#to air grievances about having to be a support in someone’s life. i’ve never told someone they’ve been through too much for me to deal with

[lilworms]

i am deeply struggling to find the right words to describe the way i feel about this situation but this isn’t something i can hold back much longer

[amusedyan]

Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Mutiny

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Merchant ship Noble Voyager Current commanding officer: Grumbug Folif. Crew:  125 Cargo Manifest: Mineral ore, Dytaxium Crystals, Methane gas cylinders, and mining equipment in need of repair. Charted route: Round about journey from Yenniri trade world to mining world of Alia 1 for cargo then returning to Yenniri for distribution.

Captains log Entry 2905.40 I didn’t think my fortune would take such a turn for the better but it seems the weavers of fate have finally smiled upon me.

Members of the merchant guild approached me shortly after landing for refit to hire me for a transportation assignment. They needed someone to go out to one of their mining subsidiaries on Alia I and transport freshly mined minerals, gases, and crystals back to them. It seems they had hit some sort of wealthy vane and were eager to exploit it before the local officials noticed and increased their mining taxes. They were even willing to pay extra to bring back some of their damaged mining gear for repair.

They wanted to me to depart immediately but I told them I would need at least a day or two to finish refitting the Noble Voyager for transit. Were it not for the timetable they found themselves on I am sure they would have went out and found another ship, but considering the speed in which they wanted their cargo and the shadiness they were no doubt hiding that I was willing to look the other way for they reluctantly agreed and a contract was drawn up.

Captains log Entry 2905.41 With their timetable bearing down on me the merchant members insisted I take off by the end of the day. Those damn money grubbers are pains in my thorax but their money is good and I can’t lose this contract.

I had to put a halt to some of the refits. They’d take too much time and time was something I did not have to spare. Even more to my disgust I had to bring on some new crew and the only ones available seemed to be humans.

The pink flesh sacks aren’t the brightest of the galaxy but they can use a wrench and pick up and carry a crate like a pack animal like any other so they will have to do.

We set off just before dusk and now are heading towards the system jump point. It’ll take about three to four days to reach Alia I. I need to have a word with engineer Hoplop to see if he can boost the engine speed to reduce travel time.

Captains log Entry 2905.42

I have come to regret bringing on the human crew. All they do is complain in about every tiny detail.

“The ship shakes violently some times.”

“The lights and air go out on our crew quarters deck regularly.”

“We need more food.”

It’s as if they are an endless machine that spews infractions for the tiniest matters while the rest of my crew have learned to keep their mouths shut and do as they are told.

Once we get back to Yenniri I will kick them off my ship myself.

Captains log Entry 2905.43

In all of my twenty three solar cycles as captain of this ship I have never once had to deal with insurrection by my crew; a track record that I have proudly worn as a badge of honor when meeting potential clients.

Today that record was ruined when the humans “elected” a representative from among them to bring a list of “grievances”.

I was so enraged by this I don’t even remember what the flesh sacks name was as they rattled off and whined how they were being treated unfairly and working conditions were unsafe. I had the human dragged from my bridge down to the human quarters and flogged in front of all of them as a warning to do as you were told and nothing more.

Captains log Entry 2905.44

Since the flogging there have been no more complaints from the human crew. They now remain silent and do not venture out far past their crew quarters unless on assignment.

As always there is no problem with humans that cannot be solved with a good flogging.

Captains log Entry 2905.45

We exited out of our jump at the systems edge. I wish I could say it was a graceful exit that befitted the Noble Voyager but it was anything but.

The moment we exited back into real space I felt a shudder rack and shake the command deck. I found out that this was not an isolated event but that the entire ship had violently shook along the entire spin of the ship originating from the engine room.

Within moments I was speaking with engineer Hoplop who from the sounds of it was in the middle of hectic action. It sounded so dire that I left the bridge and made my way to engineering to see for myself.

Upon reaching engineering the room was filled with a smell of burning and yet no fires were present. I found engineer Hoplop directing work crews in frantic motion around the starboard engine and called him over.

He reported that the starboard engine upon deceleration from our jump had shook free of its restraints and had damn near torn loose before stabilizing. Even then several connection ports and venting tubes had ruptured but the damage was limited to the engine room.

I asked him if we could still travel at sub jump speed and he that the starboard engine would be out of commission until it was re-secured. The amount of time we would lose for repairs would push us out of the timetable so I ordered him to continue repairs on the engine but we would navigate with portside engine along with emergency thrusters to adjust course.

Hoplop said those were only meant to be used in the event of an emergency and should not be used otherwise. A swift back of my hand across his face silenced him and I told him to just do as he was told before I made my way back to the command deck.

Captains log Entry 2905.46

Repairing the engine is taking up more time than expected and the use of just the portside engine will still add an additional day before we arrive at Alia I.

I’ve switched some of the human crew to assist Hoplop wit repairs. He expressed concerns that humans may become violently sick after being exposed to dangerous engine chemicals.

If they were to die after we had loaded the cargo from Alia I onboard then that would be fine with me.

Fewer crew members to pay leaves a bigger cut for myself for ship expenses.

Captains log Entry 2905.47

We reached Alia I today and set down at the requested landing pad the merchant guild had provided us.

While some of the human crew were still helping repair the engine the rest began moving all of the cargo onboard and stowing it safe for travel.

We are a day behind schedule from the engine malfunction but if we could load the entire cargo haul in a single day we could make up for lost time.

To that end I ordered that any human slacking would result in the entire human crew having their pay docked. To show the flesh sacks I was serious I docked them a quarter pay after finding one of them kneeling behind crates and coughing violently rather than carrying.

I had my provosts carry the stupid being to the brig to be flogged later once we were space bound again.

Captains log Entry 2905.48

Just as I had expected we were able to fully load the cargo in a single day and be on our way back to the systems jump point.

Engineer Hoplop he has stabilized and secured the starboard engine to the best of his ability but has found a new problem. The cabling systems from the engine to the power core were damaged and the engine will not jump unless more power could be obtained.

Sometimes I wonder why I even keep the oaf around when he can’t find the answer to his problem right in front of him.

I told him to continue monitoring the engine and I would inform him of new changes once we reached the jump point.

Captains log Entry 2905.49

Just as we reached the jump point I ordered all crew to their stations save the human portion.

Over the communications system I expressed my gratitude for our newest crewmates handling such trying times with ease and composure worthy of any solar sailor and that they each had been awarded some down time to recuperate and my previous order for docking their pay would be rescinded. I ordered them all to return to their quarters where they would receive their bonus as well.

Once I had confirmation the majority of the human crew had returned to their quarters I had my provost’s seal off the bulkheads leading into the area. Over the intercom I spoke to them directly and said that for their lack of effort and laziness that none of the humans would be receiving their wages and would be dumped back on Yenniri. I then ordered Hoplop to cut the power to the human quarters bulk heads, lighting system, and reduce life support in that area by 75% to generate the needed power for the starboard engine.

I could see through surveillance units that all of the humans were upset at this; some even began trying to break through the bulk heads amusingly.

Overall I feel proud of myself to have tricked them into coming aboard and essentially working for free.

Captains log Entry 2905.50

Some of the other crew members have stepped forward concerned about the treatment of the humans; or so they say. They were easily compliant with my actions once I said they would be receiving a portion of the humans share instead. You can always count on money smoothing things over.

My provosts report they can hear loud banging noises coming from the other side of the bulkheads sealing off the humans and a faint sound of human voices. I’ve told them not to worry about it and that it would be over within the next day or two.

Human resilience was legendary across the stars for being able to survive without food or water for days if not weeks, but thankfully the flesh sacks were not known for being able to break through reinforce Trivar metal bulk heads with their bare hands

Captains log Entry 2905.51

Sirens are blaring across my ship and just like everything else those damn humans are to blame!

Shortly after we exited our jump thermal sensors detected a spike coming from inside their quarters that risks to burn through the cabling supplying power to the engines that overlaps their quarters.

I have dispatched provosts and repair teams to the human quarters and ordered Hoplop to restore power to the bulk heads.

Captains log Entry 2905.51.1

Those fraking flesh sacks were waiting for us!!!

As soon as we opened the bulk head a wall of smoke poured out and blinded the provosts as the repair teams went in. They’d not gotten three steps before humans poured out and tackled them to the ground and moved on the provosts.

The damn humans set fires to whatever they could get their hands on to trigger the thermal warning sensors and get us to unlock the bulk heads.

They’ve broken out and are now running rampant towards engineering. I’m taking a squad of provosts myself and ending this once and for all.

Captains log Entry 2905.52 New captain designation: Nathan Hydel

It is with great sadness that I must report that the former captain of the Noble voyager, Grumbug Folif, along with engineer Hoplop and a large portion of the crew died in a freak engine malfunction that damaged a portion of the outer hull and sucked them out into open space.

As the last remaining officer, chosen by popular election, it is my responsibility now to take over as captain of the Nobel Voyager.

I would say we should mourn the loss of so many of our fellow crew mates but we have no time to spare.

It is now our responsibility to complete our former captain’s last contract in the timely manner he was so proudly known and as such we are now known for as well.

For if nothing else the weavers of fate do not take kindly to those that do not honor their word.

[girls-scenarios]

The Warmth in Her Smile

Idol: Irene (Red Velvet)

Prompt: ceo irene age gap love story w gf (angst and fluff but more angst yknow) along the lines of having their differences but irene rly rly loves gf

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I did end up making this reader female, just because it worked better for the angst scenario I was inspired to write.

♡ Tip Jar♡

Irene had never been someone to jump headfirst into anything without stopping to think first. She hadn’t created a successful company by being careless, and her careful and calculating personality had made her rich. Even in high school, she had been careful of her actions, overthinking each situation as she planned her rise to the top of the business world. Everything was accounted for in her life.

Except for you.

She could have never accounted for you, or for the way you shoved your way into her heart and refused to leave. How could she have known that, on that rainy day, the panicked college kid she sheltered with her umbrella would make her fall in love? Had she known, she would have kept walking.

But she didn’t. Instead she smiled and took you in, offering you a change of clothes when you told her that you had a presentation and giving you her umbrella when you left, and now she couldn’t let you go.

What was it about you that was so addicting? Your smile? Your embrace? The way you tried your best even after being soaked to the bone? The way your lips felt against yours? Or perhaps the way your eyes sparkled when she praised you and when you accomplished what you wanted? When she tried to list the reasons, she only realized how much she loved everything about you. And how easily you could break her heart.

-

“Is it normal for you to loan people your clothes when they get wet?” You had laughed softly as you stepped out of her bathroom, your hair still slightly wet but now pulled back away from your face. With a shrug, Irene had walked over to fix the blazer around your shoulders.

“I’m a philanthropist at heart. Do you always follow people to their home?”

You’d flushed and grinned sheepishly. “Well, I recognized you. You helped run the animal shelter fundraiser at my college last year and my friend said you lent everyone gloves, so I figured you were a nice person.”

Amused, she’d laughed and shook her head, her heart already taking to this optimistic college kid. “Fair point. You look ready to give a presentation now that you no longer look like a drowned kitten.”

“But is it really okay for me to take these clothes? I mean, they’re really nice.”

“They were a gift from a colleague, but they never fit me. They fit you, so you can keep them.”

“Wow.” You had grinned, warming her heart. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. I have to go now, but I’ll be back to repay you, I promise!”

At first, when she had let you out the door and waved goodbye, she hadn’t believed that you would keep your promise. After all, how could a broke college student repay her for designer clothes?

However, the next day you had showed up at her office, catching her as she was leaving for lunch with a grin on your face. “Hey, I told you I would repay you, right? Let me buy you lunch!”

And she probably should have said no. She should have known what would come out of this from the warmth you’d left in her heart as you ran off that day. But she hadn’t. Instead she’d agreed with a smile, holding up the keys to her car and offering to drive to the place of your choice.

Instead, she sealed her own fate.

-

“How do you not know any slang? How old are you?” You laughed from where you were perched on the couch, looking over the back with your head resting on your arms, watching her as she cut strawberries in the kitchen. With a huff, she playfully pointed the fruit knife at you.

“You know, you’re pretty rude for a kid. I’m not even thirty yet.”

“Only a year out.”

“Oh shut up. I was busy creating a business, I didn’t have any time to learn slang.” Her lips curved down into a pout, which only made you laugh again. Her competitors always called her scary, but she could never intimidate you.

“Right, right. Maybe I should teach you some, so that you can be hip with the youth.”

“And why would I want to be hip with the youth?” Irene asked, rolling her eyes scooping the strawberries into a bowl.

“Well, you’re dating one.”

Your words made her drop her knife into the sink, her body freezing for a moment. Quickly, she covered up her mistake by turning on the water and washing her hands, but her heart was racing no matter how nonchalant she tried to be. She was dating a youth. A youth who could drink and was in her twenties, but still a youth. And she didn’t understand half the words you said. Swallowing, she dried her hands and picked up the bowl of strawberries.

“I guess you can teach me some,” she said as she walked over to the couch, handing you the bowl. “But I can’t promise that I’ll be able to learn.”

You were quiet for a moment as she sat down beside you, then leaned your head on her shoulder. “Better late than never, right?” As if trying to chase away the awkward air, you nodded at the TV. “What do you want to watch?”

Still, Irene felt a weight on her heart as she settled in next to you, remembering how you’d fallen asleep the last time she’d chosen what to watch. Maybe she was getting old. Reaching for a strawberry, she gave you a smile that she hoped wasn’t too strained. “Oh. You can choose. I think I chose last time.”

-

“Hey, do you remember when you picked me up from college the other day? For dinner?” You looked uncomfortable, staring down at the plate in front of you with your hands in your lap. The two of you were eating dinner together once again, at a new place her friends had recommended. Despite the amazing smells and fantastic food, though, you’d seemed troubled all dinner. Now, Irene frowned, putting down her chopsticks.

“Yeah, why?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, twisting your hands together in your lap as you blushed. “Well, my friends are calling you my, um, sponsor.”

“Sponsor?”

“They think you’re my sugar mommy, basically,” you said, rushing your words as you flushed even deeper. Irene swallowed, her blood running cold. Suddenly she wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“I.... I guess I could see why they think that.” Her car wasn’t exactly conspicuous, a sleek brand-new Lexus that was so clean it gleamed in the light. “What did you-?”

You cut her off. “I don’t think of you that way! I tried to explain that we just met by accident and that you don’t give me gifts like that, but they wouldn’t listen! They said it was okay if I was getting paid to date someone, but they hadn’t expected it from me. I didn’t know what else to say. I’m not dating you for your money, but now that I think about it, it looks suspicious, the two of us together.” You were obviously flustered and upset by your friends’ accusations, but Irene wasn’t sure what to do. Still, she reached out her hand, offering her support, and after a moment, you took it.

“It was only suspicious because I was picking you up from college. When we’re out like this, we’re just two people. Nobody can tell that you’re a student or that I’m a CEO. And what other people think doesn’t matter, because I know that I love you and I’m not trying to pay you to be around.”

“I know,” you said with a sigh, squeezing her hand. “I just wish my friends didn’t think that way.”

“I won’t pick you up in front of them anymore. If there’s anything I can do to stop them from being suspicious, let me know.”

“Okay.” Your voice was quiet, and she hated it. She hated seeing you down when you were usually so optimistic. And she couldn’t help feeling that this was her fault.

-

Her secretary Yeri was looking at her with pursed lips, her eyes intense with scrutiny despite the early morning hour. Warily, Irene walked past her to her desk and sat her bag down.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Yeri only got like this when something was wrong.

“I’ve heard from gossip around the office,” Yeri said, choosing her words carefully, “that you’ve been seeing a student.”

Oh. Oh god. Irene groaned and rubbed her hand against her head. Of course people were going to find out, but the wording made it sound worse than it was. “A university student, Yeri. There’s nothing illegal going on.”

“Even if it’s legal, don’t you think it’s risky?”

“Why?”

“No offense, but you’re getting older. What will the shareholders say if they find out?”

“If it’s not illegal, I don’t see why anyone would have a problem with it.”

Yeri rubbed at her temple, like she always did when Irene was irritating her. “It still doesn’t look proper. A CEO dating a college student? They’ll say you’re paying them to date you!”

“But I’m not. They can check my statements if they want. I’ve given them some small gifts and paid for some dinners but you can see that I’ve never paid them any money.” Irene was starting to feel annoyed. “Plus, if I’m making them money, can they really complain about what I’m doing in my free time?”

“They definitely can if they think something illicit is happening.”

“Nothing like that is happening.”

“Still, you have to think about it from their point of view,” the younger woman said, crossing her arms. “And what about the student? Have you ever thought that they might just be after you for your money? You’re a millionaire, you have to worry about these things!”

“I know (Y/N),” Irene responded, her voice tight. “She wouldn’t do that. We’re dating and we’re in love. Is that so wrong?”

For a moment, Yeri was silent. Then she gave in with a sigh. “Whatever. Just be more careful, okay? You know how easily reputations can be ruined. Even just by rumors.”

“I’ll be more careful.” What a way to start her day. Irene fell back into her chair and frowned. “And spread the word that I don’t appreciate the office gossiping about their boss behind my back. If they have a grievance, they can come and take it up with me directly.” She wasn’t usually one to feel angry. But she was tired from the stress of work and from staying up with you, and she was beginning to feel annoyed that the rest of the world thought they had a say in her relationship.

“Will do.”

-

One night, after a fitful sleep, she woke up to the moon slipping in through the window and to a headache behind her eyes. For a moment, she was confused at the warmth next to her, until she smelt your familiar shampoo and remembered that you’d come over to spend the night. Slowly and carefully, as to not wake you up, she sat up and glanced at her clock. It was 3am. She let out a groan and pressed her fingers to her forehead, annoyed with herself. She’d never let stress affect her like this before.

Not wanting her restlessness to wake you up, she slipped out of bed and headed to the kitchen to find her medication, hoping it would help her sleep.

For a while after taking her medication, she held onto her glass of water and looked around her large apartment. There were pieces of you everywhere, so stark and out of place that they were too obvious to miss. Your textbooks and backpack were on a kitchen chair, your slightly worn sneakers sat beside her expensive work heels, a YA book she’d bought for you when you wanted it peeked out among the reference books on her shelf, and your extra pair of slippers was covered in your favorite characters while hers were plain and grey. You’d slipped into her life, but it almost felt like you didn’t belong there, no matter how much her heart wanted you to stay.

Gulping down the rest of her water, she tried not to think of that. Instead, she washed the glass before heading back to the bedroom and climbing into bed beside you. The room was dark, but the moon outside was abnormally bright, and she gazed down at your features, relaxed and smooth. It was when you were asleep that it struck her how young you really were. Your hair was a mess and you still slept like you weren’t used to sharing a bed with someone, your limbs spread across her king sized bed. Where she was beginning to get lines in her frown and smile lines, your skin was smooth. The dark circles under your eyes weren’t as defined as hers.

Her heart twisting in her chest, she gently touched your face, running her thumb over your cheekbones. God, she loved you so much. To her, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe it was because it was late and she was stressed from work, but tears began to well up in her eyes.

She was too old for you. It hadn’t been long since you’d had your first legal drink, yet she could hardly drink without getting a terrible hangover the next day. You were still at the age where you liked to party and go out with friends, but she got headaches from loud sounds and preferred to go to bed instead of going out after work. She couldn’t go to clubs or parties with you, no matter how much you wanted her to. She was busier than you, she often had to go on business trips, she couldn’t always be around for you like another student could. She knew her long hours annoyed you, because the two of you had gotten into arguments about it before. But work wasn’t like classes: she couldn’t just skip her duties.

Biting her lip, she pulled her hand away and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. What was she doing? This wasn’t right. None of this was right. She was stealing your youth away from you when you should be spending it with someone who could give you everything you wanted. Her gifts couldn’t make up for all the times she missed important dates and left you alone for weeks on end.

You stirred and she froze, staring down at you as you rolled over to face her and reached out your hand towards her. “Irene?” Your voice was rough and tired, and she reached out to grab your hand.

“I’m right here,” she replied, quickly wiping at her face.

“Mmkay. Just making sure.” A smile came to your lips and you seemed to drift off into sleep, leaving her to ponder in the dark, her heart torn into pieces of indecision.

-

“You’re going on a business trip again?” Your voice was rising from where you stood, leaning against the counter in the kitchen with your arms crossed. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your lips pressed into a frown that she was now seeing too often. “But you missed my birthday last year too! I thought you would want to spend it with me this time, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I said that I’m sorry.” Her words sounded void even to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair. “But it’s a business trip. I can’t say no.”

“You can’t even reschedule?”

“That’s not how these things work, (Y/N).”

“There you go again!” You stood up, your face flushing with anger. “You’re treating me like I’m a kid who doesn’t know anything about the world!”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about my world,” Irene replied, beginning to feel hollow. How many times had she had this fight with you before? “I have responsibilities that I can’t throw away just to spend time with you. I own a company, (Y/N).”

“I’m well aware. And sometimes, I think you care about that company more than you care about me.”

“That’s not true.” Her heart fractured and broke a little bit more, her throat burning as the urge to cry welled up inside her. Why was she crying so much these days? “I love you, more than I think you know.”

“Then why don’t you show it?”

“Because I can’t show it the same way that someone the same age as you might show it. I buy you gifts, but you say that you don’t want them because it makes people think I’m your sugar mommy. I offer to take you with me on trips, but you can’t because of school. I can’t pick you up for dinner anymore. But I try and I try to show you. I buy you flowers and I invite you over whenever you don’t have homework and I hold you ever time I get the chance. I tell you that I love you all the time. Every time you want something, I try to get it or make it happen. Is that not enough?”

You fell quiet for a moment. “I just wish you could spend more time with me. That’s all I want.”

“I spend every moment I have free with you.”

“Why don’t you give yourself more days off? You’re the boss.”

“That’s not how it works.” This isn’t how relationships work, Irene thought. We’re both in totally different worlds. Why did I ever think this would work?

“Why not?”

“Because I have to run the place. If I slacked off all the time, what kind of boss would I be?”

“I don’t know what kind of boss you would be, but you might be a better girlfriend.”

In that moment, Irene’s world fell down around her, and she accepted the truth. She accepted that this was never going to work. That she was never going to be able to give you what you needed in a relationship, and that you would never understand her world and the stress of it all. It took everything in her and made the tears spill from her eyes, but she finally forced the words out. “Then let’s break up.”

You froze, your eyes widening. Emotions flew across your face as you took in her words, before your shoulders slumped and the anger in your frown melted away. “Wait, Irene, what-.”

“We need to break up. This isn’t going to work between us, (Y/N), and it never has. I love you, I really do. But we can’t give each other what we need. We live in different worlds and we can’t understand each other. If we continue like this we’ll only end up hurting each other more. So let’s break up before that happens.”

Your lip started to quiver and Irene looked away, wiping at her face. She knew that if she saw you cry, she might give in. And she couldn’t give in.

“But.... I didn’t....” You seemed at a loss for words, as if you thought she would never say those words. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure she would ever say them either. “I never meant to hurt you,” you said, voice softer now.

“But you did. And I never meant to hurt you, but I did. We can’t continue like this, with you having to hide me from your friends and family because you don’t know what they’ll think, and with me having to hide you from the people I work with. I’m tired, and I’m sure you are too. It’s all too much.”

“I don’t want to break up with you. I love you.”

“I love you too. But surely you see why we can’t keep doing this.” She glanced up to see that you were crying now too, the anger gone from your body. “I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice broke. “But I’m breaking up with you for our own good.”

“Even though we still love each other?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, staring down at the floor. For a moment, there was silence, other than the sound of crying. Then you sucked in a breath and shifted, standing from the counter.

“When I graduate and get a job, will you give me another chance then?”

Her heart ached to say yes as she looked up at you again, taking in your face for what she knew was the last time. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t know what the future will hold. But maybe if we’re meant to be, then we’ll meet again in the future. And maybe we can try again.”

“Then this is goodbye.” You stood across from her, your face streaked with tears, and suddenly the kitchen felt too big, and she felt too small. “Can I at least have one last hug.”

She had never been strong enough to tell you no. Despite knowing this would make it hurt worse, she nodded her head and allowed you to walk over and wrap her up in your arms one last time, hugging her like your life depended on it. For a moment, she sank into your arms and allowed herself to imagine a future where everything was okay and the two of you never broke up.

But then you pulled away, yanking her from her fantasy, and smiled. “I’m glad I met you,” you said, and she barely held in a sob, wiping at her face and feeling pathetic.

“I’m glad I met you too.”

She walked you to the door, helped you gather all your things, and saw you out. It was only when you were gone and the door was closed that she finally allowed herself to sob, her heart shattering as she sunk down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands.

Her apartment had never felt so cold.

-

Even years later, Irene had never forgotten about you, not really. Even though she’d tried to convince herself that she was okay, the suit she’d lent to you that day still hung at the front of her closet, and she often ran her fingers over the fabric and tried it on, only to look in the mirror and remember that it never fit in the first place. She went on a few dates that her friends set up for her, but no one ever took your place. Her bed stayed cold and empty, so instead she threw herself into her work, pushing her company further than it had ever been.

That was what she’d always wanted, right?

Her days all blended together, boring and bland and busy, until one day she sat down behind her desk and opened up a file of resumes only to see a name that knocked the breath out of her staring out of the paper.

(Y/N). Applying for the recently vacated secretary position, passed the test and first round of evaluations. She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Was it really you? After all these years?

She picked up her coffee and took a sip, trying to calm her shaking hands and push down the hope flooding through her body. If it was you....

There was a knock at her door and she quickly put down her coffee and straightened herself. “Yes?”

Joy, the HR manager, opened the door. “One of the applicants for the secretary position is here.”

“What’s their name?”

“Her name is (Y/N).”

Her heart climbed up into her throat but she put on her best poker face and nodded her head. “Send her in.”

Joy nodded and disappeared, and a moment later, the door was opened again by a familiar face with a warm smile that once again took her breath away. Just like it had years ago.

“Remember me?” You asked as you approached her desk, and she laughed. Like she could forget you. You were obviously older now, your features more defined, and you’d cut your hair, but you were still just as beautiful as she remembered.

“I thought it was you.” She wasn’t sure what to say as she leaned forward onto her desk, your file open in front of you. “But I never thought I’d see you here.”

You sat down and clasped your hands, and she caught a hint of nervousness in your mannerisms. “I didn’t want to let you go,” you said, your voice soft but steady, “so I worked hard to get my degree so I could come here. Will you give me a chance?”

“For the job, or for us?” Irene wasn’t sure what possessed her to make a joke, but when you laughed, she was glad she did.

“Both?”

“Well,” she replied, knowing that she still couldn’t say no to you, “we still have to do the interview. But I can say yes to one of those for sure.” At her words, you laughed again and held out your hand, and as she took it, she swore that her office had never felt so warm.

[steves-on-a-plane]

Yesterday Came Suddenly

Words: 1320 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Request: “Hi! I really love your blog. I was wondering about reader x Bucky. Maybe she is very very pregnant in this COVID situation so he is very worried about her (in NYC). Thank you so much.” -Anon Summary: Reader is very far long in her pregnancy. She and her husband Bucky are using their time in quarantine to finally fix up the nursery for the baby. When it comes time to build the crib, Reader finds Bucky is spaced out and not listening to her. This leads to a heartfelt discussion between the two about the current state of the world. 

“Buck? Bucky? James?” You hurled a stuffed animal at your husband. You’d been trying to get his attention for the past few minutes, but he had totally spaced out. Being hit in the head with a plush giraffe roused him from whatever trance he’d been under.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” He asked blinking up at you. He picked up the giraffe that had fallen into his lap and cradled it in his arms like a baby.

“Well, I was asking you for help with building this crib because I can’t read Swedish.” You handed him the instructions for the crib. “But now I want to know where you just were.” You caressed his cheek gently with the back of your hand. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized. “I was just thinking.” He put the giraffe down and stood up from the rocking chair he’d been sitting in. He held the instruction booklet for the crib between his two hands.  

“Buck, Honey, what were you thinking about?” You asked him.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said, kissing you. “Let’s get our Swedish crib build on.” He waved the instruction pamphlet at you incitingly.

“James Barnes,” You sighed. “We are about to bring a new human into this family and into the world. In order to successfully raise said tiny human, we have to openly communicate with each other. Don’t make me call in reinforcements.”

“Hang on.” Bucky snorted. He looked up from the mess of crib parts on the floor. “Do you think that I’m going to listen to a lecture about the importance of communication from Rogers?”

“I don’t know!” You tossed your hands up in frustration. You walked over to the rocking chair that had previously been occupied by your husband and sat down. You held the giraffe in one hand and rubbed your stomach with the other. “You don’t ever want to talk me and I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Oh [Y/N],” Bucky let the instruction pamphlet fall to the ground. He crouched down next to the rocking chair so that he could look you in the eyes. “The truth is I’m scared as hell. Not that we won’t be good parents. I know we’ll be great parents. I’m scared to bring a kid into the world.”

“You don’t think that I’m scared?” You laughed and looked away from him.

“Of course, I know you’re scared, Babe.” He reached out and held your free hand with both of his. That’s why I’ve been trying not to let you see how I was feeling. I don’t want to scare you more. I mean you’ve got to understand 2020 is not the future they promised us in ’43. No one call afford to live anywhere. College, which is something almost everyone needs to get a job these days, is prohibiting expensive. Not to mention the fact that we don’t teach kids actual life skills anymore. There’s Nazi’s again! And don’t get me started on the fact that no one is safe unless they’re an old white dude and trust me I understand the irony of that statement coming from me your husband who actually a hundred years old.” He paused to take a deep breath before continuing. It seemed that now that he had opened the flood gates of his emotions, he wasn’t going to be able to stop until he aired all of his grievances.

“And on top of all of that there is this terrifying pandemic out there that people are treating like a joke! I mean I’ve seen protest signs that say things like ‘give me Liberty or give me COVID-19.’ I just don’t understand it.” Bucky got to his feet and started pacing the room. “You know, the news doesn’t help either! Every one of them is so wrapped up in their own agenda…You know I remember when Roosevelt was President! People were angry when they found out the papers had been hiding how bad his polio was, and now? The Onionposts a joke article about I don’t know, Trumps is the Best President Ever According to Poles and next thing you know everyone’s Great Aunt Edna is sharing it on Facebook with some caption like, ‘Our only hope 2020.’”

“I don’t have a Great Aunt Edna.” You commented, trying to make him crack a smile. It didn’t work.

“How can you make jokes about this?” He asked burying his face in his hands. You struggled a little but managed to get up out of the rocking chair. You walked over to your husband and wrapped your arms around him. Bucky moved his hands away from his face and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Buck, the world is a scary place.”  You agreed with him. “and we can’t make it any better if we don’t talk about how scary, unsafe and unfair it is. Not just to each other but to our friends and family too. Remember my mom didn’t understand why I wouldn’t let her come visit or why we canceled our baby shower in the middle of all of this until I explained to her how dangerous it could be for me and the baby if we were to get sick. I had to teach her about being A-symptomatic and that someone could make other people sick even if they didn’t have symptoms.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Now she makes your dad pay to have groceries delivered and she made you teach her how to use Facetime, but that was a small change.”

“Small changes can have a big impact.” You disagreed with him. “Remember when Steve asked Sam and Rhodey if they would lead that seminar to educate the team on the Black Lives Matter movement? At first you went into it fully supporting All Lives Matter, but once everyone shared their stories and you realized how that was actually a really damaging countermovement you changed your opinion. All you needed was someone to educate you.”

“But people like your mother and me we just want to do what’s right by the people that we love. There are people out there who just want to watch the world burn. They want to tear the people around them down out of some bullshit superiority complex.”

“I know that it doesn’t seem like it, but the fact that you’re this angry, this upset is a good thing because it means that you care. Not just about yourself or our family. You genuinely care about making the world a better place. And I love that about you and you have to promise me that you’re never going to lose that part of you, no matter how scary things are or how hard change can be. Things only get better when there are people fighting.” You moved his hands from your back so that he was holding your stomach. “Now whoever’s in there, deserves a better world than the one they’re being born into. But we can make it better for them and we can make it better with them.”

“We could move to Canada.” He suggested.

“Now who’s making jokes?” You sighed.

“You’re right.” He nodded kissing you. “You’re French is terrible.”

“Excusez-moi mon français est exceptionnel!” You gasped.

“Sure, it is.” He laughed. “I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you. I just thought I might make you more stressed, if I told you how I was feeling.”

“The only way we’re ever going to make it through this nightmare scape of a world is if we talk to each other about how we’re feeling.” You told him. “Besides, I’m married to you, I’m a lot more resilient that you give me credit for.”

“Ha, ha.” He rolled his eyes. “I love you.” He announced before going in for another kiss.

“I love you too.” You vowed as your lips were inches apart.

[cynicalwonders]

Support

Day 15

@marinettemarch

"Good afternoon, Marinette," smiled Dr. Renaud.

The young girl gave a weak smile as she took a seat on the plush green loveseat. The waif-like brunette took a seat opposite side of her on a matching fauteuil chair, a clipboard resting on her thighs.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Renaud," Marinette responded back.

"How's your day been?" she asked.

Marinette shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"You know nothing you say will go beyond these walls," reiterated Dr. Renaud. "Not even your parents will know. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Silences echoed in the room before Marinette let out a sigh. "It's…just another one of those days."

"Trouble at school?" the elder woman guessed.

"Yeah," Marinette rubbed her arm. "I've taken up your advice and pretty much given up on exposing Li…I mean the new girl about lying. It's not worth the heartache and pain when no one believes you."

"You seem upset about it."

"I just don't want to see everyone get hurt when the truth comes out," Marinette stared at the ground. "Seeing how hopeful and exciting they all are about meeting all these famous peoples and getting these supposed ‘favors' for them done in the future…it's going to crush them."

"But it shouldn't be your responsibility to save everyone," Dr. Renaud replied.

‘Easy for you to say,' Marinette thought bitterly. ‘You're not Ladybug and having the weight of the world on your shoulders when your just 14.'

Nearly a month after Lila joined the class, Marinette's normally cheery, happy-go-lucky nature has taken a drastic drop. So much so that her parents recommended her seeing a therapist: Dr. Laura Renaud, a family friend, and highly acclimated child psychologist. At first, Marinette fought against it, trying to say she wasn't crazy but really didn't want anyone to know. So they compromised, Marinette will see Dr. Renaud but at her home, telling friends that she was helping a friend of the family with housekeeping.

Laura Renaud was a kind, patient woman, much like her teacher, M. Bustier, but was firm in her opinions and had a type of no-nonsense attitude for certain situations. Such as her thoughts on bullying and lying, openly stating that Marinette's instructor was far too lenient on bullying and that her actions about love and understanding were utterly useless if the bully continuously got a free pass because of said bully's ‘bad home life.' It shocked the pigtailed girl, but it strangely comforted her knowing that someone out there agreed with her on that point.

Thus the meetings continued and Marinette found an odd support structure with Dr. Renaud who she could air out her grievances – most of them anyway – and find sensible advice from. Though she couldn't talk about her side-activity as Ladybug, her school life was free game. Dr. Renaud had actually talked her into abandoning her previous task of exposing Lila.

"It's not your duty to open unwilling people's eyes," she stated. "I know it seems counterintuitive, but from what you've told me it seems like your ‘friends' don't wish to listen to you or accept what you have to say. They are very much blinded by the tales and excitement of the lies and are actively avoid anything that could contradict their views. People like these will only drag you down and fight against you at every turn. That's what brought you here in the first place. It may be time to just let it go."

"And what? Let my friends become this girl's puppets?" Marinette shouted. "That I should let them be manipulated, used and abused like that?! I can't just abandon them!"

"Like they abandon you?"

Marinette bit her lips. She didn't want to break down crying.

But Dr. Renaud sensed her sadness and got up to hug her. "It's hard when a friend turns their back on you. It crushes your heart and makes you feel as if part of your world has shattered. And – sometimes – you can reach out to them again, help them and fix them. But other times…it's best to let go."

"But…I have to save them…they're my friends," Marinette croaked out.

"You can't keep setting yourself on fire to keep others warm," Dr. Renaud said. "You'll only destroy yourself in the process."

And so, Marinette took her advice.

She stopped trying to expose Lila. In fact, she avoided being near the girl at all time. Class was tricky but she refused any interaction with her. It was difficult watching the Italian girl manipulate her friends. It got worse as her friends tried desperately to get her to interact with Lila, trying to force her to make friends with her.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to fight.

She wanted to shake some senses into her classmate and scream ‘Lila is a goddamn liar!’

But she didn't.

Instead, politely excused herself and left.

Marinette felt her heart break when Alya said she was being ridiculous and overly petty.

"Marinette," Dr. Renaud's voice snapped her back into the present. "Do you know why I told her to give up on exposing the girl?"

"No, not really." Thinking back now, she should have asked.

"Everyone goes through life lessons during their time," the woman explained. "Most of those lessons are taught via experience through mistakes we've made in our life. When I was younger, I made many stupid mistakes and went through my teenage rebellion phase."

"One of my stupidest mistakes was repeatedly sneaking out after dark without my parent's knowledge. One of those events almost cost me my life. I won't go into detail but – in short – I learned how stupid I really was and became wiser."

"So…what you're saying is that this is a lesson?" Marinette questioned. "For me?"

"No, not for you. Your friends."

Marinette frowned.

"It's a harsh lesson, but a valuable lesson. And one they cannot learn if someone is always there is cushion the fall."

"But I'll be letting them down…"

"No, you won't. You warned them. Multiple times. And they refused to listen. When the truth comes out, they'll have no one to blame but themselves."

"But they'll blame me."

"If they blame you for something your consistently warned them time and time again, then – sad to say – they weren't much of your friends to begin with."

Marinette wrapped her arms around herself. Dr. Renaud got up, took a seat next to Marinette and hugged her.

"I know it's hard," Dr. Renaud stated in a soothing tone. "You're a caring and giving girl. When you love, you love with your entire heart. And you don't want to give up on anyone, always giving people second chances, even to those that don't deserve it. But you have to learn when it's best to hold on and to let go. And even though it hurts, letting go may be your best choice. Better to be alone and free than surrounded by toxicity and be forced to be someone you're not."

"But I'm not alone. Someone knows about her lies."

"And have they've been there for you?"

"…no."

"You're not a superhero, Marinette."

‘Yes, I am.'

"You cannot save everyone."

‘I have to.'

"You're only 14. A child."

‘A child tasked with saving all of Paris.'

"You shouldn't put this burden on yourself."

‘I never asked for this!'

"You need to know when it's best to let go."

‘I can't let go! I can't fail anyone!'

"The more you hang on, the sicker you become."

‘I have no choice! It's my duty!'

"And sooner or later, you'll lose yourself."

‘As long as Paris is safe.'

"And if you lose yourself, then what will happen?"

"…I don't know.”

Some more ML angst. Yay...

[misfxts]

Oblivion || Ichisada & Miyamoto Drabble

*Warning for sensitive material *Read [Black Hole] [Fresh Bruises] [Precious Things] [Hitting Home] [Last Day] [To Be Loved] [Party Favors] [Supernova] [A Special Place]

It was a dream, but unlike any dream Ichisada had ever had in her life. Everyone’s had a dream that was chock-full of surrealism, sure. But she had never had anything like this before.

The dream began with Ichisada floating in endless space. Then, just as she registered that she floated in this void-- it would become an endless galaxy instead. 

Ichisada then began to glide on her back through this endless galaxy. It felt like she was floating through the cleanest river. It enveloped her, made her feel safe and secure. It was calming. 

...But that was about as far as Ichisada could go with that dream when it happened over the past few months. But it was the same dream, and it went the exact same way. She never cared much about the symbolism in dreams.. but for once, she was truly curious on what her subconscious was trying to tell her. 

Not that she had the time to dive deep into dream books, with all the things she had going on. The dream’s meaning was the least of her worries.

The dream happened again a few days after she had settled herself in that special place. This time though, as Ichisada floated down the endless space-- Ichisada noticed how the galaxy seemed different somehow. She eventually deduced that it was forming to vaguely resemble the end of a waterfall a few meters away.  She dared not wake up here, what if she were to restart the dream and be floating through all over again?

A breath as Ichisada felt her body tilt and fall headfirst... into nothing. She was going faster than she thought, it felt like she was about to crash into planet earth like a meteor. She almost wanted to wake up, but she had to see this through to the end.

Faster and faster, until it felt like her body was being stretched out across space and time from the sheer velocity.. And then she stopped, and she was floating again.

As she floated in place for the second time in that dream. Something was different, something was happening that didn’t happen before.

Ichisada's body was becoming the galaxy. The beautiful stars she had been staring at throughout the dream were slowly becoming her. She watched as her feet slowly absorbed her surroundings and how it would eventually fill her entire body-- she was indistinguishable from her surroundings, save for the fact that her hair and outlines of her body became a luminescent white.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Ichisada’s body returned to normal.

And suddenly she understood.

“...Take me to him.”

----

The portal cracks open and Ichisada steps through, looking at her surroundings. The room was dark, but with the shapes and what little light was available, it was very clear that this was a hospital room.

More specifically, Miyamoto’s room.

Miyamoto laid in his bed, his hand and other parts of his body heavily bandaged. He was sound asleep, as he didn’t seem to wake up at the sound of the portal opening directly in his room.

Ichisada wondered how the paramedic’s felt upon arriving at the scene; with the home nearly completely frozen over, the state of the dead bodies, and how Miyamoto in particular looked... they got more than they bargained for with this call, that was for certain.

Ichisada approached Miyamoto and sat on the corner of the bed.

“...Atsushi..” Ichisada would call softly, nudging him. “Atsushi....Atsushi....Atsushi. Wake up.”

Eventually, Miyamoto would stir in his sleep, eventually waking up. Blinking slowly as he registered that Ichisada was in the room with him.

“...What do you want now, my Star?” Miyamoto tilted his head. “You’ve gotten rid of me, just like you and your friends wanted, so.. why are you here?”

“Yeah, I’m rid of you, sure.” Ichisada nodded. “But I’m not done yet. I have a bone to pick with you...airing of grievances before I really say goodbye you know? You’ve been a big part of my life... I can’t just... forget all of that with a snap of my fingers.. as much as I want too.”

“Well, I--”

“No.” Ichisada growled. “You’re going to sit there and listen to me for once in your goddamn life. If I hear so much as a peep out of you, I’m stabbing my fingers into your hand so the only peep coming out of you is you crying in pain. Do I make myself fucking clear, Atsushi?”

Miyamoto doesn’t respond.

“Good.” Ichisada shifted in her spot. “There’s... there’s so much I want to say... I’m gonna spare you the nights of covering up what you did to my body with makeup, the crying, the humiliation of being beaten by someone I thought I could trust... again..”

A pause.

“..You know what I’ve been wondering? How would Uncle feel about all of this? He trusted that you’d take care of me, and look what you’ve done. Repeated the same things that he thought he saved me from. Did you ever care about me? D-did you ever care about your friendship with Uncle? Or was he just another commodity?”

“Of course I did. I lo--”

“Not. A. Fucking. Peep.” Ichisada shushed him. “You don’t love me. This shit isn’t love. You love me as a product, an object to increase your profit margins. You don’t love me as a person or an equal-- you know, like how actual fucking love should be. You don’t love me, I don’t think you have ever been capable of love. I mean, you’re divorced for a reason right?”

Miyamoto opens his mouth to speak, and Ichisada’s hand darts out to firmly grip his hand-- nails digging through the bandage. Within a few moments Miyamoto was beginning to writhe in pain.

“You could have loved me like a normal fucking person. You could have loved me like a daughter and supported me like you tell me over and over again, so Uncle would be able to sleep in peace in the afterlife. But no-- you just had to become obsessed with me and ruin everything! You had to become drunk with power and try and keep me in a convenient little fucking box! You-- you just had to take advantage of a scared little 14-year-old girl, and make her blindly trust you! With the hope that one day when she was of legal age she’d wake up and become a cum-dumpster for all your friends without batting a fucking eye!!”

Ichisada face was red as she screamed her piece at Miyamoto. Taking a moment to breathe and calm down. Removing her hand.

“It didn’t work... you can’t put people in boxes, and people aren’t property. I’m disappointed in myself for not realizing sooner, that our relationship was fucked up.”

Another pause.

“...You were right about a few things. I do want to be loved, I do latch myself to stronger people because I think they can make me feel better about myself and how pathetically weak I actually am. I won’t deny that you almost had me-- I almost went back to you, but I didn’t. Because I had friends that cared about me, that actually loved me. Real, honest love. And they’d kick my ass real good if they realized I went back to you. ”

A breath.

“So. I’m gonna go and be with my friends-- and my boss who doesn’t beat me when I fuck up or I don’t do something that’s to his liking. And I’m gonna move on from this, move on from you. And-- and it really sucks for you Atsushi. ‘Cause I’m really gonna grow now, and you don’t get to see any of it. Because I’m actually pretty cool after you take me out of the box...and.. well.. after I leave, someone’s coming to kill you.”

“..What?”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know that.” Ichisada laughed. “I got some ah... interesting abilities now. Because of that special place. It told me things, about your timeline here with me... after I leave, someone from your organization-- a hitman-- will come in here, and stick a needle into your IV with enough poison he made to kill you... Guess your fuck up with me was the tipping point for your superiors... your services to them are no longer required. A real shame too, you were one of the good ones, as I understand.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not! For once in the past five months-- I’m not bullshitting you. Someone’s really coming to kill you... but sure, go on not believing me.. won’t change the fact that once you go to sleep, you aren’t gonna wake up again.”

Miyamoto blinked.

“Honestly, I would have been more than happy to learn about your death in the newspaper.. but the special place of mine told me before it was going to happen... and... well..”

Ichisada leaned in close, so that Miyamoto could only see her face. There was a dark expression. But her eyes changed from the grey that they were into what could only be described as static. Her face was cracking, particularly around her eyes. A galaxy of starts poured through those seams and glowed brightly.

“I just couldn’t help but stop in, to make sure I was the last thing you saw before you die..~ That’s all~”

Miyamoto’s eyes widened at the sight. 

“..Ah.. are you finally scared..? Shaking in your boots..? Good~..” Ichisada tilted her head, her voice sounding distorted. “Now you know how I felt these past few months. Except I’m not going to die afraid.. you are.”

Miyamoto’s heart rate began to rise.

“Don’t even bother trying to cause a ruckus, that’ll just make the assassin’s job soo much easier if you get moved somewhere else... It’s better if you just enjoy the last few moments of calm.”

Ichisada shook her head, and the strange things on her face seemed to have disappeared. She stood up and walked to the other side of the room. With the click of her heel, the portal cracked open again.

“...Goodbye Atsushi.”

Ichisada steps through the portal and it closes, leaving Miyamoto to his own devices.

Now back inside the special place. Ichisada slides down against the wall. Breathing heavily. All those emotions that she barely contained in front of Miyamoto were spilling out here. Somewhere where she felt safe.

She knows that is the last time she’ll ever see Atsushi again, she knows that he’s going to die very very soon.

She’s actually, finally, and truly free.

So, Ichisada wept in the dark comfort of that special place. Mourning the stolen years working under him, mourning for that little 14-year-old who blindly trusted him. Morning any last semblance of a normal relationship they could have had together.

Through finally letting all of these bottled up emotions out. She would begin to heal. Ichisada will get better. She will grow.

She has too.

[ernmark]

Does Rita actively try to help Juno through his depression and intrusive thoughts? If so could you please show us some instances where she does?

She definitely tries to make an effort at it.

We don’t see it much in Season 1, in part because we don’t see all that much of Rita in general, and in part because Juno’s depression isn’t quite as major of a theme, and partly because Juno’s got something that he’s actively working toward during the entire season that keeps him too busy to get too preoccupied inside his own head.

In Season 2, though, he’s so much worse than he was before. 

RITA: Boss, you been different since your eye blew up, realdifferent— You’re cranky all the time now! I mean, you were always cranky, but thisis different! (Kitty-Cat Caper)

And right away there’s evidence that she’s tried to help him through it, spinning a pretty horrific physical mutilation into something more lighthearted and at least somewhat positive:

RITA: ...you justshowed up with an eyepatch one day and after I was so worried about you cuz youdisappeared but you said it was okay so I thought okay maybe we can dress upand buy a little beakmonkey like all the pirates get in the movies— 

Rita’s been giving him his time and space for six months without pushing him for an explanation or even to act beyond his capabilities. And that’s her trying to help him with his depression.

And this scene itself? When he gets physically violent and smashes her stuff, she doesn’t cower-- she calls him on his bullshit and holds him accountable, and that also is her helping him through it. 

And she is holding him accountable, not rubbing his face in it. She’s calling him out because she’s hurt, but also because she cares. And she’s not blaming him for not trying hard enough or whatever. She understands that there are extenuating circumstances. She’s not taking it personally, which is... just so very nice, I gotta say. 

JUNO: Rita…It’sjust a dry spell. That’s all.

RITA: That’s theproblem, Boss. You always get like this when you don’t have a case.

And once he concedes, she forgives him and immediately suggests that he get some sleep, and offers to help him get back on his feet.

JUNO: I…yeah, sure. I guess.

RITA: Well, I’m gladyou seen the error of your ways. Now go take a little nap in your office andI’ll call you just as soon as the next case comes through the door.

When he’s anxious about his abilities, she builds him up and encourages him:

RITA: Boss, you can do it! I know you can do it! You’re Juno Steel, remember? The winner of the HCPD’s Sharpshootin’ contest three years in a row!

When he’s caught in a spiral, she tries to help him logic his way out of it:

JUNO: Hey, Rita?Cancel that order for a new case. I’m feeling under the weather today.

RITA: What! But MistaSteel, you can’t! You gotta take a new case! You gotta helppeople!

JUNO: They don’twant the kind of help they’d get from me, Rita. I haven’t done anything goodfor anyone in months.

RITA: Of course youhave! You got Mick outta all that trouble with that shark!

JUNO: Thatwas a loan shark, Rita. I paid him.

RITA: Well,you got Cassandra Kanagawa off Mars, didn’t you?

JUNO: Thatwas you.

RITA: Well, it wasyour idea! And… and… hey, because of you, Billie Navarro is dead!

JUNO: That’ssupposed to make me feel better?

RITA: She was a realmean lady, Mista Steel. I’m sure it makes… someone feel better?

And again at the end of the episode:

RITA: Hey…what’s the matter, Boss?

JUNO: Nothingyou can fix.

RITA: But… we won!It was just the case you were waitin’ for, exciting and life-threatening, andit even ended with some real nice fireworks! It’s everything you coulda askedfor, and Ms. King is safe now, ain’t she?

JUNO: I’llsee you tomorrow, Rita.

RITA: Well… alright,Mista Steel. You’ll feel better after you sleep a little. You gotta. I know youwill.

Notice how it just doesn’t get any footholds?

We keep seeing her do this stuff throughout the season, but it never really takes, does it?

She’s not the only one who does this stuff, either. Mick and Peter are also pretty awesome at being supportive of their depressed little lady, but more often than not it doesn’t land. When they offer him space, when they offer him positivity, when they offer him solidarity, when they offer him reality-- sometimes they can derail his spirals, but there’s only so much that they can really do to help him.

And that comes back to a sad reality that’s talked about at the end of the season:

But it never worked -- none of the people he'd ever helped had stayed helped -- because you can't force someone else into it. Because getting better's always on you. It has to be. And that doesn't mean you're alone, doesn't mean you can't lean on others when you get tired or ask for directions when you get lost, but... Getting better's a long road. And if you want to go down it, you have to start walking. (Man of the Future)

Juno has to make that decision over and over again: in the FreeDomer’s compound, in the desert, in the Cerberus Province, and inside his own head. 

And after he’s made that decision, Rita keeps doing the exact same stuff she’s been doing, but for the very first time he’s actually responding to it.

When she calls him out (via the THEIA bot) for leaving her behind, he realizes and acknowledges his wrongdoing and apologizes. 

THEIA: Cuz maybe then she should disappear for weeks instead. Not say anything. Cuz that would definitely make you less worried. And not way more worried. Ain't that right. Boss?JUNO: Oh. I… What did I do? Rita, I’m… sorry. I’m so, so sorry. (Long Way Home)

And just like before, after she’s aired her grievances, she hugs him and forgives him. 

JUNO: I... Uh... I'm sorry, Rita. I'm just... So sorry. It won't happen again... Rita?

SOUND: RITA TACKLE-HUGS HIM.

RITA: I missed you, Boss. I was real worried.

JUNO: I know. I hear you. For once. And I missed you too, Rita. Really.

And when he does misstep, she reassures him that she’s still on his side, even after he’s been called out.

RITA: And besides, Boss...(SHE HUGS HIM)JUNO: (GETS HUGGED)RITA:I ain't goin' nowhere. (Man of the Future)

And she keeps calling him out. 

RITA: Mista Steel, how come you're bein' so mean to your second-best friend!JUNO: Because he's a chump, Rita. I always knew he was a chump but it's still disappointing to find out just how true that is.RITA: Oh, come on, Boss--JUNO: You "oh come on!" Sorry. I'm just... disappointed. I really thought that he'd have the answer, or at least that... Ramses wouldn't sucker him, too. Like he did me.RITA: Aw, Boss...JUNO: Either way, I don't think Mercury's gonna help us with this one. And we only have... Twenty-one hours left. We've gotta keep moving.RITA: But first...?JUNO: "But first" nothing! All of Oldtown, hell, probably all of Hyperion's on the line, and you want to "but first" about my loser friend? No! Hell no! ...Yeah, wow, that sounded pretty bad, huh?RITA: Mmmhmm.JUNO: I should probably just... apologize. 

I’d like to point out here that she’s not being mean or nitpicky here-- she’s helping him not be an asshole and push his loved ones away. She’s recognizing that this is a behavior pattern that he falls into when he’s scared and self-loathing, but it doesn’t excuse him being cruel to the people around him. 

And because Juno’s in a place where he wants to get better, he’s accepting this as constructive criticism, rather than a personal attack or evidence that he’s a terrible person. 

Rita also acts as a point of calm to ground Juno through his own panic/depression spirals:

JUNO: This is a nightmare… A billion to one chance... oh god damn it, this is a nightmare…!RITA: I can do CPR, Mista Steel. You just tell me when he’s breathin’, okay?

And again:

JUNO: A bad spot! Me? After all the times I've scraped you off the sidewalk, Mercury, you're really gonna stand there and tell me that you were worried I was gonna put you in a bad spot?!RITA: Mista Steel.JUNO: What?RITA: I'm almost there. Okay? It's almost done.JUNO: Right. Right, almost... done. Thanks, Rita.RITA: No problem, Boss.

And again, when he’s starting to voice some intrusive thoughts:

JUNO: I told you I'd change. Hell of a lot that was worth. Maybe the Theia was onto something. One bad choice and all your progress is gone. Maybe the reason it was so terrifying was because it was right.RITA: No, Mista Steel, I think it was probably scary because it brainwashed your best friend and then threw him through a door at you.

Notably, she also helps Mick calm down from a panic spiral:

MICK: Me and...?! What, did I already do something wrong? Ohhhhhh I knew I shouldn’ta switched those two chairs when I moved in! They said this place was gonna be fit to my specifications exactly, and then I came in and saw the chairs and I went, “hey, maybe they’ll look better this way,” and they didn’t! And now they’re gonna kick me out of Newtown, aren’t they?!RITA: No, Mista Mercury. We ain’t gonna kick you out. An’ we can help you move the chairs back if you really want. (Man of the Future)

Also notably, even now, she’s powerless to help Juno if he’s not in a headspace where he is willing to be helped. Which is why she’s ineffective when THEIA Mick gets under Juno’s skin:

MICK: One weak day. That's all I'm saying, Jay. Your punishment for one weak day could be to lose fifteen years of progress. You could go back to feeling how you did after you were booted out of the HCPD. You might feel fine now, but...

RITA: He wouldn't! You don't have to listen to him, Mista Steel, you're better'n that now in a million ways, and I wouldn't letcha anyway, and--

And again here:

MICK: Puck Falco, that's right. Where are they now?

JUNO: I don't know. We... fell out of touch.

MICK: Heard that one before, am I right?

RITA: Mista Steel, this is all wrong! Diamond was gone before you left the HCPD and Detective Falco just transferred to another planet and--

I’ve gotta say, she’s really good at handling him when he lets her. I suspect that she’s developed a lot of these skills over the course of fifteen years being his friend, and this latest dark period is largely her exercising every skill she’s got in her arsenal to try and help him. 

[thecorpulentbeagle]

Okujima Week 2019: AU of Choice

This story took me the longest to think up. AU stories are fun because they can literally go in any direction, but that’s also what makes them so difficult to write. I went back and forth for a while, but I eventually settled on having the two of them in the Pokémon universe, because I love Pokémon!

Technically, there are multiple universes within the Pokémon universe (ie Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire), but there isn’t really a set universe or time period this story is set in, though if you have played Gold or Silver (or Heart Gold or Soul Silver), you might recognize one part of this plot. It’s mostly so I can have my two favorite characters have Pokémon!

Plus, I hope you like the pun I used for the title of the story. It should become apparent as you read it.

Here is the fanfiction.net link.

Please enjoy this next part of the Okujima Week 2019 Challenge!

Okujima Week 2019 Challenge:

Ship:

AU of Choice

-Makoto-

There was a cool and crisp breeze that passed by as the S.S. Aqua began its departure from Vermillion City’s port. Wingulls cawed as the ship set sail, and the sun was high in the sky, indicating that it was around midday.

Makoto Niijima was currently standing on the deck, a few feet back from the railing. She looked out at the open expanse of sea stretched out in front of her, and took a deep breath. Being that she was stationed in the city of Goldenrod meant that there were rare opportunities for her to take in air that wasn’t somewhat polluted, so she truly appreciated these moments.

A bark to her right caused her to look to her side. As always, there stood her trusty Growlithe, Johanna, who seemed to be smiling up at her. She grinned back, bending down to pat her head lightly. “Good girl.”

The dog Pokémon nuzzled her head into her palm, desiring more attention from the young woman. Makoto couldn’t help but oblige. Since the two weren’t technically on duty at the moment, Makoto could afford to let her guard down slightly and shed her professional image. To all the world, the sight of the Trainer and Pokémon seemed more like traveling buddies, rather than a police officer and her highly-skilled companion.

After a few minutes, Johanna seemed to have her fill of attention, and she curled up next to Makoto’s feet, laying her head down on her paws. It seemed like the Pokémon was going to take a nap.

Makoto couldn’t blame her. The two had just ended a week-long manhunt the day before yesterday, and they were exhausted. The criminal had stolen a part from the Kanto Power Plant, and had travelled across said region attempting to escape capture.

It had seemed that the man had no plans other than to disrupt the daily life of those in the area, but he had been difficult to catch. Fortunately, Makoto’s sister Sae lived in Celadon City and had led the hunt for him. She’d called in forces from both Kanto and Johto for assistance, and, seeing as Sae was her sister, Makoto had requested to be sent to help her out.

When he was finally captured, he had given in rather easily and without a fight. It seemed that he was a remnant of Team Rocket, the team that had been disbanded a few years prior. They still cropped up from time to time, but ever since their leader had abandoned them, they could never quite recover the strength and influence they had once had.

Makoto and her Growlithe had stayed with Sae for a day to recuperate, but the two were now headed home. Sae had let her know that, because of the delay in services of the Magnet Train from Saffron City to Goldenrod City due to the power outage, there were huge lines and she would therefore not be able to return home that way for the next few days.

However, there was space on the S.S. Aqua, and Makoto preferred to travel this way anyway. Plus, she would have to take a day to travel from Olivine City back to her home, so she’d have a plausible excuse for a day off.

She turned her head towards the sunlight and closed her eyes, loving the feeling of warmth on her skin. It would take a couple hours to reach Olivine, and Makoto decided to relax as much as she could in the meantime.

She remained this way for a few minutes before registering something over the caws of the seagull Pokémon.

A very heavy and very weary sigh.

Makoto turned her head to the side to see a young woman to her left, currently leaning on the railing and looking as exhausted as Makoto felt. She also seemed somewhat troubled.

The officer looked down at Johanna. Though her eyes were closed, her ear was perked up in the direction of the other woman, and it seemed that she had heard her as well.

Makoto decided that she should go over and offer this woman support. Even though she was off duty, a police officer was still responsible to ensure the safety and happiness of citizens. Plus, she figured it could be a way to pass the time without accidently falling asleep and tumbling overboard.

She clicked her tongue at Johanna, who instantly jumped up and looked at her with an alert expression. Makoto nodded and tilted her head towards the woman, who still seemed to not have noticed the attention she had drawn. Johanna gave a short bark and trotted over, Makoto walking next to her.

Stopping a few feet away, Makoto spoke in a low and quiet tone to avoid scaring the woman. “Excuse me, miss?”

The woman turned her head sharply, which caused the soft brown curls of her hair to bounce slightly. She appeared to give Makoto a quick once-over before meeting her eyes and giving a polite smile. “Yes?”

Makoto gave a warm smile, wanting to make sure this woman was comfortable. She’d been told in the past that her demeanor was quite severe, and Makoto had therefore perfected this smile to put others at ease. It seemed to work.

“I couldn’t help but notice you seemed somewhat troubled. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Makoto wasn’t sure, but the other woman seemed embarrassed. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to broadcast her feelings quite so publicly. Makoto could understand that.

“That’s very kind of you, but I am fine, I assure you.” Her smile continued to remain polite, and it didn’t look like it was very sincere.

“Pardon me for prying, but it seems that you are the opposite of fine.” Makoto looked at the other woman’s body language. Her arms were still crossed on the railing, and her hands seemed to be clutched in fists. Perhaps she was a shy person and didn’t like talking to strangers, but the way her words were measured indicated that she was someone who was in a profession that required speaking to many people.

The woman smiled wryly. “It’s fine. I appreciate the concern.” She looked down and noticed the Growlithe next to Makoto. “Ah! What a cutie!” Her eyes lit up, and her smile now seemed genuine. She looked back up at Makoto. “May I pet your Growlithe?”

Makoto was glad that at least her partner was able to cheer this woman up. She nodded. “Of course. She’s very friendly.”

Makoto watched as the woman knelt down and lifted a gentle hand up to Growlithe’s nose. The Pokémon slowly sniffed, eventually giving her fingers a lick. She giggled as she pat her head, moving her hand around to scratch behind her ears. “She’s got a lovely temperament. Does she have a name?”

“Johanna,” Makoto replied, grinning as said Pokemon’s tail began to wag in apparent bliss.

“That’s a beautiful name.” The woman gave the Growlithe one last pat before she stood back up, now fully facing the two of them. “Ah, my apologies. I asked your Pokemon’s name before yours, and even before giving you my own.” She held out the hand she had just been using to pet Johanna. “My name is Haru.”

Makoto reached out and gripped Haru’s hand tightly. “Makoto. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Haru.”

“Likewise.” Haru shook her hand once before letting go. She seemed to be in a better mood than before.

“So, Haru. Perhaps you’d like to talk with me for a while?” She indicated the sea outstretched before them. “It’ll be a few hours before we arrive in Olivine.”

Makoto was pleased when Haru nodded, leaning back over the railing. The officer settled in place next to her, with Johanna leaping up on Makoto’s other side. “Watch your balance,” she warned. Johanna simply barked and gave her face a quick lick, which caused her owner to laugh.

Makoto looked over at Haru to see her watching the two of them with mirth. Whatever previous grievances she had been dealing with seemed to have floated away with the tide. When the other woman noticed Makoto staring at her, she blushed slightly and gave a slight cough.

“S-so. What brings you on the S.S. Aqua, Makoto?” Haru inquired.

“I’ve just come back from an operation in Celadon City. I’m returning to Goldenrod now, since that’s where I’m normally stationed.” Though the details of the mission were not exactly classified, Makoto didn’t want to give them out to a woman she had just met.

“I see!” Haru’s eyes widened. Looking at Johanna, she exclaimed, “I should have known that I was talking to a police officer when I saw your Growlithe.” She gave Makoto another once-over. “I’m surprised you’re not in uniform.”

Makoto grinned. “Yes, well, now that I’ve finished what I needed to, I’m on a bit of a vacation of sorts.” A bark caused her to add, “We’re on a vacation.”

“Ah.” Haru nodded her understanding.

“How about you? Are you travelling for business or pleasure?” Now that Makoto was getting into the groove of this conversation, she had to admit she was genuinely curious as to who this woman was and what she was doing.

“Business.” Haru folded her hands together. “I’m actually returning from a meeting in Saffron City.”

“Understood.” Makoto cocked her head at the strange expression Haru was giving her. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Not particularly. Your response just seemed… a little robotic.” She flushed. “I’m sorry, that was a bit rude of me to say…”

Makoto chuckled. It seemed her training was showing through even though she was in “civilian” mode. “No worries. I sometimes can’t help myself.” Seeing that Haru had retreated slightly, she continued in a calmer tone, “What was the meeting about, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Haru gave Makoto a hard look. It seemed like she was thinking deeply about… something.

Sensing her unease, Makoto added, “You certainly don’t have to go into any detail if you don’t want to.”

“No. I… just don’t want to broadcast who I am to the world. But you seem trustworthy, Makoto.” She smiled. “My full name is Haru Okumura.”

Makoto’s eyes widened just as Haru’s had – that name was definitely important. “Okumura? Are you possibly related to Kunikazu Okumura?”

Haru’s expression seemed to sag slightly. “Yes. I’m his daughter.”

Makoto got the feeling that she had been asked about her father many times in her life, which explained her initial reluctance. Internally, she cursed herself for following the same trend. Before she could correct her mistake, Haru continued.

“As you probably know, my father is the VP of Sales at Silph Co. I was attending a meeting at their headquarters in regards to a new product we’ve been testing.” She smiled ruefully. “I work at a branch office in Goldenrod, but this was extremely important, so I had to make the journey all the way to headquarters.”

Makoto tilted her head. “You had to make the journey?”

Haru nodded. “I’m… not on the best terms with my father.” She looked out at the sea. “I love him of course, but he can be rather difficult to get along with. We… disagree on how to run our respective departments. So I’m usually just… tired after meeting with him.”

“I see.” Makoto couldn’t exactly relate. Her father was a police officer, just like herself and her sister, and they were on very good terms. He had stopped by and visited just the other day when Makoto had been relaxing at her sister’s place.

“But it’s nothing, really. The meeting was a success, and we should be able to distribute our new product in the market within the next few months.” Haru turned and looked at Makoto, a small smile on her face.

“May I ask what this mystery product is?” Makoto was genuinely curious.

“You certainly can, but I can’t tell you.” Haru gave a sly grin and winked at her.

Makoto scoffed. Even though she really had no right to the information, Haru’s rebuttal surprised her slightly since she had been so forthcoming. “No?”

Haru’s eyes sparkled. Moving her hand from where it had rested on the railing, she placed it onto one of Makoto’s own. “No offense, Makoto, but I don’t know you well enough to divulge such important information.”

Makoto flushed slightly. Haru seemed to be the touchy-feely type, which Makoto was not accustomed to. But she had to admit, Haru’s warm hand on her own felt… nice. “Well then, perhaps we should get to know each other better.” She surprised herself with how bold she was being.

Haru smiled, almost like Makoto had guessed correctly in a game, or had followed a script that she had devised for the officer. “I’d like that.”

The two looked into each other’s eyes, and Makoto couldn’t help but think how… gentle and kind the other woman’s were. She had initially come over to help Haru feel better, but now Makoto felt a bit more invested.

Haru broke the eye contact and looked over at Johanna, who had witnessed the entire exchange. “How about it, Johanna? Would you mind if I got to know your Trainer better?”

The Growlithe barked, wriggling around as much as was possible on a precarious railing.

“I can introduce you to my Pokémon as well. My Mona-chan would be thrilled to meet you both!”

“And what type of Pokémon is this Mona-chan?” Makoto couldn’t help but think how cute that name was. Almost as cute as the Pokémon’s owner.

“He’s a Meowth, but he gets a little seasick, which is why I don’t have him out now.” Haru used her free hand to fiddle with the Pokéball attached on her belt. “He’s a cat Pokémon, but he’s a huge sweetie and will play with anyone.”

“I look forward to meeting him.” Makoto turned her hand slightly so that she could give Haru’s a squeeze. “And I look forward to getting to know you better.” She smiled.

Haru blushed. “As do I.” She met Makoto’s eyes. “And forgive me if I’m being a bit too forward, but I’d very much like to see you in uniform sometime.”

Makoto coughed, a blush rising up onto her own face. “I-I see. Well then, I’d be happy to oblige.” She gave a mock salute. “Makoto Niijima, at your service.”

“Niijima?” Makoto felt Haru squeeze her hand.

“Yes?” Makoto wasn’t quite sure why her surname had affected the other woman so much.

“The Niijima name is well-known in my family.” She giggled. “This seems a bit too coincidental, but my father had considered hiring one of them to be his personal bodyguard. I believe he’s the police chief in Saffron City.”

Makoto chuckled. “That’s my father.”

“Interesting.” Haru rubbed Makoto’s hand with her thumb. “So then I suppose I should ask you if you’d like to be my bodyguard.” She laughed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I will have to decline.” Makoto smiled. “I’d like to get to know you on a more personal level.”

Haru smiled at Makoto warmly. “Then I suppose my trip was both business and pleasure.”

Makoto laughed nervously. “You really are very forward, Haru.”

“Then allow me to make one more advance.” Haru leaned forward and gave Makoto a quick peck on the cheek. It was fleeting, but for Makoto, it was everything. Her heart picked up in pace, and she felt a bit lightheaded.

“Y-you know, since we’re both travelling to Goldenrod, it would be my honor to escort you back.” Makoto rubbed the spot on her face where Haru had kissed her.

Haru giggled. “Sounds like a plan.”

Growlithe gave a happy bark of approval, which caused the two women to laugh, a sea breeze ruffling their hair.

Done! Since this was an AU, I also made it so that both of their fathers were alive because they deserve to be happy, damnit!

Hopefully, you don’t need to have an extensive knowledge of Pokémon to be able to understand most of this – the cuteness should shine through regardless!

Also, since they were on a ship, and Okujima is a ship name, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make the pun! But speaking of Okujima, when I wrote the part where Haru reveals her full name, I literally wrote “Haru Okujima”. I went on typing for a few minutes before it hit me, and I went back and corrected it. I feel like their ship name could be an actual Japanese surname!

Bonus – I also just caught a Shiny Wailmer in Pokémon Go, so this story apparently gave me good luck!

See you tomorrow!

[irenesfemme-blog]

Hey everyone,

I joined a server centered around the Star Wars franchise in late 2018, and I was a moderator there for a significant amount of time. Tonight I left it. And I’d like to explain why, and where that leaves this blog, going forward.

First of all, I must ask that you do not reblog this post, and I’m really going to ask that you refrain from commenting on it as well. Honestly, I need to heal from this experience. It’s been actively harmful for me for weeks because it’s been such an incredibly toxic environment.

I do want to thank the people who reached out to me, however, during all of this. Who expressed that they wish that they had done more for me, stood up, said something. I don’t blame any of you. I completely understand not wanting to make yourself a target. I love you, and I wish you nothing but the best.

This blog, as well as REVANSFEMME and BINALAARA, are going on hiatus. I don’t know for how long. I’d like to feel okay enough to come back one day, but that remains to be seen. Until then, I’ll keep on keeping on.

Cheers, -- Irene.

Here’s my letter to the community: 

Hey guys,

The original discussion began when a conversation about biphobia, and transgender woman’s contribution to that conversation, was interrupted and derailed. And honestly, guys? No one involved in that interruption and derailing, when confronted with the fact that it was harmful and hurtful, asked if their fellow community members, and in particular the transgender woman who was interrupted, were okay. No one has expressed any acknowledgement or regret for having been a part of that. It’s been completely ignored in favor of airing other grievances. And that’s not fair in particular to the transgender woman who was interrupted, who brought up with the mods that she had been feeling uncomfortable in this server for a long time, and who helped me identify the rhetoric used as trans-exclusionary radical feminist. And this entire conversation about the things I’ve done has come about right after I took a stand, as a mod and as a friend, to support this transgender woman in our community. That timing has not escaped my notice.

I hear that a lot of you have felt guilty, alienated, or angry by me speaking about my experiences and discomforts as a bisexual woman. I haven't meant to make you feel this way; it hasn't been an agenda of mine. I am sorry for bringing you pain. But I am also hurt in turn because it feels like so many of these accusations are in bad faith at best. To be honest, if I had known that sharing my negative experiences as a bisexual woman would have contributed to the difficult climate of this server, I would have kept them to myself. And that’s what’s getting me here: I shared these because I felt safe with the people in this server. I shared these because I considered so many of you friends. And knowing that being silent would have made me less of a target is really painful.

The idea isn't that "discussing solidarity and struggles as lesbians reminds bisexual women of their struggles and difficulties they themselves face, some of them caused by lesbians and lesbian communities, and therefore these discussions shouldn't be held." It's that these discussions can co-exist. You're allowed to express solidarity and support as lesbians. But I'm also allowed to feel hurt and discouraged because so often I and other bi women are excluded from queer spaces in particular, or invalidated as people or as a community, and yes, sometimes this is done by lesbians. The latter conversation isn't a rebuke of the first. It's just a part of the ongoing series of dialogues in the queer community.

What’s particularly difficult about many of the complaints is that they express a standard I cannot meet. I spoke about my discomfort with a conversation in the channel that it was held in, indicating that it’s a good conversation but one that I feel I can’t be a part of because of my personal experience, and that was objected to. I moved to a separate channel to express my sorrow at the biphobia in this server and how it’s made me feel hurt and uncomfortable, with the intent of having a separate space where I could talk without disrupting another conversation, and that was objected to. I silently left a third conversation and brought up my point of view a while later, in a different channel, in a conversation about biphobia, and that’s been objected to. I’ve been told that when and how I’ve been talking about my experiences is a definite part of what’s making people feel guilty and targeted, but in literally every way I’ve tried to talk about biphobia, someone has objected. It’s a losing game: the only winning move is not to play at all.

And these individual experiences – where a bisexual woman’s voiced experiences and feelings are objectionable, derailing, unnecessary – parallel a larger theme in queer communities where bisexual women are told, explicitly and implicitly, that we aren’t welcome. That we take up space intended for the more valid, more queer, members of the community, just by being here, and being hurt, and giving voice to our struggles.

And the concept, reiterated over and over again, that my pain as a bisexual woman was intended to make lesbian women feel guilty feels to me like so, so much more than an assumption of bad faith. It feels like a deliberate act of willful misunderstanding. It feels like silencing through shaming.

And all of this is so much of the reasons why I and so many other bisexual people don’t feel comfortable in queer spaces. Our discussions about our struggles with gay and lesbian members of the queer communities are turned against us as proof that we are dangerous, that we are harmful, that we do not belong. I’ve seen it over and over in IRL spaces. I just didn’t want to see it here. And I really see no way how I could ever talk about my experiences as a bisexual woman in this server again with any degree of safety or assumption of solidarity.

And this isn’t even getting into the long, chastising private message I received from a community member not so long ago about my personal failures. That was … above and beyond.

I had a long conversation with my spouse about these events. He brought up that, paraphrased, “You do realize that these people berating you publicly for miscommunication, when you’ve stated before that you are on multiple spectrums, comes off to me, at least, as ableist?” And I don’t want to realize that. That makes this all feel so much more targeted and horrifying.

As I said at the very beginning of this server, and on my tumblr, and earlier today, I am on both the autistic and the schizophrenic spectrums. I have severe ASD symptoms and Schizotypal Personality Disorder. I have a really hard time reading social cues, situations, and tones, especially over the internet, and that's been a constant struggle in my life. But participating in discussions has always been hard for me, and it's been hard for people who don't know how to deal with my particular neuroatypicality. It’s a wholly foreign concept to me that any of you would have read my expressions of my own struggles and interpreted that as me setting out to make you feel guilty. I just … don’t understand. I never have. It’s why I’ve always asked people to please talk to me at the time of the miscommunication, because it’s almost impossible for me to judge how someone is going to emotionally respond to anything I say.

And that brings me to my last point: I’m leaving. I’m leaving this server, and I’m leaving tumblr, and I’m leaving the Star Wars fandom as a whole, for now at least. Lal’s mother is right when she said, "If you were getting paid for this job I'd tell you to quit and get another job.” This has been an impossible job for a number of reasons, and I’ve stuck around because I loved Lal and Io, and I wanted very much to help them and this community. I’ve been trying to do this work as a mod atop work managing hospice care for my terminally ill mother, the full-time work of running and maintaining a household, and my personal work as a writer. And the longer I spend in this community, the worse I feel. All of this feels … horrifying, in a very visceral and targeted sense.

I am sorry that many of you felt hurt by me. I truly have never meant to cause any of you harm. But that’s accompanied by a very real and very painful sense of being physically ill right now.

I’m going to close the religious server that I moderate. The dungeons & dragons one, and the writing and worldbuilding one, will both remain open, but I’m going to ask that no one bring any of this discussion to those spaces. That’s a boundary that I’m going to have to insist on at this juncture.

I guess I’d like to close by saying that I’m not angry. I’m really not. I just feel really, really sad. I’d like to believe that the timing of this is just unfortunate, that the implications of ableism are an accident, that the pervasive biphobia in this server has been rooted in ignorance and not malice. But after today’s discussion, honestly? I’d always wonder, and I’d never feel good here again.

There’s a line that’s been crossed here into the grounds of active cruelty. Lal’s been hurt, Io’s been hurt, and you guys have just kept going and going and going at these two, who have really tried their all for you. And as I said to Lal and Io earlier, on a personal note, dragging out my admissions of pain and hurt as "receipts" is the point where there's no going back for any relationship.  

And that’s the time to move on.

[in-defense-of-the-horror]

An Artist and a Writer

“You know, I’m always going to support you, no matter what.”

That was always the hypothetical situation with Nate, and it probably always would be. He liked to talk about some mystical date in the future when he would be successful, and the money would be pouring in. He liked to describe this fantasy often, in the context that it would happen, probably because he realized that it never would.

He was a hack. It wasn’t the day-dreaming itself that bothered Greg – all artists had a certain level of disconnect from reality, he knew that was something he was guilty of himself. It was fact that in this portrait being painted of the future daily, his role in it never changed. Sometimes Nate did collaborations with authors whom he spent nights pontificating about with condescension. Often it was that his sole publication was picked up by a publisher for another three installations. Once it had been an adaptation into a Netflix original series that he himself directed and cameoed in for his fictional, adoring public. But the stories always ended the same way, with him supporting Greg. “Sure you will.” Greg had endured these ramblings for years, and he was never the star in these fantasies, never a co-star. They were never even equals. Nate liked him being more of a prop, it would seem. “I mean it. I’m going to take care of you.” He spent so much time thinking about that future that he didn’t even seem to realize Greg had been the one taking care of him for years. “I know you would,” he said flatly. “I will. This is going to happen.” “Sure.” It was hard to give monosyllabic replies that sounded sincere, though, and his attempt to evade further discussion had just pulled him deeper into the whole mess. “Oh, so you don’t believe in me now?” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t really have to. I can see it in your face. You don’t think that this project is going to happen. You don’t think I’m going to make any money off this.” “I think you have to finish the book, first.” Somehow it had slipped out and the tension was palpable between the two men. His situation had worsened considerably, but his chest felt lighter, even as his partner looked at him with the wounded eyes of an animal that has only ever known imagined pain up to this point in its life. “Wow.” “Look, Nate-“ “Do you have any idea how hard it is to write a novel?” “I’ve written novels, Nate.” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to publish one, then? No, you don’t. Making money in this business isn’t easy. It’s 99% networking – and that’s why you don’t have your name on the shelves.” “Your name isn’t on shelves either!” He was losing control of the situation, but it felt like it might be better to just air all his grievances at once. “You wrote one e-book seven years ago and you’ve been talking about it ever since.” “I have written plenty of other things since then, Greg! Which you would know if you ever paid attention to my work.” “You’ve started two other novels since then, and one short story that overstayed its welcome by about four-thousand words. That’s not enough content for so much time – even if you had finished one of them. I could list of every stage of every draft of every project you’ve considered since we’ve been together, because I have to hear about it for hours every time you manage to cough up a couple hundred words. I have to pay attention to it because it’s all you talk about all the time.” It felt so good to say it all out loud. The words carried with them a momentum and the knowledge that his life would never slide back into what it had been. Nathan, clearly, had felt the shift as well because he had fallen out of his victim routine, the wounded outer layer being peeled back to reveal something nasty and real that Greg had only ever caught glimpses of before. “Well, forgive me for wanting to do work that I’m actually proud of.” That was a low blow, calling him out for doing the contract work that had been paying both their bills. When they had started dating, Greg had been the sort of man who would never stoop that low in a fight. Then again, when they started dating, he thought he was in love with another writer. The insult was falling from his lips before he could even think of stopping it. “I would rather be a sell out than a prideful creator with no creation.” “How. Dare. You.” “That’s really the heart of the problem, isn’t it? You have no work. You have no ideas.” “I have ideas!” “The same ideas! The same three fucking ideas for your entire career – if we can even be calling it that.” “Stop it!” “No! I’ve been coddling your ego for too long – but I’m tired of hearing about what a genius you are every goddamned day and reading the same unfinished story over and over every time you change some punctuation. I can’t do it anymore.” “You won’t leave me.” “I’ll do one worse. I’ll tell you the truth. You’re the sort of writer who likes talking about his work more than he likes working on it – and the only market that sells to is the campus kids down the street who are as pretentious as you.” Honesty felt so good for Greg. The crime of passion that followed felt exponentially better for Nate. The knife was in his lover before he even knew what was happening. It had been sitting there, on the table where he had eaten alone because Greg had to work late. It hadn’t been cleaned up yet because Greg was too tired to ever dream of helping out around the house, let alone go to events or have a real conversation. Nate’s boyfriend who had always been afraid to open up, was now spilling his guts all over their hardwood floors. The irony of that struck Nate as incredibly poetic. As he let the body fall to the floor at last he tried to describe the sentiment in his head, to imagine how he might put it on paper. The words evaded him though – he couldn’t think of any that could truly capture the beauty of it all. It was something that he never could have imagined, a tragedy for the ages that bundled up in a warm euphoria. His metaphors kept mixing, and even in the thrill of the moment, the imagery was hard for him to hold onto. He wanted to do something with it before his inspiration was all gone. Taking just a moment to wipe his hands on his jeans, he retrieved his computer and sat down next to the carnage. He had the word processor up in seconds, but still, the story wouldn’t come to him. Not even in what he considered to be his finest moment. An abyss of white stared back at him, and they continued the stand-off until his vision was blurry and his brain hurt. Some work days were just like that. “I told you, you’re not a real writer.” Nathan tried to block out the sound of the corpse beside him, taunting him, just as it had in life. “You’re never going to see your name in print, you can’t write a single word.” “Shut up!” “Why don’t you tell me about the story you want to write, now that I’m truly a captive audience.” “You don’t deserve to hear it.” “You have nothing.” “I have everything I need.” “You’re not a writer.” He looked down at the body, half-expecting to see it sneering as it challenged him, cackling with its victory over his life and sanity. None of that was true, of course. Greg was just dead. “You’re not a writer.” This time, Nate was saying it to himself. He’d just had the biggest break through of his career. He wasn’t a writer after all. Maybe he never had been. He closed his laptop with a grin, feeling relief wash over him as he realized he’d never have to struggle with word count again. There would be no more query letters, no more rejection, no more feeling inadequate, and especially no more trying to fool himself into believing he was something he wasn’t. He wasn’t a writer; he was an artist. He was a visionary, a prodigy, someone who had created a masterpiece their first time around. The last seven years hadn’t been a waste. They’d pushed him to the point of brilliance and now that he’d found his calling, he could finally claim the success he knew he’d been destined for. He stood up a new man. For the first time since his publication he knew that he could go to bed and rest easy, knowing that it had been a fulfilling day of work. He looked down at the floor one last time, and exalted in the pride he had for his new creation.

[scifimagpie]

Elegy for a Mistake: My Toxic Friendship

My usual post style and topics tend to encompass writing techniques, analytical bits and riffs on TV and movies, or even the odd podcast. Once in a while, I turn my attention inward and try to offer lessons by example from my own experience. Today, I find myself talking about a humbling and painful, yet freeing experience: the release of an unhealthy friendship.

Normally, I'm a peppy, jocund, and self-assured writer, with solutions ready at hand by the time an article is ready to go. In public and private, I am known for my likeable and kind personality - though I would privately describe myself as a haplessly bumbling, well-intentioned blowhard.

Let us presume that both cases are simultaneously true. This time, I have only an ouroboros of self-doubt and a cautionary tale. Bear that in mind: this essay lacks an easy or blithe answer to the questions I've posed and struggled with.

A word of warning

To protect this person's anonymity, I will call them "Micah." I have changed their gender pronouns for this article to enhance their privacy as well. I won't talk about their personal circumstances at much length, either, for the same reasons. Figuring out their identity from context clues in my personal life and my blog is possible, but ultimately, unimportant.

For the same reason, I will not be including screenshots or "proof" or other receipts. I don't want to roast Micah's books or sabotage their career. (For reasons I will outline below, they do a great job of that on their own.)

Another big issue with Micah was my long-term working relationship with them. No matter how much you like someone and trust them, never work for free. More precisely, never work for free. or for exposure, or work trades if you find yourself shouldering a very unequal load.

I did this. I knew better - but Micah (and my own affection for them) let me talk myself into it over and over. And that was far from all that went wrong.

"Everyone has dead people," insisted Rocket Raccoon in the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie. Everyone has their share of mistakes, ghosts, demons, and regrets. Perhaps Micah had more demons than most. But at the time, I saw them as a dammed fine writer and a tough person, a marvel of endurance.

That's still true, but their coping techniques to maintain that survival were another matter. Micah had ways of judging people and justifying their reactions to relatively small incidents that, over time, caused a lot more harm than I realised at first.

The warning signs I ignored

The thing is, Micah had a thin skin and a very sharp tongue. They were happy to nitpick and harangue anyone and everyone - usually in the safety of our private messages. This included people who thought of them as a friend and authority.

Everyone has gripes with friends from time to time, nitpicks about media, and qualms about significant industry names. Micah had all of those - and a long memory to boot. Eve their partner was far from exempt from critique and bewailing.

Yet I was, until the end of our friendship, the one person almost always exempt from these critiques. Not that I always got praise, but the mildest compliments were gold in the context of their otherwise unceasing criticism.

Surely this seems like an unflattering picture, but consider, reader, the burden of guilty pleasure that lies at my feet. I did not think I was complicit in their unhealthy patterns of criticism; I would sometimes softly defend people, but always in private.

On many occasions, I took the brunt of a fight to defend their honour - from a person who often had no idea Micah was offended. But I got to be the one good person in the world, who measured up - until I didn't.

But even before the change in tenor and tone, things were starting to go wrong. I was avoiding my favorite social media platform and my many friends there, because I dreaded the gloom and pain in Micah's messages. Our primary mode of communication was inevitably draining and depressing. Nobody has to be happy all the time, but unceasing misery is simply not okay.

The problem

While Micah and I do struggle with similar mental health issues, they had many severe physical issues to boot. I let this excuse their temper, their dark moods, and sometimes arbitrary coping mechanisms fat more than I should. They refused to deal with their mental health issues with medication or supervision - even though said issues were life-threatening.

And I, who normally would have spoken up about that, kept tolerating it.

Micah went to no small effort to convince me they knew best for themselves...even though the benefit of hindsight makes me question that deeply.

The problem is that Micah's depression was thick in their writing, and I think - I know - it sometimes negatively affected my own. Refusing to write happy or happier stories that were "not true to their experience, " they chased off potential fans and professional allies with endless cutting and overly specific arguments.

But I found their positions and their writing eminently defensible. They were very good at articulating arguments which I found persuasive.

When Micah excoriated me on a thread in public, in private, and on Twitter at various points, over a variety of issues, I began to question the state of our friendship. I think it's pretty fair to say that most of us know it's not good form to rip a buddy a new one "in public" or in private, as it were. Especially when, say, you actually agree on an issue, but have failed to state things in the exact way they require and prefer - and when that is an offense meriting a hard scoldin', it's a sign that something's awry.

Unfortunately, smart people can talk themselves into anything.

The fallout

I was unable to complete a dark and melancholy book for Micah, and they had a mental health crash - which was,  by that point, indistinguishable from their usual state. They said they wanted to talk less to me because they were deeply hurt that I hadn't recognized the toll of their books on my own mental health - even though I told them as soon as I realised it was a problem, and had found a reasonable way to articulate it. (That took probably 36 hours, for the record. I was unable to criticize their books to myself before that point.)

They were deeply upset, and I blamed myself - for their mental health crash, just as they wanted me to. Realising that I could no longer work for free or be fast enough, I found myself questioning many things about their books - and even Micah themselves.

I even asked a celebrity (whom they'd caused me to pick a fight with by complaining at length about her "horribly offensive, ableist" perspective that writing books too fast and immediately publishing them does not result in good books) for her insight.

Jenny Trout was kind enough to hear me out, and even warn me that a friend like Micah may not be a real friend. That really made me think. Ms. Trout was so eminently reasonable, and I thought about how repetitive Micah's books had been lately, and I just couldn't disagree with her point.

When we continued discussing the topic, Micah had the temerity to refer to artistic writers (as opposed to commercial writers) as "blowhards". When I admitted that had offended me, they took the tack of insinuating that ghostwriting, editing, or enhancing are "not real" writing, or part of a shadowy underground industry, not deserving respect as part of the industry (even though ghostwriting and editing have been present in writing for as long as books have been made.)

Frustrated and upset beyond communication, I had to get my partner to write the message saying I needed a break from Micah.

I spent the next two weeks in agonizing tension, worrying about the future of our friendship. About twelve days into the proposed three-week hiatus, I messaged Micah to check in, hesitantly extending an olive branch.

They ripped into me, accusing my partner and myself of unhealthy and unsafe behaviour towards them - for sending a short, clipped message in the middle of a hard mental health crisis.

As I stared at the screen and skimmed through their messages, I had to face the facts: I would never be good enough for Micah.

I was bound to bump into their exacting rubric of communications and requirements eventually. It had finally happened.

But when I realised I needed to end things, I felt almost deliriously free. I spent a good week smiling and laughing more, and enjoying a generally great mood. But then I had to think about everyone I had blocked or critiqued or mocked with Micah, and the way they encoraged me to shred others. In all, it is almost a wonder that through my relationship with them, I kept the vast majority of my friends.

How does one proceed?

Having patience for friends with mental health issues and complex disabilities is vitally important. Learning to talk about people and vent in private, rather than picking fights or airing the pettiest of grievances, are both important. How do I use the best of what Micah taught me while critiquing their perspectives after the fact? Is hard to say what would be different if we had never become close, but there will be no escaping their impact on my music taste, writing, and memories.

There are no tidy answers or how-to charts to figure out whether a friend simply has complex needs, or is facilitating and enabling your bad habits. Unhealthy friendships can also involve a lot of mentorship, support, and intimacy. If they were straightforwardly awful, they wouldn't last.

but at present. I seem to be, for the first time in my life, unencumbered by any toxic relationships. I have more energy and time for my friends and chosen family, and even my partners (my original partner Andrey, and our queerplatonic housemate Kit).

All I can do is try to wrap my head around both how much and how little I really lost, and apply my lessons to improve my friendships with others, ensuring they feel heard and cared for. At the same time, I must remain safe and self-critical enough to avoid perpetrating the abusive cycle and behaviors all survivors must constantly guard against.

At the end of the day, they left me with conjecture,. and not much else. I thought we were the closest of friends....yet I never heard their voice, met them - or even knew their given name. And there is only so much you can love a friend who won't share their true self with you.

*** Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime, housemate, and their cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and nightmares, as well as social justice issues. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Catch up with Michelle's news on the mailing list. Her books are available on Amazon, and she is also active on Medium, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, and the original blog.

[twodatesaweek]

Back in the Saddle

ROAMING THE VAST TERRITORY OF SINGLEHOOD AGAIN WOW it has been a very long year of many kinds of relationship ends and beginnings. I feel very stressed out to know that though I have become more reflective and curious about my interactions with friends and lovers, at no point will I probably feel like I’ve scaled the mountain and have arrived to a cocktail party of people in my life who will never change, who have risen above all their issues, who will make me feel good and valued and safe indefinitely. In fact, I will never feel that way, and the best I can do is to continue to be curious and awake, and to consider all of the above (good, valued, safe) as my own responsibility. 

I’d like to use this down period to answer some questions on this blog:

What did I learn in my year of dating E? What projections did I manifest, and how did they create challenges both in our relationship and my ability to take care of myself while in the relationship? 

What have I learned about dating, from my friends, in the past year?

What patterns have I been able to identify amongst the men I have dated, all for appx a year, then woken up to see that they were not who I thought they were!!

What patterns arise from reflecting on my most complicated and hardest female friendships? 

What am I looking for NOW? What circumstances can I be aware of that lead me to project my insecurities or desires on others? 

A thought pinging around my head this morning -- an old friend whom I’ve never been particularly close with -- a industry pal whom I used to shit on all kinds of folks with, when I felt deeply insecure (I made a conscious decision to stop doing that last year when I went freelancer) -- I see him maybe once every few months at most and never feel great afterwards. He performs intimacy with me, without actually being a good witness. All the emotional interactions feel transactional or that I’m trying to prove something to him. On top of this I’ve often felt like he lords professional favors over my head in exchange for expectations of friendship that he definitely hasn’t earned with me!! 

Anyway, he has, in the past, held strange grudges with me for my falling out of touch for various reasons, so I’m often a little defensive already in our exchanges. Anyway, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from him for a while and I thought to myself, you know, maybe it’s for the better if I don’t ever hear from him again! And like clockwork, he texted me to find time to hang out, and as soon as I landed a date he immediately wrote “I want to talk about our last exchange -- it left me pretty sour.” I told him I’d rather talk about it immediately and he called me to say that I hadn’t supported him or responded to him in a way that felt good to him, after he texted to say he didn’t get a job and clearly wanted me to say the person who did was bad and talentless -- which i DON’T believe and expressed that I didn’t believe in that exchange. 

THIS WAS AT LEAST SIX MONTHS AGO!! Anyway, I tried to be as active in hearing why he was hurt as possible, and it turned into a litany of grievances he had against me: that sometimes I cancel our plans together (usually because I’m not in an emotional state where I feel like seeing him isn’t going to make me feel horrible), that sometimes I don’t reach out for a long time and he’s ‘worried about me,’ that i make him feel like i’m ‘hard to schedule.’ As if any of that is my responsibility!

I heard things coming out of my mouth like: you’re really important to me! maybe i can be more aware of when i haven’t seen you in a while! honestly texting is not the best form of communication for me! all forms of attention that this person does NOT DESERVE TO HAVE FROM ME. 

he ended by feigning interest in my family issues and the fact that E broke up with me, and i just realized that i didn’t need to be open to him in that way at all. we hung up and i was spiraling

--

i walked across the wb bridge to attend an event later that afternoon and was so preoccupied by what had happened on the phone with this friend that it felt like i’d arrived in the east village moments after i’d stepped outside of my apartment door. (my attention to listening to music or feeling joy for having wrapped up a hefty revision of an important article were all blunted) 

i thought about why the conversation had affected me so much -- in part, i think ever since E broke up with me, I’ve been seeking guilt and blame wherever possible, perhaps desperate to correct little social problems, to find blame for myself, thinking if i can fix it or accept guilt for logical things, it will make me stop feeing sad and confused about my break up. Speaking to my friend was certainly like this, i listened to him air out his grievances, paraphrased them back to him, and came to see from his perspective how my behavior had hurt him. But that didn’t make the situation any less lopsided and ridiculous. It’s just what I wish I could have done in my relationship -- made sense of the argument and conflict -- in some dumb wish that we could have stayed together.

The other feeling this conversation with my friend made me realize, is my indulgence in feeling guilty and being blamed. That I’m doing something bad and wrong even if I don’t mean to.

My mother certainly reinforced this feeling in me, and I am coming to see that it is bottomless and familiar. That it gives me boundless energy and ambition to fix a problem. I fail to see that I deserve good things, good treatment, that I don’t need to prove that I deserve it. 

My friend makes me feel as though I need to earn an easy-going/non judgmental friendship with him, I think, and while it may have felt devastating before, now I feel very annoyed by it and like I definitely do not need it in my life. I can also see why I felt so wrapped up in it given my breakup. From the beginning, I did not behave as though I knew I deserved an easy, giving, and supportive relationship. E did not make me feel as though I needed to prove myself to him, as my friend does, but he couldn’t give me the baseline and I took that to mean that I needed to earn it.

I felt I needed to earn it by going to his place all the time, by accepting the fact that he had bad manners, by cooking for him, buying gifts, being an active listener and participant of his life. My lesson is that I did not need to do any of those things to deserve them coming back to me. Someone who is emotionally robust and engaged gives readily because it brings them joy to give readily, not because the perceive another person having done enough for them to deserve it. 

--

I agreed to see this friend in two weeks for a drink and I know that he’ll guilt me for showing up and only drinking a seltzer, but I will do it anyway, and the only reason I’m not canceling on him and telling him directly how I feel is because he has knit a web of inextricable professional contacts between himself and his entire social life, including me, because he is too insecure to just understand how to have a genuine friendship with people. The truth is, that because I pity him, I give him power over me, because I know he can’t be at my level emotionally or professionally. But I cannot be scared to embody that power, especially when this friend actively takes advantage of the agency I give him to hurt me, with no self-awareness.

- W

[lifeisaboxofcereal]

No clue who this is addressed to, nor what the purpose of this is/will be, but feeling exasperated that nothing helps me feel better, how about I give venting via writing a shot.

Here’s the deal. I’ve been involved with this guy for about 5+ years. Lets call him owl. Its the first thing I looked at in my apartment trying to come up with a code name instead of publishing this guys name who any of you reading most likely already know his name via any of my fb posts in the last 5 years. I met him my freshman year at UD. Ballroom dance team. To this day I dont even know if I can explain what drew me to him. He was cocky and confident, cheeky, and cute. He danced. He was a Marine. He seemed so out of my league as a dorky, naive, super awkward freshman that didn’t know anything about college culture. I learned quick that a few dates does not mean we’re dating, and that he was a man of many many ladies. I learned quick that he did not really take my feelings into consideration but I would put them aside and accept any interactions or affections that were given. We had a connection and I had fun with him. I just wanted to go with it.

I went with it for all four years of college. Always waiting for when he’d finally be ready to commit. Or see how much I do for him. How I’m always there, good times and bad.  Even when he really really pisses me off. Waiting for him to see that I was his best friend the way I saw that he was mine. Waiting for him to stop messing up with me, appreciate me, cherish me, want to show me off.

I’m gonna be honest, that never came. Not in college. I didnt date anyone else. I didnt get involved with anyone else more than a few months, and those involvements were usually the product of me and owl being in one of our phases where we were on the outs and he was not talking to me. but once we were good again sure enough I’d lose interest in whoever it was that I was entertaining in that time. I regret a lot of that. Not giving others real chances, because they actually deserved them and wanted them.

But with him it was always like a game, like a chase, never ending, suspenseful, thrilling, exciting, passionate, never a boring moment. Always keeping me guessing. I hated it but I loved it. He didn’t respect me, and he didnt respect my feelings, but still I stuck around. It’s only now that I’m seeing that I had slowly been losing respect for myself, so what incentive would he have for respecting me when I was being a hypocrite? Our dynamic was one of push and pull. There were the times he’d pull me in and never want to let me go, and then without warning he would push me away and leave me feeling abandoned and confused as to what I did to deserve it.

He hurt me a lot. Never physically. Never. Never forced himself on me, I never once was physically scared of him. But emotionally. Every year there was at least one incident. One big fight that seemed like the be all end all. That would leave me in my dorm crying with my roommate wondering how he could be so cold and harsh towards me after everything I’ve done and everything we’ve shared. Always wishing that he would miss me and realize everything and change. It was a clear cycle, and I’m not stupid, I was very cognizant of it, but idk, i liked it and i was still waiting. What I had with him was so different and special I couldnt let it, or him, go.

Last year, October, we had a big falling out. That was really the be all end all. I knew because, and as stupid as this is or sounds, in all of our fights we had never unfriended each other on facebook or done something as extreme or defining as that. We always left doors open. But with this, he burned all bridges. He made a facebook status about me. He wanted all of my things out of his place. He 100% snapped. It was over, he broke things off and our 4 years of being together but not really together, was over.

I spent the next 5 months in therapy and trying to keep busy with friends and classes and trying to find myself again. So much of my identity was dependent on him and associated with him. All of my memories included him. Even dance reminded me of him. I was so lost. And missed him so much but had motivation to work on myself and for once be comfortable and happy with being on my own. I remember one particular session with my therapist in which she told me that if I still have hope that we will reconcile one day, I need to completely let go of what we had. Put it to rest, let it go, mourn it, and leave it in the past, because there was too much to be fixed and too much wreckage to salvage anything. That if we were to ever reconcile it would have to be a completely clean slate. Free of the past transgressions. So that night I blocked him. I blocked his number, his facebook. his snapchat, everything. It was hard and scary but I did it in hopes that thats what I needed to do even if temporarily and symbolically leave our 4 years together in the past.

2 days later was Valentines day. I was supposed to go to a devils game with a friend and she cancelled last minute because she was sick. I reached out to everyone in my phone to try to find someone to go with me because I did not want to spend valentines day in bed thinking about him and missing him. Nobody could come to the game. I was offered a shift at work and almost took it but someone hopped on it before I could. So i was left with chinese food and netflix. I let myself cry and be upset, and feel the hurt remembering our past valentines days together. And then my mom came to my room and let me know that jake was coming to the house. shit i said his name. whatever. she let me know that he asked permission to come and clear the air, and that he would be there in 40 minutes.

He was there in 30, and we sat down, with my best friend as a third party, and we talked for 5 hours. About everything. Anything. All the grievances we had with each other. What we realized. What we regretted. And he told me that he loved me. That he needs me in his life, and said all of the things that I had waited 4 years for. I kept thinking about how right my therapist was, about letting go and letting them come to you, about starting fresh, about leaving the past in the past.

The months that followed were the epitome of a honeymoon phase. My god. we were finally doing things right. He was showing me off, appreciating me, never wanted to let me go, it was everything. I dont think I’ve ever been so happy. We were so in love with each other, so excited, couldn’t wait more than 2 weeks to visit each other again. We moved in together. We made an apartment a home together. We started new jobs and set goals. We motivated each other, supported each other, and wholeheartedly loved each other. I finally felt like I was in a functional and healthy relationship. I felt so loved every single day and I finally understood what people meant about that unbelievable feeling of being in love with someone who was just as in love with you. We did and learned so much together. We had setbacks, and tiffs here and there, but we worked through each one.

Theres a lot in between then and now, but I don’t think it’s worth getting into or explaining. All I can say is that I don’t know how we went from that, to this. Not speaking. Not looking at each other. An apartment that was once so full of love and laughter now only has silence and tension.

He has problems. And to be honest. I’ve always known that but never wanted to accept it. I have problems too because I am very compliant. The relationship became emotionally abusive. I am mentally abused. And he has left me hating myself when I dont even know who I am. I don’t regret staying with him. I don’t regret getting back with him last year. I dont regret anything. All i’ve done is love and give as much as I possibly can. Im not angry. More than anything, i’m disappointed.

I thought he was it. Actually. I know he is. If he were to get the help that he needed. But in a normal relationship, when there is an issue, you don’t feel that your partner becomes a completely different person. That’s not normal. And right now, I don’t know who he is. For the past 2 weeks I have been wishing I could just snap him out of it. Grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Show him a photo of us and see him come back to me. I have written heartfelt letter after heartfelt letter. Debating giving one to him in hopes of softening him up and coming out of this haze of anger and hatred hes in right now. But thats not normal. I shouldnt have to snap him out of anything. I shouldnt have to wish he’d come back. I shouldnt have to plead and beg for him to remember our good times to soften up. None of it is normal. He dissociates. And when i look at his eyes hes not there. I know this sounds dramatic but it’s true. It’s scary, it’s hurtful, it worries me, but it’s true. He completely detaches, and it’s as though he never knew me. As though we never shared a single experience together. And nothing I do can bring him out of that place. As I write this, I feel like I’m writing or remembering someone that died. And thats because essentially, that is how I feel. the man i spent the past year with loving and learning and GROWING died. He’s gone and I dont know why or where he is. And i’m left with this fraction of myself that doesn’t know how to cope with any of it.

He’s not good for me. Its not worth it. I deserve better. I’m going to be so much happier without him. These are all words that an infinite number of friends or loved ones can say to me but the fucked up part of all of it is that I don’t want better, I want him. I know that I will never be able to fully let him go. It’ll never be fully over. And i will always love him. I care about him more than I care about myself. Which is a big part of the problem.

I don’t know where to go from here. Or how to cope. I don’t know what to do. All i know is that I miss him with every fiber of my being. I can’t open my phone gallery because the last photos I took were with him and I can’t look at them. I made a new facebook to run away from it all. Nothing I do makes me feel better. Friends. Work. Gym. Margaritas. Movies. Its all a distraction from missing the person who made me smile ear to ear every morning, and exhale peacefully every night. Even now as I write this, hes walking around the apartment and its as though Im a ghost. He doesnt see me. Acknowledge me. Notice me. And while I used to see him and feel overwhelming love, I now just feel hated. Complete hatred. As though I ruined his life, when all I ever tried to do was make his life better.

So friends, that is my story. I don’t know how it’ll end but I can tell you for sure that I will never be able to hate him or be angry with him. And I will always love him. What comes next for me, I have no idea. I thought writing all of this out would maybe help me have some sort of epiphany but no epiphany came.Sometimes I wish I could have my mind wiped clean of all of this so I wouldnt have to deal with this pain. But I cant. So this is going to suck. For a long while. I’m going to be upset for a long while. I hope at the end of this I can find myself and be a version of myself that has value and pride. I want to be the Bren that loves herself, respects herself, values herself, and is proud of herself. The bren that marched on washington for womens rights in the world needs to march for her rights in her life. More than anything though, I hope he finds himself. I hope he does what he needs to do. I only ever wanted him to be happy. Even if it was at my expense.

[muddyorbsblr]

Mayor Damien Week: Day 2 (Teenage Years)

Image taken from Tumblr gif search. Source: damienposts

(So, I gave the DA a name in my headcanon: Talia. Here, she encounters Damien again when they’re teenagers. He’s having a bad day, and being his neighbor, she happens to be there…ready to listen.)

Tag: @mayor-damien-protection-squad

Talia POV

I was listening to Beyonce on my iPod, trying to finish my college application essays, when I was interrupted by the sound of grunting in my front lawn. What on Earth was that?

Then there it was again. A grunt, followed by a groan. A groan of someone in pain. Someone was hurt outside my house? I stood up and walked outside the house, surprised to find the boy from across the street there, with bloodied knuckles. Good thing I had the forethought of bringing the first aid kit.

"Excuse me," I called out to him. "I'm not sure what my tree did to deserve that kind of treatment, but maybe you two could talk things out?"

He turned to look at me with a surprised look in his eyes. Oh wow. How was it that I constantly forgot that the boy across the street was this breathtakingly handsome? I'd lived in this house for ten years, never once approaching anybody, especially this boy and his friends. His strange friend with the monocle seemed the type to become unhinged later on in life, the girl who always shrouded herself in black looked like she was ready to summon demons at a snap of someone's fingers. And the other boy...the one with the coiffed hair and the overtly magnetic personality...the one who seemed like he was always manipulating everyone around him...he was the one I wanted to avoid the most.

Something told me that the moment he got his hooks in you, there was no escaping. Best stay away at all costs, right?

But this one...the boy across the street...it was like I couldn't help but be drawn to him. There was such a...goodness in him. You could see it in his eyes.

He chuckled. He didn't seem to mind the fact that his knuckles were currently scraped and bleeding. "I'm very sorry about that, and I apologize profusely to your tree." Lord above help me, his voice was absolutely captivating. "I've just been having a horrendous day, that's all." He looked at his hands. "My mother's going to have some serious words with me for this." 

I raised the kit in my hand. "Well, you should at least clean it up before you get home and face your mother, then." He walked over and sat down on the porch, and I sat down a good foot and a half away from him, just close enough that I could help clean the wound. "You know, it might help to talk about it. The horrendous day. Sometimes it's...cathartic...to just talk with a stranger." He looked at me like his eyes were trying to bore holes into my soul. "That way there's no judgment."

He didn't waste any time. "My girlfriend, Lillian. She left me today. For a complete and utter bonehead of a boy. She said it would be bad for her reputation for her to be seen with a book-loving nerd like me, and she'd be better off with someone in the football team. And I just...I couldn't hold the anger in anymore and I...I snapped. And started pounding on the first thing I could find. Which was unfortunately your tree. Again, I'm so very sorry for that."

"Don't worry about it. Trees don't have feelings. They're not as fragile as we humans." I offered a small smile. "I don't know much about these things. Relationships and whatnot. But from what I can see you look like a very intelligible guy, and if this Lillian person left you for someone less than intelligible, then it's her loss. Looks fade and wither away, but intelligence does not. I hope you find someone who appreciates you. For everything you are." By then I'd finished cleaning his wounds. "You should be good to go," I sent him off with a smile.

"Thank you," he said, standing up and beginning to walk over to his house. Then he turned around, as if remembering something. "I'm Damien, by the way."

I smiled. "It's very nice to meet you, Damien. Please, if you ever feel the need to beat on something again, do not think of my tree."

He laughed, then looked at me one more time. "What did you say your name was again?"

I stood up, straightening my shirt and picking up my kit before answering, "I didn't." Then I walked back into my house, content with knowing that at least today, I had been able to help someone, even if it was just to distract them from the harsh reality that sometimes life was cruel and unfair, especially to the people who deserved it the least.

***

The next day, Damien POV

Everybody was a-buzz today, flitting around the school halls in their togas and having their digital cameras at the ready, taking pictures with the lenses faced towards them. Something told me those pictures wouldn't turn out very well.

Meanwhile, I was busy looking for William, Celine, and Mark. It was still fairly early and the ceremonies wouldn't be starting for another two hours, so I expected they were taking their sweet time making their way over here.

Then as I was roaming the halls, I saw her. The girl from across the street. The one who had let me air out my grievances of Lillian and her college football star boyfriend and had actually listened to me. She was wearing a toga just like the rest of us. How had I never noticed her before? She was...absolutely ethereal in her beauty. I felt like an imbecile.

I walked over to her. "You," I said. She looked up at me with playful eyes and a small smile on her face.

"You," she answered. "It's good to see you again."

"How long have you been here?" I asked, needing to know the answers.

She seemed to think of the answer. "Physiologically, about 17 years." Snarky little goof.

"I meant here in this school..." I answered back with a laugh. Maybe she had been new, and that was why I had never noticed her here before.

"About ten years." I was floored. Ten years? Ten years she had been roaming the very same halls and sitting in the very same rooms that I had, and never once did we cross paths? How was this even possible?

"So how come I'd never noticed you here before?"

An enigmatic smile crossed her face, as if she was channeling the Mona Lisa herself. "I guess I'm just very proficient with blending into the background. And I have my hiding spots. I don't care much for the social 'scene', with the picture taking and the gossiping, and the caring about which clothes who wore two and a half months ago...I prefer the company of a good book."

"So where you off to for college?"

"I got accepted into Harvard, and I'm currently working on applying for a scholarship there to ease the burden of my tuition some for my parents." Oh wow. She was going to the same place I was. Maybe I'd see her more then.

"Funny story. I'm going there as well. Political Science. I want to become the mayor of this town one day."

She smiled. "Law. I'm gonna be a lawyer one day. Maybe even the ADA one day, if I'm lucky."

"That's amazing. Maybe I'll see y--"

"Damien! There you are, you old chap!" I turned to see William walking over to us, along with Celine and Mark. "We've been looking for you absolutely everywhere! Wondering 'where did that rapscallion run off to this time?'".

"Well, you found me, I'd like you three to meet--" I turned towards her direction to find nobody there. She'd disappeared. "What? Where'd she go?"

"Where'd who go?" Celine asked. "Were you here with someone? Ooh, Damien was talking to a giiiiiirl. And look at that smile on his face! He looks absolutely smitten. Tell us. What's her name? We'll find her. If she's here, we'll find her."

"I don't know...I forgot to get her name yesterday outside her house, and now I forgot to get it again. I'm an idiot." I looked at the three of them. "Did you know that the girl across the street from where I live actually goes to this very school and none of us ever noticed? For ten years? Because that's her. That's who I was talking to."

"The quiet one?" Mark interjected. "Awesome, my man. Let's just hope she's not a right bitch like your last girlfriend. She gave me a fucking headache."

"Language," I admonished him. And they all chuckled at me.

"Do you know if you'll ever see this lady again?" William asked.

"Well, maybe we all will soon enough. She mentioned she was going to Harvard. She said she wants to become a lawyer."

"Maybe one day you two will be working side by side, running this city," Celine remarked. "Lord knows you deserve someone by your side, Damien. Maybe it's her."

"Yea, maybe," Mark butted in. "But let's try finding her and actually getting her name before we start planning their wedding. Sound good, Celine?"

She giggled. "Whatever you say, spoilsport."

Here be my entry for Mayor Damien Week, Day 2. Thankfully I spent more than one brain cell on this. Lel. Hope y’all like it! I’m now currently working on the College Shenanigans entry, which will briefly show Damien finally finding out Talia’s name, but contain a time jump to…well…their college shenanigans. 

If you like my work, and the content I put out, kindly consider supporting me by buying me a coffee. Here’s the link: https://ko-fi.com/allymuddyorbs. All coffees will go into funding for a new tablet so I can start working on some digital calligraphy & maybe start learning some basic animation skills down the line. Thanks!!

[ouraidengray4]

Why Not Everyone Is Worth Forgiving

Have you ever seen two kids have an argument? As a teacher, I mediate kid arguments all the time, and man, is it a fast process. Usually, I just listen to each kid yell their grievances at me (Why are you shouting? I’M NOT SHOUTING!), then I get to demand they apologize to each other, and enjoy what is almost always an instantaneous resolution. When you’re a kid, forgiveness is usually the cheapest, easiest thing in the world; it’s a hug, a laugh, and, boom, instant friendship!

It doesn’t always come so easily though, even for kids. I remember when I was in elementary school, a friend of mine told me she had a sister and months later, I found out it wasn’t true at all. Boy, was I mad. I didn’t speak to her again until middle school, when she totally called me out on it in the locker room, that I had refused to forgive her for such a stupid, little thing. There I was, in my gym shorts and training bra, being publicly shamed for having held a grudge for so long. I decided, from then on, that forgiveness would be a virtue everyone would come to associate with me: I was gracious. I was understanding. I was forgiving. Never again would I be that 12-year-old in the training bra, bitterly refusing to let go of a past slight. Never!

But as an adult, forgiveness is like Pilates class; when you do it, you usually feel great afterward, but sometimes you feel awful going, awful doing it, and awful afterward, and you know you should have just stayed home, watched Hoarders, and gone some other time.

Almost a year ago exactly, I had a pen pal. Yes, that’s sort of weird, and yes, it really happened: I had an adult pen pal, a former college acquaintance. Truthfully, I knew I had met him in college, because those were the Facebook friends we had in common, but I didn’t remember him in any way. He hit me up on Facebook with this completely random and unexpected gesture, saying, Hey I think everything you post is rad, and you’re rad, and we should be friends. It happened to be a really solid time for me; I had finally learned how to effectively manage my depression and anxiety, and was really living a half-decent life, going to back to school, getting my sh*t together in a really grown-up way. He asked if I wanted to be pen pals. I said, "Uh, sure."

You can probably imagine where this is going if you’re human and have a pulse.

I had no idea what that meant. I was hoping he understood that clearly he would be the first to write, because I had no idea how grown-up pen pals worked. He was living abroad, enjoying what appeared to be a very glamorous, bohemian lifestyle. In the photos he posted, it was clear that he had a dog and cool-dude digs. And oh, he was handsome. I wondered where the hell he’d been in college, when I was pining after some miserable artsy kid who eventually left to study acting in England.

And then his letter came.

It was a four-page explosion of scribbled drawings, backstory, hopes, and dreams… and it felt like a masterpiece. I spent hours pouring over it; I brought it to work with me, carefully enclosed in a book, like something precious, secret, almost sacred. I showed it to my best friend in quiet wonder, asking,Who the hell is this guy? And what the hell is this wonderful thing? I spent days crafting a reply. I poured my heart into it; this process was fun and new and wildly curious and exciting. The next few months proceeded like this, eagerly awaiting letters, trading ecstatic Facebook messages, pinging each other to exclaim that the mail had arrived—we traded exclamations of I got it! I got it!!!!

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We shared our hopes and dreams, our greatest fears, our weirdest inclinations; soon I felt like I knew him better than I knew most of my closest friends. Trinkets were exchanged. He sent me a little drawing pad, a cartoon, and a dedication on the first page. I sent him a friendship bracelet (remember how easy those were to make? Apparently not so much for adult hands). Our avoidance of any topic even remotely romantic felt electrically deliberate, the implications present at every turn.Where do you see yourself in five years? With someone I love, somewhere good.

You can probably imagine where this is going if you’re human and have a pulse. I fell head over heels in love with him. It was the single most romantic thing to ever happen to me; it was like a movie. It actually might be a movie, probably one starring Rachel McAdams.

Yes, that is a matronly support bra under my cool leather jacket. What of it? / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park

We arranged to meet in DC in the spring. At this point, everyone knew this special thing that was unfolding in my life. What will you wear? What will you say? This is it! He and I texted for days beforehand. We chatted about everything, as we usually did, easy and effortlessly, as though we’d known each other forever. The conversation veered toward romance. My pulse quickened. It’s hard to find love, he wrote. Sure is, I said. Well, I’m going on a weekend trip with this girl I’ve been seeing, so we’ll see how it goes. Cross your fingers for me!

Girl. I’ve. Been. Seeing. The words punctured all the air in my tiny apartment as I stared at my phone. Even as I began to tear up, I furiously started making excuses for him. Of course he’s seeing someone, Mikayla. What did you expect? He’s a guy. Guys have needs. This is understandable. I forgave him immediately, because that’s what you do. Back in that middle-school locker room, I’d stood there in my training bra and chosen to become someone generous, so I wasn’t about to become an ungenerous girl in a matronly support bra in my own living room, butt-hurt at my pen pal for taking girls on dates.

So instead, I cheekily told him that I couldn’t really cross my fingers, because I was in love with him myself. I tend to go balls to the wall with stuff like that. He rambled on a little about feelings, and timing, and distance, without ever really saying anything in reply.

I went to DC anyway, of course. I had a plane ticket, and my mother was expecting me, and when your mother is expecting you, what the f*ck else is there to do? I wasn’t giving up, either. No. I didn’t care who the this girl was; he and I had something special, and I had pages upon pages of letters to prove it. What was he thinking? I felt like I was gearing up for the fight of my life; he belonged with me. Why couldn’t he see that? I wrote him a good-bye letter just in case, feeling positive that I would show it to him someday, when we were old and married, and laugh about how he almost lost me entirely once. I tucked it into my pocket for good luck.

We planned to meet at a coffee shop at noon. He was two hours late. I cried into an overpriced latte and told myself he was probably late because he was losing his mind in confusion. I forgave him immediately, trying to feel magnanimous while wiping the snot from my nose.

When he finally arrived, he gave me a bag of coffee as a gift and asked why I was crying. I told him, mustering up my best Rachel McAdams, that I had fallen in love with him, that this was something special, something worth fighting for, that I would move to his far-off country for him if that was what it took, that I could teach anywhere, if it meant we could have our shot. He rambled on a little about feelings and timing and distance, looked sad, and then asked if I wanted to get gelato. I wanted so badly to ignore it, but the no was written all over his face, all over the way he very delicately physically separated himself from me. I tearfully shrugged and said OK.

We spent the rest of the day together, exploring DC, eating food, taking photos. I felt like I was holding myself hostage. I really just wanted to punch him in the face and leave, but I felt guilty. I couldn’t leave him like that; he hadn’t asked for any of this. We drove around in his mom’s convertible, listening to old indie rock. We drew pictures and left them in a box by a garden. Two cartoon characters saying I don’t know and I don’t know either. At the end of the day, I gave him the good-bye letter I wrote him. It was generous and sad. I couldn’t be his pen pal anymore; it wasn’t fair to me, and it wasn’t fair to the girl he was with.

No one seems to know! / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park

That night, he told me he had reread all of my letters (which he had inexplicably brought with him) searching for signs, for clues, wondering where he had gone wrong. Had he missed romantic signals somewhere? He thought we were clearly just pals. I felt guilty, like I had ruined this wonderful thing we had by breaking an invisible rule. I didn’t forgive him, because there was nothing to forgive; it was all my fault. As I sat on the plane the next day, I texted him that I missed him already. He texted me back a link to a song in Portuguese. I desperately searched it for some hidden meaning.

Within my brokenheartedness, I felt an undercurrent of guilt, like I had wronged him by falling in love, that I made something out of nothing, that his intentions had been pure and I had somehow sullied it with my own agenda.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

In hindsight, I’d like to go back to that day and punch myself in the face, then get the hell out of there, as far from him as possible. I’d like to tell my former self that I didn’t do anything wrong.

Look, even now I want to believe him! Maybe he didn’t mean to lead me on; it is so ingrained in my nature to forgive him, to try to understand, to make excuses. Maybe he never meant for it to go that way at all; maybe he honestly, truthfully, never even thought about it. Maybe he’d ignored the scribbled hearts ALL THE F*CK OVER MY LETTERS. Maybe he has intimate female pen pals all the time, and nothing like this has ever happened… but seriously, that just makes him stupid, which is almost as bad as being cruel. And guess what? You don’t have to forgive stupid, either.

His relationship with that girl was just slightly more serious than he’d led on; they’re now married and have a child. I unfriended him on Facebook and unfollowed him on Instagram, although he doesn’t seem to know it yet because he still likes all my posts (hi, I guess you know now).

I unceremoniously tossed his letters out with the trash one day.

Yeah, no one wants those letters. / Illustration by the author, Mikayla Park

Intent is a thing, I know. It’s a thing, and it matters. And forgiveness is also a thing, and it’s nice, and it feels good. But for f*ck’s sake, not everyone is worth forgiving. I don’t feel weighed down by any continued resentment, but I feel free from the obligation to be gracious and forgiving. There is plenty of room in my heart for both.

Sometimes things don’t end in a hug and a laugh and, boom, friendship! Sometimes the most someone deserves is not you—and that’s not heavy, that’s not a burden. The girl at the coffee shop who waited two hours for a guy who didn’t appreciate her? She deserves my forgiveness. As for the rest, I’ll be the girl in the matronly support bra opting out of Pilates class, waving my middle finger from the couch as I watch Hoarders. And I don’t feel bad about it one. Single. Bit.

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