#anyway I am struggling a lot this week. the loneliness has been so intense

[themadlostgirl]

Abandoned (11)

*That took longer than expected. Had to rewrite the beginning like five times cause I hated how it kept turning out. Bleh! But we got it now! Should have the next and final chapter of this mini-fic out soon! Love ya and enjoy!*

~~~

As the years passed I found myself growing even more attached to Neverland. I had called it home for years already but after Peter told me he loved me it felt more permanent. I guess a part of me was always sort of waiting for my father to show up one day and take me away. Worried that he would return and ruin the peace and happiness I had found on Neverland.

He was the last person I had ever loved before he abandoned me. As much as I hated him there would be nights when I’d sit in my hut and his face would come to mind. The sound of his voice singing a lullaby to me that I only half remember. I would sit there simmering in my hatred and feelings of betrayal but down deep in my soul there was a twinge of sadness. Memories that feel more like dreams reminding me that for as angry as I was at him there was a time that I loved him. He was my family. My papa…

But that’s all gone. He left me. Traded me. I have a new family now. I know real love. Unconditional love.

Peter loved me exactly as I was. He never asked me change. He never forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. We had fun together. We told each other everything. He knew my deepest darkest secrets and in turn I was entrusted with his. He held me close and kissed me softly. HIs arms were the safest place I had ever known.

He was patient with me and despite how badly he may have wanted to escalate our intimate relationship he never pressured me. If anything he may have been too cautious but given what he knew of my history I didn’t blame him. I’d rather he be courteous than to just assume he’s okay to take what he wants from me. So when the day came that I knew I was ready I asked him to make love to me. He had been so nervous and I couldn’t help but tease him a bit despite my own nerves. It felt nothing like the first time I had sex. It was so much softer, slower, and all of my partner’s attention was solely on me. It felt like love.

After that first time things got a little intense. We may have made it our mission to christen every inch of the island. Soft and sweet love making in the meadows to hard and rough in caves, there was nothing more we cared about. Peter didn’t even return to camp for an entire week once because we were too wrapped up in one another. His body became as familiar to me as my own.

That isn’t to say that we didn’t drive each other mad either. There were days where I wanted to throw him off a cliff and he wished that I had never set foot in Neverland. For as stubborn as the both of us could be the fights never drove us apart for long. We would come back together and everything would be right with the world until we got annoyed and started another fight.

Through all of it I worried though. From what Peter told me all that time ago, he’s dying. He creeps closer and closer to death and there’s nothing I can do to help him. I ask for details, I ask if there is anyway I can help, and Peter tells me it is not for me to worry about. He assures me he has it all under control. That sentiment loses some of its reassurance when he comes to me shaking and pale as a ghost. It’s always after he visits Skull Rock and looks at the hourglass ticking away his life.

One of these such nights he found me at my camp and held me close for a long while not saying anything. Not that he had to. I just wish there was something I could do to help. I hate seeing him like this.

“My love?” I whispered. Peter sat between my legs with his head resting on my chest and his arms wrapped around me. “You need to tell me if there is some way I can help you.”

Peter sighed. “I told you, my pearl, there is nothing about my situation that you need to worry yourself over. Now be sweet and keep playing with my hair. That is helping immensely.”

“I feel like I should be doing more though,” I carded my fingers through his hair, “I don’t want to just stand idly by while you…” I couldn’t finish the thought. “I want to help you.”

“You already are.” He gazed up at me with those clear green eyes I loved so much, “I don’t need you to fight or search or anything like that. I want you exactly where you are now. I want to know that you are safe here, waiting for me. That is all I need.”

“But--”

“Hush now,” he kissed my palm, “You worry yourself so easily. Things are already in motion. I will be safe and far from death by the end of the week if things go according to plan.”

“What? Why haven’t you said anything before?”

“Because I fear it may stir up painful memories for you. The Truest Believer will be here soon and I have a plan for when he arrives. You are not a part of it and that is how it is going to remain. Do you understand?”

“But I can help!”

“My love, my precious pearl,” Peter smoothed a finger across my bottom lip, “You already are. I want you right here where I know you are safe. Stay here. That is how you will help me.”

“But I could do so much more.”

“I don’t need you to do anything more.” He kissed me gently, “Now please, can you obey me in this one thing? I need you to trust me on this. You do trust me, don’t you, my love?”

“Of course I trust you.” I sighed, defeated, “But you will let me know if you need me to do more, right?”

“Of course,” He laid his head back down.

The night the Truest Believer arrived I didn’t see Peter at all. He told me he would be gone from my side for the majority of the time the Believer was on Neverland. It wasn’t unexpected but the sting of loneliness crept in still.

After the first night without Peter I became restless. Despite Peter’s warning to remain at my camp I decided to take a short stroll through the jungle. There were adults running about somewhere trying to rescue the boy Peter had. It is such a big island though and I know every inch of it. What were the odds that I would run into one of these adults? Still, I strapped my sword to my hip just in case. Adults or not Neverland was still plenty dangerous, especially at night.

I meandered through the jungle with no real destination in mind. Maybe I would go to Peter’s Thinking Tree. It had to be more fun than sitting all alone in my hut back on the beach.

“My young love said to me, ‘My mother won't mind and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind.’ Then she stepped away from me and this she did say, ‘It will not be long love till our wedding day.’” I sang quietly.

“She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair.” A voice from the deepest recesses of my mind answered with a melody as soft as it had been in my dreams. It was not a sound in my head though. It was much too real.

“And fondly I watched her move here and move there.” The foliage parted and in the moonlight appeared a troupe of adults but I only saw the one at the forefront. “Then she made her way homeward with one star awake. As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.”

He took a knee and gazed up at me, “Hello starfish,”

I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out.

My father...my father was standing right in front of me after gods know how many years and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I just stared at him as my mind went through a million emotions at once.

“Hook?” One of his party asked, a blonde woman, “Who are we looking at here?”

“My daughter,” he answered simply, “I told you I had informants in Neverland.”

“You have a kid?” The other adults looked at him in shock. “You never mentioned that you had a daughter before.”

“Yes, well--”

“What are you doing here?” I said, my voice shaky and choked. All eyes swiveled to me once again. I gazed down at my father as all the sorrow and anger I had been harboring for decades started to boil over.

“Darling,” He reached out for me but I jumped back so he couldn’t touch me. He sighed, “Starfish, I know that what happened in the past must have been a shock but I’m here now. I’m back and I desperately need your help. Then all of this can be undone. Things can go back to what they were before.”

How dare he. How dare he come back. How dare he kneel in front of me and ask for my help. Did he not know? Did he not realize what he had done? How could he come back here after decades and pretend like nothing had happened?

He took advantage of my silence to reach for me again. I was still trying to think of what to say or do when he grabbed hold of my hand. “Starfish,” He whispered the nickname like a plea, “I am so happy to see you again. Please, can you help us? We can get you out of here.”

“No...” I pulled my hand from him. Tears sprung to my eyes and there was nothing to do to stop them. “NO!” I screamed, “No! No! No! No! No!”

“Darling, please--”

“You abandoned me!” I wailed, years of pent up anguish spilling out at once, “You left me here! That is not just a shock! That is not something you get to brush aside like it wasn’t a big deal. You traded me away for your freedom and now you have the gall to come back here and ask for my help?”

“It was a lot more complicated than that--”

“No it wasn’t! You had a choice and you chose your freedom over me! Your daughter! You didn’t even try coming back for me!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I endured after I was forced to leave you.”

“Forced? You were not forced. You could have told Peter no when he asked you to trade me. You could have kept me and we could have stayed together. We’d be marooned here but at least we would have been together.” I kicked him in the center of his chest so he went falling backwards. The other adults tensed, weapons aimed but no one made a move to stop me as I towered over him.

“And do not tell me that you endured anything like it was a struggle. I spent months alone on the beaches praying that you would return. I cried myself to sleep and pleaded with the universe to send you back to me. When I was finally given a chance to be reunited with you do you know what I found? I found you in a tavern drinking and having a merry time without me. I wasn’t even a thought in your head!”

“Starfish--”

“I am not your starfish! I am not your daughter! You do not get to call me that after what you did. After what you put me through. You betrayed me! You traded me to our enemy and you didn’t even care!”

“I’m here now though.”

“But not for me.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “You knelt before me but it wasn’t with apologies or words of reassurance that you had come to rescue me. No. You returned and asked for my help like you have any right to it. Do not look for me again. Do not talk to me again. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Starfish, please,” He grabbed my arm, “Let me explain.”

“Let go of me!” I tried to pull my arm free.

“Hook, I think you should--” One of the other adults tried to intercede.

“No!” He pulled me closer, “Please, darling, I need you to listen to me. If you just give me the chance to explain then everything will be alright. We’ll get Henry and we’ll leave. You can leave this place and we can be a family again. I know I hurt you but we can still fix this.”

“You are not my family! I want nothing to do with you!” I kicked at him but he held me tighter.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Let go of me!”

“Starfish--”

“PETER!” I screamed. A hand was quickly clamped over my mouth but it was too late. Ominous clouds started to roll in casting the jungle into darkness. One of the adults conjured a ball of fire in her hands, the only source of light as the others strained to see in the dark. I felt a tingle go up my spine and relaxed.

“Get your hands off her.” Peter’s voice growled from the shadows. Father’s grip on me slackened for just a moment and I took the hesitation to rip myself away from him. I could make out Peter’s eyes glinting almost like a cat’s in the darkness and ran for him. He caught me in his arms and smoothed my hair, “Hush now, precious, it’s alright.”

“Pan,” Father barked, “Give me back my daughter!”

“And my son!” One of the women yelled.

“Neither of them are going anywhere. Especially not my Lost Girl.” Peter grinned. His thumb traced over my cheek wiping the tears that had fallen away, “Did the awful man make you cry, my love?”

I nodded. Peter pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Love?” The other man in the group spoke his eyes wide in disbelief. He turned to father, “Your daughter is dating Peter Pan?”

“No…” Father looked horrified as he took in our body language. "My daughter would never--"

"Well she's not your daughter anymore. She ceased to be yours the moment you sent her to me.” Peter held me closer, “And I swear if you try taking her I will gut every last one of you.”

“Remove whatever spell you placed over her!”

“There is no spell. Did you really think that you could leave her here for decades and that she would still be the loyal pirate you had set adrift in a rowboat? I welcomed her to my island as an equal, I made sure she was provided for and looked after. Then in time she welcomed me as her friend and eventually as her lover.” Peter’s smile grew wide with that sadistic edge I loved. “She makes just the cutest noises.”

“You vile bastard!” Father charged at us with his blade drawn and murder in his eyes. The next moment Peter and I were standing on the beach by my hut.

“Was that last comment so necessary?” I asked.

“You can’t blame me wanting to torture him a little after what he did.” Peter chuckled lightly. “But how are you, my love? I told you to stay here. Why did you go wandering?”

“I was bored and lonely so…” I shrugged. My body was still shaking.

Peter sighed and kissed my forehead. “Hush, my love, I can’t imagine what you must have been thinking seeing him again.”

“I said what I wanted to. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough though. I don’t think I can accurately put into words what he made me feel. He could never understand what I endured because of him.” More tears started to slip from my eyes. Peter brushed them away.

“Come back to camp,” He said, “I want to be able to watch over you.”

I nodded, too emotionally exhausted to fight him on this. We drew curious glances when we entered camp. One of the boys I did not recognize and I realized I now had a face to pair with the heart Peter needed. Peter ignored everyone’s whispering and led me to his tent.

“Will you be okay in here?” Peter asked. “If you need me I’ll be right outside.”

“I’m fine.”

“One second,” he left and came back with a canteen and a bowl of food. “In case you get hungry. I also grabbed a couple books from your hut in case you wanted something to do. Do you need anything else?”

“Can you sit here with me for a minute? I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, precious,” He sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. “You’d tell me if you really aren’t doing well, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” I buried my face in his neck. “Peter, I don’t know what game you are playing with these adults but if I can I want to be a part of it.”

“You already know why I won’t allow that.”

“Peter,” I fisted a hand in his tunic, “If you have the chance, leave Hook alive.”

“Why should I let that worm breathe after what he put you through?” Peter spat, “I should have killed him the second I saw him trying to take you.”

“No. Leave him alive and leave him to me.” Venom started to drip into my voice, “I want to be the one to kill him.”

---

(Previous) (Next)

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 9.6k words

Genre: (lots of) smut, angst, final fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello cuties! Welcome back! I had assumed I would be done with Hobi’s piece in the studio quite soon, however it took me some extra hours. Writing it was extremely difficult! Let me remind you that this is NSFW, so minors, please do not read or interact.

PSA — If you’re interested, I was thinking of making a taglist, so you’ll receive a note on your activity feed whenever I publish a new piece (since I know sometimes app notifications do not work). Also, in the next two or three weeks I’ll be busy with university, so I don’t think I’ll be able to write full one-shots. This means I’ll be posting small drabbles that will help me lay the groundwork for all the filth I’ve been storing away from you (and that I’ve hinted in the masterlist). The polls will stay open and you’ll be able to vote for next prompt, however it will take me a while before I start writing again according to your requests.

This piece is a one shot and it takes place in some indefinite future in the official timeline, shortly after him and Giggles have moved in together (quick reminder, Giggles is the nickname he has given the reader, however if you want to know how I imagined her, you can find her headcanons here). 

Synopsis: Giggles has been a little uncomfortable after she has moved into his apartment, mostly because his job has kept him from going back home. After a week of struggle, she heads to Hoseok’s studio to grab her man with the help of special weapons.

DESCRIPTION AND TRIGGER WARNINGS: angst at the beginning, reader is upset and cries. Other than that, this is filthy. NSFW, contains several BDSM themes, such as domination (Dom!reader, Switch!Hoseok and a fluffy dose of vanilla sex because I needed to cleanse my soul), rope bondage (wrists), blindfold, sensation play and mild impact play (flogger, hinted riding crop and tickler), pretty intense edging, teasing, oral sex and masturbation (both male and female receiving), squirting, MULTIPLE ROUNDS (it’s Hoseok, come on!). Emotionally challenging: Hoseok feels guilty as hell, reader is quite angry, but they’re both lovesick puppies by the end of it. Special warning: one bratty Jimin appears at the end of the piece.

Word count: 9.6k

Here is my masterlist! Enjoy!!!

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A lowfi mix came from behind Hoseok’s door. He was probably just chilling as he worked on something else. It wasn’t uncommon for him to listen to random stuff as he looked for inspiration, especially since he was currently trying to work with a more old school R’n’B vibe. He had a new artist he wanted to collaborate with and this new genre was becoming increasingly challenging, especially since he wanted it to have that early Two-thousand flow, reminding him of that time he had started venturing into Western hip hop, thinking about dates and girls and teenage crushes.

The bag felt a bit heavier on your shoulder now that the music showed you his mindset. This could turn into a very one-of-a-kind type of night.

You knocked at the door. The music turned down a notch, as if he wasn’t quite sure he had heard right.

Hesitantly, shutting your eyes tight, you knocked harder before pressing your hand to your chest, curling around it in fear. Hoseok could be harsh when interrupted: though he usually realised and apologised, seeing him mildly disappointed always gave you a chill down your spine, and not the good one.

His shadow appeared from behind the opaque glass door.

The door unlocked and opened. “Hey, hello there.” His expression was blank for a second before he realised you were quite neutral, as if trying to square yourself before seeing him.

Something caved in your chest. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes. “Hi.”

“Are you coming in?” He asked.

“I only wanted to ask when you’re coming back home.” You said, your lip slightly trembling.

He blinked.

“I’ve texted you and called you, but you didn’t reply.”

He blinked twice. “What time is it?”

You exhaled and made to turn around and walk away.

“Giggles.” He called, chasing after you and catching you in his arms, backhugging you. “Baby.”

“No. I’m done with baby and all of that. I’m fucking done.” Tears started falling. Your plan had gone to hell. All your mental briefings and getting yourself in the right mindset were useless by now. The bag made you feel twice as frustrated. “I am tired, Hoseok.”

That made him feel like a scolded puppy. You had never uses that tone with him, never used his full name while scolding him.

“I am tired.” Now that your first tear was spilled, all the others came out without any control. “I am exhausted.”

He pressed you harder into him. “I promise it will end soon.” He smiled as he saw you turn and hide into him.

“I am tired of your promises. You made me move in and then disappeared for a week straight. I don’t know where I can put my stuff, I had to handle transport, to talk with my landlord, to do everything by myself. And I’ve been doing double shifts all week. I am raw with exhaustion and I’ve had absolutely zero support.” You sobbed, pressing your pointer finger into his chest, before laying your punch against his breastbone, angry and tired and accusing. “You were supposed to be my certainty but you gave me fucking nothing.” He flinched when he heard you swore. You never swear at him. The fact that you’ve done it twice in the same argument spoke volumes about how angry you were. “You were supposed to give me certainties. But you don’t even answer to my texts.” You punched him weakly. “I hate you so much.”

Now he was worried. Heavily worried. Anxious. “Let’s get in the studio, ____. Come on, love.”

“I don’t want to come in.”

He shook his head, tipping your chin back. “I said, come in.”

“You don’t get to order me around, Hoseok. Not like this. I’ve been doing everything you’ve asked me. I’ve been saying ‘yes, sir’ to every single one of your requests and look where that brought me.” You shoved your face away, out of his grasp.

He cupped your face with both hands. “Look at me.” He ordered. He tried again, softening his voice, panicking as you strongly opposed. “Look at me, little bird.”

You obeyed. It was the fucking nickname’s fault.

“Come in with me. I want to talk about this, make up for my mistakes.” He dried your tears with his thumbs. “I want you to tell me how to fix this. What you want me to do.” He combed your hair back with gentle fingers. “You say I keep ordering you around, and that has made you unhappy. I want to turn the tables. Let you order me what to do.” He started taking tiny steps backwards, toward his door, waddling with you in your arms. “This is the last time I beg you to do what I’ve asked you, for tonight. After this you’re absolutely free, Giggles. It’s all up to you, but please, let’s talk it out in my studio.”

You sniffled. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He smiled weakly.

You followed him.

The studio was clad in soft lights, the bass of the song making the air in the room feel like a warm, inviting, sultry cocoon. He moved to the desk, making the music nothing but a quiet whisper. “Let’s sit on the sofa over there, yeah?” He sat down and patted the cushion beside him.

Reluctantly, you sat down, removing your jacket and placing the bag beside you, on the floor.

“I made a mistake. I didn’t support you. I am sorry. I’ve been busy with my job but that is not an excuse, nor a good reason to disappear while you’re struggling.” He admitted.

“I’ve been sleeping in that bed alone for a week. It was heartbreaking.” You said with a furrowed brow and a pout. “It hurt so much that sadness became anger.”

He combed his hair with his hands. “I fucked up.”

“You did.” You confirmed. “I can handle a bit of loneliness. I’ve been alone for a long time. But that hurts inside your house.”

“It’s our house now.” He argued, deeply unhappy.

“Is it now?” You accused.

You saw his expression turn hurtful. “Are you going to leave?” He said, afraid that that would be his punishment. He knew there would be a price to pay, he just hoped it wouldn’t cost him his whole happiness with you.

“I can’t handle it now. Plus I don’t have much choice. It’s either there or my parents but I can’t move out of the city and do double shifts at work.” You said. “I’m stuck here because I trusted you. Because I gave up all my alternatives for you. You told me to trust you, that I could count on you. What am I going to do now?”

You looked so broken. He felt his eyes well with tears. His voice came out shaky. “Tell me what to do. Anything.”

“You’re gonna do what you want anyways.” You said, a bit hostile.

“No. Please, can you tell me what to do?” He tried to hold your hand. You let him.

“I want you home tonight.” You said, naming your price.

“Okay.” He felt ready to do anything. If you asked him to fly all the way to Paris and bring a box of macarons, champagne and fresh red roses, he would simply whip his phone out and look for the next flight. Fuck, he would teach himself how to fly a plane if need be.

“I want you home every night for the next week. I want dinner together.” You said, punching your index finger into your thigh. “You can use your home studio after dinner, I don’t care, you can stay up all night, but I swear if I have to fall asleep one more night alone in that damn bed, I’m going to gut you.”

“Okay.” He hadn’t come back home because he knew that having you around would mean getting no work done, as he much preferred giving you attention and laying down with you, watching a movie or putting to good use that big bed of his.

“And I want cuddles.”

“Yes, love.”

“Daily cuddles.”

He smiled as you contested like a child. “Yes, little bird.”

“And I want sex at least once a week for the next month.” You said, knowing that you could have much better than that, but you were aiming at the bare minimum.

“Once a week?” He asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“At least.”

That had him nodding. “Can do.”

“Pinkie promise.”

He smiled wider, hooking his pinkie with yours. “Pinkie promise.” As you pressed your thumbs together, sealing the deal, he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “What now? Can I hug you?”

“No. Go lock the door.” He looked at you dubious.

“Lock it.” You repeated.

He stood up and obeyed. “Now what?”

The negotiation had set you back into your original path. You had come for revenge and you were ready to execute it. “On your chair.” He was going to see how it feels to be powerless. Lost. Alone.

His heartbeat started increasing. He wanted to see where your plan was going to take him. He sat on his chair. “Here.”

“Close your eyes.” Your voice shook a little. You cleared it and said again: “Close your eyes, now.”

He bit his lip. He was getting turned on. A part of himself asked him how sick he must be for this, but he followed your lead, closing his eyes and laying his hands on the armrests. “Are you going to punish me?”

You shook your head before realising that he couldn’t see your movements. “I am going to do as I please.”

He snickered.

“Quiet.” You warned quietly.

He licked his lips and regained his composure. “Sorry.”

You bent and opened the bag. You found your first bundle and started unraveling it, walking back and forth in front of the sofa, stopping with your back to him.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Really?” He asked, incredulous.

“Do I look like I am joking?” You replied from over your shoulder.

“Okay.” He undressed quickly, letting his clothes fall to the floor. “Do you want me to...”

“Quiet.” You repeated. 

He closed his eyes and bent his head down. He was naked on the chair, unsurprised by his own erection.

You took a few steps towards him. As soon as you reached him, you gave him further instructions. “Do not open your eyes. I am going to touch you but if you open your eyes, you won’t like the consequences.”

“Wait.” Hoseok murmured. “How are you feeling now?”

You stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Are you angry at me?” Hoseok asked, his voice meek, hesitant, unhappy. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’m worried.”

You couldn’t do this to him. You couldn’t tie him up and torture him to tears, break him like that. Even though you really wanted to.

“I’m angry a bit, yes.” You replied. You exhaled, waiting in silence.

“I don’t think we should be doing this, then.” He suggested quietly. “I’ll be honest. You’re scaring me a little.”

You placed the rope on top of the desk, out of his angle of vision. “Open your eyes”, you said, placing your hands on his cheeks. His stare met yours. “What if I tell you my plans and you tell me if you’re okay with it?”

He pressed his face against your belly, kissing it. “I’m so sorry.” He nuzzled into your shirt. “I feel so bad.”

You moved your hands from his cheeks to his hair. “This is how I’m helping you with your guilt.” You massaged his shoulders. “I want to take care of you. You must have been so stressed here.”

“I’m the one at fault. I should be the one taking care of you.” He said with big puppy eyes. He looked up at you with his chin propped against your stomach.

“You can take care of me by letting me take the lead. Right now I need to feel like I can control something.” You traced his lips with your thumb, your index finger tracing the ridge of his nose with its lovely curve.

“Then control me.” He said, puckering his lips around your thumb.

“Are you still scared of me?” You asked.

“I’m scared of you going too far or pushing myself too far to please you.” He confessed. “But it’s something unconscious. I know I can trust you.”

“Still, I could tell you my plans.” You suggested sweetly.

“I trust you.”

“You don’t have to do stuff you don’t feel like doing just to please me.” You reminded him politely.

“That’s why we have safewords. When I don’t feel good I’ll use them.” He said, matter-of-factly. “They’re not there only for you.” He smiled.

You were quite curious about how his nakedness seemed to unfaze him. But then again, after more than a year together, at this point nakedness in front of each other felt natural.

“Don’t push yourself just to please me.” You scolded him.

“I won’t. If I don’t feel good, we stop and I’ll make love to you.” He stated plainly.

You thought about it. After all this time you knew Hoseok’s limits and insecurities. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He settled back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests. He closed his eyes. “I’m ready.”

His chest was so skinny. It felt like staring at a hummingbird. “Are you keeping your eyes closed or would you like a blindfold?”

He smiled. “Kinky.” He breathed out. He paused. “Blindfold.”

You smirked and grabbed it from your backpocket. You already knew he would have chosen to wear it. “I will touch you now Hoseok. Let’s see if you can recognise it.” You stretched towards the rope on his table, keeping it rolled up and brushing it gently against his face.

“Oh.” He rubbed his cheek against it, pressing his lips and then parting them to use his tongue. “I’m getting tied up, aren’t I?” He asked.

“Would you like to?” You asked. Blindfolded and tied up was always a daring combination. You had first done it for his birthday, but back then you hadn’t intended to overstimulate him to tears. That time you had simply used your advantage to give him the ride of his life, physically restraining him from taking control and straining himself to please you. The bondage technique had helped you keep him still long enough to relax. After almost literally sucking him dry, you had managed to ride him, watch him come apart for the fourth time and see him fall asleep like a kid at your side, not a care in the world. It had been a wildly satisfying experience.

“Are you going to use me like last time?” He asked, eyes still closed but his hands reaching out for you.

“Not really.” You commented. “I was thinking of something… softer? So to say.” You bit your lip. He couldn’t see your devious smile anyway.

“I’m interested.” He said, blindly running his hands down your thighs. “Tell me what to do.”

Clutching the rope between your thighs, you used one hand to comb his hair and trace the lovely lines of his face. “I’ll put the blindfold on you now, Hoseok. Is that okay, handsome?”

“Yes.” He said, his cheeks twitching with a small smile.

Putting a blindfold on someone else is a lot more difficult than it seems, however you managed to press the wide silken mask against his eyes, hooking the elastic band with your fingers and slipping it behind his head. “Is it safe?”

“Yes, Giggles.” He replied, turning his head in an attempt to kiss your wrist. You noticed the gesture and offered him your hand, brushing the back of it against his cheek. He managed to press his lips to your knuckles. “I love you.”

You bent down and let your lips hover over his. “Can you feel me?”

“So close.” He whispered. Sometimes he had this sixth sense, like his body — so used to perceive himself in time and space while dancing — had this special sensibility to closeness. Depriving him of sight made it look even more supernatural. It made you feel like he could perceive you spiritually. It felt religious. Metaphysical. You had missed this connection and you had been craving it for a while.

“Can you kiss me, Hoseok?”

He licked your lips in reply, his mouth hanging open, his lower lip brushing against yours so sensually that you envelopped it in yours, sucking.

He moaned, your eyes closing as you felt your body reach another level of arousal. It felt extraordinary. It felt like you were making love to your own body through his nakedness and arousal. Feeling this wanted, exploiting this bond between the two of you, the way your body mirrored his sensations, it was stronger than anything you had ever experienced.

You let go of his lip. “I’m gonna start tying you up now. This is the right moment to stop me, bub.”

“Keep going.” He said, his voice slightly gravelly.

“Okay.” You moved around the chair, studying how to use your prop smartly.

You noticed two thin metal tubes connecting the headrest to the back of the chair. Interesting. You unravelled your bundle of rope and found the middle quickly thanks to the mark placed there.

You remembered Hoseok coming back home with a big box, placing it on top of the coffee table as you were chilling on the sofa. “I want it cut, marked and hemmed by nine o’ clock.” He had said, voice dark, as he offered you a sewing kit and a fabric meter. “You’ll find instructions in the box.” He kissed your head as you sat on the floor and opened the box, dumbfounded. “I can’t use it tonight, but I’ll reward you if you do a good job.” Inside there was one entire spool of rope: the tag read “a hundred meters - pure cotton”. You spent the rest of the evening attending to your chore. Once you were done, you went knocking at Hoseok’s door. He spent the rest of the night repaying you for your fine accomplishment.

“Can you place your hands on your nape” You asked, noticing that he did so immediately.

“Thank you.” You chirped as you started tying him up, placing two fingers between his skin and the rope to make sure you didn't tighten too much. The position was delicate since his blood circulation could be affected by his forearms being upside down, tying the knot too tight would inevitably mean worsening the situation.

Once his wrists were safely secured to the small steel tube, you checked on him. “Is it good, bubs? Too tight?”

“I'm good, thank you, Giggles.” He replied.

“I’m going to grab my bag quickly. I’ll be a few steps away for a couple seconds, bubs.” You said, making sure that he didn’t panic as you stepped away.

A sultry, suggestive song came on, a slow Nineties hip hop track. It was inspirational, especially as you picked up your bag and placed it on top of his desk, near you and his chair, making sure that you wouldn’t need to leave him alone for longer than a couple seconds. Any person with a sliver of common sense would understand it is an awfully bad idea to leave someone bound, blindfolded and unguarded.

You stood in front of him with your hands behind your back and bent to his ear. “I’m here.” You murmured before standing up and dragging your nails down his neck and chest, stopping right at his stomach without neglecting his nipples, circling around them a couple times. He looked delicious, his cock hard and leaking on his lower abs. You observed the twitching of his slim shaft, the lovely curve of it, the taunting pink of his tip glimmering with wetness.

Teasingly, biting your lip, you gathered some of his precum on your fingertip, his lips parting with a purring sound.

“Giggles, please.” He whined.

You smiled as he exhaled, his mouth hanging open, and you deviously slipped your fingertip past his lips.

“Can you taste how turned on you are, Hobi?” You murmured, pressing your digit against his tongue.

He bit down playfully before twirling the tip of his tongue around your finger.

Giggling, you removed it.

“Does it tickle?” He asked.

You licked your lip. “Maybe.”

He shook his head just as you punished his disrespect with a gentle slap on his cheek. “You’re in no position to play games, Hoseok.”

He regained his composure. “Sorry.”

You shook your head yourself, standing up and moving behind him. His sides were vulnerable with his hands tied up and behind his head. You started thinking how you could use this against him. For now you simply decided that his inner forearms were normally sensitive enough to be a good starting point. He always started from your inner forearms. Drawing lines and twirls with your nails, you saw him shiver, his mouth gaping.

“You’ve moved.” He murmured, his fingers wiggling as he searched for contact, giving up once he noticed there was no chance. Daring and playful, you tickled his palms, moving so quickly that he didn’t manage to grab you.

His inner upper arm was even more sensitive, however touching it would mean that he would probably be able to touch you back. You could use something to reach out. You stood back, circling around the chair. It was a lot more complicated now. You had thought that seeing him like this would immediately tell you what you wanted to do to him. You had packed a variety of supplies in case sudden inspiration struck you, but now your lack of planning and your excess of toys confused you even more.

You had him naked and tied up to a quite limiting armchair. You knew your goal was to stimulate him as much as possible, listen to his pretty whines and watch him grow more and more desperate. Get him turned on out of his mind. Surprise him.

Kneeling, you patted his knees with your palms. “Open up.”

He inched his hips forward, his torso slouching against the back of the chair, his thighs parting further. “More?” He asked.

“Perfect.” You said, kissing his knees.

“Oh, you’re gonna do it like the other time?” He asked, bucking his hips up and slouching further. “You wanna blow me?”

You smiled, sending a cold breath running up his inner thigh.

His moan followed like a tide, like sunlight chasing the horizon at sunset.

You mirrored the gesture on the other leg, satisfied with the effect you had just elicited. “Do you want me to?” You asked, referring to his proposition.

“Your choice, Giggles.” He murmured, his reply melting into a ‘fuck, yeah’ as you licked up his thigh.

He could imagine your bubblegum pink tongue against the pale skin of his inner leg, your eyelids fluttering closed as you brought your tongue closer to his cock.

He had the softest baby hair on his inner leg. You wondered how it could be so thin and soft. Once you reached his crotch, you parted your mouth from his skin, your hot breath fanning on the sensitive head of his cock. Making sure that your hair was out of the way, you kissed the skin of his abdomen following the shadow that his sex projected on his belly. The point was that of being that close but not touching him.

It turned a bit more difficult when his hips jerked in an attempt to connect his cock with your lips while you sucked a love bite right on top of where his tip was laying. You moved back. “Stay still, Hoseok. Don’t make me tie up your legs too.” You warned. He huffed out a strained breath and shivered as you continued your trip down the other side with small kisses, finally licking down the other thigh, sitting back on your heels and placing a sweet peck on his knee. Now that his whole crotch area, thighs and abs were wet, blowing cold air all over him was even more fun, your lips directing your breath on different parts, making him try to escape your evil attentions.

“Giggles, you’re so bad.” He mewled, a tiny, desperate laugh underlining his sentence.

Your hands reached the base of his feet, your nails dragging against the natural crease at the center of his foot.

“It tickles.” He said, his legs jumping up as he tried to escape that sensorial torture.

“No touching you there?” You asked, eyebrows curving upwards in wonder. “Okay.”

He planted his feet firmly on the base of his office chair. “Please.” He said.

“It’s okay, Hobi.” You replied sweetly. His dancer feet were too sensitive for that and you’d rather avoid him moving too much and possibly falling from the chair. “How are you feeling?” You asked, standing up. You were at a crossroad. From his answer depended the rest of the evening.

“I’m doing great. This feels incredible, Giggles.” He smiled, complimenting you.

“Are you down for a level up?” You asked.

He nodded. “I’m curious.”

“Choose a number from one to three.” You asked him, your voice bubbly.

“What is it?” He asked. He was afraid of the consequences. Was it going to be the number of times he was allowed to cum? Or maybe something else?

“Just a game, Hobi. Choose a number.” You repeated.

A bit hesitant he said: “Two.” He said. Like us, he thought. He kept the idea to himself, thinking it cheesy. Plus two was halfway. Nothing bad can happen if you stay halfway, right?

You raised your eyebrows and considered cheating. He would never know. You had really prepared three toys and numbered them, however, out of the three objects you had prepared, number two was the one that scared you the most, convincing yourself to pack it just in case he flipped and took the lead. Hoseok could be extremely powerful with that tool in hand and it was probably your favourite accessory for him to use on you.

Unfortunately — or maybe very fortunately — it was you who had to control it tonight.

With quite some courage, you pushed your hand into the bag, finding the handle and gripping it tight as you extracted the black leather device from the bag. The tails of the flogger met your skin gently, caressing it with their delicate, velvety touch. Each tail was made of suede, giving a special feel to the touch. He had never openly admitted how expensive it was, but you knew it was a lot.

As your dominant hand held the handle, the other toyed with the tails, gripping them and wrapping them around your fist; looking at Hoseok, you started thinking where to start.

Easy.

His inner arms were there, pale, slender and so sensitive. “Can you feel me?” You asked, bending down, your breath tickling the free skin of his wrists.

“Yes.” He commented. “Behind my back. You’re so close but I can’t reach you.” He whined, struggling a little against the rope.

“Are your hands okay? Is the knot too tight?” You checked.

He breathed out. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you.” He stilled on the chair since he realised he couldn’t touch you.

“My pleasure, Hoseok.” You replied, spurring him on a little. “Would you like me to tell you what’s the number you chose?”

He thought about it, but he realised that most of the arousal he was experiencing was because of the complete unexpectedness of each sensation. “Surprise me.”

You smiled, running the butt of the handle against his upper arm, teasing the top of his armpit. He shivered adorably, the sensation making his arm tingle with goosebumps.

“How does it feel?” You asked, curious.

“Wicked. But also interesting.” He replied, shivering again as you repeated the gesture on the other side. “Very sensitive.”

“Can you guess what it is?” You asked, gripping the flogger from where the tails met the handle, leaving the underside of the shaft free to press against his lips. He sniffed it. “Leather.” He sniffed some more. “Your hand lotion. Is it the handle of something?” He asked, dragging his cheek against it.

In the meanwhile you made sure that the tails were wrapped tight around your fist so that they wouldn’t give you away. “Maybe.” You replied, removing the object from his face and unwrapping the suede straps from your other palm, keeping the toy away from him. You trapped all the tails back, leaving only one out. That’s how to start.

Hoseok, momentarily blinded, kept thinking of what the object could possibly be. “Is the number connected to what you’re using now?”

“Yes. Each number meant a toy. I’m using number two right now.” You said, letting that single string drag from the small hollow between his collarbones down to his belly button. Your small hand struggled around the instrument, however your nerves helped you keep a tight grip.

“You have more than one?” He asked, moaning as the tail tickled the base of his cock. “What the hell is it?” He said, thrusting his hips upward. “Fuck, please.” He murmured, as you teased his balls. You grinned. “It’s the riding crop, uh? You love that one.” He murmured, just as you moved your hand far from his body, letting the tails fall free before snapping your wrist, making the strings swish.

Hoseok listened to the noise attentively, however the background music kept him from properly identifying the sound. “Is it something we have used before?”

You hit your palm again, softly, knowing that the hip hop track was going to make the toy unrecognisable. As you stood in front of his face, you leaned down and snapped it once more, making sure that he would feel the air move as the tails slapped your hand. Doing it this delicately made it feel almost pleasurable against your skin.

“Yes, we’ve used it before.”

You stood up again, letting the tails hang low. Noticing his length dripping in wetness, you snapped the toy once more against your palm, still far from his skin, simply producing an air current.

“Dammit, please, I just wanna cum.” He cried out.

“Guess my toy and I’ll reward you.” You teased.

He whimpered. “Come on, we’ve tried at least twenty together.” He lamented. “And you’ve given me so little.”

“Then let me give you more.” You giggled, This time you took a deep breath. Courage. You wanted him to hear it for real, not the caressing sweeps, but the harsh, punishing ones he usually delivered. Maybe those would sound more familiar. Exhaling, you hit your clothed thigh. You moaned: it could feel so sweet in your own hand, when you could control it and with the barrier of your jeans.

“It’s leather, I’m sure.” He commented.

You snapped once more, your cunt clenching, wetness making you feel uncomfortable between your thighs as you noticed him flinch at the sound. “Are you sure it’s leather, Hoseok?”

When he heard the third smack, he went insane. It felt unreal to be there, to wait for a hit that wouldn’t come, or even worse to be deep in thought, so close to the answer, but to be brought back to reality with the swishing and clicking sound of whatever it was you were holding. “If you say it like that, I’m not sure.”

Grinning, you let the tails hover over his skin, tickling the air around them, charging his skin with goosebumps. He felt electric. “Is this helping you?” You asked, letting the suede skim his skin.

“Oh. So you’re using my weapons against me...” He wondered just as your free hand cupped his balls, squeezing them gently. He was being too cocky anyway. His following moan decisively toned down his arrogance.

“Sorry.” He whined. “Please.” He moaned while your hand pushed the flogger away, your torso bending forward as you stretched to lick the tip of his cock, collecting the hot droplet of cum he had just spilled. “____, I’m begging, please.”

“Please what?” You murmured against his abdomen.

As he began talking you sucked the smooth head of his dick into your mouth, listening to him stammering and moaning in an attempt to speak. With a sweet stutter he cried out. “Wanna cum. Please.”

You released his sex. “You know the rules. Guess the toy and I’ll let you cum. Don’t make me say it again.” You stood straight and moved the flogger back between his legs, the tails teasing his inner thighs. “How come you haven’t recognised it yet?” You teased.

“It’s a tickler.” He moaned. “The one with the feathers.” He huffed out, just as you caught once more the tails in your palm, wrapping them around your hand and moving your grip, freeing the butt of the handle.

“No, love. I’m sorry.” You said, feigning discontent, but secretly grinning.

He cried out. “Oh, come on, what is it!” He growled, his voice sliding into a whimper as you sucked one of his balls into your mouth.

“Fuck it, Giggles. Please.”

He had said ‘please’ at least four times tonight, that you remembered. Maybe even more. You sucked harder.

“Love your mouth, baby,” he rambled, his sanity long forgotten in the unpredictable events of the evening. He felt his guts tightening, his abs clenching. “So good. Shit.”

As you spotted the telltale pulsing in your mouth, you let go of him.

“No, please. Please.” He begged. It was your favourite word on your lips. When he begged. When he begged to lick you, to let him make you squirt, to slap your delicate breasts, to fuck your mouth, to change position ‘just one more time’, to let him ram into you for the third, fourth ride even if you were tired and overstimulated, your brains only capable of telling him yes because you were too fucked out, too greedy, too in love with him to ever deny him.

“You made a dumb guess, Hobi. How can a tickler make that sound? You heard the smack, before, didn’t you.” You pressed the butt of the toy against his shaft, delicately, dragging it up and down in a very upsetting imitation of a handjob.

He keened as several drops of cum bubbled up from his slit and dribbled down his cock.

“You’re so turned on, uh?” You snickered, teasing him ruthlessly. “You’re barely coherent.”

He couldn’t wrap his head around how his sweet, sparkly, submissive Giggles, the love of his life, the apple of his eye, his precious jewel could turn into such a sadistic, cruel creature.

He had probably ruined you.

He was almost glad. Proud of you.

“Giggles, love. Please, have mercy, baby. You can’t hurt me. You love me.” He murmured, trying to convince himself.

You let him breathe, moving the handle away from his sensitive sex.

“I love you. That’s why I need you to recognise the toy.” You cooed. “You’ve heard how it sounds, and felt how it feels. You can do it, bubs.” You bent to his mouth, letting your lips linger over his.

“It swishes and smashes, but it’s a dry, light smash. Not a paddle. Not a tickler, and not a riding crop either. It’s either a cat-o-nine-tales or a flogger.” He murmured.

“Good boy.” You praised him. “What is it, then Hoseok?”

He felt insane. The moment he realised it was one of the two, he started imagining you holding one, getting even more turned on at the thought. “Use it on me.” He asked. “Please.” He could almost see you, your small figure, your tiny hands wrapped around the thick leather base, the cute flinch on your face as you whipped the tails against your thigh. “Use it on me.” He wished he could see you for real. He just needed you to do it once, to be comfortable to eventually do it again, someday — possibly within the next month — to see you actually use the flogger on him. He felt like going insane.

You frowned. You weren’t skilled enough for using it like that.

Whipping yourself over your clothes was one thing, but hitting him? Naked? Tied up? No. You told him.

“I can’t, Hoseok.”

“Please.” He cried out. “I trust you.” He said, quietly reassuring you. “Place me so that the front of my thigh is free, and direct the blow across my thigh, towards the outer side.”

You breathed a couple times. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He cried out in relief.

Following his directions, you placed him correctly on the chair, his thigh hanging midair. With your back to him, you murmured quietly “Ready?”

He simply breathed out a ‘yes’.

His cry was immediate. “Oh god, Giggles. Fuck.” You had been heavy handed, still he hadn’t perceived the bite of the small silver balls that his cat-o-nine-tales sported. “Flogger.” He moaned. “Wanna cum, please.”

You immediately dropped the flogger on top of his table. “That’s right, bubs. You’ve been a very good boy.”

He pushed his hips upward. “Your mouth, please.” He begged. “Inside.” He sobbed.

You undressed quickly, your shirt coming off in a second and your jeans following right after. With only your panties on, you kneeled on the floor, not quite making yourself noticed.

“Where are you?” He cried out. “Giggles?”

“Here.” You called. “Between your legs.” You kissed his knee. “You look beautiful, Hoseok. So damn beautiful.” Your mouth climbed up towards his lap, quick and practical, your tongue drawing a line of saliva up his thigh. “I’ll give you thirty seconds. If you don’t cum at that, I’ll stand up, take off your blindfold and touch myself while your hands are tied. Got it?”

He whimpered.

“Got it?” You asked again. 

“Yes, Giggles.” He replied, as composedly as possible.

“Good.” You said, before swallowing him.

He groaned, pushing his hips up towards your face. His chair rolled back a bit, but thankfully you grabbed the armrests and managed to secure it.

With wicked intentions you pulled him out, rolling the chair away so that the back sticked to the edge of his desk, keeping it from moving. “Count to thirty for me, Hoseok.”

You didn’t give him time to reply, sinking back onto him.

“One,” he whimpered as you used your hands to stroke the parts you couldn’t take into your mouth.

“Oh, two.” He groaned, pushing some more. You pinched his thigh, reprimanding him for his thrust.

He jumped at that before he cried out a three, panting heavily. “I’m gonna cum.”

Again you pinched.

“Three.” He said with a shrill.

By the count of nine, his hips got impatient, thrusting into you some more, but — lucky him — you felt merciful and disregarded his disobedience as you started to bob your head, before hearing him breathe louder and faster. “That’s it. Giggles, fuck. Love it. So good. Love you.” He managed to babble before he came apart.

You simply stayed there, eyes rimmed with tears, holding your breath as his cum kept spilling inside you. It took him five or six shots before he stilled, empty and spent. Oxygen felt like a blessing once you pulled him out, his tip resting on your tongue. Both your and his breathing were heavy and rushed as you removed your head from his lap and tested it against his thigh.

“Wanna see you, Giggles.” He murmured, his voice hoarse after all the moaning and growling and panting. “Take off the blindfold, baby.” He asked, ready to take control. You were the one who needed attention right now.

“Just a minute.” You murmured, nuzzling your cheek against his leg and closing your eyes.

“Now, Giggles.” He ordered with some urgency.

With a deep sigh, you stood on your knees, stretching towards his face to take off the silk band from his eyes. It took a couple attempts because you couldn't reach perfectly, however you finally managed to uncover him, his eyes immediately focusing on you.

“Hello, little bird.” He said, his tone already sporting that sardonic, telltale undertone. He was going for revenge.

A fearful wave rolled down your spine.

“Hi, Hoseok.” You replied, a bit hazed.

“Can you untie me, little bird? Please?” He asked, but his plea didn't hold the previous submission. This was simply a polite request. “I know you’re tired, pretty thing. Just untie me, I’ll take care of you, I promise, angel.” He said, spotting the way you looked at him like a scared wild animal. “I can’t even cuddle you right now.” He wiggled his wrists. “It hurts like hell to see you this vulnerable and not being allowed to cuddle you, little bird.” His voice expressed affection now, his mood completely changed after he had seen you: the discomfort of your treatment was still fresh but he couldn’t bring himself to torture you back after seeing you curled up between his legs.

You kissed his thigh a little helplessly before whining as you stood up.

“That’s my good girl.” He praised you with a quiet voice.

Undoing the knot was extremely easy. You liked using knots that were simple to undo once you released the safety hook — a reasonable amount of rope strategically tucked into the knot that once tugged simply makes the rope fall to the ground. Hoseok was usually reasonable enough not to untie himself, which meant you could still untie him easily even when your body was tired and your mind felt fuzzy.

When the rope fell to the ground, Hoseok stood still, holding position. Once he jammed a knot because he moved too early and you sulked at him for a week because he made you cut the rope into three unusable lengths. “May I?” He asked.

“Yes.” You confirmed.

He immediately turned the chair so that he was facing you. His arms wrapped around your middle, hugging you tight as you stood between his legs.

“You’ve been so good, Giggles. You’ve been perfect, little bird.” He pulled you into him, making you sit on his lap. “How are you feeling, dove?”

“A bit unsettled.” You admitted. “Strange.”

“What got into you?” He asked, smiling as he stroked your cheek. “You were devilish, pretty thing.”

“I don’t know. I think I was inspired.” You admitted, sinking into his neck, nuzzling into the curve below his ear.

“How did you feel with the flogger?” He asked, caressing your spine gently. He felt soft for you. To hell with revenge, he’d much rather make love to you. Show you all his appreciation for the scene you had staged, your spirit of initiative and the courage you had displayed in taking the lead with the flogger.

“I liked it. It felt new and strange.” You admitted, your arms connecting behind his neck, your hand combing the hair at his nape. “It felt different from when you do it.”

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“It’s not just the role reversal. I felt more confident because I called the shots. I manoeuvred it, so it didn’t feel like I was waiting for it to hurt. The excitement was different.” You kissed his jaw.

Hoseok turned, using his bangs to tickle your cheek. You giggled meekly. “It’s all about having the power to do the unexpected. See how far the other person allows you to go.” He kissed your neck. “I like using it on you because you’re always so soft afterwards. You’re super needy and cuddly and I like assisting you like that.” His hand moved to your side, caressing you reassuringly before his hand ventured under the waistband of your panties, rubbing your ass. “And seeing how far you let me go with the scene makes me see how much you trust me and love me. It’s hot but also cute and affectionate.” He pulled his hand out, dragging it up, skimming your side and cupping your breast, his skilled fingers toying with your nipple. “Do you want me to take care of you?” He asked, his index finger hooking under your chin and pushing your face up, to look at him.

You looked up at him from under your lashes, pouting and giving him the best impression of puppy eyes.

He smiled at you. “What?” He said, with a small chuckle, booping your nose.

“I want your mouth.” You said, biting your lip.

“Where.” He asked, rubbing your tummy, his fingertips toying with the waistband of your panties.

You looked down at your crotch, licking your lip and rolling your eyes coquettishly. “Down there, sir?”

He laughed and bent to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. “Want me to eat you out, little bird?” He snarled and bit your round, fluffy cheek. “Eat you alive?” He asked, holding you tight as he repeatedly sunk his teeth on the fat covering your cheekbone. “Such a naughty girl!” He said, tickling your sides.

Your laugh bubbled up your throat, exploding in a fit of giggles.

“That’s it. The most beautiful sound on the face of earth.” He calmed down once he noticed your short breath. “I love you, ____.” He reminded you.

You smiled so wide your eyes closed. “I love you too.” You stretched your neck to reach his mouth. His lips parted for you, the tip of his tongue drawing the seam of your lips as you disclosed them for him. The kiss was demanding, as usual. The hard, teasing strokes he delivered with the tip of his tongue gave way to a tango of thrusts and twirls, a mind blowing game of flight and chase, small clashing of teeth and sucking bruises onto each other’s lips. You didn’t even know how much time had passed before he gripped your waist, pushing you up. “Stand, little bird.” He murmured softly.

Carefully, you rose to your feet, making sure that your knees didn’t give out below you. His fingers hooked into the sides of your panties. He immediately spotted the wet patch on your grey cotton. “Cute penguin print.” He commented. “Very cute.” He said, his finger moving to toy with the drenched fabric, exposing you. He slid down the chair, kneeling. You took half a step back, only to meet the hard edge of his desk. He had cornered you. You only managed to press your palms into the desk, making sure not to knock anything over or accidentally ruin any equipment.

“Right leg on my shoulder, little dove.” He ordered, his eyes zeroing in on you with a predatory gleam.

You obeyed. Not that you had much choice.

“You’re so wet, Giggles. You enjoyed torturing me this much?” He asked, licking the gusset of your panties. “So nasty.”

“You sounded so good.” You commented, one hand combing his hair back and subtly pushing his mouth against you. “And you tasted even better.”

“These are too cute to rip.” He said, looking at your panties. “I need them off, dove.”

He helped your leg down, immediately dragging the garment down your legs. “Fuck, you’re so drenched.” He growled, noticing the tendrils of arousal sticking your labia together as he placed your leg back on his shoulder. His right arm, free to move, immediately bent so that his hand could spread your wetness all along your slit, before his index and middle finger sank into you, immediately meeting your sweet spot.

“Oh God! Hoseok, please!” One of your hands parted from the table, grabbing his hair.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion. You knew what he wanted to do.

“I’m gonna make a mess, Hobi.” You warned him before a wanton mewl left your lips, betraying you.

“So, do you like it?” He asked again, rubbing his fingers and stretching you out.

“Yes, sir.” You moaned, trying to meet his mouth with your hips. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“You’re about to like it even more, little bird. Hold on tight.” He warned before latching his mouth onto your clit and beginning to torture it with the hard flicks of his tongue. His eyes met yours and you knew he was really going for it. He had that look that meant challenge. You abandoned yourself to your fate.

“Hoseok. Dammit.” You hoped your leg would hold you up because both your hands rushed to his head, pressing it against your cunt. The arm holding your leg moved upwards, sustaining your lower back.

The shift was immediate, the inner sense of burning and the distinct sensations of your inner walls clenching out of your control warning you of what was about to happen. “Hoseok.” You called simply as that overwhelming tide took you under. Your eyes clenched tight, your lower leg quivering dangerously as your orgasm invested him. You knew you had likely squirted over him, especially for the wetness running down your leg. You just hoped there wasn’t a small pool of liquid on his floor.

“That’s it, Giggles. Fucking phenomenal.” He praised you as you gently pulled his mouth away from your clit. He kissed your mound chastely before helping your leg down.

“Did I mess up?” You asked, immediately checking for damage.

“Nothing that a few tissues can’t fix.” He said, standing in front of you, stretching behind you to grab a roll of paper, tearing some and kneeling again, drying up the small puddle. Next he dried your inner thigh. “Are you freaking out?” He asked, knowing that squirting always unsettled you a little.

“The normal amount.” You replied, combing his hair as he looked up at you, collecting all the paper towels and throwing them in the bin.

As he stood again, you felt his hard on against your tummy. “Can you do it standing or do you wanna sit?” He asked, hugging you.

“Your choice. I can handle it.” You replied, still a bit hazy with your previous orgasm.

“Turn.” He murmured, spinning you around with his hands on your waist, your hand moving to press his palm against the small of your back, bending you forward a little. “Like this?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

He bent to your ear. “No need to call me ‘sir’, dove. I’m making love to you.” He said, gently dragging the head of his cock against your folds before slipping in. Once he was halfway in, your mouth open in a silent cry, he pulled out, only to move back in all the way with one smooth stroke.

“Hobi, sweet lord.” You purred, leaning on your elbows, as he started pounding into you. He simply grabbed you under your armpits, pressing his palms against your breasts and pushing you back up, making the angle so right and so intense you thought you would explode again there and then.

However, after a few minutes he simply growled and exited you, pushing you up and turning you around, again. Facing him, you could now see the dark lines forming on his thigh from the flogger, and right on top of that the slim indentation of his abdomen, adorned by his glistening, wet, hard cock.

He let you drink him in with your hungry eyes before tipping your chin up, to make your gazes connect. With his eyes on yours, scorching and demanding, he slipped back inside you, enjoying how your eyelids fluttered at the sense of fullness you were experimenting. The hammering restarted immediately, your hand gripping his shoulders, your nails sinking in. In reply, his strong, veiny palm curled around your outer thigh, pushing your leg up and around his waist.

“Touch yourself. I need you to cum.” He said, making small effort into ordering you, keeping his focus on his ramming.

And you made an even smaller effort into obeying, the hard, filling sensation of him inside you was so satisfying that a few circles on your clit was all it took for your head to crash into his shoulder, suppressing a loud moan by biting into his neck. Still, the bite, the vibrations of your whimpers against his throat, your nails sinking into him and your kegels squeezing him brought him to a mind-blowing orgasm. And he went on, even as you called his name like a litany, a sob interrupting you every now and then as you panted.

He took himself half a minute of stillness. “Can you do another?” He asked, both his hands gripping your ass as he picked you up. “Missionary on the sofa. Just one, I promise.” He said, already walking you to his black leather couch.

You nodded, wordless and brainless, simply hissing when the cold material met your back. “Sorry. I know, cold.” He said, caressing your face. “Ready?” He asked.

Again you nodded, looking at him with a pout. He bent down to kiss your lips. “I love you.” He said.

He said it so often. It was his favourite thing to say, mostly because you would offer him your sweetest smile and your eyes would sparkle with surprise and arousal, just like the first time he had confessed to you. Just like the first time he had bound your wrists on top of your head, kissing all the way down your body, showing you how much adoration his body and his mind could muster.

As he sank into you, you cried out his name tenderly.

“I’ve got you, little dove.” He said, cradling your head in the crook of his arm. “My pretty little bird.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, drawing the shape of your lips. “I’ll be home, in our bed tonight.” He slipped his thumb into your mouth, wetting it. “I’ll make you so happy, Giggles.” He removed it, bringing it to your clit, delicately rubbing circles into your skin. “It’s all I wanna do.” He pressed his lips restlessly to your mouth and chest, your eyes following his movements in slow motion. You were so far gone you even doubted the sensation between your legs when you felt a new tightness ready to snap.

“Close.” You mouthed somewhere on his chest or neck or shoulder. It felt like slow dancing in a dark room. Except he was inside you and the rocking motion relaxed you so completely that you simply let go, not even listening to him saying to hold on, to make it last a second more, to focus on him.

You simply smiled as pleasure took over, Hoseok himself falling on top of you as his hips lost their pattern and let go of any semblance of control and tempo. His mouth pressed into your nipple as he moaned in release.

You both felt like dead bodies afterwards, laying there empty, spent, completely lost. You could have died without a bother. You could have kept existing without a bother, your bodies resting and waking in an endless cycle, the same way day and night follow each other. You were one thing, one entity, not even one body — any relation to material substance was momentarily suspended.

“Giggles.” He checked in on you. “Baby, we should go home, uh? I don’t have stuff to spoil you here, dove.” He said with a worried note.

Your eyelids fluttered open.

“There she is. Hello, sunshine.” He said, trying to fix your hair. “Let me fix the room before we go, yes?”

You smiled. “Let me help.” You said, only half convinced.

He tutted. “No, sweetie. You lay there and I fix this.” He slipped out of you, standing up slowly, a little clumsily. He immediately went to his desk grabbing his cup of water and sinking a corner of his t-shirt, dabbing at his face and chest, then down at his crotch. Next, he walked towards you, using another wet corner to clean you up. “There.” He said, kissing your knee once he was done. Next he dressed you, manoeuvring your body to slip your clothes on. With a bottle of generic cleanser randomly laying on his drawer, he made sure that no stain remained on the floor where he had eaten you out. Standing in his boxers, he rolled the rope back in a tight coil, placing it back into the bag, together with the flogger, making a mental note to clean it once he arrived home. He didn’t even check what you had packed. He was impatient to shower and cuddle with you at home. Your shared home.

Slipping on his sweater, he looked around, checking for potential hints of what had happened. He shrugged once he saw none. He shut down his computer, checking for the other devices to be off too. Finally, he spritzed some of his cologne on himself and the room. “Okay. We’re good, Giggles. Let’s go.”

You groaned before sitting up and waiting for him to offer you his hand to help you up. “That playlist was pretty bomb.” You said. “We should keep it for our wild nights.”

“I’m using it for my next collab.” He replied, closing down the studio and slipping his shoes on. You did the same at his side. “Maybe you will enjoy my song.” He said, winking at you.

“Oh, hi guys! What are you doing here?” Jimin chirped behind you.

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Hi. You’re here late.”

“Just passing by.” Jimin said. “Forgot my laptop.” He shook his head. “Hello, Giggles!” He said to you.

It felt ridiculous how all the boys used the nicknames for you and the other girlfriends. Still, it didn’t bother you, since it reminded you of your bond with Hoseok, but also of that familiarity within the group. “Hi Jimin!” You chirped, a little nervous at the possibility of him knowing what had happened in Hoseok’s studio.

“Well, goodnight!” Jimin said sweetly. “I assume you won’t be at the dorms tonight.”

Hoseok tutted. “I’ll be staying with Giggles. She moved in.” He said with a happy tone.

“I’m happy for you. However I hope you won’t be walking out with that tickler hanging out of the bag.” He winked with a teasing remark. “Enjoy it.” He trotted off.

Standing beside Hoseok, you blushed all the way to the tip of your ears.

Hoseok snickered. “Brat.”

Well, he was Princess’ problem now, anyway.

[octupus-on-the-moon]

A plan

~Yeah, took longer then expected, but i´ll update regulary from now on. The ending is bad i will change that later. Anyway i hope you guys enjoy it~

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Sixth part of a nightmare

Word count: 1566

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Mental health issues 

Bucky and y/n spend the rest of the day planning how they would get to the documents of Mr. Belove. They seemed to start enjoying each other’s company. With every laugh and teasing comment, the loneliness that surrounded both faded.

“Wait a minute, won´t your father… Belove… whatever, won´t he suspect something if you don´t come home tonight?” Bucky asked from the floor. He was sitting in front of a hand painted ground-plan, looking up to y/n. She was sitting on the kitchen counter, childly swinging her feet, chewing on a lollipop.

“No, he isn´t that overprotective. I told him I met some old friend from high school and that we have a lot to catch up. Then I wrote Lisa, the woman that helps me out in the house, to pack some things and bring them to me. Don´t worry I told her to wait for me three blocks from here” y/n explained proud of her foresight.

“You really thought of everything?” Barnes praised her, tilting his head a little to the side. “I like that. You can have the bed by the way. I sleep on the floor anyway” Y/n feet stopped “Are you okey?” He frowned. Her proud expression froze. “Did I say something wrong?” Bucky added, surprising himself with a worried tone in his voice.

“No. No. It´s fine. You just reminded me of someone” She excused herself hasty. Followed by a broad smile, that didn´t reach her eyes “However, do we go over the plan again?”

 The first problem, was that her father never left the house. He spends most of the time in his office or in the library, near the office. The only moment the bureau was completely unsupervised, not counting the security system, was while breakfast, dinner, late at night or on Friday afternoon; The only day of the week he would leave the house to play golf for a few hours. Barnes and y/n decided to do the-not-actually-a-break-in that day.

The second problem only concerned Bucky. It consisted in him needing to ask Sam for another favor…  

 “It´s easy.” Barnes began “You come home from your lecture at 12 pm, then you take lunch with him. He goes off to play golf at 1:30 pm. I turn of the security system at 1:40 pm. You slip into his office and get the documents of the vault. Then we meet at the gate 2 pm sharp. If something goes wrong, we meet at 3 pm here.” He finished with his everlasting, impenetrable face.

“Sounds solid.” Her phone vibrated. “My package arrived” Y/n announced while looking at her phone. “I´ll go get it. I´ll be back in 20. Don´t do anything fun without me” and she left.

 Barnes sat still for a few moments. He was thinking. Since she arrived this morning, something inside him had changed. But what was it? Bucky questioned himself. Then he realized that he had not thought of his anger about Sam, Steve and the shield. Also, his Yori-problem, all the guilt, slid into the background. Today Bucky had laughed and smiled more than he had since 1944. Now that he was there all alone, the silences came back. He felt the void, with all his worries, slowly approaching him.

“It’s the quietest most personal hell” Dr. Raynor´s voice echoed in his mind. Maybe she was right, he thought.

Someone knocked. Barnes rushed to the door. Anything was better now. Better than that awful silence. He threw the door open, just to find Yori standing right in front of him, with a pretty displeased face.

“What about dinner James? We said 6, it´s almost 7” Nakajima complained immediately.

“Oh. Dammit. I am so sorry. I forgot. It´s just. I had a crazy day. And I have a guest.”

“A girl?”

“No! Yes. But not like that. You know what. Just come in” Yori was all smiles as he passed by Bucky, who was desperate by his sudden change of mood.

“Who is she?” Nakajima queried. He was calmly crossing the short corridor, while Barnes closed the door. Bucky´s face went blank, as it occurred him. The report was laying on the counter.

“Ehhh. She. I mean. We” Bucky stuttered as he hurried into the kitchen to collect all the papers “We are coworkers. But she has a problem in her house and is staying a few days with me” He lied after stuffing the papers into an old black backpack, casually leaning against the sink. “She should be back any moment, then we can decide over dinner” Yori looked disappointed, but his face lit up a little after a second.

“James”

“Yeah?”

“You only have one bed” a suggestive smirk appeared on Nakajima´s face. If you looked close enough you could watch Barnes´s cheeks turn red. What did he do to deserve the day of today? He asked. Probably annoy his therapist and not follow the three holy rules, Bucky answered himself, but he won´t change it in the future.

“I will sleep on the floor”

“That´s not comfortable.”

“I know but I can´t share the bed with a stranger Yori”

“Did not mean that. I have two thin extra mattresses. You can have one, till she´s home again” Nakajima offered all serious again. Barnes first reaction would have been to reject his suggestion, but if he did that, he would need to explain why he wanted to sleep on the floor so bad. Or Nakajima would misinterpret Bucky´s intention with y/n.

“That would be great, thank you”

“No problem.”

Silence. Again. But it did not last long. Although Yori preferred not to talk, he felt that something was up. James was usually a very calm guy, but now he was wriggling around impatiently. So Nakajima started to tell about his day. Barnes listen attentively, while making some tea. Grateful not to be surrounded by silence.  

 “James? I´m back” y/n interrupted them. “I thought we could order pizza” Her voice lowered at the end of the sentences, as she turned around the corner seeing Barnes and Nakajima. “Oh! Hello, I`m y/n.” She introduced herself, reaching her free hand towards Yori. The other one was holding a grey sports bag.

“Yori Nakajima a pleasure to meet you” The little grey man replied, accepting her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Nakajima. I didn´t know you were expecting someone today” Y/n said, first addressing Yori and then Bucky.

“Yori is my neighbor. We eat sometimes together, but I forgot that we agreed for dinner tonight” Barnes explained a little insecure, because he didn´t know if it was okey for her, sharing dinner with Yori. Nakajima was silently observing the interaction between both.

“Oh, but he can stay for the pizza don’t?” y/n asked Bucky with pleading puppy eyes. Something about that look made him feel warm inside.

“Yes of course.” Barnes agreed with a little smile, that only Yori seemed to notice. Approving whatever kind of relationship these two had, with a knowing look.

“Mr. Nakajima, what kind of pizza do you like?”

 Mr. Nakajima liked the classic New York-style pizza and enjoyed the red wine, Barnes found in one of the mostly empty cupboards of his kitchen.

“James you are really in need of some furniture” Y/n commented from a wooden chair. Yori was comfortably seated on the little armchair, even though he struggled a little reaching for his wine glass on the floor. Meanwhile Bucky was standing near the counter.

“I never planned to have people over and I´m almost never at home, so what´s the point of buying furniture”

“I live alone, but at least I have a table to sit on” Yori added while he balanced the plate on his knees reaching for the glass on the ground.

“Yeah, where do you eat usually? On the floor?” Y/n teased him grinning, before she took a bite of her pizza. Barnes shifted his weight on the left side, uncomfortable with all the questions.

“I never eat at home, cooking for myself isn´t worth it and if I order something I just sit on the floor or in the armchair” Bucky justified his meager living, shrugging and nodding towards Yori. Who just shook his head, amused, about the poor argument. This drew y/n attention to him.

“Mr. Nakajima you said you lived alone. Do you not have any family? Children?” She asked curiously. Regretting once again talking so thoughtlessly, as Yori´s face turned expressionless. Scared of breaking the silence. Y/n looked up to Bucky for help. But he was starring down at his pizza, lost in his own thoughts, which didn´t seem to be pleasant either. “I´m sorry if I did say something wrong. I didn´t know…” Nakajima took a deep breath, so she interrupted herself.

“It´s fine, as you said, you didn´t know. My wife died many years ago giving birth to my firstborn son.” Yori started talking calmly. “My son died a few years ago in a shooting. Since then, I´m alone. James moved here some months ago and spends some time with me. A girl, from the sushi restaurant around the corner, also keeps an eye on me, but that´s it.”

It took a while and an empty wine bottle to restore the relaxed atmosphere. The day ended with a more or less intense card game. After Bucky brought the mattress from Yori´s apartment to his empty livingroom. 

All rights reserved.

Ps. Yeah, i broke my own heart with the dinner scene

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[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 7)

νοσταλγία  Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary:  This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s  abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character  is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a  devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the  universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of  course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Ik I’ve been uploading a lot of chapters out of schedule, I’m sorry. The Saturday’s ones are never gonna falter, but I wanna upload a lil bit more and a lil bit more often. And on every two weeks on tuesdays I’ll keep uploading spinoffs, but I might upload an extra chapter during the no-spinoff week if the story is going too slow lol.

Anyways, idk if anyone reads these lol, but I’m gonna ask anyways that you please let me know what you think, and hope you enjoy this chapter/story. Thank you!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927​

King Ivar talks in his sleep, who would have thought? His voice rouses you from a restless sleep, thinking for a moment he calls for you but it’s just rumbles as he tosses and turns. You sigh in the darkness, and suddenly it feels like the shadows are heavier than before, more suffocating, more…more real.

You don’t know where you are walking to, but you don’t stop until your bare feet touch the wet and cold sand.

With your knees pressed to your chest you keep your eyes on the waves breaking near the coast, closing your eyes and imagining the lull of the ocean is the same as the one you heard from the temple in Eleusis.

But the sand is rougher under your bare feet, the waves louder and more enraged, the wind is more biting and less forgiving. And you are alone, alone and defeated on a foreign land of cold and death.

So you open your eyes, because this isn’t home, and reach with cold fingers for the gifted knife you kept in your person despite the knowledge if anyone here wanted you dead you would be so.

Keeping your gaze on the horizon, you take a hold of the wind-swept tresses of your hair and cut a lock at the end of it. A mark of mourning and a mark for all the deaths you are responsible for.

Holding on tightly to the strands of grief, you extend a hand, a farewell to the Greeks that are not to return, an offering to this land that has brought you nothing but sorrow and heartache.

When you open your hand, the hair flows in the cold winds away from you, and you allow yourself a small prayer in Greek to Macaria to bless their sacrifice, to Thanatos for safe passage, to Persephone for warmth, to Hades for mercy.

And, in a selfish moment, you pray to every God in the Underworld not to summon you home just yet. For if the Fates allow it so, you will see to it yourself that the blood spilled is paid forth.

Because if the King’s word is to be trusted, sooner or later you will walk out of his land a free woman. You will return to Greece, even if you have to wade through blood to do so.

You close your eyes, and the faint smell of snowdrops fills your nose, reminding you of spring and loneliness, of teardrops and homesickness.

A part of you tries to follow the tug on your heart and listen to what the Gods try to tell you, but you’re left cold and alone when you try reaching for the Pantheon you’ve come to know your whole life.

The sound of gravel ruffling behind you startles you, and you turn around with a gasp and a strong grip on the knife Ivar gifted you, ready to at least leave whoever is coming to hurt you with a scar to remember you by.

But it is Ivar who approaches you, strong arms dragging him forward as he moves over the cold sand. His eyes stay on yours as he moves, reminding you for a moment of a serpent approaching its cornered prey.

Still, even if your mind refuses to accept it, your heart lurches in relief, and you loosen the tension in your body. Still you remain quiet as he finds a place sitting at your side, moving his legs with ease to stretch them in front of him.

You lower your gaze to your hands, and only then notice the wrong hold of the knife made you injure yourself. The faint streaks of blood in your pointer finger and near your thumb bring to the front of your mind the sting that comes with the wound you opened by holding the hiltless knife the wrong way.

After a moment of consideration, you bring your hand to your mouth and lick off the blood, letting the knife fall on your lap.

Stealing a quick side glance to the Viking has you finding his eyes on you with a strange sense of intensity in his gaze, a quiet sort of…something. You shrug it off, and stay quiet, but his irritated question is quick to break the silence.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

You’re startled and annoyed at the entitled tone of his voice, but you still shrug.

“I am a free woman, am I not?”

“So you were trying to escape?”

“You would stop me.” You reply without hesitation.

“And yet you still don’t fear me.”

“If you wanted to kill me you would have already, if you wanted to use me as leverage for court games you will need time to do so,” You swallow the shame, the dread, and continue as your eyes look blindly ahead, “And…and if you wanted to take me, you could have avoided all this and just asked.”

Silence stretches between you, and in a moment of weakness you turn your gaze to find his clear eyes already set upon you, seeking and demanding as they always have been.

“You wanted me.”

The tone of surprise, the slightly parted lips that draw your gaze down to his mouth, the way his eyes search your face; it all makes your foolish heart see him in a new light for a fleeting moment, in the light of the man you met in that moldy cabin that was never yours to begin with.

But you remind yourself of what brought you here, of what he truly saw when he looked at you: a foreign witch to conquer.

So, you remind him that the woman he met, the woman that lingered for moments too long on the lure of his eyes, on the curve of his smile, on his expressive gestures; the woman that thought foolishly she could be anything other than the name and titles bestowed upon her; the woman that started to trust him; that woman was gone the moment he put chains on you.

“I wanted the man I met in Aneridge, I have no idea who you are.”

And with just a few words, any trace of softness, any trace of vulnerability, any trace of that strange boyish glances he used to throw your way when you were just a Priestess and he was just a Viking, are gone.

King Ivar curls his nose in anger, lifting his head a bit as he warns you,

“I’m growing tired of your games, Priestess.”

“Kill me, then.” You bite out, even as your voice wobbles. Because you have heard the stories, you have heard the tendrils of voices not quite human reaching your ears. You know he is as cruel and as dangerous as the whispers say, you know he carries the favor of the Dread Lord, you know he was born to be ruthless, to die and return, to suffer and conquer.

But there’s a part of you that wants to test him, dare him.

Use your strength against me, hurt me, kill me. Make me know what I am to feel for you, make me disgusted, make me fearful. I’m tired of hope.

But Ivar just smiles, a cold and angry smile but a smile nonetheless, and turns his eyes head, choosing silence to reign between you until the sun comes up over those distant waves.

____

You approach the city encased in tall walls, and though awe at its size and life pulls at your heart, you cannot help but feel you are walking blindly into a cage.

There’s so many pale and distrusting eyes set on you, gazes persisting on the things that make you different to them: your dress, your hair, your face, your skin.

And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that even in the way you are brought to port you are separated from the other prisoners, from the Christians the Varangian has brought from across this sea. You sail in the same boat as their King, there’s a distance between you and the rest of the men and women in the ship, you are washed and unbound.

You stay silent, and watch raptly as the King moves away from you as the boat docks, discarding the crutch so he can lift himself up to the pier, and standing up again with help of the crutch and a nearby barrel. He lifts his gaze and immediately finds your own, and a cruel smile starts to spread over his face as he stretches a hand in a mocking gesture to help you up.

“Priestess.”

You take your eyes off his instead, and look down at your dress as you grab your skirts and lift them so you can safely move towards the pier. Standing at the King’s side -because you know he would not hesitate to call you to order, to demand your presence where he deems it so, to tug on the invisible chains around your wrists- you take a moment to look over the lively pier, filled of families reuniting, stands of fishermen selling their captures, slaves carrying baskets of goods around, lives blossoming past the winter that seems to pierce the air of this place.

“So this is to be my new prison?” You ask instead of voicing any other thought, a little delighted in the way you put the King on edge.

He doesn’t hesitate in reaching down and grabbing onto your arm, lifting your wrist between the two of you, his blue eyes challenge yours.

“You’re not a prisoner,” He repeats the lie, and although the mark of your struggle against the chains once set upon you is still there, he seems to want you to believe you are free. “You are my guest, Priestess.”

“Guest.” You repeat, and his eyes narrow, his nose furrows. It is too easy to draw out his rage, to get to see ragged edges and bled truths. And you will always prefer rage, prefer anger and chaos, over the mocking cruelty that’s the mask of the King of Kattegat.

He starts walking and the people move as to open a path for him, and considering your only option is to be left alone surrounded by these intimidating and foreign people, you bite your tongue and follow.

“You should be grateful, Priestess, your life could be so much worse, were you at anyone else’s mercy.”

“I know this is a mercy even if you have none,” You acknowledge, and the King stops walking, looking at you over his shoulder as you calmly walk to his side. You meet his eyes, and clarify, “I will still not thank you.”

He grunts as he turns back around, a movement of his head as he arranges his legs to move with the help of his crutch, and even if his back is to you, you still know he is gritting his teeth, the anger written in the lines of his back, in the huffs of air that leave his lips.

“I know, you still choose to hate me.”

“Ivar,” You call out with more softness than you intended to. After the King hesitates for a moment, enough for you to know he is listening, you reach his side again and in a voice that is almost a whisper you offer, “I will never look upon you with anything other than hate, as long as you are the one with all the power and I’m relegated to following your commands.”

____

You are given time as the King addresses his people to clean yourself up and dress up in some fresh clothing. The dresses that are offered to you, the hair ornaments, the earrings and the bracelets, they all scream of foreignness, of being away from home; so you choose to keep your old and stained red dress.

You are brought to the loud and vibrant main hall at the King’s request, and it is with a gesture he orders you to take a seat on one of the tables by his side, though he remains on his throne. You eye the people around you, laughing, drinking, dancing; the world around you moving on and on as if yours hasn’t flipped upside down.

And the stupid, childish, reckless part of you that has made you commit so many mistakes along the way; that part of you wants to refuse him, wants to stand your ground and deny him of any power over you.

But the ambient presses down on you, like the air when you reach a mountaintop, and the people are too loud and too foreign, and the only thing you’re familiar with in this cold and strange place is the eyes that burn like Greek Fire of the King.

So you take your seat at his side.

The way his cruel smile widens, regarding you like a dog that performed a good trick makes your blood boil. Your hands curling into fists and your lips pursing without your intent only seem to entertain him further, which makes the silent interaction a vicious circle you cannot seem to break out of.

“Good girl.” He mocks, because of course he does, because you are an open book and he is a cruel and insufferable man. But you refuse -and so does your self-preservation- to run your mouth, and instead play a game, like you were taught to.

“There’s a first time for everything.” You answer around a smile that the King starts to return, but a voice from somewhere further back in the hall brings your conversation to a close.

“The witch seems fiery. I wonder if she is that hard to tame.”

You were meant to hear those words and the laughs that follow, you were meant to feel the threat, the humiliation. You know this, but even knowing it cannot keep the crawl of your skin, the shame clogging your throat.

The Christians called you a Heathen. These Vikings call you a Witch. There may be a difference, but you cannot see it. Both will try to beat you or rape you into submission, both will see foreign as inferior.

Although you may not see the man that said those words, it seems that that King Ivar does. The cold eyes of someone that has killed for less and would again set on the warrior behind you, and even if curiosity begs for you to turn around and see their expression, you hold your place.

A mumble of apology reaches your ears, but it is not meant for you, so you say nothing. The King shows a quick and purposely false smile before raising his voice,

“Leave us.”

A multitude of questions arise, but again a glare from the volatile King silences any real questioning, and the room feels so much larger and cavernous once the men have left.

Ivar turns to you, studying you.

“So, Priestess.”

The tales your father used to gift you with of unarmed prisoners being thrown into a coliseum against lions and wolves and all kinds of predators are brought forth to your mind as you stand alone in that empty and cold hall.

“So, Viking.” You quip back, crossing your arms to hide the nervous tremble of your hands.

He studies you for a moment, finally asking, “What will you use your freedom for?”

“For the gift to choose, without fear you selling or giving me away like a barn animal.” You reply dryly.

“I can still do that.” He is quick to say, dangling threats over your head like it truly entertains him.

“Not without breaking your promise.” You say, not aware of how much relief his word gives you until this moment.

The King narrows his eyes, annoyance clear in his pale gaze, and stands up from his throne.

You hold your ground as he approaches you, but he instead chooses to sit in one of the chairs in the now empty table. Ivar motions with a bloodied hand for you to take a seat as well, the movement a flourish in mock recognition of your noble birth.

You sit, albeit stiffly. Drinking what you assume to be mead from a goblet, the Viking King regards you sideways.

“And what are these choices you will make, now free?”

You answer with the first thought that comes to mind, realizing too late you give away a little of yourself in the process.

“Find out what the Christians have done with Attica’s ashes.”

“Your kingdom?”

“My kingdom.” You sentence, and even after over a year of denying the people that traveled with you the right to call you Anassa, you realize now that you have been, albeit crownless, acting like it for so long.

After a few moments the Viking narrows his eyes, “You will not return there anytime soon.”

If it’s a taunt, if it’s a threat, you can only hear the stubborn possessiveness of a child refusing to let go of a new toy.

“But I will return.” You promise.

“How are you so sure?”

Looking to the hall around you, you ask, “You returned here, didn’t you?”

You could swear the King looks intrigued, impressed even, for a moment before he dismisses you with a gesture of his hand. He believes you, though, of this you are certain.

But he says nothing else, shrugging his shoulders and drinking deeply before engaging in discussion with one of the men at his other side.

You keep your eyes on the King, and although for a moment you are distracted from the braces around his legs, and the way they do not seem to work normally, when your eyes continue a path upwards and reach his shoulders and arms, you realize he does not need his legs to fight like the men that decimated Stithulf’s army.

You continue your path to his face, and study the braids that trail through the top of his head to the back of it, the proud edge of his nose, the shape of his lips, for a moment tainted with mead his tongue licks away.

The sound of tables and chairs being dragged brings your attention away from your…ogling. You lift your gaze to see two men in the middle of the hall shake off their upper armor and in the midst of laughs and cheers from the others, struggle and wrestle for victory in the middle of the hall.

It seems you are no longer the novelty in the room, and you allow yourself to relax in your seat for a moment.

_____

Hi, hope you enjoyed! I use flowers and animals a lot to point towards the Gods, either Norse or Greek, so: snowdrops are, according to where I searched, symbols of Freyja, created from her tears when she was first brought to Asgad from Vanaheim, and in her homesickness when the tears fell to the earth the flowers bloomed as snowdrops.

Also friendly reminder this Tuesday I’m uploading Ivar’s PoV of the Prologue! I would love for you to read it and tell me what you think. If you want to be added to the taglist, of course please let me know.

Thank you, hope to hear from you, and hopefully I’ll see you Tuesday! :)

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) - part three

you are all TOO NICE TO ME i can’t cope with how kind you are!!!

here is part three!

(i'm having a pretty hard time with my own bad brain at the moment so pls don't hate me for the typos, etc. i will fix them when my brain is less yoghurty, pls forgive me)

good news: the next chapter will only be a bit more angst and then it's all comfort from there on out i PROMISE he's gonna be okay <3

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn’t have to do it alone.

word count: 6.7k ish ( part 1/5 | part 2/5 | part 3/5)

warnings: mental health issues -  look so there is some pretty intense mental health stuff in here so please. go careful. also trigger warnings for some super brief suicidal ideation. you are loved and i am here if you need a reminder of that <3

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

iii.

The days that follow are an enigma. 

Later, in therapy, he'll struggle to remember a single detail. There is simply a gap that promises pain should he poke it too hard, and he will shy away from reliving a single minute of it.

At the time though…

It’s a waterfall of suffering; he is cascading down, down, down, and every time he grabs a hold, his hand slips on smooth rock and agonising memories. Relentless misery beats down on him until he stops even trying to raise his head, because it is always stronger than him. Hitting the bottom, he is submerged, unable to distinguish the surface from the floor because of the murky grey all around him, and he can’t breathe down here, he’s alone down here, he’s going to die down here. 

So. The days that follow feel a lot like drowning - and Virgil would know. 

He can’t breathe and his limbs are too heavy and everything is muted, grey, useless, but himself most of all. He cannot feel much of anything at all beneath this crushing despair, but he knows that he is utterly sick of himself, beyond exhausted of feeling so terrible, desperate for a way out but unable to communicate this to his family.

He spends a lot of time thinking about his parents. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t remember them, but it’s usually memories of their lives, rather than grisly and traumatic thoughts of their deaths. But now, he can’t seem to stop himself from fixating on the way his mother turned the snow around her berry-red as she first stopped shaking, then speaking, then breathing. Nor how his father’s final moments must have been elation-turned-fear, how the heat of the flames must have engulfed him all at once, if there was any relief that he would once more be with Lucy -

He never allows himself to think these thoughts. They're too upsetting, too raw, too painful.

But now, he is powerless to stop them. 

On the fifth day of this new low - though it is fast becoming Virgil’s norm and that terrifies him - the klaxon sounds and Virgil can barely drag himself to the lounge. He does so anyway, arriving in time to see Gordon disappearing down his chute. Scott casts a glance in his direction as he makes his own way to his ship, concern blossoming at the sight of Virgil’s blank eyes. 

“Go to bed, Virg, you look rough.”

(Virgil doesn’t argue, which only tightens the knot of worry in Scott’s stomach, but he shoves it aside in favour of the rescue).

Virgil returns to bed, avoiding all reflective surfaces he can. He knows how terrible he looks and he cannot stand the sight of himself, but he also can’t seem to bring himself to get in the fucking shower. 

He’s disgusted with himself - it’s no wonder Scott didn’t want him on the rescue.

*

Or any rescues, apparently.

“You’re sick, Virg,” Scott begins, when he arrives home late that night to find his younger brother hasn’t moved from his bed. 

Virgil protests (hardly, weakly), though he can’t find the conviction for the words. It’s like he’s going through the motions of a well-rehearsed play. “I’m not sick. I’m fine to fly.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Virgil sighs, rolling away from his brother and that horrible mounting worry. 

“You see, the fact you didn’t call me out on that language tells me just how horrible you must be feeling. I mean it, Virg. Grounded until you’re recovered. And I want you to have a medical first thing!”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any recovering from this sickness. 

*

Not having the distraction of rescues is punishment enough, but worse is the knowledge that Gordon keeps falling asleep over breakfast because Virgil can’t pull his fucking weight. He feels completely fucking useless - is being completely fucking useless - and yet, he still can’t bring himself to get out of bed. His brothers parrot concerned, loving questions he can’t answer and show him a kindness he certainly doesn’t deserve, and Virgil -

Virgil is a paradox: on the one hand, he is too empty to feel a single damned thing, no matter how much he wants to cry, no matter how hard he tries to put a label on these experiences, there is nothing there and therefore he is nothing. But on the other hand, Virgil is overflowing with raw, live misery so heavy he can’t take a full breath and so awful he stops caring about the fact. 

He’s not okay. 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong and he doesn’t know why, but he’s so far from okay, it’s laughable.

Only, he hasn’t laughed in weeks, and Gordon has stopped trying to make him. 

That realisation burrows into his heart, a sharp nasty sting of guilt and loneliness. He misses his brothers and he knows it’s his fault that they’re withdrawing - isolating yourself from them will do that - but it hurts all the same. 

It hurts because when Scott had started to count on neat whiskey to get him through the day, Virgil had dug his heels in and refused to let it be so. It hurts because when John had been relying on study drugs and no sleep to get through his PhD, it was Virgil who refused to let him hide away in shame. It hurts because Virgil has been there for more of Gordon’s panic attacks than he wants to remember, and yet he remembers them all the same. It hurts because Alan is too young to have lost so much, but Virgil refuses to let him shoulder that alone. 

Virgil loves his brothers with every single drop of Tracy blood in his veins, and he isn't afraid to show it by any means necessary. 

But he's so, so tired. 

Not of loving them - never that - but there's something so lonely and sad about this feeling and he’s exhausted by it and terrified of it and it all just hurts.

*

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” says John hesitantly, and Scott looks sharply at his younger brother across their father’s desk. “Don’t try and tell me this is fine, John,” 

"I know it's not fine," snaps John, “but I’m telling you that physically, he’s fine. A few bruises, but nothing some rest won’t fix.”

Scott begins to pace, frustration thrumming through his body. “He’s not eating properly,” He runs his hand through prematurely greying hairs in a motion learned from his father. “He’s just not Virgil.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t seen him paint or play piano in weeks, hell he isn’t even trying to get me to talk about my feelings. He’s alone all the time, constantly tired...”

“I know.”

“I just - are you sure? Nothing cracked at all? No signs of-”

“I had Brains run three separate scans, Scott. I’ve checked the results myself.”

“Could it be a concussion of some kind? He took a pretty big beating in Gen-”

“Scott. For God’s sake, listen. Physically, he’s fine.”

Scott stares at him, wishing not for the first time that the cogs of his brain moved at the same velocity as John’s. “Physically… so you’re saying this isn’t a physical thing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Scott swallows - this is okay, unexpected, but he can recalibrate and work out what it is that Virgil needs, this is fine. “So it’s a mental thing.”

John smiles in spite of the gravity of the situation. “I don’t think that’s the correct term, but yes, I believe so.”

“What specifically?”

“I’m not a doctor, Scott. Virg’s the one with medical training.”

“Yes, but he’s not telling us anything.” Scott stares at John, fear clawing at his throat, at the thought of his brother - his best friend - hurting so much and yet seemingly unable to voice it. “What do I -” his voice cracks and he clears his throat hurriedly. “What do I do?”

“This isn’t all on you, Scott,” John says, his turn to be sharp now. “He’s my brother too.”

Scott takes a deep breath; the weight of his one thousand responsibilities have never felt so heavy on his shoulders, and yet, they may as well be feathers for how unimportant they are compared to this bombshell. But. John’s eyes reflect his own concern, but there’s a determination in the set of his jaw Scott has come to rely upon - his younger brother has never met a problem he couldn’t solve.

“Fine. What do we do?”

“I… I’m working on it.”

“John. This isn’t all on you.”

“Yeah yeah, Kettle.” John rubs his eyes. “EOS and I are researching. There’s a lot out there and because he won’t tell us how he feels, I don’t - I don’t know if we should get him a therapist like Gordon had or meds like me or… I don’t know what. And our lives aren’t exactly normal, so it’s hard to say what will actually help.” 

EOS pipes up, her lights dancing somewhere between turquoise and green (Virgil would know what to call that): “The recurring theme across research is ‘being there’ for the patient. A strange concept since humans are so limited by their physical forms.”

John smiles again, but it’s strained. “I’ll explain later, EOS. But it’s like how Virgil always checks in with me after a bad day.”

The words bring a lump to Scott’s throat that he can’t explain. 

“I see. So, you need to ‘check in’ with him now?” EOS asks.

“Something like that.” John catches Scott’s eye again. “Normalcy is also good. Being active.”

“So I shouldn’t ground him?” Scott says, though the thought of Virgil piloting his ship in a poor mental state terrifies him. He’s not afraid of his brother’s skill - that has never been in question - but how is he supposed to protect him from something none of them can even see?

“I don’t know.” John says it like it’s physically painful - perhaps it is, John is always loathe to admit lack of knowledge on a topic. “Maybe not? Though I don’t want him flying a ship if he’s feeling like, well -”

Scott slumps back into his father’s chair - his chair now. “Exactly. I don’t know what to do, John.”

“Me neither.” Uttered quietly. Helplessly.

Scott hates this.

Silence stretches between them - uncomfortable, worried tension that neither of them know how to handle. 

Eventually, John sighs, “I should go, Scott. Duty calls and all that.”

“John…” His brother pauses in reaching to cut the commline. “You - he’d tell us if he was feeling really bad, right? This is Virgil we’re talking about. He loves all that feelings stuff.”

“Yeah. Yes.” 

But John’s voice is laced with an uncertainty that curdles the worry in Scott’s stomach. 

*

Virgil's not sure exactly how long it's been but it must be weeks and he's losing his fucking mind. 

Every day is the same and it’s all one neverending nightmare. 

With the morning birdsong, he locks himself in his rooms and sleeps - or at least tries to, because it doesn't count as sleep when he wakes even more tired. He rejects his brothers' concern and ignores the trays of food Grandma has taken to leaving outside his door.

Where he's able to, Virgil still attempts to check in with them all after difficult rescues, still tries to fulfill his role as resident caregiver, but it's becoming increasingly hard to field their nagging questions. 

He almost caves, when Alan slopes into his room and practically begs him to tell them what's wrong. His brother's wide blue eyes are a weapon all of their own, and it takes all of Virgil's resolve to shrug his worries off. He steeps in self-loathing for hours at the hurt in Alan's eyes. 

Virgil doesn't understand why it's so hard to say the words out loud. For someone who has always championed self care and mental well-being, this inability to communicate his own suffering is as unexpected as it is unmanageable. He doesn't know where it's come from, nor how he's going to fix it; all he knows is that he cannot bear Scott's judgement, John's worry, Gordon's probing, Alan's disappointment -

It's too much.

It's all too much.

And he despises himself for that.

*

He endures John’s insistence he has a physical - and a second and third when the results are inevitably fine. He allows Scott’s anxious hovering as he answers Brains’ questions without complaint - another wrinkle to add to his brother’s worry lines, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

For some reason, the medical proof that he is, in fact, fine, is damning. At least if there were some physical cause for his current state, he thinks it would be easier to bear (easier rather than fine, because he’s Virgil goddamn Tracy with a mile-wide stubborn streak) but instead he’s just falling apart with a single good reason.

(He hates himself for it). 

*

Scott watches his brother brush past his piano like he doesn’t even notice it’s there, flinch from the sunlight like it burns him, grow skinnier and more hunched beneath those tatty plaid shirts, and his heart aches. 

If their positions were reversed, Virgil would know what to do. Virgil knows Scott better than he knows himself, would have probably been able to resolve this before it even started. 

But Scott isn’t Virgil - he cannot untangle emotions and comfort weary souls like his brother can. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this shell of a man.

Scott spends what little time he has researching, learning, planning, but nothing he tries seems to help at all. Each time he broaches the topic of having someone to talk to with Virgil, his brother simply shuts down. He whines and begs Virgil to play him something but Virgil just sits before the piano, working on muscle memory alone. He stares at the medical reports until they blur and fade into restless sleep.

But he loves his brother just as fiercely as Virgil does him, and so it’s in sheer desperation that he tells John Virgil is back on duty. His brother blinks, schools surprise into an unreadable calm, and Scott feels the need to justify himself. 

“I just - maybe giving him a sense of purpose will help. Some structure back, you know?”

“Sure, Scott,” John says, though his tone is anything but. 

*

Scott’s announcement that he’s back on duty is a surprise to Virgil. His brother goes from you're not flying Two again until you're fit to, and you're not fit to until you goddamn talk to me to we need Two, now, Virg practically overnight. Alan and Gordon exchange similar looks of confusion, and Virgil is doubly aware of what a burden he has been to them all.

In Scott’s defense, they do need Two - and all of the ‘Birds to be honest. 

Virgil pushes through the foggy exhaustion that has become his waking state, and drops into his chute like he’s never been gone. By the time he’s adjusting his uniform, the fog has cleared a little, and when he’s settled in the pilot’s chair - his chair - he feels better than he has in weeks. Gordon flops down beside him, feet somehow already propped on the dash, and Virgil shoves them off automatically. 

He feels alive. 

Rescues help. For all the pressure and pain they bring, rescues give him a purpose. Even though rescues drove him to - no. Virgil doesn’t want to think about that now. All he knows is that without rescues - well. Actually, Virgil doesn't want to think about that option either. 

It’s been a while since he’s flown his ‘Bird, but she’s the same reliable dream she always is (a little worse for wear in her left thruster perhaps, from Gordon’s overeager antics, but nothing some tinkering won’t fix later. The fact that he is even interested in tinkering speaks volumes). The thrum of Two’s engines is practically medicinal and he revels in being able to breathe freely, think clearly - it’s been so, so long. 

The journey to the rescue zone is quiet, updates from John and occasional witticisms from Gordon are background noise to the beloved sound of Two responding to his lightest touch. Alan and Scott - speed junkies till they die - are far enough ahead of them that Virgil and Gordon exchange their usual eye rolling at Alan’s antics (“and the youngest Tracy takes the lead, a swift manoeuvre from Mr Alan Tracy proving once and for all that he is the true champ- hey, that’s not fair-“) and for a minute, it’s like none of the last few weeks had happened. 

Gordon bounces out of his seat as they begin their descent, practically vibrating with adrenaline as he dashes to his own ‘Bird. Virgil drops Pod 4 with a grin at Gordon’s whoop, catches a glimpse of sunshine yellow cutting through murky water, before sweeping round into landing beside Alan’s rocket.

In spite of the carnage around the Thunderbirds, Virgil feels the adrenaline stirring in his own chest, because finally, something he knows how to do, how to help, how to fix. 

It's an earthquake, the second one in this area in as many months. The hastily-reconstructed housing never stood a chance against tremors that tickled six on the Richter scale. In places the ground has cracked in two, dark zigzagging lines snaking across the desolate landscape. Piles of rubble, pools of dirty water, clouds of dust, and among them, people staggering hopelessly through the remnants of their houses. 

Families who have already lost everything are once again homeless. Virgil’s heart aches at the injustice of it all. 

International Rescue's task is simple, in theory. Virgil and Alan are to get the survivors out from the rubble nearest the epicentre, whilst Gordon takes Four up to the dam and assesses the damage done to the wall’s defences. Scott will be assisting with rescues from the sinkhole on the edge of the town - the result of overtaxing the land and the force of nature. And John, of course, as their ever-seeing eye in the sky. Simple. 

As simple as it can be when you’re surrounded by desperate people and their frantic hopes that you’ll save their loved ones. A quick word with Alan and Virgil dons his exo-suit, grimacing a little at the familiar weight of the Jaws of Life on his limbs. He’s reluctant to use the Mole given that it is likely bodies will be distributed at different depths in the wreckage - and Jesus, what a bleak thought that is. 

Alan begins tackling the top layers of rubble, using a combination of grappling hooks and jet blasters to clear the smaller chunks of rock, wood and dust from the area. Watching Alan work so efficiently and professionally sends a jolt of pride through Virgil’s chest; in many ways, Alan is and always will be their baby brother, but at times like this, it’s impossible to deny the man he is becoming. 

Whilst Gordon is Virgil’s usual partner on rescues, Alan is equally capable and hard-working, and between them and John’s careful scans, they begin locating some of the missing. Something loosens in Virgil’s chest at the sight of the first dust-streaked hand reaching towards them through the rocks - bruised, filthy, but unmistakably alive. As much as he tries to avoid superstition on rescues, beginning with a corpse is never a good omen. 

(Of course, this isn’t to say they don’t find bodies. A mother wrapped around her child, body misshapen from the weight of the rocks. An unrecognisable man, head bashed to a pulp - Virgil sends Alan to get some water at that point, nausea making them both shaky).

As is always the way, human kindness prevails, and soon the local people are involved in the rescue efforts. Virgil knows from experience that it’s best not to fight it, but he asks in a broken attempt at their language (that John then delivers flawlessly) that they stay away from the more dangerous sites.

As if it’s not all one big danger site.

Still. He’s busy and sweating and focused, and there is no time for self-loathing or guilt in his head at the moment. His arms are aching a couple of hours in, but he keeps going - has to keep going - because there are more people who need him and he needs this. It feels like it takes an age to clear just the stretch of what was once a row of houses, but once they have, Alan and Virgil barely stop for a rest before moving to the next place they are needed.

Virgil forces Alan to eat an energy bar, watching closely despite Alan’s glares to ensure it all goes down, but can’t bring himself to have more than a few bites of his own. 

Eventually, God knows how many hours later but late enough that there is but a slither of sun left on the horizon, John’s murmurs of heartbeats in the rubble grow further and further apart, and the number of bodies only continues to rise. Things deteriorate further with the aftershocks that rip through the land and Virgil clings to the person he’s in the middle of rescuing, willing them not to slip from his shaking grip. 

(He manages, just, though they have gone ragdoll limp by the time the earth resettles).

(But he keeps going).

Gordon has come to join them, tired but satisfied that reinforcements are in place, and Virgil smiles like it’s normal for him, claps him on the shoulder. “Good job, Gords.”

The grin he gets in return is a little bemused but bright and Virgil feels alive. 

*

The sky is velvety black now, tiny pinpricks of silver piercing it, and up there, one of those lights is his brother. Even with Two’s floodlighting, Virgil has to squint now to see what he’s shifting, his arms are leaden, and his head aches with dehydration. The end is in sight though; as brutal as it is to admit it from this point on, they will mainly be pulling bodies, and despite Scott’s insistence that International Rescue will continue their efforts, the local authority is equally stubborn that their crews can take it from here. 

(Virgil hears a mutinous, “fat lot of good that did last time,” muttered into Scott’s comm and can’t help but agree). 

He sighs, pauses for a second to stretch his muscles, and taps his own comms. 

"John, status update?"

"Two more life signs in the vicinity. To your left. Signal's faint… are they beneath that building?"

'Building' is a generous word for the structure that John has identified. Its stone walls are cracked from ground to roof, angry black tears through stone that has started to crumble. In places, the rock has already given way, revealing open sky and starlight through the gaps. It’s been reinforced with wooden shafts, which are crippled under the strain. The building is practically swaying in the breeze: a Jenga stack one block from collapse.

“Building integrity?” Virgil asks, though Virgil the Engineer is already running calculations on structural integrity and coming up with big flashing red NOs. Not even with the proper equipment - there isn’t enough of a structure to even hold onto, let alone hold up.

No way in hell is Alan going in there. Nor Gordon.

But someone has to.

“No way,” John says sharply, just as Virgil knew he would, but he’s already moving, squeezing through the space where a window once was. “Virgil - Virgil, no - at least wait for backup-”

Virgil swipes the connection away - he’ll pay for it later, but for now, he needs to focus and John’s audible yet uncharacteristic panic isn’t conducive to this.

It’s even darker inside, and Virgil makes a mental note to thank Brains for installing the headtorch in the suit. Eerie shadows bounce off the walls but at least he can see where the stairs have semi-collapsed against an internal wall - where the two victims must be buried.

“Hello?” Virgil tries, picking his way through the damage as best as he can in the gloom. “Can anyone hear me?”

There’s a pause, and then - unmistakably - a sob. A stream of words in a foreign tongue, far too quick for Virgil to understand, but he knows the universal language of fear and he moves. 

He grunts as he begins shifting rocks. “I’m Virgil, I’m with International Rescue. I’m going to get you out.” He repeats it in a clunky version of their language, and gets a further panicked babble. 

John appears again as he spots the leg of one of the victims - torn trousers and tiny feet, a child - and he does not look impressed. “Firstly, Virgil, what the fuck? Second, Scott is on his way and he will kill you for not waiting for backup-”

“We might not have time for that, John,” Virgil pants, shoving slab of the wall away. It has uncovered the whole lower body of the child and it’s a sharp twist in Virgil’s chest to see the duck patterns so dirty and ruined. 

John pinches the bridge of his nose and breaths out noisily. “This is incredibly dangerous, Virgil.”

“So let me do my job and get out of here,” Virgil snaps back, and John recoils. Virgil regrets the words the second they leave his mouth - he’s tired and dehydrated and stressed and he didn’t mean it, of course he didn’t - but John’s already gone blank with carefully-concealed hurt. 

Virgil hates when he does this. 

“John, I-”

“Don’t, Virgil. Do your damn job.” 

As John closes the connection, Virgil swallows down his guilt and focuses on the task at hand. There will be time to make it up to his brother later. 

They’re both children, it turns out, wrapped up in each other’s arms, tear stains tracking their cheeks, and scared shitless, but alive. The boy has a head wound that’s bleeding sluggishly and the girl is cradling her arm protectively, but it’s okay, Virgil got them out, they’re going to be okay.

“I’m Virgil,” he tells them, kneeling before them and tapping his chest. “What are your names?”

“Faroqh,” the girl says, pointing at the boy and then at herself. “Leila.” She adds something on the end - a plea, he thinks, though it’s too quick to catch anything.

“I’m going to get you out,” Virgil says, keeping his voice calm and soothing. He holds out his hands and the boy reaches for it, scrubbing at his eyes. 

John pops up again and the girl leaps back in shock. “Virgil - get out, aftershocks incoming, get out-”

The ground is already moving beneath them, juddering, groaning, and Virgil seizes the boy, scooping him against his chest, tries to reach for the girl through the clouds of dust rising -

Quiet.

For a split second, he thinks they’ve escaped it. 

And then it all goes wrong.

The ceiling caves first, then the walls, collapsing inwards like dominoes. There’s no time to think, Virgil just reacts, throwing himself blindly in the direction of the girl, cushioning both children as best he can against himself as the rocks rain down. 

In his mind, he’s vaguely aware that this is more of a Scott-move than a Virgil-move. Scott is the one who’ll fling himself into danger without a second thought, if it means someone else gets theirs. 

And yet, here he is. 

Even with the suit, it hurts. Jagged lumps crash into his back, pelt his already aching arms, bash his head further into the rocks. 

It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, just let them live, take him instead -

(Wait, what-?)

He doesn’t remember losing consciousness, but the next thing he can recall is a ringing in his ears and the realisation that the ground around them is still. 

“Virgil, get out of there!” John’s voice cuts across his comms, and Virgil opens his eyes.

“Faroqh?” he murmurs. “Leila?”

He feels one of them say something in his chest, senses slowly coming back online. Unfortunately, the fact that every single part of his body is in agony also makes itself known, and Virgil groans, shifting against the weight on his back.

“Virgil? Jesus, Virgil, talk to me. Scott - do you have eyes on him?”

“Almost,” Scott’s voice is tight with poorly-concealed anger and concern. “Virgil, do you copy?”

“Y- yeah,” Virgil manages, then coughs harshly.

“Status?”

“I think - I think they’re both fine. One is definitely c-conscious.”

There’s a pause and then Scott says, even more tightly. “And you?”

“Nothing broken I don’t think.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Scott says grimly.

Virgil closes his eyes again, because he’s so tired and he doesn’t have the energy for Scott’s hypocritical bullshit right now, but he must have lost more time because the next thing he knows, the weight on his back has lifted and strong arms are dragging him upwards.

His older brother is there, eyes a battleground between worry, fury and yet more worry. Virgil loosens his grip on the children, looking up at Scott. “Scott, I had to, they’re just kids-”

Faroqh stifles a cry and Scott’s eyes snap to him. “Give them to me.”

“I just - can you - Leila wasn’t speaking - is she-?”

Scott presses his fingers to her throat and there’s an agonising pause. “She has a pulse.”

“Thank God,” Virgil murmurs, slumping back and releasing his grip on the children.

“Thank God?” Scott repeats incredulously. “Virg - I don’t - I -”

“Don’t do this now, Scott,” John’s voice is quiet but authoritative. “Wait for me, please.”

Scott closes his eyes briefly. “Deal,” he mutters, and then picks up Leila’s body, stretching his other hand out to Faroqh. “I’m going to take these two out to Gordon and Alan. And then I’m coming back for you. Don’t you dare move.”

Faroqh accepts Scott’s hand but looks anxiously at Virgil, who does his best to smile encouragingly. 

And then Scott is gone and Virgil is alone in the mess he’s created. 

The weight of realisation comes crashing down around him, even harder than the building fell, and it’s a punch to his already fragile ribs. He does his best to focus on breathing rather than the swell of shame and self-loathing that’s ballooning in his chest because he really fucked this up. Virgil can feel his control beginning to slip and digs his fingers into the bruises on his legs. The pain grounds him momentarily, but only leaves him emptier when he stops. And so he only stops when Scott’s silhouette fills the entrance once more.

As Scott approaches, furious concern has him practically vibrating with emotion. Virgil takes a deep breath, choking down his own self-loathing for now, accepts the hand up and staggers into his brother’s side as the pain hits him in full. He may not have broken anything but his entire body feels like it’s been used as a punchbag and it hurts. 

Scott’s grip tightens around his waist and the worry intensifies. “Can you make it out?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. (Probably is more honest). 

Leaning heavily into Scott, they make their painfully slow way to the door, out to where a pair of anxiously-hovering brothers are waiting for them. 

Alan barely restrains himself from lunging at Virgil, eyes overly bright. “Virg - are - are you okay?”

“Fine, Allie,” Virgil says, pointedly ignoring Scott’s irritable snort of disbelief. 

Gordon’s expression is caught between relief, worry and anger, but the former wins over and he hurries to Virgil’s other side. “What were you thinking, Virg? Going in without backup?”

“Not now, Gords, I promised John we’d wait for him. Let’s just get this moron home first.”

Virgil’s mind is struggling to compute the words whilst also concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “Wait - John’s coming.”

“Yup.” Scott’s mouth is so thin it’s a grim slash. 

Well, shit. 

*

“You’re not flying home. No fucking way.”

“She’s my ship.”

“I. Don’t. Care. You just got injured and you’re not fit to fly.”

“Scott, it’s just bruising-”

“And a probable concussion,” chimes in Gordon, standing his ground when Virgil shoots a glare at him.

“You’re not flying and that’s an order.”

It’s not often that Scott pulls rank on him - it’s a cold day in hell when he has to - and it’s the shock of it that causes Virgil to spit “yes, Commander” with such venom. He loathes himself for the hurt he knows will be in Scott’s eyes but stalks to the passenger seat without meeting his gaze. Scott watches him for another few seconds and the stare burns right down to Virgil’s soul, scorching across his anger and burrowing right into his guilt. 

But he still can’t meet his brother’s eyes. 

Scott turns, leaves and Virgil sags in his seat. He doesn’t say a word whilst Gordon starts Two’s engines, not even when he revs a little harder than is necessary. He can’t bring himself to answer a single one of Gordon’s attempts at humour and eventually, Gordon lapses into silence too. 

Virgil’s head is in turmoil and his chest is heavy - heavier than it’s ever been. There’s a mounting dread about the screaming match he’s about to have with his brothers (because he knows it’s coming). Guilt and shame over what he put his brothers through with his antics (because that haunted look is back in Scott’s eyes and Virgil hates that he put it there) battling a self-righteous assurance that he did the right thing in rescuing those kids. Embarrassment that he fucked up the one thing he thought he could do. Gnawing anxiety over nothing he can place specifically but it’s there and it’s overwhelming. Misery that he failed, yet again, sending him straight back to the pit he’d been stuck in before all of this happened.

Above everything though, spreading insidious arms and draping its poisonous cloak over all, is an exhaustion so intense and so absolute that Virgil does not want to exist. 

(God, he’s so tired). 

*

In the infirmary, Scott helps Virgil out of the exo suit at last, sucking in sharp breaths at the sight of his brother’s skin mottled purples and blues. 

(“Jesus fucking Christ, Virg”).

Scott is as gentle as possible whilst checking for cracked bones and yet Virgil still has to grit his teeth not to wince at his touch. Eventually, Scott seems satisfied with his findings - as satisfied as it’s possible to be when his younger brother looks like a messy oil painting of angry bruising - and allows Virgil back into a sitting position to run through some mental exercises. 

It’s as Virgil is answering Scott’s questions without complaint that John bursts through the doors, heading straight for Virgil like a missile. 

John grabs him by the shoulders and shakes, uncharacteristic panic blazing in his eyes. "What the hell, Virgil? It's never you! You're supposed to be the one I can trust not to pull stupid shit!”

“Johnny, you - you shouldn’t be up yet,” Virgil says weakly, “gravity-”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to take care of myself right now-”

“Less of the shaking please, John,” Scott cuts in. He’s taken a step back, arms folded. 

John nods, releasing Virgil apologetically, but the verbal assault continues. “What were you thinking? No, scratch that, you obviously weren’t thinking at all.” In contrast to Scott’s, John’s anger is quiet. Virgil would rather be shouted over by Scott than reprimanded by John any day; John knew exactly how to let you know that you had disappointed him. 

Virgil takes a deep breath in spite of this. “I was thinking that there were two people who needed to be saved.”

“Are you being serious? That’s your excuse for going in alone, without telling anyone where you were going or waiting for backup? That aftershock could have killed you, Virg.” John’s voice trembles and he swallows viciously. “For a moment, I was so afraid it had.”

There’s a pause, in which the guilt might swallow Virgil whole, chew him up, spit out his bloody remains before his brothers. There’s nothing he can say but Scott and John look so expectant that he feels compelled to justify himself.

“I didn’t know there would be an aftershock.” 

“That’s not the point, Virgil, and you know it!” Scott explodes. “You didn’t tell us what you were doing, you had nobody watching your back-”

“They were children. They were children and they needed me.”

“We need you.”

“Stop acting like you wouldn’t have done the same, Scott!” Virgil doesn’t know when they started shouting but now he can’t stop. “Don’t act like you haven’t pulled this shit on me a hundred times! Stop being such a goddamn hypocrite-”

“It’s not the same, Virgil. It’s just not.”

“Oh sure, because you’re Scott Tracy, you get to do whatever you like, fuck the consequences-”

“Because I have you watching my back,” Scott yells.

It all goes very quiet and Virgil’s mind is blank.

“What?” he whispers.

Scott looks physically pained, forcing his answer out like pulling glass from a wound. “I’m not saying it’s fair or right, Virg. But I know that whatever stupid thing I do, I have you stopping me from going too far. Pulling me out when it goes wrong. And I know it puts too much pressure on you, and I am sorry for that - I am. But what you did today - you didn’t let us help you. You didn’t let me help you.”

(This is about more than just today and Virgil can feel it in every exhausted cell of his body but fuck, he doesn’t have the energy to hash that out now. He just wants to go to bed and sleep and sleep (and never wake up?)).

John speaks up now, holding Virgil’s gaze with the same anger, only it’s not really anger, Virgil realises. It’s love, marred by fear and stress. “Going into that situation without backup was suicide, Virg.”

A pause. 

“I’m not - you don’t think that I’m -” Virgil splutters, though he doesn’t know if the denial is more for his benefit or theirs. They’re wrong, he’s sure of it, they have to be wrong.

“We - we know there’s something going on with you,” John says, glancing at Scott. “And - and after today, we’re even more worried.”

“We care about you, Virg.” Scott’s eyes are wide, pleading. “Why won’t you let us help you?”

(Because I despise every single thing about myself, but most of all how much I’m burdening you all. Because you deserve better than my weakness. Because it’s not worth it). 

(He says none of that, obviously. Even if he wanted to, his throat has gone dry and his brain seems to be stuck on John’s words like a scratched record).

He needs to get out.

The realisation sucks all the air from his lungs. 

Anxiety rising so fast he thinks he might be sick, Virgil stands. “I - I can’t -” (breathe)-

Shove past Scott and John who are looking at him with such lost expressions Virgil can’t bear it. Inhale around the tightening band of guilt and panic-

Almost at the door and they haven’t tried to stop him - he’s not sure why this hurts more than their protests would have. Exhale and feel lungs constrict even further-

He makes it to the door, and now, exit strategy in his grasp, he can breathe. He stops, one hand on the doorframe and half-turns. Scott’s eyes take on a hopeful gleam and Virgil feels terrible for being the one to stamp that out. “They were children. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, stumbling on autopilot back to his room, sinks down into his duvet and succumbs at last to the panic attack. 

When it’s done - for now, at least - he lies in his own sweat and taut muscles, drained in every sense of the word. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Virgil doesn’t understand why he’s pushing away all the people who love him, nor why the thought of exposing this ugly, aching part of himself to them is utterly unbearable. Existing like this - so miserably and shamefully - is unbearable and he can’t face it anymore. He wants to cry. His chest aches with it and yet he can’t even muster the energy to do that.

Instead he lies there for hours, mind racing with reminders of his uselessness, body aching from his failings, soul longing for an endless sleep. 

[manggojooz]

Lights

I just saw your appreciation post now but thank you so much!

I thought really hard about what song would be best for a fic and settled on Lights by BTS with either Jimin, Yoongi or Namjoon!

I’ve been having a Hell of a time working at the movie theater and waiting for my laptop to get fixed so I can properly begin writing again and been stressing super hard about college and a kpop school I’ll be going to in my 2nd or 3rd semester but this song just really resonated me; as did your post. It really made me smile lovely thank you so much for the inclusion!

Your writing is always such a treat to read and Take My Hands Now will probably always be in my top fics. Love you and keep doing what you do best- being you! 😘 -Sheridan

—

A/N: @sevenincubistolemyheart thanks so much for sending this Sheridan! What kind of kpop school are you going to? I saw that you got your laptop back! I hope you get to start writing again and doing what makes you happy =) even if there is a lot of stress it will all be worth it one day~ fighting! 

BTW it’s my first time writing a total supernatural au kind of thing, I hope it’s not too bad xD just posting the first draft coz I’m excited… will edit later kekek and so sorry the read more function is not working on my phone… 

English lyrics taken from here

Pairing: Jimin x reader 

Word count: 2.6k approx

Genre: supernatural au; psychopomp/reaper!Jimin; part angst part romance; i would consider it a happy ending (y)  

Warnings: mentions of death, references to suicide; all non-explicit though

—

You lay on your bed in the brightness of the morning sun that filtered in through the glass window etched into the slanted roof. This was the 154th Sunday you spent without him. 

Your phone buzzes next to you, there was no point checking it anymore. The only calls or messages you received were spam anyway. You should probably get some breakfast, but you let yourself lie in bed for a little longer, making up the excuse that the sun rays were too warm to walk away from. 

You tossed around and planted your face into the pillow, a gush of sourness running through the veins in your eyelids. Will he ever return to you? 

♫ “Sunday, when I can’t answer any calls or texts I’m not in the mood for anything Though not very often, I feel sick of it I feel a little helpless right now” ♫

—

You walked down the long spiraling stairs and out of the antiquated front door. You took a few steps back before looking up, the whiteness of the roof reflected the sunlight and made the tower look like it was glowing. 

“You are a lighthouse to me. But when I am not here, I wish you would be a lighthouse to whoever may need it”, his words resounded in the air. With that reminder, you trotted down the grayish path on top of the breakwater, heading towards the rocky coastline. 

In the time he has not been around, you had saved 29 people, pulling them from the icy water, just like he had done for you. 

♫ “But I still feel like I can save someone I hear your voice Within the noise, time stops We are connected by sound” ♫

—

Although it had been many years ago, that night remains vivid in your mind. You had closed your eyes, not wanting to see this world any more. Night times were the worst. In the darkness, the lights from each house, the light from each star, made each of them stand out more. Even as you were submerged in this darkness, the lights refracted through it. As if they were mocking you, the sole blackhole that did not allow brightness to exist. 

But the magic of light is this - even when you closed your eyes, it finds a way in, it penetrates through and it reaches you. 

“It’s not your time yet”, his voice was the most angelic. He has watched you for almost a year, month after month, and today he had been worried that it would be the last time. 

“Who are you?”, you coughed, hair and clothes all soaked. 

“Someone who is breaking the rules for you…”, he sits down next to you, the waves crashing into the rocks below. 

♫ “When I close my eyes In the darkness, your light  Lights the way for me We can walk forward without fear, you & I” ♫

—

His name is Jimin, and he’s been around for a long time, longer than he could remember. His sole purpose was to guide the souls lost at sea to the afterlife. It was a harrowing job at first, but as time went by, he gradually became desensitised. But you made him feel again.  

They only get to stay away from the sea one day in a month, and he had told you to wait for him in this lighthouse if you wanted to meet him again. This was his lighthouse, nobody else could enter, it helps him find the shore when he gets too tired or when everything becomes too disorienting. Even though it was unbelievable, even though you were somewhat afraid, you still waited and met him, that month, the next month, the month after. He was like the lighthouse keeping you away from hitting the rocks and drowning. 

“Why did you save me that night?”, you leaned against his shoulders comfortably snuggled in his embrace as you both sat on the bed. He was looking at the night sky through the glass roof, beams of light pulsing rhythmically towards the sea. 

“Because your soul was too bright”, he answered and you wondered if it was ironic since you had felt like your soul was hurting so much. He kisses your forehead gently, “thank you for being here, for being my lighthouse. Now I see the light so much better out at sea, because I know you are here, waiting for me.” 

♫ “You’re my light you’re my light Always shine into my heart You’re my light you’re my light No matter how far apart we are Your light shines on me” ♫

—

He tirelessly went back to sea the day after, flying with wings wider than an albatross. His wings were clipped on one side, and you had once asked him why. He told you there are souls who are kind, there are souls who are hurting, and there are souls who are evil. He was never to judge any of them, he only had to take them to the afterlife. But even then, he was often hurt by them. Even when people die, their souls don’t change much it seems. 

“Is it wrong if I say I love you?”, you hugged him before he left again, wanting to hold on to him just a little longer. 

“Love should never be wrong, Y/N. If it can be wrong then I guess I will be the first to be punished…”, he replied with a sadness in his eyes. His slender fingers pushes your hair away from your eyes, the sea breeze chilly, but his embrace always warm.  

♫ “All the angels who know pain Flying on damaged wings through the night Every time I’m thinking about love Every time I’m thinking about love” ♫

—

What kind of punishment does a person in love deserve? 154 Sundays of loneliness? 154 weeks of longing? And counting… 

You walked around shore the whole day, scanning around to see if there was anyone nearby. You put on your headphones as the sky turned darker and the first song which came on was too bright, so you skipped it and the next one too, until you reached one that was sorrowful enough. 

♫ “I don’t wanna listen to just happy songs I’ll face my loneliness, color my life Losing and gaining, but I’m still searching for something today” ♫

—

Why was this song so sorrowful? Was it the lyrics? Was it the tune? Or was it because he once sang it to you in his soft mellow voice? 

The things you used to think about flood back to you again. They nibble at your soul again. The darker the night grew, the darker the voices became. You crouched down, breathes short and fast, hands clutching the part of your chest where your heart rests beneath. It hurts so much, how do people endure such darkness? 

“I’m your light”, the lyrics of the song chants, and it was as if you could hear his voice singing it to you. You cannot give up. He said he can see the light better because you were there, you wouldn’t want him to lose the only light he has in the darkness either. 

♫ “Yeah I believe that things will change No one is perfect Even this moment has its own meaning And we are connected by sound” ♫

—

You continued walking down the coastline, that was when you see her struggling in the water. You ran into the freezing water without a second thought as she loses consciousness. Diving into the sea, you looked around for her but the water was pitch dark around you and there was an intense fear within you. 

The salty seawater was starting to sting your eyes and you closed them momentarily. When you opened your eyes again, one of the rotating beams from the tower flashes right into the water further away from you and finally you spot her floating there. 

You swam across as fast as you could and dragged her back to shore. 

♫ “When you close your eyes In the darkness, my light  Lights the way for you Let’s walk forward without fear, you & I” ♫

—

You wrapped her in the blankets and let her take the bed. She was shivering the whole night but you nursed her well with hot water bottles, warm milk and medicine.

As she finally went to sleep, you look up at the flashing light, thanking it. For keeping you alive, for keeping her alive. 

♫ “I’m your light I’m your light Always shine into your heart I’m your light I’m your light No matter how far apart we are Your light shines on me”♫

—

You didn’t sleep at all that night. This was the 30th person you saved. Some of them went in by accident, some of them regretted that they attempted, some of them unrepentant and you could only wonder if they will look for other ways.

But you learnt one thing. You weren’t alone after all, life wasn’t only mean to you. If darkness was a diseases, then light is probably the cure. The question was how do we find our cure? For each person it must be a different path, or perhaps, the cure finds us sometimes. 

You thought you had found yours, but you never knew that it was so elusive. Was he afraid to come back because you had fallen in love with him? He belongs, quite literally, in an entirely different world from you after all. The flashes of light overhead reminded you of why you were here. 

If not for him, you would have left this world a long time ago, without ever experiencing what it was like to be loved. Until the day he says it to you himself, until the day he tells you to leave, you will willingly stay here as his lighthouse. 

♫ “I never thought there’d be a sleepless night Turns out they weren’t lies And it made me get stronger What is love? If there’s an answer, I wanna know right now I’m breaking down I can see there’s light inside” ♫

—

Her name was Lucy, she lost her job and her boyfriend left her for another girl. 

“They always say we decide what it means to be happy”, she sobbed as you were making her breakfast the next morning, “and I had decided. It was my dream to marry him and have a family… and I was happy just being the team manager at my company. I had decided what makes me happy. But then… what’s the point… it’s all lies…” 

Sometimes when we settle down in happiness, life throws a curve ball and wrecks everything. “These are just growing pains”, “everything will pass”, “you will find happiness in other things”, you were often consoled in this way too. 

But you knew better than that, some things are just irreplaceable. 

“Hold it in your heart then, the darkness that is the happiness taken away from you”, you sat opposite her, handing her a plate of toast. 

“If you can’t let it go then keep it there. The more darkness you hold, the more precious you will find the light to be”, you continued. 

The people who lost the most are also the ones who treasure what they have the most. 

♫ “Dawn will come to the darkest of nights Overcome, even the future We won’t stop from now on Decide for yourself what it means to be happy Every day, take a step to grow up” ♫

—

A week passes and Lucy stayed with you. You two would walk along the shore every day, she even tried fishing one day, although she only ended up getting angry that none of the fishes were taking her bait. 

“Are you waiting for someone here?”, she asks you suddenly over dinner. 

“No… I just stay here alone”

“I know what it’s like to be waiting for someone you love. You don’t have to hide it… I can sense it whenever you look out at the sea. I hope he comes back soon”, her eyes looked straight into yours, just like a torch shining right in. 

♫ “But it’s okay sometimes To show weakness It’s okay to be you Don’t lie to yourself any more Everything connects by sound” ♫

—

“I think it’s time for me to leave, I should go now”, Lucy beams at you and waved. 

You smiled back at her and told her to be careful on her way. 

“If you are going to keep staying here, maybe you should fix the light…”, she suggests candidly. 

“What do you mean? The light is not spoilt, don’t you see it flashing every night?”, you frowned in befuddlement. 

“Really? I thought it wasn’t working, I didn’t see anything at all”, she became even more puzzled and you grew increasingly concerned. 

♫ “When I close my eyes In the darkness, your light  Lights the way for me We can walk forward without fear, you & I” ♫

—

You stood at the junction where the breakwater meets the shore. The sun was setting, and on cue, the lights flashes from the roof of the white tower. Lucy couldn’t see the lights? Why? You felt a chill down your spine and looked around. 

The air was as still as the impending night but you spotted a man standing halfway on the breakwater. How? You didn’t see anyone walking down the breakwater and you are standing right here at the entrance. 

“Sir, can I help you?”, you walked up to the man who looked rather aged. 

He chuckles softly, the sounds rolling in his chest, before saying, “Sometimes it is the other person that needs help. Maybe I could help you with something?” 

You were so confused but you decided what’s the harm of just asking him one question first, “Hmmm… do you perhaps see the lights from this lighthouse?”

“Do you?”, he asks cryptically.  

“I do… I see it every night”, you answered. 

“And what do you think the lights mean?”

You did not answer, and he smiles knowingly at you. 

“So long as the lights keep flashing, it means that he is alive. Don’t worry about that, just keep doing what you do now and he will come back”, he discloses. 

“Who- wait… you mean… are you talking about Jimin?”, your eyes widen. “Do you know him? Where is he now? Tell me please…”, you begged him. 

“You can’t go to where he is now… he is receiving his punishment, just like you are”, he answers. 

“What for? I… is it because of me?”, you voice began to shake. 

“It is because of you… he should have sent you on, but he broke the rules. Now he is being punished. So, all the more, keep his post well and wait for him. That’s all I’m here to say”, he casually instructed you. 

“What am I supposed to do? How long will he take to come back? What if I can’t wait until then? And I can’t possibly do what he does…”, you quibbled, reminding him of your mortal limitations. 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to? You have already been doing a little of his job for a while now”, he looked up at the lighthouse, “… and why do you think you can see the light but other people can’t?” 

♫“You’re my light you’re my light Always shine into my heart You’re my light you’re my light No matter how far apart we are Your light shines on me” ♫

—

You still had no idea when Jimin would come back. But you will wait for him, so long as the light flashes every night. 

And now you understand, you were not a light that was saving lives, you were only saving souls. 

♫“How far apart we are Your light shines on me”♫

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story - Part 63

(i just want to throw in a trigger warning for sexual violence being mentioned. It’s probably fine, but i don’t want anyone who is struggling personally to be hurt by what i have written.) 

It's just shy by two weeks or so from a decade to the days I started painting my first canvases. I realized when I started painting that it had actually been my thing all along. I couldn't work with lines the way I worked with color. I guess it stems from the way I saw the world through my perception, and the lead of a pencil was simply not conveying what I wanted. I was so much better of a painter than I was an illustrator too. Having drawn so much for years did help me paint – it helped me lay the ground work, and painting in the long run helped me do things like shade better and be more experimental in how I drew. It was finally great to find something I was good at for once, and some way I could express myself.

I like drawing still of course, it was a cheap way to get through school, something to do with all the free paper and pencils that I had to have in my hands anyway. I still do it time to time when I am bored, but it's always somewhat cartoonish when I draw. Line work is just not my way of expressing myself artistically. I could demonstrate so much more by use of color and contrast in a way that seemed flat when I drew. This had been the first time in a very very long time where I felt good at something I had done. I felt like I had some kind of value. I had been proud of my critiques in high school, but it never really mattered to me like painting did. It wasn't as personal as this was.

I set up a deviantart account, and I kept it for a few years to put my art on. I lost the password several years ago, started a new one, and though I check it maybe once every two months or so, I never have any art to put out, and I have struggled with having a place to put my scanner. But all of it is still there for what it's worth. This became my life in a way – reading, listening to music, painting, MySpace

Strangely enough though, the act of painting caused/causes me a great deal of pain though, and in saying this, I don't want to also say that I don't love to paint, because it hurts and is also a passion, albeit a confusing one. I believe it might be the frame of mind I get in, some psychological aspect I don't quite understand, but it really does screw with me physically. My heart begins to race, I feel sick to my stomach. I have a fever. I start feeling paranoid and meaningless and lonely. Everything feels wrong. I often have to get up after painting for twenty minutes and pace the house. I will check the bathroom to make sure nobody is in there. I will look outside to try to cool off. My mind has these impulsive feelings of feeling like someone is watching me from a closet, to feeling paranoid that I am not real – I am merely a figment of someone else's imagination and this is all an illusion. I get this feeling of intense loneliness and wanting to close the doorway that I am looking through mentally that I paint from. I start going crazy, and this is why I have struggled to be prolific. It exposes the fact that underneath my demeanor and my sense that I am in control, I am actually a chaotic lunatic.

I've never talked to another artist who had those symptoms from making artwork that they enjoyed. Everyone I have ever spoken to seem to feel at ease with what they are doing. It feels good – liberating even. Not me though. I feel the liberation, but then I feel even more suffocated. And yet, it is still worth doing. I suspect that I am at my best when I am discontent and obsessively closed off, which is unfortunate for me most likely. I feel I am more efficient, clear minded, creative and a better person when I am unhappy. Maybe the psyche aspect of my painting self is one element of this self truth? I don't seek out misery, however, misery and despair are very easy to find.

On the weekends when we were all at our mother's, my brother was beginning to be a bit of a bully to the household. It was a strange phase he was going through and it only got worse and worse. There were some very dark reasons for all of this, and I will try to explain. I think it came from a deep seated insecurity he had that my father had instilled in him in fear that David would be too feminine. David had stuttered as a child, due largely to my father screaming at David about his speech impediment and mocking him. Being the only son of a man who had been raised by a mean-spirited brother who shamed him, it must have been sort of difficult emotionally for David. He was always spoiled too, separate from us somehow. It was a strange mix. My father was always shaming David to act competitive and masculine.

David's truer personality is shy, meticulous, and honest. He had a temper from the day he was born, but it could have been dealt with differently. Maybe it was the way he was taken out of the womb? David's head got stuck in my mother's womb, and when the doctors pulled him out it misshaped just a bit. I know that even a minor altering of the human brain can cause people to lose control of things like their emotions. Anyway my father didn't like what he perceived as feminine in David, freaked out at me once for putting David in makeup – probably kids at school made him feel vulnerable and weak when he stuttered and was shy as a child. So David, feeling vulnerable, weak and unhappy and not really connected with, began walking around starting fights with everyone at home when he turned eleven or twelve – especially me and Allison, and getting disturbingly deeply violent in the nature that he attacked everyone. It was honestly a lot more terrifying then it sounds.

At random times, he would believe everyone was out to get him – in a way that went beyond typical. These were delusions. I know from experience that most boys I have known go through something in their personality at this time in their lives. Some hormone stuff happens, and boy culture at school causes them to feel a compulsion to compete and do what they perceive to be tough. But this was particularly disturbing. He walked around with clenched fists. He took whatever he wanted. His ego was over the top. At times, he was cussing us out and threatening everybody in the house. I fought back a few times, but in the end, I just became scared and closed down. I could still take him down if I had to, but David was a particularly strong kid, and I knew that it would only be a short matter of time before we were equals if it came down to a physical altercation.

Looking back, David caused me an immense amount of stress that stays with me to this day. I feel weird pointing out trauma that happened in my late teens to early twenties rather than something that happened when I was four as having a long lasting effect on my mental health, but it's truth. Years of constant uncertainty of a blow up eventually ground me down. And I don't blame David per say, but it eventually nearly ruined our relationship, which was a shame. David has a thoughtful intelligence to him that is very rare. He is one of the few people who opens himself up in a way to truly care about everything he sees around him, and it's a shame that there are parts of him that are so painful. It's a shame for his own sake. From the time David turned eleven, everyone in the house was walking on egg shells – eventually my father was even walking on them.

My mother in a weird sort of way, spoiled him even harder – maybe enjoying in this weird way that he was in control of the household, and trying to appease him constantly to avoid conflict was kind of fun for her. It made her feel special. By this time in my life I had drastically changed as a person too. I could kind of understand some of the stuff David was going through emotionally. It hadn't even been a year or two before and I myself had thought everyone was out to get me. No doubt some of this was David innocently picking these behaviors off me. But I had changed, too late, but I had. I no longer felt any room to be a person at all in a lot of ways – I couldn't feel mad. I stopped thinking in the first person at all. I thought only in facts. I tried to rely on the feelings underneath the words. I tried to be a ghost in the house whenever I could. I didn't like the way I looked and thought I was going to die, so I just had sort of shut down. If I let myself think about myself too much, if I got personal with myself at all, I would often times struggle to breath and would have these moments of intense and sudden panic that I would choke down even harder. My thoughts would scramble, and I would feel this sense that I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn't even explain. I didn't let anyone see me that way of course. I saw, and rightly so, my family in their various forms as wolves who would pick me off if I showed weakness.  

I felt like my only option was to hide away, to play and believe that I was dead inside. I needed to be somewhere private. It was hard to even do that though since the house was small and if someone was looking for trouble they would find me. So, when I was at my mom's I would lock myself away in the bathroom and read, for hours upon hours. It was a strange pattern for me. I would wake up, eat quickly and impulsively, grab a book and lay in the bathtub sometimes hiding in there for eight or nine hours a day. I would only get out when people needed to use the bathroom, and occasionally to let it air out. And then I would get back in. It was the only way for me to escape David and everyone else in the household, and it kind of worked. The bathroom had an atmosphere that was harder to fight in, and besides, out of sight out of mind. I would hear David screaming outside the door, and I would mentally shut myself off so I didn't feel anxious. But I was anxious anyway. I just didn't let myself feel that or cognitively let myself process it. I compartmentalized everything about myself as a defense mechanism. And nobody in my family noticed.

I have to take a step back, and try to understand my brother's behavior for what it was, because it was a combination of many things. It was borderline personality disorder in a very early stage. Sometimes David would be delusional. His eyes would look glassed over and he would accuse you of having said something you didn't say. And I could tell he believed it. He chased us all away, and then was hurt that we had left him alone. I could tell he knew he had manipulated the fabrication, but believed it anyway and it was beyond frustrating. My parents never cared one bit about our mental health, and he had done similar things as a little boy – the tendencies had been there, but it could have been corrected had anyone cared about what David was actually going through instead of buying him whatever he did or didn't want. But rather than sit down to talk to David, they either spoiled him and favored him – somewhat rewarding him for his bad behavior. Our father, if he did anything at all, would use fear and frighten David so he didn't act that way around him. David behaved himself, but more or less, he was only bottling it up. To my father, he only saw the problem in context to the misery it caused him personally. He didn't want to be bothered, and if he yelled or was frightening enough, we would be too afraid to act in a way that was unpleasant to him personally. It was second nature to my father, and he naively believed I think that if he wasn't seeing the behavior, then it was not there.

Nobody would ever addressed the real problem in David's  young life. Nobody cared about what was really going on in David's mind at all. I tried to care, but I was mentally fucked too, in my own way. I couldn't compete with my parent's ways of dealing with him. I was not his real parent. And though I know he was not capable of fully understanding that, and though he was a terror to me and Allison, he definitely contributed to mental concerns later on in my life (and has probably shaken Allison's mind too), I must also take a step back and realize that my early babysitting techniques with David had been abusive and horrendous and probably had something to do with what was now happening later on. So to a degree, who am I to judge David? Of course, it had been several years by that time since I had raised my voice or treated Allison and David unfairly. I was their ally now – or at least I tried to be, but it didn't matter. I may have stopped years ago and become a different person than I had been, but it doesn't make the pain I caused someone else to simply vanish. That's not how it works. If anything, I am not saying it was all my fault. I had been severely neglected in a sense myself, and I had been in my early teens. But it was still abuse, and I can only try to mend what has been broken. I can't just say sorry and wash my hands of the whole mess.

Not all of this was on me though. David was also abusing and taking advantage of every power display he could because he, well – could. I think most people are capable of some pretty shady stuff if they are given free reign to do so. It's just a part of being human. Power corrupts. Rage can be an addiction for some people. My mother pampered David and made him feel entitled – and disabled to a degree, and my father pumped David up with toxic masculinity issues. David had the advantage over Allison and I and he gained something from using that power. It was disgusting and obnoxious and animalistic – but it was a territory he was allowed to cross at an early age without any repercussions. He was being mean for the sake of being mean. And on this end of it I grew to resent him deeply. I didn't understand what it meant to feel that much animosity towards others. I would almost feel bad about how much I resented him at times because if I let myself feel too much, I almost felt nauseous with resentment and confusion about how he acted. And it hurt because I loved him. He was such a deep thinker and so collected, noble and humble even. We had a lot of fun sometimes. There were days when we really connected. It was like there were two different versions of him. He was deep down a very sensitive and thoughtful person. And that was partially what made it so upsetting. Because he would destroy our friendship over and over. He never felt he was given enough. It made me sick eventually.

Lastly, and probably most importantly in David's development, was that a grotesque sociopathic older boy had locked David up that summer, overpowered him and molested him. I think this obscene and horrible situation ruined his life forever. We didn't find out about this till many years later. He never told anyone. David started trying to tell my father one time that summer, and my dad laughed at him and told him he was too young to know what he was talking about – like, David didn't know what sex was by that age. It makes me truly sick to think about on every level. David told me some of what happened that summer – mostly talking about what the neighborhood boys were doing in this club house on the hillside, but augmented the story explaining that he had managed to get away when they chased him. I look back over and over, and I am completely sickened that I didn't think much of it. Some of the girls I knew when we were kids would kiss and stuff, and they tried to get me involved, and I had walked away. I had related it to my situation. While my situation had been weird for me growing up, it had not been violent, and nothing had been forced. It had not been vicious.

His situation had not been like mine. This same sociopathic boy was a boy who later killed animals in the town, was obsessed with joining the military so he could be sent to the middle east to rape and pillage. He moved to Spokane eventually, and I imagine be may well have gone on to do just what he had planned to. He beat his own pet dog to death for fun one day. I hated that boy. And poor David. That poor freckled sensitive little boy walking home in such an enormous amount of shame. And he was all alone. No wonder he became ill. Who knows what kind of psychological impact that had on him at such a young age. It breaks my heart and to a degree it is beyond my comprehension. The incident scarred him. He hasn't been fond of people as a whole ever since. And I don't know that I blame him. You really just can't trust most people to do the right thing.

So, Roxanne – my older sister, and her family were homeless for awhile and had to move in with my mom which added even more to the stress. Mind you, this is a very small one bedroom. There was eleven of us all crammed in a tiny one bedroom. This ordeal definitely caused me to go back and stay back to my dad's  at some point that winter. It seemed that the chaos of each place I went caused me to never really have a home. I was always on the move. I never felt safe. My home was whatever book I happened to be carrying around with me, and that was it. I was even short of clothing I could call my own, mostly being stuck with pajama pants and a oversized t-shirt. Other than my collection of drawings and writings, my art supplies, my slowly growing book collection, and a few knick knacks, I had nothing. I was a nobody.

Roxanne had all sorts of issues. She was waiting on a list for people who were looking to get in low income housing, and that can sometimes take several years for one of these places to open up. Jeremy, her fiance, had taken over every aspect of her life. I cannot stress this enough, or how abusive he was to them all psychologically. He is probably one of the most annoying and disturbing individuals I have ever met and I dare say, I think he was a sociopath. Roxanne and her kids lived in fear of Jeremy, doting on his every whim else he explode. He was a drug dealer, addicted to meth, very manipulative and friendly in a frenzied sort of way if he wasn't in a rage. He rarely if ever took on a job and usually landed in jail at least one month of the year.  If he did take a job, then he demanded everyone behave perfectly. Sometimes he would abuse the kids or Roxanne for fun. We all saw it happening. But in a way, we couldn't almost believe it. Roxanne was brainwashed by this guy and if you said anything bad about Jeremy, she reported it to him, and he would claim you were a witch and a Satan worshiper and they wouldn't talk to us anymore.

He had come to Roxanne's aid when she had been eighteen and had spent all of the money she got from her father's death. He had hung out when she had money for awhile, but had been thrown in prison for a year. Her boys wouldn't listen to her at this time, she was addicted to pills and would hide in her bedroom. She slept all the time. Jeremy imposed himself on her, and decided to leach onto her vulnerable situation and become some kind of overlord for the family. Roxanne saw it at the time like he booted her into shape. He forced her to get out of bed and make food and engage. He forced her to take care of herself. He instilled discipline to her sons. In her mind, he transformed their household and recreated her purpose in life. He treated Roxanne's children like it was bootcamp 24-7. He was so fucking phony, pretending he was some kind of sergeant and child rearing expert. He loved nothing more than to brag about himself with Roxanne massaging his feet. It was too much. Meanwhile, He left bruises and marks on the kids, and CPS was called on more than one occasion. The kids were of course trained to lie to the authorities. I know one of his disturbing games was to take one of the kids arms or legs and bend it just so it was on the brink of breaking.  They would scream and cry and Roxanne looked shaken and upset about these incidences, but she would sort of mentally shut down, and go deeper into her obsession with him. Almost doubling down on her brainwashing.

Roxanne talked about him like he was almost a biblical figure. He was, or rather, he saw himself a fundamentalist Christian (at least the creepy parts that he liked). He believed Catholics were serving the antichrist and he talked about this all the time. He convinced Roxanne she deserved the punishment because of Eve's original sin, so whenever I tried to passively let Roxanne know that she didn't deserve something, she would go onto say that Eve had brought the suffering down upon her head. She gave up any control she had over to him including her children. He controlled her drugs in order to have more power over her – keeping her at an amount where he felt she was somewhat functional, in order to maintain her level of sobriety enough to where she could still  cook and clean for him.

Jeremy was also a very sick pervert. He cheated on Roxanne occasionally, had this really disturbing collection of fake snuff and hardcore rape porn pictures he kept in a box in the closet. Roxanne showed me years later. If you got off on this stuff, honestly, you were a sick person. And nobody knew about this till way later, but when he had been eighteen he had tied up a thirteen year old neighbor girl and raped her. No charges were pressed for whatever reason. He had done time for stabbing his ex girlfriend with a pencil. He would get these moments of blind rage and his eyes would go black. He claimed to blackout when he became violent. He was a horrid and gross person – it's hard to describe having to swallow that much disgust for someone and smile for the sake of the situation. When he moved to our mother's he took over the house like it was his. He convinced Roxanne eventually to stop talking to all of us later on when they moved out.

You couldn't tell Roxanne any of this though. It's like somewhere deep down she already knew, but wouldn't accept it. If you started talking poorly about Jeremy Frye, even if she had a moment of clarity about her situation, she would soon turn on you and 'turn' you in to him like he was some kind of headmaster to you as well. I felt that in order to help her and her family, I had to be nice to this disgusting creep. And I found ways to do it. It's not how I like to be. I don't like sucking up to bad people. Inside, though I would never partake in doing anything, I would like to kill people like Jeremy. Not out of emotional hatred, but a sort of pleasure of ridding the world of something that bad. But given how fickle my living situation was, given that I was succeeding as an emotional statue, I was afraid to react to anything naturally. Perhaps I was afraid that my most natural reaction would be to kill him. That realization in and of itself caused me to find other means of coping at any cost.

When he moved in, he talked to me about Christianity a lot. I used this subject as a way to tinker with his ego. He randomly would believe that my mother was being possessed by Satan. I went along with it. I started doing this weird mental game where I would train myself in these horrendous situations to agree with people. I did it with Jeremy, my fathe and my mother. I learned how to do it with anyone, and I don't feel bad about it. For one, I didn't have the option of freaking out, at least I didn't feel I did. And life is like that. If you are desperate, or poor you do not have the option of opting out or ruining your opportunities by reacting naturally. So you have to learn to lie when you need to. Plus, it was a challenge for me. To a degree I find that I can empathize with anyone to such an extent, that I can for a short time, take on their perspective. That wasn't why I was friendly with Jeremy though. It was practice for the future, but at the time I felt Jeremy's presence in and of itself was an extreme threat to my being. I was afraid of causing a riff. I didn't want Jeremy to kill someone in my family. And Roxanne didn't have anyone in her life anymore. She was alone. Her friends had deserted her, if not when she ran out of money, than when Jeremy decided she couldn't have friends anymore that wasn't him or his own haggish mother.

What little time she had with me was all the time she really got to spend with anyone. I didn't want to ruin that – as I felt like when she was truly ready to leave him, she was going to need someone to talk to. With that said, I hated Jeremy Frye with every fiber of my being. But in this hatred, and in this situation, I was able to analyze power and what power really meant in the exchanges between people. Breaking human beings and their behaviors down, you really see an intricate web of power struggles. It's something that effects nations as well as families. It plays into every facet of our lives. It's something that is demonstrated in the very architecture of our system of thought. We are designed for this power struggle in some very basic way, and we get integrated into the power struggle as individuals based on our positions in society. This on a side note is why sociology interests me, why I believe racism is far from over, and it gives me a greater understanding of religion, cults, jobs, foreign relations, and dictators. I had so much time to compare these micro-power-plays in my everyday life in these ugly years. There was so much ugly content in my life, that I couldn't escape. I gained insight of myself that was far from pleasant. Being relatively weak in some areas of my life,  I have had to learn how to analyze the game and how it is played – I try to see deeply into people. I study their values, their motives, their feelings, insecurities and mannerisms. Maybe I was compensating for not being really able to personally play these games myself since I was so extremely and totally isolated. Psychoanalyzing people can give you a closeness with people on the whole.

I would pretend to agree with Jeremy wholeheartedly, and I found my ability to do so very fascinating. I liked to study my own psychology while I did so. I found ways to lie and tell the truth at the same time. I found ways to flatter and convince people in subtle ways, to give them weird power to see what they would do with it, but at the same time using my own naturally honest nature to be unseemly about it. I learned how to deep sea dive in the concepts that were put out there and I learned to entertain ideas without accepting them. I said things that made inner me disgusted to the very fiber of my being, but I trained myself to temporarily entertain the notion that I was telling the truth and therefore strengthen that lie. Obviously, aside from preventing conflict, I wasn't getting much out of this directly. It wasn't really fun for me. I was very lonely. I was surrounded by people I couldn't trust. In fact, I was probably being self destructive in how far I could push myself to gain trust. I was learning.

By psychoanalyzed how Jeremy thought, I was able to take what I had learned about his functioning and apply it to other things. This is of course not to say that I had never in any way tried this before. But I had never treated it like a science project. Of course, not everyone is some lesser or greater version of Jeremy. Most people aren't quite mentally built like him obviously. This was just one type of person – a narcissist essentially. But most of us are capable of some level of narcissism or power corruption given the right set of circumstances. I have found those traits in my own personality at times. It's something universal about the human ego. But Jeremy was a monster and I don't think that should be ignored. Most people are better than him. There is an enormous and vast wealth of mystery about human beings, and kindness. I do not want to give the false impression that I think at the core we are all bad.

For the record too, this is also not the way I typically do business. I hated having to become someone who studies people. It is fine now that I am older. I can sort of shut it off and have fun once in awhile. I have enough grace to not let myself analyze strangers. But being in the situation where I had to learn these traits of power dominance and deceiving the enemy hurt something innocent about myself. I became to a degree, morally ambiguous. But I would not call myself a corrupt person these days. I like to try to believe in the spirit of ideas, regardless of how I see the world as a sea of power plays and chaos overlapping a great nothingness that we all are running from. I am in part, blindly hopeful about human beings and what we are capable of. But at the same time, I am also bleak about life's great purpose ultimately and I wish I was not. I cannot shake myself from that part of my thinking ever. But I do find a sort of beauty to living at a different frequency than all that – and most days I am able to escape it all. I really, if anything, like to use my inquisitiveness to get to know people in a way that is more meaningful. I rarely get the opportunity to get to know a person. I like getting to know people, but I don't like them getting to know me. Even my writing this extremely open tale of my life, I am hiding behind my words.

Being really psychoanalytical is my way of compensating for the fact that I am quiet, terrible at small talk, often times daydreaming or zoning out, slightly anxious, and most people don't understand me very well. I don't think I am pretty enough or smart enough. I feel like a loser a great deal of the time. I feel broken. I want to reach out to people and experience friendship, but after my preteen years when my personality underwent considerable development, I lost the unique gift of simply exist among other people. It's hard to explain. Secondly, it's my way of mapping out danger. I want to know people's weaknesses, not to exploit them, but to know what I must do to either help them, or escape them. If you have corrupt leaders in your life who control you, or control someone you care about, then it's highly important that combat that. It's also important to be able to see that behavior in yourself. When I fight someone I hate, I only have two approaches. Physically attack and murder them, or undermine them. Since murder is illegal in today's society for good reason, I cannot just get to killing people no matter what they do or don't deserve. I don't believe in it. I don't believe in killing animals even. I am not for the death penalty.  Creating death is not what I am about. So my only real weapon is to quietly slip into enemy lines and do damage that way, gaining trust- undermine the enemy that way. Talking and getting along with Jeremy was my way of practicing.

I wish I could explain happier times. To me, I see this chapter of my story as one of my most negatives to date. I realize that it would only be fair to add a trigger warning on it. I feel like I talked about murder and rape and brokenness and negative aspects of the human ego more than I would want to, and more than people should probably have to hear. I feel gross having to explore that. I haven't thought about Jeremy for years, and I can feel his negative vibes in the room with me. But it had to be explained. It was a part of life. I don't think I could just lightly graze the seriousness of these topics, and move on.

I do have to say though that certain books and music kept me sane during these times. Painting, even though it created that great mysterious anxiety kept me sane. Kurt Vonnegut, and Robert Pirsig, who wrote the Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Lila; an Inquiry into Morals gave me this strong groundwork to my belief systems. They gave me perspective on living. I remember the day I read that book. I had a fever for two days. Finally, I was sweating the fever away, and I picked up that book. Something about the intensity of having a fever while I read Zen and Art of Motorcycle Maintenance burned that book into the motherboard of my reality. I became an even wiser person. I became more aware of my own contradictions as a person. While the people around me simply seemed to respond to life in this mindless way, I felt like I had taken a step back and was truly in some way seeing the world for what it was for the first time. It was liberating, and it felt horrible. Out there in the world, I should have been getting my first job, meeting new friends, finding a boyfriend. I should have had my health issues dealt with, both physically and mentally. I should have gone to school. But instead I did not. All I had were these books, and my own thoughts. I had secret moments where I would let myself come out and be myself sometimes, alone while I was walking in the graveyard near my mother's apartment. Sometimes, I would fast for a few days to reset my brain. I still kept Zack tucked away in my heart. I don't know what use those memories did me in those years, but I suppose remembering times where you really felt something real in the past have value when you mostly let yourself feel almost nothing. Zack was genuinely beginning to sink away in my thoughts. I tried to revive him. But by this time, I was a different person than I had been. I didn't know if I even agreed with a single thing Zack had said. He started losing his profound attributes, he started seeming a little bit silly. I still remembered when he told me that everyone in the world deserved love, and I thought about that a lot. But as for who I was now, and who Zack had become, I had no information. I wasn't so sure he would even like me now.

I listened to a lot of Bob Dylan. I sort of deceived myself into believing that Bob Dylan was a friend of mine. He became my best friend in my innermost thoughts. When I listened to Bob Dylan I felt like he was talking to me through the music. Obviously, I didn't literally believe that he was, but the music itself and a piece of who he was had sort of become a piece of the timeless cosmos, individual from Bob Dylan's literal existence. His music was my best friend. This is not to say that Sarah was not still a friend. I just didn't feel her. Her life was in Texas now. She had no idea what it was like going through what I had been going through. I wasn't mad about that. I did try to explain my life, and for what it's worth, she did empathize. Sarah's life hadn't gone exactly as she had hoped in Texas. When she moved there, her and Alex tried to write one song together, which quickly fell apart and they ended up living in a part of the his parent's house sleeping and eating all day. Eventually, they got summer jobs as bus washers at this water park in Texas called The Schlitterbahn. They only got five dollars an hour. Sometimes they would just not go to work and nobody would notice. But Sarah's life lost direction. She missed me terribly, and if I had allowed myself to feel, I missed her terribly as well. We wrote one another all the time. In a way, I think our friendship became more balanced and meaningful after she left. I started reading the Stephen King books that had been my grandma's. I read The Stand, and several others. Aside from Stephen King, and Sarah-Mae, I had MySpace. People seemed to like me quite well there. Nobody knew I was living in a bathtub. Which felt kind of nice.

PART 62 - https://tinyurl.com/ybjrvccn

PART 61 - https://tinyurl.com/ybm99k8o

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-60 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far). 

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/okay-so-i-am-posting-another-part-of-my-life

[angeltriestoblog]

I watched a couple of movies! (April roundup)

I’m glad to announce that I finally found a way to rave about the movies I’ve watched without boring you all to death, driving myself to the brink of insanity, and damaging my eyesight even more. Instead of giving a comprehensive review on each one, I decided to give you my top picks for every month in an attempt to convince you to watch these life-changing pieces of cinema! Maybe someday I could include some of the worst I’ve seen as well because it's easier (and more fun) to point out the flaws I spot.

So without further ado, here are the creme of the crop for the month of April!

Philadelphia (1993, dir. Jonathan Demme) ★★★★★

This superbly crafted film was one of the first in Hollywood to tackle the issue of HIV/AIDS—and with the right amount of sensitivity—during a time when discrimination against victims was at its most rampant. That fact alone makes it deserving of the praise, recognition, and accolades it has collected over the years. Add to that the remarkable performance of Tom Hanks as Andy Beckett, the lawyer fired from the prestigious firm he works for who enlists the help of Joe Miller (Denzel Washington) to take this matter to court. His dedication to the role is evident not only in his dramatic weight loss but the intensity of the emotions he brings to all of his scenes. Though I know a lot of audiences are concerned that the account is told mainly from Miller’s perspective, I found this aspect crucial to his growth as a character and the movie’s effectivity as a call to empathy and compassion.

Certified Copy (2010, dir. Abbas Kiarostami) ★★★★½

It's so difficult to review this without giving away what makes it different from anything that's ever been made, probably. But then again, even if I dive deep into the plot and provide my theories, I doubt it’ll make sense so I’ll say this. Certified Copy is a mind-bender of an arthouse film disguised as a love story of the Before Sunset variety. It’s a deceivingly linear tale of a French woman known only as “She” (Juliette Binoche) who goes to a book signing and offers to explore the city of Tuscany with the author (William Shimell). His work asserts that the reproduction of a certain thing possesses as much value as the original, so much so that it can even take its place. The extent to which this is true is shown in the many ways their relationship changes in the span of a single afternoon. It’s normal to be frustrated once you’ve finished it. I had a “What the hell?” moment myself and had to rewatch some parts a few more times. But once you realize that the plot is an artifice, like fiction and art itself, that’s when you come to terms with how real it actually is.  

The Farewell (2019, dir. Lulu Wang) ★★★★★

This is practically Wang's two-hour thesis on why grandmothers are the best people on the planet and we don’t deserve them. It's not like I needed an external source to prove it was true but I adored it anyway. This Oscar snub is “based on a true lie”: Nai Nai (Zhao Shuzhen), the matriarch of a Chinese clan, is diagnosed with cancer, and her loved ones go to extreme lengths to keep it a secret from her. I appreciated the accurate depiction of the mess that is the Asian extended family: immigrant parents, their first-generation kids, and the relatives they left behind at the homeland under one roof can only mean endless bickering and picking at old wounds. But in all seriousness, its grasp of human emotions—as seen in the brilliant acting performances and authentic dialogue—reels you in instantly and keeps you emotionally invested and painfully waiting for the heartbreaking (?) conclusion.

Interstellar (2014, dir. Christopher Nolan) ★★★★★

In what is arguably Nolan’s most complex and ambitious work yet, we find Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) in what appears to be a shadow of the Earth we live in right now. After a fateful turn of events, he is tapped by NASA to carry out a mission in search of a habitable world for the human population. Rarely do we see a creative project that aspires to be everything at once and succeeds with flying colors. Interstellar is that gem for me. It pushes the limits of our imagination and tests the very boundaries of science and space while serving as a reminder of what it means to be human. It may clock in at 167 minutes but I think that if the run time had been cut down, it would be impossible to do justice to this multi-faceted story. In fact, with the emotionally resonant performances by the cast as well as the phenomenal score (Hans Zimmer, you are a god) and cinematography, I am honestly willing to see another three hours of extra footage.

Mommy (2014, dir. Xavier Dolan) ★★★★½

This… was a lot. I remember watching this first thing in the morning a couple of weeks ago, and not being able to do anything of importance for the entire day since I was too busy wondering if I’ll ever be suitable for the lifelong commitment that is motherhood. This award-winning, affecting tale revolves around Die Despres (Anne Dorval), a struggling journalist and single mom to Steve (Antoine Olivier Pilon), her hyperactive, abusive son diagnosed with ADHD. Although a law had been passed in Canada which lets cash-strapped parents place their troubled kids in hospitals, she refuses to give him up and takes him under her wing: after all, they’re best at loving even when it’s hard. What unfolds after makes it hard to tell how the whole thing ends, but it’s a visually arresting and thought-provoking experience anyway. Dolan also possesses a strong command of the language of filmmakers: critics agree that its most notable aspect is the fact that it was shot in a 1:1 aspect ratio, which allowed me to assume the position of a next-door neighbor peering through their living room window.

Frances Ha (2012, dir. Noah Baumbach) ★★★★★

Before Greta Gerwig was the director extraordinaire we know her to be, she was Frances Halladay, an aspiring dancer who moves to New York City with her best friend and comes face to face with several, consecutive life crises. Her reality couldn’t be any further removed from mine (as a 19-year-old student on the complete opposite side of the world), but it remains highly relatable. At their core, her problems are rooted in a fear of loneliness and failure—just like the rest of us! Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it’s in black-and-white: to give the movie a sense of timelessness since it tackles themes and issues that remain universal and prevalent across generations. I loved Frances as a protagonist, though she far from perfect: she’s immature and petty and quite frankly, she had no clue what she was doing until the last 15 minutes—just like me! And yet she powered through in the end, which gives me hope that I’ll be able to do the same.

Fight Club (1999, dir. David Fincher) ★★★★½

Believe it or not, despite its straightforward title and predominantly male fanbase, I was completely taken aback when the unnamed narrator (Edward Norton) and Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) started beating each other up in the middle of a parking lot—the very event that led to the establishment of their underground fight club. What initially appears to be a man’s search for a way out of the boring humdrum of his everyday existence evolves into a structural analysis of consumer capitalism and critique of toxic masculinity. There’s a lot of gore and violence but I pulled through thanks to the stunning visuals, unpredictable plot, and Brad Pitt’s beautiful face. Although the twist towards the end wasn’t exactly revolutionary for me because it kind of resembled Primal Fear (1996), it was still a mind-blowing and fitting conclusion to this cult classic.

Pretty Woman (1990, dir. Garry Marshall) ★★★★★

This modern-day Cinderella story about a hooker who falls in love with a wealthy businessman has become problematic for my generation. There are a ton of essays on Letterboxd attempting to start discourse on its ethics, calling it out for its misogynistic undertones, and criticizing it for being unrealistic. I actually saw a review that said it indirectly promotes prostitution as a means to get ahead in life, which could wrongly influence teenage girls. (How stupid do you think we are?) At the end of the day, this is a romantic comedy—and an outstanding one, at that! This probably has the most equal distribution of swoon-worthy scenes and laugh-out-loud moments out of all the romcoms I’ve watched, and we have the lead actors’ insane chemistry and the consistently witty script to thank. Needless to say, Julia Roberts is an absolute delight as Vivian Ward and it’s only fitting that it was this particular role that catapulted her to superstardom. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna rewatch this then proceed to play It Must Have Been Love for another 70 times.

The Fundamentals of Caring (2016, dir. Rob Burnett) ★★★★★

I genuinely think that everything Paul Rudd touches turns to gold. Here, he plays Ben, caretaker to Trevor (Craig Roberts), a sarcastic teen suffering from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. Together, they make a spur-of-the-moment decision to take a cross-country road trip to see several roadside attractions and of course, come to terms with their own issues. I admit that my love for this comes with the acute awareness that if I had found it on Netflix at a different time, I wouldn’t have appreciated it as much. It’s fairly predictable, it doesn’t strive towards anything complex or require much reflection on our part but it ties together neatly and satisfyingly in the end—truly a perfect comfort film! The equivalent of the warm, 10-second-long, oxytocin-inducing hug that we all need and can't have right now, given the state of our world!

Edit (05/09/20): I’m currently binge-watching Timothee Chalamet interviews and he just told Stephen Colbert that he had auditioned for this but wasn’t accepted for the job. Imagine him and Paul Rudd together... the visual power that duo would hold... I would miss the point of the movie entirely.

So, that’s it for this month! I’ve actually been spending more time writing lately but I hope I can continue to squeeze in something to watch into my schedule so I can actually be consistent with this series. Till next time! Exciting things up ahead! Wishing you love and light always, and don’t forget to wash your hands, check your privilege and pray for our frontliners!

[sanguinesprout]

It’s been ever so rainy and cold lately... (gloomy feels and stuff about money, re-motivating myself and general updates)

I’m... gnnrgh... I’m sad. And confused. And tired. And feeling quite hopeless once more, why must it be so? Man, this sucks :<

I feel like I don’t know what I ‘m doing again and even though I know there’s stuff to do I keep distracting myself with pointless things and driving myself crazy with all the conflicted feelings and anxiety inside... The bouts of frustration and migraines are cropping up and spiralling outta control like nobody’s business and beating my down so badly ;^; 

It’s just there’s too much cooped up in my head. Too many things to worry about, too many things I want to say and do but I feel I can’t because of the fear trapping it all in and the pressure just continues to build up and it hurts and feels so constricted in my head, my heart and just everywhere. I wish I could gather my thoughts and just get things under control and running smoothly like other people can but it’s just so hard and so exhausting just trying. 

I need to stop and refocus myself, calm my mind and chest, c’mon I can do it..! I’m struggling now but I’ll be fine, I’ll find my way out of the storm and I’ll be able to see and breathe clearly again, it’s going to be okay... so don’t worry yourself so much, you're trying and that’s enough... *hugs self*

Welp... ran outta time to write and it became the next...next(?) day. Time meaning space to be all secretive and weird contemplative as my sis came home and I didn’t want to feel on edge. Why am I like this...? :< 

I got real sad again later, thinking and being reminded of my much less than ideal financial situation and joblessness got me in such a low mood. The loneliness and want for attention or some kind of reassurance or help kinda crawled out and just sat there too. Money is such a troublesome thing, I regret the times in the past where I whittled it almost completely away by frivolously buying unnecessary amounts of things of interest (probably to try cheer myself up). The happiness from material items is only temporary, fleeting and quickly forgotten. I’m such a wasteful person in so many ways orz. But I’ve learned from my mistakes! (Mostly... kinda... lol) So that’s something! :D

I’ve really been wanting to buy a new phone because mine is so old and dysfunctional in too many ways to list and I’ve been suffering with it for half a decade because I didn’t want to waste money or for my parents to waste their money on me. There were a few times in the past and even recently where I had a chance to get a new one or few times I did purchase a new phone but swiftly returned it either because I felt guilty about it or it just wasn’t right cause I’m so damn nit picky. I don’t want to keep waiting because I have done it so much already, waiting and missing opportunities... I don’t even know how to phrase what I’m trying to say or what even I am trying to say .__. 

Some people don’t even have a phone at all, it makes me feel like such a spoilt and horrible person but it really is in need of replacing... It’s just I don’t have an appropriate amount of funds or that I am aiming for something of the calibre that I don’t need but just want. If I had that new and functional phone I feel like it would bring back some of my lost motivation and give more opportunity for me to try harder to grow my skills also. Photography and other creative skills, social skills, those kinds of things which I’ve yearned to improve but lack the equipment or means to carry out. I bet I sound so damn ridiculous right now, I don’t even...

Right before my eyes my sister got a new phone, she’s had a few in the span I’ve had one, but it’s true, she can afford to because she has a job. I’m happy for her but I know I am envious too, not just that she has a phone, but that she has a job, that she’s not scared to try or to put herself out there etc etc. Also when someone really wants something and has been holding back but someone else just gets it right in front of them, it just idk it kinda stings and brings on those nasty emotions. Everyone tells me to get a job and then I can spend or save money, and of course I know this too. It sounds so simple to them and even to me sometimes and I just wish I could but there’s so many health factors and stupid fears holding me back, it’s so hard. I’m so weak... But, I can’t give up trying, I’ll get there someday.

Anyways enough of that, I’ll figure it out, it’s not of major importance right now. I worry all the time about being a burden to my family financially, we’re definitely not well off in terms of money or health or anything and I don’t want to bring anymore strain to it :< Those whole few sections of garble were so negative and gloomy and unimportant. I feel like such an ass... but this blog is here so I can vent and write out my real feelings... it’s okay... it’s fine, it’s good to do so, keep going..! ><

*Le few days later* Uh... uh what was I saying? @.@ Lolol I was originally gonna post on the day after my first therapy appointment but then I got lazy/avoidy and thought I’d wait till after the next one, but then I changed my mind again and welp, now the next app is tomorrow, oh well xD

*le even moar days later* Hah! Now it’s been another whole week... mega ||ORZ...!!!!1 I remember I was going to write about how the therapy went but I think I’ll put it in a separate post just to keep things more organised and less lengthy, makes sense mmm k! I’ll continue with my other misc updates I guess ^^

Welp, I got a new phone... Though there’s that niggling feeling of guilt still there (especially since my parents will only get handy downs from my sister to save money), I’m glad I was able to do so and I’m very thankful to my family members that helped me obtain it both financially and physically. I chose one that is on the expensive side, but not too bad in terms of other phones on the same level which are considerably much much more pricey. It’s one that feels like great value for the spec it has and I hope it lasts me lots of years without messing up, I have a bit of a curse when it comes to technology lol. 

I can do all sorts on it which I couldn’t do before, from some of the more basic stuff to some cool new stuff, it feels really refreshing but makes me kinda nervous too. I can actually download and use the tumblr app there, I’m hoping I can make use of it now that it is finally functional and easily accessible. I want to make a lot of good memories with it, snippets of daily life with my family, some creative stuff, whatever I choose to do online with it and that kind of stuff C:

In terms of life skill improving/adulting these past weeks I actually cooked my first sort of dish all by myself! It was fish cakes ^^ It was when I went to my sister’s house again for some more crafting time. I was actually having a crappy day/was in a super low mood that day (which got worse being in the same environment as last time) and actually had a bit of a breakdown on the journey to the supermarket to get ingredients. Idk... I was just so hesitant and scared and avoidant and got into a bit of an argument with my sis who was driving and all the sort of thoughts that had been bringing me down lately just surfaced again all at once and I tried so hard not to but the tears just came busting out.

I cried so hard and so pathetically and while I know it is not a bad thing to cry and rather a good one to let things out I just didn’t want to feel so weak in front of my sister or in front of shoppers that may pass by in the car park. I know... crying =/= weak but feeling so emotionally vulnerable, it just sucks. I didn’t cry for too long even though the intensity of my sob-fest one was one of the strongest I’ve ever had, because I still wanted to go in, get my ingredients and cook my first dish. I wanted to do this to prove to myself and my parents that I’m capable, I can learn to be independent, that I’m not useless... I’m not, I won’t be, I can do this!

My sister encouraged me and comforted me, telling me stories of when she had also cried in the car during stressful occasions with her boyfriend or with dad. I want to mention again how grateful I am to have her, even though our lines get crossed and we stress at each other a lot, she is there for me and I want to be there for her too when she needs it. It was because of her that I have the opportunity and the boost of motivation to try cooking something on my own.

I sat in the car in the corner of the car park (which she kindly moved to by my request) and when I had calmed down enough and wasn’t so puffy we went in and looked for the ingredients together. When it came to getting fresh produce I also learned how to use the labelling scale machine by my sis’ instruction which felt like something great too! ^^ I mean it probably sounds super lame and straight forward but if I was on my own I probably wouldn’t of even tried or had a bit of a panic. Idk... I just feel like for new things, witnessing someone’s demonstration or instruction is much more helpful and I’ll feel less like I’d make a fool of myself.

Okay so I got the stuff and then I made it following a brief internet recipe. My sister left me to do it all myself while she did her stuff upstairs after getting out all the necessary equipment for me so there wasn’t really much pressure unlike what it’d probably be like if I did it at home. It did take me much longer than I though it would but I was very careful about everything and as I am a noob I did make some small mistakes, but I was proud I did it! I wonder if my parents were too..? 

I finished cooking them at home (which my mum wanted my dad to do for me but I was adamant on doing it myself) and my parents tried one fish cake each over supper, though it was not perfect they were not mean to me about it which was nice. I thought my dad might be more critical and at first I thought he was a bit annoyed at me but I think he can see my efforts and how excited about it I was. It was fun and it has given me more motivation to try something else next time. I’m glad I tried, pursued something and competed it even though I was trying to get out of it last minute. I’ll give myself a pat on the back, because I did it! :D

I also went to visit my grandma with my family yesterday, which is something I have not done in probably a year or so. That’s kind of one of the other things I think about a lot and am also kind of envious of others about... I am not close with any of my relatives and it feels like a chore for my family to visit or be visited by them. I wish there wasn’t this language barrier or this physical and emotional distance between me, my family and my relatives, it blows.

It was nice seeing her and she had a good chat with my parents (though mostly random negative health stuff and gossip) and little with me and my sis. I noticed my mum doesn’t seem that close with her, look at her much and only chipped in to conversations at times while my dad generally was the one to initiate and continue the chatting. It feels... Idk... it makes me sad of course. But I wonder if it is because she doesn’t like seeing her mum growing old and living on her own, that it reminds her she is also getting old which is always on her mind too as well as it just being that way. When we were leaving I hugged my grandma, it wasn’t a proper bear hug or anything, just a pat on the back loose gesture because she probably didn’t expect it. I’ve never hugged her before after all, but I wanted to and no language barrier can get in the way of it. My sister followed and did the same too. It brought back an element of warmth and closeness which fizzled out when I couldn’t converse earlier. I want to spend more time with my family and relatives, I need to try harder.

Though I feel as if I haven’t done much on the surface, these things I did recently to do with family and therapy felt like such big and meaningful steps and I hope to continue even more. Also I said I was going to post stuff that I made to my main blog and to other places a long while back and and I have been hesitating and holding back out of fear and uncertainty non-stop. Well, I’m gonna start doing it for reals real soon. There’s no rules and there’s no need to overthink it, it’s just a place to store my progress and memories in essence but in a slightly more open space. I have the material, the means and I’m gonna try my best to grasp onto the motivation, I can’t keep excusing myself for those any more and I most certainly can’t let my silly fears win! 

I should probably get to writing my therapy posts and getting all my other important health things done and organised too. C’mon I can do this! I came on and continued writing this post even though I was struggling and scared to, another one should be a piece of (sour but refreshingly zesty lemon) cake! *salivates*

Mmm...alrighty, off I go! >:D (Maybe some lazy time first though my eyes huuurt @w@)

Have a nice evening and keep kicking butt~! ^^

[honeybeebetty]

There's no magic pill

The thing about depression is that there is no magic pill to fix it; even after 2 years of therapy, it still comes back to me, though perhaps a bit weaker and wounded than it used to. What people often fail to understand is that there are so many different reasons for depression; it can be trauma induced, medication triggered, it can be loneliness manifested into something greater, it can be the chemicals in your head, the food you eat, the drugs you take, and a combination of the lot. Although there are certain symptoms that categorise it, there are also categories of depression, like a sliding scale. Not everyone who is depressed is suicidal, so talking to them as if you need to encourage them to live is often unhelpful. 

Years ago I named mine after a japanese mythological creature, Ashi-magari; it never was something that I just suddenly woke up with, though it could feel like that. It would ever so carefully start to creep into my life, tripping me up, stealing light, and covering my path. I’d awake to find its tentacle wrapped around my ankles, unable to move. If it came alone, without anxiety, I would feel nothing. That nothingness is the most horrifying thing in the world.

Have you ever been around people you love unable to feel their love, nor your feelings of love towards them? There is no love, no sadness, no loss; there is only an absence of everything. You feel no sadness towards the emptiness because you don’t remember how to feel sad. You don’t remember how to feel anything, and so you begin to sink down to the floor. Time changes; you are in one time zone, while the rest of the world is in another. If there is someone who helps you to feel it can be all you cling to, but you fear damaging them too, especially if this is not your first round with the monster and you know what is to come. As for the others, the ones who care for you and know your monster too, they will know very quickly because of this absence of feeling. The ones who know you and your creature will have also come to learn your cycles, your signals, and your needs.

I know this round will be short lived, but it is still the same monster; it is not weaker, I just have more armor and weaponry. Yesterday I could barely utter more than a few words, and could feel nothing. I worked for a few hours and then went home, cocooning myself in bed. The moment my husband came home and touched my hand I was flooded with feeling, which is something I have never experienced before. I clung to him for the rest of the night, even in our sleep. This morning I feel a little less absent, but I won’t truly know until I get into work as I am always alone in the mornings. I’m one train stop away and I don’t really know what to expect. There is no apprehension, no fear, nothing really. All I know for certain is that I need to stop soon. Stop everything. Not die, just withdraw and recuperate.

As it turns out, I wasn’t ready to be back at work just yet. I was there for less than half an hour and ended up going home again. My colleague suggested it would be better to take one more day. The problem with that is the words she uttered were “It’s not fair on everyone around you”. If I had any sense of emotion I know I would feel sad and angry about that statement. Even if it is true, it is possibly one of the worst things you can say to someone who is struggling with their own existence. On Monday I had the old compulsions to walk quietly in front of moving vehicles (cars, busses, trucks, trains). Again, it’s not that I wanted to die; it is a compulsion I have lived with for a very long time. I don’t imagine people crying for me afterwards, whether in hospital or at my funeral. All I see and feel is myself walking into the path of that vehicle. I see, hear, and feel only silence, and so to be told my existence is not fair on those around me, well I’m just glad my feelings didn’t come back.

This experience has been quite surreal. I don’t feel like I am anywhere, nor am I anything. I don’t feel like I have a specific place in this world, but I am not saddened nor angered by it. There are no monsters telling me terrible things like they used to; There is just nothingness. I can laugh, and I can smile, but I don’t feel the emotions connected to the reactions. It’s like my body knows the reactions to have, and my mind understands the logical next step of what is right, and what is wrong (to a degree), but any emotional compulsion that would normally carry across has vanished. I’ve tried to make myself cry, thinking horrible things and focussing on a pet who I normally miss so dearly I cry at the thought of… but nothing happens. I have mild anxiety about work, but only at the unknown of how people will treat me. The thing is, even though I want to just be alone at home, the best thing for me is to just get back to work and be around people.

If you’re ever curious to learn what depression is like, and can’t quite understand it from what I have written or what people have told you, I strongly suggest watching the movie Melancholia. I watched it at a very low point before starting medication and therapy and I grieved for days due to the way it so perfectly portrayed the disease. My husband felt terrible for showing it to me, but it was also possibly the first step towards him being able to reach me in the place I was living at the time.

Today is day four, and I am beginning to feel better and more present. Last night I was able to reach out to a couple of my support network and begin engaging with people in a fun manner, even if I didn’t fully feel much. It is a strange sensation to laugh but not feel happiness. Work was a struggle, and I hit a wall halfway through the day almost falling asleep at my desk. I was adamant that no one was to tiptoe around me, particularly after that comment on day two. I made myself go to the gym in the hope that some endorphins would be released. Eating is still a struggle, with textures and aromas making me gag. As for sleep, dreams were coming thick and fast last night, so I believe part of my brain must be waking up again.

Returning to work after an episode, or towards the tail end of an episode, is such an awkward experience. There will be those who understand, those who really don’t, and those who don’t need to know why you were off “sick”. I’ve also worked through much worse episodes than this, so it is strange to even take leave at such a mild experience. Those words keep playing in my head though, “it’s not fair on everyone else”. The words of someone who has absolutely no idea. And then there’s my boss, who returned from a holiday while this was happening. As always, she knew what to say, how to treat me, and what my boundaries are. She saw me through the worst of it and has seen my growth, and my strength. Be gentle, be encouraging, but don’t tiptoe; the world still goes on around you.

My husband and I had a therapy session last night, which was excellent timing as it turned out to be a longer session. We’re working on conflict management skills, as two sensitive and strongly opinionated people. Plus it really helps with my background as I wasn’t taught how to manage conflict...or anything really. Anyway, at the beginning of the session I explained to our therapist what happened this week, how there was no catalyst, and that I just woke up one day and everything was gone; no good, no bad, just nothing. We talked through it, he probed a little checking that I wasn’t a suicide risk, and he was satisfied that it was simply my depression cycle breaking through and asked my other half to keep an eye on it. He was pleased with how I identified my risk factors and took the time to care for myself. It was actually quite a relief to hear him say that it was just my depression cycle as I’ve recently been wondering how it fits into my life now, after years of therapy and medication. It was a comfort to know that it will still be a part of my life, and that I haven’t failed because it visits from time to time.

I don’t really think there was any particular trigger to this episode; it’s the middle of the year and I’m a little burned out, with a couple of weeks until I have a full week off work, which I promised my therapist I would do. My body has been putting up a glorious fight with CFS/ME this year, and is winning more than it has for six years. I’m learning new skills at therapy that are really stretching my brain, and strengthening my marriage. I’m working at a higher intensity that I have for a long time as well, all while keeping my usual roadblocks at bay. The thing is, I’ve always had a lot going on so does this count as a trigger for me, or is it just my life? I don’t really think it is too important. There is never just one single element in anything, and just as there is no single magic pill to make my mind better, there is no single thing that makes my mind worse. This is my life, and I’m fighting to keep it.

[superludicrouslife]

What First Year was like

First year my friends wasn’t pretty. I’m not going to leave anything out. This post is to warn you of the possible dangers ahead because life can hold just as many terrible things as good. Until you take the university plunge, you’ve most likely been protected by your family and school from the real world, thus giving you an unrealistic view on it, which although enjoyable is dangerous. I’m going to briefly share with you what happened to me in 2016. It wasn’t fabulous but I think it’s important to share because all the things that happen are real and could happen to you. Read this, learn, be careful but also don’t let it stop you from going to university or anything like that. What happened to me is just an example of the dangers and won’t happen to you. Just learn from this, take care and do all that’s in your power to stop it from happening to you, that’s why I am writing this. I am sharing my experiences, so you don’t.

So, having seen my best friend start uni that following year, I’d seen what it could be like. Every situation is different but you can generalise and find similarities. While I was taking a year out, I stayed at hers a few times, experienced the city she was in and had a lovely time, she protected me.

Her flatmates were fun, normal, lovely and hilarious. We were all the same age and had fun cooking food, drinking, dressing up, going out and just generally enjoying our independence for the first time. Fresh from boarding school all i knew was that kind of life and adjusting seemed doable. My first year begun a year later.

The time finally came for me to move into my halls. Nervous as anything (who wouldn’t be) I arrived with an open mind. I mean, why wouldn’t you, don’t expect anything just take it as it comes. So, the first night of freshers week I spent in my room in the dark, my flat, empty my room smelt of paint thinner. Feeling uncomfortable, lonely and scared i told myself desperately that things would improve. my flatmates had yet to move in, it was freshers week bring on the parties. The next day they moved in, the first one a funny looking boy seemed nice, the next was from Greece and we introduced each other. The last one was a girl who seemed nice and there was our flat complete in all its gory.

The night I asked if they had a speaker, they said they did not. No matter, i brought my laptop out of my room and played music, we conversed, got to know eachother and i suggested that we should go out seeing as it was freshers week and thats what everyone else was doing. I contacted my friend from college who was in the accommodation around the corner and we had pre drinks at theirs. The guy from Greece i later found to discover didn’t speak english so I guess he didn’t want to hang out with us, that’s fine he can do what he wants. the other two didn’t seem too keen on going out, the first night the guy went home early and the girl looked like she’d seen a ghost the entire night. I did my best to look after her and delivered her home safely at the end of the night. After inviting them on nights out with my friends in the other accommodation, I gave up, clearly going out wasn’t something they enjoyed. Fair enough that’s fine, I’ll go out with my friends across the road. So that was set for the whole year, little did i know at the time. Perfectly nice people, but they didn’t seem to enjoy socialising at all but preferred watching tv in their rooms. This I didn’t realise was what sent me into a depression.

Now, I’m completely mentally healthy but i do struggle with slight problems with anxiety and OCD which are completely common, most people have these and they've never become out of control, I’m a normal person going about her normal life with some slight ailments, no big deal.

Little did i know that the loneliness could in fact take me down a mental illness pit that i wasn’t going to return from for a while. Social isolation and loneliness MUST be recognised, if not, somebody with a less sane mind than myself could take their own life and i’m sure they have. THIS MUST STOP

If you find yourself in a similar situation, MOVE

i didn’t realise that i could, i did apply but I'm from a family that has a ‘no quit’ attitude. They didn’t LET me say that i was having a bad time. ‘make friends’ they said ‘whats wrong with you’. no. there’s nothing wrong with me, my entire flat wanted nothing to do with anyone and all the other flats had their doors closed 24/7. I was alone, sure i knew them from flat parties and things but once those doors were shut, they were shut. at least those other people had individuals in their flats were wanted to party, have fun and do things like WATCH TV TOGETHER. I had NONE of this i had nothing. What was i supposed to do, go to a club BY MYSELF and just become best friends wtih a ransomer in the smoking area??? each day that i came home from uni, i opened my flat door, got into my stinking paint thinner room and cry, no one was there, no one to talk to, no one to even drink a cup of tea with or watch a movie?? that was ALL i wanted. oh did i forget to mention that the flat door was broken? the building was run down, i was paying ridiculous amounts of money to stay in a crappy accommodation where everything was broken. nobody bothered to lock the door so anyone could come in whenever they wanted, one day i discovered the kettle was gone. sure, my door was locked but any of the stuff in the living room was free for the taking.

What else was crappy, yeah so my bathroom STUNK. It was paint thinner or some kind of chemical who knows, every week my mum would pour shower cleaner down the loo and shower but nothing would stop it. no discount or anything just a year of having to hold my breath every time i went in there. The toilet door had no lock and it would jam shut so i was lucky to get out every time i went to the toilet. there was nowhere to put my toothbrush, there was just a sink so i spent a year dropping all of my belongings into the sink. once, the shower broke so they said i couldn't shower all weekend until the mechanic could fix it on the monday. imagine if i hadn’t made friends with the boy upstairs? I used his shower, but would if i hadn’t met anyone, i only met him through a miracle, he was downstairs having a cigarette.

the lock to my own room was dodgy, it locked me out a few times not to mention if i was locking it from the inside it would half break off your finger if you weren’t careful.

One night i went out with my friends from across the road. these, were normal, funloving people, who i had a great time with. there was a silver lining, finally. however this night one of the girls had a panic attack in the club and needed to go to A and E so i went with her. Getting in at 7am, my phone was out of battery and I’d misplaced my keys. What to do eh? Luckily the security man was patrolling and he let me in. what would i have done if he hadn’t been though? stuck on the streets that’s what.

I had a quick nap and STILL made it to uni. Oh by the way, no one at uni cared that i hadn't had a wink of sleep and i did miss some of the demonstration class, which they did not repeat. Yes, i care about my degree a great deal. anyway there was no way to lock my door or get in and out of the building without my keys so i went to reception and spent £50 on new ones. i later found the keys, which i’d left in another flat, my friend from next door sent me a message. This was about an hour after i’d purchased the new keys so i went down the reception to return them. I then discovered that they were nonrefundable. They’d conveniently failed to tell me this, but apparently it was my fault for not finding out for myself. So i was robbed basically. No matter, i said to myself, a spare key that’s good i can use it next time my room locks me out. can i just say, optimism runs out. Sometimes its good to make light of a situation but when its so awful you're just kidding yourself? stop, its unhealthy because you're convincing yourself that you are ok when you are not and so you won't try to fix what’s wrong.

so my friends from the other accommodation quite uni quite early on. I was left with no one, all but one girl who i owe so much to. she’s fab but i’ll keep her name anonymous. i spent at lot of time out of my disgusting flat at hers and she was fun to go out with, hilarious and gave me some normality. that’s all i wanted, just a small shred of normality that everyone around me was having except me. i had friends at uni and i joined a society but at the end of the day when you get ‘home’ and all there is is silence to greet you it can turn the sanest person mad. i used to put the tv on the pretend there were people.

When it was time for meals I would go to the shop opposite which didn’t sell fresh produce and i had skin reactions to the preservatives in the food. it was at this point that my mum was coming to see me most weekends just to keep me afloat. she would bring me healthy food from home, clean clothes and helped me through it all. If i didn’t have that i don;t know what i would have done. my family doesn’t let you quit, or our entire family and friends would frown upon you if you did so i didn’t have a choice really. i was just the spoilt rich girl who was too stuck up and picky to slum it in a dingy flat that wasn't up to her standard. to them, i just needed to man up, i was being a wimp, ‘it can’t be that bad’ they said. but it was. the loneliness ruined MY LIFE. it took away a year and more and i didn’t even know it. mental illness is dangerous because it creeps up on you, you only become aware of it when it’s bad enough and even then you’re not even sure if it’s there.

by some miracle i didn’t quit, but it came at a price.

my drinking became dangerous, i developed intense social anxiety because i was hanging around with the wrong people. they didn't care about me or know me and i didn’t care about or know them. I would go on nights out where i would drink just vodka by itself, i would wake up in my bed not knowing how i got there. sometimes boys would be in my bed, nothing had happened each time thank goodness because i had been so trashed, and they had taken me home which i have to be thankful for. it was at this point i knew this needed to stop. 

at mealtimes i would microwave a healthy ready meal and would drink a vegetable juice so i was getting healthy intake easily. however every time i went in there, the guy from Greece (still hadn’t got beyond saying hi) would cook meat. the oven was old and so the greasy smoke would fill the room hurting your eyes, i had to run in and out but just being in there was as little as two minutes would render your hair and clothes stinking of the smoke. when we left, we wiped down all the surfaces with wipes as the accommodation instructed us to clean the flat or we would be charged. little did i know it was getting revamped so there was little point of run to do this but anyway, another let down didn't come as a surprise. each wipe would be covered in a black, tar-lied substance. this was the residue from the oven smoke that landed on EVERYTHING. no one bothered to clean the flat apart from my mum and i.

I always made excuses for the Greek guy. i mean, he seemed nice but he didn't seem interested in getting to know me. he would only say hi and i tried on many occasions to get past this but he just took out his phone and pretended to speak to a friend on the other end. he would then play Spanish tunes loudly until 3am every night. 

the blemishes from my reactions to the crappy food from the shop would make my skin swell up and i got cellulitis. i went on antibiotics for my skin but they weren’t helping. i then picked at my face because i was so upset with my life, not knowing what i was doing i then scarred my skin which started the worst attack of dermatillomania i have ever had. I had welts on my chest and my face. my skin became so dry i went to the dermatologist and she gave me a new skin routine. but this didn’t cure my developing OCD. I used to sit in my room and worry and chant and pick which would then make everything worse and i then couldn't bare to shower because i couldn't bare to look at my skin. i would put lotions from the doctor on my skin but this would make it worse because it was sensitive so i would get more spots. i was taking rescue remedy which i had no idea that i was allergic to. this gave me more welts and swollen lumps on my chest-i was spiralling out of control. i would have panic attacks daily, unable to leave my room. the depression set in and i could barely get out of bed. it was at this point i went to the dermatologist again and he suggested i could be depressed. i didn't want anyone near me because i deemed myself disgusting, i would buy dresses that i couldn't wear in vague hopes it would give me incentive to stop picking so i could wear low cut tops and dresses again. 

the year of torture was nearly over and i decided to leave my skin alone, throwing out mirrors, using high quality skin products and just trying to work on myself. my family don’t really understand my condition but i did from my psychology knowledge from a level. i was pretty clued up and was aware of my symptoms, still unable to control them. i learnt that leaving your skin alone is more powerful than picking and i learnt to not look in the mirror when i showered. finally i was healed and it was summer time, i moved out of my stinking halls never to return. i didn’t even say good bye to my flatmates they weren’t even there the whole year.

First year was over. having only made some vague friends, i didn’t feel like anyone liked or cared about me. my OCD had got to the point where my head was so full of chanting i couldn’t think, it affected my work. i am enormously hardworking, always have but my work did suffer, i was suffering. the tutors didn’t seem to notice or care, i ended first year with an average grade, body dysmorphia, extreme anxiety, social anxiety, OCD, depression and dermatillomania. all because of a living situation.

if i could go back and tell myself to MOVE flats i would. if i could go back and get myself HELP i would. my flatmates weren’t mean or malicious, they simply weren’t THERE. PLEASE don’t let this happen to you or your friends or family. check on them regularly, and for goodness sake MOVE if it’s not good enough, i wish i had. there’s a difference between being a wimp and being intelligent. don't stay just because other people tell you you're just being weak, change because of whats best for YOU. Luckily for me I’m sane and so i didn’t try to kill myself or anything like that and never would, but i did get depressed and if someone less fortunate than me had the same situation they may have made an attempt on their own life. It happens all the time and universities need to be AWARE. loneliness is DANGEROUS, spread AWARENESS, SAVE lives

[delicatefury]

TDPL snippet - The Padawan Discussion, round 2.

I got 2 likes and a hell yes, so here’s the next NaNo snippet. I wrote it on it’s own because it was one of the scenes that begged to be written. It’s the second of three conversations regarding Luke and Leia’s potential as padawans and who will be teaching them.

These conversations are necessary because Obi-Wan, self-sacrificing, self-deprecating man that he is, long ago came to the conclusion that if Anakin had had any other choice, Obi-Wan probably wouldn’t have been his master (comparisons to Qui-Gon were distinctively effective in planting this idea). As such, he is determined to ensure the twins know that they can have any available master and refuses to claim them for himself. He doesn’t want them staying with him out of any sense of obligation or thought that they have no other options.

Stupid, yes, but he’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his master and student did wonders in building up his self worth.

So the Padawan discussion, Round 1 is between Luke and Leia. Round 3 is between Obi-Wan and the Council. Round 2, though, is Luke and Obi-Wan.

Also, slight, very slight Anakin bashing and less slight Jedi-defending ahead. 

Anyway, enjoy.

“I know… I know I made a big deal about being a Jedi like my Father,” Luke beings. “And I’m not taking it back,” he hastens to add. “I wanted to be a Jedi at first because he was. I guess I just wanted to know him in someway. But I didn’t wanna be a Jedi like my Father, y’know?”

Obi-Wan does not know. Luke has been adamant on preserving Knight Anakin Skywalker’s legacy. He’d made that very clear. To Master Yoda, to himself, to Vader, and especially to the Emperor. As a result, Obi-Wan finds himself puzzled trying to find the meaning behind Luke’s words.

“Why ever not? If any Jedi proved that attachments are not necessarily a bad thing, that they can save lost souls and bring them back to the light, I would think it would be your father. He certainly taught me quite a bit about it.”

“Yeah, but… I looked him up, y’know. Anakin. His Jedi career, I mean,” Luke says. He’s looking at his boots, at the desert wrappings he’s managed to keep despite otherwise acquiescing to the initiate uniform. “And you were right. I mean, I’ve met him, now.” The boy gives him a wry smile. “He is an amazing pilot, a great warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a good friend.”

Obi-Wan returns the smile, hearing his own words echoed back to him, twenty-odd years before they were said.

“But…” the boy trails off.

“But?”

“I don’t think he’s a very good Jedi.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrow rises at that. While he would not exactly argue, hindsight and all that, it was surprising hearing such a proclamation from Luke, the one person able to see the Light in Darth Vader.

“When Master Yoda died, I was alone. I still had you and Father around to advise me, but I was the only one who could rebuild the Jedi. So I had to decide what the Jedi were going to be.” The boy takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want us, well, me. I never had time to find anyone but Leia to be an ‘us’.” His smile turns rueful, and Obi-Wan thinks a look of such intense loneliness should not be on the face of a child so young. Obi-Wan remembers seeing that look on a young Anakin at a funeral pyre a decade and lifetime ago, and ignore the memory of seeing it on his own during a trip to a certain agricultural planet.

It won’t do to dwell.

“And what did you decide?” he prompts.

“I didn’t want to be pacifists, never lifting our weapons, and I didn’t want us to be isolationists, hiding from the galaxy so we could stay pure. The Republic would need us. Me. They would need me to undo a lot of the damage Sidious had done. To find the pockets of darkness that he left everywhere. And there was so much hurt and pain. Once I knew how to sense it, I could feel it everywhere. I finally understood what you felt with Alderaan. And… and I know how pain affected Father. It lingered in him. It never went away or got better. Instead, he dwelled on it, he feared it. But, I didn’t want to ignore it either, like some of the old books I found said. I didn’t want to pretend it wasn’t there. You can’t release a feeling into the Force if you don’t acknowledge it’s there.”

And, oh, the wisdom of children, Obi-Wan muses, to see that which so many of the Order misinterpreted, whether deliberately or not.

“I wanted the Jedi to be better. I wanted us to turn sorrow to sympathy and pain to compassion. I wanted the new Jedi to be strong enough to be kind, even if the galaxy took everything from them. To… to remember how easy it is to be hurt and to try not to inflict that on others. Maybe even find a way to take it on themselves, relieve other’s suffering, y’know?”

“You wanted your Jedi to be the opposite of the Sith.”

Luke nods. “I didn’t want to be the type of Jedi Father was,” the boy says. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for his next words. The Force is whispering in Obi-Wan’s ear, telling him to pay attention. That what comes next is important, a fulcrum upon which the future might rotate.

“Ben,” the boy whispers, heart in every word, “I don’t want to be a Jedi like my Father was. Is. I want to be a Jedi like you.”

And once more a Skywalker has shattered his heart. He’s beginning to forget what it feels like whole. It takes him time to respond. He opens his mouth to speak, and finds a large lump blocking his words. He swallows, and realizes his eyes are over-wet as well. He’s forced to blink a few times as he struggles to get his breathing back under control.

“You wanted to be like… me? Whether for the good of the galaxy or not, I lied and manipulated you, Luke. I’m very good at it.”

The boy shrugs. “You were hurt and in pain. It’s kinda obvious how much you love Anakin.” Obi-Wan was tempted to point out it was obvious to everyone but the man in question. “I’d be telling myself the same things if Han or Leia did even half of any of what he did. And I was really mad at you when I found out. You still should’ve told me yourself but… I tried to lie to myself about Vader, too.”

“Luke…” The boy really is far too forgiving.

Said boy suddenly looks up and meets his eyes. There is a defiance, a spark challenging Obi-Wan to deny him.

“I read your journals. Not all of them.” It’s a bit of a non-sequitur, Obi-Wan thinks, but Luke evidently has a point he wants to make. “I didn’t… didn’t get the chance to complete them, y’know. But I read about what happened during the drought. Uncle Owen hated you, tried to hurt you, but you were always nice to him. The Tuskens tried to kill you, but you just disarmed them cause they were weaker. Everyone back home can barely stand Jawas, but you helped them. The only way you could stop yourself from helping was to never interact with people, ever.” Obi-Wan wants to cringe. He had hated, well, resented at times, that he’d been put in a position where he was forced to choose between others and Luke. He’d chosen Luke, like always. It makes him a terrible role model, he thinks. The boy in question, however, seems to disagree.

“You saved everyone that day when you stopped the slugthrowers, y’know? Jabba’s men would’ve just murdered them all because they were dying of thirst and angry, and you helped them without even thinking. That’s the kinda Jedi I wanted to be. The kind of Jedi I want to be.”

Obi-Wan finds that words have failed him. Perhaps it was for the best that Owen had kept Luke far away from Obi-Wan. With his ability to render the great Negotiator speechless, the boy probably would have convinced him to hijack a freighter off the planet and join the rebellion before he was six years old.

The mood shifts suddenly. Luke has his feet planted in a stance that reminds him of Anakin. But the way his jaw is set is pure Padme.

“I know Father betrayed you. I know I’ve got a lot of his faults and problems. But I promise, I won’t fail you. I’m not afraid!” There are tears in the boy’s eyes as Luke repeats to Obi-Wan the same words he said to Yoda on Dagobah. “I won’t fall to the Dark Side. I won’t.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t even have to check to Force to know which action to take next. But he gladly obeys it’s commands to gather the tear-stained boy into his arms and hold him close. Luke responds instantly to the comfort, collapsing into near silent sobs of frustration, weakened by the intensity of his emotions.

“Shh… Luke, shhhh.” Obi-Wan murmurs in the boy’s ear, hand reaching up to rub wide circles on his back. “You have it wrong, my boy. So, so wrong,” he confesses into blond hair.

Calmed, Luke sniffles and pulls back. He stares back at Obi-Wan through watery blue eyes. He’s confused, but determined to make sense of the emotional wreck he has made of Old Ben.

Obi-Wan answers him with a wan smile of his own. “I am not afraid of you falling to the Dark Side, Luke. I do not believe that there’s a fundamental flaw in the Skywalkers. Large hearts that care oh so much, but that carry the capacity to bring so much Light into the world, like you’ve proved yourself several times over.” The smile sharpens into a smirk before fading away.

“I’m worried that I will fail you. I don’t exactly have the greatest track record for padawans. The one who was solely my responsibility destroyed the Order. The one who I helped train left it and apparently spent the next decade or so of her life proudly proclaiming the fact that she was not a Jedi.”

“You taught me.”

“For all of two weeks. Master Yoda did far more for you than I did.”

The boy shakes his head vehemently, pure denial flowing in the Force around him. “Master Yoda was great, but I only trained with him for six months. Everything else, I learned from you. From the books and stuff you left for me. Even though you weren’t there, you were my teacher.” The boy gets a frightfully concerned look on his face. “Wait… do you… do you not want us around?”

Truly, there should be a law or a provision in the code that prevents younglings from tugging on heartstrings this effectively.

“Luke… I want to teach you, and Leia, far more than you can possibly imagine. But don’t think you that you are obligated to stay with me out of some sense of loyalty. The finest knights and masters of the Jedi Order’s entire history are available to teach you now.” Obi-Wan does not want to push Luke and Leia on another master. He wants to hold them close and keep them safe, as he has wanted since the moment they were born. But it has never been about what he wants. He could never forgive himself for binding Luke and Leia to him out of selfish need. So he continues to try and reason with the boy. “Master Windu knows how to channel anger and the Dark Side without letting it cling to him, a wonderful gift for those who must constantly face the darkness in the galaxy. Master Yoda, I know, would agree to teach you once more if you wanted him. I convinced him to do so when you were twenty-two, I think I can do so again now that you are twelve. Master Fisto recently knighted his padawan, and is certainly one of the greatest Jedi you’ll meet. The only reason he is not on the council yet is because of his humility. He will be raised within the year. And those three are only a handful of the top masters in the Order. Other members of the council would take both of you as padawans in a heartbeat, and if they refuse you, I will advocate for you until they do. I am not your only option.”

Luke has that stubborn set to his chin again, but Obi-Wan can see his lip is trembling. “I don’t want the top masters, or the best, or… or… or whatever you’ll call everyone else. Leia and I already agreed. We want you. That is… if… if you want us.”

And suddenly it is not Padme or Anakin’s reflection that Obi-Wan sees before him. It is ginger hair, saber bruises, and eyes defiant even as their owner cannot comprehend what’s so wrong with him that he isn’t wanted.

And Obi-Wan wishes it were possible to kick his own ass for being such a Force-blind fool.

While the Force is great, his ally, and in agreement that he is an idiot, that is a feat it cannot grant him. So, he follows it’s guidance, makes his choice, and swallows until he can find his voice again. “Go get your sister.”

Luke hesitates, not sure if he has won or not.

“Now, Luke.”

The boy dashes off, and Obi-Wan takes the time to recover.

Of all the ways to take after Qui-Gon. The Force is more comforting than he deserves, but he lets himself be assured. He caught himself. He listened. Yes, he acted out of fear, but it was fear born of love for the children, of wanting the best for them, not a fear of the pain a betrayal might cause. Of all his master’s mistakes and flaws, this is one he won’t repeat.

But there is something else there. Something small and trembling in his heart, overwhelming him. A hurt he’d stopped acknowledging long ago beginning to heal. Luke and Leia had already discussed this, had agreed long before he asked. All the available masters in the Jedi order available to teach them, and they had chosen him.

By the time Luke returns with Leia in tow, Obi-Wan has centered himself is standing in front of the couch once more. The twins are confused, rightfully so, but when he motions them to sit, they comply.

“At least once in my life I am going to do this the correct way.” He takes their right hands, Luke’s in his own right, Leia’s in his left, and kneels so he is closer to eye level.

“Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa,” he meets their eyes, uses their old names, their true names. The names with which they best know themselves. It may be the last time he can say them out loud for a long while. “Will you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my Padawan learners?”

Leia is the first to respond, silently nodding, starting slow, but gaining speed. “Yes.”

“Yes!” Luke’s agreement is instantaneous. And, like so many times since they’ve reunited on Jakku, Luke launches himself into a hug. This time, though, he drags Leia with him. “Yes, yes, yes yes yes! I told you, Leia!”

“Thank you, General Kenobi, for taking us both,” the girl whispers into his shoulder, and Obi-Wan realizes that, for all her strength and fire, that trembling he’d felt in the silk-thread of their bond had been fear. Fear that, regardless of his attempted assurances otherwise, he would abandon them, or worse. Far wrose, she’d been afraid he’d separate them, take Luke but leave her in some other master’s care.

He clutches the children, his children, his padawans, though making it official will have to wait, even closer. Never, he swears, never again will I allow them to fear I will leave them.

Though parting is inevitable, never would he do so willingly, and always would he come back. After all, he thinks ruefully, even death has failed to part me from the Skywalkers before.

[twopintsandaprayer]

i’m going to mainline some tylenol and forget that this whole afternoon existed

I see a therapist, like a real live person, at the beginning of may. I’m so utterly petrified that I’m going to say the wrong thing and undermine the help that I need. I wish, like I always do, like I have always, always wished that I knew the right thing to say and the right way to act. I need to be honest, and calm, and somehow condense my 20 plus years of medical history and my fucked-up family life into a succinct, half-hour session. I have to trust this person immediately, be open, be attentive. that’s ...a tall order. like I said, I’m petrified that I won’t say what I’m supposed to in order to make my case and I’ll be dropped from priority. I come across as....well, as not really that ill.  My psychiatrist called me defensive and combative. which I am. it’s not a pleasant trait but my god its firmly in there.  I’ve been living with depression since I was about 10 but it’s not...not very visible. It takes a very long time for that sadness to be apparent to someone else. It comes across as hostility and nihilistic humour, to be honest. I don’t like admitting it to myself, how deeply this combination of futility/self-loathing goes. It comes on like it’s never left. I think I failed my exam today. I’ve been contemplating dropping out of school completely because I don’t really see the point in continuing. the margin for error is so so small and I am unforgiving towards any mistakes when I could have tried so much harder. I don’t really know how to fight, you know? And it’s all so horrible, self-reinforcing. I know, point-blank, I have no reason to be like this. Yeah, emotional abuse from my father and my mother probably is autistic and is entirely too logical and judgmental for a fuck up like me as a daughter. also she was horribly horribly emotionally abused for like, a long ass time. - like I learned no coping skills or emotional regulation and I have like, negative self-worth and I have always been super super intense, childish, and the last to pick up on any emotional cues. that’s all pretty small stuff though, like everyone has a shitty childhood? my life has been pretty privileged, I cannot deny that at all. my psychiatrist keeps looking for trauma, reasons for me being like this. I don’t...really know how to explain to him that there’s no real reason, I’ve just always been this way. too loud, too close, too possessive, too needy, too young, too slow, too judgmental, too constantly seeking validation. Wholly, completely self-centered. Emotionally manipulative. I look into my memories and there is barely anything real, it’s all just a miasma of anxiety and talking over people. like, I don’t remember what things were like when I liked myself? I must have, at some point. I don’t remember when doing stuff didn’t fill me with fear, when the memories of good times weren’t tainted by my fuckups. And the constant, constant need to be liked, to have some kind of purpose, connection, something real. Some reason to keep getting up and putting myself through all this. The amount of friendships I have ruined or that have slipped through my fingers, or I have undervalued, or I have strained, just by being me. I never, ever, know it’s going to happen until it does. There’s an inevitability to it. I mean, my father was a lovely person, until you got to know him. He would give you the shirt off his back but he’d never, ever apologize for anything. We were all happier when he lived on a separate continent. IK mean, we talked all the time and we saw him a couple times a year. But the day to day living? That’s...that’s the kind of distance my presence requires. He knew he made us that unhappy. He was so terribly unhappy himself. He had plenty of reasons. I miss him a lot. We’re basically the same person. Unhappiness just kind of oozes out, infecting everyone around us. It’s hard to see at first. But it’s there. You feel it once you get to know me. 

How do I describe that to someone I don’t know? I can barely describe it to myself. I can barely type it without crying. How inevitable and ingrained this unhappiness is. And there’s no reason for it. It’s just...it’s like I’m missing something. Some piece of humanity that would make me real. That would make what I do sincere and normal. I know I have an issue with boundaries. I know I come across way way way way too much way too quickly.  It’s been a constant refrain since I was about 10: if only I didn’t need people, I would be all right. I don’t know what I’ve done until after the fact, until its too late. Needless, endless apologies should be my tagline. 

it’s just so horribly lonely. I’m so tired of being alone. I’m constantly trapped by and surrounded by my own self-hatred. It’s so cliche it makes me sick of myself. I don’t have any reason to be this hard on myself. I don’t have any reason to be this depressed. I can barely qualify as having depression. I just ...don’t see any point? Of living? Of trying?  I don’t remember what it was like not to feel this way. I don’t think I was ever normal. 

it’s this constant struggle of ‘I have a mental illness’ and ‘no i’m just lazy and entitled and I don’t want to do the work I just want perfect results’ and ‘I don’t have a legitimate reason to be this way’ and ‘I really cannot handle this for another second’. My whole family is the type to say they’re fine when they are literally crying their eyes out/in severe amounts of pain/ready to collapse/at their limits. everything’s fine, fine, fine, always fine. 

i do know that in the end, the only one who can save me is me. i just don’t really see any reason to. Like, I keep grasping at straws? I can’t kill myself though, I can’t do that to my mother or my brother. The thought of living for another 40 years (I mean, my diabetic complications will probably get me sooner than that) just feels me with dread and exhaustion though. The primary reason I don’t want to have kids (other than medical, cause I’m on too much medication that’s rough on a fetus) is because I don’t want to be resentful towards my kid for having to stay alive for them. Who can I say that to? How horrible does that make me sound? What a fucking load of shite, I’m so full of it. For some stupid reason, I thought things would just be better? I thought being on meds, and having a stable life, and being back at school after fucking it up so badly the first time, that I’d be better? 

It’s a wasteland, though. The space between not wanting to live and not being able to die. It takes such constant effort to keep all my shit in check. everythin just spilling out everywhere. 

But I’m just...like this. This is just the way that I am. I’m so sick of myself. I can’t fully put it into words how much I hate myself. All these opportunities and possibilities and a life that’s been free of trauma and responsibilities, and I’m just ...kind of a waste? A big ole burden on my family and friends? It’s...the weight of that makes it hard to breathe. It makes it really hard to try to do anything and it’s so fucking stupid. Just this big old cycle of never ending uselessness. I don’t really believe I can do anything. Everything, friendships, communication, school work, organizing shit, engaging with things, meeting up with friends, keeping my life together. All of it is ...more than I’m really able to handle. Everything’s a bit too much? Like i was supposed to tell my bank that I’m a student by november. I got the letter and everything. 

I just never went with it to the bank. 

Still haven’t. 

Thats such a microcosm for my life. All the materials, all the ability, all the chances, all the ducks lined up in a row and then...nothing. Just a disappointment and a missed chance. 

I can’t believe I’m 32. Nothing but my own self-hatred to keep me company from here on it.  Well. And my cats. I am though, a bad cat owner. keeping these hellbeasts inside is more than I am capable of. Haha, that’s pretty low on the priority list though. 

This is the work that I need to do. I don’t have a clue how to approach it. That’s what I need help with. Finding something to hold on too. It’s getting harder and harder as I get older. It shouldn’t, because my life is actually so much better now that it was. The bad stuff just gets harder and harder to walk back from. I think it’s the loneliness? I wish I wasn’t so horribly horribly lonely. My choices are always, do it alone or don’t do anything at all. Reach out and be rejected. Reach out and panic when someone reaches back. Reach out and alienate the person forever. Reach out and be told it was not my place. Fail, again and again to differentiate. Fail, again and again to learn. 

anyway. Tylenol. sleep. one more week of exams. 

my marks are going to be so horrible this year. 

[animeindoblog-blog]

3-gatsu no Lion 2nd Season – 06, 07

New Post has been published on http://animeindo.org/blog/2017/11/28/3-gatsu-no-lion-2nd-season-06-07/

3-gatsu no Lion 2nd Season – 06, 07

「小さな世界 / 手紙」 (Chiisana Sekai / Tegami) “Chapter 56 Small World / Chapter 57 Letter”

End Card

「梅雨の始まり / 蜂谷」 (Tsuyu no Hajimari / Hachiya) “Chapter 58 Start of the Rainy Season / Chapter 59 Hachiya”

Hina’s Predicament

Throughout these two episodes, Hina’s suffering continues on with no end in sight. Her teacher keeps brushing her off, and no one will stand up to the bullies. However, she does find solace within her household, although there’s a dire lack of permanent solution.

I think that we’ve been seeing an exploration of potential approaches, only to find out that these types of situations are truly delicate, and tricky to a fault. Too little effort, and you may as well have done nothing. Too heavy-handed, and some undesired consequences may arise. We see that even Takahashi’s intervention can only provide a brief respite, by momentarily raising Hina’s spirits. In fact, I would argue that his involvement only exacerbated the issue, since it gave the bullies a perfect narrative to push. They wasted no time in framing Hina as being a slut, who was fooling around with Takahashi.

Upon his immediate reaction to the unwelcome news, it was terrifying yet awesome to see Rei flare up in such a way. If we exclude his vulnerable outbursts from the first season, I’ve never seen such powerful displays of emotions coming from him, and it is here that we can see how the Kawamoto sisters have formed a cornerstone in his character development. No longer is he the pushover of old. Rather, he constantly strives to be a dependable person, who can look after the people he cares for. That said, he is still the same old, awkward Kiriyama, unintentionally startling some animals when he suddenly raises his voice in solidarity. Then again, who wasn’t on the same page? I personally feel an indescribable rage towards the bullies first, then towards the teacher above all else.

For someone who usually maintains a solid composure, it’s been really interesting to be reminded that despite being a mother by proxy, Akari is still a young woman with her own insecurities. Although Someji and Misaki are capable relatives, she worries about an extenuating situation, where she will have to go to school and confront the parents of Hina’s bullies. To be honest, I can see why such a concern would be legitimate. Imagine a middle-aged mother, who effectively enables her daughter’s terrible behaviour. Such an individual would be quick to protest her daughter’s innocence, and assert herself over Akari by ruthlessly putting her down. Even with all her love and best intentions for Hina, I could see Akari crumbling under such an unprecedented crisis. Let’s hope that the worst-case scenario doesn’t come about, right? I would hate to see such a beautiful smile getting fractured.

Rei vs Hachiya

In my opinion, this was the best shogi game depicted thus far in 3-gatsu. Due to the opponent, it was highly kinetic and fairly intense. Plus a new kind of difficulty arose. Rei’s perspective fantastically conveyed the unpleasant experience of playing against someone like Hachiya, who would fidget and make loud noises at sporadic intervals during a match. Often times, I found myself experiencing second-hand discomfort and irritation. By the way, these kind of physical reactions are a testimony to Shaft’s incredible directing. Anyhow, I wouldn’t blame people for thinking it’s a cheap tactic to unsettle shogi opponents. However, Hachiya strikes me as someone who suffers from ADHD. For those reasons, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and you could never really deny his sincere passion for the game. Combine all these quirky traits, and you might even find him endearing. I’d say he won me over, after knuckling down on Kiriyama in the post-mortem, while demolishing parfait after parfait.

Concluding Thoughts

Rei forges ahead into the semifinals, and with Nikaidou hot on his heels, I look forwards to seeing what the next few matchup brings. Just how far can his newfound determination take him, or even better, what will he do if he falls short?

So far, the pacing has been nothing short of amazing. Where most other shows would struggle to follow up from a climax, 3-gatsu just seems to naturally transition between moments, continually moving from strength to strength in its depiction of Hina’s problem with bullies. Shaft deserve credit for faithfully following on, but most of my praise has to go to Umino Chica, who set down the entire groundwork that made everything possible. Both her character and story-telling feel organic in their construction,

Anyway, I’d like to play the Devil’s Advocate for Hina’s teacher because reading the manga grants me the benefit of hindsight, thus altering my initial preconceptions. Otherwise, I suspect that I would also be up in arms over how she chose to handle Hina’s situation. While it’s true that the teacher’s passivity is utterly despicable, humans all have their reasons for acting in certain ways. Righteousness is typically the natural course upon which our feelings run, but over time, disillusionment over the system can slowly erode away our capacity to do what’s right. That is to say, we become paralysed by an indescribable fear of failure, to the extent that we’re prevented from taking proper action. Not that it justifies losing courage, when the weak and vulnerable are crying for help. However, it’s completely understandable that not everyone has the same kind of conviction we see within Hina.

Zaiden’s Anecdote

Early on in my school days, I remember that I was quick to stand up for my friends, getting in tussles with larger kids who picked on anyone I cared about. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for those who I thought were my friends. What I’m about to tell you precludes my most bitter memories from secondary school.

This guy who could never beat me at Pokémon battles thought it would be hilarious to dump an entire plate of spaghetti over my head out of spite. Not saying I was perfect, considering I was as arrogant as they come and a sore winner. But what shocked me was that none of my friends tried to help me, stand up for me, and all left the scene as soon as they could.

What’s more, this kid went straight to our Head of Learning, and straight up lied to them about how I was the one who threw food at him, landing me into two weeks worth of detention. The kicker? Not one person who I thought of as my friend stood up for me.

Their shallow reasoning was as follows. Judging by my character, they thought that I would be quick to forgive and forget. That is to say, by not choosing a side, they thought could keep both friendships, even though one side had clearly wronged. And the worst thing? I never got an apology from this scumbag.

The ridiculous thing? My ‘friends’ told me to forgive and forget, and ‘make up’ with the perpetrator. Water under the bridge, making life easy for them. The dumb thing? I did exactly that, just to make my ‘friends’ happy. But he always continued acting like he was somehow the victim, and it felt horrible having to stick around someone who had wronged me in such a vile way without remorse. And what my ‘friends’ did was enable his lousy behaviour. One ‘friend’ told me they let him get away with it, because he never directly hurt them, making it okay for them. Needless to say, I don’t speak to that person anymore.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried at the time, cleaning up the floor covered in spaghetti, while the rest of the school kids in the dining room looked on in glee. Much like Hina, I also cried on some random nights, because I felt really abandoned, and the incident messed me up for a long time. However, I managed to come out stronger, and eventually found the genuine friends I had always wanted. There’s one in particular that comes to mind, that I want to talk about.

End Card

A Heartfelt Message to My Best Friend

Dear Alvin,

I know you sometimes read these Random Curiosity posts. Whether you’ll read this one is anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, I just wanted to say, I love you lots and thank you for being my best friend over these past few years!

A lot of people in our secondary school misjudged you, readily dismissing you for being ‘lame’. Not only were they completely wrong, but they utterly failed to see your true worth and value. From the bottom of my heart, I am thankful and blessed to have you as my best friend.

While you may be awkward at times, that does not refute the fact that you’re a truly good person at heart, who holds a deep sense of compassion for your peers. You would stand up for me without any hesitation, and properly listen to me when I needed someone to confide in. As I would do for you as well.

Had I known you prior to the spaghetti incident, I know I wouldn’t have experienced such loneliness. As such, it is my regret we couldn’t have been best friends earlier on during our time at secondary school, since I wish I was there to help with your hardships too. I will always have your back, and if I needed someone to have mine, I’d trust you for time immemorial. I hope we can continue to be best friends, till death do us part.

Yours sincerely,

Zaiden

[lyrieux-blog]

Thursday, 26th January

Time Start: 16:40 

        -╳-             So. A problem with emotional regulation would make it emotional dysregulation. I’m not even going to chance a website like Wikipedia - trying to find something more… proper. On the first page there is a website that leads to a page entitled’ BPD and ED’ - funny, that’s exactly what a friend suggested to look up. Actually, there’s a lot of links to websites talking about Emotional Dysregulation in cases of Borderline Personality Disorder; it is literally every other page. Wow, okay. Definitely worth looking in to in a few minutes. Maybe. I typed into google ‘Emotional Disregularion NHS’ in the hopes it would have taken me to a page about it on the NHS, instead, it came up with the NHS webpage about BPD. suppose I should just bite the bullet and look there. See what it days. Time: 16: 47 Okay, so the first listed symptom of BPD is Emotional Instability. “ If you have BPD, you may experience a range of often intense negative emotions.” Well… joking aside, that sounds pretty accurate. It then lists rage, sorrow, shame, panic, terror and long-term feelings of emptiness and loneliness.  Well - I can get  angry in the drop of a hat for little to no reason; someone could be trying to talk to me and I will just get this overwhelming anger bubble inside of my chest that is pretty difficult to hold back.  Sorrow is something I often feel about myself, especially in the way of disappointment, but sometimes I’m the complete opposite, so- Shame - sometimes? I mean, my life has gone so downhill that my highschool dream of being an architect is almost hilarious now. Panic is something I know well, what with panic attacks and anxiety - most of the time triggered by nothing at all. Lying in bed? Nice and comfy? Have a panic attack about nothing. Terror is in the same kinda category as panic, really… I cant walk in the dark, outside, because it literally petrifies me. For no reason. Nothing has even happened in the dark to cause me to be like that so - As for long term feelings of emptiness and loneliness - I could say that was accurate, too. I just feel… nothing? Sometimes? Like I’m just an empty, forgotten shell of nothingness? That would be especially appropriate right now.  I’m almost… emotionally numb right now - not really feeling anything - which is kind of good because it’s less exhausting to feel nothing than it is to feel everything in such a short space of time. The next bit of the page states ‘you may have severe mood swings over a short period of time. It’s common for people with BPD to feel suicidal with despair, and then feel reasonably positive a few hours later. Some people feel better in the morning and some in the evening. The pattern varies, but the key sign is that your moods swing in unpredictable ways.”   Now that is very accurate - I’m not sure when, a few weeks ago I think, that I felt suicidal all night, transfixed on the idea of it, spent most of the night in tears, desperate for an escape, in utter despair… and then after falling asleep for an hour nap I woke up utterly fine and couldn’t wait to get on with the day. It was like snapping your fingers and everything was fine again; like that scene in Mary Poppins where she snaps her fingers and they clean up the room… but with emotions and your head. Time: 16:57 The next subtitle in the article is Disturbed Patterns of Thinking.

Upsetting thoughts – such as thinking you’re a terrible person or feeling you don’t exist. You may not be sure of these thoughts and may seek reassurance that they’re not true. 

Sometimes, yeah. I think the latest episode of this was when an old friend popped up on my facebook feed, talking about how he just finished his Medical Degree at Oxford University and I automatically though I was an absolute failure in life because I haven’t managed to achieve anything at all, not on the scale of that. I used to think going to the shop on my own was a massive success. If that even counts, I don’t know.

Brief episodes of strange experiences – such as hearing voices outside your head for minutes at a time. These may often feel like instructions to harm yourself or others. You may or may not be certain whether these are real. 

For minutes at a time? Then no- What has happened, and is happening increasingly lately - as I have touched upon before on this blog-  is being convinced my mom is calling for me at the bottom of the stairs [Like i can literally hear her], shouting back that I am coming and then when I get there, nobody is there. In fact, nobody would even be in the house besides myself. And this happened a few times in a day, once.  I’ve also been sat on my bed, before, with my bedroom door open - which leads into the living room - and know that I have seen someone walk past. But when I go out to see whoever it was, nobody is even at home besides myself. Or, more commonly, I’ll know that one of the cats has jumped up on the end of the bed, I’ll see them through the corner of my eyes settling down and whatever but when I actually turn to look at them, there won’t actually be one there. In fact, they’ll all be in the kitchen or something. They’ll be nowhere near me and they can’t just disappear in the milliseconds it would take me to turn and look that way.

Prolonged episodes of abnormal experiences – where you might experience both hallucinations (voices outside your head) and distressing beliefs that no one can talk you out of (such as believing your family are secretly trying to kill you).  

Not really? Well… It depends on the situation, I suppose. When my mom is having an ‘episode’ so to speak, I can become kind of paranoid that everything she does it just to make my life more miserable, like she’s trying to make me worse or something, that the only reason she lets me live at home is because she gets money from me and she’s obsessed with that. But that usually goes away kinda quick after her episode has finished… which can be anywhere from a few days to over a week. So I’m not really sure on that one.  Time: 17:08 Okay so, the next subtitle on the page is Impulsive Behavior. Of which there are two main times of impulses in which you find extremely difficult to control; an impulse of self harm which can lead to feeling suicidal and potentially suicide attempts and to engage in reckless and irresponsible activities such as binge drinking, drug abuse, spending spree’s, gambling or unprotected sex with strangers. The self-harm impulse is a definite. When I get it in my head that I need to hurt myself, for whatever reason, there is no resisting it. In fact, half the time, I don’t remember actually getting to the stage of doing anything; the next thing I know is that there is blood on my legs and a razor in my hand. And usually, after doing such, I will be so disappointed in myself that my mind will drift toward ideas of suicide and whatnot… though I consciously don’t want to kill myself - it’s more of a ‘if it happened then oh well’ kind of thing - like an accident or something. Otherwise - I don’t do drugs, I barely drink, I don’t spent money, I don’t gamble and I definitely don’t have sex with strangers, unprotected or otherwise. Time: 17:12 The next subtitle is Unstable relationships.

If you have BPD, you may feel that other people abandon you when you most need them, or that they get too close and smother you.      

This is… sadly… rather overwhelmingly accurate, especially with regards to my relationship with Mike. One moment I will be head over heels for him, he could do nothing wrong, and then the next everything he does is smothering and irritates me or makes me anxious; and I’m not talking a little bit, I’m talking really very intensely.  And I do worry, intensely,sometimes that because of the way I am - so unpredictable and volatile, that he will just up and leave me. Which then triggers the whole ‘don’t leave me’ thing of constantly texting him and whatever. The article then talks about the ‘smothering’ side of things and yes… if I feel smothered [usually with no reason] I will withdraw or just isolate myself so it can’t happen - this is also why sometimes I say I am ill or something so Mike won’t actually come over. Because I want nothing more than to be alone and I know that him just being next to me or trying to hug me, or something, would automatically irritate me to the point of having to leave the room; I usually make the excuse that I’m going for a shower just so I don’t seem too weird.  It also describes it as a ‘Go away - please don’t go’ state of mind… Which is perfect. It’s so accurate. That’s frightening. And that’s the end of the article on symptoms, anyway. So… I’m just feeling really empty right now so.. it was probably the best time to look all this up and honestly, I didn’t expect to find something so very accurate as to how my head works and how I feel so often, you know? How strange. I don’t know whether to be relieved that I have found something or worriedbecause it actually has a name and isn’t actually me just.. overreacting all the time, purposely; because all of it is just… out of my control. Time: 17:21 Okay, yeah… anxiety just kicked in. Slam, here’s a weight in your chest and an internal feeling of utter panic. I’m now on the MIND website in the hope it will flesh out some of what the NHS page had… and the first quote on the page is “ It’s scary. […] One moment I’m really happy and then the next I’m crying for absolutely no reason or having a go at people. People think I’m just being moody for the sake of it.” It’s so relatable… I understand that on such a personal level that it’s… frightening.  It goes over intense emotions, not having a strong sense of who you are, hard to keep stable relationships, act impulsively, engage in self harming behavior and suicidal thoughts, feelempty and lonely a lot of the time, get angry and struggle to control it, feel paranoid, have psychotic experiences such as seeing or hearing things, feeling numb or checked out. … I can say yes to at least 90% of that, if not all of them. It then goes on to say : “ Because you only need to experience five of these possible symptoms to be given the diagnosis, BPD can be a very broad diagnosis and include lots of different people with very different experiences. “ Only five? Really, you only need five? I’m not in the realms of self diagnosing but when you read something so familiar and relatable… it really hits home. I just… is this even fixable?  I’m just… feeling really, really lost right now… I don’t quite know how to process anything….      Hate. I’m feeling a hell of a lot of overwhelming self-hatred all of a sudden; why do I have to make life so damn hard for myself? Why does all of the negative shit happen to me, I mean, really?? Have I not had enough crap happen to me over the years? Why does my personality and head have to suddenly be really god damn broken too? I don’t… think I have the energy to read any more… I’ve had enough.  I don’t wanna see any more. I don’t want more confirmation of how broken I am, today. I’m crying. No more. Time: 17:36 

[adventuresofamybee]

first week, second internship...

Here I am again. The “gringa loca” is back in Chile for the summer (well, winter here)! The words I am about to share are going to be as transparent as possible, because while I am an optimist, I will not deny the reality of life (mainly, culture shock) and possibly deprive someone else the opportunity relate to me. However, I am trying to choose my words very carefully & accurately update what it has been like to be back in Santiago (which has been, in summary, wonderful).

It’s officially been one week, and boy, a whirlwind of a week it has been! It has been overwhelming and nonstop, but full of blessings. My first day back, I got here around 7:30am, took a short time to lay down, then went straight to church. I enjoyed the rest of the day at the mall with my host brother (Seba! I missed this special family) and his cousin, just to find that it was all to stall me from the surprise welcome party that erupted from my living room when I walked through the door! Though, on the walk back Seba said “I bet you’re ready for bed, aren’t you?” (in Spanish, of course) to which I replied “yes, I’m exhausted”, walked into the house and exclaimed “time to sleep!”. I was answered with the screams of “SORPRESA!!!” and lots of balloons thrown my way. I stood there, speechless and my heart full of joy at the sight of some loved ones. So, I didn’t go to sleep, haha. 

The next day I threw myself full-force into my internship. I got my errands done, my phone number changed, and my schedule made. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I spent all day back with my beloved babes at the House of Hope.

I LOVE THOSE KIDDOS. That seems like it will be my main focus during this internship. They all remembered me from last year, and all the new ones got attached to me after the very first day. I cannot articulate the love that overflows from my heart every time one of them arrives and runs to hug me. I love to listen to them talk about school, I love to read books with them, I love to help them with math and English, I love to have them hanging off my arms & legs, I love them tangling my hair and fighting to hold my hand, I love listening to/watching them sing & dance, I love to see the growth that has happened in a year, and I love getting to know them as little individuals. Somehow, when struggles tug at my heart or tears well in my eyes, every negative feeling flees the second I see their precious faces running toward me. I cannot get enough.

Saturday and Sunday I spent at church. This is the part that gets a LITTLE bittersweet. I am struggling with culture shock a bit more than I did last time, so far. I know that sometimes irrational or exaggerated feelings can come from the ups & downs that culture shock brings. My mind could not be as open as it was the first time I came, because I am already familiar with everything here, so it is affecting me differently than before. Have you ever been in love with a place, moved away, and come back to find everything both strikingly different yet painfully the same? I left with a picture-perfect point of view of this country and the relationships I have made here. Unfortunately, life is not perfect. Some friendships fell through because of distance or because people changed in a way that simply clashed with the person I am becoming. There are people I look at and feel pangs of sorrow to see how they have transformed, and can’t help but remember the way things were the last time I was here. At the same time, there are people I look at and feel disappointed to see that we simply are not growing up at the same rate. This is not solely a cultural issue, of course, as there will always be people around us that do not realize when maturity becomes necessary. (Though Chileans would admit that it does make a difference that they live with their families and depend on their parents a lot longer than the people of the USA do- those are words straight from my host-father’s mouth). Nevertheless, it can be disappointing. My first year at college changed me a lot (but for the better, I’d say!), and I am not the same person I was when I left. I have not lived with my parents since I left for Chile in September 2015, and I understand that I cannot expect the same growth from people who aren’t in the same circumstances. This, of course, goes both ways, so I try my best to see things from everyone else’s point of view.

Anyway, this leaves me with some spread-out friendships, but not exactly the old group that I had anticipated. There is the typical church drama that occurred while I was away that noticeably divided up the youth and broke the unity I had fallen in love with the last time I was here. This, then, leaves me to find “my place” again. It is a little awkward, and at times makes me feel like an outsider. Not only is everyone more segregated, but I have also missed out on a year’s worth of events. BUT, all I have to do is remind myself that God brought me here to serve, and I am not obligated to be involved in what has come of the “youth drama”. To be an outsider does not have to be bad. I will be set apart, I will not choose sides, and I will strive to love everyone. Old friends, broken friendships, restored friendships, and new friends. I remind myself that I need to keep my head above water and not get sucked into any discouraging temporary circumstances. My time back in the USA made me see things through rose-colored glasses, so I am working on accepting the reality of things. This is life! In conclusion, that has been the hardest thing to fight with at the moment. The enemy is thrusting loneliness in my face. I forgot how isolating it can feel to be here alone at times. My personality type feels things pretty intensely, and I am very introspective, which can actually benefit me many times, as I am able to analyze transformations as I go through them. Unfortunately, it can also be a disadvantage, as the spurts of loneliness can hit me pretty hard, but I am thankful for the opportunity to be alone with God in my mind and really study the way certain aspects of the trip affect me emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. So, the good thing is, I am aware of this battle and I am fighting back. Through the doubts and the bumps in the road, I am clinging to the Word. I spit out the lies that are being put in my head, and I restore my soul with God’s truths. I am trying to take advantage of this time to grow even more. My faith has the chance to be cultivated, and I am taking action to make sure that happens. I am constantly striving to redirect my focus to how I can glorify God and serve everyone (especially my House of Hope children), instead of stressing the little things. I also acknowledge that, although I try so hard to gain more and more wisdom from The Lord, I am still 18 with so much to learn. However, it has been helpful to think “How would a mature adult react to this? Would a godly woman let these things impact her?”; that usually switches my instinctive thinking pretty quickly.

All in all, though it has been a busy, overwhelming, exhausting week, it has been AMAZING. I am sure I will continue to adjust more as time goes on! I do believe that a lot of the weird emotions and confusion about my state of being has to do with culture shock. Sure, I have been here before and I know the language, but I have to adapt again and therefore am going to experience the crazy things that the natural process of culture shock triggers. Despite navigating my adjustment, I am loving the time I get to spend with my host family and the House of Hope children. I just prefer to be vulnerably honest and not pretend that everything is perfect, because really it never is… for anyone, anywhere. I am so unexplainably thankful for the opportunity to be back here, and I cannot wait to see what God does! I want to grow in humility, denying myself and living to love others. I close out this first Chile update with a few verses that have been helpful this week! 

“Unless the Lord had given me help, I would soon have dwelt in the silence of death. When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your unfailing love, Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy. […] But the Lord has become my fortress, and my God the rock in whom I take refuge.” Psalm 94:17-19; 22

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. Then I will teach transgressors your ways, so that sinners will turn back to you.” Psalm 51:10-13

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

GOD BLESS❤