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ellaintrigue · 4 years ago

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Photo credit: Julio Cortez/AP

George Floyd's fiance pleads against the violent protests: https://www.thedailybeast.com/george-floyds-fiancee-pleads-…

YES, racism is alive and well. So is sexism, rape culture, and homophobia, but you don't see the Me Too movement hurting people and destroying property...

YES, George Floyd was murdered. But this goes far beyond racism. I never deny racism, the recent murder of a black man by two white guys in a pickup was clearly racist. But this is an issue of MEN. And POLICE. Cops have always killed people, it's all a matter of what gets the most publicity. I see a photo collage going around of black people that have been shot recently by cops and I find it offensive. Where are the white, Asian, and Hispanics that have also been shot by the police? What about the recent shooting of a white woman? We are all equals, right? https://apnews.com/57b423dcf5e54bdb801d7ea564416a0a

Foolish liberal hypocrisy. Meanwhile I am seeing younger democratic socialists applauding the looting as capitalism being put in its place. What the hell? You see the first article above, George Floyd's loved one said he never wanted this. And what exactly is the relevance to his death? What did Target stores do to George Floyd? How is the guy walking down the street with a backpack of stolen liquor bottles contributing to justice?

This is bullshit of the greedy and the brainwashed, race issues and social topics have been long lost. The majority of the protesters seem to be males enjoying violence. Which again, is what it comes down to.

While a huge feminist, I have no problem admitting that men have their own separate laundry list of issues. Difficulty speaking out, and difficulty getting help for whatever problems they may have because of the stigma of society where men are still not allowed to admit "weakness." I see it in my own father who has outbursts from being overwhelmed by various things. Having to be a tough guy and a financial supporter to a disabled wife but unable to accept or seek support himself.

There are A LOT of angry men out there. Shit, they're justified for the most part! I would definitely not want to be a man. And that is where the position of authority comes in... overcoming your struggles as a male youth and becoming a cop or correctional officer.

There are so many great cops out there! But, I haven't met many of them. Because not everyone overcomes their past and becomes a good cop. Whatever they grew up with or were born with makes them relish power, control, and violence.

I, a lower class (former middle class) white woman, have been victimized by the police. If you think that's a fucking joke because I'm white, refer back to the original point: POLICE VICTIMIZE PEOPLE OF ALL AGES, RACES, GENDERS, ETC.

A few years ago I read an article about a rapist cop. He raped more than one woman, but when they reported it, they were dismissed because he was a cop. His peers made sure he was above the law. So then he rapes an older black woman, someone's grandmother. She raised hell and he finally got in trouble. Was she listened to because she was black? HELL TO THE NO, women are treated like shit. A black woman? I've seen black women treated horribly my entire life. It's just how it is.

But no one felt like bringing this pig to justice, because, well, white male cop. Cops obviously deal with criminals and folks they will naturally regard as lower class, and none of these folks are going to be believed over a cop. From dating men of questionable backgrounds, I have heard horror stories of prisoners being beaten by cops and correctional officers and all kinds of shit. But who is going to believe some felon over a police officer?

May marked the 4 year anniversary of my ex-boyfriend almost killing me. It was hell, I struggled all month. My mom having cancer, the anniversary, the pandemic, now everyone running around setting shit on fire because they want free TVs... HOLY FUCK. PTSD trigger much?

I've wanted to talk about that, but I felt I couldn't, because, well, he's stalked me since. How did this happen? People think I was a battered woman but that's not true. Women stay with abusive partners and I did not. I got with this guy knowing he had a record, as others before him, but did not expect the onslaught of mental illness. The guy before him was bipolar and would shut down, lay on the bed and just be totally mute or sob. This new guy, after about 3 months into a relationship, would have manic episodes that would lead to suicide attempts. Over time I found out that he was a diagnosed bipolar, and rumored (unconfirmed) schizophrenic. I begged and begged for him to stick to taking meds, which clearly helped over the course of months, but he would stop taking them because he felt he "didn't need them," which is the cruelest cliche of the mentally ill and why so many don't function at all.

So I ended up having to call the cops on him multiple times in the course of 3 years when he lost his shit. Not once did he ever harm me, although you can see, and I can see, now, that it was unhealthy and dangerous for everyone involved regardless. The first time I dealt with the cops over him was when he got a DUI in my truck with his friend. but the friend was driving. I woke up at midnight to this chaos and remember a black female cop intimidating me and screaming at me because I was standing near a beer bottle on the ground and I was "hiding evidence." Which was bullshit since the driver had already been arrested. Who the fuck cares about a random Bud Light bottle lying in my yard? The DUI was in Ocean City. Whatever.

The same fucking night my shitfaced, manic boyfriend logs onto my computer and reads like 7 years worth of texts between me and a male friend, accusing me of fucking him. After a long night of dealing with the other drama it was like hell never ended. He's on my computer, looking at everything I have and accusing me of cheating. Never met the dude, never tried to be with the dude, but that seemed pretty moot. Even if your partner has nothing to hide, you shouldn't be going through their shit. IF YOU DO NOT TRUST THE PERSON YOU ARE WITH, LEAVE THEM. IF YOU HAVE ONGOING ISSUES WITH MANIA OR PARANOIA, GET HELP.

Well, perhaps I seem a hypocrite in protesting violence against women, and I did something I'm not proud of: I punched the fuck out of him. He then got up and put my shotgun in his mouth. He didn't pull the trigger but obviously that scarred me for life. I called 911 and they chased him down in the woods and took him to the mental ward in Salisbury. I dealt with 3 male cops that were kind to me and said I did the right thing by hiding the gun afterward and calling 911. My neighbor also helped me, which I am incredibly grateful for.

I should have left, hands down. But because I never felt physically threatened by him: I felt I was helping him, he could get better, and I kept trying. I have never been a woman that wanted a "project" as some people want, where they find someone to fix or better as a person. But I loved this man and tried my best, stupid as I was.

He was fine for months after that, another huge factor in me staying. We were just boyfriend and girlfriend, enjoying life, until he had another manic episode. Once he went 6 months with no signs of anything at all. Again, at this point in things, I have nothing to candycoat in my life. I am an open book, and in 2018, came out about being raped by a man in 2011, and got judged harshly. I've had to accept that no matter what I say, I will be questioned and put down because that is how victims are treated.

So in 2015 he came home late at night, screaming the FBI were in the bushes and smashing things. He accused me and a family member of conspiring with the government against him and stripped half of his clothes off, threatening to kill himself. Just like that, he would go from a calm person that worked all day to a raging maniac in the most literal form.

I called 911 and was in tears by the time two very tall male cops showed up. That is the main thing I remember, I am 5'2 and these men were both over 6'0 and stood way too close to me. My boyfriend was running around screaming utter nonsense and one cop talked to him, another talked to me. The two men ID'd me and laughed at the fact I always wore lipstick, in the pic and in real life, a habit since I was 14. Then they told me they weren't going to do anything with my boyfriend, who was still screaming and stomping around. I said, "but he's clearly unstable and threatening to kill himself." Both of the cops stood roughly two feet from me, and the heavyset olive skinned officer moved in even closer, shining his flashlight in my face, his breath bearing down on me, and said, "if you call 911 or anyone again tonight, you will both be arrested."

I felt scared of them at this point and they told me my option was to leave my home, leaving my boyfriend there. They asked me if I had family in the area and I said no. "Well, we can't help you then. Plus we want to go and get dinner," the thick one said, before laughing with his partner, who was a thinner blond man. So they waited until I got in my car and left, then they left, leaving my ex still standing screaming in the middle of the yard.

I had nowhere to go, so I went to his aunt's house and spent the night. At one point in the night I heard my boyfriend's truck screech through Berlin, looking for me, but knew I couldn't call 911 anymore because I WAS threatened. And cops can do what they want, no one is going to listen to some white trash chick with a crazy boyfriend.

I called 911 one other time before things got truly worse (I know, right). I got one of the cops that I had dealt with when he put the shotgun in his mouth and he threw him in the mental ward after a brief car chase.

By spring 2016 my boyfriend wasn't working, binge drinking, and seeming off on a regular basis so I somehow managed to drop him off at a homeless shelter despite him initially standing in a Wendy's parking lot screaming I was out to get him.

Finally, in May he became increasingly manic before literally waking up one morning with this weird hollow look in his eyes and screaming the worst threats against me and his family I had ever heard. First I tried to be calm, then I tried to run from him when I thought he wasn't looking and he ran after me and jumped on me. And that was the first time I felt actually afraid that he would hurt me. I thought he would hit me. Instead, he dragged me through the woods by my ankles so hard my leggings were pulled down and became filled with dirt, leaves, and sticks, threw me on the porch and then dragged me into my house. He tortured me for 1-3 hours. I think it was between 1 and 2 hours. Years later I sat down with a shrink and told her, I can't remember, I truly can't. I just remember the intense fear and shame of what it would be like for my dad to come into my house and find me dead. The doctor pursed her lips as she listened to me and reassured me that people with PTSD often have trouble remembering details. In fact, I couldn't piece together how bad the whole thing was until 2018, around the same time I talked about being raped, because I had repressed memories so hard. There was a point where I vividly remembered everything both men had done to me respectively, including a lifelong physical injury I had also blocked out. Like, I knew it was there, I just never allowed myself to think about why.

Instead of killing me, thank fuck, my boyfriend left me lying on a plastic floor mat he had just put a cigarette out in that he been holding over my eye and walked out of the house, stealing my truck. So I called 911, in a sort of daze I seemed the most worried about the stupid truck. But I really couldn't comprehend anything at that point. I shouldn't have bothered calling, because ding-dong, who is at the door, but one of the cops that essentially kicked me out of my house in 2015, leaving me to wonder if my boyfriend would kill himself or burn the place down. The thin, blond cop. The first thing I noticed was his eyes when I spoke to him that day. His pupils were tiny pin-pricks and it was shockingly noticeable. He looked like he was blind or something, because he had wide blue irises with these teeny tiny pupils. Frankly it was creepy, but wasn't relevant to the situation. I told him my ex went nuts, then stole my truck. He starts screaming at me and asking me what I wanted to do, and why the hell did I call. I completely shut down and just felt scared of him. Thinking about telling him about the assault just evaded my head, all I could think was that I was being cornered and I had to get away. He walked around the yard looking at other shit my ex had torn up, yelled at me some more, then left. This cop was almost manic and I was afraid he would arrest me for annoying him.

I finally got my truck back with the help of my grandmother after watching my boyfriend acting insane in front of his boss, who he had driven to. The man got a restraining order against him that week after seeing the violent instability and I made our breakup official at the same time. I knew I was done the second he dragged me through the woods. That was the first time he had ever put hands on me and the torture session would be the last. (I was lucky in that he had tossed me around and suffocated me in a headlock, etc., rather than getting a knife or something... it could have been so much worse.)

At this point, regardless of what people around him did, my now-ex was clearly gone mentally. Not sure how or why it got that bad, but all of his issues just imploded on him at once, almost overnight. So 2016 to 2018 he stalked me and made my life a living hell. He called me and I was afraid to disconnect my number right away because I felt it was a way of tracking him/how dangerous he was any particular day. After screaming for him to leave me alone and calling the cops even more times failed, I felt I had to be nice to him to keep him at bay, or when he started coming into my job, so I wouldn't make a scene. I finally got a domestic violence order in 2017 and stood before the court and described my assault so the judge to decide if I had just cause.

About a month after that, my ex called me threatening to kill himself so I felt super happy about calling 911. Finally they would put his ass in jail. A cop in his early 20's showed up, flirted with me, called his boss and they told me that there was not enough cause to jail my ex. The cop told me to "just talk things over" with my ex and then left after staring at my tits through my sweatshirt.

More time goes by, more bullshit, afraid to go to work, afraid to come home at night. Mace didn't make me feel safer, guns didn't make me feel safer, having coworkers didn't make me feel safer. My dad was screaming at me that I had brought this all on myself by being with a nut for so long. I felt like a hunted animal. My boss complained about me calling out of work over this. Finally my ex's other ex-girlfriend who he was with after me comes into my job, says he assaulted her, and that he was dangerously obsessed with me and my boss finally took me seriously.

I couldn't do anything about phone calls or online harassment. He would message me online telling me he hated me and stuff and I would just block him. Then, one day in September, during Ocean City bike week, he showed up on a bicycle, cornering me in the parking lot of my job as I walked to my shift. I was in utter terror and for a moment he looked like he would attack me again but I just kept on walking, and did not pause. My coworker wanted to know why I was being confronted and I said "THAT'S HIM, THAT'S HIM. I'M SO SORRY, NIKKI, I'M NOT CLOCKING IN RIGHT NOW. I AM CALLING 911."

Two cops showed up, a male and a female and ID'd me, and looked at my DV order. I asked if it was okay for me to lift the sweater on my front seat up to get my purse and the male cop brushed that off, acting like I was a non-threat. But I knew I had to move slow, because, well, cops shoot people. White, black, male, female, non-bindary-gender, whatever.

They saw I had all my paperwork in order then they started fucking yelling at me! They told me they really didn't have time to look for him since it was Bike Week and they were busy! I don't know what else they said to me, I think they were confused about what phone number I used the most because I had 2 at that point. I broke into tears and the male cop said "you don't have to do none of that." I walked back into the store and they came back in again, and my coworker told everyone later on how nasty the cops were too me. I knew it wasn't just me but it was good to finally have a witness this time around.

They looked around for my ex at two known locations then gave up, I had called and asked. 3 days later he attacked his other ex, the one that I had spoken to and they arrested him on both that and my DV order. He was jailed for several months and since then his stalking has been infrequent aside from him popping up on Tumblr this winter to make fun of my cat dying. Because I left him, for assaulting me, he now, in whatever the fuck is left of his mind, wants me to live a life of hell. During one phone call he screamed "YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY UNTIL I'M HAPPY."

I'd love to count on him staying gone, but I know better. His brother added me on FaceBook not too long ago and I said hi, and he said "you know you're the love of my brother's life, right?" I told him I wanted nothing to do with my ex. "Not even friends?" I told him that my ex tried to kill me then made my life hell and he said he didn't know and the conversation ended.

I'm not afraid of my ex's brother. I don't think he added me purely to help my ex. This man isn't crazy. This man didn't try to kill me, and isn't going to. But the sheer mindfuckery of it: how can you try to get back with the woman you abused? How can you use threats to try and get back with her? Another time my ex called me and screamed over me posting pictures with my last ex, mocking it. Why would I be with him, instead of the guy that abused me?

...Why would I want to be with a guy that I felt safe with that never abused me? Golly gosh, no idea. But it's all just a headfuck that I will be scarred by for life.

Summary: Cops and the severely mentally ill are capable of ruining the lives of anyone, of any color. 🤷‍♀️

#PTSD

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years ago

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Worm 2.4 - In which Emma and her friends are utter monsters

“Nobody likes her. Nobody wants her here,” Julia said.

“Such a loser. She didn’t even turn in the major project for art, last Friday,” Sophia responded.

“If she’s not going to try, then why is she even coming to school?”

Ooh goodie! This chapter is already starting out fucked!

Despite the way the conversation sounded, they were talking to me. They were just pretending to talk to one another. It was both calculating in how they were managing plausible deniability while at the same time they were acting totally juvenile by pretending I wasn’t there. A blend of immaturity mixed with craftiness in a way only high schoolers could manage. I would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it, if it hadn’t been at my expense.

Wildbow captures the malignant pettiness of high school bullying so well. This is already making me mad with how ..real it is. The crude but effective phychological abuse.

The moment I had left the classroom, Emma, Madison and Sophia had crowded me into a corner, with another six girls backing them up. I was unable to squeeze past them without getting pushed or elbowed back, so I couldn’t do much more than lean against the window, listening while eight of the girls were rattling off an endless series of taunts and jibes. Before one girl was even finished, another started up. All the while, Emma stayed back and stayed quiet, the slightest of smiles on her face. I couldn’t meet the eyes of any of the other girls without them barking a fresh torrent of insults directly to my face, so I just glared at Emma.

I bet Emma is just relishing in all the social power she has here, letting her minions do everything for her and just looking amused at Taylor’s expense

Social hierarchy is such a cancerous thing in high school.

“Ugliest girl in our grade.”

They were barely thinking about what they were saying and a lot of the insults were wildly off the mark or contradictory. One would say I was a slut, for example, then another might say a guy would puke before he touched me. The point wasn’t being witty, being smart or being on target. It was more about delivering the feeling behind the words over and over, hammering it in. If I’d had just a moment to butt in, maybe I could have come up with retorts. If I could just kill their momentum, they probably wouldn’t get back into the easy rhythm again. That said, I couldn’t find the words, and there weren’t any openings in the conversation where I wouldn’t just be talked over.

They are taking the approach of trying to land as many hits as possible, without even bothering for coherency or effectiveness. Just a nice way for them to say to her how much they fucking loathe her.

Lovely

While this particular tactic was new to me, I’d been putting up with stuff like this for a year and a half, now. At a certain point, I’d come to the conclusion that it was easier to sit back and take it, when it came to most things. They wanted me to fight back, because everything was stacked in their favor. If I stood up for myself and they still ‘won’, then it only served to feed their egos. If I came out ahead in some way, then they got more persistent and mean for the next time. So for much the same reason I hadn’t fought Madison for the homework she had taken from me, I just leaned against the wall next to the window and waited for them to get bored with their game or get hungry enough to leave and go have their lunches.

Ugghghghghghghg

The whole situation is just horrible. If she fights back they would call her crazy or dangerous or pathetic and they will intensify their abuse. But just taking it like this can’t be good for her psyche, with all the constant and relentless aggresion.

“What does she use to wash her face? A Brillo pad?”

“She should! She’d look better!”

“Never talks to anybody. Maybe she knows she sounds like a retard and keeps her mouth shut.”

“No, she’s not that smart.”

No more than three feet behind Emma, I could see Mr. Gladly leaving his classroom. The tirade didn’t stop as I watched him tuck a stack of folders under one arm, find his keys and lock the door.

“If I were her, I’d kill myself,” one of the girls announced.

Mr. Gladly turned to look me in the eyes.

First off, that kys comment made me considerably even more disgusted

Second, Mr Gladly, you can see it happening, right now! Please do something! Even if it is just breaking this up with your presence.

“So glad we don’t have gym with her. Can you imagine seeing her in the locker room? Gag me with a spoon.”

I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but I know I didn’t look happy. No less than five minutes ago, Mr. Gladly had been trying to convince me to go with him to the office and tell the principal about the bullying. I watched him as he gave me a sad look, shifted the file folders to his free hand and then walked away.

GLADLY YOU INCREDIBLE PIECE OF SHIT

Way to prove how ineffective the school system would be, with just a single action

Most friendly and approachable teacher? More like most utterly spineless coward

I was stunned. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how he could just ignore this. When he had been trying to help me, had he just been covering his own ass, doing what was required of him in the face of a situation he couldn’t ignore? Had he just given up on me? After trying to help, in his own completely ineffective way, after I turned his offer for help down twice, he just decided I just wasn’t worth the effort?

I really hope Gladly isn’t just rationalizing this as being fine because Taylor refused his help. Because that ISNT HOW THAT WORKS

YOU’RE A GROWN-ASS ADULT, YOU SHOULD KNOW NOT TO LIMPLY WALK AWAY FROM A GROUP OF STUDENTS ABUSING ANOTHER STUDENT TO THE POINT OF CALLING FOR HER SUICIDE. EVEN IF SHE REFUSES YOUR HELP, IT IS YOUR DUTY AS HER TEACHER AND AS A FUCKING HUMAN BEING

“You should have seen her group fail in class just now. It was painful to watch.”

OH AND YOU ALL CAN ALSO GO TO HELL WITH THE ASSIGNMENT BULLSHIT

I clenched my fist, then forced myself to relax it. If we were all guys, this scenario would be totally different. I was in the best shape of my life. I could have swung a few punches from the very start, caused a bloody nose or two, maybe. I know I would have lost the fight in the end, getting shoved to the ground by force of numbers and kicked while I was down, but things would have ended there, instead of dragging on like they were here. I’d hurt physically for days afterwards, but I’d at least have had the satisfaction of knowing some of the others were hurting too, and I wouldn’t have to sit through this barrage of insults. If there was enough damage done, the school would have to take notice, and they wouldn’t be able to ignore the circumstances of a one-against-nine fight. Violence gets attention.

But things didn’t work that way here. Girls played dirty. If I decked Emma, she would run to the office with some fabricated story, her friends backing up her version of events. For most, ratting to the faculty was social suicide, but Emma was more or less top dog. If she went to the principal, people would only take things more seriously. By the time I got back to school, they would have spread the story through the grapevine in a way that made me look like a total psycho. Things would get worse. Emma would be seen as the victim and girls who had previously ignored the bullying would join in on Emma’s behalf.

One of the reasons why psychological abuse is so much more insidious than phisical abuse in many cases. It is so much harder to fight against.

“And she smells,” one girl said, lamely.

“Like expired grape and orange juice,” Madison cut in with a little laugh. Again, bringing up the juice? I suspected that one had been her idea.

Madison, fuck off

It seemed like they were running out of steam. I figured it was just a minute or two before they got bored and walked away.

It seemed Emma got the same impression, because she stepped forward. The group parted to give her room.

“What’s the matter, Taylor?�� Emma said, “You look upset.”

Emma, fuck off

Her words didn’t seem to fit the situation. I had maintained my composure for however long they had been at it. What I’d been feeling was more a mixture of frustration and boredom than anything else. I opened my mouth to say something. A graceless “Fuck you” would have sufficed.

That Taylor is so jaded that this doesn’t even affect her that much is so fucking depressing

“So upset you’re going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?” she asked.

My words died in my throat as I processed her words.

.....You just pulled some psychological bullshit didn’t you?

Almost a year before we had started high school, I had been at her house, the both of us eating breakfast and playing music way too loud. Emma’s older sister had come downstairs with the phone. We’d turned down the music, and my dad had been on the other end, waiting to tell me in a broken voice that my mom had died in a car accident

....Oh no. No no no no

I see what Emma might have just done and it is fucking evil

And this confirms that her mom died instead of her and Danny just breaking up...Fuck

Emma’s sister had given me a ride to my place, and I bawled the entire way there. I remember Emma crying too, out of sympathy, maybe. It could have been the fact that she thought my mom was the coolest adult in the world. Or perhaps it was because we really were best friends and she had no idea how to help me.

....What happened to you Emma? What made you so fucked up? How did you change so much. You cried about her mom, you were or at least seemed decent once!

I didn’t want to think about the month that had followed, but fragments came to mind without my asking. I could remember overhearing my dad berating my mother’s body, because she’d been texting while driving, and she was the only one to blame. At one point, I barely ate for five straight days, because my dad was such a wreck that I wasn’t on his radar. I’d eventually turned to Emma for help, asking to eat at her place for a few days. I think Emma’s mom figured things out, and gave my dad a talking to, because he started pulling things together. We’d established our routine, so we wouldn’t fall apart as a family again.

Knowing Danny he probably blamed himself more than he blamed her. And he shutting down like that... oh god.

And the fact that Emma was a shining light in all this is just so... twisted

Now Taylor doesn’t even have the moments of respite and support from that anymore. When Emma betrayed her, she betrayed her completely and utterly. These memories are retroactively tainted because of her

It was a month after my mom had died that Emma and I had found ourselves sitting on the bridge of a kid’s play structure in the park, our rear ends cold from the damp wood, sipping coffee we’d bought from the Donut Hole. We didn’t have anything to do, so we had just been walking around and talking about whatever. Our wandering had taken us to the playground, and we were resting our heels.

“You know, I admire you,” she had said, abruptly.

This sad and beautifully bitterweet memory, absolutely corrupted

“Why?” I had responded, completely mystified about the fact that someone gorgeous and amazing and popular like her could find something to admire in me.

“You’re so resilient. After your mom died, you were totally in pieces, but you’re so together after a month. I couldn’t do that.”

Past Emma makes me rage and fucking cry.

She honesly seemed like a good friend and isn’t that terrifying? That a close friend, a trusted friend, could backstab you like that?

I could remember my admission, “I’m not resilient. I can hold it together during the day, but I’ve cried myself to sleep for a straight week.”

That had been enough to open the floodgates, right there. She gave me her shoulder to cry on, and our coffee was cold before I was done.

AND THERE IT FUCKING IS

Emma you fucking monster

How dare you

Now, as I gaped at Emma, wordless, her smile widened. She remembered what I had said, then. She knew the memories it would evoke. At some point, that recollection had crossed her mind, and she had decided to weaponize it. She’d been waiting to drop it on me.

You’re so fucking repulsive

Fuck me, it worked. I felt the trail of a tear on my cheek. My power roared at the edges of my consciousness, buzzing, pressuring me. I suppressed it.

“She is! She’s crying!” Madison laughed.

Angry at myself, I rubbed my hand over my cheek to brush the tear away. More were already welling up, ready to take its place.

“It’s like you have a superpower, Emma!” one of the girls tittered.

You all better be thankful you’re not bug food at this point

I had taken off my backpack so I could lean against the wall. I reached to pick it up, but before I could, a foot hooked through the strap and dragged it away from me. I looked up and saw the owner of the foot – dark skinned, willowy Sophia – smirking at me.

“Oh em gee! What’s she doing?” one of the girls said.

Sophia was leaning against the wall, one foot casually resting on top of my backpack. I didn’t think it was worth fighting her over, if it gave her an opportunity to continue her game of keep-away. I left the bag where it was and shoved my way through the gathered girls, bumping an onlooker with my shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. I ran into the stairwell and out the doors on the ground floor.

Ok Sophia you can go die as well.

What an absolutely horrible group of people, holy shit.

I fled. I didn’t check, but chances were they were watching from the window at the end of the hallway. It didn’t really matter. The fact that I had just promised to pay thirty five bucks of my own money for a World Issues textbook to replace the one that had been soaked with grape juice wasn’t my top concern. Even if it was pretty much all the money I had left after buying the pieces for my costume. My art midterm was in my bag as well, newly repaired. I knew I wouldn’t get any of it back in one piece, if at all.

God this feels so hopeless.

The school is watching this and seeing how it’s making her miss classes and violate deadlines and they do nothing

No, my primary concern was getting out of there. I wasn’t going to break the promise I had made to myself. No using powers on them. That was the line I wasn’t crossing. Even if I did something utterly innocuous, like give them all lice, I didn’t trust myself to stop there. I didn’t trust myself to keep from offering blatant hints that I had powers or spoiling my secret identity just to see the looks on their faces when they realized the girl they had been tormenting was a bona-fide superhero. It was something I couldn’t help but daydream about, but I knew the long term ramifications would spoil that.

That is a sweet revenge fantasy, but yeah, compromising your secret identity isn’t worth it. There’s already a crazy dragon who wants you dead if he ever escapes

Perhaps most important, I rationalized, was keeping the two worlds separate. What use was escapism, if the world I was escaping to was muddled with the people and things I was trying to avoid?

I feel you there, Taylor.

Even without any problems like you have, I would cringe if my different worlds (university, family, friends, online...) collided

Before the thought of going back to school had even crossed my mind, I found myself wondering what I was going to do to fill my afternoon.

...You’re totally going to consider TT’s proposal right now, aren’t you?

#Worm #Worm liveblog #worm parahumans #parahumans #parahumans liveblog #wildbow #Worm 2.4 #Arc 2

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trade-baby-blues · 6 years ago

Text

In the Eggs Tonight

Pairing: Scotty x Reader

Word Count: 1938

Warnings: swearing, brief physical violence

A/N: Based on this prompt: “Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud” requested by @littlecrazyfangirl-98. Hopefully you like it!! I’m definitely not used to writing Scotty lol. The story is based on what supposedly used to be a Scottish tradition according to some less than reputable sources, so idk if it actually is, but! We did have a tradition close to this but using heated lead instead, so maybe it’s a real thing.

The first time you met Montgomery Scott, you could’ve strangled him. You could hear him hammering something metal through the thin walls of the apartment. Even your “soundproof” headphones couldn’t get the noise out of your skull. A swing every second as the clock ticked forward from 2:01 a.m. to 2:02, 2:03, 2:04

“The love of God,” you hissed and threw the covers off yourself. The way your blood was boiling, you didn’t even notice how cold the floor felt against your bare feet as you stomped out the door.

He only answered after the fifth knock, unable to hear the door over his own noise. When he finally poked his head out, you felt some of the anger leave you. Despite living in the building for a few months now, you’d never actually gotten know your neighbors and you were starting to regret it as you looked at the man in front of you, red hair sticking up in all directions, thick-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. His gently curved jaw was covered in stubble. You wanted to run your fingers against the roughness. At least, until he opened his mouth.

“Well, hello. Didn’t think anyone else’d be up at this hour.”

“Pretty sure half the building’s awake with all that hammering you’re doing.”

“Aye, what can I say? I do love getting hammered.” He smiled at you, hoping the joke would lighten the air, but your scowl only deepend. “Alright I’m sorry, lass. I was working on a new project and got a bit carried away, but I could be convinced to keep it quiet if you tell me your name.”

You remained unimpressed. “How about you keep it quiet and I won’t tell the property manager you’ve got an open flame in your apartment.”

“I haven’t got an open flame.”

“No? Then what’s that?” You pointed to a the metal contraption in the living room. It was currently shooting a small flurry of sparks onto the carpet, which was beginning to smoke.

“Shite,” your neighbor said, bolting back into his apartment to deal with the mess and stumbling over a few stray scraps of metal. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you turned back to your apartment. “I’m Scotty, by the way,” he called after you. “It was a pleasure to-” whatever he was going to say was lost in a string of curses as the fire alarms started going off.

The second time you met Scotty was an accident. Whether or not it was a happy one was still up for debate. You were coming home from a rather unspectacular date with your boyfriend, who seemed oblivious. He was always oblivious.

You stood in the doorway to your apartment, trying to keep him from coming inside as you fumbled with your keys and your thoughts, wondering if there was an easy way to break up with someone. He, of course, couldn’t tell anything was wrong as he tried to duck around you.

“Come on, babe. I want a beer.”

“You had three at the restaurant,” you muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you sighed. “I just...I think-”

“You think? That’s a new one.” He tried to duck around you again, but you put a hand to his chest.

“Yes, Rob, I think. I think you should leave.”

“Fine, I’ll grab a beer for the road, then.”

“No, I think it’s better if you don’t.”

“God, stop being such a bitch. I’m getting a fucking beer.” Rob grabbed your arm hard enough to make you wince. Almost as soon as he grabbed you he was yanked off.

“Oi, mate. Think she said it’s time for you to go.” You had to admit, the leather jacket made Scotty look tough, despite being half a head shorter than Rob.

“Don’t think it’s any of your business, Braveheart.”

You tried to worm your way between the two before their testosterone got the best of them. Before you could get a word in, Rob pushed you out of the way, sending you back first into the wall. Your head cracked back against it, sending a ringing through your ears. The hallway spun as you blinked the world back into focus in time to see Scotty pull back and swing a punch at Rob, who swung back twice as hard. Scotty crumpled in front of you.

He woke up on a couch that definitely wasn’t his. It was actually comfortable and smelled faintly like flowers. Scotty imagined his smelled like week-old Guinness.

“Oh thank God,” you said, setting a cup of tea on the coffee table as Scotty sat up. “I was starting to think I might have to call an ambulance.”

“Glad you didn’t. My mates’d have my hide if they find out I was in another fight.”

You bit your bottom lip, holding an ice pack out to him. “Wasn’t much of a fight, was it?” Scotty cracked a smile, laughing so hard he forgot how much his head hurt.

The two of you met many times after that, sharing stories and beers and occasionally couches if you fell asleep during whatever Netflix binge you were running through at the moment. For the most part, you were willing to forgive Scotty’s midnight mechanics since the two of you became friends.

Tonight was different. It was your first Christmas alone - not just since you and Rob broke up. Your parents had booked a couples cruise for Christmas and would be partying in Antigua, leaving you by yourself in your small apartment. You hadn’t even bothered to put up any decorations, figuring there was no one to impress. Instead, you threw yourself into work, finishing your third straight 14 hour work day and looking forward to nothing more than a good night’s sleep on Christmas Eve.

You were just drifting off when the sound of bagpipes drifted through your wall. With a huff, you rolled over, sandwiching your head between pillows. The sound was barely even muffled. You reached for your phone to text Scotty to keep it down. You got a one word response:

Scrooge.

The music quieted, though, and you sank back into your bed, revelling in the silence before it was pierced with a round of raucous laughter. You stared up at the ceiling, listening to glasses clink together, the sound of bagpipes still in the background. With a groan, you rolled out of bed and pulled on the first pair of jeans you found. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

That’s how you ended up in front of Scotty’s apartment, trying to ignore the way your heart beat faster when he shouted your name excitedly. You spared him a joke about the sweater he wore, bright red with a T. Rex in a Santa hat, as you entered his apartment.

It was a mess of lights and decoration and half-finished projects scattered around the living room. Scotty quickly introduced you to his friends before handing you a cup of (spiked) cider. “You’re just in time. We were just about to break out the eggs.”

“Eggs,” you asked, eyeing him warily.

“Aye, it’s an old tradition. You crack an egg and it tells you yer future.” You bit back a laugh, not wanting to hurt Scotty’s feelings. Excitement was written all over his face as he plopped back on the couch, moving a stack of paper plates to make room for you. “Why don’t you go first, love? Ye just prick the egg with this pin and drop it into the water and wait to see what shape the whites take.”

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this yet,” you teased as you reached for an egg. Still, you grabbed the glass of water and pin. Scotty held his hands over yours, showing you how to poke through the shell without breaking the egg. Then, you dropped it into the water and watched the whites ooze out. To you, it looked like a mess, but you heard Scotty hum approvingly beside you.

“An arch. Means you’ve got some conflict at work or with yer family. That why you’re spending Christmas alone?”

You stared at Scotty, trying to tell if he was joking. You hadn’t told him about your parents’ cruise, but you were hesitant to believe in the clairvoyant powers of an egg. “Shut up,” you teased, handing the pin to the blond man in the armchair next to you. The cider must’ve been stronger than you thought because you already couldn’t remember his name. Kirk maybe?

Slowly, you went around the room. Kirk saw a snake in his egg whites, which Scotty said was a sign of a happy sex life. Bones, much like you, didn’t see anything in his egg, but Scotty swore up and down there was a boat, a symbol of prosperity in life and work. Finally, the pin made its way back to Scotty himself, who sat, nose against the glass, as he waited for the whites to leak out.

Even you couldn’t deny the shape it took: like an anchor, sinking and swirling as the egg whites mixed with the water. Scotty’s eyes drifted over to you, then snapped back to the glass when he saw you looking back. You thought the tips of his ears grew pink, but it could’ve just been the alcohol in his system.

“What’s that one,” you asked.

“Hm,” Scotty looked at you again briefly before looking away. “Oh, horseshoe. Just standard stuff. Luck and all that.” His ears definitely grew pinker.

Bones scoffed. “Please, I grew up in Georgia. I’ve seen my fair share of horseshoes and that ain’t one. That’s an anchor.”

“Och no, that’s not..It’s, um. It’s a….a horseshoe. You’re just too drunk to see it over there.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not drunk, and I can see it’s an anchor. Is it a bad sign?”

Scotty shook his head. “No, not bad.”

“Then what’s it mean?” You nudged Scotty gently with your elbow when he remained silent. “Come on, Scotty. Not like you to be shy.”

He ran a hand down his face as he leaned back next you on the couch. He wrestled with himself before saying, “It means hope.”

“Wow,” you said dryly, “how unfortunate for you. I’ll pray for you and all your hope.”

“It’s also a sign of soulmates.” Scotty let his eyes drift over to you again and your breath caught in your throat. “That your life is anchored to someone else’s. Steadfast love.”

Scotty slipped a hand under your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. If you had any doubts about what he meant, they evaporated when he pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back perhaps too desperately, having wondered how his lips would feel every time you fell asleep together on your couch. Every time he wandered to your door in nothing but a towel his shower wouldn’t run hot water.

An uncomfortable cough broke you out of the moment and Scotty pulled away, ears red as his sweater with a smile brighter than the tree in the corner. You matched his smile, burying your face against his shoulder to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. You could still taste peppermint on your lips.

Jim was the first to break the silence, picking an egg up and turning it in his hands. “I think I just found a new pickup line.” The room fell back into comfortable laughter as you leaned against Scotty. He put his arm around you and you felt less alone than you had any Christmas before.

Tags: @outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @brooke-taylor0323 @slither-in-a-half @cuddlememerrick @reading-in-moonlight

#star trek imagine #montgomery scott imagine #scotty imagine #scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader #my fics #christmas/follower celebration

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 6 years ago

Text

Oh, Blessed Child of Our Gods

Monsta X

Shin Hoseok [Wonho] /Reader

Genre: Demon AU, Violence, Romance, Smut

Words: 13k

When Demons came to Earth, they had opened up a realm of impossibilities. The worlds were out of balance, with Demons running a muck from Hell and Earth, so the Heaven’s were sent to correct the issue, not sending Angels though. Which each infant born, few are marked by the Gods. The Gods created a temple, one that only Blessed Children may go through at any time of their life. There are a total of 6 blessed children currently known, the strongest of them blessed by 8 gods. However, what if a child walked through every gate of that temple, blessed by the entire Heavens. And what if choose a Demon instead the life of a Blessed Child?

-----------------------------

The Temple of The Blessed. It was a Temple with 20 gates, all leading up into the center where it’s rumored to be the gateway to the Heavens. One’s been able to prove this though, as there has not yet been a single child who has made it that far. The farthest a child has come to the center is gate 14, blessed by 8 Gods. For every two gates passed, that’s one blessing from a single god, as 10 Gods had helped build this temple before disappearing back among the sky.

Blessed Children are those who are touched by the gods when they are born, the sound of their cries attracting the gods; the highest on the social pyramid of the Earth. Yet, these children are exceedingly rare to happen upon. Once a Blessed Child is born and has passed through their gates, they can then have the option of marking one single person. By marking a person, they are claiming protective rights as well as a sense of status over their name. They would be by the Child’s side until the mark is lifted; they are known as the Marked Ones. Each Blessed Child has a Marked One by their side.

It’s said that when that when one truly, Blessed Child comes into the world and passes through all 20 gates, they will banish the Demon’s back into Hell and seal off Heaven’s gates and destroy the temple for good. Resorting Earth back to it’s original human populous. But, even the oldest of prophesy's can be rewritten.

You had been walking around the city, trying your best to ignore the ignorant shouting and preaching of the public Priests, trying to ‘peacefully protest’ against the populous of Demons. Trying to rid them away by shouting and praising their oh so mighty Gods in Heaven who will one day bless them with a Child to fix their unruly, tainted, ugly Earth.

It was total garbage. They could shove aluminum cans into their mouths and it’d make more sense as to why they were eating something like that than the stupid biblical words they keep yapping on and on again.

You were human, not Demon by far, but you refused the ways of the Gods. Demons had been among the human race for nearly 5 decades. it was 2031 for Christ sake! 50 years with them and only 6 Blessed Children with no leader among them didn’t seem like good odds for getting them back into Hell. Not like you had anything against Demon’s to begin with. If anything, you hated Humans.

You hated that you were like other humans in ways. Unable to breath underwater, being burned by fire, glass cutting your finger and bleeding until you covered it with a bandage. Demons had impeccable healing abilities, could stand harsh conditions and had other means of survival than food. Many Demons had adapted into a human-like life style, and you wondered how anyone could stomach that.

So, it wasn’t unusual to you that your small group of friends were also Demons. Not a human among them. This of course made your life difficult. Your parent’s shunning you, your classmates and scholars all shaming you, bulling you for siding with the ‘Evil’, but they were just naive.

You were pulled from your annoyance that is your reeling about the sins of the world when the earpiece lodged into your ear began relentlessly beeping. Wincing, you quickly flipped a small switch on it to open up a communication.

X-43B, that was the model number printed on the side of yours. It was modeled after what the older generates of decades ago called a Bluetooth, but it was much more flamboyant. Receiving calls, accessing the internet through a small projection that would be shown through a small private screen when activated, even video calls seemed more extravagant. They can even be hooked up to game consoles or other peoples communicators for impossibly wide possibilities of entertainment.

“Is there a reason why one of you little Demons changed my ringtone to a horrible sound that will surely make me go deaf?!” You screamed into the line before even mustering a hello. There was multiple laughter coming through the other end as you hissed.

“Girl, if only you put that lock on it like I keep telling you, you’d learn your lesson.” You rolled your eyes as you switched the setting to the call to stream a video feed. A transparent image of your best friend popped up, a grin on his face as you saw 3 other figures behind him, still giggling away. “You finally out of your stupid human classes?”

“Listen Wonho,” it wasn’t his real name, but he had preferred this name over his birth name. “College is important for me okay, I have to keep my academic grade up if I even want to think about a career nowadays.”

“Why? All they do is bully you. And I thought it wasn’t that hard to grab a job as a human? Just sign out an application thing and boom, employment.” You shook your head. Your demon friends all went to school, but after too much stress, pressure and segregation from being Demon’s they all dropped out. They weren’t taught the old and new ways of the human life style.

“That was back in like the 20s, Wonho. Now, you have to have sufficient academic studies, go through medical exams, a series of tests to prove that you’re not actually a Demon, a lot of stuff.”

“That’s completely stupid,” he huffed. “You should just forget that and come live with us! We can keep you fed and housed and you won’t even been bullied anymore!”

“As much as living in your giant, Demon infested dorm sounds just grand,” your voice dripped in sarcasm, “I know for a fact that I couldn’t handle living with all 7 of you at once at this point in time. I’d physically rip my hair out.”

“But Y/N~!” He whined. He always did this when it came to you saying no. But, you were well passed the point of waving his stupid pout off. Or so you kept telling yourself. You’d never admit that you had a soft spot for it, or him for that matter. Besides, it’s unheard of for a human to fall for a Demon. Never once has it happened, and you won’t let your stupid human emotions ruin anything else for you.

“I’m heading over there now, and unless you don’t want me to stop and get you guys food, you’ll stop whining.” You threatened as you hung your finger over the switch of your X-43B and flipped it, ending the call. The transparent image of the handsome man was gone and you sighed. You had your bag on your back, filled with heavy books and unfinished papers with your pen that you snatched from your desk neighbor.

You wish that humanities technology had come further than it has. But reading in text books and writing on electric circuited pads wasn’t much different than now. All your professors gave you the same answer though. Technology can be advanced, but they refuse to do it, afraid the demons would sink their claws into it and take over the humans. Humans are so petty, weak, frightened. A species that claims to be the top of the food chain sure is all bark and no bite. Reason number a billion why you hated being associated with the main, planet born population.

🌙🌙🌙

It wasn’t too much time later that you were unlocking a door to a house just outside the city. Big enough for a family of 10, but just your 7 friends living in it. Honestly, you don’t even know if they paid for anything, but they’ve lived here for as long as you’ve known them.

A brown, paper bag in your left hand full of bottles of various beverages and bags of random, salty and sweet snacks you took your key from the doorknob and shut it behind you with your right hand. Stuffing your keys into your pocket, you heel off your shoes, and walk into the kitchen. It was quiet, something that surely wouldn’t last long.

You set the brown back bag, as well as dropping your school bag, on the counter, not ever bothering to unload everything from inside, you trotted into the living room and flopped yourself down on the couch. Your back hit the plush cushions and your legs hung off the arm rest, as you shut your eyes. Resting and laying down sure felt nice. It was probably 20 seconds of solace before you heard rushed foot steps from the second floor and soon bounding down the carpeted staircase.

“Y/N!” Before you lift yourself off the couch, your were tackled back onto it. A large body crashing into you, well- larger than yours anyways. His fuzzy, have dry hair tickling your chin as he tucked his head into your chest, laying on top of you. You tapped on his back, feeling him groan at the silent plea for him to get off you.

“You’re hair isn’t dry, your half naked and your heavy. Please get off me Minhyuk.” The boy pouted and once again you found yourself really questioning if this boy was really a demon or not. He had clearly bolted right out of the bathroom from getting dressed from his shower. He normally had someone dry his hair for him though, liking the attention, so his caretaker didn’t do their job of keeping him in the room for very long.

“You literally saw me yesterday.”

“A whole 24 hours passed since then!”

“Oh my,” you groaned. Minhyuk reminded you, and most people he was familiar with, of a dog who would cry at the door if their master was going to their bathroom. Not much of a Demon vibe came from him, but not a human one either. He was a cheery presence, but acceptable, likable, comfortable. Minhyuk sniffed you as you slapped at his head.

“You smell different.” You rolled your eyes.

“Is it the food I brought?” He shook his head. “The coffees, my laundry detergent, my-”

“Your shampoo! You changed it! You smell like rain now!” True. You use to always use this honeysuckle scent shampoo that you could pick up for cheap at the closet store, but recently they had an even cheaper shampoo take to the shelves and that’s more money in your pocket than handed over a counter. It’s not like it smelled bad anyways.

“Okay, so I smell like rain. That a problem?” He shook his head again, laughing.

“Nope! I think it’s actu-AH!” He was cut off by his shout of shock when he was pushed off you. You heaved your chest, the heavy man now off you and looked at Wonho, leaning over the back of the couch and staring at Minhyuk, whom now lay on the floor after the older graciously shoved him off you. He gaze then shifted to your form, still laying on the couch.

“Feel better?” He asked as he leaned over the cushion and grabbed your bicep pressed against the back of the couch and pulled you to sit up. You nodded as you rolled your neck and then looked back at Wonho. He was staring at you.

“What? You going to say I smell different too?” He narrowed his eyes, just slightly, as he nodded.

“You do. I just know it’s not your shampoo that’s making the difference.” You rose your brow at him as he just huffed. He walked around the couch to stand in front of your hanging legs that were over the arm of the plush seating choice and then seized your waist, lifting you up and hoisting you over his shoulder. You put your hands on the small of his back to brace yourself, and make it so that your face didn’t smash into his shoulder blades.

“What the hell was that for?! Put me down!” He laughed as he shook his head and started running upstairs, you protesting the entire time. The third person, who still lay on the floor, remained on the floor until Jooheon came and took him back upstairs to finish getting dried up and dressed before he caught a chill.

Wonho had finally set you back down on your feet, but quickly turned his back on you to shut and locked his door. It wasn’t an unfamiliar room, it was his room. You’d sit up in here and read, or throw his stuffed rabbits at his head while he fiddled with his computer most days.

You were straightening out your shirt when he came back to you and he put his hand on your shoulder. You looked at it, then up to him.

“Let me see.” You sighed. Of course this is why he dragged you up here.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I don’t care. Let me see it.” You huffed once again as you let your arms drop from fixing your clothes and relaxed as he pulled slightly on the neck of your shirt. He revealed your shoulder, collarbone, along with the long, risen, red cut that practically glowed against your skin. He ran his thumb over the cut as he used his fingers to keep your shirt away from it. “What was it this time?”

“A really well made plastic knife actually.” The fact that you preferred Demons to humans wasn’t welcomed, as it’s already known, so that would result in many fights. None of which you picked, they were always thrown at you. You wouldn’t let someone beat you down, you had to defend yourself.

“You should really stop getting into fights all the time.” You rolled your eyes. How many times has he told you this, and how many more time is he going to have to tell you. Nothing will change, even 5 years from now, nothing will ever change. “I know it’s partially our fault you fight, but honestly, can’t you just avoid it?”

“It’s not your fault. Just because I like you guys more than some snobby human girl named “Patricia”, doesn’t mean it’s any of your fault. Besides, you know I can’t avoid it, I’ve tried.” Wonho remembered the first day you got into a fight. It was the first and only day you didn’t fight back. You came back to this house, came back to him, with bruises, cuts and blood covering you. He was furious that night.

“I know, I just-” He sighed. “I wish they wouldn’t hate you so much. I mean, how can someone possibly hate you of all people?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a human thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“So it seems. Hold still.”

“Wait, no it’s fine.” You started to get jittery. You knew that with each Demon, someone, somewhere has some sort of power. It can be anywhere from teleportation to instantly have your nails painted. Useful, or useless. Wonho’s was something that was pretty useful to those around him, but not to himself. His body was swimming with healing cells: Mitigation. He could take away the pain and heal- to an extent- someone’s injuries. Either be it by his blood or-

“It’s all red and risen. It’s fine, just stand still a second.” He gripped your arms and lowered his face to your shoulder. Slipping his tongue out of his mouth, he ran the muscle up the entirety of the cut. You shivered.

-by saliva. You hated when he did this. Hated? Well, perhaps not hated. It was a feeling that was pleasant, but you wished it not to be. It was when he did this that you had to remind yourself that you, a human, shouldn’t fall for him, a demon. He had a heart of gold for someone who was suppose to be so dark, this being something he was so naive about.

The psychical attention he gave you was far higher than he thought it was. Demon’s don’t think about attention in physical or mental aspects the same way humans do. We can get a small flutter in our chests when holding hands, yet for them if they want to feel anything it takes much more effort. Shownu once described it as, ‘if they think they might feel something of attachment towards another, the easiest way to prove it is through thorough physical touch.’

Or in laymen’s terms, through sex.

So, the fact that this man, this demon is here licking your neck and not acting like anything else is bothering him, is both reassuring and stomach churning. The logical and mortality parts of your stupid human brain were constantly at war with the idea of him.

“There, see. It’s already better.” He stepped away from, you but only just enough to watch your cut close and practically blend it with the rest of your skin. You swatted his hand away and pulled your shirt back up your shoulder. He knew you didn’t like it when he did that, but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t comprehend why you could rather live with any pain when it was so much easier when he could just fix you.

“Thanks, but you really didn’t have to drag me all the way up here just to lick me, you pervert.” You remarked at him. He faked a gasped, slapping a hand on his chest and posing a dramatic facial expression, as this was practically routine. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him as you stepped around him and left the room after unlocking the door, hearing the hustle and bustle that is your friends downstairs. He watched your back with a specific, hidden look and followed after you.

He’d never tell you out loud that he only took you to his room to do that because he’d actually keel over in embarrassment if the others saw him lick you. Especially with all the information they know and keep held over his head.

The afternoon progressed as it normally did. It was a rinse and repeat life style, but you could live with it. You’d go to school, more than likely get into a fight, stop by some sort of coffee place for drinks and snacks and then you’d go to their home until it was late and you were forced back into your own. That time had finally hit that night.

11 PM. You had sighed as you lifted yourself off the couch and stretched, all the boys shifting their eyes to look at you, watching your arms extend and lock above your head before dropping them with a huff.

“Well, I’m off,” the same line as every night. It was almost all the same as every other night, but now you watched as Shownu gave a quick glance to Wonho who then stood up next to you, jabbing at your sides making you squeal and swat at him.

“I’ll take you home.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I can, now move it or I’ll lock the front door so you’re stuck here for the night.” You watched as he brushed past you to get to the door around the corner, slipping on his shoes. This was new. He’d normally just whine about you going home, and make you call him on the way there until you got inside safe and sound. He’d never personally taken you himself though, as you were afraid if someone were to see him out so late, they’d judge him just because he wasn’t human.

You quickly trotted after him, tattered shoes bouncing off the ground as you followed him out the door. He stuck his hands in his hoodie pouch and made sure you too keep you a slight step in front of him so he can keep an eye on you, or for anyone that you may regretfully know. If you saw anyone, there was a chance of a fight and he was going to make sure that didn’t happen.

Part of him wanted to see you fight. Wanted to see how it all starts, how it ends and everything in between. He wanted to know why they always targeted you. It wasn’t fair, someone living in such pacifist way shouldn’t be ganged up on for her beliefs and opinions. So what if you didn’t like how tainted humans are? Wonho couldn’t understand, even if he tried, he was a Demon after all.

The walk was silent. Only the sound of the shuffled footsteps of you both mixing in the night air. It was chilly, but not uncomfortable. Wonho stood in front of your door of your apartment as you grabbed your key you keep around your neck, tucked under your shirt and unlocked it, opening the door just to crack it and took your key back out.

“Thank you for walking me, I guess.” He shrugged as he smiled down at you. You stepped inside and turned around to see him off. He waved a goodnight as he turned and before he was out of sight, you called to him. “Why did you walk me home?” He stopped, and turned over his shoulder, shrugging once again.

“I already told you. Because I can.” And then he jogged off, texting you 20 minutes later that he made it back without any trouble. It was odd, having the roles reversed when he was the one texting you about his safety. Yet, it made that flare in your chest rise again, the same flare you know you need to snuff out. But, just once, you allowed yourself to feel pleased and smiled down at your phone screen as you two had your normal night time conversation.

🌙🌙🌙

It continued in this new routine for the next week. It would be normal and at the end of the day, Wonho would be there to walk you home late at night and then be the one to text you when he got back. You never really worried too much, as he was a demon and more than capable of defending himself. He’s stated many times that he has no problems with fucking up a human if they started something with him.

It was the start of the second week after Wonho started do this that you got up and, as per usual, got dressed and ready to head off for another grueling day of classes.

All day, Wonho was growing restless. You hadn’t contacted him all day and it was already close to 1 in the afternoon now. Normally, this shouldn’t be something to be concerned about, but for some reason it had the hairs on the back of his neck standing. It was like there was so much static in the air, if someone clicked their fingers, a fire would start. He was tense, and he didn’t know why. The fact that you hadn’t sent him any replies to his numerous calls wasn’t helping.

It was 3 when he finally was getting a call from you. He rushed in picking it up, immediately asking why you hadn’t contacted him all day. Instead, you told him to meet you somewhere. You had sent coordinates and a map with a location, but it was secluded.

“What? Where are you? Are you lost or something?”

“No-no I just, I’m-” Your breathing was rushed, and jagged. Almost like you were scared, or had just finished running a marathon. “Please, can you just get here? I don’t know what to do. They keep looking for me, Wonho.” He moved from laying in his bed to sitting up at your words.

“Who? Who’s looking for you?”

“Please, just hurry.” He was out of bed and slipping on his shoes in seconds as he rushed down the stairs.

“Y/N, you need to tell me what’s going-” he stopped short when he was passing the TV screen that Shownu had put on, mainly for background noise as he worked on something in a book. Scribbling down this and that. The city was looking for a Wanted individual. They were looking to arrest them for charges of violence towards humans and treason against their race. The news anchor described the person before their picture popped up on the screen.

It was you.

You were Wanted by the police and the whole city was out for blood, our for you. They were just going to arrest you, just like that? No evidence, nothing? You were only violent in self defense, the charges are entirely false! He was snapped out of his daze when he heard you curse under your breath and the call dropped.

“Y/N? Y/N!” He pulled up a screen that showed your in-time location you sent and the blue dot that moved across the virtual map was you, and it was on the move. You were taking back ally ways and moving in spastic directions. “Send message to Y/N,” he spoke into his voice commands as he ran out of the house, Shownu calling after him, wanting to know what all of this was about. “Go to the Temple. Hide around there until I can come.”

You received his message as you made your way to the Temple as best as you could. Taking every back ally or hidden passage way you knew or found, you eventually managed to come to the front of the Temple. A blessed place, and surprisingly not very populated. You did as Wonho told you, hiding yourself between crates and covering them with a torn, fabric that was close to the Temple walls.

You were never one to back down from a fight, but this was too much. You had no chance if you were to go against the masses. Person upon person, trained fighters, middle aged men and women equipped for combat. You had no chance. You had to hide. As much as it bruised your ego, running kept you alive for the time being. kept you free and safe.

You soon heard shuffling of feet not too far from you. Peeking out of one of the tattered holes in the fabric draped over you and the crates, you saw Wonho, looking around, out of breath. You tore the fabric off and ran to him, the noise you made catching his attention.

He ran to you, meeting you half way as you ran into his chest. He held your head to him and sighed. They hadn’t found you yet. He wasn’t too late. He looked up to the Temple as he held you and felt you shake. Fear wasn’t a thing that was easy to coax out of you, but here you were, literally trembling in his arms. He sneered up at the Temple, up at the Heavens.

What kinds of Gods decide to bless such a tainted race. You didn’t deserve anything you were feeling. Not the fear, the anger, the hate. Nothing. He loathed the heavens for deciding to fill your life with nothing but hardships. He cursed the Gods to the very core of his Demon heart.

“Y/N, you need to come back with me. We need to get back home so we can figure out how to keep you safe.” You shook you head.

“No, no way. I’m not gonna drag you all into this. I shouldn’t have called you, but I just- I panicked and now-” He hushed you as he tightened his grip on you and turned his body, taking steps backwards. “Wonho?” You looked up at his face, he was sneering. Glare harsh and teeth bared, it was like he was threatening someone. And threatening he was.

Humans started gathering at the Temple, most likely to pray for the wicked soul of the treacherous human. First one person, then three, then ten, the numbers stacking up relentlessly until a mob was at the Temple gates, watching as the face of the human girl on TV was in front of them, being held by a Demon. Probably not the most insightful position they could’ve found you, a deemed traitor, in.

“She’s there!”

“Standing before the Gods with a Demon!”

“Treacherous monster! You’re no better than a Demon in the end!”

Wonho growled as he pulled you from his chest, only for you to stand behind him. Wonho faced off with the crowd of people, backing up as much as he could. It made him nauseous, being this close to the Temple. He knew he couldn’t enter it, and the area was wide and open. If he wanted an escape plan, he’d have to think fast.

You stood behind him, watching as he glared at your race that were seeing you as enemy #1. You watched his jaw move up and down, and his shoulders tense, he was clearly shouting at them, screaming at them, but you couldn’t hear him. Your heartbeat thrumming to intensely into your ears. But, you did hear something.

Someone was calling you. It seemed to distract you, and it was calling you from behind your back. The voice had made you forget where you were, why you were here in the first place. All you heard was that pleading voice of your name, calling and calling for you. And so, you did the most human thing and decided to chase the voice.

Running straight into the Temple.

Wonho had been so busy trying to keep the humans away from you that he didn’t feel the absence of your presence until some random man pointed out that you were gone. Wonho whipped himself around, and indeed, you were gone. Where had you gone? You couldn’t have run around him and you obviously didn’t charge into the mob of threatening savages.

“Did she...” his voice was a whisper as the Temple began to change. Blinding, white bars closed off the entrance to the Temple, permitting no one’s entrance. He had only seen this happen when there are Blessed Children inside, as it’s a rule that only one pure body be allowed trespass inside at a time.

You had ran inside the Temple, and you were someone, some random human blessed by some random God. You who loathed them, were blessed by them. You who loved a Demon, would only come back out of that Temple as a child of a God.

🌙🌙🌙

You ran blindly. Chasing that voice that seemed so familiar to you, yet you hadn’t heard a day in your life. It made you curious and it wasn’t until you felt a sudden wave of heavy fatigue fall on your shoulders that you stopped and nearly buckled to your knees.

Your chest felt unbelievably heavy and it was like you were swallowing tar instead of air. Your throat closed up and your eyes watered. It felt like you hadn’t drank water in days. Your body shook and you felt sweat gather at the base of your neck.

You kept hearing that voice though. Calling and calling and calling. You had to keep moving. You had to find the owner of that voice. You had to. You ran once again for a bit longer before your knees actually buckled this time and you fell. Knees hitting the marbled floor as you slid to a stop, skin raw from the impact and more than likely ready to bruise in an hour or so.

Maybe it’s a good thing you fell, because with some sense knocked into you, you finally realized that you were in a building of some type. You looked around, eyes hazy and blurred. Murals painted on the highest points of the ceilings, pillars of spec less satin white, marble floors that one could see their reflection in. You thought you heard the sound of a fountain around you, but didn’t see one.

Just where in the world had you mindlessly ran off to? You tried to pick yourself off the floor, but it felt like your ankles had iron balls strapped onto them. Heavy, you felt so heavy. You pulled yourself on the floor, reaching a pillar to pry yourself up with and support your body before you pushed off it. You crushed your eyes together as you bit your cheek and ran as far as you could before you ran into something.

Bouncing off the hard object you fell onto your back as you groaned. There was no way you were going to be able to get yourself up a third time. You felt like the weight of an elephant was stepping on you as your thoughts grew foggy and a headache grew around your head, pounding into your temples.

You turned onto your stomach and pried open your eyes only to jumped back at the sight of a single, bright pillar. It blazed brightly, almost like it was on fire, a pure white fire. It reached into a single point in the domed ceiling and flared around like it was alive. You were once against startled when you felt something around you neck.

Looking down, a chain began to form around your neck, and a pendant formed at the end of it before it solidified and rested against your chest. You flipped onto your side, one arm supporting you up and the other tugging on the chain. Where did this come from, and why is it on you? Why can’t you take it off?

“Who would you like to see?” The sudden voice of an older man scared you, making you jump and roll onto your back, both arms behind you to lift you up and look at him. He was older, wearing clothing that didn’t seem right, almost like he was auditioning for a role in a play and he wanted to play the part of a God.

...God.

“Who would you like to see?” He questioned again, voice calm. He was the voice. He was calling you in here the entire time.

“Wh-what?” Your voice squeaked, the feeling of your closed throat making it feel parched.

“Our 20 Gate Child has finally appeared. Who would you like to see?”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone.”

“Then....” You wanted to see him. He was the first person to pop into your head, but that would be a lie. Saying he was the first person you thought of implies you aren’t always thinking about him, and you always, always were. Your hazy state makes you stupidly accept and realize all the things you’ve pushed down over and over again just because he was a Demon.

But now, what happens. You love him. But now you’re someone he hates, something he hates. You can’t possibly call for him, can you? What right do you have to do so, but regardless of your mind, your mouth makes your decision.

“Hoseok. I want to see.. Hoseok.” The weight of the world felt like it crashed into your skull as your eyes rolled back and you fell onto your back, your arms collapsing. The old man simply sighed as he looked at the light of the pillar.

The shouts and screams of the outside were silenced the moment that old man appeared outside the Temple gates out of nowhere, gates that were still very much closed and locked. He looked around the masses before he looked to the Demon boy.

“Hoseok, I pressume?” Wonho stiffened. Not everyone knew he real name.

“Who’s asking?”

“The young lady inside wanted to see you.” He straightened out at the mention of you.

“Y/N. Is she alright? Where is she, how many gates did she pass?”

“The young lady made it to the center of the Temple.” He gasps lightly as he took a small step back. The center? You were.. “She requested for you. It will be the first time a Demon is allowed passage into the Temple. I can’t say I agree with her, but it is her wish, so it is my job to obey.” Wonho only nodded. He wanted to get to you, get you out, make sure you’re okay.

The man walked towards Wonho and touched his wrist, latching onto it and before he knew it, he was standing inside a domed over area with a blinding pillar of fiery light. Then, he saw you, unconscious and exhausted on the floor in front of that pillar. He scrambled to get to you, lifting your head and making sure you had no injuries he had to tend to. You were fine, other than the red, raw skin of your knees.

He lay your head back down and moved to examine your knees. They weren’t horrible, and with two small pecs of his lips to your skin, they healed up in no time. The old man watched the skin heal itself as Wonho moved back to cradle you, lifting you up to his chest to where if you were awake, you could clearly here his increased, panicked heartbeat.

“So, you can heal others. Quite a unique trait for a Demon to possess.”

“What did you do to her?” He sneered.

“I’ve done nothing, simply passing her gates proved to be rather exhausting for her.” Wonho noticed the necklace around your neck and examined the pendant. Not a moment after he touched it, he felt a warmth on his chest. It felt strange, like he had made a connection with something, someone. He couldn’t put the sensation into words.

He pulled at the few top buttons of his shirt as he looked to see what had happened, if anything happened, to his chest and something did. A tattoo appeared on his chest, but it wasn’t painful and the shape of it resembled an identical copy of your necklace.

“The first Demon to ever enter this sacred palace, and now our Prophet has chosen to Mark a demon as well.” Wonho looked at the old man, then to your unconscious face, scrunched up in unfamiliarity. You didn’t seem like you were resting pleasantly.

You marked him? Why him? He had heard once that the possessor of a Blessing of the Gods can choose any one person as their Marked One, but it must be someone of close relation and strong bond. Wonho was indeed your best friend, and he cared about you more than you probably realized, but is this really what you wanted? Or was it an unconscious action out of pure desperation and fear?

“She Marked me?”

“You were the first person she called out for when she felt like she was on the verge of collapse. It’s quite safe to say that the young ladies decision was not on a whim, but out of admiration. Fondness.” Wonho pushed your hair out of your face as he rubbed at the back of you neck, wanting that unconformable look on your face to go away.

“I want to take her back home.” He looked at the old man. “The humans, will they try and take her from me if I take her out of the Temple?” The old man shook his head.

“I will see to it that you may take her to rest in peace.” Wonho didn’t have grounds to believe his words, but that’s all he had in this moment. With you needing desperate relocation for proper rest and all the questions he has in his head he wanted to talk to you about, he needed to get back home. He moved and lifted you up, tucking you around his chest as he stood.

At least your body was still warm.

“Simply walk out,” the old man pointed in a direction. “The gates will open and the humans will pay you no mind.” Wonho nodded.

“Thank you.” Then he started out. As the old man said, the gates practically vanished as he approached them and the humans didn’t even seem to notice he was there. A white sheet of mist clouded around the two of you, and he supposed it acted as a shield of sort, masking your presence as he took you back home.

To his home, with him where you’ll be safe.

🌙🌙🌙

It was strange, passing out in a temple and then waking up here, in the room you’ve been in so many times before. The room where you’d be dragged off and scolded for fighting. Waking up in Wonho’s room, for the first time since you’ve known him, was strange. You couldn’t remember too much right after opening your eyes. Your head pounded with the world’s worst headache, but you did recognize the foreign feeling of something around your neck. A necklace, a cold, gold chained necklace with a pendant of a symbol of an ancient star that rested just between your clavicles.

You got this necklace when you saw that pillar of light and when that man spoke to you. You remember feeling weak, exhausted and tired. He asked you who you wanted to see, who you wanted to get you out of there. The first person on your mind was Wonho, but you had no idea why he was asking you who you wanted to see. The moment you answered him though, fatigue took every ounce of your strength and you fell to the ground. Then, the next moment, you felt warmth before everything was cold and lost.

Now, you were here, laying in Wonho’s bed. Where was he? Did he bring you back here? Who took you out of the Temple? And why, why did you have a necklace on that felt so warm and so heavy, yet at the same time, was cold and as light as a feather. The chain had no clasp to remove it, and it was far too small to slip over your head. You tried yanking on it, pulling so that it may snap, but it was solid. The necklace was practically bound to you now. You knew that one who entered the temple was suppose to be deemed a Blessed Child, but you?

You who hated mankind, you who despised the segregation between humans and demons, you who were bullied and beaten for preferring the latter over your own birth race. You. Someone who fell in love with a Demon and who would prefer to give her humanity and life up to keep him safe was Blessed? You’ve never heard a bigger joke, and you constantly thought it was a joke. Someone must’ve planned this, right?

You were brought out of your thoughts when someone knocked at the door, and within a few seconds later without a response from you, someone came in. You let out a breath when you saw Wonho’s black hair peek in the room. You didn’t know why you were on edge, but for some reason, you thought someone else would come inside. You thought you were going to have to see that stupid old man from the temple again and he was gonna drag you away, or tell you you were part of some elaborate plan to degrade you even more than humanity has.

It was unusual for Wonho to knock thinking about it. I mean, it was his room. Why would he have to knock, and his timing was spot on, coming in and looking at you like he knew you were awake.

“You’ve been sleeping for a while.” He came and dragged his desk chair over to the side of the bed, opting to sit next to you like that.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard you chain rattling,” he pointed to your necklace with your pendant on it. You touched it lightly, and Wonho could read the look in your eyes. Your confusion was painted all over your face. “You don’t remember anything that happened at the Temple, do you?” You shook your head.

“It’s all spotty. I can’t really rely on my memories right now, especially with this thing.” You flicked the pendant. “What is it anyways?”

“You were Blessed, you should remember that much. You entered the Temple, that should be proof enough, wouldn’t you think?”

“Oh, no no no. I’m no Blessed Child. I can’t stand my own race, how then can I be Blessed by any God.” You scoffed at yourself. Wonho wouldn’t lie to you, but you didn’t want to believe it. You would be forced to leave if you were Blessed. Leave your friends, your home. Leave him.

“Y/N-”

“No. I’m not Blessed. I’m not, okay?”

“Y/N. You went through all 20 gates. You made it to the fucking center. You literally can’t deny it.”

“I’m not Blessed! I’m not, because if I was then some stupid government goons will march in here, take me to some stupid rich kid territory and I’d never see any of you again!” He knew you weren’t handling this well, and he expected as much, but he needs to get a clear explanation across to you. He needs to tell you what you are, and the power you have over the people. And the power you now hold over him.

“If that were the case, you’d be gone already! They wouldn’t have let me take you back here, back to my home, if they wanted to drag you anywhere else.” That was true. They would’ve pried you out of his hands if they wanted to relocate you. But, how did he even get you here? He couldn’t get to you in the Temple. Did that old man carry you out, because that seemed unlikely.

“How did.. just how did you get me here?”

“I carried you out of the Temple.”

“Okay, now I know your lying. Demon’s can’t enter the Temple, you know that. The holiness of the place physically makes you sick. You can’t even stand being near it!” You stopped to catch your heavy breath before you kept going, more ideas and concerns coming into your head. “Besides, suppose you did carry me out like you said, there’s no way they would listen to you! They’d just refuse anything you had to say and wave you off because you’re not human!”

“They had no choice. They didn’t know I was there to begin with.”

“What does that even mean-” Wonho cut you off by starting to unbutton the top buttons of his black shirt. Why the hell was this asshole starting to strip when you were in a constant state of confusion and peril?! You were about to chew him out, yell at him for being inconsiderate when he pulled open his shirt just enough to show you a mark on the left side of his chest. A tattoo, no larger than your palm, all in black. And it looked exactly like your pendant that hung around your neck.

“Do you remember calling me? Y/N, you Marked me. Since your word as the Blessed Child who passed through all the gates of that stupid Temple is absolute without question, so is mine.” You.. you Marked him? That doesn’t make sense. No, you couldn’t have. He’s a Demon. Surely a Demon with a mark of a Blessed being would die, or at least be in some sort of pain. Was he okay, was he in pain from that Mark? Oh God, did you… were you really?

“I,” you just looked at his marking. It was really there. “I really am.. Blessed?” He nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how you got Marked, I guess it’s because I said your name.” He looked at you. He didn’t know how this completely happened either. That old man barely explained anything. “When I first got to the pillar, I was tired. Someone, an old man, asked me who the person I wanted to see the most was. And I just said your name and then-” You couldn’t remember after that.

You realize he must be angry with you. Sure, he’s talking to you, but his approach was off. He was rigid, almost like he was being forced into something and he sat in a chair next to you, not plopped on the bed with you like he normally would be. He was distancing himself. He must be angry, frustrated that he was next to a child of God, on top of which being Mark but that child. There must be a way to change it. If you could take your Mark away from him and maybe put it on someone else, someone willing to be a Marked One of you, maybe he’d go back to the way he was before.

“I’m sorry, I’ll remove it.” Wonho looked at your lowered gaze, still staring at his chest.

“Remove what?”

“The Mark. I’m sure there’s a way to remove it and change it from you to someone else. If I'm as powerful as they say, then I should have that power, right?” He quickly started to cover the Mark up from you as soon as you reached forward to touch it, hoping that maybe it would smear right off him if you wished hard enough. “What are you doing? Let me see it.”

“No. I want to keep it there.” You were flabbergasted. What is he going on about?

“What? No you don’t. You hate Blessed Children, just like I do, or did I guess? Wonho, if you don’t let me take that off, you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of my life. Until I rot away and keel over, you’ll be dragged around wherever I go. I’m not gonna keep you on a leash just because I want you.” His breath hitched at your words as well as your tone of solid voice. It was the tone when you meant something, and were 100% truthful. “Now, let me see it.” He shook his head again as you tried to pull his shirt and look at the mark.

“Stop it!” He grabbed your wrist and held it away from him. “I don’t want you to get rid of it! Leave it there!” He felt you still fighting against him, pushing against his grip, still trying to grab a hold of his shirt. Still trying to fight him. Still trying to erase that mark you unconsciously made on him. He acted without thinking and before he or you could process it, he had both of your wrists in his grasp and was suddenly hovering over you, pinning you into the mattress.

His palms held your wrists on either side of your head, one of his knees braced on the edge of the mattress while his other leg was still straightened out, foot on the ground. Your knees had risen up, feet flat against the mattress as they slightly leaned against his hovering waist. This was strange of him, he never acted on impulse like this before. He had always, always held himself back. Always making himself think rationally and putting your well being in the forefront of his mind, pushing his selfish actions aside.

But now, with your hair fanned out under you, your stress heavy eyes, the guilt that swirled in them and the confusion. All of the cloudy, heavy confusion that blocked the vivid color of your bright eyes changed something in him. The mark you put on his chest made him feel something. Feel you. He could feel your suffering, your pain, your past and if he really concentrated he was sure he could feel your future. It was all running in his veins; you were running in his veins. So rampant, so wild, so unstoppable.

“Wonho, what are you doing. Get off me.” Your voice was stern. He watched as your eyes shook, dilating back and forth in pure, thick emotion. He looked at your wrists trapped in his steel like grip, and he focused every ounce of energy to feel how your pulse quickened under him. He could hear you try and steady your breath and he could practically hear your heartbeat with each unsteady breath that left your lips.

Lips. Your lips were dry, chapped from the lack of moisture you would supply them. You were sleeping so long, so heavily and so exhausted that your body couldn’t swipe your tongue over them to keep them shining and wet. He’d never taken the time to notice without being discreet, but now he could stare at them all he wanted. And he wanted nothing more than to kiss them right now.

You watched him, trying to analyse him and what he was doing. He never acted rash with you, never said anything too bluntly and always tried to find some filter with you. He’d only touch you when you would deem it okay and it’d always be playful. Something like this wasn’t something you’d see him do, let alone to you. It sent you into overdrive, making you hyper aware of everything around you. Maybe it was the stupid blessing kicking into your brain, maybe it was the ‘Will of the Gods’ making you see things you’d normally overlook.

His eyes scanning your face, then bounced over your body. From wrists, to neck to lips and then back to the eyes. You would feel him loosen his grip on you ever so slightly, just to tighten up again, almost like he was fighting with himself over something. You felt the bed dip more when he put more pressure onto his braced knee beside you. You’d watch his Adam's apple bob in his throat each time he closed his mouth to swallow air, just to reopen it. Just what was running through his head?

“Wonho?” Stern obviously wasn’t working, but maybe questioning him would do something. His gaze snapped up to you, the tone of your voice doing the complete opposite effect you planned. You wanted to gain his attention, that you did, but you wanted to calm him. Get answers. Instead, he was becoming more and more irrational. Then, with the worried look in your eyes and the slight crease in your brows, something in him broke.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said. You expected him to heave himself off you, but he didn’t. He got lower to you, closer. You pushed yourself back into the mattress by instinct as his nose brushed yours. Speechless is what you were. “I’m sorry,” he repeated as he took one more look into your eyes before he kissed you. It left you shocked and frozen before he pulled away from you. He didn’t move far, just enough to detach his lips from yours.

You felt his breath hit your face as he stared into your eyes, just like earlier. They were glazed over, darkened with a spec of light that seemed to be diminishing by the second. He wasted no time in lowering himself to kiss you a second time before you could open your mouth. He was scared, scared you’d push him away, reject him if his mouth wasn’t covering yours. But, fear wasn’t the only thing driving him. He was desperate. His desperation to be with you, to stay with you and to make sure you don’t wipe him away kept him here, hovered over you.

You were the long awaited savior of the humans. The new Messiah. Their Blessed Child of the Gods who was suppose to banish all Demons, fix the humans and rebuild the world. He knew you, he knew you didn’t want to, but what if you did anyways? What if you pushed him away? What if you decided to lock him and his race back down into the cold world beneath the Earth that is Hell? What would he do then? He’d sooner rip out his stomach, then see you turn him away just because of some stupid prophet’s words decades ago.

No God will keep him from you. Not even you yourself. Not anymore.

He pulled away from you once again, but didn’t hover above your face like last time and instead traveled down your neck. Brushing his nose against your jaw and dragging his lips over your skin, drying them out only for him to swipe his tongue over them. He felt your body unconsciously arch towards him, felt your hands ball into fists as your wrists tensed in his grip. He listened to your breath hitch and heard your small whines you tried to bite back.

Perhaps this was wrong, doing what he was doing. No, he knew this was wrong. He hadn’t said anything to you, and this was surely shocking to you, maybe even beyond so, but he couldn’t stop. You were an addiction, one he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to hear you whine, and moan and he wanted to feel even more of you.

“Tell me to stop,” he bit at your neck, making you wince. He spoke to you, but he didn’t stop anything as he did so. “Tell me to stop, push me away, scream at me, I don’t care. Unless you do something, anything, I won’t stop.” He looked at the red teeth markings on your neck, swiped his tongue over it and watched as his healing effect lifted and made them disappear, only for him to bite down again. “I won’t stop, Y/N.” He looked up to you, meeting your gaze one final time. “Please… please don’t make me stop.”

“How-how long have you-?” That was all you could whisper out. He was acting like he’d dreamt of doing this. Having you pinned under him as he licked at your skin, and not to just heal your wounds from fighting.

“So long. You have no idea. Please.” He pushed his forehead against your chest and bit at his lip before looking back at you. It was torture keeping eye contact with you, let alone like this. He needed an answer, something to tie him down. Then you opened your mouth and gave him one after what seemed to be a time span of years.

“I won’t stop you,” your voice barely a whisper. He wanted to make sure you meant it, make sure you truly weren’t going to push him away and run, but the only thing his mouth could do is latch back onto your skin. He let go of your wrists to pull his shirt off his shoulders, trusting you enough to not bring your hands back to his chest. He meant it every time he said that he hated the humans, hated the Blessed Children and their followers, but it wasn’t because as a demon he was pushed away. It was because you, a human among other humans, was hurt because of your choice. He hated them for their actions towards you, not towards him.

But, now you were suddenly forced into a position you didn’t want, and had no choice in the matter, he wanted to be with you. He was scared when you entered the temple. He thought he’d never see you again, just like you thought you wouldn’t see him. You both thought you’d be dragged off in uncross-able paths, but instead you called for him. Out of everyone, anyone, you called for him- wanted him. And he wanted you too.

Once his shirt slid off his shoulders, he quickly placed his large hands on you waist, slithering them under your shirt to rub circles into your skin with his thumbs. You sighed at the pleasant pressure as he slid his hands up your torso to removed your shirt entirely, tossing it away from you onto the floor. With more skin being revealed to him, he could see small scars from your particularly nasty fights in the past. He growled at the sight of them.

The only thing good he could think of right now about your sudden possession of power is that now should anyone dare to raise a hand to you, they’d have to answer to the masses, most notably to him. He buried his face in your chest, biting at you, making your back arch just enough to where he could slip your shorts down past your hips.

He chuckled as he listened to the rapid beat your heart produced in your chest. He only dreamt of being this close to you. He almost didn’t believe it was happening. He reached behind you to hook his arms under your back and sit you up. He lifted you to where you sat, straddling his waist in nothing but your undergarments.

He chuckled again at your flushed cheeks and darting gaze, a gaze that was unfocused and not sure where to keep their sights. You’d seen Wonho shirtless countless times before, he was comfortable with his body after all. But, the situation at hand made it seem like the first true time you’ve ever seen him bareback. He massaged your hips, rolling you against himself as he tucked his lower lips between his teeth.

He felt your hands fumbled with his jeans button and zip before you were trying to remove them. He licked at your neck and moved his hands behind your upper back to unhook your bra, making it fall to his lap between the two of you.

“You are beautiful,” he all but whispered as he ran his lips from your throat to your chest, kissing your breasts with as much ease as he could, making you mewl. You pushed your covered center against his, making his teeth trap a stiff nipple and roll his tongue over it, making your arch further into him. Just a little more an it’ll be all he’s ever wanted for as long as he can remember.

One of his hands slid down between both of your bodies and began pushing a pleasant amount of pressure against your sex. He watched you bite your lip and whine as he pushed aside your panties and teased your wet folds. He thought your lip would bleed between your teeth and part of him wished it would, just so he could lick your lips and make the injury disappear.

“You’re teasing…” You sighed as he smirked.

“I want to take my time.”

“That’s a first,” he smiled to you as you joked with him. Even in this intimate moment you were still comfortable with him.

“Don’t stop yourself,” he said. Before you could ask him what he meant, you were gasping, reeling and clutching at his shoulders as you braced yourself, for he had pushed a finger into your slick cunt. You pushed your hips down against him, his palm cupping around your clit almost too perfectly. Wonho kept his gaze down, watching his finger disappear ever so slowly in and out of you. You curled your own hand around his wrist and he panicked, thinking you wanted him to stop.

“More.” The tension in his shoulders slackened as he obeyed. Perhaps he should save all the teasing for another day. The grinding of your hips faltered as a second one of his fingers joined the first to abuse you. Sighs, whines and low moans let him know that you wouldn’t last much longer with his fingers. He quickly pulled them from you, hearing you whine and watched as your body slacked at the lack of anything filling you.

“Are you going to make a woman wait all night?” You questioned, breathless, as you tugged on his unbuttons jeans. He chuckled at your impatience and kissed you, lifted you off his lap to lay you on your back against the mattress in front of him.

“I would never.” He shimmied your panties off you, leaving you completely bare and shameless for his lust blown eyes. He ran his hand over your sides, chest, neck, stomach and thighs, taking in how soft you were. How warm. In the dim room lighting, Wonho could see the glisten of your arousal between your thighs.

He snickered when you tried pushing his loose pants off his waist with your feet. He aided your sad excuse of trying to strip him, and along with the removal of his jeans, his boxers disappeared also. Tossing them aside, he took no time in crawling over your body. He kissed at your forehead, nose and cheeks before he captured your lips again.

“Ready?” He asked as you sighed from feeling him slick his cock with your fluids that had already leaked out of your core. You nodded, desperate at this point. Part of him was suddenly nervous because he knew you’ve never done anything like this before. It was really no surprised you were a virgin. What if he hurt you too much?

“Hoseok,” his attention was immediately yours at the use of his real name coming from you. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” That was all the confirmation he needed before he began to ease himself inch by inch into you.

It hurt.

That was a dead giveaway. Once he was pushed in, he held his heavy breath. He kissed at your face, wanting your pain to stop so you can experience the same pleasure he was. You were so warm, so tight, he thought he was losing his mind just sitting rock hard, inside you.

He didn’t know how much time passed with him buried and motionless inside you, but the feeling of you rolling your hips up against his gave him the green light to move. Slowly, he left the deep warmth of you, just to roll right back in. He had half a mind to fuck you into the mattress, but he had to control himself. That last thing he wanted was for you to be in pain, he wanted to make a good impression for your first time, not act like an animal.

It wasn’t long before you were urging him to move faster. Your hands tangling in his hair as he braced his arms on either side of your head. Hips snapping against your as your mouth hung open, sounds from groans, to moans and whines pouring out of them like a broke water faucet that was running non-stop.

The unfamiliar feeling of something twisting and building up more and more with pressure in your gut grew stronger with each strengthening thrust of Wonho’s cock. He could feel when the strings in your lower body were ready to snap and he only urged you towards complete destruction. His thrusts were ruthless as you were whip-lashed over the edge of your orgasm, body shaking and it wasn’t long before Wonho was pulling out of you, onlyto jerk himself to the point he came to his high, painting your stomach white.

He was quick to hop up and grab a towel that he had thrown in his hamper to clean off your stomach, still slightly damp from the last time he showered and dried his hair, making it easier to clean you. You lay completely still as he cleaned you and soon he was sliding one of his shirts over your exhausted body as he slipped on sweats and tucked you both under his covers. Though you had just woken up, you had a pretty vigorous work-out, so it wasn’t a surprise you were tired all over again.

It was when you were finally able to catch your breath that you saw the mark on his chest again. You had completely overlooked it until now. Wonho noticed you looking at it and narrowed his eyes, ready to fight back against you again if you still wanted to take it off him. He didn’t want you to, he wouldn’t let you. No matter what, he was going to keep that mark on him.

“Keep me.” His sudden declaration took you by surprise. Keep him?

“What?”

“Keep me as your Marked One. Please. I don’t want to leave you.” He looped his finger around the chain that was going to be around your neck for the rest of your life and untucked the pendant from under the shirt you wore. He moved the metal in his palm before he moved to kiss the pendant and rest his head on your chest, wrapping his arms around your stomach. “I love you, okay? So, just keep me.”

Your fingers carded through his messy hair as you nodded.

“Alright. I’ll let you stay. But, don’t you go thinking you’re on a leash. If ever the day comes you want to leave me, you tell me and I’ll let you go without fuss.” He lifted his head and quickly placed a kiss on your lips, wanting you to stop talking about him leaving you one day. What utter nonsense. Him leaving? That was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“I’m never going to leave. So, you’ll never have to let me go.” You smiled at him as he placed his head back on your chest. He wanted to listen to your heartbeat. He felt you kiss the top of his head, smiling as you rubbed the back of his neck, played with his hair and rubbed his back. This was all he wanted. This intimacy with you, and no one else but you. For so long, he waited and waited and finally he got it.

“I love you too,” you whispered against his scalp as you kissed it once again. He smiled, you could feel his cheeks pushing upwards against your chest as you both started to drift off. For the first time, Wonho was finally able to fall asleep with the sound of your heartbeat under his ear as his lullaby.

🌙🌙🌙

After that day, everything was so much different.

The morning you woke up with Wonho on your chest was the same day that officials of the government came to take you back, finally tracking you down. You had refused to separate from Wonho, or any of the other boys for that matter. You had explained everything to the others, about you, about Wonho, and about the Temple.

With enough argument, it was decided that you finally wanted better for your friends, for your lover and for yourself. You had agreed to move wherever the government decided best for you, but with the exception that all 7 of the boys come with you. You would not let them go, not when they’ve been with you for as long as you could remember.

After a week of moving, adjustment of power and finally not being enemy #1, it was getting easier. You had made a public announcement arranged by the largest viewed broadcasting station. You explained that you had passed all the gates of the Temple and had your necklace as proof. Further, you explained that you did have a Marked One chosen, and unless you decided against it, his word would be absolute. You were the only other person capable of overruling his decisions.

Furthermore, you had explained that the so called Prophecy of the Gods would be rewritten by you. You wouldn’t cast away with the Demons, but offer them a choice. You would close the gates of Hell, just as it said, but you would offer every Demon a chance to stay on Earth until they die. They could stay and life as a Demon on Earth until the Demons all went extinct, or they could travel back to Hell before you shut it’s doors for good. As for the Temple, you decided to keep it up.

You planned to opening the Temple to the public, rearranging it’s foretold components and making it a sacred place of prayer of those who seek help. It was a lot of work, but you were tired of seeing so much hate and profanities painted on the walls of the Earth.

Wonho had chosen whole heartily to stay by your side, living as a Demon until his life snuffs out, as did the other 7 boys. More Demons came to you wishing to stay on Earth, more than you expected with the harsh rulings over them for decades. You created ‘safe places’ for Demons to traverse among Humans without worry of fear of an attack or a brawl breaking out.

Many months passed, and you had been finally settled into a larger home on the outskirts of the city. It was woodland area, quiet and open. Just what you wanted for you and the boys. They had practically clung to your arms and legs to let them life with you, you couldn’t exactly say no to them. You were sitting on the bay window of your attic, staring outside and watching at the rain fell in the mid-afternoon.

With all your plans in action, being a working progress, and the gates of Hell officially sealed and the Temple allowing more than just Blessed Children inside, you had time to think.

Once all the Demons died on Earth, then it would be a completely human populous again, so maybe some future generations would learn not to meddle in thing they don’t understand, or not to attack each other. But, then what?

You hear the creaking of the trap door in the floor slid open as Wonho popped his head into the attic, seeing you in your bay window. You had a habit of coming up here to think. He pulled himself into the attic as he slid the trap door shut again and walked to your side, leaned down to kiss your cheek and rubbed at your shoulders, standing beside you.

“What are you thinking about today, love?” You sighed as you leaned your head back against his chest. He looped his hand from your shoulder to your chest to fiddle with your necklace, a habit he’s developed from somewhere recently.

“Do you know what happens to Demons that die?” Wonho sighed in thought as he looked outside, watching the sky’s tears hit the glass and dribble down to the wooden window pane outside.

“Many say they are reincarnated as the species they die among.”

“So, when all the Demons on Earth die?”

“I suppose they’d reincarnate as humans somewhere along the line.” You sighed as you leaned further into him.

“Do you believe you’ll be reincarnated?” He shrugged. Who knew.

“If I am, I hope I can find you again.”

“Who said I will be?”

“The soul never truly dies, it just get’s recycled and tossed around as it shifts from body to body over time. I’m sure that a soul of the Gods isn’t one they’ll let go of so easily. You’ll be back, even if you die.”

You chuckled. He made a point, the Gods wouldn’t put the Blessed Children here on the ground just to life a short life and then dissipate into the galaxy. But, that raised so many more questions. Would you remember your past, would you always be pulled towards the same love over and over again like a genetic magnet in your DNA? Nothing was made clear.

Wonho chuckled as he pinched as your neck, making you yelp and slap his arm. He lifted you up as he moved to sit on the bay window, you on his lap as he held you and watched the rain.

“Don’t worry about the future. We’ll find each other again, it’s a soul thing.” You chuckled and finally let the conversation die until another time.

🌙🌙🌙

The year 2067 was the year you died, your body growing frail with sickness and landing you a very early death. Another 5 years later, Wonho followed you, finally succumbing to his heartache of your cold absence. Years passed by and soon the Demons all died off one by one, and by the year 2084, humans ruled the Earth as one unit again.

2084 seemed like such a bright future, but honestly it was very ordinary. technology had advanced, yes, but the people as a whole had remained the same as all those years ago. They had learned that if they wanted change to occur, it should never be immediate and needs to be monitored and a collective progress of the people.

2084 was the year that Earth once again was prosperous. Travel was still busy as ever and many people had more opportunities to go wherever they wished. Many came to your city in hopes of seeing and praying at the sacred Temple you created for the people.

2084 was the year a young, 25 year old man from Korea had decided to take a trip to anywhere, but home. He had a goal, a goal of finding an older styled tattoo shop and getting a tattoo of a symbol he mindlessly doodled on a piece of paper, kept in his wallet.

He had heard of a tattoo shop that was a small little hole in the wall, but was still in business thanks to it’s older style of the 2020s. Not decked out in TVs, or radios, or machines. Just a walk in shop with a bell on the door. He had found it fairly easily with the help of his phone and soon he was stepping inside.

The little bell signaled a walk in, and an older man greeted the younger one at the desk. The shop was covered in sketches hanging from the walls, and a divider was set up between the waiting area and the bench for the actual work to start. Even the air inside the place felt rustic and clean, as opposed to heavy and loitered in ink.

“What can I do for you today?” The old man spoke over the counter to the young man. He pulled out his wallet, and then the small scrap of folded paper before he slid it onto the desk top.

“I wanted to get this done today, if I could.” The old man took it, and smiled at it fondly, almost like he had seen the completely random doodle the younger had drawn before. He nodded though.

“Of course. My granddaughter is in the back, I’ll have her make you a stencil and she’ll ink you.” He took the small scrap of paper and moved to a small door behind the desk. “Make a stencil for the young man outside, you have something to do today.”

20 minutes later, the old man was ushering the man behind the divider and into a chair. He had pulled off his shirt, wanting the tattoo on his chest and sat, waiting for his granddaughter. And soon, she showed up around the divider.

“Hey! I’m your artist for the day!” The girl sat down in her own chair across front he young man as she then got up and jabbed at his chest. “So a chest tat, huh?” He nodded.

“Just felt like it shouldn’t go anywhere else, you know?” She nodded. She had tattoos on her arms and he even saw one peeking out from under her shirt collar to her neck. Her hair was pulled back out of her face, and she looked fairly comfortable, and happy. It was a small shop, so maybe business was slow most of the time.

“I hear yah, some times they just need to go in one place, or else it’s all wrong. What’s your name by the way?” She started marking his chest with where it was going to do, transferring the stencil to his skin before the actual process.

“Wonho, or that’s what I want to be called.” She nodded. Interesting name, interesting design, he must be a very interesting man. He looked at her sewn in name on her shirt.

Y/N. That was your name.

“Well, Wonho, got any other tats you wanna share with the class?” He spoke to you the entire time you worked on his chest. Inking, wiping, re-inking and wiping again. He told you about the tattoos on his foot, thigh and even the risque one on his rear. You explained some of yours, and how you wanted to be a tattoo artist ever since you watched your grandfather do it as a child.

By the time the process was done, and he was admiring your finished work. He had sheepishly asked if he could get your number, not feeling like it would be right to leave without keeping in contact with you. With a successful number swap and even a possible date with you, the pretty tattoos artist, Wonho walked out of the shop with a feeling in his chest that made him feel like he’s been reunited with someone he lost long ago, someone he use to know. That, and a new tattoo on his chest.

A tattoo of an ancient star.

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jira-chii · 6 years ago

Text

My Favourite Scenes from Curious Incident

(NB: I haven’t read the book. And warning for SPOILERS)

It’s been a solid month since I watched the play of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, but I did say I wanted to write up some of my fave moments, so here they are:

The montages Throughout the play you get scenes where Christopher rambles out long recounts of events in excruciating detail. I imagine in the original book these must appear as massive walls of text, spanning multiple pages. How does one make such a thought dump look entertaining on stage? Complement it with some amazing choreography, of course. Humans act as inanimate objects as Christopher recounts these massive text passages. A woman’s arm becomes a swinging door, a man bends over like a coat hanger etc. The charade-like choreography is full of rhythm, complementing Christopher’s fast-paced speech. It is a way more creative, efficient and entertaining method than using real props, which actually emphasises the more important scenes where real props are used.

The letters At one point Christopher discovers a box of letters from his mother, which was hidden in his father’s room. As he reads more he gets more distressed. A shower of letters falls from the ceiling, covering him in a mess. Accompanied by a jumble of alphabetical letters on the screen it is an apt representation of both his mental and physical chaos. The scene is both impactful and efficient, blending in nicely to when his father comes home and discovers him passed out in the mess.

The train scene This scene was the most impactful for me and was almost my favourite scene from the whole play. Christopher plays with his train set when he speaks to his teacher/therapist (?). I thought it was to help him focus when telling his story, but I did notice that the prop was never removed from the stage. Christopher does frequently and suddenly jump between flashbacks and the present without any complex transitions though, so the train set was a useful method to keep us grounded. Little did we know, that little train set served a much bigger purpose. The play reaches a critical turning point toward the end of the first half as Christopher realises he can no longer trust his father. What will he do now? Suddenly, the boy starts reciting an address. It is the address of his mother, written on every single one of her letters. As he repeats the words, a map starts to form on the screens behind him. A map of his mother’s location. At the exact moment the map completes itself, the train on the floor frickin’ lights up and starts to move. Oh my god there could not have been a more dramatic way to draw the curtains on the first half of the play. It literally looked liked the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, with the whistle of the train signalling his final decision being made.

The station Christopher’s first journey to the station is also his first time stepping away from his community. The cacophony of the station is heightened to emphasise the fear of a boy stepping out into the wider world for the first time. The sensations for the eyes and ears are all turned up to eleven: advertisements constantly move across the screens in all different directions. Loud noises overlap each other. People are everywhere. At one point Christopher even walks on the walls.

The real train scene I was fascinated with how they managed to make a stage look like a moving train, and yet not like a normal train at the same time. The passengers move back and forth in rhythm. There is also a moving projection of black and white trees, making the whole situation seem bleak but also mysteriously surreal.

The dog (aka my favourite scene but also the one w most spoilers) It comes as a surprise to nobody that this was my favourite moment in the play. After a tumultuous series of events, we find Christopher in a strained relationship with his father, unable to trust him anymore because of one lie. His father also deeply regrets his mistake and desperately wants to make up with his son. But child protection is on to him and he is only given five minutes with him. Now throughout the play it is clear Christopher is part of a dysfunctional family. His father in particular can be prone to violence, but you also feel empathy for all the adults in Christopher’s life who are all just trying to do their best. You realise that though his parents are flawed, they do really care for him. Christopher’s father gives an incredibly sincere speech, about how he made a mistake, about how he’s sorry, about how he knows it will take a long time to heal these wounds he caused. He knows it will be hard to make up, we’ll take it a step at a time, we can make it a project! You love projects! Unfortunately Christopher doesn’t seem convinced, so his father lets his actions speak for themselves as he carries a big box onto the stage. And from it, a fucking real life puppy runs out and onto Christopher. This was such a meaningful scene on so many levels, not least because the whole series of events started because Christoper’s father lied to his son about killing the neighbour’s dog the night his wife left (and then making up the lie that she actually died). Additionally, Christopher has issues with human contact, but he has no problem holding the dog. It’s the first time we see him touch a living thing comfortably (he would not even let his mother hug him even though she hadn’t seen him for years). It’s just the perfect gift in every way. Also the puppy is just adorable, tugging on Christopher’s sweater and even showing hesitance when it’s time to leave. In fact, we were fortunate enough to be able to meet the little star himself at the end of the show!

The ending Did you think I was done? haha, that’s the type of moment this scene was as well. While the puppy scene was my favourite, the highlight of the night was actually the ending. Well, like, after the ending. After all the bowing and applause, the actors and actresses leave the stage. However, not ten seconds afterwards, Christopher walks back on and thanks everyone for not leaving. This is hilarious because in an earlier scene, this is foreshadowed, and I’m sure some of us in the audience were even looking forward to it. Just hours after arriving back home from his mother’s place, Christopher takes his GCSE Maths test. This test means a lot to him, he had been fighting to take it a year early however his school was against it because it would appear unfair to the rest of his special class. Exhausted from his journey, Christopher nevertheless persists. However he is distraught that he is unable to make sense of the words on the page. On stage (but actually in his mind), his therapist helps to calm him. Then Christopher is able to read again, he is able to understand the question, and he is so excited that he jumps up onto his desk, ready to show us all how to do maths! But then the therapist lady breaks the fourth wall, informing him that it would not make for very interesting theatre. Seeing his disappointment, she immediately assures him he can show it after the play, so only the people who want to see it can stay behind. Well I am fairly sure everybody stayed behind haha. I was actually so surprised at just how interesting they could make a Pythagoras theorem maths question. In addition, he used this chance to give credit to all the sound and light facilities in the room, right down to the huge confetti blast when he solves the question with 2min to spare on the clock.

All I can say is, what a fucking fantastic performance.

#CuriousinAu #the curious incident of the dog in the night time #analysis #play #theatre #long post #spoilers

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anislandintime · 4 years ago

Text

I think to quit and exit is the only way left, the only way out.

Life has let me down again and each time when I have told myself it cant be worse than this, life has taken it up as a challenge and proven me wrong. Things have been just getting worse and worse. It feels like life is just laughing at me. I feel ridiculed by life.

When GF came to meet SB, it felt so nice. She had taken a bus during the pandemic travelling for 15-16 hrs just to meet him. They were meeting for the first time. Her plan was to stay for a week but ended up staying for three weeks. They had a good time. When she arrived SB told her that he decided to give their relationship a chance only after I suggested him to give it a chance and let his guards down. Both thanked me greatly. Well, while I am happy for them, I dont understand why things had to just go wrong for me in the relationship I pursued in a similar fashion?

UB came to stay with us for a night when K’s roommate’s parents were in town. That night over a long conversation he mentioned of how J’s toxic friendship had affected him deeply and its impact was seen in eroded ability to trust and connect with people. All of this, he said, changed only when K came into his life.

Life, please tell me why do you give solution and liberation to all except me? I am unable to tell how the narcissistic abuse of ND has crippled me from within. I neither get a healing touch nor do I find a shoulder to cry on. Worse, I dont even find words to explain what is happening to me. I continue to suffer in silence with absolutely no hope of recovering ever.

UB also got the job, that I too had applied for. I was instrumental in him finally getting into this stream. Now he has gotten the job I am desperately in need of. He too was aiming for it. But given his cultural capital he could have opted for another job and he had the luxury to stretch his hand and leg in those directions, which I clearly dont have. But he wants a life of comfort. Hence he is seeking this one. It is isnt crime to seek comfort. But what is a life of comfort and ease for him is my hope for a sustainable life for I do not have the cultural capital to reach out to anything else. I think I am going to be bankrupt soon, with no job in hand and no projects coming my way.

SG texted saying she and ID are getting married next month. When I saw the text, I literally jumped off my seat and gave a punch in the air. I can never forget how SG had wept uncontrollably by the sea one evening recollecting how her extended family had beaten her, her parents and her sisters when they found out that her eldest sister was dating a Christian. The memories of it haunted her every time she thought of telling her parents about ID. But now, she says her parents and sister are fully supportive of her and she doesnt care what the extended family thinks. She sounded very happy and I am happy for her.

Such news make me unbelievably happy. But at night when I finally switch off all the lights and try going to sleep... There is only one question which comes down like a lightening and strikes me hard. WHY DOESNT ANYTHING GOOD HAPPEN TO ME EVER? WHY LOVE IS SO ELUSIVE? WHY PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS OR SUCCESS IN RELATIONSHIP PERPETUALLY ABSENT IN MY LIFE?

Mother is unwell. Father is unwell. The times when Mother was hospitalized drained me out completely. I dont know how will I manage all this, with no support- physically and even emotionally- and also with no income. To add to these, my own mental health is collapsing. The severe damage caused by ND’s narcissistic abuse has made me perpetually nervous, anxious and also feel perpetually threatened. By what, from whom- no clarity. But I constantly feel I am under threat and I am about to be attacked. I feel severely insecure and unsafe. The abuse has left me in a state where I am unable to trust anyone and I feel disconnect from everything and everyone. All of these has made it difficult for me to even speak of what I am going through, to friends or even to strangers. I cant trust anyone anymore. I feel uneasy throughout. Is this what they call as PTSD? I dont know. What did I do to deserve all these? All I did was love this girl and see only goodness in her. And it turns out that she only abused me, manipulated me, exploited me and even without me realizing it, fractured my soul and destroyed me. She even had the audacity to repeatedly text me asking how my mother is doing. Wonder where she got to know about it from. I wouldnt be surprised if AN was the source of news for her. That idiot of a friend who took pleasure in turning my pain, my suffering into a spectacle- something to derive entertainment from! How foolish of me to have trusted him for so long as a friend! Was it him or was it AG? I dont know. I dont know who to trust anymore. Why did ND repeatedly text me? Even call me! She also sent a mail. I did not bother replying to the texts or even the mail. Did not answer the calls. I did not want to have any form of communication with her, especially after that accusatory mail she sent when I shared with her a paper, which I thought would be useful to her. She made it sound like I was being intrusive and pushy and also unwelcome. Later she doesnt mind repeatedly texting me, calling me. Had I called or even texted her, she would have brought down the sky screaming and shouting and unleashing violence on me. But when she does it, it is to be perceived as an act of kindness and concern. Even if it is done just so that she can convince herself that she is kind and concerned and not because she actually has any concern. What a performative life she leads; where she lies to herself and believes in her own lies! She is more interested in coming across as a good human than becoming a good human. When I did not reply to her texts or mails and when I did not answer her calls, she made AS- her friend- call me, text me. When his father was unwell earlier in the year, I used to check up on his father’s health condition often and also extend my moral support to him. And he chooses to become a ‘flying monkey’ to a narcissist? Or may be he doesnt know of the ways in which his friend caused hurt and wound to me and the core of my being. I abruptly ended the conversation when he called me from an unknown number. I did not return the call as I promised. He texted me later on. I replied to it after a day or two. He doesnt bother replying to that. But then ND calls me. I dont know why after some days I felt I was holding grudge like ND does and in order to be not like ND, I decided to reply to her mail and I did. She doesnt bother to reply to that. Probably she was satisfied knowing that the person who she wronged and damaged, doesnt mind replying to her; which helps her showcase the world and make herself believe that she isnt a bad person and more importantly she has control over the people she has abused also. So no reply. She persistently called and texted to make herself believe that she is not ignored, not neglected. Once she gets to know that the other person, though wronged and hurt by her, still writes back to her, she is more than happy; her ego is boosted and she goes back to her silence, her way of showing her power and her control. She constantly says how abusive her father is. I dont know him but from whatever I know of him through her, I must say that if at all he endorses his way of being, then he must be super proud of her daughter for she has outsmarted him in becoming abusive, toxic, exploitative and harmful. If at all ND rejects her father’s ways of being, then she must also be disgusted by herself and must not forgive herself ever because she has been no less to her father in being abusive, toxic and exploitative. I replied to her mail not because I wanted to strike a conversation but because I did not want to become like her. So, I also wrote her a mail after few days when TV news spoke of floods in her ancestral town. Immediately she texted me on WhatsApp, in an extremely friendly tone. I replied to that in a cold tone because I did not know how she would react. When I replied in a friendly manner to her query about my mother’s health, she went silent. When I had earlier replied elaborately to her mail spelling out how SN had plagiarized her thoughts, my long mail expressing solidarity and offering understanding was responded to with silence and later an accusatory mail! Even when in July she called wanting to clear things and sort things, when I spelled out what hurt me, she not just swung sword of words at me but also made it sound like I was the one causing hurt and told me that her therapist had advised her to stay away from me, as if I was the one hurting her! Any way, after telling me that she wants to disconnect from me, she texted me within an hour asking if she can check on me once in a while. When I responded to that in a friendly manner, saying we should probably together meet a therapist as suggested by her, she replied in an extremely hurtful way and arrogant way saying her ONLY problem in life was me! After that she blocked me on WhatsApp. Every time I have tried to be friendly with her she only attacks and accuses. Her constant flips and backflips are mindfucking and toxic. I dont know how to deal with her, nor do I know how to heal from the aftereffects of the trauma she caused... and also, I dont know how to deal with the love and compassion I still have for her somewhere deep inside of me. I hate myself for this.

Life, please be kind to me and end your relation with me this very night. I do not wish to wake up tomorrow morning. Please leave me. I wont hold you accountable at the door of death. But I beg you, please let me die and leave me. I am done. I am tired. All I sought in my entire life was some genuine love and some real deep connections. Even that was not made available to me, even if in a small percentage. I certainly deserved a better life. But it is okay, I wont complain. Now, I want to take the exit door and leave. I am tired. This pain, this loneliness, this suffering... all are just unbearable now. Death, please do not be like life. Please embrace me. Hold me in your arms and take me with you. Tonight.

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zephfair · 7 years ago

Text

Day 16 ficlet

Day 16: College Art Students AU only not exactly

Grimmjow/Ichigo pre-relationship fluff

Rated G except for language

WARNING: This contains university student/TA relationship. Be warned for slight age difference which is never mentioned, and if that whole student/TA thing bothers you, please don’t read this.

Grimmjow pulled his phone toward him when the text notification went off three times in a row. Grading freshman essays was his least favorite part of the job so he didn’t mind putting it off for another couple minutes. The paper he was trying to read was so bad it made him want to shred it.

The phone chimed a fourth time. Then a fifth.

They were all from a number he didn’t recognize. The first read Hey don’t think i can come tonight

the second: imma bout to fail this project for mon

the third: shorty Jagermeister and this shorty project

*shorty

*SHITTY

Grimmjow was staring at the phone in bemused silence when it jingled again.

i hate him and his stupid pretty face with a line of red angry emojis

He realized that it was obviously a wrong number. That could happen to anyone. The disturbing thing was that it appeared to actually be about him, if that nickname was a joke about his surname. He was a teaching assistant for Professor Aizen in the art department, and his senior class in sculpture did have an important project due Monday.

He just wondered which one of the little bastards it was. He really wanted to find out.

He started typing then erased it and finally settled on Where r u now

The writer hadn’t caught on yet apparently because they answered right away. art bldg ofc where else would I be? The ducking kiln is killing me.

Then *Ducking

F UCKING

FUCK NEW PHONE LEARN MY CURSES

Grimmjow smiled a slow and evil smile. He was still in his office, just two floors above the studio where the student must be trying to cram a semester’s worth of sculpture into one weekend.

There were so many little irresponsible douchebags in that class. How many times he’d wanted to tell them off or push them off their high horses. But Aizen had warned him to be professional to the little asswipes and so he’d tried.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

And if he just decided to stroll into the studio on a Friday night and bust a student for being a dick, well, he had to take pleasure in the small things.

Meet you there he texted as he strode toward the stairway.

The building was usually dark and quiet on weekend nights, and this was no exception. He was able to creep down the hall toward the only studio with a light on and know he’d found his texter.

He peered in and luckily the bright orange head was turned the other way. He should have fucking known it. He’d known that kid was trouble from the moment he walked into class.

Ichigo Kurosaki was a graphic design major so he and Grimmjow hadn’t had any classes together. And he’d saved the mandatory sculpting class until his last semester which Grimmjow could have warned him was a big mistake.

He’d been quiet in class and conscientious enough, turning in projects on time along with other mandatory assignments. His work wasn’t even totally horrible which was more than Grimmjow could say about the rest of the class.

It was the fact that during the second class of the semester, Aizen had asked Grimmjow to talk for part of the session on his interest and specialization in Renaissance work, but that kid Kurosaki had the audacity to be the only student who even bothered to ask a question and then had the balls to challenge him.

They’d spent the next five minutes in spirited and increasingly angry vulgar debate, only to have Professor Aizen step between them with a cutting joke and placate them by making fun of them both. The resulting laugh from the rest of the class still rankled Grimmjow. He’d studiously ignored the kid ever since and rigorously held up his work to exacting standards, although Aizen always had the final word on grades so the kid was doing fine.

To have that dumbass be the one who sent those texts… wait. Grimmjow stared at the messages again. He actually thought Grimmjow had a pretty face?

Grimmjow felt the smirk begin in his very soul. He could work with this.

He carefully ruffled his hair so it looked casually worn. He finished untucking his shirt then unbuttoned the top three buttons. He debated taking off the glasses but thought they only enhanced the vibe.

Then he walked into the studio as confident as a cat stalking a helpless baby bird.

Kurosaki was still facing away, scowling at whatever monstrosity he was attempting to create. The scowl was even bigger than his usual expression.

Grimmjow crept up behind him without even trying hard. He leaned down almost even with his ear and said, “What the hell is that supposed to be?”

He whipped his head back just in time to avoid Kurosaki’s startled jump and shrieked “SHIT!” He would have cackled madly but fought to keep his neutral, unimpressed, disinterested look as Kurosaki whirled around.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Why’d you sneak up on me?”

Grimmjow shrugged. “I’m the one asking you what you’re doing here. On a Friday night. Two days before your big project is due. Surely you’re not trying to just get started now? I’m sure Professor Aizen would love to know that you’ve put off his assignment until the very last minute.”

Kurosaki’s jaw worked like he was physically holding back what he wanted to really say. Grimmjow folded his arms over his chest and allowed himself a little smirk.

“The assignment isn’t due until Monday. My work’ll be done then.”

“Not if that,” Grimmjow gestured toward the mess on the table, “is your project.”

“I’m working on it,” Kurosaki said tightly and sat back down.

Grimmjow leaned down and put his arms around Kurosaki to get his hands into the clay. Kurosaki jumped but then froze.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand with that,” Grimmjow purred into his ear.

“N-n-no,” Ichigo finally go out. Then he got angry. “Stop it, what are you even doing?”

“I thought I could help. Certainly wouldn’t want you to fail and then not graduate. Then you’d have to take our class all over again.”

“Not going to happen. As long as I pass this project, I’ll pass the class.”

“Ah, but not if you don’t manage to turn in something presentable.”

Ichigo turned a little and Grimmjow’s nose was in his hair. He took a deep breath and Ichigo froze. Gotcha, he thought.

“Maybe you just need a better design for your piece? Maybe I could model for you and you could capture my pretty face.”

Ichigo was so still Grimmjow almost checked him for a pulse. It seemed like he was even holding his breath.

“How did you… why would you say that?”

Grimmjow slapped his phone down. “You really should know your friends’ numbers by now, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo stared at the messages. “I had to get a new phone and my contacts are all messed up. I was trying to get Ishida.”

“Well, you got me,” Grimmjow straightened up then spun Ichigo’s chair so it faced him. “Whether you wanted me or not.”

“Shit,” Ichigo said, with feeling. “Wait a minute, you knew I was bitching about you. And you still came here?”

“I wanted to see which of you asshats from class was talking about me.”

Ichigo’s expression changed a little. “Or maybe you hoped one of us actually thought you were hot.”

Grimmjow leaned down right into his face. “You never said I was hot,” he purred. “Is this your true feelings coming out now, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo’s face started to pink and then darken to red across the cheeks. Grimmjow watched in glee. “No! Shut up!”

Ichigo tried to turn his chair back around, but Grimmjow held the arms firmly.

“Maybe I thought I’d come down here, see who it is, maybe sneak up behind them, get a little close and intimidate them, make them sorry they put off their project to the last minute. But instead, maybe I learned something even more interesting.”

“Like what?” Ichigo blustered.

“You may know shit about Renaissance sculpture but you’ve got great taste in men.” Grimmjow leaned the extra couple inches slowly, giving Ichigo the chance to move away, but his eyes darted to Grimmjow’s mouth and he licked his own bottom lip quickly.

Grimmjow kissed him slowly, tasting his firm lips, feeling his mouth open and, unable to resist the invitation, licked his way inside his mouth, just for a tease. When he pulled back, Ichigo’s eyes were closed and he swayed forward to follow Grimmjow’s mouth.

“Hmm, too bad your sculpting isn’t as good as your kissing,” he said.

Ichigo’s eyes popped open and he said, “Too bad you’re a dick every time you open your mouth. If you’d just stay still and look pretty, you wouldn’t be half as bad.”

“You’re cute,” Grimmjow flicked his forehead. “Now get back to work. I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to be, but it’s hideous.”

Ichigo’s scowl encompassed the clay as well. “It’s my backup. My first piece is in the kiln but something’s all messed up. If it doesn’t fire right, I figured I was fucked so I’d better try something else.”

Grimmjow shook his head. “You’re a mess.” Ichigo opened his mouth to argue but Grimmjow shushed him. “Let me take care of the kiln because I actually know what I’m doing. Let’s hope your first try is better than this. And then,” he leered broadly as Ichigo’s scowl didn’t lessen, “maybe if you need more inspiration I can model for you and see how well you do with male nudes.”

He ignored Ichigo’s mumble of what he’d like to do to Grimmjow that included much violence but he leaned down again and gave him a quick kiss. “And later, you can see what I can do with a nude male.”

Ichigo’s blush was going to be addictive, but it shut him up to get back to his work while Grimmjow went to work his own magic on the recalcitrant equipment. His night wasn’t going anything like he’d planned, but it might be that he’d found something a lot better.

From Ichigo’s muttered curses and the loud splat of clay behind him, it just might take a little longer.

*Ichigo managed to scrape together a project that Aizen passed and so he still graduated with honors. Grimmjow taught him a few other techniques that were more personal. And they never did agree on the importance of Renaissance sculpture.

#my 30 days #my fic #yes i'm still doing this #i will see it through #the fic is just getting even worse #because i suck #and it might be a few days into may #oh well

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bleedingsandshq · 4 years ago

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[ NADIA HILKER, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER, 30 ] Whenever I hear GOLD JACKET, GREEN JACKET… by SENSES FAIL it always makes me think of LENA BECKER. They have been so PROGRESSIVE & TOUGH, but occasionally they have gotten a little bit DISRUPTIVE & UNYIELDING through the years. They currently work as an ETHICAL HACKER, a strangely fitting job for someone with loyalty to THE 19TH as an ADVISOR. A PUNCH NAZI’S PATCH COVERING THE ELBOW OF A LEATHER JACKET, WILD HAIR BLOWING IN THE DESERT WIND & SCREAMING FOR CHANGE make them easy to spot on the strip.

INFORMATION DEALER (THE 19TH, HACKER) After Lena passed this tier of the hierarchy, she was able to help hand pick her replacement. While they are someone that shares her passion for all things technological, there is still some discourse there. Occasionally, Lena can be found following behind them to make sure that the group is protected, which can and will be a point of contention for them. Additionally, there may be some reason that she discovered/discovers that her seeming lack of trust comes from something a little more than a fleeting feeling or added layer of protection.

LAW ENFORCEMENT (CYBER CRIMES) Since Lena was charged with her first crime, the cyber crimes unit of the FBI as well as other government agencies have tried to sway her loyalty in their direction. They have offered her any and everything that they can for even a glimpse at her talent, but she refuses. She isn’t sure if it’s just because a general mistrust or disbelief of the government itself, or something more. This connection has been particularly persistent in trying to get her to join forces with them, citing her “good intentions” would be able to make more noise if they were on the same team. Their relationship has grown throughout the years, and while the offers have started to slow down, neither of them really know what has happened between them. It’s hard to say why they stick around, even if both do agree on clinging tightly to the notion that it is solely for the gain of the corrupt organization that they represent.

UNAFFILIATED (POSSIBLE RECRUIT/OUTSIDE SOURCE) As mentioned in the below biography. Lena has enlisted or managed to charm several other colleagues into assistance when she may have needed it. Ideally, this would be the person who first helped her out when she was charged, or during that entire time period to absolve both her and her mother of the suspicion that they faced. Up until recently, they have been a faceless representation of a person, communicating through encrypted channels, texts exchanged through burner phones that seem to change every two weeks, or other secured means of communication. She’s not sure she even knows what they look like, or could find them if she tries. To her surprise, they eventually show up in Paradise, but the why behind that is up for debate. (This could be to protect Lena from something she doesn’t even know is coming, some sort of intimate bond with her that has been established through their communication but never really acted upon, or because her dedication to the 19th has convinced them to join her favorite cause, and that’s just me speed balling some suggestions).

While her hands are not often dirtied physically, she is not without the ability or understanding of violence. Lena is very big on responsibility and accountability, and because of this, she tracks her own destruction in small, seemingly silent ways. Her hands are inked with tiny markers of each life she has taken, or contributed to taken. The largest marker is the one that is a very hard to discern shape of her mothers initials, a very physical representation of the guilt she feels for her mothers death: even if it is still officially listed as an accident.

While information dealer seems like it would have been a better fit for Lena, she aspired to be more. One of the things that made the rest of the group understand this, is her position as not only advisor, but the function of a sort of “group therapist”. Many of the members come to her for advice, their problems always collecting on her shoulders because she has done the work to make sure that she can carry them. Additionally, Lena is extremely educated in many things, which helps her provide possible outcomes, a different view, and a devils advocate sort of mentality to both organizational and personal problems.

Raised by her immigrant parents in Law Vegas proper, Lena Becker experienced life in a way that seemed painfully normal for the first few years. It wasn’t until her mother started getting involved that she became a child of the revolution. It was the admiration for her mother that she was inspired by, and by the time she was handed her first computer, there was no question that she intended to use it to change the world. Her first recorded offensive was getting caught hacking into the Vegas PD database to alter her mothers arrest records, which were threatening to deport her at the time. Thanks for a few more well versed friends in the area, she was able to complete the task with a little bit of outside help, and lessen her own charges, unable to make most of the evidence stick around long enough to actually press forward with the case for both mother and child.

This put Lena on the radar for many agencies, considering her age at the time, and her so called honorable intentions behind the offense. The problem was, she never had any intention to apologize, or make amends for what she had done. Instead, Lena stood on her beliefs and doubled down, something that worried both agents and her father alike. Unable to stand the heat in the kitchen they had created, he left on her eighteenth birthday. She keeps track of him, sometimes chalking it up to a misplaced sort of nostalgia, and others to remind herself where cowardice will take you. To this day, she still sends an anonymous birthday present to him every year, usually something with a Judas reference, which is the only thing she calls him after what she sees as betrayal in his abandonment.

She became a professional ethical hacker for several well paying groups as she grew in both skill and name, and moved to Paradise with her mother in her twenties. She was recruited by the 19th shortly after what felt like her thousandth denial of offers from multiple law enforcement agencies. The organization is still her priority, and continues to define her loyalty. After losing her mother to an accident that she still believes was designed to silence her voice, it became a pet project to follow that mystery down every rabbit hole until she found an answer that felt even remotely believable. During this loss, her bond with the group solidified, leaning heavily on them in her time of mourning, even if she never did learn how to process emotion quite correctly. That being said though, that was also the time they’d given her the chance to defend herself, spending ample time with the trainer until she became a physical force to reckon with as well as a more low key one.

After her training was complete, she began to climb the ranks a little more confidently, knowing that she could protect herself from the dangers that status came with. Advisor is and was a role that suited her perfectly, giving her the chance to lend her voice to those who didn’t have one and offer her experience as lesson.

LENA IS CURRENTLY CLOSED & WRITTEN BY LACE.

#sands.closed #sands.nineteenth

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msdoctorwho · 7 years ago

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline, Ch. 4

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461255/chapters/32828067

The new normal was...nice. There was a new mutual understanding, a gap bridged between them. A slight benefit of the doubt where before misunderstanding would have sparked a raging argument. Even Bulma’s mother commented that they were “getting along so much better these days!”

At first Bulma only spoke in Saiyan after he did, wary of being too familiar with what was clearly still precious to him. Gradually Vegeta sought her out to talk more and more, unable to resist the draw of his own language, until they conversed in it as easily as her own. Moreso, even, as in some darker moods he would respond to Saiyan when she was certain he’d have ignored her, before.

He rarely allowed himself downtime, but she found him reading once or twice, lost in one of the books for a short midday break under a tree, or while he ate alone at night before bed. He even messaged her once, from the tablet, with improved Saiyan translations for a few passages.

He wasn’t as reluctant to be around her as before, but he still held her at arms’ length, refusing to talk about his planet or people beyond answering simple questions for the research she was still pursuing, with his unspoken permission.

He wasn’t her adversary, but he wasn’t her friend yet, either. Bulma was at a loss as to why he resisted her attempts so much, and why she wanted so badly to make it happen. It wasn’t for knowledge, anymore; she’d learned more than she’d dreamed possible, and was still moving forward, though she'd had to split time with her other work obligations.

It was him . He was fascinating, this destroyer of worlds who lived in her home and occasionally asked her to pass the salt. She knew she should fear him. Instead, she wanted to climb inside him, to know every aspect of him and make him hers.

She supposed her attraction wasn’t all that surprising given she’d made no attempt at dating since Yamcha. It wasn’t because of the breakup; she just couldn’t be bothered with trivial men when the end of the world was coming. That was why she’d ended the relationship in the first place -- she’d realized if there might only be a few years left of her life, she didn’t want to spend them with Yamcha . There was nothing wrong with him. He just wasn’t who she wanted at her side to face the end of all things. And he deserved to maybe find that with someone else.

Given that it had been a while , it was not that surprising she’d started thinking about Vegeta that way. Whatever else he might be, he was far from trivial.

She knew he wasn’t un -interested in her. He had eyes, and she occasionally caught them on her with an intensity made all the more obvious by how quickly he looked away. But he was driven, he had plans, and there was no room in his schedule for anything that didn’t get him closer to ascending.

Bulma wasn’t a genius for nothing. The way to his... heart... was going to be through his goals. She’d already built him a facility, she already supplied him with bots. It was time to attack with data .

It’s not like he’d never read before -- one didn’t rise in the military without reading manuals, briefings, training texts, technical specs. He even vaguely remembered reading Saiyan fables and histories as a child. But it was entirely foreign to find himself reading of his own volition, for no reason other than diversion.

Contrary to what Bulma would have guessed, he’d begun with the fiction. It was an unexpected escape, a rare experience for him. It was even pleasant, until he had the unwelcome realization that he identified more with the orcs and Nazgûl than the group of heroes.

A subjugated army forced into war and conquest? Sounded a lot more like him than oblivious immortal elves living in treehouses or hairy little creatures digging houses into hillsides and eating all day. Did the fiction even explain why the orcs fought for this conqueror, or was it just assumed that they loved war? How could that have been enough? Even for a warlike people, what glory is there in service to a tyrant? What glory can be found without freedom?

The inside of his head had never been a pleasant place, not since the day his father bargained him away, but for the first time he began to grasp the the outside edges of the enormity of his sins. He’d done what he’d done to survive, all of it, but that didn’t make his hands any less bloody.

Combat, violence, and the pursuit of victory were in his bones, in whatever was left of his soul. It was how the world made sense. But so much of what they’d done under Frieza’s orders had been outright slaughter. There was no honor in obliterating the weak. How low had he fallen, that he’d allowed himself to enjoy it?

It was either that, or die, he supposed, under the weight of an otherwise joyless existence. The more time he spent away from that life, on this space-ignorant rock with its weak little inhabitants and one exasperating scientist, he wondered how he could ever have thought those years under Frieza held any joy at all.

Bulma lay in wait for him in the kitchen one evening, having already warmed up his dinner, knowing he would be more receptive after finishing his training for the day. In the mornings he had too much pent-up energy and no patience for conversation or anything that delayed him longer than necessary.

He eyed her with suspicion but no animosity as she served them both dinner and sat, saying nothing. She sipped her wine and waited, the imprint of her lips left behind on the glass, a half-moon of color that kept stealing his gaze.

“Out with it, woman.”

She smiled, and he felt as though he’d lost a point in a contest he was unaware of entering. “Well, Vegeta, I’ve been doing some research.”

“That’s a surprise.”

Was that sarcasm? She was delighted.

“You’ve trained every day since the chamber went online, and when it’s down for repairs you go off and blast shit elsewhere. You haven’t taken a single day off, have you?”

He shrugged. “Why would I waste time I could be training?”

She spoke casually, too casually. “That’s the thing -- I don’t think it would be a waste of time.”

“What the fuck do you know about it? You avoid physical activity like it might kill you.”

She huffed, sitting up straight, eyes flashing. “I’ll have you know I do plenty of-- you know what, never mind, this isn’t about me. I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful prick.”

The insult lacked venom so he ignored it. But still, “I’m not in need of your help.”

She switched tactics. Data, Bulma. “I’ve been studying peak human performers, professional athletes in various sports. How they train, what they eat.”

His grunt of irritation dismissed that as irrelevant. “I care about that, why?”

She waved a hand, “Yeah, I know humans and Saiyans are so different, Saiyans get stronger every time they’re beaten near to death, et cetera, et cetera.”

She leaned forward, uncrossing her legs. “But the mere existence of Gohan proves we’re way more similar than different, so you can’t throw out all of my data that easily.” Her lab coat parted with her movement, revealing the low neckline of the blouse underneath. Entirely unwillingly he was forced to contemplate exactly how compatible their races were whether he wanted to or not.

Seemingly oblivious, she carried on, “Human physiology benefits from a period of rest after a period of strenuous activity, giving the body time to repair and strengthen.” Eyes like a bird of prey watched him from behind her wineglass as she drank.

“Bah.” He began to rise, and she pulled an entire pie out of the fridge, putting it in front of him. He frowned at it but sat back down. It was pie, after all.

She drug a knife through it slowly, insolently, putting a slice on a plate he ignored by sticking his fork in the middle of the rest. “Have you ever wondered if one of the differences between you and Goku might be how you approach your training?”

He growled around a giant mouthful of pie, latent childhood manners still too regal to say what he really thought of her bringing up Kakarot with his mouth full.

She licked the edge of the knife, a quick flash of tongue like a wink. “Goku has always taken time off, now and then. He goes fishing with Gohan, takes Chichi to the city.”

He finished chewing. “Like I care what that third-class--”

“My point is,” she interrupted, daring to swipe a bite of his pie, “You can’t argue that it hasn’t been working for him.”

He looked furious. Bulma was going to lose him if she didn't act fast.

Vegeta felt a stab of betrayal at the implied comparison, and then surprise at the betrayal. When had he started thinking of her as anything other than his adversary's ally?

She broke into his thoughts with a hand on his arm, freezing him with a touch while fire ran over his skin.

Her voice was low, almost primal, challenging. “I’ll make a bet with you. It’s one day -- what do you have to lose?”

In Saiyan the literal phrase was more like “Do you have balls, or not?” And his were tightening, at the challenge, at the touch. His blood sang under her fingers, as though sparked by her ki, which was impossible, as she had basically none.

He swallowed, jerking his arm away. “What are your terms?”

Her smile had too many teeth, like a well-fed predator. “You take one rest day, following the itinerary I plan, exactly. No training. We track your peak and average power levels the week before the rest day, and then the week after.”

She dug out her mobile to show him a graph, all business again. “Your progress so far has been fairly linear. I bet that during the first 48 hours after a rest day you’ll see a bigger jump than would be projected by the previous week’s data with no rest.”

She looked him dead in the eye, and he'd be damned if he looked away first. “If I’m wrong, I’ll make you a new set of training bots with enhanced AI.”

Neither of them blinked. She went on, “If I’m right, you take one day off at least every 10 days. Or work with me to find the ideal ratio of rest to work days.” Another sip of wine, still locking eyes. "Up to you."

She dropped her gaze, and he exhaled. “What does this rest day entail?”

She brushed invisible crumbs off of her garment with a lazy, ineffective gesture. “Sleeping. Eating. Massage. Maybe some active recovery, like walking or stretching. Diverting yourself mentally with something completely unrelated to training.”

He sighed. The part of him that had kept him alive for so long insisted it was a waste of time he couldn’t afford, but he was beginning to trust in her and her logic , and honestly it sounded rather...pleasant.

“I’ll do it, but you’re going to make me the new bots either way.” He felt smug about that stipulation, somehow coming out ahead after this shipwreck of a conversation.

“Done,” she said with a smooth, tiny smile, and he had the sudden feeling that a squad of new bots already awaited him somewhere, and he hadn’t won anything at all.

#vegebul #vegebul fanfiction #vegeta x bulma #bulma #vegeta

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jerusalism · 7 years ago

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Delicate as a Photon Shower

Translator’s Note: The following is an addendum to the text accompanying “My Heart Isn’t Synchronized with Technology”, an exhibition in the Barbur Gallery featuring work by photographer Tamar Lewinsohn. Beyond the traditional work of the curator, Abraham Kritzman was inspired to compose and distribute the following words, which gallery visitors are welcome to read, to juxtapose with the exhibited works, and perhaps even to interpret. Focusing on the text itself, readers also have the opportunity to engage with an example of ekphrastic writing, which inspired the translator, Lonnie Monka, to make this text available to an English-speaking audience. Inspired by Lewinsohn’s visual art, Kritzman’s text asks us to engage with number of questions, including the relationship of language to visual experiences, and the possibility of evoking intimacy in and across media.

The Lock Hole

The door is open. It faces its thin side towards us, that plane designed to be swallowed into the wall. With a backwards step, the protruding key sparkles; becoming instilled with dimension and personality, the door is photographed.

In the past, locks had holes through which people could peak. Today, locks no longer bear these holes; yet, were they to, phone cameras would immediately penetrate them. Peeking through such a hole reveals a world beyond our physical space, disconnecting the body, and projecting its own signals for reading and imagining what is uniquely bound by a single channel. Just as with a camera, the world flattens into a plane in which we discover a place that is over there, on the other side.

There, above the armchair, a flat cable lies tightly against the wall. Pulling it will open the shutter upwards. The tension of that faded-color cable stems from holding the weight of the shutter. The sudden noise of pulling would allure the elliptical apertures that spin on the wall facing the field that blinds my eye just before sunset.

A Second First Gaze

As the shutter rises, the window is revealed; there I encounter the outside -- the world. Or so I tell myself. And since I encounter it from behind closed doors, I wonder about the attributes of this confined gaze.

I encounter the window’s opening inside the rip. Beginning to form general impressions of color, a few lines strum appearances on my imagination: it’s outside, a landscape, urban, inside a window, city residences in Israel. My eye runs and returns across the image in my imagination, yet differently -- according to a different hue, running between the eye and the imagination. This second hue rips my continuous familiarity between the two, it appears at the same time on the same plane.

Grip

I position myself before a picture whose contents I cannot successfully decipher. What has been photographed here? Positioned before a photographed object that seems so familiar to me, I am unable to name it. It’s as if I once stood in such close proximity, but perhaps not. Whatever it “is” slips away from me as it continually demands that I identify it, that I ask what it is or what it was.

When I think about photography (especially about analog photography) I don’t need to be reminded of its being derived from reality and from the past, I know and feel this fact: it photographs what lies before it and I am able to identify the world that was within it. When I don’t identify it, two possibilities stand before me: first, that the described world is not familiar to me, or second, that the photographic mechanism blurred the familiar.

In certain circumstances a new object is created -- something ambiguous. It exerts control over the place of this seam; this paper-thin space capable of containing hybrids, fragments of memory and feelings whose place and aim are difficult for us to determine, even though we feel their proximity and identify with them. For us, they are not created according to the workings of the imagination; they exist all of the time, on that rip between the familiar and the strange.

Concealment

I pass my hands across the wall so that my fingertips can feel the cracked open paint which, after winter, separated from the previous layer. I enjoy feeling it crumble and break, piling up on the floor, leaving behind an amorphous form. A few microns constitute this layer whose thickness is just that which is able to be felt. If I had not further crumbled the paint, I would not have created this form, and the peeling paint would still protrude as a fold on a wall, as curling fractures.

The printer passes indifferently over the things inserted into it -- concealing with ink. When the ripped, printed photographs are placed one over the other, they unify as a new object for us: a ripped photograph of an object, as well as a new object created by the printer and merged with photography. It’s continuity folds and moves along hidden planes. We assume that it continues duplicating layers and stratifying. However, we discover that the image is separated by a rip, and that there are areas where the imagination attempts to convince us that the thing below is also the thing above, and that what is above is also below.

Were I to use my hands to grab a booklet made of paper, on which was printed additional pages, I would learn, through their image, about the connection between them. These pages would unite as a kind of small pamphlet. I would hold in my hands all of the planes present in the work, able to play with them, to move them, and to place them so as to create a continuous image, or to expose the lack of unity by flipping or shifting.

The order of these works conceals seeds of trouble in me; my thoughts destroy the possibility of these images not being continuous, that the things I see and experience are products of my imaginations, and that they are not the very thing I imagine they are. I discover that I am not capable of determining or of consenting. Continuing to flip back and forth between them I wonder: are they connected to the reality that both was and is manifested by my perceiving it, or to a space that I fabricate, based in my memories, in my world alone?

Intimacy

Two strips of light pass over the tiles of the bathroom. They burn the image, corrupting a section of it; they are so bright that all that is left is the paper itself -- the substrate constitutes the image. In fact, this is the place in which there is no image, wherein reality was so violent to the medium that it rendered photography incapable of preserving the image as such. There we encounter a photographic wound. A proximity immense enough so as to burn the image.

We feel serene -- a bathroom, a quotidian moment. We identify a private space, one that often invites the body, the nude. This is the moment, this is exactly the moment that the sun can touch -- to meet a body inside a house, inside a bathroom, a place where people become most human. An encounter as delicate as a shower of photons. This feeling is that of intimacy. A feeling of uniqueness, characterized by its being pleasant. This intimacy, which I encounter inside the rips, invites me to transform my imagination and vision so as to become similarly distinct. I become a bare observer of a violence that is carried out with images that activate my senses and imagination. Facing this violence, I am continually summoned to gather just one more detail, with delicacy and tenderness to join yet another clue to my imagination -- to ascribe, to catalogue, to affix, to categorize, to situate as a narrative sequence. The works on these walls battle inside me, evoking a multifaceted mood as well as intimacy.

_________________________________________

Abraham Kritzman is an artist living and working in Tel Aviv. He currently lectures at Bezalel Academy, in Jerusalem, and serves as the Art Director of Barbur Gallery. Abraham has received numerous awards, including but not limited to the Herman Struk Prize for printmaking, the Aileen Cooper Prize, a Bezalel Scholarship for MA studies at the Royal College of Art London, and the Ministry of Culture Award for a Young Artist.

Abraham has exhibited his works in numerous solo shows in Israel and London.

#jerusalism #barbur gallery

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dudence-blog · 7 years ago

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Dear Dudence for 1 December 2017

And we are now in December! Christmas time! Trees, lights, inflatable penguins! And drama! Soooooooooooo much drama. It is the season for sharing mulled wine with people you like, and who like you back. So grab a mug of warmed wine, cider, or chocolate and let’s see what sort of problems I can make worse for people I don’t know!

I live in a close-knit neighborhood. In October, my neighbor’s 16-year-old daughter ran over my family’s beloved cat. She was driving irresponsibly and texting, and she was horrified by what she’d done. I have tried not hating her, and I’ve tried telling myself that there’s always a risk that a cat allowed outdoors will be hit by a car. But I’m angry, and the best thing for me now is to keep my distance from the girl and her family. The parents won’t back off, though. Their daughter is traumatized, and they want me to comfort her.

Dear Cat Killer, unexpectedly losing a beloved pet sucks. And to have it happen because of the negligent actions of a person you need to continue interacting with is doubly sucky. I’m going to disagree with Newdie though about it not being awful for you to continue to want to emotionally punish your neighbor’s daughter. You don’t have to forgive her for her actions; she killed a member of your family afterall. But is “making a child feel terrible and refusing any kindness towards her,” really the hill you wish to die on? You say you live in a closely-knit neighborhood, so here’s how it’s going to play out. You’re going to continue to hold this over your neighbor and their daughter. They’re going to talk with your other neighbors and, eventually, it will come around to the point where you’re being petty, vindictive, and emotionally cruel to not move on. It was “just a cat” and you did “know what could happen” if you let it roam outside in an area where cars traveled. In the not-too-distant future you’re going to lose the very loose and sandy moral high ground on which you’re standing, and it’s not going to be fun for you. I recommend you think long and hard about what sort of acts of contrition you want to see from your neighbor’s kid as a way to earn your forgiveness, and when she achieves that provide it. At the end of the day the girl is going to eventually forgive herself and move on. Whether you do or you allow this anger and resentment to eat away at you and your relations with your neighbors is up to you.

I’m a single woman with a large extended family. I cope with the enormous project of buying Christmas presents by getting them very early. Everyone in my family knows this; it’s the family joke that I have all my presents purchased by Halloween. My brother’s wife “Jean” sent out a group text last week saying they have decided not to exchange gifts with the extended family and would only be getting gifts for each other and their own kids. They have five kids, both together and via previous marriages, so I understand, but would have appreciated more notice. My mom asked what I was going to do, and I said I’d keep the gifts for the kids but return the ones I got for my brother and Jean. Unfortunately, my dad, the family big mouth, overheard us and told my brother.

Dear Christmas Gift Drama, Jean is not right. Christmas is not about gift-giving. It’s about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. That we have turned it into a celebration of eating, basketball, giving and exchanging gifts is ancillary to whatever the “meaning” of the holiday is. Grown-ass people getting their panties in a wad because their grown-ass sibling didn’t get them something after they said they’re not getting the sibling something are pathetic. You are morally and ethically in the right to return their gifts. Send them a nice card with a friendly and caring message of love for the holidays. Although do send the kids their gifts; it’s not their fault their mother acted rudely.

How do I cut off my seemingly well-intentioned family? My whole life, my little sister was the favorite. Growing up, other adults even commented on it to me, which actually helped because it showed me it wasn’t all in my head. On the outside they are a well-meaning Southern family, but to me they are suffocating.

Dear Just Want Out, you’re not going to be able to ghost your own family. You’re, eventually, going to need to tell them why you’re ignoring them. Or, you’re going to tell someone why and they’re going to tell them. So, sack-up and tell them you’re not going to be joining them because it’s not in the budget, whether due to money or time. Send a polite card wishing them well for the holiday and move on with your life. Hit “ignore” on the Family Gift Wish List text as well.

I have been struggling with my son for a long time and just don’t know how to get through to him. He started out being very impulsive as a young child, not thinking things through, getting aggressive with other children, and not listening. Once he entered grade school the aggressive behavior toned down significantly, thank goodness, and he appeared to be listening to his teachers. At home is a different story. I’ve been divorced from my son’s father since he was 2-1/2 years old but up until recently he still maintained contact with him. I attributed many of his behaviors to his father’s leniency and lack of discipline. However, my son is nine now and no longer has contact with his father, who is a deadbeat.

Dear At Wits’ End, oof. This is a heart-breaking letter on several levels. There’s a whole lot of hurt, pain, and problems in not a lot of space, and much of them are far beyond the capabilities of NuPru or me to address. As much as I’d like to join in NuPru’s condemnation of your actions and the consequence it has had on your son I’m not going to. Parenting is hard, single-parenting harder still, and even the best, most wonderful, and well-intentioned people can fail when pushed hard enough. Hitting your kid in anger is a terrible thing to do, your 9 year old cannot have done anything to justify such violence, it’s not going to result in the behavior you want, and will likely get you seriously hemmed up by the law. Maybe she’s right that your actions have left your son unable to form friendships or fail to hit developmental milestones, but it’s also possible there are some underlying medical issues which could be at play, and the healing power of “and” is always at work. Certainly your actions and attitude towards him aren’t helping, but without identifying that possibility you’re going to be swimming against the stream even more than you are now. You need to get yourself some help to deal with your anger and stress. You need to get your son some help as well; his school district almost certainly has some resources to identify if he has a developmental issue. And it’s not likely his teachers haven’t noticed his behavior, so it’s probably something someone there is considering. After you get yourself some help for the anger and control issues it might be worth trying to reestablish a relationship with the boy’s father. That he became a “deadbeat” while you were belittling his parental choices and escalating the emotional and physical abuse of your shared child might be connected.

I’m a trans woman who’s been in a relationship with a queer cis girl for a couple years. It has slowly come out that my partner wants to “date people who have vaginas.” She’s told me before that she sees herself as having been historically deprived of the ability to date people with vaginas because society has primed her relationship life to involve “people who have penises.” I feel hurt by this analysis, because I honestly have never seen any societal forces compelling anyone to date trans people like me. This line of logic also seems disingenuous given that she was raised in a cis lesbian household. I feel hurt and inadequate. When we have conversations about this, the conversation always unfolds with her in the role of the victim. This is a difficult dynamic to escape, because she is better than me at using sound social justice rhetoric.

Dear Just Want to Feel Normal, you’re not taking this too personally. Once we strip away all the gender identifying text this is about your significant other no longer being attracted (as attracted?) to you, wanting to date other people, but wanting to keep you around for their own satisfaction. Oh, and there’s also a bit of mind-fuckery going on where she’s trying to blame you for not wanting to be her doormat. Your girlfriend can deploy all the social justice rhetoric she wishes, but it doesn’t change that she’s behaving like an asshole. It sucks when someone you love reveals they no longer feel the same, and it’s a suck-multiplier when they exploit your own feelings of inadequacy and emotional vulnerabilities at the same time. Just because you’re trans doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like your hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend is treating you. You deserve to have a supporting, caring partner who is totally into you, and I hope you find them.

I recently became good friends with “Absalom” and “Richard.” Richard is queer and non-binary but very masculine-presenting, while Absalom is a straight cis man (I myself am a gay cis man). When we first became friends, Richard and I both developed small crushes on Absalom before we knew his sexuality. We both subtly and innocently flirted with him a couple times. After Absalom offhandedly mentioned he was straight, I backed off, no big deal.

Dear Looking for Straight Talk, much like Wanting to Feel Normal, let’s go ahead and strip out the genders, orientation, etc. Bottom line is one of your friends is romantically pressuring one of your other friends in a way which the object of the affections doesn’t seem to appreciate, is noticed and negatively remarked upon by another group of friends, and which is making you uncomfortable. You passed the point where Richard’s behavior was “not OK” a while ago. Actually, you know what, let’s call him Dick. Absalom is not enthusiastically consenting to Dick’s come-ons and Dick is either not picking up on this, thinks he just needs to apply the right amount of pressure to make Absalom come around, is getting his jollies out of making Absalom have to take his unreciprocated advances, or the healing power of “and”. Let’s put the genders, orientation, etc back into the question. Despite what Kevin Spacey says, being non-heteronormative isn’t carte-blanche to behave boorishly. Honestly, had this situation involved a man making unwelcome advances towards a woman Bad Pru would have been much more straight-forward in her advice and the condemnation of Dick’s behavior. So I will. What you’re describing is the sort of sexual impropriety we really shouldn’t tolerate. Let Dick know it’s “Not Okay”, or, preferably, let Dick know that he’s being a fucking creep.

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fundedjustice · 7 years ago

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Please help Dan raise legal fees for his divorce

I need help paying legal fees for my divorce.

My wife, V, and I began dating in April 2001. V was pregnant when we started dating, and A was born in August 2001. V was accepted to UT Dallas in fall 2004, and I applied and was accepted to the Electrical Engineering program at UTD for the same semester. We lived together in Dallas for two years, until I was accepted to the Architectural Engineering program at UT Austin in fall 2006. We lived separately while V finished her degree at UTD, and I began studies in Austin. A lived with V’s parents in Houston, while we were in school for these three years.

We were married in Houston on 8 June 2007, and moved in together in Austin in July of that year, with A. V worked at an insurance company while I completed my Bachelor’s Degree. In January 2009 I got a job in the field that became my career, as I completed my final undergraduate semester. I legally adopted A in August 2009. In September 2009 we purchased a townhouse. Our daughter J was born in February 2010.

I was accepted into the Mechanical Engineering Graduate Acoustics Program at UT Austin for the fall 2012 semester, and three weeks before the end of the semester, in November 2012, our son B was born. Also in November 2012, we closed on a house in northwest Austin, and moved in shortly thereafter.

The relationship has never been on very solid ground, with fights being somewhat common. During the fights, V has displayed a history of initiating physical and emotional violence, and has also been prone to emotional outbreaks at times of high stress:

In around 2005, during an argument, V struck me with a metal candlestick, breaking the skin on my left arm and requiring stitches. We told the medical team and my parents that I cut myself while dumpster diving.

In 2005 or 2006, I had been out of town on an audio recording session, and when I returned home he found evidence of heavy drinking at the apartment. Knowing that V very rarely drank alcohol, I inquired about what happened. V at first claimed that she had some friends over to study, but ultimately admitted that she and a male friend were studying alone, and that she offered him enough alcohol, including hard liquor and my homemade beer, that the friend was unable to drive home. V had also insisted that the friend sleep in bed with her, claiming to me that she wanted to be sure he did not choke on his own vomit.

In 2008, I was completing a semester project that was keeping me at school more that V appreciated. I made special arrangements with the professor to complete his project at home, to maximize the amount of time I was able to be with my family, while still working on the project. Later, in a rage, V smashed part of the balsa wood model with a dictionary.

In April of 2008, after I made an off-hand comment about V’s lactose intolerance while getting ice cream, V, A and I returned home. V locked herself in the bedroom and eventually came out screaming and being generally violent. I left the apartment with A because the environment was not safe. I did not have parental custody of A at the time, and V called the police, claiming that I had kidnapped her daughter. The police showed up, noticed some dried blood on my face from when V had scraped me with my glasses, and in the end, V was charged with domestic assault, and arrested. This resulted in a CPS visit, court ordered anger management classes for V, and a couple months of couples counseling. During the same incident, while A and I were away from the apartment, V took a thumb drive with files related to a group project I was working on and hid it, claiming at the time that she had thrown it out the porch to the wooded area. A and I searched the area, but could not find it. I got one of V’s friends from work to bail her out of jail, as I was unable to – being the subject of the attack – in hindsight this should have been a huge red flag. Upon returning home, V revealed that she had hidden the thumb drive in a drawer.

Later in 2008 V began an affair with one of her coworkers that continued into early or mid 2009. I found instant messages open on our shared computer, which hinted about a meetup that the two were planning that very morning, and I looked further back and found evidence of previous meetups as well. I called V at work, and asked point blank if she was having an affair. V came home immediately to talk about it, but I left the house before she arrived. We worked things out with the help of couples counseling, although V was very hesitant to tell her counterpart that the affair was over. It is probable that the two of them continued a platonic relationship, if not a sexual one, until he was fired around 2010. V continues to put the onus of this affair on me.

In 2002 I was witness to the murder of a friend. V has found that I am incredibly sensitive to this subject and she has consistently brought this subject up in the course of arguments about completely unrelated issues. V has repeatedly claimed to wish that the bullet that killed my friend had also hit me, or had hit me instead of my friend.

We bought a house in November 2012. Throughout 2013 and 2014, I would come home for lunch as often as possible to visit V and the kids. It was very common for V to be still in bed at lunchtime, with the kids unattended.

It has always been my responsibility (and pleasure) to wake the kids up and get them ready for school, help them with their homework and musical instrument practice, and to read them a story and put them to bed at night. When I am unavailable for this, due to being out of town, etc., V has consistently refused to stick to the routines that the kids are used to, and instead wakes them up by flipping on the lights and announcing that it is time to wake up, and putting them to bed by playing games on her phone in our bed, then sending them to their rooms to tuck themselves in, or letting them sleep in our bed. They have never responded well to this. It was not uncommon for me to return from a late night at work to find the young children still awake, and in our bed, well after their bed time. On a related note, during a week-long period in January 2016, when I was out of town on business, my father came into town to ensure that the kids were at school on time, and taken care of in general. On Tuesday or Wednesday, V told my father that she could take care of them for the rest of the week, and he returned home to Houston. The kids did not make it to school on time for the rest of the week, and A ended up having to get a ride from the neighbor on Friday.

It has also been my ongoing responsibility to do the grocery shopping, the laundry, and the dishes, not to mention the house maintenance and lawn care responsibilities. V's main family responsibilities were to make sure the bills were paid, the social calendar, and transporting children to their after-school activities.

Several times (Mallie, Nano, Dobby, Strawberry, Blueberry) V has unilaterally adopted a dog which the family was then responsible for. V has consistently refused to feed the dogs or keep them watered, or to walk with them along with the rest of the family, leaving these responsibilities to me and the kids.

Around June of 2016, V began a series of casual sex type affairs, with men she met on Craigslist. In July 2016, V asked me to look up something on her phone, and I found a very tawdry text message on her phone from some unknown male. V maintains that nothing happened between herself and the text messager.

In March 2017 I returned from work to find that V had shredded many of my underwear, shirts , and (oddly) all three neckties that I owned, with scissors.

By early 2017, we had spent most of our savings, had maxed out several credit cards (and were participating in a debt reduction program), had taken out loans against most of the value of my life insurance, and had borrowed money from the kids’ accounts. In the previous almost ten years of marriage, the paying of the bills has always been V’s sole responsibility. This is understood to be a major source of V’s ongoing stress. Adding to this stress, in early April 2017 our air conditioning system required repair which was estimated at $1,850, and the couple’s tax preparer reported that we owed the IRS was owed approximately. These, on top of the expected expenses of A’s dual credit course at the local community college, and our planned trip to Grand Rapids in June (where I was presenting my MS thesis at an industry conference), were completely demolishing the family budget. I have had control of the family budget since early April 2017, when V made it clear that she would no longer be accepting this responsibility. It was after taking control of these matters that I realized that the money that V earned at her 2-3 days-per-week office job was not being deposited into the shared bank account, but instead into V’s private account, which was supposed to be used as a business account only, for her burgeoning crafting business.

V and I had a major fight on 18 April 2017, after I came home late from work due to needing to meet with my thesis advisor on campus after his lecture, and after my typical workday. I returned to the house to find that she had destroyed things around the house (she put scissors or a screwdriver through a painting that a former neighbor of mine made, had overturned a bookshelf that was full of recording and beer brewing equipment, had cut up more clothes, destroyed a photo album, etc.). She had this tantrum while the younger children were at home, and left as soon as I came home with A. She returned about a half hour later, saying that she needed to retrieve her laptop, but began to hit and punch me. I led her back to the bedroom to keep the children from seeing her in this state. As per usual, I left her in the bedroom, and locked myself out of the room (she was able at any time to unlock this door from the inside). This was to give her some space to calm down, and it had worked fairly often when she was in this kind of state. This day she came back out almost immediately, swinging her keys on a lanyard like a nun-chuck, and I brought her back to the bedroom. She came back out again, this time with a knife, and I grabbed her wrist and took the knife away, then grabbed her upper arm and took her back to the bedroom. I lifted her up and placed her on the bed, and stroked her legs in an attempt to calm her. It seemed to be having the intended effect, and she was in there for much longer this time. Eventually she calmed down enough for me to feel like she was not a danger to others on the road, and she left the house. She peeled out, and raced down the street, not stopping at the stop sign at the end of the road.

It is easy to see in hindsight that our marriage was doomed, but I stubbornly tried to keep it together for the sake of the children, if nothing else. After she left in April I set forth three conditions that I insisted on, if our relationship was to continue: (1) I wanted V to get individual counseling, with someone qualified to diagnose her for suspected bipolar disorder, (2) I wanted us to get couples counseling, where we could discuss our situation, and V's promiscuity in a safe place with a third party present, and (3) I wanted V to keep the same schedule as the rest of the family; she had gotten into the habit of taking a late afternoon nap as the rest of the family ate dinner, then staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning, while never being available to help with the kids in the mornings.

After leaving on 18 April, she did not return to the house for several days, leaving me with three kids and four dogs. After that, she came back periodically, when she needed to do the laundry, take a shower, get something to eat, use the internet, etc., and even spent the night on occasion. She joined me on our planned trip to Grand Rapids, MI in June (it had been planned since February), and when she told me towards the end of the trip that she had a good time and was glad she came, I thought that we would likely get back together afterwards. She left again the day after we got back to town.

I took her out to dinner on her birthday, 31 July, and we had great conversation, staying at the restaurant until after it had closed and they asked us to leave, then spending about a half hour in the parking lot chatting and dancing while I sang our wedding song. The very next day, 1 August, she filed papers, and on 2 August I was served with a Petition for Divorce (somewhat expected), and also an Ex-Parte Protective Order (not at all expected), in which she claimed that I had been beating her regularly for years, and had sexually assaulted her. She claimed that I was a danger to her and the children. Her evidence was photos of bruises on her wrist and bicep, from when I had grabbed her to secure the knife and take her back to the bedroom to calm down. I had been watching the kids virtually single handedly for approximately 3.5 months at this point. Luckily, when I received these papers, the kids were visiting grandparents out of town, or I would have been forced out of the house immediately upon receiving the Protective Order.

I spent approximately $4,500 in a week preparing for trial, and getting her to agree that I was not a danger to the children. I spent an additional $10,000 preparing for and participating in the 3-day trail. During the trial, V's mother testified that she had seen V slap A across the face when she was talking back to me about math homework, and that there was occasion when V was a teenager that she hit her mother with a shoe, while her mother was driving, and that the blow was severe enough to draw blood (I had not been aware of this incident until the trial). Also at the trial, A talked to the judge in her chambers, and told her that she wanted to live with me, and that V was abusive. I was told by multiple people that our minor child,above the age of twelve, would be able to talk to the judge in chambers, and that her testimony would be considered in the ruling, but that we would not find out specifically what was said. This turned out to be inaccurate, as the judge told us major parts of A's testimony, and yet ruled that V and I were to split the house 3.5 days a week each, while the children stayed put (this is referred to as a "nesting arrangement"). Another part of the ruling required V to attend anger management counseling, and the last major portion of the ruling required my to pay for both sets of legal fees, as V was claiming an income of only $800 per month. The judge did make clear that she did not believe that I was abusive towards V or the kids, noting that if this was true she would expect to see "a broken jaw" when I discovered her affairs, as opposed to the couples counseling that I always reverted to; the protective order was thrown away.

We have been in this nesting arrangement since late August, and it is not immediately clear when this will be over. We will either end up in mediation, or back at trial.

I am attempting to raise enough money to either see us through trial, where we will almost certainly be forced to sell the house, or through mediation, where I intend to use the remaining funds to pay V off on her portion of the equity that we have in the house so that I can keep the kids at the house.

Thank you for your time in reading this, and for your generosity in donating.

Funded Justice

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