#I did this in JUNE and thought that I would return to it later (but recently realized that it was basically already fine and finished) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jimin-bangtan · 29 days ago

Text

⏱️ BTS’s Long Overdue Conversation ⏱️

This post is NOT about the recent AMA situation. It was written long before the AMA controversy, both in my mind and in writing. I held onto it intentionally in order to post before June of BTS's return. Strangely, the AMA fandom revelation and meltdown made me realize that this post was also long overdue.

⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰

Others who speak and write much better than I do have already written on this topic, but I felt I needed to put my thoughts in the arena too. I have been feeling this way for a long time and have gotten mixed reactions from those I have already shared my thoughts with in conversation. Most people realize that there is a problem but may have differing views on how it should be handled.

NOTE: It's a rather long one. Feel free to skip down past the "HISTORY & EXPLANATION" and "SHIPPING CONTRIBUTIONS" to my “HOPEFUL EXPECTATIONS FOR A SOLUTION" section at the end.

⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰ ⏰

OVERALL REASON for a conversation

I feel it’s time for BigHit and BTS to directly address the atmosphere and behavior within the fandom. Even if they cannot convince people to behave better, I feel they need to make clear where they stand on the present condition of their fandom. A direct conversation could possibly influence a significant number of people to make better choices or to at least not tolerate those who are causing the disruptions and problems. If nothing else, I feel they need to make clear what their expectations are for their fans in regard to the words and actions that are considered acceptable toward other fans, each member, and the group as a whole.

HISTORY AND EXPLANATION of the situation

When BTS began, they were each assigned stage roles that were at times outside of who they genuinely were in personality and character. For example, I feel it pained Jimin, who is now widely known to be a gentle, polite, thoughtful person, to have to arrogantly yell at fans “Who am I?!?” demanding that they holler out his name in return. You could see on his face that he did not enjoy having to do that. He was embarrassed to watch replays of it, and he even later remarked that he would be okay never seeing that again, even though I feel he has since come to terms with the moment as part of his story.

All the members were given some sort of role or situation to play out that gave the public an impression of who they were supposed to be. Jimin’s role happened to be one of the more contrasting to who he actually is, and it might have given the public the wrong idea of him when they believed that he really was that loud, arrogant character they saw. It started his career off by potentially rubbing some people the wrong way.

Along with these types of actions, early on, BTS also participated in some of the more cringy KPop behaviors and activities that I feel only serve to demean and humiliate the idols, even if it entertained some portion of the public. I also feel much of the situations fostered more internal competitiveness and animosity rather than team building and unity.

Since BTS was ostracized, ignored and mistreated, by the KPop community and Korean media, they eventually created their own platforms, shows, and content, then chose to drop the roles and much of the destructive behaviors in their own material. They modeled a better way of entertaining without the negative inclusions. They displayed more closeness and unity and chose to minimize actions that were as intentionally unpleasant or demoralizing.

With their immense talent and genuine charm, which could now be seen beyond the strange, less sincere facades, BTS outgrew the KPop industry as its fandom and success exploded. The industry noticed, but instead of determining what made BTS thrive then copying the formula, they often chose to attempt to minimize or erase BTS and their progress. The industry seemed to want to continue the antics, no matter how destructive they were to KPop, the idols, or society at large.

To the industry leaders, emotionally manipulating their fans seemed easier than actually developing sincere emotions and loyalty from their fans (as BTS did). Exciting fans with strange, “amusing”, suggestive situations or inciting fights between one group or another was easier than creating exciting stages with challenging performances that continued to grow in creativity (as BTS did). Also, as seen in politics, they felt it was easier to get rid of the opponent rather than to have to do the hard work of keeping up and surpassing the competition's obvious talent and rising power and achievements (or so they thought).

I have recently already written about some of the external forces that had designed goals of infiltrating BTS’s fandom and creating discord and discontent from within the fandom by pretending to be fans. The imitators also would behave badly in public in order to give BTS’s protective, effective, and growing fandom a bad name in the public’s eyes. (With the obvious attempts to make constant, negative noise around BTS/HYBE, especially during the hiatus, I feel we are underestimating the extent of these fake actors within the fandom.)

Too many of the fandom embraced the interference and engaged in the infighting and destruction. Due to immaturity and hatefulness, some fans initiated damaging interactions on their own. The actions were pitting fandom members against each other but also caused fans to disown and disrespect actual BTS members!!!

I know. I have been told that there is a whole "OT7" motto that was used in the fandom, which was supposed to mean that all 7 members were loved and supported equally. Well, based on what I have seen and experienced, it was either untrue from the start or the problems within the fandom destroyed that sentiment in large part. I am shocked and disappointed at the words and actions I’ve seen toward the group and specific members at the hands (& mouths) of the supposed fandom.

SIGNIFICANT CONTRIBUTOR to the problem

In addition to the forced roles that set incorrect interpretations of the members into motion, one of the other main contributors to the ongoing, negative, destructive aura that is permeating the fandom is shipping. Shipping (for new fans) is a long accepted feature in KPop, where 2 members of a group are considered to be in a supposedly fictional, publicly-acknowledged union, which is often accompanied by a combined pet name, such as "VMin" for a V and Jimin relation“ship”. The short name for these unions is a ship.

Shipping can involve a degree of skinship in order to play along with the excited fans. Skinship is a performative feature, where the 2 bandmates touch and flirt to titillate fans over the supposedly fake relationship. Interestingly, the ships can exist whether the people involved know about, agree with, or acknowledge the created ship at all. The establishment of said ships originated, I guess, to stir emotions and competition among the fans in order to gain attention and passion for the idols and for the group. I guess being talented and entertaining weren’t enough.

The long overdue conversation that I feel is necessary would need to be centered in large part around shipping. A lot of the hostility within the fandom appears to be rooted in the shipping insanity. The envy, hate, and misinformation seems to stem from shipping and the communities that shipping has created - especially those in BTS that involve the Maknae Line members (Taehyung, Jimin, & Jung Kook).

This is because the fans have become emotionally invested and connected to the point that the existence of these relationships have become entwined with their own identities. Many almost hysterically believe their chosen ships are real and are being harmed by other members in the group or by the company. It has become a script beyond soap opera (& K drama) proportions.

BigHit and BTS are guilty of encouraging the shipping culture to varying degrees. Some of the members (some more than others) did (do?) stoke the fires of shipping within the ARMY fandom for whatever reasons. When BTS dropped the previously mentioned, disturbing KPop actions early on, I feel BTS did drop a degree of the shipping actions as well. However, the members still remained close and still were physically affectionate with each other, which may have made it seem that the shipping circumstances were still fully in play.

There are people who confuse genuine physical affection with skinship. In life, some people’s love language is physical affection and with or without a public career, those types of people would choose to express themselves by giving and receiving physical touch. Culturally, different groups and countries have varying levels of acceptable physical contact with other people, whether same sex or not. So every affectionate physical touch is not skinship, nor fake, nor inciting shipping. However, sometimes it is connected to the business purpose of shipping. The problem is often the public's ability to tell the difference.

Idols are entertainers after all, and their job is to entertain the public. Engaging playfully with each other entertains people. BTS is very good at interacting with each other affectionately and playfully, and their natural camaraderie and appreciation for each other shows. It is one of the features that most people notice about the group, aside from their music.

People, at times, confuse shipping for what could possibly be friendly interactions - or more controversially, a real relationship. Shipping, in itself, is supposed to be a fictional pairing of two people. It is also a convenient cover for those who may be in a legitimate same sex relationship, while in the same industry or band, while in a very conservative country, but it can also be used to conveniently dismiss a real relationship that may exist. Thus, the controversy begins.

So the problem is that without any declaration or confirmation from the involved idols, many fans have chosen to declare some of the relationships as real and put an emotional stake in “defending and protecting” the existence of that relationship. If the relationship appears challenged in any way, vicious words and actions are taken. In addition to harassment and doxing, the reactions have, more so in recent times, risen to the harmful level of death threats toward the company owners and employees, other fans, family members, and some of the BTS members themselves.

Allowing the uncertainty to remain unchecked, about how BTS feels about shipping and about the reactions within the fandom, has allowed these intense feelings to grow in scope, depth, and intensity. By there being no consequential responses or pushbacks, the dangerous actors have been silently given permission to continue in this way.

Over the years, there have been a few mild instances where a few BTS members individually attempted to clear up the shipping space, but those efforts were extremely rare and exceptionally mild. I feel it’s time that the group altogether speaks directly to the fandom about shipping and any other problematic issues.

Even if they cannot change the minds of those who choose to passionately believe in shipping, they at least should address their expectations for the vile, hateful, nasty comments and/or questions fans are expressing on social media, during their WeLives, in public events, to official government departments, etc. It’s gotten carried away. It has become dangerous, dehumanizing, and destructive.

When I first became engaged with BTS, I saw a comment (that I apologize for not being able to give credit to the owner) that said, “Let’s hope the government & media do not destroy BTS from the outside while the fandom destroys BTS from the inside.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand the sentiment, which seemed extreme, but unfortunately I now grasp the intensity of the thought. How shameful that it’s come to this.

BTS’s fandom grew exponentially fast from the start and then again during the Covid quarantine. BTS were young men paving an unknown path and exceeding everyone’s expectations in the process, including their own. They were too busy, too tired, and too young to know how to manage all of that well, so I am not placing blame at their feet, but I do feel they now need to acknowledge it and provide input. The company was also in foreign territory, where it grew too fast to keep up with all that was happening as well. However, they have allowed several balls to drop on many business decisions and circumstances, and this is one of them. It is also time for them to act.

MY HOPEFUL EXPECTATION for a solution

Although it may be complicated for BTS to denounce all ships within the group, they at least could firmly, clearly, and directly state their expectations about fandom behavior and the expectation of members’ privacy in the chats and social media conversations. (And by privacy, I don’t mean fun speculation about things that are publicly provided by the members or the company.)

If BTS members are unsure about how it could be done, I have been hugely encouraged by some idols and entertainers who have recently addressed their fandoms and made clear, very politely and professionally - but firmly, that they saw the bad behavior, and it was not what was expected - or they described what was expected.

One was Kim WooSung from the band The Rose.

Credit: Posted by Seoul-Bros

Another was Bang Chan, the leader of Stray Kids.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Clakthv Jeon Tae (@clayoongi___jkookthv)

instagram

BTS can design their own way of having a collection of realistic conversations with fans about the situation. The coming time seems like the perfect opportunity for them to establish new expectations going forward from this new starting point, as they return from the military and reunite in the next form of BTS, the group. They will have the attention of presently-active fans as well as any people considering being fans as well as any people who left the Army fandom due to the hostility and aggression.

BTS has graciously and abundantly thanked fans and has repeatedly expressed love and gratitude toward them. A healthy relationship should be honest about the concerns too.

Jung Kook has said on several occasions that he feels relationships should always include consideration, understanding, and respect. This would be a good time for BTS to take heed to their youngest member’s wisdom and attempt to reset the relationships that they have with fans and that the fans have with each other.

BTS has done so many exceptional, ground breaking things throughout their career. I’m sure they could make a significant impact on helping to improve the atmosphere of their fandom - the fandom that they worked so hard to cultivate and grow.

After all, it is long overdue.

⏰

#BTS #Bangtan7 #BTS's Long Overdue Conversation #It's time for BTS's talk.#BTS's Fandom needs to be addressed.#BTS's toxic fandom issues #Bangtan

29 notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 1 year ago

Text

Hi, I started reading your stories and I love the, could I please request a modern!slightly older!Eddie x neighbour!reader? He can tell she always excited when texting on her phone, one day as he comes home, she comes out all dressed up for a date but later he finds out reader was ghosted and comforts her? Maybe smut? Maybe reader gets bruises/hickeys easily?

Fluff, jealous Eddie. Mdni. 18+blog.

Request by anon 💞

🫶🥰

Eddie always noticed you. You were his next door neighbour, always friendly to him and he enjoyed talking to you. As well as being sweet, you were also funny and had a dry sarcastic wit that he was instantly taken with.

On a sunny day in June, he was returning from his shift as the local mechanic in the auto repair shop in town. As per usual you were sitting outside and basking in the sunshine, however every couple of minutes you would look at your phone and smile dreamily.

Come to think of it, Eddie had noticed that you were always texting and smiling secretly to yourself the last few days. He was curious at what was causing you to be so smiley and giddy.

He stops to chat for a bit and still feels that tug of wonder when you continue to text this unknown person with the biggest grin on your face. It was stupid but it made Eddie pouty, he was used to making you smile like that.

It didn't take very long for him to find out the roof of your giddiness. After work the next day, he stopped by the store and got a six pack of beer and figured he would ask you to join him for a drink.

Only when he got home you were locking up and he almost swallowed his tongue as he saw that you were dressed to the nines, wearing a dress that highlighted every inch of your body.

You smile at Eddie and grow flustered at the stunned look on his face, "You look amazing princess" he manages to say and your expression brightens in delight.

"Thanks, I have a date". Suddenly the images of you texting, the giddiness and almost shy way you would stare at your phone all made sense, the pieces clicked into place as he realised you must have texting the lucky dude or girl.

"His name is Andrew, I met him at work and we've been talking for a few weeks" Eddie listens to this and feels the swell of jealousy stir in his veins. Andrew was one lucky dude.

"Have fun, any funny business happens then you call me, okay?" He knows he's being protective but he likes you and doesn't want anything sinister happening to you.

You nod and kiss his cheek then hurry over to your car, Eddie watches you go, his cheeks burn with the imprint of your lips on his cheek.

...

Sullen Eddie settles down for a quiet night but is surprised when an hour later he hears the screech of your tires. He peers out the window and watches you get out, slam the door and head into your house.

Fuck, the guy must have been a dick. Making a split second decision, he decides to go and check on you. Anger burns in his veins at the thought of Andrew getting you upset.

He gently knocks on your door and you answer it, there's a trace of tears on your cheeks and Eddie fumes. "What did the fucker do?" he growls, you wipe your eyes and gesture for Eddie to come in.

"He didn't even show Eddie, I waited for like twenty minutes and texted him but he completely ghosted me" Not only was this guy an idiot but he was a stupid one at that.

Your tears tug at Eddie's heart and he pulls you into a hug. You snuggle close to him and lay your head on his chest.

"He's an asshole princess. If I ever run into him I'll kick his ass for making you cry" your sobs quieten and you let out an unmistakable giggle.

"If you let me take you on a date then believe me you would have the time of your life sweetheart" Eddie stiffens as he realises what he said, he can't take it back and honestly he doesn't want to take it back.

You smile impishly and the look on your face takes Eddie's breath away. "Then maybe you should take me on that date Munson, if you're so sure or yourself"

Like magnets you move even closer to each other and Eddie kisses you, feels heat rush through his body as you begin to kiss him back.

He kisses you passionately, moves to your neck and leaves love bites on your skin, then he stops and you make a little whimper of annoyance, glare at him. He trails a finger over the little bites that are blooming on your skin.

"Sorry princess but wooing first before the rest of the good stuff" he promises and you brighten at this.

"Alright Munson, colour me intrigued" Eddie makes a wow then to do his best to woo and make you happy.

Maybe he could sneak a few kisses before then though... 🤭

❤️🫶

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #older eddie munson #eddie munson

240 notes · View notes

holocene-sims · 4 months ago

Text

next // previous

june 3, 2022 5:15 p.m. casbah gallery

[soobin] and fifteen minutes later, your mom is back.

[henry] oh, she brought ethan and his mom. that explains the delay, they were probably auntie gossiping in the parking garage that whole time.

[grant] isn’t that–

[henry] the guy who told you he thought you were dead last time we ate at their family restaurant?

[grant] i was going to say your friend that started a fire in your dorm by burning his microwave mac and cheese, but yeah, that also describes him.

[cerise] he thought you were dead?

[grant] long story on all fronts.

. . .

[insook] grant! my adopted son! i'm so glad you’re here tonight!

[grant] of course i am! if i missed the exhibition opening, i would never forgive myself. it’s an honor to be here for you guys.

[insook] and you must be cerise, the art curator sister.

[cerise] that would be me! hello, mrs., um–

[insook] no, no, no formalities. you're practically family already. insook is fine. or mama ong. that’s what grant calls me.

[cerise] still, hello! it’s very nice to meet you finally.

[grant] so, what do you think, mama ong?

[insook] i think sanghoon would be pleased with this.

[grant] obviously, i'm not an artsy person, so i don’t know how to comment on the exhibition in an intelligent way, but it’s beautiful in here. he was very skilled, and he should have those skills celebrated and immortalized.

[cerise] your husband was talented, and i see he was fond of impressionism.

[insook] he was! he dabbled in lots of styles, but impressionism was always his favorite. he was the practical sort, and the mundane subject matter spoke to him to begin with. then he lived in france for a while when we were still dating, and he saw the best of the best of the movement there. i would have fallen in love with it, too, if i saw a monet in its original environment.

[cerise] also, from what i understand from grant, most of his career took place here, so this must feel like a fitting place for these paintings to stay.

[insook] it does. he made a lot of works across many different places, but he said he had the best experiences and inspiration here. he felt like the people and landscapes here are especially genuine. we lived for the last few decades on the upper peninsula, and…

[henry] you get to know people and places very well because it’s so quiet. quiet and also kind of empty in some spots. it’s a paradise for those who like the kind of art he liked.

[insook] you’ve probably heard from my son by now, but he hated private collecting.

[cerise] i did hear that.

[insook] artistically and personally, he learned a lot from living here, and we as a family had good lives here. now that can be returned to the community. he’d be happy if even one person appreciates this region through his eyes. i think when you’re born in any given place, you pay more attention to its flaws. you think of the negatives–the bad experiences you’ve had, the changes a town has gone through, whatever it is you dislike–but then you see that place through the eyes of someone who traveled thousands of miles to come here and loved it enough to portray its positives in a painting. it changes your perspective for the better.

[grant] from my perspective, i agree. i was looking at that set of paintings of my hometown on the corner wall a few minutes ago, and my first reaction was that you couldn’t have a more perfect painting of the scenery. and that’s me, the person who hates where i grew up so much that i avoid going anywhere up north other than my family’s houses, saying that. it was actually kind of easy to put the hatred aside for those paintings.

[henry] talk about mission accomplished.

[grant] will you miss living around here?

[insook] me? i will, just like i've missed my family and friends in seoul. i know good people here–your family, for one–and like i said, we lived a great life here. sanghoon and i were happy. henry was happy growing up here. it's just time to do something else in my life now that i'm retired and unburdened, you could say. but you ask that like i'm not coming back, though. i'll be back to visit!

[soobin] if she can’t take her adopted son with her, she’ll have to come visit you.

[insook] we could take you! no, you should work on going back to being a pilot, although…

[grant] if that doesn’t work out, you can come back and get me? sure, i'm open to anything.

[insook] we marry you off to a friend’s kid, you get an easy visa. jiyoung’s niece is single. she's quite shy, so i've never met her, but i hear she's a sweet girl. no, i'm kidding. you should pick your partner yourself.

[grant] i don’t know, i seem to have terrible taste. can i really be trusted to pick?

[henry] the karaoke girl seemed nice.

[grant] she did, but i talked to her once, so that doesn’t count.

[cerise] do you mind if i ask when you're moving?

[insook] when? oh, two weeks from now.

[cerise] wow! shit, are you guys leaving soon, too? i did hear that right that you're going with her?

[henry] you did hear that right, but no, we’re here until, i don’t know, late summer or early fall. we don’t have an exact date yet. well, okay, not anymore. we did.

[soobin] we were planning to move around the same time because, like, if we’re really doing this and your mom is leaving at the end of the spring, let’s just go. we’ll sell the house when she leaves, and we’ll follow her.

[soobin] and then i found out i was pregnant last month, and i panicked. i feel like death lately, so i'd prefer not to be stuck on a plane over the pacific or with the burden of selling a house and moving our furniture. i think i'll wait until i feel less like death and am less scared of something going wrong.

[henry] we’ll figure it out. we are at least giving ourselves an extra month or two to make decisions, which will be fine.

[cerise] okay, in that case, delaying things is rational, i think, but congratulations! that’s exciting.

[soobin] it is! we are surprised but very excited.

[grant] are you feeling okay, by the way?

[soobin] i mean, better than the last few times you've seen me, but if tonight were not extremely important, i would be in bed right now with 64oz of ginger ale.

[soobin] but i'm sticking it out. i'm good.

38 notes · View notes

9w1ft · 2 months ago

Note

Okay okay set the scene-

champagne problems. 1 for the money (the first wedding)

2 for the show (the second highly broadcasted wedding featuring scooter Braun)

I never was ready (to come out?) so I watched you go (deeper into a bearding contract so that we can hide in plain sight and commit vigilante shit). I do belive that we were on for a public reunion and coming out before the masters heist.

anyways champagne problems making sense today.

oh yes and on a base level when we all first listened through evermore and got to champagne problems i would venture to guess that this was the prevailing thought for sure, but sort of in a dry humor way 🥴

also this!

one thing that i agree with that i sense from your interpretation is that (and this i feel is true about so much of folklore and i back this up with things taylor herself has written) is that it’s a mixture of feelings that arose over multiple moments and events, not a one to one thing that means only one thing. in other words, to me, champagne problems is not “someone got proposed to and got denied and therefore there was no wedding”. to me it’s more like using it as a metaphor for conveying the feelings she had around certain things. also i agree that i do think taylor was gearing up for some sort of coming out at the end of june 2019. but ultimately she changed course. and while i think that champagne problems can depict a certain feeling that she had and deal with things that happened that are wedding themed, in the sense of taking the temperature on the status of that relationship i always return to a song that feels chronologically newer, the lakes, and the line “i’m setting off, but not without my muse, no not without you.” when thinking about the overall arc of taylor’s moves post-june 2019. in retrospect, i also find the line “she’ll patch up your tapestry that i shred” to be similar to the motif of the banner found in other songs, “tore our banners down” and “years of tearing down our banners” — to me, champagne problems is representative of another time that taylor tore the banners down on something. that could be 2019, it could be earlier, like post-election 2016 maybe, but moreover, it’s one of a series of moments over time, not an end.

i thought i’d mention that the second wedding thing was positioned more like an extended reception for their business circles (scooter was her manager at the time). some family and friends came too but it had a distinct work friends vibe. a big dinner and activities. the first one was positioned more like a ceremony and intimate event with a smaller circle of friends and family. which i might add isn’t that weird conceptually (to have a smaller ceremony and then a bigger party later) or at least that’s how i went about doing my wedding years ago so 😆 like it was definitely sus (and silly!) of them to do two events, silly in an absurdist, god can’t we catch a break sort of way, but also not unheard of conceptually imo.

also if you could allow me a long tangent regarding one other tiny point that came to mind when reading your ask (and i’m sorry for getting particular about semantics and i’m mostly writing this because i’ve gotten a lot of newer followers lately so it’s not directed at you in particular nor am i sure you meant it that way but it did make me think something so here i go) it’s just that i think that it can be beneficial to us as observers of kaylor to consider a contract to be something that is signed and negotiated by two or more parties, and therefore, usually, it is a document that is considered balanced for all parties which is evidenced by approval through their signatures. that is to say, i think oftentimes we talk about adding marriage to bearding as going deeper into the closet and maybe we see the words ‘bearding contract’ and we talk about it like its a somewhat nefarious thing but, in spirit, a bearding contract is a document to facilitate the terms of something complicated and nuanced and important that shouldn’t be done on the fly. sometimes i feel like people think as if karlie and/or taylor were strong armed into some raw deal and that they are being bound and held captive to their true feelings, but i think that is a tenuous path to walk down. because when people see bearding as some sort of trapping mechanism to get out of, and then set expectations for what they want the girls to do in terms of how to get out of it, and their expectations do not get fulfilled, they tend to blame this on things which have been arbitrarily marked as unfair. and i think it often leads to people running to the concepts of blackmail, criminality, etcetera, as a catch all to explain and justify their ideals about how taylor or karlie should act. when we simply do not know the truth of the matter. and in terms of maintaining a healthy fandom community ecosystem, in my opinion, we ought to be able to amend our view of things with more ease and make the observation of kaylor a net positive in our lives as opposed to setting ourselves up to become angry or feeling perpetually disenfranchised at every turn based on the way we choose to define things. i am not saying we should not empathize with the complexity and tribulations of their situation or not hope for a future where we can all live life freely. i very much do. and i think there are hard times and sadness for them because of the realities of society. it’s just that, as a group, i think it is more useful or helpful for people like taylor to not have to worry about appeasing our feelings. she should have to spend time on us. in my opinion, in terms of priorities, we are behind other groups of people in her life and that’s how it should be. and so, i tend to avoid thinking about their situation as something bleak that they are getting buried under and may never get out of, but rather a uniquely complex situation that merits us extending some grace toward, in terms of setting expectations. and i think that the way we think about bearding or bearding contracts can affect our general mood and morale.

alright, thank you for allowing my tangent!

one parting idea for me is that, for example even in champagne problems, taylor was not ready personally to go through with something and that through the song she is acknowledging this hesitancy that came from her and how that might have ruined an envisioned version of things in a way, but that at the end of the day these are ‘champagne problems’ ie, problems that exist within the greater context of a situation of abundance. in a way, to me, taylor is saying, i know we have so much and at the end of the day maybe this hurt ought not to be compared to people in the world less fortunate, but i feel compelled to share this emotion anyway. there’s this tension in the song, for me anyway, between telling herself that her feelings aren’t important, and embracing and letting her feelings out (mostly the bridge). at the end of the song, reflecting on having torn down a banner, taylor hopes that her lover could find someone who could do what she could not in the moment, someone who recognizes how the bones are good, and she calls all her aforementioned feelings champagne problems. not that she necessarily believes that they are, nor is there magically some new person in the equation, but that she recognizes the difference in viewpoints between her and her lover and is wondering how to bridge the gap. i think in some ways that connects to the song happiness in the sense that taylor refers to her future self “all you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness, you haven’t met the new me yet, and i think she’ll give you that”

#this got long anon i’m sorry!! but thank you for pulling some lacent thoughts out of me! it’s #been awhile

26 notes · View notes

moonyskarma · 28 days ago

Text

𝓣he 𝓢candal of the 𝓒entury

❝ call me 𝓥on 𝓓utch, i'm just as bad, i'm just doing what i want!!! ❞

everything started in june at a summer party. at a high status event like that, many celebrities are invited. charles and i attended. so did kim kardashian. and that my friends is where this whole thing starts. please be forewarned this is a pretty long post!!!

at this party, kim took it upon herself to openly flirt with my boyfriend in front of me. her husband, kanye west, had not been attending this party. as i typically give people the benefit of the doubt, i brushed it off and assumed she was just drunk.

that night, when charles and i returned home at around 2 or 3 am, he received a text from her saying "it was really nice to see you tonight, would love to see you again sometime?"

like what. are you serious. I WAS AT THE PARTY WITH HIM??? my period of giving her the benefit of the doubt was now over, so i posted this the next day as a warning to her.

around this time, she'd taken it upon herself to post tweets that were... well, rather targeted, about having a crush on a taken man. why she was posting that kind of thing on her main account i have no idea. she claimed her and kanye were "on a break", and started using the hashtag #kimthecougar on all her posts. yeah, i was not pleased with that. #apolloleclerc, however, was trending and had been for a couple months.

a couple weeks later, this was still occurring. charles was declining calls from her every day, and every night she'd text and dm him, often with photos of herself (not any particularly inappropriate ones. not yet.)

at this point, i'd already called and asked her to please stop as charles is in a relationship (WITH ME???) and obviously doesn't want her. she denied everything.

so i posted this. and the whole world exploded.

and then she brought jamie into it. that's right, my ex boyfriend jamie. jamie who had absolutely no part in this.

she's LITERALLY MARRIED and sending dms and messages and photos to my boyfriend and calling him every night. "i would never promote cheating or adultery" be SO fr right now oh my god???

she tried to use the excuse that as jamie was (kinda) significantly older than me when i had dated him, it excused her flirting with charles.

um that's not how that works !! first of all jamie wasn't MARRIED??? also i wasn't IN A RELATIONSHIP??? it's very clearly not the same thing, and i felt awful that jamie'd been dragged into something that he had nothing to with.

oh girl sybau. like im sorry but what. i quite literally have receipts. i have taken these receipts to my lawyer. THERE ARE RECEIPTS. THERE ARE SO MANY RECEIPTS.

first lyric post for my song better people to leave on read (which had been released three days prior!!!) at that point i was so pissed off because even after all of this, SHE WAS STILL TRYING TO HIT ON HIM. WHAT.

thank you ex-boyfriend xx idk there's not much to say about this one i just thought it was really sweet that he said this. he always used to refer to me as "his sun" or "the sun" because my pen name (and middle name) is apollo

second lyric post !! from the same song as well. overall, this entire situation is so ridiculously stupid. not only did all of this happen with me (and charles. and jamie.) but kim started a hate campaign against taylor (yes, taylor swift) when she came to my defense (#taylorswiftismybestfriend). kim kardashian they will never make me like you.

23 notes · View notes

glasskey · 2 months ago

Text

What Did Nick Do?

Or rather, what is Nick gonna do? there’s been a lot of talk this season about just how Nick is going to betray our young June and I’ve been giving this some heavy thought as well.

Mark Tuello - Nick has made a deal that he’s having trouble fulfilling and Tuello is now straight up threatening to expose him for it. We all know what Nick will do to survive, and if you think he’s going to let some bratty little diplomat with a knife to his throat undo him, well think again. He made that deal to see June and he got what he wanted. Blaine has been living in Gilead for a decade or more and has no illusions about his future, as much as Tuello would like to have him believe that he will be able to leave and make a life with his daughter, Blaine knows he’s now firmly in Gilead’s stranglehold. The scene in the forest between Nick, June and Tuello had a considerable sense of foreshadowing about it; one of them would end up dead and out of the two of them Nick’s the killer. Tuello is his figurative bridge to a life with June and Holly, if he sets fire to it, you can say goodbye to that forever.

Holly - So writers are cueing up everything really well that is contained in The Testaments, give or take a few details and one of those things is the demand for Holly to be returned and for her to be hidden as a result. I’ve become a wee bit suspicious about how convenient the connection is between Nick, Serena, Wharton and Rose. If Wharton becomes aware of the existence of Holly and her true parentage, he may demand her back and strong arm his son in law into doing so. It would not be a hard stretch of the imagination that either Serena or Rose would make Wharton aware of it. I imagine it may become an even greater possibility should Rose lose her baby. I’m not saying Nick would WANT to do it, I’m just saying that once that genie is out of the bottle, he’s going to find it really, really, really hard to say no. It’s particularly telling that we had that whole little scene at the beginning of the season where June argued with her mother about how much Nick loved Holly and wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. Trust me, she’ll NEVER forgive him for this one.

The Red Dress - ANYTHING that Nick does that results in June being put back into that red dress. If that happens, that’s it, it’s all over. This speaks volumes about what he as a member of the patriarchy will do to a woman to hold onto his position of power. Even if he doesn’t do it directly, the point will be that he is a passive facilitator and believe me, THAT is the writers true intent. Throughout the seasons we’ve seen Nick identify June as an individual and make concerted efforts to help her escape, so the action of now placing her back in that dress is huge. It’s also something that will “open her eyes” and tell her that mummy dearest was right all along. I believe that writers may have changed course to de romanticize this character and include him as just another member of the patriarchy that the protagonist was previously blind to. It’s a sharp turn from the sole male character amongst the swamp who recognized her autonomy and acknowledged her identity.

Mayday - He saved Luke and Moira at the start of the season, shooting two guards in the process, now Wharton is not impressed with the violation of security and he’s already not convinced at all about New Bethlehem. New Bethlehem was Lawrence's idea and already Nick isn’t listening to Lawrence anymore. If Wharton wants to go old school Gilead and shut off the escape routes for refugees, will Nick play along? What happens to Rita? What about June, Luke, Moira and Janine once they go in through the trade routes and can’t get out? Last season we saw Nick tell June that he had to protect his family any way that he can and last episode Rita said she’d do anything for her family and he agreed. So just what exactly would he do for his son?

I'm really hoping that whatever it is, it happens sooner rather than later, because at least we'll have some leeway to turn this thing around. With some of these it's easy to see how once it's done it's done, so let us all form a chanting circle, it’s time to start praying for his soul.

#june x nick #nick x june #max minghella #elisabeth moss #nick blaine #hulu streaming #osblaine #june osborne #handmaid's on hulu #the handmaid's tale #handmaid's tale

27 notes · View notes

dailydemonspotlight · 28 days ago

Text

Apollo - Day 179

Race: Deity Arcana: Sun Alignment: Light-Neutral June 2nd, 2025

And so I return, on the gayest of months. Happy pride month, everybody! I was planning on returning for a while, but I finally overcame my burnout in June, of all months, funny enough. Because of that, as well as everything else, I thought it would be fun to pursue one idea- how about the most queer demons in the series? And the first one that came to mind was, of course, Apollo- possibly the most famously aggressively bisexual characters in myth. Well known fact: the Greeks were gay. Very much so, in fact. They valued strength, and often didn't distinguish between genders for sexuality- rather, they effectively saw you as either the top or the bottom, regardless of gender. I'd rather not get into the more ugly side of this (look up pederasty if you're interested, though I doubt you are given the root word of that phrase >_>) but still, whether it be from Sappho of Lesbos to Achilles and Patroclus, gayness was very common in ancient Greece, whether it be their stories or their day to day lives, and this cannot be exemplified better than with today's Demon of the Day, Apollo.

The fact that this account is a thinly veiled excuse to ramble about mythology will become very apparent here because, bar none, Apollo is my favorite Greek god, and he always has been (maybe that was an early sign of my taste in men?) since I was a child. As one of the sons of Zeus, the twin brother of Artemis, and the patron deity of several very important aspects of Greek life such as music, artistry, and even taking over as god of the sun from the retired Helios, Apollo has a very long and storied history filled with heartbreak and love. And a lot of banging. A LOT.

Born to one of a million affairs between Zeus and a woman/some men, this time being the Titan Leto, Apollo lived a very strange life growing up- and by that, I mean he didn't really grow up as much as he was forcefed ambrosia until he became a fully grown man in one day after a 9-day labor from Leto supported by everyone but, predictably, the jealous and enraged Hera (who I can't even say was acting like a jerk, but at the same time, Zeus has done it a million other times- girl, at some point, you either gotta accept it, divorce his ass, or kill him) who was instead endeavoring to make Leto's life a living hell. Hera sent a massive snake/dragon (it's contested) called Python to attack Leto and prevent her from giving birth, but nearly as soon as Apollo popped out from the womb and donned the lyre did he engage in battle with the snake.

After killing the snake, and recognizing that it would later become a coding language, Apollo ended up holding it high, becoming a symbol of Delphi, the land he fought atop with it, who would later go on to start a specific form of sports games, the Pythian games. Later on, Apollo soon became a god of many things once finally being recognized as one of the gods in the pantheon- he was the god of music, the god of prophecy, oracles, archery (something he presumably shared with Artemis? I'm not sure, maybe Artemis is just the goddess of hunting and Apollo is the god of archery), healing, plague, and disease. More infamously, though, is that Apollo got around. And it NEVER ended well.

I can't go over all of their stories because we'd literally be here all day, but here's a 'quick' list of his lovers (and/or the people he got enamored to and who ran away from him screaming), and how they met their demise. A lot of this is taken from this post by @apollosgiftofprophecy, so check it out!

Acantha, who died by turning into a cactus

Coronis, who was shot by a volley of arrows by Artemis after cheating on Apollo

Hyacinthus, who truly loved Apollo- and turned into a flower

Cyparissus, whose deer died and was promptly turned into a tree for reasons.

Adonis. He died. Whaddya want from me.

Phorbas, who became a the constellation of Ophiuchus

Daphne, who became a tree after Apollo fell in love with her

Castalia, who turned into a spring to escape from Apollo

Admentus, who temporarily died in war before Heracles brought him back.

So yeah. Not the best track record,and according to this Reddit post, he has a 13% mortality rate when it comes to his lovers. I'd recommend reading into any one of these myths- they're all unique in their own respects, being either tragic, or darkly comedic, or both. It's also a good way to get a look at who Apollo was in terms of character- basically being Zeus's twinkiest soldier.

Am I allowed to say that?

Am I gonna get smited?

Eh, whatever. In terms of design, Apollo hasn't shown up in the mainline series since Kyūyaku Megami Tensei, a compendium release of the first two MT games, but his design in KMT is pretty decent- it's a fine enough appearance for him, but it's a little bland, to be honest. Even still, I think it fits him better than his Persona 2 appearance, though his P2 appearance is far more creative and I honestly like how it looks far more.

Not sure why both of them are red, though. Is it because he's the sun? But then, that'd be a pale yellow, right? Ah, whatever- it works fine in both appearances. I'm just defensive about this man.

#smt #megaten #shin megami tensei #persona #daily

22 notes · View notes

nyxscave · 16 days ago

Text

About the last few weeks, studying, burnout and anxiety; and how to treat yourself kindly

Tw for cussing, mental health issues, meds, suicidal thoughts. Very short TL;DR that doesn't need context in pink at the end.

Background; how it started

Doctors + exams + results

The Fucking Psychiatrist

From the pit

Return to normal, and about the future

TL;DR

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

① Background; how it started

I presented my dissertation in February, and graduated in March. Got accepted into my dream Master's program in November last year, but because of conflicting dates, my classes only start in August; so for the next 5 months I had almost no academic obligations.

I had to start planning a project with my new advisor around June, and two extra presentations in events. A paper to edit too, just to tie some loose ends, but only if I felt like it. It was my suggestion, actually, because I thought I was going to be bored to death during those months. Kind of a reenactment of the lockdown, because I barely leave my house if it isn't to go to uni, and I'm not currently working.

I also decided to get my wisdom teeth pulled, something that should've gotten done 6 months ago because of my braces, but oh well, I had a dissertation to write then, and better late than never.

Got two done, and a month later got the other two done. A few days after, right in the morning of the first day I wouldn't need to take the anti-inflammatory anymore, I got some weird arrhythmias and a constant feeling of pressure on my chest that would last for a month, 24/7. Cried a lot, because I thought I was having some weird reaction to the antibiotic and the anti-inflammatory I was taking or so. Considered colitis for some reason.

Because what, anxiety? I don't have anxiety! All my classes and exams are over and all the teeth I needed pulled are gone and now I really, really don't have anything to stress about anymore. Just this fucking chest pain and cardiac problems now, apparently.

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

② Doctors + exams + results

I went to the doctor after 3 weeks of constant, dull chest pressure, with occasional arrhythmias in between. She, Doctor A, suspected of hyperthyroidism, and I got bloodwork and an EKG done; I'd go get my results and another consultation in another 2 weeks.

2 days before that, though, I got worse all of a sudden; I'd woken up feeling a bit off, but by midday I started having some crazy heart palpitations and the chest pain increased tenfold. I got scared and started crying and having trouble breathing and speaking. Went to the ER, got an IV drip with a muscle relaxant and anti-inflammatory, and an anxiolytic. Another EKG done, and a thoracic x-ray.

Everything was normal. Went back home with a prescription for more muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories, but Doc B said I had an anxiety attack. The meds probably woudn't work, but it was mostly to prove to me that it wasn't a muscular issue, as I had suspected before that.

Well, they really did not work. Went to the scheduled consultation 2 days later, shaky and feeling terrible still. Guess what.

Everything was normal. Doc A took one other look at me and said I probably had anxiety because anything else would've left some traces of inflammation or hormonal imbalances on the bloodwork, and despite a 24-h Holter being better for detecting anything wrong with my heart, with how the symptoms were progressing - constant, non-stop, get worse just occasionally -, the ekg was enough to know my heart was fine. Clear lungs, no trauma for costochondritis, heart at a normal size on the x-ray.

But I asked "Why?? And how? I'm literally on vacation, nothing stressful happening, what the fuck", and she told me that it was probably built-up anxiety from things that happened before that. Since it's my first "real" vacation in a while, the body finally "let itself go" now that there's nothing important at stake.

... Now I should see a psychiatrist, actually. That'd certainly help *pats back*

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

③ The Fucking Psychiatrist

5-min consultation, 10min after the other one, and a minor breakdown in the bathroom. I shakily told her all the exams that were clear, and she hummed. After that, she said "Oh, that's very common, actually." and handed me a prescription for an SSRI antidepressant to be taken every day, and a mild anxiolytic for crises. She said it would take two weeks to see any effect, but at least, by the end of that, I certainly wouldn't be in any pain anymore. "Any bad side effects? I'm always kind of scared of those.", "Some people have mild nausea and headaches, but not everyone."

🚩 - Prescribed me the brand meds, not the generic ones. I bought it without even thinking about it because I was so desperate for the pain to stop that I didn't even think that there were generic versions since she only wrote the brand name. Probably gave her a commission fee with those ones. It was expensive.

🚩 - The antidepressant was at the therapeutic dosage, yes, but I do think that SSRIs tend to be introduced at a lower dosage in the first week or so for people who aren't used to them (or at least that's what they taught me in my pharmacology class). You could justify that I went to the consultation a bit freaked out and she wanted me to have faster results, but still, it was my first time ever taking anything like that.

🚩 - The anxiolytic for crises? Doesn't really have a strong effect immediately like benzodiazepines. It's actually usually prescribed for a few weeks at a time because it has a cumulative effect rather than an acute one. Fuck me if I had a bad one like the ER one, that lasted 3 hours.

I took the anxiolytic after getting home, on the same day, just to see if I didn't have an allergic reaction. I kind of felt the pressure on my chest lessen after 1-2 hours, yes; didn't last long, and I don't know if it was the medication or not, since that didn't happen when I used it the next day. But didn't make me feel too off, I think.

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

④ From the pit

Took the antidepressant the following morning.

I did feel a bit nauseous. A little headache. And a little feverish. Dilated pupils. Couldn't eat, not because of the nausea, but because looking at food was like looking at a pile of dirt on a plate. Shaky. Weirdly tired during the day but not sleepy.

High as fuck, actually.

Emotionally numb and dissociated, lucid but so very confused at everything. Feeling a bit more anxious than usual, yes, but then came the fucking depression. Spiraled so hard and so fast into suicidal thoughts, which I don't think I've ever had with that intensity before, that I physically flinched and scared myself. Like "What the fuck? Ok, ok that was listed as a side effect but oh fuck what the fuck". I don't think I've ever felt that mentally ill before. My thoughts were all jumbled and messy at the same time that I felt my head was empty. Then running a thousand miles per hour. Then sad sad sad sad sad

I didn't sleep at all that night, and one of my safe people stayed up with me while I cried because they had to monitor if my fever wouldn't go up or if I wouldn't have a heart attack. We tried counting my heart rate at the wrist for more than ten minutes because I was shaking so bad we couldn't keep up for 30 seconds.

I said I couldn't do that again maybe at 5am. I just couldn't, ever. "I don't want to, ever, please, I really don't want to take anything anymore, I'll heal on my own, please" and I begged and cried and I felt so numb but also feeling so scared and like my head wasn't mine anymore.

I think I slept from 7am-9am. The antidepressant I took had a half-life of 30 hours, so I'd take roughly 4 days to get everything off.

The following two to three days lasted ages. I spent them feeling so fucked in the head - all of the above and more. I don't think I could explain everything even at the time, because I was all over the place. I cried, cried, cried and just couldn't stop crying with no real reason to accompany the tears. Just anguished sobs and feeling like I wouldn't ever get better again. I remember telling a friend that "Those goddamn drugs took my anxiety away but they gave me fucking depression to balance it out" because even though it was temporary, that's what it felt like. Endless hours of mental and physical despair.

But I think that the scariest part is that I couldn't eat almost anything. I tried to drink water and smoothies but anything that my brain saw as food was off the list. And I'm thin - and I have to eat a lot just to maintain my weight, for some reason. And I lose it so, so easily, without exercising or doing anything. That's fucking scary, because it means that if anything goes wrong - like this time - I don't have any reserves. I lost 4kg in the past month because of my initial symptoms, just because I wasn't eating the same amount of food as always, but still, I was eating almost as usual. 2-3 days without eating almost anything and the following days getting better tortuously slow made me feel and look frail. I'm underweight now, according to my BMI. I can't go days or weeks like that again, and my body's struggling to get the memo that it needs to save some goddamn calories that I'm fighting so hard to get.

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

⑤ Return to normal, and about the future

I'm really done with meds for now; I know it gets worse before it gets better, and that's expected. But I couldn't do it, really. Not like that.

Maybe there comes a day when I'll need to take those for real; half of my friends already do. But for now, I choose a slower recovery, but one where I can take care of myself with grace and the gentleness I think my body and mind need right now.

It's a week later, now. I'm eating more and trying to fix my sleep schedule, because if I thought that was a mess before, it's even worse now. I can sleep for 12h if you let me, but only after 2am or so. My chest pressure and isolated arrhythmias pop up sometimes, but I think I'm feeling a bit better than before the whole med situation. Maybe it's a combination of knowing what's wrong with me now and learning how to take care of myself short and long-term.

Another possibility is that I cried everything I had built up during the past decade this weekend because dear lord

The expensive meds are safely stored away in a drawer for now. No more scheduled exams or consultations, but therapy is something I'm considering for a few weeks from now if I feel like I need some additional support.

The approach I'm choosing for the following weeks and months, until the end of the year and beyond, is a mix of the "Rules to not feel like shit", which is that one post that I wrote at like 2am months ago and people are still reblogging now, lol. So, for the 2.0 version:

Daily Exercise -> stretching, dancing (cardio) and muscle training; getting up more often, walking places and spending more time moving my body are also things I have to work on, as a priority, because I work and study sitting on my ass for more than ten hours a day and that can't be healthy. I want my ballerina posture back, too, I look like a shrimp nowadays.

Sleep Hygiene -> getting up and going to bed at the same time every day, yada yada. Most of my sleep issues come because of procrastination, which makes me push important things to the last hours of the day. That makes me stressed, and that makes me take longer to sleep after I go to bed. So it's a chain reaction of despair, but one I can fix now since I'm on vacation, and it's easier to establish those kinds of habits so that, when it's exam season, I'm not using more concealer under my eyes than sunscreen.

Mindfulness -> breathwork before going to bed and learning how to breathe right to calm myself down during the day was something unexpected to me. "Just take a deep breath" actually works sometimes, you know; and making it a daily practice and staple mini-reset every time I need it really made a difference in my well-being. Meditating for a few minutes a day focusing on my breathing and letting my thoughts go is also very nice. I'm working on being more mindful during the day, too, but that shit's incredibly hard; doesn't mean I'll give up. It gives me that feeling of having a clear (not empty) head throughout the day, of having my thoughts organized and not screaming at me from a thousand different sides.

Less screen time (and going analog) -> one thing I noticed during the *war flashbacks* ... pit, was that distracting myself from the physical and mental anguish with my phone was better than, say, reading a book (because it's so much easier to scroll a feed or play games than it is to focus on words on paper), but sometimes my heart started racing and I'd need a moment with my head buried on a pillow, in silence and not looking at anything, to calm down again. And it wasn't after a few hours on Tiktok or anything; 10min playing Honkai on AFK was enough. So! I don't think the activity I do on my phone is the only culprit; my brain probably associated the whole phone with stress and that's unconscious at this point. Which means that, at least, I have to decrease my screen time but put some other activity in its place or I'll go crazy because my thoughts won't let me live in peace. The one thing I found that checks all the boxes is writing - about whatever I'm thinking, or feeling, or literally anything unrelated -, because it makes my thoughts slow down (physically writing takes more time than typing or just thinking about things), and gives them a place to live. Somewhere I can look at and see that my thoughts are just... thoughts, and they have a shape, structure, and limitation. They can exist outside of me; that doesn't mean I won't ever think about those things that I wrote again, that's not the point for me. I just need to slow down, organize them, and let them take shape on a piece of paper, so they become tangible. That makes one hell of a difference in every single aspect of how my mind works and processes things, and it makes it clear up. Also, still related to phone usage; use an analog wristwatch, or a table one. Please. I won't elaborate.

Listening to my body -> that's one I mostly see on posts about neurodivergent people, but that helped me a ton. Paying more attention, during the day, if my body is uncomfortable; if I need to get warmer, if I need to lay down, stretch a bit, drink water, just get up and take my mind off things even if I'm working on something important. Listening to what my body is telling me without my mind letting me know, because usually whatever I'm studying or working on feels more urgent than getting up to get a blanket, is probably part of the reason why my chest pain seemingly blew up out of nowhere. I'm not blaming myself, because I don't think I would've changed anything up until now; I did everything that I did because I had reasons to. Exams to study for, papers to write, presentations to prepare for. But after this scare, I now know I have to focus on myself more. And that's not about self-improvement; but about caring for my body like it's a scared (aka anxious) kid that sometimes needs comfort, even though it doesn't know how to express pain until it's too much. My mind's job is to focus on the subtle, daily signs that I need something even though I don't strongly feel that there's anything wrong. There's always room to feel 1% better every time I check in.

I know it sounds like bullshit, and cliche, and too slow of an approach, and that it doesn't really work. I know there are people who genuinely need more support than this; but it's been working for me in the short term, and I hope that it will make me feel better in the following months and years. There's nothing wrong with my body - but my mind is anxious, and scared, and burnt out from all those months and years of academic stress and things that I handled fine when they happened but that stayed in the back of my mind, waiting to get to a safer place to be able to get out.

My mind is not broken; it's trying to get me scared so protect me and prepare me for things that... already happened. And my job now is to process it and let it know that it's ok now, I'm safe, and I did a good job studying to get my degree, and it was worth it. I'll start my hard-earned Master's soon, and that's also scary, but I can handle it. Whatever it brings me, I'll be able to take it; and if I can't, it's also fine to take a break and spend some time just enjoying life and myself.

The past is over. There's excess energy and feelings that I need to burn off from that time, now; but I can do it. I'm not sick, I'm not going crazy; just overwhelmed and in need of self-care from within.

Here's to sunnier days, and to knowing we are capable of doing incredible things, even if scared; just remember to smile to yourself in the mirror once in a while. You're doing a good job. 🥂✨

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

⑥ TL;DR

I thought I was perfectly fine in the head for years, until it blew up on my face and I was on the edge of a heart attack for a month straight. Turns out I was fine physically (but please, if you feel that anything is wrong with you do some exams first to be sure), but my head decided that now that I'm on vacation it's finally time to burn off the excess trauma and throw me on the fire too for good measure.

See tips in the section above to prevent shit like this from happening to you, even if you think you're sane and mentally ok. Not to scare you, but maaaaaaybe you might be so caught up trying to cram for that exam next week that your body doesn't feel safe enough to show you all those all-nighters actually took a toll; and once it does feel safe, you may not be :)

TAKE CARE OF YOUR MENTAL HEALTH!!! I was fucking right with this post from November last year and I stand by it

Also, a special thank you to @brytning for her comics about anxiety; they made me feel seen and comforted throught it all, and her tips were so nice, too. You can check them out here.

#nyxrants🗣#post grad life #uni studyblr #study blog #studyblr #uni student #studying #?#kinda

17 notes · View notes

neutron-stars-collision · 11 days ago

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 12 - Green Park Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 11 Summary: As "The Nutcracker" premiere looms closer, you seek comfort in Neil and his presence. But support also comes from an unexpected place as you tighten new bonds and find friends in unlikely places. Warnings: Swearing, suggestive language, panic and angst. Basically the content of my brain daily. Author's Notes: Hello, I didn't think it would take much longer than it did last time (in bloody March), but here we are. But it's about the destination not the time it takes to make the journey? Right? Anyway, welcome to December in late June ✌️ and it's not the end of it, either. This is mostly Cupid panicking, Neil having to deal with a trio of (un)helpful muppets, all sprinkled with drizzle in London. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @cynem4, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added).

While utterly unremarkable and dull to the point of tears, you had to admit Skegness had a bright side to its seagull-infested promenade and Big Issue-littered streets. It was something you never expected to accept or even have to consider. But, as you left Neil’s apartment fourteen days later, for the second time that week, you had to speak it to existence. Or, well, think it to existence.

As it happened, mending a dysfunctional friendship with a highly passionate fuck after stargazing did work. It worked exceptionally well. So well that now, although every day bringing you closer to The Nutcracker premiere made you more stressed than the one before, you had an almost foolproof way of dealing with it. Every time your head got a little bit too loud, and you felt the anxiety escalate to the point of no return, you texted Neil. After that, things usually got a little bit hazy. But it was the kind of haziness that silenced the brain. And gave you earth-shattering orgasms. So – a win.

A win that you did not even dare question. Especially since Neil did not seem against the idea, willingly offering to ease the nerves and frequently mentioning just how vital your presence was to his sanity. If it worked two ways, who were you to argue with it? Right?

Still, sometimes, especially during those lonely walks home from his place when your brain was recovering from the pleasures and gaining even more audacity, you could not help but worry about it. About whether entangling Neil in something this superficial and entirely separate from romance was a good move. Whether you were not breaking the promise you had made to Wheeler. The concern only increased a day after yet another evening rendezvous, when upon entering the Jubilee line carriage at precisely 7:22 am, you were met with a question instead of your typical morning banter:

“Is it alright if the guys join me at the premiere this Saturday?” the nervous tinge in Neil’s voice made you pause, hovering on the edge of the seat with your hand tightly holding onto the railing. Before you could process what he was asking, Neil started to ramble, “They keep on pestering me about it, and I know you wouldn’t mind, but also, the premiere is a stressful night and-” with each word, he got more winded, until you pressed your hand against his mouth, shutting him up and forcing Neil to take a deep breath.

“Hold up, one second” meeting his slightly widened gaze, you took a moment to gather your wits after such an unexpected start of the day (all without a drop of caffeine, thank you very much), “John, Ives and Wheeler want to come with you to the opening night?” repeating the question to ensure you had understood him correctly, you felt that familiar anxiety creep back into your system.

As much as the concept of Neil’s friends willfully wanting to watch you perform filled you with a strange sense of pride, it also sounded terrifying. It combined perfectly with that unshakeable thought that you were about to fuck this up. Those two roles were never meant to be yours and the universe was about to correct the course without sparing your dignity.

“Yes. They suggested the idea, by the way. Lowkey pressured me into it if I’m honest” before you could retract your hand from his face, Neil grabbed it and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles, instantly drawing out your blush.

With little affections like this daily, it was increasingly more difficult to stay nonchalant. It was as if, day by day, Neil was breaking through all your defences and softening the jagged edges of cynicism until all you could do was let him have at it. It was a dangerous strategy to take up, but you already knew you were fucked. So why not have something nice to remember later?

“Why?” but now key questions needed to be asked.

Your gaze searched his face for answers, hoping to gain at least some clarity on this confusing Wednesday morning. As though perfectly aware of your disorientation, Neil shot you a reassuring smile before replying:

“Because they want to see you in action, Cupid” the look in his eyes highlighted the unspoken message that if you were still not getting this or were eager to argue with it, then you were a little stupid. You were not sure whether you should dispute the allusion, “I guess either my descriptions aren’t good enough, or they are as down bad for you as I think” signing off the statement with a flirtatious wink, Neil finally pulled you down to take the plastic seat with one, smooth tug of hand wrapped around your wrist.

With a whoosh of breath forced out of your lungs by the unexpected movement, you collapsed into the seat and arched your eyebrow as a prelude to another pressing question:

“All of them?” because surely not.

“Yep,” shrugging in the face of your scepticism, Neil added, “And I can’t say I blame them” the mirth in his beautiful eyes briefly made you want to ignore the conversation in favour of kissing him senseless.

But some questions still needed to be answered. You steeled yourself against that flicker of anxiety in your chest and nodded:

“Okay,” it was as much an answer to Neil as it was a confirmation for yourself.

Except that he did not seem to get it.

“Okay, what?” with confusion clouding his features, Neil adorably frowned in the face of your resolve.

You could not stifle the grin that curled up the corners of your mouth. A match made in heaven. Leaning in closer to satisfy that integral itch to always get as near to him as possible (like last night, with Neil literally inside you), you clarified the cryptic answer:

“Okay, they can come with you” on its own accord, your brain chose that exact pause to calculate the number of days left (not enough) till the premiere, and you felt a shiver run down your spine from the anxious thoughts. It took no time at all for the fear to seep into your words, “I’ll manage that somehow. Just don’t expect a masterpiece. At least not from me” the dejected note rang flat as you attempted to cover it up with a smile that was much too bright and wide for it to look genuine. So much so that you quickly abandoned it for the sake of honesty Neil deserved, “I’m still roughly 70% sure I’ll fuck it up somehow” signing off the confession with a shrug, you reclined in the seat and forced your eyes to look away from him at least this once.

It seemed like distance was a tricky, nearly impossible thing these days. Something you had tried to implement but never managed to. It was as though as soon as you had fully allowed yourself to fall into him without holding back, you got addicted to his closeness. To the comfort Neil gave you no matter the situation.

And this time was not any different.

As though fully aware of the spike in nerves, you felt his heavy hand fall onto your knee, instantly muting the anxiety, even if only by a notch.

“You won’t” the conviction in his voice, although hardly believable to your sceptical brain, made you pause and turn to look at Neil again, “Do you need convincing?” that cheeky gleam in his eyes was all the sign you needed to know that is where the conversation would become even more fun.

So, desperate to stifle the fears, you allowed yourself to enjoy it.

“Sure do, but I can hardly have you getting me off in public” delivering the quip with a near-perfect smirk, you gave in to the pull of his orbit and whispered the addition into his ear, “I’m too young to be arrested,”

The instant gratification of Neil’s burst of laughter was worth every potential bit of embarrassment as you felt a few pairs of eyes settle on the two of you. Judging, undoubtedly. But then, admittedly, not everyone understood the need to laugh this boisterously at 7:30 am on a weekday morning. Or at least normal, boring people did not.

“You’re roughly underestimating my talent when it comes to distraction” once he had calmed, Neil delivered the line smoothly, his hand already caressing your knee in a way that never stopped being incredibly convincing.

So much so that you briefly debated whether being arrested for public indecency on the Tube would be as bad as it sounded. Whether it would not have been worth it. But this early, even horniness had its limits. Thank fuck.

“Am I?” forcing your brain onto less debauched tracks, you covered his hand still occupying your knee and squeezed it lightly.

Wordlessly thanking him for his presence and support. Sometimes, you were not quite sure how you had managed to deserve that. Someone like him.

“Yes, darling” the affection contained within the pet name drew out an unnecessary blush on your cheeks as Neil clocked your reaction with a telling grin. But before you could get embarrassed by something this sentimental, he jumped straight into the self-devised task, “Tell me about your costumes for Saturday. You’ve mentioned there’s been some changes to the Dew Drop Fairy one?” genuine interest in the topic lit up his eyes from within.

And just like that, inconveniently fast, your nerves had been pushed aside with a simple question. Before you realised what he had done, the answer was ready on your tongue, complete with gesticulation and details Neil probably never needed. But he received them anyway.

A few minutes later, when you had stepped off the train at Southwark, you realised that the stress was almost non-existent. Neil had done it. Easily.

***

Usually, the shooting range at the HQ was one of the few places where Neil felt like he could relax. Thoroughly get rid of the remaining anxiety and decompress after an assignment. But that did not apply to the greatest mystery of the universe, Cupid. And her… everything.

No, instead of the usual calm, there were jittery nerves and a shaking hand that quickly forced him to step aside from the targets. And straight into the watchful eyes of Wheeler. Damn it. Almost as if he was the one to step onto the stage in a day. Shaking his head slightly against the ridiculous thought, Neil backed away towards the benches occupying the opposite wall and sat down with a huff. But peace was not something he was allowed to have.

Completely unaware of the drama unfolding behind his back, Ives fired the last round from his current mag and took off the headphones with a completely innocent question on his tongue:

“So… should I get the tux ready for Saturday?” turning to Neil and Wheeler, he arched an eyebrow with a cheeky smirk at the ready.

And usually, Neil would have smiled too. But nothing about this was normal. Anxiety was still there, along with itching hands that wanted nothing more than to reach for the phone and check in with Cupid. Yes, he was very much aware of his pitifulness.

“I was about to ask that” before Neil could attempt an answer, Wheeler joined in the conversation with that dangerously curious glint in her eyes, “What did she say?” her knowing gaze ensured him that this conversation could quickly turn into another interrogation.

It was something Neil desperately wanted to avoid. And there was no time like the present to focus on what mattered.

“She said yes” meeting the watchful eyes of his companions, Neil paused to gather the needed words and added, “But she was also very confused about why you even want to come with me” shrugging to highlight the statement, Neil leaned back against the wall and trained his gaze on the ceiling.

This way, he was much less vulnerable to being read for filth. Which, frankly speaking, was the goal.

“Cute” that infuriating twitch in Ives’ smirk was not encouraging as the man disassembled the gun he had just been using and asked another question, “Did you explain that we’ve all fallen in love with your ballerina?”

There was way too much confidence in how the soldier spoke of Cupid. That, along with the off-hand suggestion that she could somehow belong to Neil (categorically untrue, no matter how he sometimes wished otherwise), which he knew the woman in question would despise, made him cringe. An involuntary wince passed through his face as he attempted to understand his confused thoughts. None of this made sense. Not the nerves, not the anxiety.

“Not quite like that, but I told Cupid it was your idea” trying to shake off the strange mood, Neil took a deep breath and straightened his legs in front of him.

For a second, he considered ditching this strange and uncomfortable conversation to go for a walk. Perhaps visit the sheep over at the Madchute Farm and reminisce that afternoon with Cupid.

“Fab. Can’t wait” despite the dry quip, Neil could detect a sense of excitement in Ives’ voice.

Somehow that image of the cocky soldier in the Royal Opera House made zero sense, yet at the same time, it made all the sense in the world.

“Is she nervous?” he could feel Wheeler’s unnervingly calm gaze settle on the side of his head as she asked the question.

The brief joy Neil felt as he detected genuine interest in the woman’s voice was something he did not wish to analyse. He supposed it was nice to know that Cupid was someone people cared for. Even if they barely knew her. But then, again, perhaps he was the best example of that.

“Extremely” it was not difficult to answer the question, having hours of conversations with panicked Cupid in the front of his mind. Well, conversations and other… things. Things with much less talking and much more moaning, “Somehow even more so than before the Don Quixote” pondering the concept, Neil allowed himself to delve into thoughts that Cupid rarely allowed. Namely, into the nature of her fears that she frequently would prefer to stay unnamed, “But maybe that’s because she’s got two crucial roles this time. Both leads,” never mind that Neil was more than convinced she would smash at both.

He was sure of it. And he had made it his mission to try to make her believe it, too. Somehow.

“I know fuck all about ballet and The Nutcracker. Should I prepare?” as though unaware of the last minute of the conversation happening in the room, Ives leapt forward with the ridiculous questions, holding all the innocence only a man of his posture and reputation could possess.

An unbidden smile bloomed on Neil’s lips as he did not stifle an eye roll accompanying an answer that held zero tolerance for foolery at present:

“Wikipedia will be fine, mate” throwing the off-hand answer, Neil turned back to Wheeler, for some reason much fonder of that discussion than whatever the fuck was it just then.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

“What about that Barbie movie? Is that good?” somehow even more clueless, Ives asked the question with an almost adorable seriousness.

Now, there was no way Neil could get rid of the laughter bubbling in his throat. He covered the giggle with his hands for the moment it took him to compose himself and then attempted to reign in the conversation:

“Ives, for god’s sake-” frustration bled into his voice, easily detected by Wheeler, and before Neil could say a word too much, she stopped his tirade with a hand on his shoulder and a resolute interjection.

“Barbie will be just what you need” only someone as versed in her character as Neil could detect the note of complacency in her voice as she kept the smile hidden behind the cool look. Before he could appreciate it more, Wheeler set her all-seeing gaze on his person. There was no need to see the future to know that it never promised anything good “How are things between you?”

As much as Neil was an idiot, tested and true, he knew Wheeler was not asking about his relationship with Ives or even the cute barista that sometimes served him in the café by Canary Wharf station. Unfortunately.

“It’s fine,” unwilling to delve into the details (and painfully aware he would be forced to do just that), Neil offered her a dismissive shrug.

At the same time, he tried his hardest to forget the inconvenient memories from two days before that contradicted his statement. Because everything about that Tuesday night was far from ‘fine’. It was mind-blowingly good. Unforgettable and life-changing, like every other moment with Cupid. So much so that Neil was slowly getting accustomed to the thought that once this thing with her ended (like it was destined to), he would probably never get laid again. There would be no point to it. No one could compare to her.

It was one of those thoughts that never failed to make his mood sour within seconds. It was also something Neil did not want to discuss under any circumstances. Unfortunately, Wheeler did not seem to get the memo.

“Just fine?” leaning closer, she prodded at the metaphorical wound with all the subtlety of an open-heart surgeon.

There was no stifling the uproar of annoyance in his system as Neil met her gaze with what he hoped was a menacing glare:

“We’re great. Is that what you’re asking? Or is this your cover attempt at trying to learn whether I’m sleeping with her?” the anger crept into his voice, entirely out of place yet still excusable.

If someone was to ask Neil, that is. And while anyone else could have taken offence to that answer, Wheeler only sharpened her knowing gaze and curled the corner of her mouth into a deadly smirk. Neil already knew he had fucked it up.

“Are you sleeping with her?” there was no judgment in her eyes as she calmly asked another question.

She most likely already knew the answer. For some unknown reason, Neil did not feel like lying this time.

“Yep. Turns out friends with benefits do have said benefits” his dry chuckle fell flat onto a barren ground as Wheeler’s face remained painfully impassive.

Neil did not know whether that was a good or a bad thing. It just was. And he always hated things that just were. How audacious of them to remain unlabelled and undetermined in the wild world of the unknown.

“Such as?” on another day, his friend’s relentlessness was something Neil would have applauded.

A trait worthy of an excellent agent and special forces soldier. But not like this.

Because he already knew where this was heading. What sort of observation Wheeler was about to make once the questioning was over. And he did not particularly like the idea of being confronted with it. Now that he had started talking and let the conversation get this far, there was no way out but through on the other side. So, Neil tried hard not to let the uncertainty show on his face as he attempted to offer a light-hearted response:

“Oh, you know, stress release, good sex, great conversations…” there, great job.

But before he could pat his own back for handling this like a champ, the third member of the discussion made his presence known with the most inconvenient question:

“Just good sex?” Ives’ ever-present satisfied smirk reappeared as the man flanked Neil on the other side of the bench and waggled his eyebrows.

Neil was enticingly close to committing a fratricide. He would not have to look for the weapon of choice with all the arsenal in the lockers around them. Such a perfect murder scene was hard to come by.

But before he could reach for one of the guns, Wheeler nudged him out of the way with her elbow as she measured Ives with a warning glare and a single word of caution:

“Ives,” the word bore no room for further misbehaviour lest there should be consequences. Neil knew that. As did Ives, “Neil, I hope you know what you’re doing” this warning was directed only at him and delivered in a softer tone, almost affectionate in a way familiar only to those who knew Wheeler well enough.

For Neil, it hit just as hard as she wanted it to. Without a doubt. It made his chest ache in a way he could not and would not want to understand. It was the perfect flame to feed the fire of his anxiety. But it was also something she was not allowed to know. Because it was the very thing she warned him about. And Neil did not listen.

As if he could’ve listened.

There was no room to explain, no point to even try. Instead, Neil pasted on a complacent smile that convinced no one yet hopefully still highlighted the message that this conversation was now over and replied to her concern with a lie he was illogically proud of:

“I do. I promise” before Wheeler would have the time to psychoanalyse him further, Neil patted her shoulder and stood up from the bench, immediately picking up the previously abandoned gun and putting on the ear protection.

It was a much safer option than thinking about the layers of lies he had just delivered to his friends. Or the reason why he felt compelled to do so.

***

Admittedly, the crash out happened approximately two hours later than you anticipated. You were surprisingly fine as you stepped into the Royal Opera House that late Friday morning. You were still fine as you had lunch with the other dancers and stepped onto the stage for the final rehearsal sans the costumes. But that is where the fine-ness ended.

The moment you pranced off the stage, soaked with sweat and a little unsteady on your feet after the exertion, a different feeling kicked in with a force that had you slumping onto the corridor floor. Before you knew what you were doing, your hands reached for your phone, fishing it out of the bag. In a blink, you had the conversation thread open and your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, you hesitated. The press night was not supposed to be such a big deal. The freakout was supposed to happen a day later, before the actual premiere.

Except that it didn’t.

It was happening right then with the pressure in your chest and shivers running down your spine. With the brain, that would not shut the fuck up and let you take a breath. No, this would not do. Before you could question the rightness of this and whether Neil had meant it when he said you could text him whenever, you typed out a message. A simple starter, conveying just enough information for him to grasp the state of your sanity. Or rather lack of it:

/ 🏹, 4:45 pm/ “I think I’m going to throw up.”

/ 🏹, 4:45 pm/ “Not to be graphic or anything.”

Only then you could rest your head against the cold wall behind you and close your eyes, awaiting the reply you knew was not far behind. Neil never left you hanging for too long. It was both a blessing and a curse. The reason why you owed him your sanity, but also why you were going insane in the first place.

Call it a vicious circle of Stockholm Syndrome. Or something along these lines.

Before you could allow the frenzy to take over your cognitive functions, the phone buzzed in your hand, lit up by the messages:

/✝️, 4:48 pm/ “I’m sure you won’t, darling.”

/✝️, 4:48 pm/ “How long until showtime?”

Neil’s voice of reason felt like a saving grace as you forced yourself to check the clock and ensure you had some time left to wallow before you were needed for the make-up and costumes. After all, the press night was even more important than the public premiere the next day. And no, it wasn’t because of the phantom of King Charles III hanging over your head from the Royal Box.

It was more the fear of the judgmental eyes of the British press, always willing to tear vulnerable subjects to shreds under a pretext. Or sometimes without it, too.

/ 🏹, 4:49 pm/ “Two and half hours.”

/ 🏹, 4:50 pm/ “I wish I could say that’s an eternity, but it’s not. It’s barely any time at all to freak out and die from falling off stage into the orchestra pit.”

And so, what if you needed to be dramatic for a second there? It was a fancy you sometimes allowed yourself to indulge in. Even if only for a moment. Even if only with Neil, the perfect listener.

/✝️, 4:51 pm/ “No dying on my watch. Please.”

/✝️, 4:51 pm/ “I know you’re terrified, but I also know that you’re fucking brilliant. You’re going to smash it. As always.”

Because no matter how dramatic you could have wished to be, he always had a way of countering it. A way of praising you, boosting that dwindling confidence and non-existent belief that you were capable of anything. Suddenly overcome with affection, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, willing that weak heart to stop being ridiculous.

Perhaps what you needed was a joke. A way of bringing this conversation back from tender tracks and onto life-saving banter.

/ 🏹, 4:52 pm/ “And when are you going to smash me?”

A simple question. Essential, too.

Because it had been three days, and you had already missed him. In every which way possible.

/✝️, 4:53 pm/ “Ideally tomorrow, if I can help it. Does that sound good, m’lady?”

Picturing the cheeky smirk Neil was undoubtedly sporting you allowed your grin to bloom on your face.

/ 🏹, 4:54 pm/ “I think so. If I survive.”

/ 🏹, 4:54 pm/ “How can you be so sure I’ll manage this? For some reason, this time, it’s all much more daunting.”

It was that same fear repeatedly haunting your mind all the time. Something you could not shake off, no matter the hours spent perfecting the variations. Because what if the success of Cupid was a one-off thing? What if you could never be that good again?

The potential answers to these questions were just as terrifying as the lack of them.

/✝️, 4:56 pm/ “I think you’re thinking too hard about it. Looking for reasons why you can’t repeat Don Quixote. But the thing is that you’re brilliant. I saw what you can do, and trust me, it’s nothing short of a masterpiece.”

This time, there was no stifling the wet sniffle that escaped your lips as your face crumbled into something resembling an endeared smile. That was entirely unnecessary. But also, it was everything you needed to hear.

As if on cue, you could feel the anxiety receding, one heart beat at a time. And it was all thanks to Neil. Were you fucked, or were you fucked? Question for the ages, assumedly. But instead of asking something like that, you chose to stick to the simple questions:

/ 🏹, 4:57 pm/ “Why are you so nice towards me?”

That was the question for the ages. Months long in the making. Because if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that nothing you ever did deserved such a level of praise. Except that Neil seemed to disagree.

/✝️, 4:57 pm/ “Because I like you, Cupid. And you’re the most fascinating person I know.”

Damn. There it was again, that compulsive desire to cry your eyes out from the overwhelming softness flooding your system. How very dare he? Your fingers moved over the keyboard with zeal and willed the impending tears to go the fuck away. You did not want to discuss that with the make-up artist in few minutes.

/ 🏹, 4:58 pm/ “You’re lucky I’m yet to get my make-up done.”

/✝️, 4:58 pm/ “Nah, it’s me, who’s lucky I know you. Now, go, listen to the playlist I made for you and come back to me after the show.”

You got as far as turning on the headphones to listen to his gift (impossibly well-matched to your energy, thank you very much) before another text lit up your screen. By now, you were not even ashamed of the speed at which you opened the new message. Or of the delicious shiver that ran down your spine as soon as you read what it said.

/✝️, 4:58 pm/ “And remember, tomorrow I’m going to be more than very nice towards you.”

Picturing Neil’s cheeky smile, you instantly started replying, conscious of the passing time and the things that still needed to be said. Things like these:

/ 🏹, 4:59 pm/ “If that’s a promise of more orgasms than the three I got on Tuesday, then sign me tf up.”

If only because, with Neil, you did not have to pretend. You did not have to hold back your words and blunt out the sharp edges of the risky jokes. With Neil, you could say things as they were. As you wanted them to be.

And each time, Neil would meet you word for word. Beat for a beat.

/✝️, 5:00 pm/ “I think we could go up to five.”

/ 🏹, 5:00 pm/ “Now that’s a challenge worth my time.”

And if you shuddered as you closed the messaging app and picked yourself up from the floor, then it was no one’s business but your own. Armed with waning yet present confidence and a promise of orgasms, you marched into the dressing room with a renewed hope of survival.

If only because Neil believed in you. No, it wasn’t something you were willing to dwell upon.

***

Just as much as you were not about to dwell on the fact that it took you less than a minute to call Neil once you had moved past the backstage doors of the Opera House. It was a reflex, like the relieved sigh you released once you had given the final bow before the audience and retreated behind the curtain.

The asphalt on Floral Street shone from the rainfall as you breathed the simple sentence as soon as you heard the line over your phone connect:

“I’ve survived,” it was all Neil needed to know.

It was also all you could express as you slowly gathered your thoughts with each step. Without meaning to, your brain had already decided that this was one of the post-show nights when you would take a longer route home. A walk to arrange the thoughts was all you sometimes needed to feel better and more capable of repeating the deal the next day.

“I’m happy to hear that. Did you conquer all the four realms?” unphased by your lack of a greeting, Neil asked the question with the sudden interest of someone who had just dropped whatever he was doing to pick up your call.

You could feel a grin creeping over your face as you noticed he had done research you never asked him to do. It was a simple thing, yet still, it mattered more than you were willing to understand.

“Not quite, but I did flower and snow them to death” stepping off the curb to avoid a puddle, you took a second to breathe in the smell of petrichor and pause, “I hope,” the addition came out almost unbidden, like the final surge of insecurity before it died. You squashed it immediately with another reflection, “No, it was… suspiciously alright,”

Because that was just the thing – everything went suspiciously fine. You tried not to look too closely at the potential of this being only an outlier. The only instance of things going suspiciously fine.

“Told you” as if being able to read your silence for what it carried, Neil interrupted the saplings of a spiral with a simple assurance.

Except it came a second too late.

“But! But it might be worse tomorrow?” the excuse sounded pathetic even to your tired brain.

But that did not matter to the part of your insecure consciousness begging for attention. No matter whether the arguments made any sense. They were just there, festering and multiplying until you did something about it.

The sigh you heard over the phone told you Neil was equally aware of the predicament. Yet, most surprisingly, he did not seem to mind it.

“No chance, darling” surprised by the pet name, you never quite got to apologise despite the words stuck on the tip of your tongue. Somehow, Neil seemed to know that as well, “Tomorrow, you’ll be even better. And I’ll be there to witness it” the genuine excitement in his voice did nothing to help you eradicate the grin on your face.

On the contrary – it widened; by now, probably making you look more like a deranged clown than anyone sane. Luckily, the streets of West End were still empty, with most theatregoers yet to stand up from the red velvet chairs and rush back into their ordinary lives.

“Don’t get too hyped. Just in case” the disclaimed needed to be voiced, so you gave in, using the pause to force the conversation onto less vulnerable tracks. At least for the moment, “I, however, am already getting excited about those five orgasms you promised,” and god, how you meant it.

More so than one should admit in a conversation over the phone in a public space. That much was certain. And yet.

“Great,” the pleased tone in his voice only added to the thrill. Partially because you knew Neil shared the enthusiasm. Partially because you knew he could fulfil the promise. And, understandably, was proud of it, “How about… six?” you could just about picture him innocently batting his eyelashes as though the suggestion was anything but outrageous.

Six sounded like something that could kill you. And as much as dying from too many orgasms would have made up an excellent obituary, you were rather keen on living. Just a little longer.

“Yeah, no” shutting the notion down with a dismissive laugh, you added, “And let’s stop there before we begin to sound like Bargain Hunt” as always, Neil’s responding laughter felt like a benediction. That thought softened your voice as you asked, “How’s your evening?”

Yes, it was partially a deflection. But it was also borne out of that insistent desire to know Neil, his thoughts and feelings at every moment. Every hour of every day. It was something you were yet to learn how to deny yourself.

“Uneventful, save for waiting for your call” Neil did not seem frazzled by the change of topic, instantly stroking your ego with the expertise of someone who knew exactly how to make you come back for more. Be it in bed or during an innocuous conversation, “And steaming the suit for tomorrow,” the addition was spoken with that same open invitation to ask for details.

Details you wanted to learn. How could you not?

“Same as the last one?” you did not need to add that you remembered that suit down to the button colours and the stitching.

“Nope…” Neil trailed off, somehow filling that one word with a promise.

“Should I start getting excited?” happily taking the bait, you slowed your steps as the lights of Leicester Square filled the horizon.

Even with the cold and rain, the spot was busy with strollers and a street singer crooning an Adele song. Using your free hand, you fished out a fiver from the wallet and dropped it in the collection basket by his feet. You flashed him a grin as the man bowed his head in gratitude. As though instantly blessed by the gods of good fortune, you glanced down in time to see a dog sniff your hand curiously. The tap of its wet nose only brightened your grin. It was a benediction in its purest form.

“You might,” Neil’s reply brought you back into the conversation just as he added a tint of wariness into his voice, “Also… there’s something I want to ask you,”

Pleasantly distracted by the existence of dogs, you never quite had the time to become nervous. Thankfully.

“Shoot, babes,” following a small group of students, you crossed Coventry Road and headed towards the Piccadilly Circus station.

“I’ve got this Christmas party thing coming up in two weeks… Would you like to come with me?” the tension in Neil’s voice occupied your attention so thoroughly that, at first, you did not understand what he had asked.

The words did not make much sense as you frowned, almost stopping in the middle of the pavement. Luckily, there was no one walking right behind you. Only then, after an embarrassingly long moment, your brain processed the question.

Except that it did not make anything clearer.

“Me?” the squeak you gave out would have been mortifying if you had the brain cells to care about such a thing.

The notion was outrageous. Incomprehensible. Because being friends (that occasionally fucked) did not usually equal becoming someone’s plus one at a work event. It was not something you ever expected to happen.

Or felt deserving of.

“Yes, of course, you, Cupid,” as though the inability to function like a human transferred from him to you, Neil appeared unphased once again, “It’ll be boring, but I’d rather not go alone, and maybe, this way, we can make it fun?” faltering at the idea, he let out a dry chuckle and quickly followed with a disclaimer, “Unlikely, but worth a go, I guess,”

Perhaps it was the extent of time that you knew him. Or the depth of the understanding you believed you possessed when it came to Neil. But there was no question regarding whether he meant what he said. The quiet vulnerability, hidden between the lines, told you it all. That this was not just an empty invite. It was something Neil wanted to happen. He wanted you there, alongside him. And that, despite sounding like a total bullshit, was not something you could ever deny him.

Breaking through the brain freeze, you forced yourself to cut short the suffering for Neil:

“I- Okay” clearing your throat, you ensured he understood your meaning, “Yes,” and then, even if only to step off the vulnerable note onto something much easier, you added, “We can always sneak off to shag in the closet” admittedly, it was a crude quip.

One that could have only been implied. But it did what you needed it to do. It made Neil laugh.

“And risk being shot?” his follow-up question was spoken with an almost perfect amount of seriousness.

So much so that you faltered, caught by surprise. It surely couldn’t be. Could it?

Without prior knowledge of exactly how non-governmental spying agencies operate (or, actually, governmental, too), you could not be sure.

“Really?” the uncertainty in your voice must have made quite the impact as you heard Neil giggle over the phone, the gleeful sound filling your soul with warmth.

You had no choice but to join with the laughter as you carefully descended to the station, mindful of the slippery stairs.

“I don’t know! I’ve never done that” by now, Neil’s laughter had dissolved into a hysterical fit, interrupting his attempt at a reply.

An intrusive thought, quick as lightning, suggested that he had probably never looked any more beautiful than he must have at that moment. Regret at not being able to see him filled your chest with an ache before you could stifle the ridiculous idea.

“There’s always a first time for everything” shrugging even though he could not see you, you passed through the ticketing gates and quickly located the right Bakerloo line track, “Or so they say,”

It was time to go home. Lest you were to commit any more mistakes and grave sins against the very rules of the universe.

***

Neil finished the flute of champagne in a single swig and deposited it on a tray carried by the passing waiter. He did his best to ignore the slightly concerned glance of Wheeler as his friend adjusted her Sunday best suit jacket. On its own accord, his gaze yet again drifted to Ives. The soldier bore a suspicious resemblance to the next James Bond incarnation. That is, if James Bond were from Hackney, had a shirt one size too small, and a worrying tendency to say the very first thing that came to mind. Even if the situation did not call for that sort of honesty.

Tonight, in the foyer of the Opera House, the James Bond look-alike fitted surprisingly well. If he did not open his mouth. However, it would be a lie to say that all Neil’s worries stemmed from his unusual company. Most of it, unfortunately, and unchangingly, was still entirely dependent on Cupid. And despite the success of the press night the evening before, Neil knew she was terrified. The five billion frenzied texts on his phone confirmed the theory.

Now, half an hour before the performance, she was no longer texting him. That, however, did nothing to ease his nerves. As demonstrated by his shaking hands and inability to stay sober for much longer. He could feel the pleasant buzz of the champagne travelling through his system as he had schooled his features into something resembling composure. The issue with tonight was that he was not alone. And there were places to be, people to coral into order. Unfortunately.

Taking a deep breath, Neil turned towards his companions with a near-blinding smile:

“So? How do you like it?” he was well aware that the trio before him would see through the bullshit in seconds.

But it was the only way of reining in his brain, of fooling it into thinking everything was fine. Luckily, for now, the scrutiny seemed to have been put on hold. Neil heard TP’s appreciative hum as the older man let his gaze roam over the high ceiling and décor of the space.

“That’s a damn pretty foyer, I can tell you that,” the man delivered his verdict with a smile on his face.

Despite the nerves, Neil could feel his grin creep out of its hiding as he rolled his eyes. Trust the idiots around him to always know what he needed.

“And that’s a damn good champagne” Ives raised his flute, clearly cherishing each drop as though it was the last time he would ever taste such a delicacy.

Although Neil had to give it to him – the drink was exceptionally good. Especially for champagne, and not prosecco, with its much more refined palate.

“How’s she?” it was not a surprise for Wheeler to be the one who did not beat around the bush and go straight for the kill.

And it was no surprise for Neil to freeze a little at the question. Supposedly, if he was that shitty at hiding his emotions, then he must have been in the wrong profession. Or something.

“Last time we talked, which was twenty minutes ago, she was terrified and rambling about ribbons” a nervous chuckle seemed too loud as Neil attempted to stifle the sound and add, “But by now, they’re all warming up in the wings so no more panicked texting” happy with how neutral it sounded, he has mentally patted his back and offered yet another touch insane grin.

“Lucky you” Ives’s quip did not go unnoticed as the man eyed Neil slyly, clearly checking whether the teasing would have the desired effect.

But no matter how Neil could try to remain nonchalant, no matter how he wished he could stay unbothered, outright lying was not a forte. Not in this context or with these people. Sadly.

“Well… no, not exactly” admitting to the truth already felt like a defeat. It was only worsened by the inquisitive looks trained on his face as Neil followed it with another confession, “I’d rather panic with her if I’m honest” the unease travelling through his body made Neil fidget.

His hands tried to loosen up the tie, which suddenly felt too tight. But when that move failed to achieve any relief, Neil decided to pick up yet another passed flute of champagne. The hasty sip felt like another act of submission.

“Damn… someone’s down bad” Ives’s cheeky repartee only made everything worse.

Neil could feel the furious blush bloom on his face as he finished the drink and turned away from his companions. Somehow, undoubtedly, he knew that the evening was going to be exhausting.

“Ives, have you downloaded TikTok by any chance?” Wheeler’s voice of stone-cold reason was the only thing that got through the panicked haze.

Despite the mess in his head, Neil laughed at the absurdity of the moment. He did not dare look at the people surrounding them and the opinions written out on the faces of strangers. Although, admittedly, the spectacle was worth the hype. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, the numbers on the clock face confirming that it was high time to go. Having pasted the grin back on his face, Neil waved away the comment with a sleight of hand:

“Anyway,” tilting his head towards the grand staircase leading to the auditorium “Shall we?”

It was the simplest gesture. A sign that the bullshit stage of the evening was now finished, and Neil would not be having any more of it. Following his cue, he started climbing up the stairs. But before his brain could be consumed by the multiplying worries, Neil felt TP’s shoulder brush against his as the older man asked:

“Are you alright? Genuinely?” the question was filled with so much seriousness that Neil knew there was no way out without answering it.

Although that was the last thing he wanted to do. What he needed was a distraction, not a reason for an introspection that would surely make him realise a thing or two that should stay in the shadows. But it was not meant to be. The dark gaze trained on him mercilessly confirmed that.

“I’m- Not sure,” settling on something in the middle without letting TP know the exact depths of his turmoil, Neil allowed the frown to make itself at home on his face, “It’s just that I like her. A lot” there was no need to specify what he meant.

As it seemed, every one of his three idiotic friends knew that already. It was yet another thing that sometimes filled him with shame. It was one thing to be aware of one’s failings but another to have those failings be evident to everybody else. Like a beacon of humiliation, signalling to everyone in the vicinity that this man here was a perfect object for taunting.

“And where’s the problem with that?” except that TP’s response did not seem to follow the well-thought-out script.

It fell way off. To the degree that Neil nearly stumbled over his feet as he reached the final step and had to take a half-second reprieve to gain back the necessary balance before he could hand in their tickets to the staff member.

Only when that was out of the way, and they were manoeuvring through the rows of red velvet chairs, Neil felt like he could attempt to answer.

“The problem is that liking her falls just a little too close to… other sentiments. Sentiments that I’m not supposed to feel” following the vague explanation with an even vaguer hand gesture, Neil shrugged dismissively, painfully aware of those watchful eyes, “But it’s fine. I’ll get over it soon enough” spotting their row, he turned away from his friend’s gaze to locate the seats.

If that also served to disguise a blatant lie, then it was his business only. Neil settled into the seat, only to find TP right next to him. Unsurprisingly, the older man was relentless in his questioning. And as much as it was an admirable trait for the leader of Tenet, it was much more of a pain in the ass when encountered on friendly ground. He was difficult to shake off.

“Are you sure?” TP leaned into his personal space, forcing Neil to meet his wise gaze and added, “Because I’m always up for a chat if you need it” he sealed the promise with a firm clasp over his shoulder.

Despite all his whining, Neil knew that, and the reminder made him smile while filling his chest with warmth. Because as much as all those questions and check-ins were pissing him off daily, it was good to know someone cared. That someone was there, should he ever want to talk about it.

“Much appreciated, mate” he made sure TP could see the gratitude in his eyes before he turned back to the stage, having quickly made sure Ives and Wheeler were accounted for, “Now… ready to be dazzled by the wonders of all Four Realms?” allowing the cheeky smile to make a comeback, Neil nudged his friend with his shoulder, fully aware of the excitement in his voice.

There was nothing to do about it. Being hyped beyond reason for seeing Cupid perform was ingrained in his soul at this stage. And, frankly, that was not something Neil ever wanted to change. Apparently, discovering an appreciation for ballet as an art form in the late twenties changed a man for good.

“I… think so?” the slight confusion in TP’s gaze only increased the buzz in Neil’s veins.

“You better be” for a second, he allowed that manic grin to take over as the lights began to dim.

And Neil was more than ready.

***

By the intermission, Neil knew neither of them was ready for it. As soon as the red curtain had fallen over the stage, undoubtedly marking time for the efficient change in scenography behind the scenes, he had forced his jaw to slam shut after having it open in awe for the past 7 minutes. After a beat, which was necessary to ensure he had gathered his wits and was no longer looking like the besotted idiot he was, Neil chanced a look at his companions. There was no question whether the ballet engaged them. He ensured as much with the few sneaky glances he had stolen throughout the first act. But now, when the first audience members were getting up en masse and pushing their way towards the toilets and the bar, his trio of muppets was not moving. No, they seemed just as frozen as Neil had been mere moments before. Their eyes still trained on the stage, now hidden from view by the grand, monogrammed curtain. Despite himself, Neil could feel his manic grin rise to the surface as he assessed the scene. It was good. Better than he had expected.

“So?” chancing a question to break the stasis of the moment, he leaned forward in the seat, ensuring they would notice him.

As though his voice was the ultimate wake-up call, all three pairs of eyes snapped to him with varying speeds of reaction. Wheeler was the first, unsurprisingly. She schooled her features into something Neil had not seen too often – a pleased smile tinted just a little bit with curiosity.

“She’s incredible” meeting his gaze, Wheeler offered him a simple nod.

A seal of approval. It was her way of showing that she now knew what he meant. That she was seeing what Neil had noticed that very first time he was blessed with the sight of Cupid on the stage. And it meant more than Neil felt capable of expressing. Choosing to stay silent, he returned the warm grin, fully aware of the shameless adoration in his eyes. For once, he did not mind being seen like that.

“They all are,” Ives’ comment broke through the sweetness of the moment with directedness only he was capable of (affectionately). He quickly followed it with a question, “Can Cupid give me Clara’s number by chance?” the sly smirk made Neil roll his eyes before he could find the answer.

Luckily (for Neil), that one question had a straightforward answer.

“I can ask, but as far as I remember, Clara, or rather Natalia, is a lesbian,” flashing Ives an apologetic grin, Neil shrugged to highlight the fact that he was not remotely sorry about destroying that dream so soon.

Natalia was better off without an Oxfam version of James Bond. Even if she was into men. Which she wasn’t.

“Tough luck, Romeo,” chuckling, TP accompanied the sentiment with a firm shoulder squeeze before he got up from the seat and started following the crowds outside the auditorium.

Before Neil could think of following him, suddenly reminded about that pressing need to visit the toilet before the second act, Wheeler stood up from her seat and tapped Neil on the shoulder to gain his attention:

“Then I’ll ask for that number” her predatory smirk only sharpened as she pointedly glanced at Ives.

Neil had to give it to her. That was an excellent move. Giggling like a maniac, he watched as Ives sputtered, shocked and offended.

“You wouldn’t” his voice was unusually high and filled with indignation.

Which only made Neil laugh harder as Wheeler pushed past Ives with his slack-jawed glare and pulled at his tie, skewing it in the process.

“I absolutely would” shrugging, she winked at Neil and disappeared down the aisle towards the hallway.

Neil could only offer Ives an apologetic smile as he finally stood up from the seat and rushed down the corridor.

***

Executing all his persuasive qualities to ensure the muppets did not barge into the ballet dressing rooms (despite the permission from Cupid for them to do just that) felt like a victory on a small scale. But it was only a victory Neil was able to celebrate once he had corralled the group into the hallway leading backstage and sent Cupid a text to ensure that 1) they were waiting for her and 2) she was the best thing they’d ever seen. On stage and in general. Imagining her face upon seeing that text was enough to make Neil smile.

Now that at least a quarter of an hour had passed since the final bows and his hands were no longer aching from the applause, he was finally beginning to process it all. Or, to be precise, he was able to process the fact that he could not process how outstanding Cupid was at every role she picked up. She seemed to own the variations, adding her flourishes to the pieces despite their historical legacy. Even with his non-existent experience, Neil could tell how significant that was. And how talented she was to make everything seem effortless when it was anything but.

Leaning on the stone wall, Neil let out a quiet sigh. One that was not meant to be noticed, yet still there to express even a quarter of his feelings. Feelings that should not even be present if he was honest with himself. (Which rarely happened these days). (Yes, he knew just how unhealthy that was). But before the spiral of the day (or the hour, rather) could begin, he heard the heavy door creak on the hinges, followed by multiple footsteps and a crowd of voices. One by one, the footsteps seemed to separate, leaving just a pair of heels softly clicking in their direction. He did not need to see her to know it was Cupid.

He heard the commotion around him as his companions roused from their brief stasis. Taking a deep breath to ground himself against all the inconvenient thoughts that were bound to be unleashed any moment now, Neil finally raised his head. As if by fate, she was the first thing he saw as he allowed his gaze to leisurely sweep over her body. Eyeing the simple, black heels and the elegant black dress fitted to her form like a second skin, Neil could already feel his control slipping. And that was before he met her gaze, sparkling with something knowing and mischievous. Something that told him Cupid knew what she was doing to him. Something that told him this night was yet to turn into something more unforgettable. Later, that is.

“Lady of the hour,” TP’s voice was the one to break the silence as the man opened his arms before Cupid and bowed his head in a simple gesture of awe and respect, “You were brilliant,” as he flashed her his most charming grin, Cupid blushed.

Just slightly. Just enough that Neil would notice. But then, he noticed almost everything there was to notice about her.

“Thank you” the tint of shyness at the compliment made her look down for a beat before she spotted the large bouquet of yellow roses held by Wheeler. It was a whip-round, collective purchase that Neil agreed to. The colour would not be his first choice. Though, perhaps, it should have been “Are these for me?” her smile flickered, now evidently moved, although she would do anything but admit that.

“Obviously,” Wheeler did not waste another moment to hand her the bouquet with her version of an admiring smile.

A rare thing, if you asked Neil. Suddenly unable to find his voice, he could only hope that the look in his eyes, still staring at Cupid, told her as much.

“So… what did you think?” the hint of uncertainty in her voice felt wrong as he watched her drop her gaze to the marble floors and shift slightly.

He could feel the stirrings of a protest lodging themselves deep inside his chest. Aching to be freed any moment now. Except that the strange hesitation seemed to be stronger, rendering him mute for another beat. Neil did not understand it and could not explain it if asked. It was as though now, finally before her, his brain could not form words or even sounds, too occupied with staring and processing details of her performance. And the worst part of it all was that Neil knew his silence was noticed. He could feel it in Cupid’s curious gaze as she glanced at him for a second before drifting away again. As though scared of what she might find in his dazed eyes.

“Way better than Barbie”, Ives’ reply broke through the strange stagnation with its usual fervour.

Its force made Neil choke on a surprised laughter. It was the last sound he had expected to make.

“That’s… a first, but thank you, Ives” the puzzlement on Cupid’s face slowly faded as she allowed her gaze to wander back to Neil, almost shyly. Yet the knowing look in her eyes told him that she saw him. As always, “Hello, sunshine. You’re being very quiet. Should I worry?” playing it coy, she took another step forward, using the natural parting between the rest of the gathering.

Neil could feel his colleagues’ eyes on them, curious and assessing. Undoubtedly wondering what they were about to witness. Not that he knew the answer to that one.

“He’s been like this since the final bow,” ever unhelpfully, Ives inserted the comment into the loud moment of silence without subtlety.

If Neil felt capable of looking away from Cupid, he would have shot the man a murderous glare. Not that he was wrong. He wasn’t. But it was not something Cupid needed to know. It was not essential to her wellbeing. And, frankly, it was only harmful to his state of sanity. Just short of shaking his head like a rabid dog to finally find his voice, Neil took a deep breath before responding:

“I’m just processing. You were incredible, by the way. As always,” he could not do anything about the way his voice softened the moment he addressed her. Or about the fact that he took an unconscious step forward, needing to create even an illusion of closeness with her despite the audience “Like I knew you would be,” but there was no second guessing what he needed to tell her.

That was obvious the moment she stepped onto the stage during Act One, dressed in white silks and tulles, sparkling under the warm lights. Catastrophically beautiful, if you asked Neil.

“Yeah?” now, Cupid only bated her eyelashes, clearly trying to appear unmoved by his praise.

But that was a pointless endeavour, for he could see right through the coquettish attitude and false certainty. Underneath them, he could see the way her breath hitched and how she squeezed the stems of the bouquet a little tighter. The urge to sweep her into his arms in a bone-crushing hug increased exponentially.

“Yes” instead, he ensured to keep looking into her eyes as he strengthened the praise with more truths “I know you won’t believe me, but you’re special. When I watch you dance, the time seems to stop. And I know a thing or two about time. Trust me, it never does that” it seemed that once he had found his voice, Neil knew exactly what to say and how to make an impact, for the moment he delivered the compliments with stark honesty, Cupid’s eyes shimmered.

They rarely did that. And Neil knew a thing or two about her eyes thanks to his studious nature (and the pathetic crush of gargantuan proportions).

She caught herself with a quiet hitch in her breathing, seemingly trying her hardest not to let the tears spill down her cheeks. But Neil saw that, too. He took another step forward, now having completely forgotten about their company and their irrelevant thoughts.

“I don’t- Thank you,” faltering, Cupid settled on the simple expression of gratitude that was still more than Neil needed her to say. Simple silence would have been enough. But as soon as she spoke, the two words seemed to be exactly what his brain had been looking for as before she could utter the addition, Neil took the final steps to envelop her in his arms, “I mean it,” her words landed somewhere squarely against his chest as she reciprocated the hug with a couple of seconds of delay.

Cupid encircled his waist with her arms, pressing her palms against his back underneath the open suit jacket. She sighed as she sunk into his embrace, clearly appreciating the gentle touch of his hands as they rubbed a soothing path up and down her spine. A squeeze confirmed the suspicions as Neil smiled, nuzzling the top of her head with unhidden affection. Even if only just this once, it was allowed.

Until their bubble was pierced by a single, infuriating question:

“Are we interrupting?” Neil could hear the smirk in Ives’ voice, and it only made him roll his eyes as he forced himself to let Cupid go.

The only consolation, one that he could see reflected in her eyes, was that he knew he was not letting go of her for long. They had plans. Long-standing plans that focused on the number five and his very appreciated ability to take her apart. Over and over again. Those plans were suddenly all Neil could think of when Cupid stepped away from him with an embarrassed chuckle and responded:

“No, no, back to regular programming now. Anyone up for a pub?” her eyes were still shining as she glanced at him again, almost as if checking they were on the same page.

Neil could only chance a covert touch as his hand brushed against hers in a simple promise of fun later.

She grinned, bright and cheeky. That previous uncertainty in his chest was nowhere to be found.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet 2020 #tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

18 notes · View notes

evaiskindaweird · 1 month ago

Text

Rosanna lore but fleshed out YAYAYYAYAYY WITH PRAGRAPHS YAYAY!!!

I hc Bampy’s real name is Benny so yuh lol

Sometime in the early ‘50s, Rosanna Reyes immigrated to the U.S. from the Dominican Republic, where she eventually got a job at a factory. She met a man named Benny Botsford, and since she didn’t know much English, he helped her with certain things she couldn’t understand. On their breaks, he taught her English, and she taught him Spanish in return. They became close friends, and then BAMMM they started dating. In 1955, Benny proposed to Rosanna (in SPANISH because HE LOVES HER) and she of course accepted, and they got married later that year. In December of 1956, Rosanna became pregnant, and in August of the next year her son, Timothy Benjamin Botsford (middle name was Bampy/Benny’s idea lolz).

Benny and Rosanna doted on Tim a LOT when he was young. Like they spoiled him (LMAO). Rosanna signed him up for the dance competitions, and Benny would take him on Botsford family expeditions and tell tales from Botsford’s past (Tim was very enamored with Botsford family lore, hence why he knows so much about them). They encouraged every odd trait he had, from his overenthusiasm to his strange hyperfixations. They were basically….dare I say….perfect…….

As Tim grew up, she was supportive of whatever he did, no matter how ridiculous it was. She was the one to tell him that sometimes villains are just lonely people guided in the wrong direction, and taught him most of the advice he’d use for his family (like the memories thing in “As something as something”). A trait that was passed onto TJ, she was also incredibly vocal with what she thought on situations, even if it went against the population. She almost never turned her back on a hero unless there was solid proof the hero had done something wrong.

In 1972, Rosanna began getting sick, but she brushed it off as just coughs that she’d recover from. But soon, the coughing got worse, she was having frequent fevers, and it got to a point where she had to stop working. Eventually, she fainted in mid 1973, and she was rushed to the hospital. During the next few months she had to stay in the hospital, Tim got a job to help out around the house, and Benny and Tim both visited her every chance they got. Things went (sort of) back to normal, until her health dramatically dropped around May of 1974. She had gotten worse, and she was fainting much more frequently than usual. During sometime in June, she passed away with her husband sitting next to her and holding her hand(THE ANGST 😭). Tim found out later that day.

How they coped:

Tim took her death extremely hard, as anybody who lost a parent would, but the added pain was because he loves both of his parents an incredible amount, and losing one felt like losing a part of himself. He barely ate, didn’t go outside for about 2 weeks, and couldn’t even find the strength to get up, usually spending all day sleeping. It got better over time, with some encouragement from his father, but compared to his personality before and after Rosanna’s death, he was a very quiet and timid boy. He didn’t really become his pre-mom-death self until freshman year of college, and even then he still had trouble with certain things. He’s still grieving his mother after all this time, but he doesn’t bring it up unless it’s her death anniversary, where he usually sleeps all day to avoid feeling sad. Sally’s been working on helping him find a coping mechanism that isn’t avoidance.

Benny also took her death extremely hard. The woman he loved for almost 2 decades, gone in just a matter of months, almost a year--and holding his hand, no less. He was with her when he died, and it impacted him much more than it seemed. Although he was able to keep it together around others (especially Tim, who he didn’t want to add extra baggage onto), he often struggled with coping himself and constantly had to do things to get his mind off of it, which eventually developed into a subconscious coping mechanism where he avoids talking about the death and expressing how he felt about it. Despite pushing his son to try and function after Rosanna’s death, he had trouble functioning himself, and often had to push himself to do things on his own. In the present, he mostly doesn’t think about the death besides that it happened and he doesn’t like talking about it, and on her death anniversary he usually tries to do things like spend time with family, or anything really to get his mind off of it.

Benny and Tim had trouble talking to each other after it happened. Tim stayed in his room for a long time after the funeral, and despite Benny wanting to interact with him, Tim pushed everyone that tried to talk to him away, which caused a big strain in their relationship. It got better over time, but they still tend to feel a lot of tension on her death-aversary. They check up on each other (mostly Benny), but tend to have different views on how to spend the death-aversary.

#Wordgirl #Rosanna Botsford #Bampy Botsford #Tim Botsford #I wrote this in February actually sorry guys it’s late…..#Also posting because I’m infodumping to my pookie about her

16 notes · View notes

im-not-corrupted · 2 years ago

Text

A little 2.7k words long Dreamling drabble I wrote for @samsalami66, using the prompt ‘please, never apologise for wanting to be loved’ from this prompt list

Edit: Now also on Ao3!

----

He found out on their third meeting in as many months.

(Three meetings. In three months. Hob was…well, he was having a bit of a hard time believing that, even if he was present during those meetings. Three meetings in three months, after one hundred and thirty three years of silence and what he thought to be avoidance. Three meetings in three months, when the two of them had only seen each other once a century.

Once a century. Every one hundred years. How had he ever been content with that?)

(He hadn’t. He remembered how it felt, before. The crushing weight of loneliness with every day that came after their centennial meetings, prompted by the knowledge that the only person who truly knew him for what he was, instead of what he was that century, was what prompted him to call his Stranger a friend in the first place.

Still. While he certainly yearned for contact outside of their centennial meetings—he was mostly content. He was alright, to sit and wait. That was what he did.

Now—now, he had monthly meetings. Monthly meetings with his Stranger, who he knows now as Dream. With Dream, his friend. He didn’t know how he’d ever coped with anything less.)

Found out perhaps wasn’t the right word. Hob…didn’t have anything to do with it, really. He didn’t go digging for information. He merely invited his friend inside for a drink, some food if he felt like it, without expectation.

Dream looked tense, the day he brought it up. Shoulders coiled tightly, jaw clenched so much it looked almost painful, eyes somewhat distant. That was enough to worry Hob, who had never seen his friend distant before. At least, not that he could recall.

And in the end, Dream merely turned to him without prompting and told him, voice severe and terribly serious, “I would’ve returned to you. In 1989.”

And—and that made something in Hob ache. He waited so long, the day of their meeting, only to be met with silence and absence. And then he waited another thirty three years, because what else could he do? He was Hob Gadling, with almost seven centuries to his name and therefore far more patience than any typical human. Waiting felt like the only natural response at the time, and, indeed, it paid off, because Dream sat beside him. Because Dream returned to him, walked across the threshold of The New Inn and called Hob a friend.

Such a simple word, that. Enough to change the rest of his day, though. The rest of his century, even—friendship with Dream was a high he knew he’d ride for decades to come.

He’d tilted his head, curious and somewhat terrified. I would’ve returned to you, Dream said. And yet he had not. And yet Hob Gadling spent that day alone, drinking away his sorrows and waiting for a friend who wouldn’t return for three decades later.

”Then why didn’t you?” Hob asked, his heart in his throat. His eyes stung and he scowled, blinking the tears away. Truthfully, he thought he was over that by this point. It had been thirty three years. More than enough time to nurse the wounds of being thoroughly abandoned on the 7th June, 1989. The sting lessened even further when Dream called him friend, when he apologised for his absence.

(It returned on occasion, usually when he least expected it. It liked to…to wait in the wings, until the moment Dream turned his back on Hob to leave. He’ll return, Hob told himself, because he would now. All he saw in his head was the sight of Dream’s back turned away from him in 1889, though, as the rainfall fell around them both but didn’t touch his friend in the slightest.

It came back in those moments, and he often found himself swallowing a question. You’ll come back, right? or Would you stay a little longer? or Might I be selfish and request more of your company tonight?

Dream would not abandon him again. He knew that much. His heart and his stomach seemed to be taking a little longer to get the memo, however, and the dread that accompanied Dream’s leavings was often irrational.)

Ocean deep eyes stared at him. They were shadowed, those eyes, full of ghosts Hob couldn’t hope to understand. He could drown in those depths easily, and even then wouldn’t understand his friend in his entirety. “I was…captured,” he said, after some hesitation. “By a magician named Roderick Burgess.”

There were many things Hob could’ve said in response to that small and ugly revelation, and all of them would’ve been appropriate. All of them no doubt would’ve been various ways of saying What the fuck, are you alright? and Do you want me to kill the bastard? Because I will.

In the end, Hob didn’t say any of that. Instead, he focused on the frustration that hid underneath the layers of forced calm, the rage that lurked beneath the surface of Dream’s voice, and he ached. He ached, because Dream had been captured.

He didn’t need to know anything more than that to pull Dream into a hug.

A light one, because captured echoed inside his head like it was an empty cavern. It was the only thought he found himself capable of thinking. He didn’t know what it entailed, but—captured. God.

They could’ve hurt him. Hob wasn’t sure Dream could be hurt—Endless seemed rather important, even if he didn’t know what it meant properly—but the idea was terrible enough that he had to force himself to keep his arms around Dream loose, had to force himself to concentrate on his friend instead of the anger bubbling in his veins on his friend’s behalf.

In his arms, Dream tensed further. Hob…hadn’t thought that possible, after seeing how tense he was before this. Immediately, guilt struck him like a blow. His friend had been captured, and he didn’t bother to ask if a hug would even be alright.

Before he could pull away, apologies and pleas for forgiveness ready to spill from his tongue, Dream moved faster than Hob thought should’ve been possible. His arms found themselves around Hob’s waist, clinging tight enough it knocked the air right out of his lungs, but that was alright. He didn’t mind, not when Dream clung on so tightly. Not when he seemed like he needed it desperately, like he hadn’t been offered such a thing before.

He ignored that thought, for it made him ache with a desperation he hadn’t felt before, a desire to make sure his friend knew he was loved, and ran a soothing hand down his friend’s back. He pretended he couldn’t count the knobs of his friend’s spine even through his coat. Dream had always been lithe, yes, all elegant limbs and graceful movements—but this. This, he thought, was tangible proof of his friend’s hurt. This was what captured meant.

After—after Dream released him, slowly and carefully like he truly didn’t want to, like he wished to remain in the circle of Hob’s arms for the foreseeable future, which Hob wouldn’t have had a problem with, not at all—this, somehow, became a regular thing.

Dream continued to appear once each month. The day and the week varied, but it was always once a month. Hob didn’t know when to expect him, but that certainly wasn’t a problem—Dream didn’t turn up when he was teaching, and every other second he had to his name was his to take up. He could take up all of Hob’s time, and Hob thought he wouldn’t even care. Not if it was Dream.

And, with each month, Dream would touch him. Hug him. Tentatively, at first, like the motions were unfamiliar. Like gentle brushes of skin against skin and little nudges, touches so casual that they were easily a part of Hob’s every day life, were strange to him. Like he didn’t know what to do with it, with touches that were made for the sake of contact.

Even after a couple more months, the touches were still hesitant. Always, always, there was something holding Dream back, some of that old reserve returning and keeping him from taking what he wanted.

Hob didn’t push.

He wanted to. God, he did. He wanted to lay everything he had—time, the ability to provide contact, conversation and space and every amount of money he had to his name—at Dream’s feet and announce, Yours, it’s yours if you want it. If you want to take it, you can. It’s yours.

That—that would be too much. He refrained. He kept the questions at bay—refused to say the words Is this enough? and Do you want more? and You know I’ll gladly give you everything you ask, you know?—and he continued to tell stories in an attempt to make Dream smile faintly, to perhaps make things…easier to deal with. And, gradually, the hesitance bled away into something a little more like confidence, and Hob was glad for it.

After all of that, Hob somehow found himself sat on his couch a year later, with Dream’s head in his lap as the two of them watched a movie. Lord of the Rings, naturally—Sorry, you haven’t seen it? Hob had said last month, and despite Dream’s protests that usually took the shape of I am the Prince of Stories, I do not need to watch it to know the story, he decided they’d watch it together the next time Dream appeared.

He tried not to think too hard on the way Dream appeared so comfortable. He took up the rest of Hob’s sofa, boots and coats abandoned, loose-limbed as though this was where he belonged. There was no tension in his body, at least that Hob could see, and a part of him ached at that knowledge. He did that. He made his friend comfortable, gave him a safe space to take up room. He was the one who Dream let himself relax with, and wasn’t that a fucking thing? A glorious, wonderful thing. Tangible and real proof of their friendship.

Hob…Hob didn’t know how they got to this point, not really. He didn’t know how he managed to bridge the distance that always felt so terribly large so easily, to the point where Dream felt comfortable enough to use his thigh as a pillow. He didn’t know when the idea of threading his fingers through the strands of his friend’s raven hair became a temptation he had to resist, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

At some point, Dream ended up sitting up. Hob missed him immediately, the absence of his weight on Hob’s thigh almost a physical pain.

A frown tugged at Dream’s lips slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “You are…thinking. Loudly.”

Hob, who still wasn’t sure Dream couldn’t read his mind—he didn’t ask questions, for all he really wanted was a name—blinked at him and offered a small smile. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “It is just. Strange. To see you like this. After we spent so long meeting only once a century.”

This, naturally, had the undesired affect of making Dream tense. All of that loose-limbed ease disappeared as though it was never there in the first place, only for his lips to purse and for Dream to look away from him. “I. Apologise,” he said slowly, carefully, as though he’s committed some terrible offence. “I did not mean to make you. Uncomfortable, in any way, or to take more than you were willing to give.”

He almost laughed at that, but managed to hold it back. His heart was a thing of yearning and daydreams of finding out of Dream would kiss him softly or with fire, if Dream’s fingertips would caress his skin gently or a little rougher, if Dream’s voice would sound just as lovely and velvet-soft uttering the words I love you as it did anything else. ‘More than you were willing to give’ didn’t exist to him, not for Dream. Never for Dream, who owned his heart entirely.

What he did instead was shake his head. He made to take Dream’s hand but thought better of it, letting his own fall onto the sofa between them. An invitation, if Dream felt like taking it. “Dream,” he said gently, and his friend’s eyes flooded with silver tears he didn’t allow to fall. “What are you apologising for? You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t have a problem with any of this, I promise. The opposite, in fact. I would’ve told you, if I did.”

Dream didn’t look at him again. He said, voice low and carefully even, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the pain underneath it, “I have often been deemed. Too much. When it comes to offering affection.”

Affection, Hob thought, I am worthy of Dream’s affection. “You’re not too much.” He never could be.

This time, his gaze did return to Hob’s, ocean eyes cutting like steel. “I am,” he announced, and the heaviness, the certainty, with which he said it made Hob ache anew. “And I. Apologise. For inflicting my own desires upon you.”

”Oh, Christ, love,” Hob said helplessly. He did take Dream’s hand this time, clinging on for dear life, and was thankful when Dream didn’t pull away. He thought about the way Dream seemed so surprised when Hob hugged him the first time, the way he continued to hesitantly continue with small and casual contact over the last year. He thought about the way he seemed comfortable with such things, the way he seemed to need that first hug so much. Did he have nobody else who would offer him a fucking hug?

Surely he did. Surely Hob was not his only friend. As much of an achievement as that would be, he couldn’t cope with that idea. His friend deserved to love and to be able to love without—without worrying about being too much. “Please,” he said softly, and Dream stared at him with an expression he’d call blank if he wasn’t aware of how much sorrow there was in his gaze, “never apologise for wanting to be loved, Dream. This—hugs, you laying on me, whatever the fuck else you’d want—all of that, you can have. I don’t mind. I offer it freely, because I want to. Because you deserve to have that, okay? You’re not too much for wanting to be touched, especially after everything.”

Dream tensed further, somehow. His brow furrowed, as if this baffled him entirely. Christ, and Hob thought he made himself and his feelings towards Dream obvious. “You. Do not mind,” he repeated slowly, like that was a foreign concept.

Hob had half a mind to find whoever made him decide that wanting something as human as contact and ask them a couple of questions. With his fists. And maybe a knife.

For now, he just shook his head. “Not one bit,” he promised. “You can lay on me any time you like. Understood?”

For a couple more moments, Dream simply continued to stare, before he swallowed audibly. Hob thought he didn’t need to do that. He wondered if that small play at humanity was another product of his capture. “I believe,” he said slowly, voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the movie still playing in the background, “that I might be. Beginning. To understand.”

Hob smiled, relieved. This, he thought, wasn’t the end of it. And it didn’t have to be—he would assure Dream that he was never too much time and time again, if he had to. “Good. Good. I’m glad, love.”

And after another momentum’s hesitation, Dream wound his arms around Hob’s shoulders. His movements were stiff, almost awkward, but Hob hardly cared.

Perhaps he’d have to bring it up later. He’d like to. He’d like to bring this up again, to show Dream that Hob could be just as much when it came to his own affections, that he had been exercising every amount of self control he had over this last year. He’d like to show Dream that, for Hob, he—he was it. His closest, oldest friend. His longest love. Dream could take as much as he wanted, and Hob still wouldn’t care. It was all for him anyway.

For now, Dream pressed himself against Hob’s side and sighed softly. He didn’t unwind his arms from around Hob’s neck.

For now, that was enough.

------

Edit: find a part two here :)

#The Sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman netflix #fic #eris writes things

422 notes · View notes