: "Either Nightmare Hospital or Full Disclosure when Connie is like 'Stop ghosting me, Steven!' "

What are some funny moments from recording? The opening scene from "Winter Forecast", the directors INSISTED on real marshmallows, "nothing else would do". Grace: "And these were not small. There's jumbo and then there's novelty size." Zach: "They got novelty size." Grace: "I could barely fit one inside my mouth."

Favorite episode (this question might've had a "besides the Big Plot episodes" caveat).

Zach: "Onion Gang. Any of the weird Onion episodes."

Grace: "I realize this is an unpopular opinion but I love the Ronaldo episodes. I have a Keep Beach City Weird sticker on my laptop. I don't like having stuff that's too overtly Steven Universe because I don't like to toot my own horn, but KBCW is great because it's 'if you know, you know'." Zach: "It's a lifestyle."

That segued into talk about "Rocknaldo", which Zach thought was hilarious, especially the way CN trolled everyone with the Bloodstone promo. Grace "Was that the one where Ronaldo tried to kill someone in the basement?" Discussion brings up that's "Horror Club". Grace continues, "That was a great one, like what are we DOING? No one went to jail for this?"

Favorite songs:

First, ones that they did.

Zach said "Let's Only Think About Love". I think he added a second one, but my notes say “or” and then stop there so I think I moved on to the next bit and forgot what else he said.

Grace says "Of course 'Do it for Her'" but also that she loved providing background harmonies for "Escapism". "Aly and AJ was the first concert I ever went to, so to do back-up vocals for AJ was the greatest fangirl moment." (There’s been some confusion as to whether Zach and Grace had vocals on that song, it’s now clear that they did)

Then, overall. Zach immediately sings "It's over, isn't it? Isn't it over?" Grace grumbles that she can't take the same answer, so she throws out "Stronger Than You".

"Back in the start of the show, it was a lot more lighthearted. What's the funniest or weirdest line you had to record?" Zach IMMEDIATELY goes into voice: "A boy on the cusp of manhood can't spend the whole day wackering." Grace enjoyed her line from "Open Book": "Of course you like the ending, you LOVE schmultz."

Pivoting into the weirdness of early episodes, Zach says "Frybo and Cat Fingers were back to back, 5 and 6. I don't know how anyone stuck with the show after that."

What's the biggest theme you've taken from the show? Grace: "I think about Mindful Education all the time. Here Comes a Thought is such a great song but also an important mantra."

Other than Uncle Grandpa, what crossover would you like to do? Zach: "I wanna be the very best!" Audience cheers. Grace says she would've loved to do "Adventure Time".

This segues into a joke that people confuse Zach for Jeremy Shada (Finn), in some cases even when Zach is standing in front of a poster that says ZACH CALLISON. Grace says that her boyfriend loves the joke so much that Zach is listed in his phone as "Jeremy Shada".

Behind the scenes

What was it like seeing the show blow up the way it did? Grace: "I used to go on Tumblr and read all the posts, all the reactions people had, but after Jail Break... couldn't do that anymore." Zach: "I poke my head into a reddit every once in a while."

What's it like in the booth with the rest of the cast? Grace: "Deedee and Michaela always get to do the funniest things."

Discussion of how voice acting lends them a little more anonymity than live-action, and there's still a spectrum of how recognizable people are.

Grace recounts a story from earlier in the day, possibly on the way to that very panel. "The elevator was pretty crowded and I was able to get on but Zach wasn't. And as soon as it closed, one of the other people in the elevator was like 'Oh my god, Zach Callison almost got on the elevator with us!' And I was like 'Oh my god, that would've been so cool!'"

Both Zach and Grace recounted times when they've greeted stranger wearing SU apparel and gotten blank stares in response, like, "Uh, yeah, what's your point?"

Zach: "As of Sunday, I'm leaving the country to be a hobo for a bit." He's flying to Siberia, then taking a 62-hour train ride to get on a boat to Korea, where he plans to visit the Korean animation studio where SU is drawn (as seen in "Steven's Dream"), something almost no actors do (apparently Michaela was more or less the first to do so, for any show at all).

Sometimes Grace will have a lot of "catching up" to do with the plot. "One time Rebecca was like 'oh by the way Lars is pink now." Zach jokes, "Lars is pink, Ronaldo and Pearl are married, oh and Steven is dead."

Have you ever cried in the recording booth? Zach: "Over a dozen times." Grace says she has, sometimes in group records.

More joking around: "Yes, I'm Zach Callison, the voice of Onion. I'll be in my booth." "You should have a print that's just Onion." "With the flames behind him."

What were your auditions like? Grace: "I was reading the sides from 'Bubble Buddies', and Connie is worried she's gonna die with no friends and I was like 'This is a kids show? This is a show for children and I'm supposed to say these words?!'" She saw Rebecca Sugar's name attached to the show, which she recognized as a fan of Adventure Time, particularly Marceline "I'm edgy like her!"

Audience member starts her question: "Ohmygod, my heart is in my ass. Wait, can I say ass?" Grace: "You can say whatever you want, you're not under the thumb of Time Warner." Zach: "Technically, I've never signed any NDA. Oh hell, I'm leaving the country in three days. ACT ONE!" [laughter, and he does not continue with joke spoilers]

Outside of Steven Universe

Tell us about yourself outside of Steven Universe. Zach: "I'm a dirty rowdy hippie." He goes to music festivals barefoot (but not urban ones).

Zach talked about some of the over-the-top scenes he's been in or seen on "The Goldbergs", where he plays a minor recurring character, including one where the actual rain they were filming in wasn't enough, so the producers dumped thousands of gallons of additional rainwater on the cast.

Zach said he hasn't auditioned for anything new in a while (I think he said at least a year) because of burnout. Whenever SU may end, he's ready for a break. Following on with that, discussion of what a shitty industry Hollywood is, especially for kids.

Zach: "A lotta people (in this industry), their big break is a show they hate, and that kills me to think that. And it couldn't be further from the truth for anyone in SU. If I had booked a live-action sitcom that ran six seasons, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in a much darker place."

What would you be doing if not this?

Zach: "I enrolled in college, signed up for things, never went to class, and eventually dropped out. I never had any other plan." Ties into further discussion of what an absolute nightmare Hollywood is for kids, that some of his friends from high school are no longer around.

Grace: "I went to college for two years (she would've graduated this spring), trying to make sure I had a plan B lined up. But flying back and forth from San Francisco to Los Angeles was getting ridiculous and I realized I wasn't being fair to my plan A."

[trufflerabbit13]

A Dove’s Ripped Wings: Chapter 3 | Does he know?

Chapter 3

prologue / 1 / 2 / 3 

Word Count: 5.8 K

🏐🏐 THIRD PERSON P.O.V.🏐🏐

🏐🏐APRIL YEAR 2012 🏐🏐

Time seemed to fly quickly.

Chiaki blinked, slowly sitting up in her bed with a yawn, catching sight of the alarm clock on her desk with bleary eyes. Drowsily with heavy feet, she dragged herself out of her room, going through her usual morning routine, brushing her teeth with half-opened eyes. She only felt wide awake after washing her face, the cold tap water stinging against her cheeks' skin.

Looking at herself one last time in the mirror, making sure all of her hair is weaved into her usual braid, she walks down the stairs, getting greeted by the scent of breakfast and her mother and Taiga.

Taiga is the first to notice her, the glassed male smiling as he sips on his mug of coffee, his eyes moving away from the television that broadcasted today's forecast.

"Morning Chi-Chan. Ready for the new year?" Taiga questioned gently, turning the volume of the T.V. down as the silver-haired female took a seat down beside him.

Chiaki nodded in response, picking up her chopsticks and siping on the small bowl of miso soup. Minako peeked out of the kitchen with a smile, checking that Chiaki was seated at the table before bringing a plate of sunny side eggs and sausage.

"Look at you, already a second year in high school. No wonder I'm getting old," Minako coos as she places a hand on her cheek, "in just two more years, my baby is going off to college, and then all my children would be old enough to leave our nest," a look of sadness appears in the older woman's eyes.

Chiaki only smiles at her mother as she continues eating.

"Maybe it'll be earlier than that, Mom. Chiaki is thinking about skipping her third year," Taiga points out, taking a bite out of his bowl of rice, a grilled salted salmon on top.

This makes Minako frown, a concerned look flashing in her grey orbs. "Are you really thinking about it, Chi-chan? It's not very common, but I understand you're academically gifted enough to do it."

Chiaki nods as she puts down her chopstick, "I already talked to my homeroom teacher. He explained to me the risk, and I think that's what I want to do. I feel it would be better if I hurry to university, seeing as I'm capable of doing it. There's really nothing in high school that makes me want to stay an extra year." Especially when Daichi-senpai and Suga-senpai will be graduating this year. I don't have anyone close enough to stay for.

Minako looks uncertain, but she nods after Taiga shrugs his shoulders. "We'll talk about it more when your father comes back. I'm sure Minato and Kouga would also want to be part of this conversation as well." The older woman paused as she looked at her two sitting children, "talking about Kouga, where is he?"

Taiga rolls his eyes, "still asleep. I tried waking him up when I did, but he wouldn't even budge."

This makes Chiaki chuckle as she collects her empty dish, placing them in the sink before grabbing her bag and bento box from her mother. "I'm heading out, Daichi-senpai and Suga-senpai should be here soon. Also, I'll be coming home late, staying after school to help the infirmary teacher seeing as it's the first day, and kids tend to get a bit rowdy."

Minako and Taiga smile as the youngest Ibato waved as she stepped out of the house. However, with her gone, Minako sighs, sitting down where Chiaki had sat a few moments ago.

"Do you think she's okay? High school experience is very crucial, and I don't really like the idea of her skipping her third year. Don't you think she's been studying too much? That's all she does these days," the woman grumbled, worry evident in her soft eyes.

On the other hand, Taiga doesn't look too concerned, gathering up his own empty dishes, "I'm sure she's fine. We should let her think about it a bit more, and she's been talking a bit more about Sawamura-kun and his friend. They both play volleyball."

This makes Minako blink in surprise, her lips parting a bit. "Volleyball? A-Are you sure? And Chiaki is friends with them?"

The brunet nods at his mother, a faint smile on his lips, "yeah, so maybe something different will happen this school term. It's already been over a year since the incident, something in Chiaki may change a bit."

                   Chiaki hummed to herself as she organized the emergency kit, jolting down anything if they need to be restocked. She recounted the bandages with a frown, making a note on the paper that they only had five rolls left, and ordering some more would be a better idea before they completely ran out.

"Ibato-san, I just got an email from one of the teachers asking about the date for the health education day in a few weeks. I'm going to go talk to him, so you're in charge of here while I'm gone," the middle-aged woman who was the school's nurse calls out, Chiaki nodding in understanding before she's left in the infirmary by herself.

During the last few months of her first year, Chiaki began to work in the infirmary after school when she no longer had therapy sessions with her mother. As her mother said, the first aid certification she received came in handy, and working in the infirmary had replaced the extracurricular activity she needed after school. While she was exempted from sports activity, there weren't any other clubs that drew her attention, which made her gravitate towards being the assistant of the school nurse.

Now a second year, after knowing Chiaki for a few months, the school nurse trusted her well enough to let her be in charge of most injuries if she was too busy to help herself. And Chiaki didn't mind.

Just as Chiaki was closing the emergency packet, the door of the infirmary slammed open, revealing a familiar male she hadn't seen since early in the morning standing with his breathing hard. However, unlike in the morning, the older male looked disheveled, a look of tiredness in his warm brown eyes.

"Daichi-senpai?" Chiaki opens her mouth, standing up in concern and approaching the male who eyed her for a second before looking around the empty room.

"Aki-chan. Is the school nurse not here?" The dark-haired male questioned, his eyes shifting around the room once again.

Chiaki nodded, her hands grabbing the bag she just organized, "she just left the room and left me in charge. What happened?" The silver-haired female questioned, her soft grey eyes slowly becoming filled with concern as Daichi groaned.

The said male sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "We just had a little accident in the gym. The Kyoutou came in to check up on us but got smacked in the face by a volleyball..." Daichi mumbles, looking embarrassed as he spoke. However, he's quick to recover, remembering the reason he came over.

"Uh, Aki-chan, can you-"

Daichi doesn't even have to ask, Chiaki is already gathering up the medical bag, ready to go. The two teens lightly jog through the hallways, Daichi watching the female from the corner of his eyes in concern. His gaze shifts down to the knee brace she wears all of the time. But it seems like his concern isn't really an issue. The silver-haired female looked to be fine as she ran. It was slightly surprising to Daichi, the female almost looking elegant as she jogged beside him.

Chiaki doesn't even blink as she steps into the gym, openly ignoring the people in it and immediately approaching the vice principal who sat on the side. She blinks once when she sees that his wig seemed to be a bit off placed on his head. However, she doesn't comment on it as she pops open an ice bag and hands it to the adult to press into his cheek that seemed a bit reddened. Smoothly she does what she needs, flashing her phone light to the man's eyes, making sure he didn't have a concussion while the volleyball team watched on the sideline with concern.

"Who's that? Is she an upperclassman? She's really pretty!" The silver-haired female decides to brush off the comment she hears, speaking to the Vice Principal who was scowling.

"Kyoutou-sensei, it seems you're fine, but I suggest you keep icing where you were hit. From what I see, you don't seem to have a concussion, but if you do feel dizzy or nauseous, I suggest going to get checked by the doctor," Chiaki softly explains, the man nodding in understanding. The said man sends one last glare at the boys' volleyball team before stomping off, grumbling under his breath.

With him gone, it seemed like everyone in the gym released the breath they were holding, the strength leaving their body. Daichi sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. He reopens them, his brown orbs finding Chiaki's form as she cleans and smiles at her thankfully.

"Aki-chan," he called out, making the tall female turn around, "thanks for helping. I have a feeling if you weren't here, the Kyoutou would have been angrier with us," the third-year sighed, looking tired, although it was only the first day of school.

Chiaki's heart went out for her friend, her hand coming forward to squeeze his larger ones with her own. She then realizes the other boys behind Daichi, her eyes widening a fraction as a face she recognizes stands there.

The said male also stares at her, his eyebrows that furrowed shooting up to get hidden by onyx bangs. His eyes that were narrowed on her widened.

"A-Aki-Senpai?!"

"Tobi-kun!"

Chiaki broke out into a smile that blinded many of them, Tanaka releasing a gasp as he began to pray to Buddha thanking him for the blessing he just got to witness.

Before Kageyama could even blink, the silver-haired girl was in front of him, hugging the younger boy tight.

"A-Aki-senpai...! Y-Your hair!" The dark-haired first year gasped, looking flustered and confused. The redness climbed up his neck to his cheeks at the contact he has with the older girl. And at the same time, he looks conflicted, a mixture of happiness and confusion caused by the reunion of his upperclassmen from middle school.

Chiaki quickly lets the boy go, her hand coming up to ruffle his hair, making a choked sound leave his lips. "Look at you, Tobi-kun! I haven't seen you in a year, and you've grown taller than me! What has your mother been feeding you?" The female can't help the fondness that leaks into her voice as she continued to pet Kageyama as if he was a puppy.

Kageyama allows Chiaki to do as she likes, seeming to be lost at what to do. His own emotions are a jumbled mess. There's no denying he's delighted he got to see Chiaki after a year. However, at the same time, he feels a bit of anger and sadness lurking in the back, knowing that the former female captain of Kitagawa Daiichi VBC had disappeared as if she dropped off the earth's surface after she was released from the hospital.

No one was able to get in contact with her, the little amount of social media she had was deleted, and her LINE account getting deactivated as well. It had greatly upset many of them, but they all accepted it knowing Chiaki needed time to heal.

However, Kageyama never would have thought he'd find the said female here at Karasuno, looking remarkably different from the last time he had seen her. It had actually taken him a minute to even recognize her, the dyed hair of hers completely throwing him off along with the different hairstyles. When he did get to see her face and the distinct droopy grey eyes of hers, it felt like an electric current ran through his body, his brain screaming who she was.

A cough made both teens look away from each other. Kageyama's blush seemed to deepen as he averted eyes with anyone with his lips tugging down into a frown. Chiaki, on the other hand, gave Daichi, who was the one who coughed a sheepish look.

"D-Do you know the first year brat, Aki-san?" Tanaka stuttered, sending a glare at Kageyama, who now scowled at what he was called.

"We went to the same middle school. She was my senpai," Kageyama answers in Chiaki's place, knowing her well enough to know she rather had him doing talking in her place. However, this does not please Tanaka, the male with shaved head giving his well-known delinquent glare at the younger male.

Chiaki openly ignored the sparks that flew between the two boys and looked at Daichi, who watched with Sugawara in silence. The silver-haired male was smiling like his usual self, looking amused with everything while Daichi watched in curiosity, looking between Kageyama and Chiaki.

"I'm going to head back to the infirmary Daichi-senpai, Suga-senpai," Chiaki comments softly, the two boys nodding at her. But as Chiaki grabs the emergency bag to step out of the gym, she gets stopped as a hand grabs her wrist.

She looks up in surprise, her eyes meeting with sharp, dark blue orbs. Kageyama looks conflicted, his mouth opening and closing as his eyes darted around. But eventually, he looks at her, his orbs filled with determination.

"Senpai, I don't have your new LINE ID or phone number."

Chiaki instantly has a look of guilt on her face, her softly colored lips parting. For barely a second, sadness fills her eyes before she quickly hides it. "Here, Tobi-kun." The female doesn't hesitate to pull out her phone, giving the boy her ID, not knowing many of them, excluding Daichi and Sugawara, who had her number already watched in jealousy.

A small, barely visible smile spreads across Kageyama's face as he looks at his phone screen. Looking at his expression, Chiaki feels a twinge in her heart, the guilt not going away.

"Hey, Tobi-kun," the said boy looked up, a single eyebrow raising up in confusion as Chiaki called out to him. "I think I owe you an explanation, and we can catch up. I'll treat you to a snack after I'm done working in the infirmary, how does that sound?" Chiaki spoke quietly so only he could hear.

In response, Kageyama nods, pushing his phone into his gym bag. Seeing this, Chiaki flashes him another smile, looking at the rest of the boys in the gym who tried to listen in to the conversation. Chiaki blinks once, her eyes catching sight of vibrant orange hair. The said boy stares back with his eyes wide, looking flustered as he realized she watched him.

The boy from Yukigaoki...

Chiaki's lips tug up a bit, her eyes narrowing before she nods as if she didn't stare, giving a small wave at Sugawara and Daichi before stepping out of the gym.

                   When she opened the door of the infirmary muttering a goodbye at the nurse, Chiaki didn't expect the tall first year who waited outside.

Chiaki flashes a smile at the boy, Kageyama nodding at her in greeting. Chiaki almost felt amusement as she realized Kageyama hasn't changed much since middle school, seeming to be a bit awkward with his feelings. Without him saying anything and watching him fidget as he walked beside her, Chiaki was able to figure out all the questions Kageyama had for her. It was a struggle to hold in the giggle. However, she also knew she shouldn't be finding amusement in this knowing what she did.

Neither of them says anything, Chiaki leading them down the familiar road she usually takes home, the one where Daichi and Sugawara often join her. Today they don't seeing as she already sent them a text telling them she wasn't going to join them that afternoon. The female stops in front of the familiar store, the one the boys sometimes stop at; Sakanoshita Store. She had never entered it, but Daichi and Sugawara often buy meat buns to eat as they walk home.

The rattle of the door brings a nostalgic feeling that Chiaki can't pinpoint. At the sound of her opening the door, the store clerk looks up, his eyes meeting hers. Immediately Chiaki freezes, the same going to the man behind the counter, the cigarette he had in his mouth dropping.

Kageyama doesn't notice the pause, going straight to the ice cream section peering at the options with childish glee. Chiaki recognizes the look as the same one he wore whenever she offered to treat him back in middle school, and that makes her heart melt.

Chiaki smiles a bit as she realizes the boy's choice of ice cream hasn't changed, picking something milky instead of fruity. When he decides on a bag of chips as well, she motions him to wait outside while she pays.

"Hello. You look a bit like a delinquent now," Chikai comments with a small smile on her face.

The said man grins, picking a piece of his blond strands in amusement as he eyed her. "I can say the same for you, Chibi-chan. But I don't think I can call you that anymore, you're not that small as you used to be," the man chuckles as he rings up what she places in front of him. The man raises an eyebrow as he looks at the school uniform she wears. "Karasuno, huh? Following after Minato's footsteps, I see. How is he by the way? Haven't seen him forever since he went to Tokyo."

"He's doing good. I talked to him yesterday. When he visits next, I'll tell him to come to visit you, Kei-nii-san. I'm sure he'll want to see all his other senpais too," Chiaki promises, thinking about her eldest brother who lived in Tokyo with her father.

This makes the man nod with a grin. "Ou, I'm sure they'll all want to see you too. I bet if I told them I got to see our former number one cheerleader, they'd throw a fit," the man threw his head back and laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Stop by anytime, I'll treat you sometimes," the man grinned as he took a drag from the cigarette.

This makes Chiaki nod, saying a quick goodbye and stepping outside. With fast reflexes, Kageyama catches the ice cream she throws at him with one hand, the boy mutters a low thankful as he opens it.

"Let's go to the park where we can talk," Chiaki suggested, taking out her own popsicle to eat. They reach the park near Chaiki's house, the female immediately taking a seat on the swing. Kageyama already finished his own icy treat, holding the bag of chips. However, he doesn't move to immediately open it, leaning against a metal rail in front of the swings. Chiaki doesn't say anything under his piercing gaze, silently finishing her treat, nibbling on the wooden stick

"Aki-senpai," the male finally speaks, seeming to desperately want the answers to his questions.

Chiaki sighed as she kicked out her leg as she began to swing lightly, "when you guys all visited, I already knew that my volleyball career had ended."

The female's words make Kageyama suck in a breath, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"B-But, when we visited the first time, you said you were going to do reconstruction surgery."

Chiaki had a bitter smile on her face as she nodded, "reconstruction surgery so I can walk and live normally. But I have bolts in my bones Tobi-kun. While I could play volleyball, I won't have the same strength and ability to play like I used to. Some positions would cause too much strain for me and could cause me to injure myself again. Even if I was healed a hundred percent, with the metals in my body, I probably can't even squat low enough to receive low tosses."

Kageyama seemed to be at a loss for words, looking absolutely shocked at the information Chiaki revealed to him. "I-I didn't know.... I—"

"I made sure you and everyone else didn't know. If you guys did, you would blame yourselves, right? Especially Misaki, she was already a mess," Chiaki comments as she kicks her foot out, thinking about her team libero. Quietly, Chiaki stopped the swing, slowly climbing up to her feet. Kageyama's eyes widened as the girl suddenly bowed to him.

"I'm sorry, Tobi-kun. It was selfish of me to cut off contact with all of you. While I want to say I did it so you guys won't find out and feel guilty, I know it was because I was secretly extremely bitter. I—" Chiaki pauses as she lifts her head back up, looking straight into the boy's eyes, "I wasn't in a good place mentally. I had a lot of anger and sadness. I was devastated that my dream was ripped away from me. An awful part of me regretted the action I took to save Misaki. And when I realized that, I felt ashamed, and I knew I couldn't see you all again. But nonetheless, it was wrong for me to suddenly disappear on all of you without an explanation when you were all concerned for me. And for that, I'm very sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

Kageyama blinked, silently surprised. First, he doesn't think he has ever heard her speak this much without stopping, the female is usually more of a silent person. And second, he was shocked by the apology he was receiving.

"A-Aki-senpai, I don't think you need to apologize..." The dark-haired male spoke, seeming to be thinking of his words as he spoke. "I'm not gonna deny, I think a lot of us were hurt that you suddenly disappeared. We all looked up to you, even the boys' team. A-And I know I'm an idiot and couldn't really understand my team most of the times, but I know everyone was thankful to you, senpai. And, I think we all understand that you needed space... At least that's for me. So I don't want you apologizing to me, Aki-senpai. I-uh, I hope I'm making sense, but uh," Kageyama stuttered, slowly growing flustered and seeming to grown confused the longer he spoke.

Chiaki watched him with her eyes widened a small fraction. She felt the back of her eyes stinging, but she pushed them back, smiling at the boy gently as she approached him, her arms wrapping around his chest. While hesitant, Kageyama returned the hug, his cheeks flushing. A small part of him felt pride, realizing he was indeed taller than the female, silently thinking back to middle school when he wasn't.

"Thanks, Tobi-kun...." Chiaki finally let go, smiling at the male who blushed and nodded.

"But," Kageyama stopped, his eyes scrutinizing the older girl with curiosity he couldn't hide. "D-Did Iwaizumi-san know...? Does he know...? I heard from Kunimi that you were uh-"

This makes Chiaki freeze, thinking about a certain male that made her heart twinge. "Hajime-senpai knew about the outcome of the accident. B-But, like the rest, I cut him off too."

The two fall silent, fear washing over them before a faraway look appears in their eyes.

"Aki-senpai, I really hope you don't see Iwaizumi-san anytime soon..." Kageyama comments, sending a look of pity to the girl who seemed to be a few shades paler than earlier realizing how right her kouhai was. Chiaki only nods in response, silently agreeing to him, subconsciously taking his hand and squeezing it to calm herself.

Kageyama doesn't pull away, his eyes softening as he suddenly recalls Chiaki's personality of wanting to hold hands when she's anxious. That job belonged to Iwaizumi or Kanoka when they were in middle school. But after Iwaizumi graduated with the other third years and Kanoka wasn't there with her, it was Kageyama's hand she would grab. And if he wasn't there, she'd grab Kunimi. The setter could remember his and Kunimi's bewilderment when she had grabbed them and refused to let go before a tournament.

Kageyama walked Chiaki home, the sky already turned dark, the streetlamps turned on. He imputed her new address into his mind, knowing she had moved after middle school, seeing as he had heard some of his teammates say that when they tried to visit her after her disappearance.

As he walked home, he felt his heart go out to the older girl. A part of him also felt devastated, knowing the raw talent Chiaki withheld in herself. He had witnessed and experienced it first-hand numerous times. In his mind, Chiaki was always someone to look up to, one of the most talented players he has seen in middle school. The female was the one person who was always capable of spiking the balls he set. And when he realized that was no longer possible, he felt his heart sink.

Everyone at Kitagawa Daiichi acknowledged her talent, and people even out of the prefecture knew about her. And at a young age of thirteen, she was the number one female left-wing spiker and server in Japan's middle school. Some professional volleyball critics even claimed that if she was included in with the high school girls, she would have still been number one.

But to know a talent like that was lost because of a deliberate accident caused by jealousy, anger bubbled in Kageyama's stomach.

"I don't know what I would do if that happened to me," he mutters to himself in the empty street, his heart sinking.

                   There were two people Chiaki was close to in high school. Maybe three now that Kageyama had enrolled, But before she knew that, it was two. Both Daichi and Sugawara had become part of her life, the two boys adding her into the group chat they had, and sometimes going out on the weekend to hang out.

They were her friends. So it wasn't too strange for them to show up to her classroom on the second floor to come see her. But the scene in front of her was definitely strange, the female nearly dropping her lunch box bag to the floor.

Everyone else, her classmates, and the second years in the hallway stared as the two third-years bowed their heads, their hips bent at ninety degrees.

"S-Senpai, what is this about...?" Chiaki questioned in a slight panic, her eyes darting to the bowing boys and the other second years who watched the particular scene. Seeing all the attention they were gathering, Chiaki made both males stand up, grabbing their hands and dragging them away where there were less prying eyes.

Standing on the staircase that led to a dead-end, Chiaki turned to the two third-years with a frown on her face. She stared at them, both Daichi and Sugawara looking a bit sheepish and had the decency to look apologetic for causing a scene in front of her fellow second years.

Chiaki sighed, the female rubbing her temple before eyeing them in question, "can you please explain why you two decided to bow to me in front of all those people?" she questioned, her voice returned to the usual softness.

Daichi and Sugawara turned to each other before nodding and bowing again. "Aki-chan, please be our manager!" They chorused with their heads down.

Chiaki blinked, taken aback, not expecting such a request from her two friends. It definitely wasn't something she thought they would ask from her.

"Right now, our team doesn't have a proper coach. Shimizu and I are trying our best, but with just us, there's a limit to what we can do, and we still need a lot of things we need to get accomplished. Suga has been helping out too, but it's not enough. And being third years, we only have this year left," the dark-haired male spoke with his head continued to be down.

"Kageyama mentioned that during middle school, you were really good at teaching and helping players improve. He mentioned you had the eyes to figure out what a person has to do to become a better volleyball player, and that is exactly what we need in our team, seeing as we don't have a coach right now," Sugawara spoke finally looking up. Daichi did the same, the two males staring at her with determined eyes.

"Please join the volleyball team!"

"No, thank you."

Daichi and Sugawara's mouths fell open at the immediate answer they received from the silver-haired female. She didn't even hesitate to give them her reply.

Silently, Chiaki was thinking she had to scold Kageyama the next time she sees him, already imagining the guilty look that would appear on the younger boy's face.

"I don't think I'll be able to contribute to the volleyball team. And earlier you said this is your last year because you're in your third year. I have plans on graduating after this year too. I'm scheduled to take the exam to get exempted for the last year of high school. If that's the case, it wouldn't be fair to just stay in the club for just one year. And I'm sure that's not the kind of manager Shimizu-san is looking to help her."

At the information Chiaki revealed, the males seemed stunned, probably not expecting her to say she was planning on graduating at the same time as them.

"So, I'm sorry. I'm going to have to decline your request," Chiaki politely stated as she bowed to them.

Not thinking they were going to get a bow in response, Daichi's mouth was opening and closing, no words leaving them.

"And I don't like volleyball anymore."

Daichi and Sugawara froze, staring at the female who said the last statement with the coldest way they heard her speak. They stared at the silvernette, trying to read her expression, but it seemed her usually warm grey orbs were blank.

"Aki-chan," Chiaki turned her attention to Daichi who had a stern look on his face, Chiaki wanted to shrink away as his usually warm brown eyes stared at her as if he could read what was on her mind. "Don't lie."

Chiaki inwardly bristles at his words, but she keeps her cool as she smiled like she usually does. "How would you know I'm lying Daichi-senpai. I dislike volleyball now, I think I understand my emotions the best seeing as they're my own."

Sugawara swallowed, feeling the tension in the air. The silver-haired male looked between his two friends before stepping in between the staring contest they were having.

"Aki-chan, we want you as our manager no matter what. Just getting refused once isn't going to stop us, to be very honest. So why don't you just come to see our practice once? Actually, we're having a match between the first years on Saturday morning. If Kageyama and Hinata don't win, Kageyama won't be the setter for the team, so maybe you'll want to see this."

This makes Chiaki raise an eyebrow in surprise, mentally noting to give the said boy a text later to ask what's going on. Tobi-kun not being setter...?

Before Chaiki could argue and say no, Sugawara grabbed Daichi's arm, "okay, we'll come to pick you up at your house bright and early tomorrow morning before the match! So you better be awake!" The silver-haired boy sang as she dragged Daichi with him, the said male still refusing to look away from Chiaki.

Chiaki was left in the empty staircase in disbelief, not believing the male had easily decided how her Saturday was going to be spent without her agreeing. With a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose before carefully making her way down the stairs, hoping she had enough time to eat her lunch before her next lecture.

                    🏐 🏐EXTRA / FUN FACT🏐 🏐

*when Chiaki was still a brunette in middle school, her hair was up to her lower part of her neck, barely reaching her collar bone. Her usual hairstyle consisted of her putting it into a small ponytail that wasn't too high because of her short hair.  

*In High School, first-year, her hair is up to her upper breast and the second year, her hair has grown passed her breasts. She usually styles it in a braid. But it's a complex braid where it starts from the right side of her head, a loose dutchbraid that goes all the way to her left side. and then all the rest of her hair that isn't in that braid gets collected together and placed in one single large braid that is on her left side.

*She learned how to do this hairstyle by Miwa, Kageyama's older sister.

*some may have noticed but the twins, Taiga and Kouga have different hair colors. This is because Kouga who was originally brunet dyed it when Chiaki did, not wanting her to do everything by herself. He wanted his little sister to know she's never alone. He even went to get his ears pierced with her although he's absolutely terrified with needles. All for his love and support to Chiaki. But secretly he's really happy that Chiaki's lobe piercings and his own lobe ear piercing are matching. He also knows Taiga is secretly jealous.

*Every month, on the last Sunday of the month, Chiaki and Kouga go get their hair done at Miwa's place and afterward go on a sibling date where they go cafe hopping.  

*Kageyama had no idea that Chiaki had kept contact with his older sister. When he finds out when walking back home with Chiaki, he sends an angry, betrayed text to his sister which Miwa ignores. Which only angers the younger Kageyama even more.

*Kageyama mentioned it but Chiaki has a cute tendency of wanting to hold hands whenever she feels nervous. Being the youngest and only female child in the Ibato household, Chiaki was pretty spoiled with skin contact. She had always had someone next to her, either holding her hand, hugging her, or carrying her (only when she was little) Now holding hands is normal for her. She craves skin contact, and she's been doing fairly well hiding it in high school. But, Daichi and Sugawara have been catching on recently. They noticed how she stands fairly close to them when they hang out, shoulders touching when they eat. Sugawara also has seen her reach out for Daichi or his hand multiple times, before freezing as she realizes what she was about to do.

🏐 🏐 TERMS:🏐🏐

Kyoutou- Vice Principal in Japanese

A/n

To celebrate the reunion of Kageyama and Chiaki, here's an art work done by me!

           Also, let's talk about Japanese schooling a bit. So it is extremely uncommon for students to skip grades in Japan, no matter how advance you are. I don't think it's even possible in middle school. But in high school, under special circumstances you are allowed to skip your third and last year. However, there's a draw back. You won't receive your diploma unless you've finish your schooling in college. So if for some reason, you decided to skip your third year and immediately go to college/university but end up dropping out during your education, it means not only will you not get the credit for the higher education, you won't even get your high school diploma.

I think they do this to try to convince students not to skip the last year of schooling because the country believes school is not only for education but also to learn and build the student's identity.

Anyhow, that's what Chiaki is planning on doing!!

Also, guys!! The recent teaser, not gonna lie, I'm a pretty damn big fan of Inarizaki high school so it kinda killed me!

So between the Japanese fan, we all thought that Suna Rintarou spoke Japanese with no kansai dialect and more so like someone from the Tokyo area because of his wording choice in the manga. Example: kansai「ええよ」vs tokyo「いいよ」

But than BAAAM, the teaser where Suna briefly spoke, the intonation was obviously in Kansai dialect so the Japanese HQ fandom was in chaos, cause whaaaat?! We have been lied to! And all these people were debating and starting make fan art where they drew Suna clowning us, either way, it's not completely revealed how he speaks so we have to wait for the anime to come out but ahhh! God, the voice actor seiyuu in Haikyuu is like 10/10, so high level with so many famous people... ugh, I'll probably end up dead by the end of the season.

Also, I follow this person on twitter called sayone_ and she shared a line drawing where we could color it and I had to do it before school starts and I wanted to share it here!

Spoiler alert!!! Couldn't decided the uniforms so I picked both...! \(//∇//)\

                                                            Next update chapter 4| The King and The Dove will be on 9/4/2020!!

-Ember

[withastolenlantern]

The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.

The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds. 

As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.

The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.

DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it. 

She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.

The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.

“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”

“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.

“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”

“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”

“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”

Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”

Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.

“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.

“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.

“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.

“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile. 

“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.

She gathered her things and stood to leave, lingering briefly in the doorway. “I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.” 

She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland. 

Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.

She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it. 

Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm. 

She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”

[starrbomb]

Altean!Lance with a twist pt 3

You guys ready for this? Cause I know I’ve been keeping you guys waiting for this for WAAAAAAAAAAAY TOO LONG! and I already have more ideas about this too so be looking for newer parts! They will be shorter but they’re gonna be so cool( at least in my head they will be; that or I’ll just do it all in one go)

And if you guys want a recap of what’s happened so far in this au: part 1- http://starrbomb.tumblr.com/post/161149655919/alteanlance-with-a-twist

Part 2- http://starrbomb.tumblr.com/post/161761439539/altean-lance-with-a-twist-part-2

Now then! Onward to the part you’ve been waiting for! Part 3!

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

•So during the corrupted worm hole, everyone gets flown off into different directions; Lance ends up with Pidge, Shiro ends up with Hunk and Keith crashes by himself.

•Pidge is worried sick because Lance isn't answering his comm, audio or video, and Blue won't let her in. She looks around the garbage nebula they found themselves in and immediately starts to work on a dish to contact the others and get help for her friend.

•Lance is totally out of commission, the fight with haggar having drained him and hurting him in more ways than one. So he's conked out for the entire thing. All the while all of the nightmares that have been haunting him since day 1 out there jumbling together and repeating though his head.

•Once everyone gets back on the ship, Shiro and Lance are put in the cryo pods to heal, and everyone has seen Lance’s true form now, since he isn’t even about to revert back to his human form at all.

•Allura has been subtly (aka, not so subtly but no one can figure out why) avoiding Lance’s pod, only getting close whenever Hunk and Pidge asks a question about his progress.

•Finally, when they both come out of the pod shiro reflectively backs away from Lance, giving him a very uncomfortable amount of space.

•Lance is just trying to get his emotions and his shape shifting under control, but everything is just way too raw, too real. He can’t tell if it’s real or if he’s still stuck in those nightmares.

•When Coran tries to touch Lance’s shoulder, tries to bring him out of wherever his mind his, Allura stops him, getting some very confused looks from everyone else.

•Once Lance finally gets a hold back on reality, he gets a quick recap of what happened while he was out cold, to which he thanks Pidge very much for looking after him and making sure that they got back to the castle in one piece. Pidge tried to play it off, saying that he would have done the same for her, to which he can practically feel Allura glaring holes into him.

•Lance knows that he has to explain, especially now that both Allura and Shiro know. His mind wants to shut down like before; run away from the glares and the stares of fear and confusion from everyone. But he knows that they deserve the truth from him. The whole truth.

•Before anyone can ask him any questions, Lance gets up from the floor and starts walking towards the door, getting an aggressive “Lance!” From Allura. He looks back and explains that they should probably move to the lounge before asking any questions, since it’s a long story.

•Once everyone gets comfortable, we’ll almost everyone; since Allura is sitting as far away from Lance as possible and Shiro isn’t even sitting down. He just stands in one of the corners closest to a doorway. Lance takes a few deep breaths, each one shakier than the last.

•He tells them the truth about Haggar being his mother, and being raised to be/ and actually being a Druid for the empire. He explained how he helped his mother and Zarkon take over multiple planets, how he was trained to fight til death and that the only thing that mattered was the survival of the empire. He told them about the dozens, maybe hundreds, of experiments that he went through at the hands of his mother, how he became a great tactical fighter and a powerful Druid. He told them about how while with the empire, he didn’t really feel emotions at all.

•And then he gets to talking about how he got to earth, about his mission there to infiltrate and gain data, as well as search for any lions there. He told them about how the McClains took him in and gave him a home and showed him the first real kindness and love in his life. He talked about how they changed his view on how his and his mother’s’ relationship was really like, how it had destroyed his sense of worth and accomplishment. He told them about how his younger adoptive siblings taught him that magic shouldn’t be used for harm and punishment and cruelty, but rather the opposite. It was because of earth and the McClains that he realized that he didn’t want to be apart of the empire any longer. He refused to continue his mission, and rather instead of joining the garrison to gain information, he joined it so that he would be able to protect his new home from the empire whenever it would arrive to try and take over earth.

•And that’s when voltron happened and he ended up out here and fighting Zarkon and his mother head on. And that's how they got to where they are now, sitting here after going head to head against the two strongest people on the entire universe.

•Everyone just sits there shocked by the whole story of their friend’s life; somewhere along the way Shiro had left his corner and actually sits down next to Lance, watching his face as he recounts all of the cruelty and abuse he had went through for so many years. He watched as Lance cries openly regrets everything he has done in the name of the empire; promising to the others and to himself that while his sins will always hang heavy on his shoulders, he will do his damn best to help take the empire down.

•After his explanation to the others; he expects them to steer clear of him or to outright kick him off the team bc of who he is. And Keith and Allura fill those fears quickly; both of them always giving him a death glare til he leaves the room, or going too hard on him during training.

•But the others are quite the opposite much to Lance’s surprise. Coran continues to give lessons to Lance about Altea, making sure to add in odd tidbits here and there about the trouble that Alfor used to always get into.

•Hunk and Pidge are practically attached to him now, never leaving him alone and making sure that he eats and sleeps and isn’t pushing himself too hard to try and prove his worth (he ~may~ have done the exact thing many times while back at the garrison whenever iverson decided to make an example out of Lance) in training. or anything else.

•With Shiro; he’s not exactly sure what to do about Lance. He doesn’t hate him because of who and where he’s from; but now everytime he looks at Lance’s face, even though it’s always in his human form, he can’t help but see Haggar’s face right there. So whenever they are in the same room, it’s always super awkward between them and neither of them know what to do to fix things between them.

•It goes on like this for days which turn into weeks, and to clear it’s taking a negative effect on Lance; he’ll hide away whenever he isn’t needed, and it’s getting harder and harder for Pidge and Hunk to get him out of his room. Let alone the effect it all has the rest of the team, creating a rift between them causing a Multics of fights between everyone.

•But then during an intense battle with the galra, a battleship fires a magic infused blast at the red lion, who was too busy fighting off drones to notice. But Lance did; and without a second thought he dives in and crashes into the red lion, knocking him out of the line of fire and instead takes the blast himself

•The whole team is horrified at the scream that pierces through their comms as the blue lion gets hit and seems to become electrified for what felt like eternity and then becoming nothing more than a husk of metal.

•Hunk and Pidge are enraged and scared for their friend, who hasn’t responded to them since he got hit, and immediately go all out on the galra with renewed vigor as Shiro takes the time to grab the blue lion and return to the castle, sending out an order to the others to retreat.

•Once everyone was back in the castle and they had wormholes away, Shiro races into the blue lion and finds Lance unconscious in the pilot seat, this human form all but abandoned and scorch marks dance across his armor and had torn open his suit, leaving gashes all about him in various states of depth.

•Shiro only hesitates for a second, before shaking his head and scooping up Lance and racing to the infirmary where the rest of them team along with Allura and Coran have gathered.

•It seems to take them hours to fix his physical wounds and find out what the magic did to him to cause him to stay in what appeared to be a hellish sleep.

•The magic had forced him into a comatose state, where he relives his worst moments of his life, over and over and over again, until his heart or brain can’t keep up anymore and he would die.

•Pidge and Hunk rig the mind melding devices to help them enter his dreams and help free him from the spell, with Coran standing by in case anything were to happen while they are inside his head. So the rest of the paladins and Allura slip on the devices and enter Lance’s nightmares.

•Each of the paladins enter a different memory that Lance is forced to relive over and over again on a loop, and during the first couple of loops all they can do is just stare in disbelief at the horror that was Lance’s life before he came to earth.

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

Dun dun DUUUUUN! Don’t worry I already have some of the fourth part already written, and I’ll hopefully get more done tonight! Please make sure leave comments and stuff cause I’m full of anxiety and I can never tell if people really like my stuff or not.

[molluskwritesfic]

An Enigma of Broken Wings: Chapter Three

First Chapter, Previous Chapter, Chapter Three, Next Chapter

Reeling from the Time War, the Doctor finds comfort in a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen. Things get more complicated when he discovers that this kindred spirit is a member of one of the most feared species in the universe.

Chapter Three

Wrapped snugly in the Doctor’s leather jacket, Actom, accompanied by his new best friend, Hawee, happily sipped on a form of hot cider at Matron Malwom’s. He’d told his story five times already, once to the Doctor and Patron Broodo at the tunnel mouth, a second time to Hawee on the trip, and no less than three more times once they’d gotten back to the Children’s Home. And the other kids couldn’t get enough of it. Despite the fact that he had been plainly cold and scared when they’d first found him, the Doctor wasn’t nearly as worried now as he stood watching the young boy enthusiastically recounting the story yet again to his new fan club.

“So, I walked straight in. And boy, was it dark! I couldn’t see so much as my hand if I held it right in front of my face. I wasn’t scared though, no sir-ee. So I just kept walking, and walking. For miles and miles and miles, until I finally decided that I was tired of exploring. There wasn’t much to see, ya know. So I turned back. Then I walked miles and miles back. And after all those miles and all that walking, I was getting hungry, ya know, and then I realized that I couldn’t remember if I had tuned left or turned right at an intersection. I wasn’t scared though. I really wasn’t. So I sat down to have a break. And while I was sitting there, it felt like someone was listening, so I started talking. I told them all about Hawee’s toy and that I only meant to borrow it. And I talked about my dad and how he came to the tunnels, too, so I was like him. But then, when I had almost gone to sleep from sitting so long, guess what I heard!”

Even though they’d already heard it three times, all the kids leaned forward eagerly.

“What? What?”

“Tell us!”

“Please!”

Actom continued in a dramatic whisper. “My name. ‘Actom’, like that. And you wanna know who it was that said it?”

“Who?”

“Who was it?”

“My dad.” A huge, happy smile spread across Actom’s face. “It was my dad. He told me that I should tell the truth to Hawee and help him fix his toy. Then he grabbed my hand and started leading me down the right tunnels, and before I knew it, I was outside and Hawee was hugging me. So how about that?”

Now that the kids weren’t paying him any attention, the Doctor leaned over to Broodo, who had joined him in leaning against the wall, to ask, “His father’s voice, have you heard of that happening before?”

Broodo nodded grimly. “Yes. The creature has no voice of its own, so it steals that of someone else. Sometimes it is of someone close to you, sometimes it’s your own, but not always.”

“Patron Broodo, I have to admit, it looks like your ‘Judge’ creature actually exists.”

The Patron sniffed airily. “I could’ve told you that.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at anything you have on it. Stories, legends, anything.”

Broodo grinned enthusiastically. “You have to be the first person in years that asked about the creature that isn’t struggling with some kind of massive guilt-complex.”

The Doctor smiled weakly, but didn’t bother to correct him.

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

On their way out, the Doctor and Broodo were stopped by Actom, who wanted to return the Doctor’s coat.

“Thanks,” the Doctor praised, tossing the jacket over one shoulder. “How’re you holding up?”

“Good,” Actom said with an eager nod. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

The Doctor ruffled his hair fondly. “Just keep yourself and everyone else out of those tunnels. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“I know,” the boy said solemnly. “My dad said to stay away unless it was serious.”

“Even then,” the Time Lord warned, “that place isn’t safe. Talk to someone else before you risk it down there. Several more people, in fact.” The Doctor started to leave, but turned back as a thought occurred to him. “Actom, right before you came out of the cave, why did you throw a stone?”

Actom was instantly confused. “I didn’t.”

“Don’t fib,” the Doctor chided gently.

“I promise.” The young boy drew an ‘x’ over his heart. “I didn’t throw any rocks. Don’t know why I would throw a rock.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratory whisper. “I was too scared to throw rocks. But don’t tell them that, okay?” 

The Doctor agreed and turned to follow after Patron Broodo, who was waiting for him on the porch, slightly more disturbed and intrigued than he had been before. If that were even possible.

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

The Doctor coughed and waved at the dust motes that clouded the air around his head. He sneezed twice and flipped open the cover of the giant dusty tome, fingering the delicate pages with great care. 

Broodo emerged from the dark library, carrying yet another stack of well worn books, filling the air with the musty scent of moldy pages and ink. The Doctor focused hard on deciphering the messy scribbles of the book he had picked out, trying not to sneeze again. 

“The stories go back centuries,” Broodo was saying, voice muffled by the stack of paper that easily reached higher than his face. “Voices in the dark. Explorers getting lost in the tunnels, some encountering a creature, others being picked off, one by one, by something no one could see.” He dropped the stack on the table, stirring up another cloud of dust, much to the Doctor’s annoyance. “Eventually, people started getting the idea to record these encounters, which then planted the seeds for Saint Stonpul. Anyone that intends to test the tunnels comes through me, and I take note of whether they return or not and document their experience, just like those before me have for nearly a thousand years.”

The Doctor sneezed. “Blimey! Sorry. If you bunch all these encounters together, what do they all have in common? Any physical traits? Thousand years, surely someone must’ve seen something.”

“Nothing concrete, I’m afraid,” Broodo admitted, dusting off his mustard yellow robe and sitting across the table from the Time Lord. “But if you’ll take a look at this journal here…” He passed another thick tome across for the Doctor’s inspection. “It recounts the efforts of an expedition team. Nearly two hundred years ago, as recorded by Patron Curloom, a team of twenty went down into the Labyrinth. They took several weeks worth of provisions, ample torches and lanterns, even ropes and markers so they could find their way.”

“Did they make it out again?” 

“Some of them.” Broodo nodded to the book, indicating that the Doctor should read it for himself. “They mapped out tunnel for three days without issue, but then… things started going wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“The explorers started… hearing things. Whispers of the dead… so they say, telling them to leave. Then lanterns began going out on their own, ropes were cut. Then the screaming started.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows impatiently when Broodo paused for effect. 

“A woman or a child, calling out for help in the darkness. Someone would investigate, and they would vanish. Sometimes they found bodies, sometimes not. Then it began using the voices of the people that had gone missing, calling out to the survivors, telling them that they’d found something.”

“Did none of them actually see anything?”

“Getting to that,” The Patron sniffed, annoyed at being interrupted again. “There aren’t any physical descriptions. But it’s described as equally beautiful and terrible. Unstoppable, no matter the weapon. It just keeps coming, no matter what.”

The Doctor sighed audibly. “Nice story. But not much help.” He stood and stretched. “If we only had an idea of where it came from, then we might have a shot at figuring out what it is.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much use there,” The Patron shrugged. “So unless you intend on going in for yourself, the mystery will remain as it is.”

The Doctor grunted. He stared at the table hard, lost in his own thoughts.

“Surely, you don’t plan on going in the Labyrinth?”

The Doctor grunted again, not really listening.

“Because if you do… I can prepare a Confessional… to increase your chances of being led back to the light.”

The Time Lord snorted mirthlessly and shook his head. “Wouldn’t do me any good.”

“So… now what?”

The Doctor stood abruptly. “Now… nothing. You’re right. There’s nothing else we can do apart from keeping people out of the caves. Keep ‘em safe from an ancient and fascinating creature that’s chosen to live alone in the dark.” A sour look crossed his face. “An intelligent creature with mercy and a sense of right and wrong.” The sour look was replaced by a more wistful one. “And make do with never knowing what or why.”

Broodo raised his bushy eyebrows skeptically. “You don’t sound like a man that plans on letting something remain unknown forever.”

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets moodily. “A long time ago, I would’ve gone straight in without a second thought. But I’m not that sort of man. Not anymore.”

“What changed?” 

The Doctor turned and started slowly for the door. “I’ve done things. Horrible things. The man that would’ve gone in might’ve been brought back out. But now…” The Doctor shook his head to clear it. “Thanks for everything, but I best be off. Say goodbye to Hawee and Actom for me.”

Broodo called after the Time Lord, but received no response. Later that day, after the rain and during his daily walk through town, he would ponder over a strange dry spot in the mud. Large and square, like someone had sat a large, heavy box down before the rain had started and then had it removed after the storm had ended.

Curious. He would think. Curious.

~0~0~0~

.

.

~0~0~0~

It was a bad night. 

The screaming just wouldn’t stop. It echoed through the empty TARDIS halls, and the Doctor wasn’t sure if it was real or in his head. 

The Last of the Time Lords paced around the TARDIS console, not pulling any levers or pushing any buttons. Just walking. Around and around and around until his back ached and his legs felt like jelly, but he didn’t care. Because if he stopped, even for a moment, they would get him. The Doctor wasn’t even sure who ‘they’ were, but they reached out for him from the darkest shadows of the console room, threatening to pull him down so he could burn with them.

Fear bubbled up in his chest and he mopped feverishly at the beads of sweat dripping down his brow.

Maybe he deserved it.

The TARDIS hummed sadly as her lights flickered at him in a poor attempt to distract him, but to no avail.

It started off innocently enough. A trip with the coordinates set to random. He’d ended up with a family just before they set sail on the Titanic. Nice people. They fed him dinner and provided him with a place to stay for the night. In that time he managed to convince them to hold off on the trip to America. Everything was fine.

Then he made the mistake of boarding the Titanic in their place. He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he stood on the deck, amidst the panic and the chaos. Stone still with his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, he watched mothers and children board the boats. Watched as children and lovers kissed their parents and loved ones for the last time. Watched as those that there wasn’t room for broke down after their families had gone. Watched some of the crew have one last smoke. Watched as a little boy, no older than three, cried out for his mother when he was left behind.

And he did nothing.

Krakatoa. The Kennedy Assassination. The Titanic. All those people. Dying. Screaming. There was nothing he could do. 

He just watched.

The Time Lord Victorious. 

The guilt gnawed at him like a hungry dog. Pressed down on him until it hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to stand still. He was overcome with paranoia whenever he tried to leave the TARDIS. Everywhere he went, he could feel the people of all the time periods on all the planets staring at him, asking why he did it. Blaming him for all the deaths even though none of them would have any way of knowing what the Time War was, much less have any clue as to what the strange man in a leather jacket had to do with it.

So he stayed in the TARDIS; even though he knew that staying on his own would only make things worse. But the dark thoughts from the deepest recesses of his mind told him that he deserved it. That he should be punished.

That he should face his guilt.

The Doctor stood between the twin boulders, gazing into the black abyss that marked the mouth of the Labyrinth of Mercy. Patron Broodo’s words were ringing through his ears. 

You go into the Labyrinth to confess your sins. If the creature of the Labyrinth deems you innocent or... worthy of forgiveness, it’ll lead you to the surface.  If not, you’ll never be seen again.

Win-Win, the Doctor thought. To him, it seemed a legitimate way of finding out if there was enough of ‘the Doctor’ left in him. If not… well…

The Doctor took a step, then another, and another. Going into the darkness and letting it swallow him whole.

[jjkfire]

Wrapped Around, pt. 2

Jimin x Reader x Tae // College!AU // 8044 words

Summary: Freshman year was a mess and sophomore year doesn’t seem to be looking too good either. You know boys like them are no good for you but maybe they’re just your kind of type

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Part 1 | Part 2.5

A/N: Surprise! I can’t thank you all enough for the love that part 1 received! (I read all the tags on the reblogs and i just love you all ok) I hope you guys enjoy this part too (: My smut skills… it’s a work in progress so I hope you bear with me friends. 

You wake up to 15 messages from Solji, all of them in caps. Half of them is just her keyboard smashing out her frustration and the other half is her calling you a few choice words for lying to her. You laugh as you scroll through all of them and decide you would call her later to explain everything.

You sigh, as you take a hot shower to wash off the layer of grime that had settled on the surface of your skin from being in that sauna of a frat house. As you soap up your body, you shudder when you remember the way the man had pressed himself against you and you shake your head to rid yourself of the image that had imprinted itself deep in your mind.

First party of the semester and it was an experience to say the least… you wonder if it was a sign… or perhaps a punishment for failing your new semester resolution. After your shower, you decide to bury yourself under a pile of books to keep your mind from wandering again.

Despite the disaster that was the frat party you’re glad that at least one good thing had come out of it. You grab lunch with Taehyung as promised and you spend most of it throwing fries at each other rather than eating. The slight downside to meeting him is only that you realize you haven’t fully gotten over your slight crush on him. As long as you don’t sleep with him again you’ll be fine, you think.

“So tell me, what happened with Jessica? I thought you were in love,” You say the last part while clutching at your heart dramatically and Taehyung scowls at you.

“I don’t know,” He says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “She was pretty, she was and I think that’s all there really was to it,” He laughs and you shake your head at him disapprovingly.

Taehyung’s eyes dart from your face to across the room as he racks his brain for a new topic, wanting to talk about anything but Jessica.

“How was summer break?”

“It was… nice, quiet. Got to spend some quality time with my dad,” You answer and decide to leave out the fact that you also spent most of it trying not to think about him. There’s this uncomfortable silence that starts to build and you look down at your phone swiping through to pretend you were looking at something important.

“Look at this!” Hoseok shouts as he approaches the booth and you lift your head up, smiling at the sight of him. “Looks like the crew is back in business!” He says as he waves at the both of you, million-watt smile on display. There’s a collective sigh of relief from the two of you, glad that Hoseok has arrived to save the conversation that was slowly becoming awkward.

With Hoseok joining the two of you, you know it can only be laughs from here on out. You know everyone in the dining hall was staring at the booth you guys were seated at, curious as to what the ruckus was all about but really the three of you were just this noisy whenever you were all put together.

You leave the dining hall that day happier than you have been in a while, smiling from ear to ear as you recount the jokes that were told. You almost feel like slapping yourself for taking so long to reach out to them again. It was good to be out somewhere other than the library, doing something other than studying all the damn time.

On Thursday quiz night, Jimin asks you once more if you were fine but he drops the subject when he senses how uncomfortable you are when talking about the subject. You’re glad that he’s able to pick up on social cues like that. He starts asking personal questions instead like how you know all his friends and who your friends are. He begins quizzing you on his friends almost as if he doesn’t believe you were actually friends with them. You answer all his questions despite your confusion in his sudden interest and you see his eyes widen when you tell him that you and Taehyung used to be friends with benefits.

“What do I have to do to get in on a deal like that?” He asks in a low tone.

You laugh, flicking him on the head. “Sorry, that old me is dead and gone, buddy.”

He groans disappointedly, mumbling something along the lines of not fair under his breath.

You continue trudging throughout the week, pushing that wild weekend back into the deep pits of your memories. You let yourself rest that week, doing minimal work as you tried hard to not think of the weeks that were about to come. Your second wave of midterms were soon approaching and you know you would be spending almost all of your time in the library then. But of course, just when you felt like you had your life together, life decides to throw you a curveball.

Earlier throughout the day and most of the week actually, you had rushed to complete every single possible assignment so that you could go to bed early today. At 9 pm, you lie in your bed, giving yourself ample time to fall asleep but after half an hour you’re still wide awake despite the fact that you’re exhausted mentally and physically. You’re really not sure when was the last time you actually had a good night’s rest.

It started roughly a week ago, the random heart palpitations and trembling… then it only got worse, especially when you wanted to sleep. You tried everything from going to the gym to visiting the university’s mental health services department but nothing seemed to work. They recommended that you stop studying late into the night. Ludicrous, you thought. How can you afford to cut down on your studying time when your grades were hanging in the balance? 

You told Solji about your problem hoping that she could provide a reasonable answer and after she recommended yoga, she jokingly suggested maybe you just needed to get laid, after all it had been a while since you last got some.

You’re so desperate for sleep you actually try counting sheep. After sheep number 700 something, you throw your blanket away in frustration. Picking up your phone, you search through your recent contacts for his number. You know you shouldn’t be doing this, you’re not even sure if this would work. It would only result in you opening a new can of worms that you didn’t want to deal with but screw it, you really really really wanted some sleep.

“Hello?”

“Hey Tae, are you at home right now? Are you free?”

“Yeah, I just made popcorn for movie night, wanna—“

“No, I mean, are you free?”

“Oh,” He says. “Ohhh,” He repeats finally understanding what you mean. “You mean right now? Fuck yeah.”

“Cool, I’ll be there in 15.”

You change out of your pajamas, quickly putting on the nearest pair of jeans and decent looking t-shirt you could find. Grabbing your keys and your phone, you open your door only to find Jimin being pulled in, hand attached to the doorknob.

“Oh, going somewhere? Then I guess I’ll—“

“Yeah, meeting a friend… but you can stay,” You smile.

“Nice!” He smiles back and begins walking towards your bed.

“If I find any of my granola bars missing though, you’re going to regret it you hear me?” You say before shutting the door and you glance back just in time to see Jimin mock you sarcastically.

Taehyung jumps up from his spot on the couch, dusting off the crumbs on his pants. He frantically cleans up his apartment, trying to hide the mess by pushing miscellaneous items into the nearest drawer. He sprays cologne on himself and then around his apartment but the smell starts to choke him so he opens a window or two to let some fresh air in.

“What am I even doing?” He sighs to himself. He usually had no qualms whenever you had called him last semester… no, that was a lie. He was the very same but only towards the end and that was when he knew he was in trouble. His feelings had crept up on him, he knew that. When jealousy the greatest enemy in a fwb relationship reared its ugly head, he knew he had to cut things off soon. So, he stopped calling you as often and whenever you called, he would say he was busy.

Jessica, she was just an unfortunate victim of his own confused feelings. She had a pretty face and that was enough to reel him in, to momentarily forget about you. Trying to love her gave him an excuse, a great one in fact to finally cut things off with you but he knew all he had with her was lust so he breaks it off after a week. This way, he had time to himself to try and bury his feelings way deep down hoping they will never surface again and it works… a little. He finds he doesn’t think about you as much as he used to and he doesn’t stare at his phone longingly waiting for your reply.

Somewhere along the line, your friendship with him fades a little, only ever speaking to him when you catch him for a moment at a party. Then the semester ends and it’s like you had dropped off the edge of the Earth. He missed you, just as a friend but it seemed like you weren’t bothered at all, not even sending a quick how are you throughout summer break.

So, there he was standing in the middle of his apartment, desperately trying to fan the strong smell of cologne out of his apartment. A mistake, he knows it was a mistake to tell you that he was only one call away but he didn’t think you’d actually take him up on that offer.

Taehyung hears a soft knock on his door as he kicks the last pile of his dirty clothes under his bed.

“Coming,” You hear him shout from behind the door and in a few seconds, the door opens and his boxy smile greets you.

“Y/N, guess the stress is really—“

You don’t give him the time to finish his sentence, choosing to smash your lips fervently against his. He grunts as you push his back against the nearest wall, his head hitting the wall with a soft thud. Taehyung responds almost instantly, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he feels you tug at his soft locks. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this, how much he missed you. He brings up one hand to cup your check, to slow down the pace and you whine disapprovingly not liking how intimate this was getting already.

He pulls away from you, lips already beginning to feel swollen.

“Slow down baby, we have all night,” He whispers before he begins to leave a trail of open mouth kisses down your neck. You whimper involuntarily when you feel his hand slip under your t-shirt to knead one of your breasts. You let him have his way, slowly working at your neck while your hand trails down from his hair to the curve of his ass where you leave a playful squeeze.

“I know we have all night but I’m impatient, always have been and you know that,” You say as your hand moves around to the front of his pants where you begin to undo the button of his jeans, trying to speed up the process. He tries to ignore you but when you start to palm him through his jeans, he bites down harshly on your neck before his tongue quickly glides over the spot to soothe the pain. You flinch from the pain and tug his head away from your neck by grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Sorry,” He smirks. “But you asked for it,” He says to which you only respond by rolling your eyes at him.

He tugs your chin towards him, smirking again before crushing his lips against yours. This time he doesn’t take his time, his lips move greedily against yours sucking and nibbling at your bottom lip. You swipe once, twice against his bottom lip before he grants your entrance. Your tongues swirl around battling each other for dominance, and the only thing you can hear is your greedy moans as his hand slips between the two of you to rub at your core through your jeans. You roll your hips forward needily, craving more friction.

You moan once more into the kiss and Taehyung decides he can’t wait any longer. He grabs your thigh, fingernails digging into your skin as he hoists you up. Your thighs wrap around him automatically and he begins moving forward, all the time never leaving your lips.

He sets you down on his bed and his arms leave you momentarily only to pull his shirt over his head and you do the same to your shirt. The two of you move naturally, after all this was just the continuation of what was your routine last semester. You move backwards by your elbows until you feel the pillows behind you and Taehyung follows, hovering above you.

“Fuck, I’ve missed seeing you like this,” He pants, leaving sloppy kisses starting from your neck and down the valley of your breasts, stopping only to unclasp your bra which he tosses off the bed. That sentence leaves you a little confused, maybe he just said it wrong. You shut your eyes, biting down on your bottom lips to muffle your desperate moans. He continues, leaving open mouth kisses on your breast, sucking at your skin, leaving marks that will surely be dark purple tomorrow.

“No marks,” You exhale, tugging at his hair at the base of his neck.

“It’s a little too late for that babe,” He laughs before returning his attention to your chest, his tongue swirling around your nipple and you feel pleasure ripple within you.

“Tae,” You moan, grabbing his free hand to guide it down towards your core. “I-I need more,” You breathe out. You feel him hum against your skin as he unbuttons your jeans, his knee putting pressure against your sex. He moves down leaving kisses that stop at your navel and he tugs your jeans, along with your panties off of you. You lay there excited for what’s to come next but you feel Taehyung’s hands leave you altogether so, you whine in protest.

“Taehyung,” You groan. “I don’t have time for games.”

“I’m just taking the time to admire your body,” He smirks, his fingers teasing at your folds.

Without warning he plunges two fingers into you and you almost scream out in delight. He brings his thumb around to rub little figure 8s around your clit and you feel the room start to spin. He glances up to see you loll your head backwards, lips slowly parting as you feel a knot build at the bottom of your stomach and he feels his jeans tighten.

“Fuck, Tae-ahh just like that babe.”

The room is filled with only the sound of squelching as Taehyung continues to plunge his fingers into you. He soon replaces his thumb with his tongue and you moan his name repeatedly, struggling to contain yourself. You can tell he’s already smirking as he uses his tongue to swirl around your nub. Your hips buck up and you’re practically grinding down on his tongue so he places a palm across your stomach to stop you from squirming.

“Behave, love,” You hear him hum and you try to relax but you can’t stop the shivers of pleasure that run down your spine.

The knot building at the pit of your stomach tightens and your vision goes hazy as you feel yourself reaching your climax. He thrusts his fingers into you with more urgency as your moans grow more and more frequent, knowing that you were reaching your high soon.

“Tae, I-I’m—“

“Mmm, come for me, baby,” He hums against your folds.

A few more swirls around your clit is all it takes for him to send you tumbling over the edge. You let out a long moan as you see hot white behind your eyelids, your thighs shaking as you reach your release. Taehyung thrusts his fingers slowly into you, letting you ride out your high. You feel his hot breath against your core as he removes his fingers, only to lap up every drop of your juice and you find yourself shivering with delight.

After drawing in a few deep breaths, you look up to see Taehyung licking his lips, his chin glistening with your fluids. Seeing him that way stirs something inside of you. You place your hand behind his neck, pulling him down towards you to kiss him slowly. You realize it’s getting a little too intimate, you thought you had your feelings in check but you were oh so wrong.

You bite lightly at his bottom lip as you pull away, pushing him onto his back before leaving a few more kisses down his jaw, licking up the remnants of what was dripping off his chin. You move towards his neck, leaving a long stripe as you continue to inch downwards and you hear him inhale sharply as shivers at the cold trail you have left behind. You take your time, slowly shimmying your way down until your lips hover just above his dick. He watches with fully blown out pupils as you use your teeth to drag down the zip of his jeans.

“Fuck, Y/N that’s so hot,” He moans.

You pull off his jeans and boxers in one swift movement and you watch his member flip up onto his abdomen. Taehyung hurriedly kicks off his jeans and boxers that were pooling by his ankles and you lick your lips as you eye his member, spreading the bead of precum leaking from his tip before digging your thumb into his slit.

“Y/n-ahh, fu—“ The rest of his sentence is swallowed by his own incoherent moans.

You leave kitten licks across his tip and he grunts in annoyance. You continue teasing him, using your teeth to lightly scathe down the side of his member carefully.

“Stop teasing, babe,” He whines and you laugh lightly.

You lick a long stripe up the side of his member before hollowing out your cheeks to take in as much of him as you can and you hear Taehyung let out a light whimper. You bob your head up & down, noting to use your tongue to swirl around his dick. The breathy moans that leave his lips has you rubbing your thighs together and you work quickly, slacking your jaw as you sink down all the way until your nose touches the hilt. You take in a deep breath, swallowing once around him and you feel the burning sensation back in your throat.

“Jesus, Y/N you take my dick so well,” He groans, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

He bucks his hips upward, aching to feel relief and despite how it burns your throat even more, you let him do as he pleases. You pull back letting your hand twist around the bottom half of his shaft as you dig your tongue into his slit. A slew of cuss words leaves his lips, his breathing becomes ragged and he bucks his hips up once again but then you feel him suddenly retreat from you altogether.

You look up at him confused as to why he would do that when he was so close, afraid that you might’ve done something room. You see him with a shiny packet in hand, eyebrows furrowed, hurriedly trying to tear it open. Frustrated, he uses his teeth to tear the packet open and he pushes your hand that rested limply around his shaft away.

“But you haven’t—“

“Next time, love,” He says. “I just need to feel you around me now,” He growls as he rolls the condom down his member. No, no there won’t be a next time. There can’t be.

He motions for you to come forward and you comply, placing your knees at either side of him as you guide his member towards your entrance. You sink down slowly, crying out as you feel his length stretch out your walls. Taehyung watches you with dark eyes and his jaw slacks at the feeling of his member sliding slowly against your walls. When you sit down fully, you let a long moan escape you while you adjust to his size.

Taehyung places his hands on your hips, silently urging you to move and you rest your palms against his chest as you roll your hips forward cautiously a few times to test the waters.

“Just, like that babe, fuckkk,” He curses.

Moving your hands further up, you grip at his shoulders as you sit back on your knees. You rise up, almost feeling him slip out of you before you slam back down on him.

“Oh my god,” You cry, bouncing up and down as only lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin fills up the room. You feel Taehyung’s fingers dig into the side of your waists leaving behind tiny crescents, guttural groans leaving his throat as he bites down on his bottom lip. Soon, your movements grow sloppy and you let Taehyung do most of the work, him bucking up into you as he lifts you up and down with him. Your eyes shut as wave after wave of pleasure runs throughout your body and you find it hard to hold on.

“God, Y/N why did you ever let me break off our fwb deal?” He groans as he flips you onto your back. He thrusts mercilessly into you, hooking one of your knees onto his shoulder so he can reach deeper into you. You open your mouth to shoot him a witty answer but only sharp scream leaves your throat as the feeling of him hitting just the right spot is almost too much for you.

“Shit, Taehyung right there!” You scream and he picks up the pace, drilling into you. Your hands grip onto the sheets as you feel your climax steadily approaching, high pitched breathy moans leaving your throat. Taehyung’s steady pace starts to falter and you know he’s close too. He lets his hand slip between your bodies so he can rub little circles around your clit and you lift your head to muffle your scream against the crook of his neck, your arms gripping tightly at his back.

Two, three more thrusts and for the second time of the night you’re sent over the edge, your fingernails raking down his back as you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body. A few moments later, with a final push you feel Taehyung’s member stutter inside of you and his face contorts in pleasure as he finally let his hot seeds spill out inside the condom. He helps you ride out both of your highs with a few more shallow thrusts before you’re squirming from over-sensitivity.

Exhaling deeply, Taehyung flops down next to you.

“Damn Y/N that was so—“

“Good,” You smile, completing his sentence for him. The two of you lie there in silence, allowing time for the both of you to catch your breaths. Once everything settles down, Taehyung slips off the bed to discard the condom.

“Heads up,” He shouts as he grabs a hand towel and tosses it from across the room to you.

You wipe down yourself quickly and throw the towel into his hamper. Roaming around his room, you search for your clothes, slowly slipping into your innerwear first.

When you’re fully dressed, you exit his room to find Taehyung smiling as he hands you a small carton of banana milk. You clap your hands together delightedly like a child and he can’t help but laugh at you.

You sit crossed legged on his couch and sip on the banana milk happily while he sits next to you, doing the same. It was a tradition that the two of you had every time you guys slept together and you smile at the familiarity of it all. You liked it this way, you liked having the luxury of being able to call him up at any given time to get your fix. With him, there was no awkwardness, no guilt as you leave the apartment without staying the night but no, you can’t slip back into that routine… not if you wanted to keep this friendship alive.

“You can stay you know, if you’re tired…” Taehyung smiles. “I have your favourite breakfast bagels somewhere in my fridge,” He says as he lifts his eyebrows suggestively.

“Tempting,” You laugh. “But nah, I’ve got a 7.30 am class tomorrow,” You lie.

“Ooh, rough,” He says, making a pained face. “I’ll walk you to the bus stop then?”

The two of you stand at the bus stop making light conversation as you wait along with a bunch of strangers for a bus that never seems to come on time. Your mind drifts away slightly to note the way you love his smile and the way his fringe rests above his eyes— and you mentally slap yourself, forcing yourself to snap out of it.

“Thank you for walking me here,” You say as you watch the bus slowly approaching. “And thanks for um—“ You look around eyeing the strangers that were standing around. “—for you know the thing,” You laugh.

“Like I said Y/N, anytime,” He laughs in return. He waves you goodbye and begins walking back to his apartment as you board the bus. He has the sinking feeling that sleeping with you again was a mistake but he couldn’t resist it, couldn’t resist you. You were a mistake he would gladly make again and again.

You spend the bus ride back to your dorm convincing yourself that you were fine, that you had your feelings in check but you know that it’s a lie. You had saw that thong peeking out from under his bed and you felt a pang of jealousy hit you right in the centre of your chest. You shouldn’t be jealous, you had no right to because the two of you will always be friends and nothing more.

You arrive back to your room to find Jimin sprawled out across your bed, soft snores bubbling from his throat and you snort at the sight. You change into your pajamas and slowly gather his belongings to set it aside on the window sill. This very same situation has happened more times than you can count and you sigh as you pull the blanket over Jimin before slipping under the covers yourself. You’re exhausted, extremely so now after how Taehyung had tired you out so, you’re hoping you’ll finally get the sleep you deserve.

It starts out good, you feel your eyelids getting heavy but then a single thought repeats itself in your brain then, numerous others and you try your best to tune it all out. It doesn’t work though and you feel your heart begin to hammer against your chest, you shut your eyes in frustration, begging yourself to calm down and go to sleep. You hear Jimin turn in his sleep, groaning and you hold your breath, afraid that you’ve somehow woken him up. He sighs as his hand finds your waist and he pulls you closer, smiling as he buries his face in your hair that smelled like peaches. You feel your back pressed flush against his chest and you hope he can’t hear the way your heart is beating like crazy or that he doesn’t feel you shaking with anxiety.

At 5 am, you hear Jimin’s alarm, the annoying godforsaken sound of ducks quacking except this time you’re wide awake and not groaning from being woken up as usual. You shut your eyes pretending to be asleep as Jimin slips out of your room quietly. When you hear the door click shut, you sprawl out across the bed hoping that now that you were so goddamn tired, that your body would finally cooperate and at least let you get 2 hours of sleep.

You spend the rest of your week the same, struggling to fall asleep at night but then catching a few hours in between as you nap in the library waiting for your next class. You were exhausted, tired and frustrated. The material in class starts getting harder with each day and you feel yourself slip behind, your anxiety undoing the hard work you had put in early in the semester.

It’s a Friday night, well was, now that it’s 2 am but you’re still sat at your desk trying to complete your work. You guessed since you won’t be sleeping, you should at least do something productive instead. You’re almost done with the worksheet though and you smile to yourself when you see that you only had 2 questions left. Halfway through solving the final question, you hear your door being slammed open and you whip you head around to see a drunk Jimin stumbling in.

“Nerd!” He exclaims. “You’re still awake,” He smiles and you can see the way his cheeks are tinted rose red. Cute. You turn back to your worksheet when you see him try to stand up straight, fixing his shirt and hair.

“If you’re wondering why I’m here,” He slurs. “It’s because I don’t think I can make it up the stairs.”

You only hum, letting him know you’ve acknowledged his presence.

He ambles towards you drunkenly and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Nerd, it’s Friday night… wait, Saturday morning now and you’re still studying?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“You’re too cute you know that?” He smiles before pecking you on the cheek and you almost feel your pencil slip out of your grip, completely taken aback by what just happened.

You turn your head to the side to stare at him, confused. He only giggles, placing his hands on your cheeks to bring your head towards his lips and he’s pecking you once again but this time on your forehead.

“Jimin…” You say in a confused tone.

He laughs once again, squeezing you in a light hug before skipping to your bed.

He lies down on his side on your bed and props his head up by resting on his elbow. “You need to rest, nerd. You’ve been studying too much,” He sighs. “I can tell by your eyebags that you’ve been staying up way too much,” He hiccups.

You decide to tune him out, focusing only on your worksheet.

“Nerd!” He shouts.

“What do you want now?” You growl.

“Come, sleep,” He pouts, patting the spot next to him on the bed. You wave at him dismissively, mumbling under your breath. “Come hereee,” He whines, flailing around on your bed like a 5-year old throwing a temper tantrum.

“I will, I will, you sleep first alright?” You grunt, completely annoyed with him now. He lets out another whine in protest before he shuffles around in your bed to get under the covers.

You spend a few more minutes on the same question you’ve been stuck on since Jimin entered the room and with a huff you set down your pencil and turned off the lamp above your desk. With a sigh, you turn around to see Jimin already asleep, all curled up against your pillow and you smile at the way he periodically scrunched his nose in his sleep. You move across the room to shut off the lights and you climb into bed, exhaling deeply the moment your head hits the pillow.

As usual, Jimin’s arms finds its way to curl around your waist and he pulls himself closer towards you. He mumbles incoherently and places a soft kiss on your temple as he snuggles up next to you, wrapping his leg around your body. You can’t help but laugh at the way Jimin had entangled himself around you. He sure was interesting when he was drunk. You lie there in silence, battling again with your thoughts, another sleepless night that has become a norm now but you had to admit having Jimin here with you did seem to calm you down, even if it was just a little.

When you wake up later, you find that Jimin is already gone and you smile because it meant that you had at least gotten some amount of sleep that night. You get up from bed, feeling slightly better rested than usual and gave yourself a pep talk. All you had to do was get through this week of midterms and maybe your brain would finally let you get some regular sleep until the next wave of midterms.

Two and a half months into the semester and you’re already counting down the days till the end of the semester. With your second wave of midterms done, Solji doesn’t even have to beg you to come along for the party, you agree straightaway this time. Still struggling to get regular sleep, you hoped that the copious amounts of alcohol you were going to consume tonight would help put you to sleep.

You arrive at the house and drag Solji along straight to the drinks table. You line up 10 shots, 5 for her and 5 for you. She stares at you, completely bewildered as the old you begins to resurface. You throw back the shots consecutively and you don’t see how Solji only takes two and hides the other 3 behind a few bottles. You don’t feel a buzz so you pour yourself a pretty strong drink for good measure which Hoseok makes you down when you meet him in the hallway. After another cup or two, you lose count of the amount of drinks you have had and the rest of the night starts to become a blur.

Your head is spinning and your hearing is all fuzzy but you’re happy and that’s all that mattered to you. You deserve this, you tell yourself. If you didn’t give yourself time to relax once in a while, you’d probably go crazy, you think. After all, the tiny amount of sleep you were getting was already beginning to drive you mad.

You make your way to the dancefloor to see Taehyung already there and he too looks like he had a little too much to drink. It starts out innocent as a funny dance battle but before you know it, you’re grinding down on him and his hands holds you steadily against him as he leaves open mouth kisses on your neck before he starts nipping harshly at your skin. It doesn’t take long before you turn around to encase his lips with yours greedily, not caring that everyone was watching. It was so much harder to concentrate on hiding your feelings when the alcohol keeps telling you to do everything you’re not supposed to. Solji looks on together with Hoseok, laughing at how you said that you’ve “changed” but there you were going back to your old ways. A tiger never changes his stripes, they laugh.

From the far corner of the room, Jimin watches everything silently in frustration, fists clenched and his jaw tight as he gritted his teeth. He downs his drink in a second, the alcohol tasting especially bitter tonight and he knew why but he didn’t want to admit it. When he sees you press your lips against Taehyung’s, he grunts in disapproval and leaves the room in search for a girl that would help him suppress this feeling he felt bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

It must’ve been only quarter past 12 and Solji was already balancing two very drunk girls in her arms. Apparently, you had challenged another one of your close girl friends to a drinking competition sometime throughout the night and here Solji was, picking up the pieces of the aftermath.

“Fuck, Jimin, there you are,” Solji exhales in relief. “Take her,” She says shrugging you off and Jimin jumps forward, catching you before you crumple to the ground. She hands Jimin your belongings and he takes them stuffing them in his pocket.

“Jesus, how much did she have to drink?”

“I don’t even want to know,” She sighs. You twist around in Jimin’s hold mumbling incoherently before resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Make sure she gets home safe yeah? Don’t worry she’s an easy drunk, a lot like you when you’re drunk actually.”

“Wait, why should I?” He asks. “Ask Tae to do it,” He scoffs, tone laced with jealousy.

“I don’t know wher—“ Solji is interrupted by a retching sound as the girl slung across her shoulder gags. “Oh fuck, no, not in the hallway!” She exclaims. She drags her friend along quickly to the bathroom but takes the time to turn around to shout at Jimin. “Make sure she doesn’t drink anymore and get her home okay?”

Jimin sighs heavily as he tugs you upwards, placing one of your hands across his shoulder.

“Nerd, you really need to know your limits,” He huffs.

You perk your head up and smile at him dizzily before pecking him on the cheek. Jimin stills, standing there frozen as he stares at you.

“Boop,” You say as you tap his nose lightly before laughing lightly. Christ, is this what he was like when he was drunk?

He half carries, half drags you to the bus stop and thankfully the bus arrives just as the two of you reach. You’ve visibly began to regain some control over yourself because at least now you weren’t laughing every 5 seconds. You still have trouble staying still though so Jimin lets you rest against him. He glances at his watch and laughs. This was probably the first time he had ever left a party this early, something only you could make him do.

You follow him silently like a lost child as he guides you to your room, trying your best to appear as sober as possible.

“Finally,” He breathes out as he closes the door to your room.

“I know I said you needed to let loose,” He scolds. “But not this much,” He continues as he takes off his shoes and you do the same.

You frown, not fully understanding what he’s saying at this point of time but you know you don’t quite like the tone of his voice.

“Don’t give me that face,” He sighs.

You step up closer towards him examining his features curiously.

It happens all too fast and Jimin is left stunned. First, you’re just staring at him and then he feels your lips against his plush ones. You’re probably too drunk to realize that he isn’t even responding and that he’s quite literally standing in front of you like a statue. A tender touch on his cheek jolts him and he finally retaliates, his lips moving against yours to match your passionate ones. He should stop or he shouldn’t, he can’t decide so he lets you take over. You walk him backwards towards your bed until he feels his knees buckle as it hits the edge of your mattress. His hand wraps around you softly, cushioning the impact and at this point lust has clouded his mind.

Jimin inhales sharply as he feels you nip harshly at his jaw, then at the junction where it meets his neck and all the way down until you reach his collarbone. Your tongue laves at the spots you had bitten down on and Jimin knows he was going to wake up with petals of dark blue and purple down the length of his neck but he doesn’t care, his mind is lost to lust as his hands roamed the curves of your beautiful body. Your hands work nimbly, unbuttoning his shirt in a swift fashion. He shuts his eyes as he feels you press hot open mouth kisses down his body. Your hand stops at his abdomen to marvel at what you’ve only had the pleasure of glancing at, until tonight.

You sit down comfortably between his thighs, straddling him as you fumble at the buckle of his belt. You take a little too long, alcohol still clearly impairing your ability to coordinate your movements.

Jimin’s eyes fly open when he hears the repeated sound of metal clinking against metal combined with your frustrated whines, finally understanding that he should stop you.

“Don’t,” He says, sitting up on his elbows. “I think we shouldn’t do this.”

You frown at him for a second before returning your attention to the belt buckle.

“Stop,” He laughs, sitting up fully to grab at your hands.

“Why?” You frown.

“You’re too drunk, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” He smiles and pats you on the head endearingly.

“When has that ever mattered to you?” You slur. “It’s because I’m not one of those hoity-toity girls isn’t it?”

“No, yes… no,” He sighs, fumbling at his words. “Anyway, I’m a man with morals so of course it matters to me. Also, who even says hoity-toity nowadays?”

“Me,” You state plainly as you pull your hands out from his hold to try and get him to lie down again.

Annoyed with you, he gingerly plucks you off from his hips and wraps his arms tightly around you before pulling you down with him.

“Let go of me,” You groan. “I can’t —unff move my arms,” You continue, flailing around in his hold.

“That’s the point, nerd,” He huffs. “You would’ve regretted it in the morning, trust me.”

“How can I regret something I probably won’t remember?”

“Don’t worry,” He says, a smirk tugging at his lips. “If I had my way with you, you would definitely remember.”

You struggle, pushing and kicking as you try to turn around so you can have leverage against him but he uses his leg to clamp you down in place, all the while laughing because you were absolutely adorable when you were drunk. You give up after a few more minutes only choosing to call him a few choice words before saying, “You’re gonna regret giving up this good piece of ass.”

“I’m sure I will,” He laughs.

A few minutes is all it takes before he hears your breathing slow down and he relaxes his hold on you when he confirms that you’ve fallen asleep. A slight grin tugs at his lips as he thinks about the way your lips felt on his. He shouldn’t be feeling this way about you, he didn’t want to but god, you just had this charm that pulled him in.

At least after tonight he knows for sure that you were attracted to him, making it easier for him. He couldn’t deny that you made his heart flutter sometimes… ok fine, a lot but he was going to complete the challenge that he had set up for himself.

Jimin was like a hurricane, a force to be reckoned with and he tore his way through things with determination, be it rowing or girls. In his wake, he would only leave destruction behind whether he wanted to or not and poor you were standing right in his path. Just like all the other girls he fooled around with, he was only going to leave you empty and broken-hearted even if that wasn’t his intention. Shame, you were really starting to grow on him.

Jimin wakes up first, smiling when he finds that you had somehow found yourself in your usual position, head pressed to his chest and palm resting lightly right next to your face. You looked completely at peace which was good because he knows how tense you had been for the past few weeks. 

He hadn’t mentioned it but he had woken up in the middle of the night a few times now to hear you whispering to yourself to calm down and go to sleep. He had tried to work it into his conversations with you but you always clammed up at the mention of the word ‘stress’ so he only worries about you from a distance, carefully watching to make sure you weren’t on the brink of a mental breakdown.

Jimin sighs, pushing you off slightly so that he could button his shirt before waking you up because he knows you would definitely freak out if you saw him half naked in your bed. 

“Hey nerd,” He says shaking you slightly. “Nerd,” He says a little louder and you groan bringing your hands up to your ears to muffle the sound.

“Stop shouting,” You mumble.

“I’m not,” He laughs. “Just thought you’d like to know it’s 1 pm.”

“It’s what?!” You exclaim, twisting around in his hold. You frantically climb over him and out of your bed. “Where’s my phone?” You ask and you stop moving for a while to hold your throbbing head in your hands.

“There,” He points to the window sill where he had left it last night. You click the home button and your eyes widen in horror as you confirm that it is indeed 1 in the freaking afternoon. You smile gleefully for a while because wow you actually slept for more than 3 hours in one go and then just as quickly your smile fades as you think about the lab report you need to get started on.

He watches as you zip around your room, collecting random pieces of papers to stuff into your bag. You’re all over the place, pulling your charger off the wall and then cramming random stationery into the front pocket of your bag and he laughs as he sees you so worried, eyebrows furrowed and all.

“Shit, shit, shit,” You mutter to yourself. “I have so much to get done, shit and I have this Chem lab report—“

“Calm down,” Jimin chortles, climbing out of bed to walk towards you. “Your lab report isn’t even due until a week and a half from now.”

How did he know that? Why does he even remember that?

“You always make mountains out of molehills you know that? Always stressing yourself out too much,” He smiles, ruffling your hair.

“Shut up, don’t lecture me,” You snap at him, meaning to sound angry but the smile at the end has Jimin smiling along with you.

You look up at him and spot his um very decorated neck. “Jesus, someone was busy last night,” You laugh running your finger across the spots of violet spanning down his neck. “Who gave you these?”

He glances at the mirror and his eyes widen at the sight. Looks like he was going to have to wear a scarf all week. He brings up his finger to touch at the multiple spots before he’s staring back at you, his face so close that the tip of his nose was almost touching yours. He moves swiftly to the side and you feel his hot breath against your ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He whispers seductively before pulling away to smirk at you, his eyes glowing with something, an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. “Anyway, I’ve got to go so, I’ll see you around,” He says as he walks away to put on his shoes.

“By the way nerd, you might want to take a look in the mirror yourself,” He smiles before closing the door behind him.

A hot mess, you knew that’s what you looked like, you thought as you turn to look at the mirror. Your hair was probably all over the place and your make-up all smeared—  What the fuck. Your run your hands up and down your neck in horror as you see matching dark marks on your neck. What are these? Who did this? Just what the fuck happened last night? Did fucking Jimin— Son of a bitch.

A/N: Gonna be busy traveling & enjoying the last few days of my break so decided to crank this one out real quick. Hope it was what you guys were expecting! Also sorry, this is unedited af cos I’m a lazy bih. Will come back to read through. Thank you for reading guys and as always, feedback is welcome! (:

[bountyofbeads]

16,000 Readers Shared Their Experiences of Being Told to ‘Go Back.’ Here Are Some of Their Stories.

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/19/reader-center/trump-go-back-stories.html

PLEASE TAKE TIME TO READ, ABSORB AND SHARE readers responses when they were told to 'GO BACK ' TO where they came from. 😭🙏🏻😭🙏🏼😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏾😭🙏🏿

16,000 Readers Shared Their Experiences of Being Told to ‘Go Back.’ Here Are Some of Their Stories.

By Lara Takenaga and Aidan Gardiner | Published July 19, 2019 | New York Times | Posted July 19, 2019 |

“Go back to where you came from.”

These seven words are seared into the minds of countless Americans — a reminder that they haven’t always been welcome in the country where they were born or naturalized because of their appearance, language or religion.

For many, the pain of past encounters throbbed again after President Trump attacked four Democratic congresswomen of color in a series of tweets this week.

“Why don’t they go back and help fix the totally broken and crime infested places from which they came,” he wrote in one.

When we asked readers if they had been told to “go back,” some 16,000 responses flooded in on our website, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

Readers recounted the insults they’ve heard as African-Americans, Asian-Americans, Native Americans and Jewish Americans. Many recalled first becoming aware of their “otherness” as young children and said that slurs have followed them into adulthood. Their stories span decades, with notable upticks after 9/11 and Mr. Trump’s election. And several readers expressed regret after telling others to “go back.”

We chose 67 of the most representative stories to feature here, lightly edited and condensed. If you’ve been told to “go back,” please share your experience in the comments.

The First Time

I was 12 the first time I heard that. My mom and I were at Costco and it was Christmas Eve. We went there to pick up a ham. By the time we made it to the register, the lines were huge. At some point, a middle-aged white woman tried cutting in line. My mom stopped her, and when she did, the woman said, “Get out of line and go back to Mexico.” When we wouldn’t respond, she got louder and louder.

I had never felt so small or so angry in my life. Even though I’d seen racism on TV and in the movies, that was the first time I ever experienced it in real life.

— Justin Vazquez, Irvine, Calif.

I am American. I was born and raised in Texas. I call this state my home and have never known any other. I am also Muslim and South Asian.

I vividly remember the first time a boy yelled at me to “go home.” I was in middle school and getting used to my first official locker. I had a top locker, which I was excited about, but had not quite mastered it. One afternoon, rushing to change out books between classes, I accidentally dropped one of my textbooks on the foot of a boy whose locker was below mine. I recall turning to him and his friends and saying, “I’m so sorry!”

He stood up — much taller and bigger than I was at 13 — and screamed into my face: “What is wrong with you? GO HOME, YOU DIRTY … ” I won’t repeat his words, but they are seared into my memory.

It was the first time I felt someone’s hatred of me so viscerally. I felt confused, scared, angry and alone. He was the first of many — usually men, usually white, usually angry — who have yelled at me to “go home.”

Now, as a professional adult, it is usually not a slur screamed through an open car window or someone shoving me down a middle school hallway — it is the subtle and not-so-subtle, “Where are you really from?” and, “Are you sure you’re Muslim? You don’t seem like the others,” comments masked as questions.

No matter how many American flags I put on my lawn, how diligently I pursue the American dream that my parents came here for or how hard I try to be the model citizen, it seems I am the perennial “other” — that I have to constantly prove my allegiance to my country and that I am (no really! I am!) American.

— Sakina Rasheed Foster, Dallas

When I was in seventh grade, I commented to some classmates that I didn’t like cheeseburgers. One of them, a white girl, turned to me and said, “You’re not American, go back to Mexico!”

Everyone in the group laughed, and I joined in, trying to disguise my shock.

I’ll never forget that instance, and how “othered” it made me feel. Never mind that I was born in Albuquerque, and am not of Mexican descent.

Up until that moment, I thought my classmates saw me as one of them, an equal. I realized after that day that my Spanish surname and the color of my skin made me an outsider in the eyes of my white classmates.

— Margot Luna, Washington, D.C.

New Tensions After 9/11

I’ve been called a terrorist and Osama bin Laden’s son. I’ve been told to go on my jihad. I’ve been called a member of Al Qaeda and the Taliban. These all came during high school. I was born here, yet others told me I didn’t belong.

I always tried to shrug off the comments. At times, I’d even try to educate the people who called me these names to tell them why it’s incorrect to categorize me as that. I’m a first-generation American and my parents emigrated to the United States from Iran in the 1970s.

— Keian Razipour, Los Angeles

I immigrated to the United States from Panama in 2002 at just 8 years old. My mother enlisted in the Army, so my first experience of America was living and attending school at a military base in North Carolina six months after 9/11.

Faced with hypernationalism, hyperpatriotism and being “othered” by my peers for my language and cultural barriers, I was told to “go back” to my country on an almost daily basis. I was called an “alien,” “beaner” and “wetback,” words that I had no cultural context for.

I wished for nothing more in those first months than to be able to go back home to Panama — but this was my home now. My mother was fighting alongside their fathers. Didn’t that mean we belonged here, too?

— Paola Salas Paredes, Washington, D.C.

I had just started a doctorate program in August 2001. Soon after 9/11, I was talking about the attacks with some of my fellow graduate students. We had a disagreement about what the American response should be. My response was clearly not bellicose enough — my classmates thought we should immediately obliterate the entire Middle East.

These same classmates told me I should “love it or leave it” with respect to the United States. I asked them where I should go — back to Texas (where I grew up)? They said no, where your parents came from. I asked them if I should go back to New York (where my parents were from). They said no, where my “people” are from (three of my four grandparents emigrated from Poland and Russia).

I’d experienced anti-Semitism growing up, but never anything like that. I had never been called un-American, and never been told that this wasn’t my home. I didn’t realize at the time that this was just the beginning, and that this “with us or against us” mentality would metastasize into what we are seeing today.

— Rachel Walker, Keller, Tex.

Growing Up As An Asian-American

The worst experience was when I was a young child, playing on my driveway, and heard several thwacks and felt a cold sticky substance running down the back of my neck. I had been egged, and our house had been hit with vegetables. Someone shouted from a distance, “Go back to China, chink!”

— Kenneth Hung, New York City

I immigrated to the U.S. from the Philippines in the early 1970s with my parents, and we became U.S. citizens soon after our arrival. We lived in a very diverse neighborhood in the Near West Side of Chicago right next to the local university’s medical schools.

One unfortunate day, my mother took my 8-year-old brother and 12-year-old me to a neighborhood that was predominantly white. While my brother and I patiently waited in the car for my mom, a group of kids from that neighborhood came up to the car and started throwing stones at the car while yelling, “Go back home, you chinks!”

Thinking this was just a case of mistaken identity, I tried to explain to them that we were not Chinese, but was pelted with rocks. My mother ran out to yell at these kids to stop, and soon a white adult from the neighborhood came running out. Just when I thought sanity would ensue, the white adult, in support of the rock-throwing kids, told my mother to get the hell out of their neighborhood and to go back home.

My mother drove us out of there in tears, as she wiped the tears from my face.

I had never experienced such outward hatred and bigotry before and I was wondering to myself why were they so angry. My innocent 8-year-old brother broke our silent drive home by saying, “Those must’ve been Sox fans!”

My mom and I could only smile through our tears at the wonderful innocence. From that day on, my brother and I became very aware of our ethnic identities and the power of ignorance and hated.

— Gerry Granada, Chicago

My parents used to own a small diner in Santa Monica, Calif., when I was young. A customer didn’t like his order and got the ketchup bottle and sprayed it all over the wall of the store and yelled, “Go back to your country!”

It was the first time I was made to feel like an “other,” through my parent’s experience.

— Brian Kim, Hayward, Calif.

Los Angeles

I’ve been called a terrorist and Osama bin Laden’s son. I’ve been told to go on my jihad. I’ve been called a member of Al Qaeda and the Taliban.

—Keian Razipour

As a kid in elementary school, people found out that I’m Vietnamese and would tell me to go back to my communist country because I must be a communist.

Hearing that from students and teachers as an American citizen and as a young child was hurtful and incredibly frustrating because my family had fought in Vietnam against communism. I had family members that never came home from that war — but that didn’t make a difference.

— Hannah Tong, Winona, Minn.

When my younger sister and I were in elementary school, we were told by an older student to “go back to China” after we refused to tell him whether we knew Yao Ming (so, two racist slurs for the price of one!).

We were both born in America to immigrant parents; our father came from Japan, our mother from Taiwan. We had never even been to China. We grew up in a predominantly white suburb of Chicago, and though I knew we were Asian, it had never occurred to me until then that we might be seen as different or strange in the only home we had ever known.

— Natalie Yang, Chicago

The People Who Said ‘Go Back’ — and Regret It

Unfortunately, I do not want to admit this, but I have told people, people who are Americans, to go back to their country (which does not make much sense other than the fact that they look different from the majority) and I feel horrible for it.

While I do regret these actions, I felt emboldened at the time because of the current political climate.

— Richard Nahas, Omaha

Several years ago in Los Angeles, a guy cut me off in a parking lot. That escalated into yelling out of windows and, to my utter shame, I yelled for this Arab-looking man to go back home.

I was ashamed then and more so now and have never repeated this epithet.

But to say this is not who we are as Americans is not entirely true. This is who we are on our worst day. I would give a lot to be able to apologize to this man.

— Matthew Sunderland, Joshua Tree, Calif.

One day while shopping in Home Depot, a lovely dark-skinned man of obvious Asian origin commented to me how very hot he found it in my Florida hometown ever since moving from New York.

Without thinking, I said, “So why don’t you go back to where you came from?” meaning, fully and honestly, to New York, not the country he’d emigrated from.

“I mean, to stay cooler,” I quickly added, seeing the look of insult that swept over him.

Both of us remained silent as he led me to my aisle. For me, I realized every word I utter has impact.

— teZa Lord, St. Augustine, Fla.

African-Americans’ Constant Battle For Equality

I’ve been told to “go back to Africa” repeatedly. At this point, I don’t really feel anything about it because I’m accustomed to people’s ignorance. I’m a black American and my family has been here since the 1600s. I usually just respond with that fact and people get uncomfortable. The funny thing is that one of my nonblack ancestors is actually Robert E. Lee.

— Whitney Lee, Washington, D.C.

Decades later, I still remember how much it hurt.

I was usually the only little black girl in class. I was teased about my nappy hair and my wide nose. My dark skin was called dirty. Many times, I was told to go back to Africa although I’ve never been.

And it wasn’t just mean kids. Even teachers would sometimes ask me where I was from with a look of disdain.

I rarely stood up for myself. I would just shrink inward in unwarranted shame. It wasn’t until the era of black pride that I finally found my voice. I’m black and I’m proud of my African ancestry and look forward to one day going to Africa for the first time!

— Pat St.Claire, Atlanta

I was about 13 when a white classmate overheard me complaining to friends about the Vietnam War. He looked at me and said, “If you don’t like it here, why don’t you go back to Africa?”

I was too shocked to respond. I had never considered Africa to be my homeland. My family has roots in northeastern Louisiana dating back to slavery. To me, my ancestral home was Oak Grove, La.

It wasn’t until much later, after many other such negative interactions, that I understood how, to many whites, African-Americans are not considered to be real Americans, equally deserving of the rights and privileges of citizenship.

— Michael Hornsby, Albany

I was on a summer league basketball team in 1990. We played a game in Squirrel Hill, the same neighborhood as the Tree of Life shooting.

We beat the all-white team with a late flurry of baskets. In the team and their fans: anger. We were called “N-s.” Our lone white player was an “N- lover.” We were “monkeys” and told to go back to Africa.

In 1990 and in western Pennsylvania, we all had experienced racism and disrespect on that level except our white player. He quit the team. Embarrassment? Shame? We don’t know because none of us ever saw him again.

— Allen Malik Easton, Pittsburgh

The Ignorance Fueling Racist Comments

I was in high school and my brothers were in elementary school. We were riding the school bus in the morning to school. Some kid threw a crumpled-up piece of paper and yelled, “Go back to where you came from! You didn’t win in Iraq and you aren’t going to win here!”

What this redneck didn’t know was that we are from India, not Iraq. He had thought that my Sikh brothers and I were Muslim.

— Reetu Height, Nashville

I’m Peruvian-American born in Flushing Hospital, and yes, I’ve been told to go back to “Taliban.”

— Chris La Rosa, Queens

I am a black woman of biracial ancestry. My mother is a white Jewish woman and my father is black. My facial characteristics are racially ambiguous, and I am often misidentified as Latina, specifically Puerto Rican, Dominican or Cuban.

Several months ago, at a gas station in Jacksonville, Fla., an older white man approached me as I pumped gas into my car.

“How many houses did you clean to buy that convertible?!” he yelled.

Startled, scared and angry, I chose to ignore him because, well, it is a “conceal carry” state.

As I attempted to quickly place the nozzle back onto the pump station, he walked closer to me and with venom in his voice said, “You should take your ass back to Mexico!”

— Chevara Orrin, Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

My family suffered at the hands of plantation owners in Hawaii and during the internment camps of World War II. Even when our countrymen thought of us as traitors, we fought for them in the 442nd.

My mother, sister and myself have been told numerous times to “go home.” My family has fought, died and worked for a more perfect union for generations. Seeing the president and his apologists share this idiocy is infuriating and hurtful.

— Joel Higa, Chicago

During my first semester in college, my friends and I were walking to dinner when two guys told us to “go back to China.” This was 2015, at a highly selective private school in an urban city, so it was incredibly shocking to hear those words on campus.

I envisioned college as a place where people were past making racist remarks, but it only confirmed to me that society still saw Asians as perpetual foreigners.

To be honest, at the time I was still a green card holder, but I had spent my entire childhood in the U.S. The country that I’m “from” is Canada.

— Stephanie Yuan, Washington, D.C.

Abuse In The Trump Era

I was walking my two boys out of their middle school. In the school’s driveway, as several students and parents were walking out, a minivan pulled out to my side and a middle schooler yelled at me and my boys to go back to my own country. She was driving with her mother and was barely 13 years old.

I was dumbfounded and surprised. There was hate in her and her voice and expression. I did not catch the minivan’s license plate number but did catch a Trump sticker on the back. This was right after Trump got elected.

I felt hurt, as this was the first time I was confronted with racism in my face.

— Yogesh Lund, Austin, Tex.

I am the U.S.-born white parent of a child adopted from Vietnam. He is a naturalized U.S. citizen.

In early February 2017, just a few weeks after the “Muslim ban” went into effect, someone put a sign on our front lawn. It was a Trump/Pence sign from the 2016 election. The side facing our front door had been papered over with “Ban Them All” written on it.

It was devastating. It took my breath away to see such hatred directed at a child, to know the intent was for my sixth grader to see that message when he opened the door to go to school.

We called our town’s police, but we had to make follow-up calls to try to convince them to classify it as a hate crime. I posted a picture of the sign on a local Facebook page, and this spurred an outpouring of support.

Two days later, our lawn was decorated with dozens of signs saying things like “You belong here” and “We’re glad you’re here.” I believe love will always trump hate, but two years later, my family is still reeling from this hateful act.

— Bonnie Gardner, Vienna, Va.

I had a new employee whom I was instructed to train in 2017 where I was employed in Kansas. He was from the South and I am originally from California.

Upon introductions, he immediately spun around and told me to go back to the country where I came from and get the “HELL” out of America. This was after Trump was elected and he was bragging about being a Trump fan. I never talk politics at work so I let his comments go.

It was very unnerving trying to train someone whose viewpoint was that I was an unwelcome immigrant from California.

— Mayjo LaPlante, Topeka, Kan.

I mentioned to my friend, whom I’ve known for 50 years, that during my recent visit to Australia, how impressed I was with the national health care system in comparison to the dismal state of ours.

I was devastated when she suggested I move to another country since, “You don’t seem happy with this one.” I responded that “I’ve been a proud and patriotic American citizen since I was naturalized at age 10,” that this is “my country as much as it is yours,” that I care deeply it and that critiquing and participating in protests against certain government policies is patriotic.

I reminded her that protests against the Vietnam War helped end it sooner and saved American and Vietnamese lives. She didn’t respond.

We’ve had a deep chasm in our relationship since she voted for Trump, whom I consider a racist and abhorrent individual who lacks character and decency.

I love my friend, but I now suspect she’s a white nationalist. As painful as it may be, I’m considering whether it’s time to address my concerns with her and see where the chips fall.

— Nadia McGeough, McLean, Va.

Reacting And Responding

About five years ago, I was watching the Fourth of July parade in Bristol, R.I., when a woman who was upset because I was unintentionally blocking her view, shouted, “Go back to your country!”

Even though I wasn’t an American citizen, I had lived legally here for more than 15 years, married to an American citizen with an American daughter. I was very upset and felt humiliated, but I said back to her: “Are you a Native American? If not, you should go back, too!”

— Rogeria Christmas, Bristol, R.I.

I was told to go back one beautiful, sunny afternoon in Brooklyn. I turned around to make sure it was indeed what I had thought I heard as I walked past a woman, someone mumbling, “Go back to Egypt.”

When I turned back and looked at the deliverer of the message, she looked at me directly and repeated it. I was in a sassy mood and retorted, “I’m going to take you with me.” She quickly turned around and avoided further conversation, and I smirked my way down that Brooklyn block and laughed it off with my friend who was with me.

— Rokshana Ali, Queens

Changing To Blend In

From my experience here in Tennessee, I have learned that I am no longer allowed to wear my head scarf in public because of constant harassment and physical assault.

I used to work in West Town Mall at a local phone store, and I was harassed and followed to my car multiple times by racist people telling me to go back to my country.

There was even a time I was grocery shopping and was screamed at and chanted at in the middle of Walmart, “RATS GO BACK TO IRAQ.”

It was so hurtful as a child to know people didn’t know me and already hated me. And it has affected my mental health as well.

— Yasmeen Hamed, Knoxville, Tenn.

This happened a couple of years after Sept. 11. I was walking out of the old Barnes & Noble on Austin Street in Forest Hills with my husband, who was carrying our granddaughter on his shoulders. An older white woman, who mistook my husband to be Iranian (he’s Central American and has a beard), started shouting at him to go back to Iran.

She then said our granddaughter should have burned in the towers instead of Americans.

I was blind with rage, but my husband remained calm, as it appeared our granddaughter was unaware of what the woman was saying and that it was directed at the two of them. This woman did not see me, as I was behind them. It took all of my willpower to not make a scene for my granddaughter’s sake.

The next day my husband shaved his beard so as to not appear too “Muslim.” My heart broke that day.

— Adele Chavarria, Brooklyn

When Bystanders Stay Silent

One day, on a crowded subway train in New York City, an older couple wanted to get on the extremely crowded train car that I was in. They asked me (a visibly Muslim woman wearing a hijab) to move over, although there was no room for me to do that. I told them that I couldn’t move, and they responded by pushing me to the side and saying: “In this country, you’re not that important. Go back to where you came from.”

I felt offended about the assumption of where I am from, and totally taken aback by the fact that they felt they had more of a right to take up space than someone else did, no matter where I was from. Although others nearby heard what they said, no one spoke up and I felt incredibly vulnerable.

— Lama Ahmad, Dearborn, Mich.

The day the lockdown broke in Boston after the marathon bombing, I went with a friend who happens to be East Indian to celebrate (and breathe easier) at a bar in Boston.

An older white man who stood behind us was muttering insults somewhat under his breath. Finally, I turned around to face him, to which he replied, “Take your slanty eyes back to your country.”

I am Filipina-American, born in San Diego. My father served in the Navy. Though I grew up in New Orleans, I have no “accent.” Not Southern, not Asian, not even Bostonian. Not that that would matter, but I mention it only to highlight that the only quality that signaled “not from here” to this man was the color of my skin and my facial features.

He would not relent, and out of sheer disbelief and anger at his taunts, I stood up on my bar stool, now the tallest person in the room, and shouted at the top of my lungs (I was a junior varsity cheerleader): “WHAT DID YOU SAY? Say it again! Say it again because everyone in this room is going to hear you now.”

I was shaking and afraid. The room buzz went down, then back up again. No patron intervened the way someone always does when there’s a punch thrown. Soon, the manager of the bar, a white woman, came out and asked me to wait in the back room. The bartender, a black male who had witnessed the incident and knew the man taunting us, came back as well. I explained what happened and she offered to give us a gift certificate or to comp our dinner. I was appalled. I did not want a free meal, nor did I want to be pulled aside for my calling a bigot out.

I left that day, not celebrating freedom after the city’s siege. I left feeling imprisoned in my skin in my home country — a born citizen who will never truly belong.

— Annaliza Nieve, Newbury, Mass.

San Antonio

It doesn’t matter that I’m multigenerational American. It doesn’t matter that I come from a long history of veterans and social activists who have worked to make our nation safer and stronger.

—Eddie Torres

I was born in the States but raised mostly in South Korea until I moved here in the early 2000s. About five years ago, I sat next to an elderly man on a bench in the subway. He immediately recoiled and started complaining about how I shouldn’t be sitting there, though I didn’t realize this at first because I was listening to music.

When I finally realized he was speaking to me (or about me), I immediately felt afraid. I did not want to engage him, so I stood up and began walking away. He yelled to my back: “You don’t even speak English, do you? Go back to your [expletive] country!” It was a pretty busy platform, but everyone averted their eyes and pretended they couldn’t hear anything. No one said a thing.

I waited for my train burning in shame, thinking about all the things I could have said to him. I’ve had quite a few encounters like this over the years and it’s always the same: I’m stunned into silence, and the slow burn of anger lingers for a long time.

— Seine Kim, Brooklyn

Dealing With Slurs At Work

When I was a reporter for the CBS TV affiliate in Fresno, a viewer called asking who was “the spic on the air?”

I said: “You are talking to him. How can I help you?”

Other times, the message was, “Go back to your country.”

— Pablo Espinoza, Elk Grove, Calif.

I am a physician. I worked on a patient in serious condition. In the morning, he was much improved and woke up. The first thing he said when he woke up was that he wanted a white physician and I should go back to my country (expletives excluded).

A Latino patient next to him defended me and told him, “If that doctor went to sleep instead of taking care of you, you would not have woken up today. Be thankful.”

I knew I saved his life and that was important to me, not his prejudice.

— Sridhar Chilimuri, White Plains, N.Y.

One day at summer camp, a bully who pretty much did whatever he wanted at camp was bullying a little girl over her ice cream. She was crying and before I realized the implications of what I was about to do, I yelled out, “Hey, leave her alone.”

He looked at me and said, “Shut up, spic, go back to where you came from.”

This was the first time I was ever called a “spic” and suggested that I did not belong here because I was not American.

I felt isolated, alone and scared because the bully was now moving toward me and I was surrounded by other kids who were his friends, and I was now going to be the recipient of his wrath. Luckily for me, camp counselors saw what was about to transpire and broke up the confrontation.

In my first year as a firefighter, I was the only person of Hispanic heritage in the department. One person asked if I was an affirmative-action hire. Another said, “Why couldn’t a white guy get the job?”

The thought that I had gone through the testing process and passed on my own merit was more than they could comprehend. Then someone said, “Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”

Those same feelings I felt as a 10-year-old boy came rushing back. Again I felt isolated and alone, but the counselors were not there to save me. I looked back at him and said very calmly, “I was born in Stamford, Conn.”

— Rey Rodriguez, Danbury, Conn.

Children of refugees on ‘American-ness’

As the first-generation daughter of Vietnamese refugees, throughout my entire life I have been told to go back to where I came from. Every single time, those words wound me to my core. My parents fought and sacrificed endlessly to scratch out a life of opportunities for my sisters and me.

Just because my eyes are slanted does not mean I am any less deserving of being here. Just because I am a woman of two languages and two cultures does not mean I am any less American. Just because I see the flaws in our government does not mean I am not patriotic.

In fact, all those things make me inherently more American. This country was built on the backs of immigrants, shaped by hundreds of cultures and molded by the voices of dissent for equality.

— Christina Tran, Greenville, S.C.

Growing up in Chicago in the Uptown neighborhood, I’ve been discriminated against since I was 5 years old. My parents were Cambodian refugees who arrived to the U.S. in 1981. I was born four years later.

The one that I remembered clearly was in Uptown. I was helping a friend parallel park her car. I stuck my head out the window to help her when all of a sudden a white man walking by told me to go back to where I came from.

I was stunned but not fazed because this racism wasn’t my first encounter. People always question my American-ness because I’m Cambodian-American and I don’t look white.

— Phirany Lim, San Francisco

When you’re told to ‘speak English’

I was born in Philadelphia to Palestinian immigrant parents. I’ve been told on numerous occasions to go “back to Palestine” (or “back to Pakistan,” an unsurprising error racists seem to make).

Once while shopping and chatting with my mother in Arabic on the phone, I heard a man tell me that “We speak English in America. Like it or leave.” I hung up the phone, turned to him and said, “I beg your pardon?” and watched his shock. He hurried away.

But I didn’t feel victorious. I felt humiliated. As he’d wanted me to.

— Susan B. Muaddi Darraj,Phoenix, Md.

I went to the post office to mail a package. There were many steps going up to the entrance door. I was holding my 4-year-old daughter’s hand. We counted in English on our way up. We mailed the package. On the way back down we counted in Spanish. Suddenly, an older woman said, “This is America; talk to your daughter in English or go back to Mexico.”

I don’t think she realized I spoke English because she was very caught off guard when I replied: “As a U.S. citizen I know that because I live in America, I can speak in any language I please.”

This is just one of five instances since Donald Trump was elected president. In my entire 34 years previously, I’d only ever been told such a thing one time.

It makes me feel like I belong nowhere. I’m a U.S. citizen born to an immigrant parent who later became a naturalized citizen. However, I feel like I will never be American enough because I’ll never be white. Regardless of my accomplishments or strife, I’ll just never be good enough.

— Sandra Benitez, Sunnyside, Wash.

Some years ago, I was in a bar with a friend chatting in Arabic. I went up to get a few more drinks, and some guy thought I had cut in front of him and said, “Don’t you know we have lines in this country?”

I was taken aback and asked, “Excuse me?” He responded, “If you don’t like it, why don’t you go back to your country, and have fun drinking over there.”

As a rule, I don’t ever try to explain my humanity to someone — it’s a degrading experience in and of itself. So I ignored him, got my beers and went back to my table. My best revenge is enjoying my time with my sister at our local bar.

— Randa Tawil, Seattle

[emmagreen1220-blog]

New Post has been published on Literary Techniques

New Post has been published on https://literarytechniques.org/epiphany-in-literature/

Epiphany in Literature

Epiphany is a mystical revelation, a profound insight gained when one suddenly grasps the essence of a mundane object, statement, moment, or gesture—that is, when one suddenly sees these things for what they truly are, their essence, their actual nature. The writer who introduced this term into literary criticism, James Joyce (as he indicates through his alter-ego in Stephen Hero) “believed that it was for the man of letters to record these epiphanies with extreme care, seeing that they themselves are the most delicate and evanescent of moments.” Irrespective of Joyce’s advice or precisely because of it, many authors have done just that, documenting (or inventing) some of the best-known and life-altering epiphanies in the history of human ideas. Here are 10 of them.

10 Examples of Epiphany in Literature

Example #1: The Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100 BC)

When they arrived at Uruk the strong-walled, Gilgamesh then spoke to Urshanabi, the ferryman, (and said): ‘Urshanabi, ascend and walk about on the wall of Uruk, inspect the corner-stone, and examine its brick-work, whether its wall is not made of burned brick, and its foundation laid by the Seven Sages. One third for city, one third for garden, one third for field, and a precinct for the temple of Ishtar. These parts and the precinct comprise Uruk.’

There are at least three epiphanic moments in the earliest surviving work of literature. The first one occurs in the very first book of the epic, when Enkidu, a primitive man who eats and runs with the beasts, is seduced by Shamhat, a temple prostitute; after six days and six nights in her embrace, Enkidu realizes that his strength has been “diminished,” but also that he has somehow, in the meantime, acquired judgment and has become wiser. Gilgamesh is the one who experiences the second epiphany, soon after the death of his (by then) faithful friend, Enkidu; suddenly, Gilgamesh becomes aware that he is mortal and that he will one day inevitably die as well (Books VIII and IX). So, he embarks on a mission to become immortal, but the rejuvenating plant he obtains with much effort eventually gets eaten by a snake. And that’s when Gilgamesh’s final epiphany occurs. As he and his ferryman Urshanabi reach Uruk, watching the city walls he had once built, Gilgamesh utters the words above. They signify his realization that, in a way, he has already reached immortality: though he will ultimately die, his creation, the divine walls of Uruk, will remain long after he’s gone. No wonder the “ars longa, vita brevis” motif is such a common topic in literature!

Example #2: Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy (1767)

I was but ten years old when this happened: but whether it was, that the action itself was more in unison to my nerves at that age of pity, which instantly set my whole frame into one vibration of most pleasurable sensation;—or how far the manner and expression of it might go towards it;—or in what degree, or by what secret magic,—a tone of voice and harmony of movement, attuned by mercy, might find a passage to my heart, I know not;—this I know, that the lesson of universal good-will then taught and imprinted by my uncle Toby, has never since been worn out of my mind: And tho’ I would not depreciate what the study of the Literae humaniores, at the university, have done for me in that respect, or discredit the other helps of an expensive education bestowed upon me, both at home and abroad since;—yet I often think that I owe one half of my philanthropy to that one accidental impression.

Taken from Laurence Sterne’s picaresque novel Tristram Shandy, the excerpt above describes “possibly the first non-religious epiphany in English literature” (Wim Tigges). It occurs in the twelfth chapter of the second volume of the book, and it follows an extremely trivial moment: Tristram’s uncle Toby setting free a “caught at last” fly “which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time.” Lifting up the sash and opening his hand to let it escape, “go,” says Toby, “go, poor devil, get thee gone, why should I hurt thee? – This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.” As you can read here, this event left such a profound impression upon the young Tristram that he credits half of the philanthropy of his adult self to it.

Example #3: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Part One, 775-784 (1808)

An unbelievably sweet yearning Drove me to roam through wood and lea, Crying, and as my eyes were burning, I felt a new world grow in me. This song proclaimed the spring feast’s free delight, appealing To the gay games of youth-they plead: Now memory entices me with childlike feeling Back from the last, most solemn deed. Sound on, oh hymns of heaven, sweet and mild! My tears are flowing; earth, take back your child! (Tr. Walter Kauffman)

Despairing at his inability to transcend the confines of human knowledge, at the beginning of Goethe’s marvelous play Faust, the title character decides to commit suicide. However, just as he is about to drink a lethal amount of poison—the bowl already pressed to his lips—he hears the chime of the Easter bells and a few choral songs celebrating the rebirth of Christ. Even though not a believer (“Although I hear the message, I lack all faith or trust”), Faust is suddenly overcome with an incredibly sweet feeling which brings tears to his eyes; at first he is confused as to why the Easter bells should have such an effect on him, but he soon realizes that it is because they had involuntarily reminded him of his childhood days when “heaven’s love rushed at [him] as a kiss” and “every prayer brought impassioned bliss.” The epiphanic experience is so strong that, in a second, it inspires Faust to rethink his decision to kill himself and embrace life yet again. By the way, it can be argued that there is nothing more central to Goethe’s greatest work than the power of epiphany; Faust, after all, agrees to give his soul to Mephistopheles only if the latter one provides him with an atemporal experience, i.e., a moment to which he should say: “Abide, you are so fair” (1700). He does do that on two different occasions—but in both cases, his soul is saved.

Example #4: George Eliot, Middlemarch (1872)

She opened her curtains, and looked out towards the bit of road that lay in view, with fields beyond outside the entrance-gates. On the road there was a man with a bundle on his back and a woman carrying her baby; in the field she could see figures moving—perhaps the shepherd with his dog. Far off in the bending sky was the pearly light; and she felt the largeness of the world and the manifold wakings of men to labor and endurance. She was a part of that involuntary, palpitating life, and could neither look out on it from her luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her eyes in selfish complaining.

In Epiphany in the Modern Novel, Morris Beja rightly claims that “novelists before James and Conrad, say, did not use moments of revelation to the same extent, or with the same emphasis—and certainly not with the same distinct effect—as many modern novelists do.” However, he does point out that authors such as Dickens, George Eliot, and Hardy “wrote novels which contain such moments.” The excerpt above, taken from the 80th chapter of the 8th book of Middlemarch, is enough evidence of this. In it, a casual gaze through the curtains—which reveals to her images of “pearly light” and “figures moving”—opens the eyes of Dorothea Casaubon to “the largeness of the world” and inspires her to start feeling as if a part of—as Walter Pater would say—“the fullness of existence.” Beja’s point is that Woolf or Joyce would have probably ended their short stories or novels here, allowing the reader to experience the full weight of the epiphany by means of an open end; in the case of Eliot, however, as Wim Tigges notes, one is left wondering whether Dorothea is even aware of her revelatory experience as epiphany.

Example #5: Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, “The Student” (1894)

The student thought again that if Vasilisa had shed tears, and her daughter had been troubled, it was evident that what he had just been telling them about, which had happened nineteen centuries ago, had a relation to the present—to both women, to the desolate village, to himself, to all people. The old woman had wept, not because he could tell the story touchingly, but because Peter was near to her, because her whole being was interested in what was passing in Peter’s soul. And joy suddenly stirred in his soul, and he even stopped for a minute to take breath. ‘The past,’ he thought, ‘is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another.’ And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when he touched one end the other quivered. (Tr. Constance Garnett)

In Anton Chekhov’s charming 1894 short story “The Student”—which the author considered both a favorite of his and a “manifesto for optimism”—the 22-year-old title character, Ivan Velikopolsky, while returning home from shooting, happens upon Vasilisa and Lukerya, a mother and a daughter, both widowed. It is the evening of Good Friday, and Ivan is “the son of a sacristan, and a student of the clerical academy,” so the obligatory greetings quickly evolve into Ivan recounting to the two women the story of the Denial of Peter. Both of them are deeply moved: big tears start flowing down Vasilisa’s cheeks, and Lukerya’s face becomes “strained and heavy like that of someone enduring intense pain.” As you can see yourself in the excerpted paragraph, this is what leads to Ivan’s epiphany, to his realization that all of history must be connected in some way, and that “truth and beauty… had continued without interruption to this day.” Chekhov’s ends the short story with a description of the otherworldly feeling which overwhelms Ivan upon this realization, with one of the simplest and most beautiful depictions of the internal realm of an epiphanic experience: “…the inexpressible sweet expectation of happiness, of unknown mysterious happiness, took possession of him little by little, and life seemed to him enchanting, marvelous, and full of lofty meaning.”

Example #6: Kate Chopin, “The Story of an Hour” (1894)

Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself, a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath: ‘free, free, free!’ The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.

Louise Mallard, the heroine of Kate Chopin’s somewhat controversial short story “The Story of an Hour,” is afflicted with heart trouble, which is why the news of her husband’s death is broken to her as gently as possible. Devastated, Mrs. Mallard retreats to her room, where she despondently awaits for her grief to either subside or kill her. “There was something coming to her,” remarks Chopin, “and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.” And then suddenly that “something coming to her” shows its face: Mrs. Mallard is overcome with an unexpected sense of relief and freedom. She leaves the room triumphantly but, as she descends the stairs, her husband suddenly enters the room: the news of his death was false. Upon seeing him, Mrs. Mallard’s heart gives up; ironically, the doctors say that “she had died of heart disease—of the joy that kills.”

Example #7: Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim (1900)

I kept him company; and suddenly, but not abruptly […] he pronounced, ‘Mon Dieu! how the time passes!’ Nothing could have been more commonplace than this remark; but its utterance coincided for me with a moment of vision. It’s extraordinary how we go through life with eyes half shut, with dull ears, with dormant thoughts. […] Nevertheless, there can be but few of us who had never known one of those rare moments of awakening when we see, hear, understand ever so much—everything—in a flash—before we fall back again into our agreeable somnolence. I raised my eyes when he spoke, and I saw him as though I had never seen him before.

Reviewing Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim for the 26 July 1917 edition of The Times Literary Supplement, Virginia Woolf excerpts the passage above and says that it is “one of those passages… which interests us almost more for what they reveal of the writer than for any light they throw on the story.” In it, Marlow is drinking with “that French naval officer who appears very distinctly for a few pages and then drops out altogether” and experiences an enlightening revelation (excerpted here), even though its trigger is a pretty commonplace remark: “how the time passes!” The “moment of vision,” Woolf continues, is such which allows Conrad himself to see his own characters “as if he had never seen them before; he expounds his vision, and we see it, too. These visions are the best things in his books.” At about the time Woolf wrote this, Joyce settled on a name to describe these visions: epiphanies.

Example #8: Robert Musil, The Confusions of Young Törless (1906)

He was standing very straight, as proudly as if he were the judge here; and he looked straight ahead, past the men facing him—he could not bear the sight of this ridiculous assembly. There outside the window was a crow, perching on a branch. Apart from that there was nothing but the vast white plain. He felt that the moment had come when he would talk clearly, coherently, and triumphantly of the things that had at first been vague and tormenting within him, and later had been lifeless, without force. (Tr. Eithne Wilkins and Ernst Kaiser)

The Confusions of Young Törless is the unjustly overlooked literary debut of Robert Musil, whose magnum opus, The Man Without Qualities, is widely considered one of the most important novels of the 20th century. A bildungsroman, The Confusions of Young Törless is set in an Austrian boarding school, where three students— Reiting, Beineberg, and Törless—catch their classmate Basini stealing money, and, instead of turning him over, decide to punish him themselves. As time passes, Reiting and Beineberg torture Basini ever more sadistically, and Törless (who is mostly an onlooker) grows disgusted with the three of them. Eventually, at the advice of Törless, Basini turns himself in, and the matter is investigated by the school authorities. While being questioned by them, Törless seems disinterested in defending himself, as he suddenly realizes that there is “something quite weird” in him; “as though soliloquizing,” with eyes fixed on some far distance, he proceeds to give the board an inspired—but utterly irrelevant—speech on his unique capability to “see things in two different ways.” Even though nobody but Törless grasps its depth, it is evident to everybody that he has experienced some sort of epiphany at this moment, since the words and the figures of speech he uses are far beyond what is appropriate to his age, and yet they flow “easily and naturally from his lips in this state of vast excitement he was in, in this moment of almost poetic inspiration.” In the end, he is deemed too intelligent for punishment—and even for the institute itself.

Example #9: H. P. Lovecraft, “The Outsider” (1921)

Nearly mad, I found myself yet able to throw out a hand to ward off the foetid apparition which pressed so close; when in one cataclysmic second of cosmic nightmarishness and hellish accident my fingers touched the rotting outstretched paw of the monster beneath the golden arch. I did not shriek, but all the fiendish ghouls that ride the nightwind shrieked for me as in that same second there crashed down upon my mind a single fleeting avalanche of soul-annihilating memory. I knew in that second all that had been; I remembered beyond the frightful castle and the trees, and recognized the altered edifice in which I now stood; I recognized, most terrible of all, the unholy abomination that stood leering before me as I withdrew my sullied fingers from its own.

In H. P. Lovecraft’s most commonly reprinted short story “The Outsider,” the unnamed title character tells us that he has spent all his life alone living in an abandoned, decaying castle, surrounded with fabulously high trees which block out all sunlight. In search for companionship, he decides one day to leave his ruined home and, after wandering through desolate realms, he eventually encounters a group of partygoers. However, upon his joining the party, the people start screaming and fleeing from the room, seemingly afraid by some monster, the appearance of which is so ugly (“a compound of all that is unclean, uncanny, unwelcome, abnormal, and detestable”) that the narrator himself is utterly abhorred. However, when he accidentally touches the creature, he is swiftly overawed by one of the unholiest epiphanies in world literature: in that second, he understands all that had been and all that is but would rather not to. Because, as we learn in the final sentence of the short story, what he touches at the party is not another being, but “a cold and unyielding surface of polished glass.”

Example #10: Katherine Mansfield, “The Garden Party” (1922)

There lay a young man, fast asleep—sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given up to his dream. What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy… happy… All is well, said that sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content.

At the beginning of Katherine Mansfield’s most celebrated short story, “The Garden Party,” we find the Sheridans in the midst of their preparations to host a lavish party for their wealthy friends. However, soon after rearranging the furniture, they learn about the death of their working-class neighbor, Mr. Scott. The only one even superficially affected by this seems to be Laura, Mrs. Sheridan’s daughter, whose suggestion for the party to be called off is not accepted by the rest of her family. However, after its conclusion, Mrs. Sheridan sends Laura with a basket full of leftovers to the Scotts. And there, looking at the face of the deceased man, Laura suddenly experiences something sublime and “marvelous,” something difficult to be put into words. “Isn’t life,” she stammers through tears to her brother Laurie, “isn’t life—” “But what life was,” adds Mansfield, “she couldn’t explain. No matter. He quite understood. ‘Isn’t it, darling?’ said Laurie.”

[the-record-columns]

June 20, 2018:Columns

    A Life Lesson...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

   Sometimes a story comes to mind at random that just will not go away.

   The piece I wrote last week about Clayton Hall and the K-33 Rocker newspaper rack made me think about another long ago story about the kindness of strangers.  I want to recount it for you today.

    The occasion was an auction my son, Sam, and I went to about 15 years ago in the town of Rockford in Surry County.  The auction was of the personal property from the estate of one Annie Gray Seats Barnett,  a sweet soul who for many years ran the Rockford General Store on The Old Rockford Road, and lived across the highway on the old Rockford train depot building.  In that depot building was housed a truly amazing collection of advertising items including hundreds of old thermometers, metal signs, and banners of all descriptions.  The first time I ever set foot in Annie Gray's home, I broke the commandment about coveting and never recovered.

    Sam and I got to the auction about an hour before it was to begin, and set about looking around.  There was a tremendous array of things I love to collect.  I even found a Brame's Vapo-Mentha Salve sign which hangs in my office to this day.  Among the things I found myself looking for was, of course, A Port-A-John, me being the most frequent-flyer of that airline.  I found one next to an old shed below the depot building and I ended up "getting inside" and looking through the shed as well.  Inside was a beautiful chest Coca-Cola cooler and many other items, but it was a two-sided metal sign which read "Barnett's Antique Shoppe." which immediately caught my fancy.  I told Sam that this was the kind of thing I was looking for above all else, that is something that was made for her, something she used, and which was something which had a more than passing personal attachment to my dear friend, Annie Gray.

    I made my way to one of the auctioneer's ring men and asked when they were going to sell out the contents of the little shed down the hill.  After a bit, the man returned and said that stuff was NOT for sale, that it stayed with the new owners of the property.

    My heart sank.  At least I had met Annie Gray's family, but now I am going to have to deal with a total stranger.  And he was a foreigner to boot, all the way from Winston-Salem.

    Soon I met Paul Carter, a man who said he was out looking for a house one day, made a wrong turn, ended up in Rockford, and bought the Rockford General Store and the depot the same day.  A pleasant seeming man, he listened intently as I told him of my love for Annie Gray Seats Barnett and my hope to preserve a bit of history that was personally hers.  I then  told him about the antique store sign in the shed and how very much I wanted to buy it.  "I can make that happen," Mr. Carter said, "...it won't be a problem."  "That's great," I blurted, "...how much do you want for it?"

    I was totally unprepared for his answer.  Paul Carter smiled as he told me, "Oh, Mr. Welborn, after talking with you, I wouldn't thing of charging you anything."  I am sure the look on my face showed my surprise and pleasure as he continued, Take the sign.  It's a gift."

    I was especially pleased that my Son Sam heard this conversation.  I am sure Sam was just waiting for Mr. Carter to price the sign and hear me try to get the price down.

    Instead, he witnessed a man being kind to a complete stranger.

    A life lesson like no other. 

   Acts of Love

By LAURA WELBORN

In review of last week's column about the Pulse Nightclub’s grieving relatives who came up with 49 Acts of Love to counteract the violence and perhaps prevent violent acts in the future.  I was intent this whole week to think about what I could do as an act of love.  

 The first of the week I decided to try and pull off a reunion for Fathers Day in honor of Ken and three of his children.  It meant coming up with a location so no one would have to travel over three hours.  I also decided to fix Ken’s recipe of Ikey Eller’s famous barbecue chicken as each one of them had great memories growing up around cooking chicken.  So I got up early Sunday morning and began the lengthy process of barbecuing.  

 It turned out to be a wonderful event despite the nervousness they all had about not being together for 20 plus years.  They ended up having a great time comparing toes, frequent urination issues and bad driving skills that they attributed to inherited traits.  And yes Ken for once was lost for words as he sat back and enjoyed watching them.  I knew my act of love was successful, besides the chicken and lunch being a huge success.  But I must confess it all started several years ago through an act of kindness by someone who just wanted to see a family reunited.  

 My next focus began when my nephew dropped in from his trip across the United States.  As I talked to him I realized how lost and confused he was so I got some poster board and began to do a Life Vision Board with him.  What was his life's purpose? Where did he need emotional healing? Spiritual awakening? And finally we worked on an action plan. I watched him become more focused with less anxiety as he mapped out what he wanted to accomplish in little steps in the next three months, six months and then nine months.  Another act of love accomplished!

 When I think back on this week I also recognize how others touched my life- to boost my spirits, give me encouragement, and confidence. I am not even sure they know how much they helped me and that they had accomplished an act of love.

 Maybe there is something to what the Pulse nightclub survivors saw when they listed 49 ways to put love out in the world- and maybe it's not so much about their 49 acts but the ones we come up with ourselves.

 The Daylily Man and Master Gardeners

By Carl White

Life in the Carolinas

Who do you call when you need to know what vegetables or flowers will grow where you live? If you come from a family of home gardeners or farmers, chances are you already have a good idea of what works for you. If you do not fall into this category a call to your local Cooperative Extension office can set you on the path of great discovery. If your community has an active Master Gardener program you are even more fortunate.

Master Gardeners are a true asset to our communities and without them we would be far less informed on how to plant, grow and enjoy those delightful things that spring forth from the ground.

In the Carolinas we have two excellent state programs. In South Carolina the Master Gardener program is administered by Clemson University and in North Carolina NC State University is the administrator.

Julie Flowers is with the Extension office in Gaston and Cleveland NC, which has a combined total of 150 Master Gardener’s. When ask about Daylilies she could not say enough good about Paul Owen, a world-renowned authority and Daylily hybridize that resides in Cleveland County.

Julie said Paul is always willing to help the Master Gardener program and when called upon the Master Gardeners are willing to help him as well.  Not so long ago when the American Daylily Society visited Paul’s celebrated display garden he needed help prepping his gardens for the arrival of the national group. When he needed help, thirty Master Gardeners showed and met the task head on, and the gardens were perfect for the arrival of the honored guest.

It was not difficult to find people who have good things to say about Paul, his gardens and his children; that’s what he calls the nearly 300 daylilies he has hybridized and officially named.

During my research visits, I came to understand why people like Paul. He is well educated, practical, funny and driven with a passion of excellence to create something beautiful. Both his father and mother were psychologist and with a smile he said, “that should explain a lot.”

He has what he calls a win, win, win philosophy and he contributes that way of thinking with leading him to where he is now. The property and gardens that he nurtures has turned into a desirable venue for brides seeking that perfect place for the perfect wedding day. The views are outstanding, the gardens are award winning and the new couple get something that they can only get from Paul. He will name one of his new daylilies for the couple’s special day; nowhere else on earth can that happen.

One bride shared in a social post that her wedding day experience at Paul’s venue was so special that they named their first child from the event. “Lilly.”

It was early morning when we arrived with cameras for our production visit to Slightly Different Nursery in Cleveland County. The hotter June weather had set in and I was glad our production was not later in the day.

As it turns out, daylilies like the morning hours and by midmorning they are at peak bloom for the day, which was the perfect time for filming our segment that features the amazing daylilies Paul has cultivated.

We see a lot of daylilies in the Carolinas and their contribution to the beauty of our landscapes can not be denied. In a conversation with American Daylily Society’s past President Nikki Schmith, she shared with me that few people rise to the level of excellence that Paul Owen possess in professionalism, proven ideas and the willingness to push the envelope in the world of hybridizing daylilies. She said “He’s a popular speaker that knows what he is talking about, people just love him”

We had a great time. We learned how the hybridizing process works and why it takes six years to know if a newly designed daylily will make it to market. Most do not, they must be special. Paul’s more popular children are big and proud, have a long blooming season and live a very long time.

Getting to know Paul, the Master Gardeners and the people who value them has been a great joy.

 You can email Carl at Carl@lifeinthecarolinas.com Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com You can also catch episodes of Life In The Carolinas on Amazon Prime.

[olaluwe]

Nigerian table tennis legend, Funke Oshonaike took to her Facebook page to recount her life experiences. According to her, she was sexually abused, battered and duped by a man 10 years older than her. She however encouraged her followers not to give up on their dreams.

Below is what she wrote on her facebook page: "My name is Olufunke Oshonaike(God gave me to my parents to take care of) I’ve really been loved and well taken care of by my parents . After getting a lot of discouraging messages from lot of people , though not new to me , I’ve decided to let you know a little about this super woman. I started representing nigeria at the age of 14. I give God almighty the glory for this talent and all that I’ve achieved today . This are some of the downs in my life that made me a strong woman; *When I was in primary 6, I ran out of school to play a competition at Rowe park and I was seriously caned by my teacher but I never gave up on Table tennis *I was always booed every time I played a competition back then in nigeria because I was very shy! I asked why and I was told that I was proud, arrogant, blunt and I don’t mix with people. I’m talking about funke at the age of 13 till 19. I cried a lot, went trough a lot, and there was even a time the crowd was going to stab me in Lagós because I defeated there darling biola odumosu my arch rival back then at Rowe park. My Nos 1 fan, my dad consoled me and still never gave up on table tennis in nigeria. My decision * left nigeria after my diploma course at university of lagos to pursue my professional career, that was my decision even when I was advised not to go. *left italy after 4yrs to Germany in 1998 bcos I wanted more, that was my decision. *I got pregnant during my career and I was confused on what to do, but I kept it and I was still playing professional tt till I was 7 months pregnant which is like a taboo in nigeria!i even played African championship and won it , though nobody knew I was pregnant !That was my decision . *i gave birth to my first child 2003 and I played all Africa games the same year and won 4 gold medals for Nigeria. My child was barely 6 months old. That was my decision * I went to see my boyfriend of 10yrs relationship and I saw him sleeping in a bed with her girlfriend! I was heartbroken !The next day I had to travel to Australia, Sydney 2000. I cried all the way from Nigeria to Australia but I never gave up on men and my training. That was my decision * I was physically, sexually, emotionally and mentally abused by a man that was 10yrs older than me . This man beat me ooo for more than 3 yrs and I remembered always going to Unilag with a battered face but I still never gave up on TT , men or living. That was my decision I was duped of all my properties and my bank account was in his name(olodo funke). I left everything without looking back and I started my life all over again. It was very hard for me, but that was my decision I fell in love again with my best friend here in Germany , 3 months to our wedding, he went to nigeria on holiday and he was shot by armed robbers ! I went through hell here in Germany without him. I mourned him for 2yrs, stopped going to nigeria because of him but still never gave up on TT and living . That was my decision. *I’ve been spending my money to represent nigeria lately and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been payed any allowance or the last time i was awarded for winning for my country. I’m very hurt about a lot of things that’s happening in sports in nigeria but because of the love I have for my country, I’m still trying my best to keep on keeping on. That’s my decision . I was born in the 70s and I know one thing for sure that people born in 70s don’t give up on things easily. We learned ‘ise ni OGUN ise Mura si ise ore mi…….’. . So to some of you discouraging me, you’re just encouraging me indirectly because I’ve gone through a lot in my life that has made me stronger than you. Live your life and allow others do the same. I ain’t giving up on my dreams because of some no life, no dream people."

[redorblue]

Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

This book has been smiling at me from the bookshop for months, and I’m so glad that I finally took it home because it is amazing. It’s not only beautifully written, but also the most educational book I’ve read in a while. If you haven’t read it, please do, it’s worth every second, and I’ll definitely read something else by her once I’m done with my current tbr-pile. Only very mild spoilers this time, nothing that doesn’t show up on the cover. Yay me.

The synopsis introduces the book as a star-crossed lovers kind of story, but I don’t think that does it justice (I’m not that much into romance, so that assessment isn’t surprising). It is true that the romance brackets the narrative - after a short intro that chronologically belongs to the latter third of the book the story starts of by recounting how the protagonists Ifemelu and Obinze met and fell in love with each other at a high school party in Lagos, Nigeria. From that point it continues more or less chronologically - they go to university, Ifemelu gets a visa to finish her studies in the US, where she’ll stay for the next 15 years, while Obinze tries to build a life for himself in the UK - unsuccessfully, as it turns out, because in the end he’s forced to go back to Nigeria and start over again. Having lost contact long ago, they both try to find their own way, with new partners, new social circles and new plans about what to do with their lives, but when Ifemelu returns to Nigeria and they reconnect, it becomes clear that they were never really gone from each other’s minds.

So yes, the romance is an integral part of the book and works like a guiding threat that keeps the story focused. It’s also very subtle: it was able to pull off this whole soulmate thing without making me cringe once (again, romance really isn’t my thing, I have very low kitsch tolerance and I hate long declarations of undying love. So if you’re looking for romantic candle light dinners, long love letters and rose-coloured glasses, trust me, this isn’t it). The love story isn’t presented through grand gestures and monologues, but rather through shared references, complimentary tastes, a continuous feeling of something missing in their lives, and also through frustrations and less than charitable thoughts about the other’s flaws. It doesn’t feel forced at any point: not during the giddiness of teenage first love or the events that lead to them losing contact with each other; not the way in which they pop up in the other’s thoughts every now and then, usually at a point when they long for home and for the simplicity of times long gone; and not during the rush that is their reconnecting in Nigeria and builds up until the final confrontation. The conflict doesn’t feel artificial, it’s not a storytelling device to create some drama, it’s all there in the characters, which makes this love story feel at the same time incidental and meant to be.

This book has a lot of great characters that represent a wide variety of experiences with being black (or sometimes white/mixed), with being male or female, upper class or not, immigrant or not, and the intersectionality of factors like race, gender and socio-economic background in different places: The US (Ifemelu), the UK (Obinze), and Nigeria (mostly Ifemelu). They are all well thought out and remarkable in their own way (I could write you at least a paragraph about every single named character), but my absolute favourite was the female and main protagonist Ifemelu. Surprising, I know, since protagonists are rarely anyone’s favourite. I’m neither a national of any of the countries mentioned above, nor black, so quite a few parts of her story were more educational and thought-provoking to me than anything else, but there were other parts that felt so very relatable, and probably represent a global experience. The feeling of never being quite sure what to do with one’s life, of overanalyzing relationships, of belonging and not belonging and nostalgia for a romanticized past, of always feeling as if there’s probably more out there - a different partner, a different job, different friends, a different city - those are things that most people have probably felt or done at some point in their lives.  Ifemelu certainly does, and it’s fascinating to see those questions being confronted by a thoughtful, observing character such as her. She’s not as proactive as one might think, looking at her biography - things rather seem to happen to her than the other way around - but her tendency to quietly (over)analyze and her insecurity about the choices she makes and the choices she just kind of slips into all feel so very real. The characters are all great, but I could write entire essays about Ifemelu.

So there’s the aspect of how she faces the world that speaks to me on a personal level. But what really made this book such an intriguing read was everything she had to say about race. I’ve never been to Nigeria or met anyone from there, I’ve never lived in the US or the UK, and I’m white, so the observations the characters make about race and its intersectionality with gender and class were very interesting from an intellectual point of view. I dare say being on tumblr for a while gives you at least a window into African American experiences and issues, and the basic vocabulary for talking about race, but it’s very (very very) US-centric. This book opens up a different perspective: that of an outsider who on the one hand is expected to relate to black Americans, be angry about the same things, demand the same things, behave similarly because of her skincolour - but on the other faces the same issues, the same feeling of separateness from the locals and cultural confusions that every immigrant faces.

One great example of this is this one scene when Ifemelu lets a white woman in the supermarket touch her afro because she doesn’t see any reason not to, while her (American black) boyfriend watches her, stunned and aghast that she would ever let anyone do something so humiliating to her. Or when she’s confused about what she calls “America’s race tribalisms” and how anyone in their right mind can lump together people from an entire continent, with a vast array of colourings and historical experiences, as latinx, simply because they speak Spanish and aren’t from Spain. The examples I cited don’t mean that this book isn’t acutely critical of racism and racial stereotypes - it is. It just criticizes them from a different perspective, namely that of a person from a country where black skin is the norm. It’s funny to see how Ifemelu unconsciously adopts some things the longer she lives in America, like how she begins to feel a kinship with fellow Africans, even though they may be from entirely different countries. At the start of her stay in America, when someone lumped her together with other Africans or started to tell them about this amazing safari they went on in Tanzania 20 years back, simply because Tanzania and Nigeria are both in Africa, she found this pretty weird, and also kind of offensive, but in the end she feels a bond, a kind of loyalty to other Africans with entirely different backgrounds. On the other hand, she makes an active effort not to become americanized completely, e.g. by maintaining her Nigerian accent, and turn into an “Americanah” - someone who moved back to Nigeria from America and only complains about how there are no decent panini or smoothies to be had. She can’t escape it completely, as she has to learn herself once she’s back, which is natural after 15 years abroad, but she certainly tries - which alienates her from yet another group, that of the returnees to Nigeria, in addition to American black people and those Nigerians who stayed.

This book is all about categories, and about belonging. It states clearly that race is one of those categories, and that a certain physical appearance brings with it certain disadvantages or privileges. But it makes equally clear that race can’t be the only tool with which to analyze society and classify people. There is way too much variety with regards to gender, financial means, country of origin etc. to define the one black (or by extension latinx, white, Asian etc.) experience.

[withastolenlantern]

The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.

The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds.

As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.

The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.

DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it.

She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.

The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.

“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”

“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.

“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”

“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”

“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”

Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”

Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.

“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.

“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.

“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.

“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile.

“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.

“I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.” She gathered her things and stood to leave the office, offering her superior a firm nod as she left, but hesitated in the doorway before exiting. “Will Home Office be there at this dog and pony show at the Ministry?” she asked.

“I should think so,” her superior responded, confused.

“Fuck,” she swore, decorum be damned, and walked out.

She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland.

Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.

She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it.

Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm.

She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”

[ascendingmatrix]

ODD ENCOUNTERS WITH THE MYSTERIOUS LITTLE PEOPLE OF ALASKA

Brent Swancer

December 14, 2017

All across the world, in almost every culture there have long been reports of so-called “little people,” and it is so common throughout geographical or cultural boundaries that it is a phenomenon in and of itself. Gnomes, Elves, Trolls, Duendes, they go by many names, and curiously they tend to share not only vast similarities in the general appearance of such creatures, but also the genuine sightings reports from these places that seem to pull these entities out from the realms of pure fantasy or fairy tales and into the real world. I have written of this here at Mysterious Universe before in general, and also more specifically on this phenomenon in places as far flung as South America and Japan, and such accounts never cease to amaze. One area with its own tales of mysterious little people is the frigid, far-northern land of Alaska, in the United States. Here, as in many other places around the world, strange little people roam about, and they are seen by the populace as being every bit as real as you or I.

Out in the wilds of the northern U.S. state of Alaska, the native tribes of the region such as the Inuit and Yup’ik have long had their own tales of little people living out in the forests and frigid tundra here. Depending on the tribe or tradition these enigmatic creatures go by many names, such as the Ircinrraqs, Inukin (also often spelled “Enukin” or “Inukun”), Ircenrraat, Ingnakalaurak, Egassuayaq, and the Paalraayak, although they seem to most commonly be collectively referred to as the Inukin, or Enukin, and for the purposes of this article they will be referred to as such.

The Alaskan wilderness

Prominent in the lore of many of these northern peoples, although there are different details depending on the tribe, the Inukin are most often described as being between 1 to 3 feet in height, typically dressed in animal skins and with pointed heads and elfin ears. The Inukin are mostly said to prefer to stay underground or hidden away in the mountains during the day, only venturing out at night, and are mostly characterized as being mischievous, bed-tempered, and mean, seeming to enjoy tormenting people. It is commonly said that they will intentionally try to get travelers lost or throw rocks at them, and that they have a bad habit of stealing the kills of hunters, with caribou said to be among their favorites, and they are also hunters themselves, using bows and arrows. At their most sinister, the Inukin are thought to abduct women or children and drag them off to never be seen again. They are usually credited with having superhuman strength and a host of supernatural powers such as shapeshifting, invisibility, and the power to sow confusion in the minds of those who see them. One old Inupiaq man named Majik Imaje said of these little people and their strength:

They live in the old ways to this very day they dress in caribou skins. They still hunt with bow & arrow. They live underground, and in caves all throughout this vast area. They possess super human qualities that you will never believe. They are incredibly strong and they can run, very fast; they sneak around the villages stealing food. When any hunter shoots and kills a caribou, it requires two adult Inupiaq men to lift that caribou to place on a sled. It only takes ONE Ingnakalaurak or Enukin to pick one up and RUN WITH IT, over his head. Hunters, experienced hunters, often talk about caribou that they have shot & killed. Dead and the caribou will disappear before they reach it to dress it out. Make no mistake, these people are very good in what they do, they are perhaps the best hunters in the world.

Imaje also claims that this is why some bush pilots have reported seeing the strange sight of caribou running on their sides, only to fly lower and see that they are actually being carried along by an Inukin. These beings are also said to sneak into villages at night when everyone is asleep to steal food and goods, but interestingly, although they are mostly avoided and for all of their more malevolent tendencies, these creatures are also said to have a benevolent side as well. For instance, it is supposedly good luck to receive a gift from them when they are feeling generous, and on occasion instead of playing pranks they will take pity on a lost soul out in the woods and guide the way.

It is interesting how many of the details of the Inukins match the lore of other little people from various other cultures around the world, such as their general appearance and similar habits and powers attributed to them, as well as their curious mixture of both mischievous, prankish behavior and contradictory more benevolent tendencies, which is a common trait in such creatures in a great many other cultures as well. Also, just as with other cultures, although outsiders may see these little people as surely purely mythical constructs, the natives of this region see them as very real indeed, with many insisting that the Inukins actually exist. Supporting these claims are the various real sightings and encounters with such beings, which blur the line between reality and what must seem like fairy tales to many.

Indeed, villagers and hunters of the region have long told of seeing Inukins and having their things stolen by the creatures, and some outsiders have reported seeing such little people out in the wilds as well. Very common are reports of hunters who have shot and killed an animal, only to go to retrieve it and find it gone, without any trail of blood or trace of where it has gone. Also common are stories of having rocks come flying from the woods out of nowhere, followed by a fleeting glimpse of a small, child-sized shadow in the brush. Some of these encounters are rather amazing to say the least, such as one hunter who claimed that he one day heard a strange noise, only to follow it and find a portal in the side of the mountain, through which he could see a group of Inukins dancing. He claimed that he had only watched them for a moment, but that when he got to his sled it seemed to have aged in the elements and his game had rotted away, and when he returned home it turned out that he had been gone for an entire year. It is tale that is said to have really happened, but which seems as if it must surely be colored with some legend.

Others are more based in actual eyewitness accounts. In 1993, the Arctic Sounder published an impressive range of accounts of encounters with the mysterious Inukin, which would later be republished in the Anchorage Daily News. In one of the accounts, a villager from near the Noatak river named Kenneth Ashby recounts a rather ominous experience he had with the creatures while fetching water from the river with his brother in the summer of 1938. As they made their way through the wilderness, Ashby claims that they were jumped and attacked by a group of feral little people about 3 feet in height, with bowl-style haircuts and draped in caribou skins. After a fierce struggle they managed to escape when the creatures were distracted by the arrival of the two young men’s grandfather.

Ashby claims that that very same summer his sister chased off a group of the creatures trying to steal her catch of salmon at the river. Ashby would have another encounter with the Inukins 9 years later, when he was camping at the river with a group of relatives on a hunting trip. He reports that during the night they could hear the crunching of leaves and the Inukins communicating with each other in strange, bird-like whistles, but whenever they went to look for the elusive creatures they would scamper away, as if playing hide and seek. They played this game all the way down the river up to the village, where they were finally chased away back into the wilderness by the local men.

The series of articles also told the account of local woman in the same area named Flora Penn, who claims that she was out with friends traveling up the Noatak and at one point they stopped to pick some berries. As they did so they suddenly noticed a tiny man with a large, bulbous noise, big pointy ears, and a cone shaped head casually sitting upon a driftwood tree smoking a pipe. Penn says they watched the curious little man for a full hour, and the whole time he just smoked his pipe and looked around. Then suddenly, the creature was reportedly either spooked by something or remembered he had something important to do, and he then bolted upright to start running towards the nearby mountains at a frantic pace.

Another witness named Saul Shiedt had an encounter with one of the mysterious little people one summer as he was hunting caribou. After bagging a caribou, he set to work skinning it, and that was when he says he heard the voice of someone speaking in the Eskimo language. When he looked to see who it was, he saw that the voice had come from a diminutive man around 3 feet in height and armed with a bow and arrow. The two had a brief exchange and inspected each other’s respective weapons, with Saul himself armed with a high powered rifle. According to Saul, the Inukin’s bow was too tight for him to pull, and he imagined it must have taken immense strength to make it work. The hunter then told the mysterious stranger that he could take what he wanted from the caribou, and the only thing the Inukin supposedly wanted to take was the fatty part under the knee of the animal. Joining these tales of weirdness is a tale told by a Joe Sun, who said that one day a man had been hunting out in the wilds and had set his sights on a trophy caribou but that there was another hunter who was also pursuing it. He said of the strange sequence of events in the incident thus:

I hear from my parents in the Maniilaq area that there was this man hunting. He had a real rifle.  (Not the old kind that you had to load through the barrel with a rod.)  He saw a caribou he wanted to get close to, to have a shot at it. He saw another person trying to hunt this caribou too.  When this man, a big man, got close to shoot the caribou it changed into a little man.  The big man jumped at the little man who escaped and began running and climbing up the mountain.

Perhaps an even stranger story was reported in the May 31 edition of the Anchorage Daily News, and which seems to address the predilection of these Inukin to abduct people. According to the report, a hunter from Marshall, Alaska going by the name Nick Andrew Jr. was out on his snowmobile hunting birds on May 7 and came across a young boy sitting alone out in the middle of a marsh. When he approached the boy he saw that the child seemed to be in some sort of trance or daze, and it was odd that there were no tracks anywhere around him. Asking other snowmobilers in the area didn’t help, because none of them had seen the boy at all. The boy seemed to have just appeared out of nowhere. When Nick asked him what had happened or where his parents were, the boy, who was obviously upset and with a face red and swollen from crying, sputtered out that he didn’t know, and was unable to provide any information at all. The hunter would say:

The boy was disoriented, dazed, confused and scared, with no concept of time. He did not appear tired, nor was he hungry or thirsty.

The concerned Nick decided to help the boy out and took him back to his village, where things would get even more bizarre. After he had come to his senses and calmed down somewhat, the boy claimed that he had been abducted by the little people and taken to nearby Pilcher Mountain, interesting since this particular mountain is known as a hotspot for Inukin encounters. At the mountain he was held captive, and claims to have seen a little girl also being held there who had vanished in the area 40 years earlier. He says that the Inukin had eventually decided to let him go, and had dumped him into the marsh. The boy displayed classic symptoms of lost time, and was unable to provide any details as to where he had been taken.

The 2013 book Myths and Mysteries of Alaska, by Cherry Lyon Jones, gives some curious accounts as well. One of them concerns what appears to have been a rather helpful Inukin. One day an Inupiaq man named Luke Koonuk was out hunting in the area of Point Hope, Alaska, but was out in incredibly remote, isolated terrain when his 4-wheel drive vehicle became stuck in a patch of muck. He was allegedly unable to budge the vehicle by himself, and with no one around for miles and miles it seemed that he was in quite a bit of trouble. After trying to move the vehicle and get it unstuck to the point of exhaustion, the panicked hunter reported that the truck had suddenly and inexplicably risen up, shifted, and then come bouncing back down out of the mud. As he looked on in bafflement, he claims that he could fleetingly see the blur of a shape of a little bipedal creature of some sort dash off into the trees.

The same book gives another account which is really hard to classify, and could be read as a Inukin encounter or one with aliens, but considering the location seems worth mentioning. The report comes from a group of teenagers in Nome, Alaska in 1988. The boys allegedly were driving along at night when they noticed an odd, pulsing light in their rear view mirror. Curious, they turned their vehicle around and went back to see what was going on, and as they approached they saw a humanoid creature between 3 to 4 feet tall, with broad, muscular shoulders standing there bathed in a greenish light. As the car approached, the creature allegedly ran away, but was quickly overcome by the vehicle and apparently run over. The boys would later find that other people had seen one or more of the same sort of creatures in the area at around the same time, either standing by the side of the road or in some cases even chasing vehicles, and there was apparently much talk at the time that this was perhaps the Inukin.

It is fascinating that such reports can be so similar to those of little people in other areas across the face of our planet, and yet still maintain their own stamp of uniqueness. Why do so many cultures throughout the world have traditions and myths of such creatures and why do they so often offer so much resemblance? Are these just some immutable feature upon the landscape of our psyche, or is there something more to all of this? What are these people seeing, if anything? Although such stories of gnomes and trolls may seem to many like something out of a fairy tale, to these people they are most certainly real. Why should that be? Are we, in our technologically advanced civilization with all of our science and shiny toys perhaps missing something? Whatever one may think about such reports, they continue to come in from all over the globe, and they hint at something very odd indeed.