#but it is a lesson people VERY BADLY need to internalize

[morgenlich]

the thing about saying “violence against [fascists/pedophiles/etc] is always justified” is that people immediately begin to expand their definition of who counts as a [fascist/pedophile/etc] to include people they personally don’t like, in order to justify violence against them, whether or not they are actually a [fascist/pedophile/etc] or whether they are actually doing harm (or are very likely to do harm) to others. the solution to dealing with the fact that [fascists/pedophiles/etc] exist in society should never be to go looking for a reason to do violence, or to train yourself to treat violence as a reflexive action.

[beauty-and-passion]

TBOB PART 3: OF BILL'S SOLITUDE AND BILLFORD (3/3)

Welcome, everyone, to the last analysis post regarding TBOB.

It has been a long journey - and a fun one too! I’m glad you appreciated all the previous posts and I hope this one will be appreciated as well.

For all disclaimers and premises, please check the links below.

<- Previous post - Masterlist

_______________________________

Cause of his own pain

Before TBOB, I don’t think a lot of people thought Bill would react badly to his breakup with Ford. Maybe he would get angry or become even more possessive - in Journal 3, we know he promised an entire galaxy, to the creature who would’ve brought Sixer to him.

But facing it so badly to go to a pub and drown his sorrows? I doubt it was on a lot of people’s bingo card.

Speaking about the “LOSING SIXER” page a bit more: Bill said Sixer secretly loved “our “will-they-won’t-they-destroy-the-world” relationship”. And for all the people who don’t know, the “will-they-won't-they” is a figure of speech about “a potential coupling between two people who share romantic chemistry, but whose relationship is threatened by uncertainty, external obstacles or internal strife.” (courtesy of Google).

So not only Bill cared about Ford, saw him as similar to himself and has been more honest with him than with everyone else, but he also considered their relationship romantic-coded. He was down for Ford, just as much as Ford was down for him. And it’s pretty clear he was, considering the “one Sixer, please”, followed by him crying, getting drunk, trashing the place and even forgetting his mother died. If that’s not being down bad for someone, I don’t know what it is.

Also, according to THIS interview, Alex Hirsch said that:

Bill’s a trillion years old, so it’s like, Ford disappearing for thirty years is like- [snaps fingers] is like somebody saying they’re ghosting you and then texting you the next weekend, you know what I mean?

So, for Bill, their relationship happened in a very short time. AND YET, he grew so attached to get devastated by Ford disappearing for something that for him was, like, a week. He was down THIS bad.

And, for me, this is the icing on top of the beautiful tragedy that is Billford, because now we can be sure Bill cared before, during and after the breakup. He saw Ford as a potentially romantic partner. He wanted him around.

But because of his unresolved trauma and his inability to properly distinguish feelings, Bill mixed love and fear, thinking they were the same. And the result was losing the only human in the history of mankind he had been interested in.

Furthermore, this makes Billford even more tragic if we consider that, for better or for worse, these two had the potential to become a happy, powerful couple.

Think about it: if Bill wasn’t such a messed up individual, he could’ve been the Muse Ford needed. He could’ve kept being the center of his life and the sun in his galaxy, as Ford said. They’ve found a kindred spirit in each other: they could’ve been each other family, each other’s supporter. And with their cleverness, they really could’ve gone “through hardships to the stars”.

On the other hand, if Ford was a much, much more messed up individual, he could’ve joined Bill in his plans to dominate the galaxy. He could’ve worked with him to bring Weirdmageddon everywhere. He would’ve destroyed everyone and taught “a lesson to all”. He would’ve been to his side, ruling alongside him, “all-powerful, greater than anything you've imagined”, as Bill promised during Weirdmageddon. They would’ve been the most powerful couple ever.

But Bill lost both possibilities and the fault is his own. Just like he lost everything and everyone else in the past, once again, the fault is just his own.

_______________________________

Again as before: alone

TBOB doesn’t end on a happy note. When I reached the last pages, I literally commented with: “Oh boy, that’s truly depressing”.

The way Bill snaps and says that “you turned out like all the rest”, the way he blames his past relationships, his “worthless Henchmaniacs”, his “miserable family” and Sixer. Yes, just Sixer, no bad adjective to add to him - understandable, considering he’s probably still down bad for him.

And he says he just needs one person, someone who will fall for his tricks. He’s not even looking for a special person: he’s just looking for someone. Someone who will get him out. Because he doesn’t miss anyone, nope nope, but he really, really wants someone. Anyone.

To me, this reconfirms Bill is and has been alone, for a very, very long time. Probably since the destruction of Euclydia. He tried to fill the void inside him with some romantic relationships, but he didn’t manage to keep them. He tried with friends, but he cannot understand a friendship not based on submission. He tried with an audience, but it still wasn’t enough.

And when he found the only soul who was so similar to him, both physically and mentally, the only one he was honest with, even if for a brief moment… he lost him too.

And now he’s, once again, alone. He lost his family, his friends, his loved ones. He lost everything.

_______________________________

An immensely fascinating character

Bill is so. Goddamn. Fascinating. He was a fascinating character before, because the series gave us hints about his potentially tragic backstory (the famous “Flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams”). He was interesting and he was hiding something, so he got our attention.

Now, he’s fascinating because he’s multifaceted. He’s complex, he’s tragic, he’s desperate. You can empathize with him and feel sorry for him. But you can also laugh with/at him, fear him, condemn him. His tragic story doesn’t make up for what he did, but it helps us understand how he reached that point. In perspective, it makes all of his choices easier to understand too: Bill never went through all the stages of grief, he’s still stuck in the denial phase. And when you keep carrying denial for such an absurdly long amount of time, your choices and your mentality inevitably end up being skewed.

You know, it’s funny that Bill sees himself as a bidimensional villain, when he’s so, so much more than that. Maybe it’s all part of his trauma, his inability to see himself as more than just the insane monster who destroyed his home dimension. But this book does him justice and portrays him for the incredible, fascinating, complex character he truly is.

And that’s another reason why I respect Alex Hirsch so much. Aside from being funny and clever, this man is full of passion for the world he made. He is Gravity Falls. And, ten years later, he still has a great understanding of the characters: he can portray them so accurately, with so many details and connections to the previously disseminated dots - all while still leaving questions! Man, I can only wish to reach this level of understanding of my own characters.

So, once again, I’m here to thank this man. For creating Gravity Falls and sharing that world, while fighting censorship in every step. And for coming back, ten years later, to give the fandom a second renaissance.

_______________________________

Gravity Falls, it’s good to be back!

I have a ton of moments in my life connected to Gravity Falls, of summers, feelings and memories. This show saved me from depression, brought me up to my feet, took my hand to Canada and back home, then left my hand for a while to make me take some steps alone.

In these years, I learned a lot, improved my English, improved my writing in general. And now, I feel more ready, more mature, more capable of writing something like nine posts to analyze one single book and show at least a small part of the deep love I still feel for this series.

I hope you all felt it - at least a little bit. I hope you enjoyed my stupidly long analysis, my silly theories and my obsession with the triangle guy.

And if you’re still not fed up with me and want more rambling, please feel free to ask for more. Tell me what else do you want me to talk about, if you want episode analyses, if there is something else I missed, if Dipper and Pacifica are truly endgame (the answer is yes). I will write them inbetween other posts about other fandoms (Epic and CCCC, I am coming back for you both).

And if you want new Gravity Falls fanfictions, don’t worry: I have one already in progress, a second one planned and a third one still in my mind. Maybe not all three of them will see the light of day, but who knows? Maybe I will get new ideas too. The love for this series is too strong on me and I need to express it somehow <3

So stay tuned, because we will meet again very, very soon~

Thank you all for your time and attention and I wish you all a nice day <3

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[shirtlessradfahrer]

So I've been politically active since before I was even eligible to vote. I've followed North American politics near religiously since 2014, and I've been a card-carrying member of my country's most prominent left-wing party since before the start of the pandemic. I barely slept at all during the week Ukraine was full-scale invaded, and I've been stressed about it every day for the last two years, given that my grandfather was born there and I've very much wanted to visit someday. And this was all before the horrific debacle of October 7th, and the subsequent atrocities committed against Gaza practically every day since. Lately I've weaned myself off a lot of international news and been more active in local politics because that's where I feel my efforts have been more effective, but...

...the reality is I am tired. I am so fucking tired.

I blacklisted just about everything remotely political when I made this blog because I wanted this space to be my escape from all of that. He is my escape from all of that. A badly needed one, because between the state of the world, the state of my country, the state of my workplace and the state of my personal life, my mental health has been....not very good for most of this decade and last.

I know this is unhealthily cynical, but as someone who had some pretty shitty friends in the past, and continues to have some incredibly shitty family members, including my own father (who, despite having Käärijä levels of charisma and putting on an excellent act in public, has repeatedly hurt me and let me and others down when we needed him most)....I expect famous people I admire to disappoint me. I very much expect famous men I admire to disappoint me. It may be in three days, or in three months, or in three years, or in thirty years, but it will happen at least once, if not multiple times.

Which is why I don’t-and never have-looked up to musicians or any other celebrity for guidance on my political or moral beliefs. It's a surefire way to set yourself up for not only disappointment but feelings of betrayal towards someone who was never "loyal" to you in the first place. And I wish so many people didn't learn that lesson far too late.

I don't like Jere Mikael Pöyhönen because of his insightful commentary on the state of geopolitics. To be extremely blunt, I like him because he's hot and he entertains me, both of which bring me happiness. Once I no longer feel that happiness, I'll move on to other interests, just as I always have. It would be very nice, however, if that day came in thirty years rather than in three. Which is why I felt relief when he expressed his wish to remain politically neutral, even regarding politics in his own country.

That being said....am I disappointed he went to you-know-what? Yes, for reasons both political and non-political. Am I disappointed that he willingly interacted on camera with you-know-who? Yes. In fact there are several things he has done and people he has associated with that I'm not particularly happy about. But in this case do I understand WHY he went and why he interacted with them? Also yes.

I don't believe he had any malicious intent, quite the opposite. His kindness is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness-he is kind to the point that he foolishly undermines his own credibility. I don't know if there's an equivalent of Hanlon's Razor in Finnish but it goes "never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity".

And.....well. This is a guy who couldn't tell the Ukrainian esc23 representatives from the Greek ones. Who didn't know what the trans flag was until he was personally handed one last year. Who, AFAIK, has never received any sort of higher education (vocational school would still sort of be considered such where I live, but whatever) not that that automatically makes someone "smart" and others "stupid", but it can and often does help with understanding international issues. And based on my overall experience with hockey fans/players (of which he's both)...they typically aren't terminally online debating anything besides individual player and team statistics.

So I'm not shocked that he didn't think about how Just Being Nice on camera with that representative would look to others outside of his own bubble. How that would not have looked particularly "neutral". But he should have, considering this isn't the first time he's had to deal with angry internet mobs coming after him for a relatively minor mistake. Considering his favourite band got into very hot water last year and dealt with the controversy very poorly for too long.

Is it fair that I can block some tags, turn off the tv, and get on with my day, while he has to worry about his image the moment he leaves home? No. But...this is the inevitable downside of the life he wanted. Unlike me, he now has an audience of millions, a not-insignificant number of whom are going to be thinking about this stuff, meaning he needs to as well. And if not, he needs to pay someone to think about it for him. Goodness knows he can afford it now. I can do without all that pyro if it means none of us have another week like this one.

[socialdragonflytarot27]

They will NEVER apologize for what they did to you.

You don’t have to forgive them.

But if you do, there’s less of a chance you will have to experience this pain, rejection, and betrayal without an apology again, because once you learn the lesson-it disappears.

You see, your soul and their soul made an agreement before incarnating here. They agreed to hurt you, very badly, and they agreed to never apologize, and you agreed to allow it to happen. All for the purpose of the growth of your soul. So that you could learn what it means to forgive the unforgivable. So that you could learn what it feels like to embody a level of strength that most people NEVER have through many lifetimes.

You aren’t excusing what they did to you by forgiving them. You’re choosing to allow yourself to let go of the pain they caused. You’re choosing not to suffer anymore and allow them and their opinions of you to have power over you anymore.

When you allow an outside person, circumstance, or situation to cause you to change your energy or internal state, you are losing power. It becomes a drain on your life force energy everytime you think about what they did or said to you. Everytime you replay it over in your head and imagine what you could or should have said, you’re losing energy that you could be using to co-create the life you truly want.

The truth is, you can’t control the person who hurt you. You can’t change them, and you certainly cannot make them take responsibility or do the right thing even though it’s obvious to everyone that they were in the wrong and should apologize to you.

But you CAN control yourself and be responsible for your own energy. The pain and wounds they caused are not your fault, but healing yourself is ultimately your responsibility.

Doing the work, trying your best to focus on what you can learn from the pain they have caused, and shifting your focus back to being in control and taking responsibility for yourself and your own energy healing will signal to the universe that you’ve learned the lesson and that it doesn’t need to keep repeating.

Learn what you came here as a soul to learn. Step back into your personal power. All that pain wasn’t for nothing. It wasn’t in vein if you learned from it.

Sometimes learning can look like self empowerment in the form of forgiveness. Sometimes it looks like humility; being bullied and told over and over again you’ll fail, them watching you succeed, and when you get the chance to rub it in their face, choosing not to because you let all the pain of what they did to you go. Sometimes learning the lesson looks like not letting the pain and resentment control you anymore, being kind even when you have the right to give them a taste of their own medicine. Sometimes it can look like helping others learn to heal the same way you had to. Or it can look like praying for the person/people who hurt you instead of wishing bad on them. Learning can also look like thanking God for revealing to you what you were supposed to learn from this shitty situation, even though you can’t possibly fathom what the lesson could even be. If you don’t know, ask, and it will be revealed to you.

You can do it, if you so choose. If not, that’s up to you. And I’m sure no one would judge you if you chose not to forgive. I don’t judge you if you can’t forgive. I understand. The choice is yours. And no matter what you choose, I send love to you if you resonated with this. 💚

[sofa-ambrosia]

Neon White parents Headcanons (some cute some random)/j

Green and Violet's parents:They're fucking orphans LMAO

Yellow's parents:Were actually attentive and caring, and always made the best out of their situation. His dad(mazie) worked at a dump and fixed up cars for extra cash. His mom(mango)made candles with 2 other friends, as well as working at a grocery store. Mango would always try to spend as much time as possible with her kids due to her fragile health, and would always try to stay optimistic for her family. Mazie can't spend as much time with the kids, but every Sunday, he always takes them to the park to play around and make them sandwiches.

Blue's Parents:His mom(Azure), while very caring, would often zone out from time to time, as well as try to get validation from people to a dangerous extent(gambling with her savings and dipping into her kids as well). His father(Marian) was a Vietnam vet, often putting his kids on the ringer due to his refusal to deal with his own issues, as well as being harder on Blue to toughen up and earn the family inheritance (drug empire) Blue has a sister, though their relationship is...strained to say the least.

Red's parents:Her dad(Chili) liked to spend money on useless shit, often putting more stress on her mom(Scarlett). Chili and Scarlett had a lot of siblings, so Red always had to take care of her younger cousins while the adults got drunk(bro bro developed elder sister syndrome AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN SIBLINGS LMAO). Chili was the one to stay at home, so he was slightly closer to Red. Scarlett didn't not like her kid but also didn't really make time for Red. After Red came out as Trans, both her parents treated her differently. Her father would make comments about losing his son, and how he didn't recognize the girl standing before him. Her mom would make passive-aggressive comments about what a "real woman" goes through/experiences and would say snide shit about Red's looks and feminity.

White's Parents:Their mom(Powder) and dad(Platinum) were very abusive, physically and emotionally. Platinum worked long and exhausting hours, often coming home late tired, and bitter. Powder is the one who pushes him to work these hours and yet complains about him not being home. Powder was the one mainly White saw, but she also neglected to take care of their needs. White would have a "fend for yourself" meal every day, and even when their mom cooked, it was too little for the three of them. Their parents' love story is that of Beatrice and Butterscotch from Bojack Horsemen, and their marriage is the same. Also, pushing ~☆gender stereotypes on little White☆~ made them panic badly when they realized their Trans.

Nox parent's:Gem demons(name will change) aren't born sexually, so they often adopt young gems that just came out. Nox's caretaker, Volkan (a garnet), adopted Nox to take their place in the army. They were heavily damaged and become disabled, but unlike other gems who took it in pride, she was ashamed of it. She lashed it out at Nox, who internalized this and other.....lessons Volkan gave. Manipulation and dissociation are all their relationship is for Nox, and for Volkan, it's nothing but a means for climbing higher.

Purdence's parents:Never around, always working and trying to sell their kids.

Rene's parents:They were too young to know who they were before they died.

[godtieranalyses]

:3 could you analyze rogue of life since that's my classpect?

Of course!!! ROGUE: One who steals its Aspect and replaces it with another of the Aspect LIFE: Nature, Growth, Life Span, Physical Body, Life Energy

The Rogue of Life would have the ability to orchestrate the transfer of Life itself. For Nature, this means the Rogue of Life would be able to swap the vitality of plants. If there's an invasive, harmful species that's choking out native plantlife, the Rogue of Life would be able to swap how healthy the invasive plants are with how badly the native plants are doing. In this way the Rogue acts as a keeper of the scales, ensuring the balance of Nature is never tilted too far to one side.

For Growth, this could have to do with one's personal growth. The Rogue would be able to resolve blockages in a player's growth if they were willing to sacrifice someone else's. They could take an NPC that already learned an important life lesson and swap that life experience with their friend's, basically speedrunning their character arc. This could have detriments, like the player becoming too dependant on their intense internal conflicts being solved by the snap of two fingers, but it would be an effective short-term solution.

For Life Span, the Rogue of Life would be able to transfer the lifespan of an immortal to themself or their friends, which would be useful if the Rogue of Life wants their non-God Tiered friend to live as long as the Ascended Sessionmates. In an Alternian session, the natural lifespan of a higher-blood could be transferred to a lower-blood to buy them more time until they find their Quest Bed/Sacrificial Slab.

The Rogue of Life would also be able to literally swap bodies. Body Swap Episode!! This could also mean the Rogue could swap aspects of a body with another, meaning they could steal someone's strength, stamina, or muscle mass. Like swapping someone's stats! The Rogue must be careful, though, to keep that balance of muscle mass and strength they want to steal, else the effects would be...less than pleasant on an unprepared body. This would be very good for people with body dysmorphia, at least. Who needs plastic surgery when the Rogue of Life can snap their fingers? This also provides interesting infiltration techniques- if the Rogue can kidnap an enemy and knock them out, they could assume their body and sneak into the enemy base to steal intel. They could potentially impersonate the Black King or Queen and steal their rings if they're clever enough...

Life Energy relates to the full capabilites of the human body. The hard limits to your stamina and how much your muscles are capable of. A Rogue of Life, as said, would be able to swap a person's max stamina and strength, but this could also mean the Rogue steals someone's passive healing ability (how much HP you regenerate over time) and transfers it with a weaker ally's. Basically getting their ally a better immune system, which leads me to think this can be done for other damaged parts of the body. If there's an ally that would like to have their physical disability cured, the Rogue could swap their disability with an able-body person, transferring the disability.

[lazuli-writes]

Intruder

summary: There’s an intruder in the Ateez Dorm.

pairing: Kim Hongjoong & Choi Jongho

genre/warnings: angst (happy ending / non-graphic violence / suicidal thought (singular) / sasaeng fan / asphyxiation / non-consensual touching / aftermath of violence)

part 1

estimated word count: 2000 words

a/n: Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

"Jongho?"

Jongho winced as his bedroom door slammed open, revealing a black blur a meter or so away from the incapacitated maknae. He was too busy struggling with consciousness as his head reverberated with more pain. His eyes stung with tears as he heaved out an irritated sigh.

Was sleep too much to ask for?

He didn’t have the energy to keep his eyes open. Opting to instead remain laying in self-imposed darkness as he tried to settle the ringing in his head. He was really thirsty too—an afterthought in his opinion. Sleep seemed like a better goal to strive for.

"My little baby..."

But despite the ringing of his head, the weakness of his limbs, and the throbbing of his throat, Jongho’s internal alarms went off. He couldn’t comprehend the possibility completely, but he had an inkling that the voice that called to him was unfamiliar.

"Oh no. Is little baby sick?"

Definitely unfamiliar.

Jongho couldn’t help but freeze up. His fear and desire for security overrode his pain as he forced his eyes open.

The room was still wobbly, and the only light in his room came from the open door that let light in from the hallway. But the light was enough to shine through and reveal that hovering above him was the silhouette of a body.

A body he didn’t recognize.

With a voice he didn’t know.

Jongho couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped past his lips as his body iced over in fear. His joints locked him in place. His breath was trapped in his lungs and throat, unable to escape. And his mind sang cruel and horrible symphonies to him, taunting him, teasing him, and threatening him.

There was an intruder. And here they stood before Jongho.

"There’s no need for that."

Jongho’s nerves went into overdrive as the physical exhaustion from being sick and dehydrated came back in harsh waves. Layered with paralyzing fear, Jongho could only shiver in his bed as this man, this creature, this monster wiped away the tears from Jongho’s face. Tears that he didn’t even know were beginning to rivulet their way down his face.

"I’m going to take very good care of you, baby."

The intruder’s fingers were dry, rough, and calloused. Jongho could only cry further as the man’s fingers so insultingly caressed his cheeks and at the way this monster cooed and chuckled at his tears.

Jongho didn’t like this. He wanted this to stop. He wanted his hyungs. He wanted to go home to his family. But he didn’t know what he could possibly do. So he only did what he could. Let more tears escape as his pleas became verbal.

"P-P-Please... leave me alone."

Those weren’t the words the cruel stranger wanted to hear. Something Jongho realized a few quiet moments later as the caress on his cheeks became a bruising grip. He tried. He tried so badly to fight back. But the exhaustion of pulling his head or lifting his arms or a leg to push, shove, or even kick away the intruder was all for naught.

He was too weak.

And Jongho could only cry more as that truth sank in viciously.

Jongho could only lay there, tears burning down his cheeks, as the man screamed in his face. He was beyond understanding what the intruder had been saying. However, slurs of certain words had made it through...

"…Mine…"

"…Never…"

"…Lesson…"

Fear had never encapsulated him the way it did in those hazy moments.

Jongho didn’t want this.

He wanted his hyungs. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted the man to stop yelling. He wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted the stranger to stop touching him. He wanted his hyungs to hold him.

He wanted this monster gone. He wanted the intruder dead. He wanted to be dead. He just wanted it to be over.

Why wasn’t it over?

•••

Hongjoong’s heart pounded in his ears as he approached the broken door to his dorm. Adrenaline and fear fueled his body. Passing through the defiled threshold of his home, he paid no mind to the gasps of shock, anger, and horror from the staff and members behind him. He felt unbalanced. Uncentered from his own sanity as his mind ran a marathon of horrible scenarios, all of them with one constant.

Jongho.

Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn’t he picking up his phone when the captain tried calling him again?

So many things prodded at Hongjoong’s sanity in concerns for the youngest of his brothers. He didn’t know what to expect when he thought he would find Jongho. Relief. Ease. Content. Possibly anger at the possible trauma the maknae could be subjected to. Or maybe even culpable melancholy, seeing as he failed to protect Jongho from the tortures of the world, like he promised he would.

But pushing himself past the entrance of the youngest’s room to see what he did, Hongjoong’s vision closed in on itself. Red and black was his only sight. One moment, Hongjoong stood at the door, watching as the intruder forced a pillow over the face of a shivering maknae. The next, hands and feet were moving. His nose burned with pain. His arms stung the same way they did after hours spent lifting weights. He felt hands everywhere on his body: on his face, around his neck and waist, upon his wrists, hair, and arms.

His own hands felt as if they were forced through a meat grinder, stinging, burning, and throbbing in agony. One of his feet was aflame, sending dozens of painful shockwaves up his leg, yet he couldn’t be bothered. The inside of the captain’s throat felt mutilated and mangled, as if he had swallowed glass. All of this culminated in a shadow of time, as Hongjoong only regained consciousness when he felt a sudden compression against the back of his head.

Blinking, sirens, and the yells of numerous voices filtered in slowly as Hongjoong slowly regained control over his own sight and sanity.

"He’s safe. No more Joong-ah. No more."

Hongjoong recognized that voice.

Finally taking note of his surroundings, he realized that he was being pinned down. His cheek pressed firmly against the cold and wet floor. A set of hands pressed his legs into place on the ground. Another set held his hands firmly in place behind his back, while Seonghwa’s face took up the majority of his obscured vision.

He felt weak; his ears rang, and his body bruised as he struggled to take in the scene before him as he was slowly released from the confines of his hands.

He was being held down by the joint forces of Seonghwa, Yunho, and one of their managers. A trio that he struggled to register in his brain as their mouths moved and their eyes danced with concern and fear. Looking around the room, he noticed how four other staff members were dragging away the limp and bloodied body.

The intruder.

That stranger that defiled his home.

The monstrosity that hurt a member of his family.

Red spots danced in his peripheral vision as his mind leveled itself with sick glee. Satisfaction and pleasure overcame the numerous unattended cuts, scrapes, and bruises that littered Hongjoong’s skin as he found joy in the utter impact of his wrath. In Hongjoong’s mind, he didn’t care if charges were going to be filed. No idol image or any amount of fame or monetary cost would have mattered to him. His soul alone would have never forgiven himself if he didn’t exact the justice he deemed fit upon those that threatened or harmed what was his. And this home—the other members, Jongho—all of it was his.

"H-hyung.."

The soft hiccup drew Hongjoong’s attention completely as he turned around, his eyes glazing over in guilt and righteous fury as he collected the scene before him. Jongho sat on Yeosang’s lap, covered with a blanket, embraced by the arms of Yeosang, Mingi, and San. Wooyoung sat at the maknae’s feet, betwixt the captain and maknae, with a certain glint in his eye that Hongjoong couldn’t decipher. Had his head stopped spinning sooner and his mental state not been completely pushed past its capacity, Hongjoong would have recognized the fear in the younger man’s eyes.

Fear that Wooyoung had for their leader and his anger. But it wasn’t his eyes that Hongjoong took the time to dissect. Jongho’s eyes were red and glassy. A typhoon of emotion poured out of Jongho’s eyes as he slumped harder into Yeosang’s embrace. His body was still shivering, and his breath was still hiccuping. He was struggling to follow San and Mingi’s gentle pleas to accentuate his breathing.

Hongjoong rose up quickly, ignoring the calls and hands trying to halt his motions. He limped slowly, only now noticing the pain in his legs as he pushed to make his way before his youngest brother.

Wooyoung, however, seemed to have another train of thought, different from Hongjoong’s, seeing as he stood up at the same time as his captain. Quickly standing before Hongjoong in a guard-like demeanor as he attempted to defy and deny Hongjoong. The others in the room held their breath at the display, clearly recognizing a potential disaster, yet Hongjoong didn’t care. He didn’t know what motives Wooyoung had, but all he could do was stare. No malice, no anger, no wrath, or ill will were translated between the stares the two latched onto one another. But still, a heavy and depressed tension weighed on those in the room.

"It’s o-okay, Hyung."

Jongho’s voice was raspy as it called out to the second-youngest. Wooyoung deflated as the built-up tension and fear of blocking Hongjoong from Jongho escaped his body. The second youngest instead slowly made his way next to Mingi, latching a hand onto the elder’s arm as he joined those encircling the maknae. Hongjoong felt immense relief and a tremor throughout his body as he came down to his knees. Sitting down calmly before Jongho, as if the captain hadn’t just beaten an intruder to the cusp of death.

"Jongho-ah…" Hongjoong whispered, his voice strained, and his mind filled with guilt, pain, and worry. And worst of all, shame. Shame that he failed as a captain, as a friend, and as a brother. Shame that in Jongho’s most severe moment of need, Hongjoong had subjected the youngest to a horror film. Hongjoong had lost control. Hongjoong had almost killed a man. And Jongho, sick and injured, was traumatized twice over, all because Hongjoong had failed. "Hyung…. Hyung is so s-sor-"

"No."

Hongjoong's heart froze, and his eyes started to water as he stared up at Jongho. The maknae still remained firmly in Yeosang’s embrace. One hand latched securely over his blanket, the other in San’s hands. His head lay within the crook of Yeosang’s neck, but his wet and red eyes narrowed fiercely and lovingly down to the captain sitting before him.

"T-T-Thank you. Thank you, Hyung. You saved me."

The captain wanted to deny his words. Hongjoong wanted to scream about how Jongho shouldn’t be thanking him for his foolishness. It was his idea to let Jongho sleep it off alone. And it nearly got him killed. Hongjoong needed to suffer for his part in Jongho’s torture, and the captain knew that with all his heart.

Yet all Hongjoong could do was break under the glassy eyes of his maknae. Not wasting a second when he noticed Jongho let go of San’s hand, instead holding it out to his captain. That broke the last of Hongjoong’s resolve.

Sitting up quickly on his knees, Hongjoong threw his arms swiftly, fiercely, and protectively over Jongho. The captain broke down in sobs as he tried his damnedest to ingrain Jongho’s essence back into his consciousness.

Jongho was enraptured in his arms.

Jongho was still breathing.

Jongho was safe.

And that alone was enough to restore Hongjoong’s world and sanity, as his embrace of the younger reassured him that he had saved his brother.

[gorogues]

Possible spoilers for an upcoming DC TV series in this post!

belphegor1982 replied to your text post: Ooh? 👀 tentatively interested

It's definitely interesting! Not sure if it'll ever pan out, but certainly a surprising that DC's thinking about it.

purplecyborgnewt replied to your text post: Would be nice. Also would be nice if the guy whose birthday is tomorrow was among the characters on that show. I love Mientus' version, regardless of how non-comics-compliant it was, but I'm allowed to want more Hartley, and I'm especially allowed to want Hartley as part of the main cast. (And I m allowed to want the show that isn’t “here’s our heroes, they’re all supposed to be straight; here’s our minor antagonist, who’s gay and also a jerk and mean to Cisco - boooo! hisss! Our heroes, meanwhile, are very straight. All of them. But Singh is not a bad guy and he has a boyfriend so it’s fine, probably. Okay, mean gay gets a redemption offscreen, then disappears again. Bad again! Fine, another redemption and a boyfriend! Happy now?”) The show being about Rogues would means no “mean rich gay versus nice straights” - ideally, they’re all complicated enough people (not that Mientus’ Hartley was one-dimentional, but somehow I don’t feel the general audience was supposed to be on his side), and technically, they’re all, y'know, Rogues, so no “Nice Straights” here. (But also there should be Lisa. I hope they won’t just forget Lisa or write her out like “oh yeah, and Captain Cold had a sister, but she died long ago in the backstory”. I’d be furious tbh.)

These are all valid points. It's not quite the same situation as you mention, but I get annoyed with the way Roscoe is frequently the Designated Bad Guy to the other Rogues with no redeeming features, and everybody hates him and always hated him and seem to forget that at one time he got along with them pretty well. A longstanding relationship which mutually broke down? Interesting! He's just irredeemably bad and pure asshole? No thanks. So I get it, and the stuff with Hartley rankles more because of the dynamics (he's gay, the others aren't or at least aren't identified as such) involved.

I share your feelings about Lisa, having been deeply annoyed by the way DC wrote her out for Len-angst before Flashpoint. I hope they've since learned their lesson.

comicsandslushies replied to your text post: Pleeeeeease let this be real, and not suck. I want a heist series with these guys so bad! And hopefully one where they actually get along unlike that black label series

Seconded. There'll surely be conflict for the sake of drama/suspense, but it'd be nice to not have these guys hating each others' guts…as well as seeing why they like each other. Why else would they work together or associate with each other when they could go solo and keep the haul for themselves?

t-bombs replied to your text post: I need this to be real and good SO BADLY

Same! It'd be nice to have something to look forward to, TBH. And if it gets made, I hope it's by someone who knows and loves the source material.

belphegor1982 replied to your text post: Every year I regret they didn’t make his birthday fall on the 21st instead, for international (?) music day :D

Oh no, I wish they had! His birthday was established in 1976 and a quick google says the festival was established in the mid-80s…so it's the fault of the other musicians, perhaps from envy :>

[meatriarchived]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃. / just some small thoughts on danny's dire trajectories.

ive been trying the last some days to really piece together the idea of danny adopting aliases like maria or lee or connie in the dires and honestly? truly just don't think the guy has the mental really to get creative about it like them

esp w. the scenario of him knocking down luda & getting absolutely beat down over weeks for it?

Choke Chained & danny's lil like. crossover routes ( ie. him showing up in a nosy trajectory w. maria & lee ) really is more of a look into how someone functions when they've quite literally been broken. not damaged, not scared into submission, but pushed and beaten and ground into the dirt so badly, so prolonged, that its literally a death in its own right so to speak.

like, following that entire experience danny is still very much loyal and still warm to a point with the others if theyre there too ( ie. nosy ) but really do think how absolutely traumatic - not just mentally or emotionally but also just frankly physically too - how it must have been to literally be repeatedly thrown on the cusp of death over and over and over, how internally there was a sense of dread at the idea of recovering and coming out alive on the other end of the tunnel. how internally there was the fight of just letting yourself go vs i dont want to give any satisfaction in doing so - despite that theres still the satisfaction gained by completely destroying you instead from the outside in.

dragging my point back in re: aliases with danny,

guy really has no need for them ( 'aww but dont you wanna be creative and silly wi-' "no." fdsbhjk just deadpan like no need sorry not tryna be an ass but- ). there was never really a mark he'd left on society pre-house so who cares really if anyone could connect any dots? he may toss out a random name in passing but theres no personas to slip a mask on for, theres no intricate backstory really he pieces together for any or for himself. thats really not what his 'purpose', so to speak, is.

mentioned before but, dont pull danny out for hunts when you want to really toy around. you pull him out by choke chain to kill. he's not sitting in bars to really engage with targets like maria does. he's lurking silently around, watching carefully, keeping low profile and listening, observing. he waits for cues to move - be it maria or lee making eye contact with him, or them either doing the same to johnny and seeing him get up first.

he follows suit - he rarely exactly makes first move, in part to not cause any unnecessary attention, but also because his stupid, rage-blinded choices prior already drilled lesson deep into ribcage.

for how he works, its just an unneeded detail really. he just needs to know who to lock jaws on. anything else that may happen, people approaching him, flirting happens, whatever, then he'll roll with it but all the rest is glitter really. if you want someone dead, without complaint, without time wasted, then you pull him out.

[animalnarratives]

ok bc u asked me about charles religious fic i have to ask you about prayers / triangles it’s only fair

this fic's title is actually shamelessly yoinked from the deftones song ... it's a not-so-sweet oscar/logan fic i started writing on a whim after the sentence "Every time without fail, Logan prays after they have sex." came to me in a vision. and then i somehow ended up with 660-ish words?

it's about trying to find the adrenaline and the buzz of winning in other places than on track when you can't achieve it ... it's also loosely based on the song's lyrics (particularly "There's a new strange godless demon awake inside me / There's a force divine terrorizing the angels I keep / While we dream / Prayers, laid on the line / You will never be free, you will never be free"). the ending is NOT happy as you can imagine. it's written from Oscar's pov so trying to make this Logan's religious guilt and subtle internalized homophobia transpire is a nice exercise.

i sort of dislike the tone of it (feels too dark to be realistic—but also we're on rpf territory, so i don't think realism ought to be that much of an issue...). however. i AM proud of it and rereading it fills me with a lot of confidence regarding my writing style. So.

Very long excerpt under the cut...

The first lesson—and the most important one, it seems—that Oscar learns upon entering Formula One is that they all have quirks, legends of the sport and rookies alike.

He likes to call them that—quirks, an inconspicuous name for something that's more like makeshift band-aids slapped over weeping wounds, worsened a thousand times by the phantom-taste of champagne. Some of them chase the thrill off-track, jumping off of planes or seeking it in the form of liquid fire tucked into a dirty syringe, crushed into a thin powder. When the itch comes, inevitable, Oscar thinks about picking up smoking, a lesser evil. Somewhere halfway through the season, he starts hooking up with Logan instead.

He's not sure how they come to this. The idea takes root at the back of his brain when it becomes clear that all he'll ever fight for is scraps at the back of the field, meaning about seven races in. He's far from a defeatist, but the truth is so cruelly clear it's impossible to ignore: he may push himself as far as he wants, the car will only ever yield so much power.

[...]

All in all, much like any other thing he could have chosen to do, having sex with Logan is a terrible idea. They constantly tiptoe right around the lines of too much and not enough, afflicted with the remnants of what they used to be before. Oscar doesn't like to think about it; tenderness tends to seep in easily late at night, when it's only them two—and part of the reason why this works so well is that it feels like he's not supposed to have it.

[...]

Every time without fail, Logan prays after they have sex.

It's a new thing. Oscar doesn't comment on it. They used to be simpler—sinless, he supposes. Besides, that Logan, of all people, gets his fix on something so dirty he needs to repent feels delightfully ironic. On that ground, at least, Oscar has the upper hand; nothing in his search for a fix come close to the quiet desperation with which Logan moans his name and clings to his shoulders when Oscar fucks him, like it's something he needs so badly not even God can dissuade him.

[shammah8]

"Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."

Matthew 5:42

LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOUR

The second part of the Great Commandment (Luke 10:27) is “Love your neighbour as yourself.” Jesus then tells the story of the Good Samaritan. In this story Jesus defines our neighbour as anyone in need of help. This kind of love is very practical.

 

It was the middle of winter and the elderly Christian in prison had a badly infected ear. He thanked God that he had been able to keep his fur hat affording him some protection from the biting cold. At least he had a pillow at night.

 

One day one of his cellmates asked him for his fur hat. The Christian had been willing to share food with his cellmates, but felt he could not give up his hat. After all, he had an infected ear. He needed that hat.

 

Through the night he wrestled with his conscience. He was haunted by this scripture: “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you” (Matthew 5:42).

 

After a night of prayer, he sought forgiveness before God and was ready to hand over his hat. In the morning he learned that during the night the guards had taken the cellmate to another prison with a more severe climate.

 

That same morning, the guards held a routine check of the cell and among the personal objects confiscated was the believer’s fur hat.

 

He had tried to keep something that he was about to lose and God wanted to see the hat used for continued good with the other prisoner. Many years later, this believer remembered that lesson in Christian maturity which the Holy Spirit taught him.

Response

Today I will live in the realisation that people are more important than things.

Prayer

Help me, Lord, to not be tied down by my possessions but be open to sharing what You have given me with others in need.

© 2013 Open Doors International. Used by permission.

[xtruss]

The Way Out of Burnout! A Psychoanalyst Explains Why For People Feeling “Burnt Out”, Simply Trying to Relax Doesn’t Always Work

— 1843 Magazine | August 12, 2023

Illustration Izhar Cohen

A patient of mine named Elliot recently took a week off from his demanding job as a gp. He felt burnt out and badly needed to rest. The plan was to sleep late, read a novel, take the odd leisurely walk, maybe catch up on “Game of Thrones”. But somehow he found himself instead packing his schedule with art museums, concerts, theatre, meetings with friends in hot new bars and restaurants. Then there were the visits to the gym, Spanish lessons, some flat-pack furniture assemblage.

During the first of his twice-weekly evening sessions, he wondered if he shouldn’t slow down. He felt as exhausted as ever. Facebook and Twitter friends were joking about how it all sounded like harder work than work. “I’m trying to figure out how I’ve managed to be doing so much when I didn’t want to be doing anything. Somehow not doing anything seems impossible. I mean, how can you just…do nothing?!”

When Elliot protests that he can’t just do nothing, he is seeing and judging himself from the perspective of a culture that looks with disdain at anything that smacks of inactivity. Under constant self-scrutiny as to whether he is being sufficiently productive, he feels ashamed when he judges himself to have come up short in this regard. But this leaves him at once too drained to work and unable to rest.

As I describe in my feature for the August/September issue of “1843”, this is the basic predicament of the burnout sufferer: a feeling of exhaustion accompanied by a nervy compulsion to go on regardless is a double bind that makes it very difficult to know how to cope. Burnout involves the loss of the capacity to relax, to “just do nothing”. It prevents an individual from embracing the ordinary pleasures – sleep, long baths, strolling, long lunches, meandering conversation – that induce calm and contentment. It can be counterproductive to recommend relaxing activities to someone who complains that the one thing they cannot do is relax.

So what does it take to recover the capacity to do nothing, or very little? I might be expected at this point to leap to psychoanalysis as an instant remedy. But psychoanalysis is emotionally demanding, time-consuming and often expensive. Nor does it work for everyone (a basic truth of all therapies, physical or mental).

In less severe cases of burnout, it is often the case that difficulties inducing nervous exhaustion are more external than internal. Time and energy may be drained by life events (bereavement, divorce, changes in financial status and so on) as well as the demands of work.

In such cases, it is worth turning in the first instance to more external solutions – cutting working hours as much as possible, carving out more time to relax or for contemplative practices such as yoga and meditation. This is as much a matter of discovering a remedy as the remedy itself. Merely listening and attending to the needs of the inner self as opposed to the demands of the outside world can have a transformative effect.

But such solutions will seem unrealistic to some sufferers both practically and psychologically. Practically in the sense that many of us are employed in sectors that demand punishing hours and unstinting commitment; psychologically in the sense that reducing working hours, and so taking oneself out of the highest levels of the game, is likely to induce more rather than less anxiety in someone driven relentlessly to achieve more.

So while there are many means by which we can be helped to relax, the predicament of severe burnout is precisely that you cannot be helped to relax. Where burnout has psychological roots, psychoanalysis may be able to help.

One way is its “form”. The nervous exhaustion of burnout results from their enslavement to an endless to-do list packed with short- and long-range tasks. In a psychotherapy session, you sit or lie down and begin to talk with no particular agenda, letting yourself go wherever your minds takes you. For portions of a session you might be silent, discovering the value of simply being with someone, without having to justify or account for yourself, instilling an appreciation for what the American psychoanalyst Jonathan Lear calls “mental activity without a purpose.”

Another way is the “content” of psychoanalysis. Talking to a therapist can help us discover those elements in our own history and character that make us particularly vulnerable to specific difficulties such as burnout. In my feature for “1843”, I discuss how two patients came from early childhood to associate their worth and value with their levels of achievement. Under constant pressure from within to “be their best”, they were liable to feel empty and exhausted when, inevitably, they felt they’d failed to live up to this ideal self-image.

This was very much the case for Elliot, and goes some way to explaining why the idea of “just doing nothing” so scandalised him. Even today, as they approach old age, Elliot could never imagine his parents putting their feet up talking, reading or watching tv. He remembers family meals taken quickly, with one or both parents in a hurry to rush off to one commitment or another. His own life was heavily scheduled with homework and extra-curricular lessons, and he was never more forcefully admonished by either parent than when he was being “lazy”. “They were kind of compulsively active”, he said, “and made me feel it was shameful to waste time. You could imagine the seats of their chairs were rigged to administer a jolt of current if they sat on them for more than ten minutes.” Only now is he beginning to ask why they, and he in turn, are like this, and why being at rest for any length of time is equivalent in their minds to “wasting” it.

Insight like this can be helpful to challenge our unthinkingly internalised habits of working and our dogmas as to what constitutes a “productive” use of our time. It encourages us to think about what kind of life would be worth living, rather than simply living the life we assume we’re stuck with.

[boomtee]

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ge: limotees    jeeppremiu

A very few do and lots of voice therapy lessons do, some actor speaking exercises help this too. Most people have a Budweiser Beer Cheap Hawaiian Shirt singing voice that just needs to have the vocal cords helped by developing the control of muscles in the major areas already mentioned, including the tongue and lower jaw. It’s similar to how you can make a blade of grass into a whistle by holding it between two thumbs: only with the proper control of the pressure from the thumbs will the grass vibrate. If you can’t do that, it’s not the fault of the grass, it’s that your thumbs are not doing it correctly. That’s a direct parallel to how your vocal cords work. You develop control of the area around the vocal cords and then pump air through that area and get the vocal cords right in the path of the air. You can play vocal cords higher/lower, louder/softer, just like a blade of grass. See!m  telotee

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[ac-liveblogs]

jason todd is incredible

Not for his character or anything, but because I don’t think I’ve seen anyone shoot themselves in the foot with a single character half as badly as DC did with Jason.

He was, during Under the Red Hood, one of the biggest gamechangers they could have thrown at Bruce Wayne’s Batman. Here was an intellectual equal to Batman and superior to the Joker and Gotham’s entire criminal underbelly. A tactical nuke primed to devastate Batman both emotionally and ideologically. Physically, ridiculously dangerous. exceptionally well-trained. a match for Batman in every way. He’s a character that Bruce can’t fight properly, and, worse, one that punches holes in Batman’s modus operandi in ways that instinctively makes sense to the audience.

Bruce’s son, his greatest failure, returned from the grave as an agent of vengeance. Batman, through a mirror darkly.

sounds super interesting, huh. 

Unfortunately, characters like Jason are also the agents of introspection and change. He would have forced Bruce to reflect and, worse still, readers to start second-guessing Batman’s morality. How many people walk away from Under the Red Hood thinking “holy shit, they should have killed the Joker”? Most, right? Jason would have changed Gotham’s status quo irreversibly and, unfortunately, Gotham can’t really change. progress can’t be made, villains can’t die forever, Batman can’t be wrong. 

Because it sells that way, obviously. The Joker will never die, no matter how heinous he is, not really. Not while he’s selling merch. 

So once it turned out that Jason was also super popular, what could DC do? He would shake things up too much if allowed to stay on course. He’s too dangerous, too strong. and so... character assassination! Keep the aesthetics of the angry shooty red helmet daddy issues clowns-bad man while changing the internal workings - fans won’t notice, right? 

Strip away his competence, reduce his skillset, make him an idiot, a lunatic, a brawny shoot-first-don’t-think meathead! He’s not a strategist, he’s stupid, he charges in headfirst. Change his approach to vigilantism. He was always a bad Robin - he was violent and petty and dangerous and he and Bruce never jived in the first place. Keep him out of Gotham as much as possible and when you can’t do that, either quietly pretend he’s on good terms with the batclan or have him and Bruce run around in circles.

And, most importantly, he has to be wrong. He has to be unreasonable. He needs to be the screwup that needs to be sanitised, put in his place, and come crawling back to Bruce so he can be safely assimilated into the family.

Circling around to Urban Legends, Jason and Bruce’s dynamic has completely flipped. Jason is the one that has to change for Bruce’s conditional love, rather than Jason setting the terms Bruce has to meet for Jason to trust him again. Jason is the one that has to learn a Very Important Lesson about the flaws in his morality and align himself with Bruce’s - bearing in mind that Jason developed his worldview after experiencing, firsthand, the flaws in Bruce’s.

Jason is no longer a mirror forcing Bruce to think and develop and grow. He’s one of two things - a stupid, unreasonable villain or Just Another Graduated Robin that Bruce has to control and keep in line just a touch more than the others. His post-reboot arc is him trying to move past his trauma and grow but losing it all and returning, battered and beaten, to Bruce’s side. He’s rapidly losing what made him interesting in the first place and fifteen years later Bruce still hasn’t learnt a damn thing.

jason could never be jason for an extended period of time. villains would die, gotham would change, batman would evolve, and DC is too scared to try (hell, they can’t even let bruce stay dead). a braver industry might have made something amazing out of him but unfortunately DC comics just ain’t it

[northsoulss]

maybe you were the best part - ʟᴇᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ

synopsis : they were inseparable, but yet they were pulled apart. after ages of not seeing each other, he still picks up your call. maybe its fate? maybe just a coincidence. but one thing’s certain — rekindling the embers to this dead fire wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

genre : fluff

pairing : dancer!leeknow x fem!dancer!reader

warnings : none

song recs to listen while reading : mystery of love - by sufjan stevens, nothing - bruno major

the day of moving has finally arrived — it seemed so far away when i first came here fresh out of high school. i hastily grabbed the keys to my new apartment from the table, before taking one last look around my now empty dorm room.

this dorm room holds a special place in my heart — it was the place where i first woke up hungover, the place where i cried the most because of dance lessons, and the place where i would always seek refuge in whenever things became too much to handle. i let out a shaky sigh, giving myself a light slap on the cheek. “c’mon, it’s finally time to get out of this hell hole and now you’re feeling nostalgic? that’s ironic.”

indeed, everyday of me waking up in university was a pain. first thing in the morning, i would have classes nonstop till noon, only to find out i have assignments that i have forgotten to do because of my extremely poor time management skills. it was actually my fault that i found managing training to become a professional dancer and being a student so hard due to the consequences of my actions. “i’ll do it later.” a very famous phrase i sported proudly, but always resulted in me cramming in all my assignments a day before the deadline. i wanted so badly for this cycle that has lasted for four whole years to end, and yet the feelings i have now is a walking contradiction of how i felt when i first came.

i let out another sigh before closing the door behind me, and locking the door to the memories that i hold dearly to me forever. well, forever is a bit dramatic. it still remains in my mind, but it is now stowed away in one of the many drawers, collecting dust.

after returning the keys to my old dorm room, i walk away from the building, only to find myself sitting down on a park bench alone, wondering to myself if becoming a professional ballet dancer was really what i wanted to do. before i could continue stewing my thoughts, my phone started to vibrate violently in my hands, bringing me back to reality.

bringing my phone up to my ear, an automated voice was heard through the speakers of my phone. “the delivery of your items will arrive shortly to your destination in thirty minutes. please be there to pick them up. beep.” oh right, my stuff. i had completely forgotten about my furniture and other items that was being delivered to my new apartment, and that was when i started to panic.

fuck, thirty minutes? i need to rush there now if i want to make it on time. i thought to myself, not wasting anymore time to rush to the train station to catch the train before i’m too late.

“what’s up?” minho’s tone was slightly shocked, and i already regret my decision to call him. i sat there in the corner of the nearly empty train compartment, now wondering if calling minho out of all people would have been a good idea to help me move in.

“hey um, it’s been quite a while.” i say awkwardly, rubbing the back of neck even though he can’t see me.

“yeah, it has.” he says coolly through the phone, but he wasted no time in getting to the point, “why did you call me?” the question hung in the air, clearly the elephant in the room. right, it’s been a year since we last talked, especially with minho taking on a huge project in his final year, i had practically no time to speak with him at all. despite us drifting apart, he was the first person i thought of calling.

“hey! can’t your best friend call you?” i joke awkwardly, panicking internally at the slightly accusatory question. however, after hearing his chuckle on the other end of the line, i let out the breath i didn’t even realise i was holding. thank god the atmosphere became less tense, or i would have crumbled right there and then in my seat.

“i never said that, but it is quite sudden. also, are you on the train? it’s quite nosy on your end.”

“yeah, i am. actually, i’m rushing to go collect my things so that i can move into my new apartment!” i say a bit too quickly, but after hearing no response, for a while, i assumed the connection got cut off. so i waited, phone in hand, leg bouncing up and down anxiously for him to reply.

the sound of foot steps coming closer to me went unheard, my anxiety overriding all my other senses. i felt a light tap on my shoulder, and my mind immediately jumps to conclusions. it can’t be him right? i think, but oh how i was right. i turn my head and there he was in the flesh. well damn.

“hi.” he says with a small grin. oh how i missed that.

“hey!” my voice came out louder than i expected, embarrassment creeping up my cheeks after seeing minho wince slightly.

“that excited to see me?” a sly grin tugs at his lips, a laugh escaping his lips. oh how i missed that too. he flicks his hand, gesturing for me to move in so that he can sit next to me. i scoot over wordlessly, still in shock that he’s here. he’s really here.

during his final year, he had to conduct his project overseas which led us to talking less, and texting less. eventually, we just stopped talking. it’s like the fire we had dwindled out completely, but seeing him here gave me hope. maybe it was the fact that it’s been ages since i last saw him, but god i missed him so much.

“you okay?” he turns to look at me, those warm brown eyes still shining as bright as ever. he looks healthier now that we’ve graduated, and understandably so. training and having to carry the weight of being the lead in a big project for our school is extremely taxing and will take a huge toll on one’s body. i find myself becoming speechless as i continue to stare at him, a bit dumbfounded at this situation.

“hello, you still there?” he waves his hand in front of my face, catching me off guard. but what makes me more shocked is his free hand resting on top of mine.

“uh- uh yeah! i’m just a little stressed, haha. with moving in and all that.” i clear my throat and try to play it off, trying my hardest to ignore the fact that my face feels like it’s burning. i avert my eyes from minho, staring holes into my shoes.

if he does notice the flush on my face, he doesn’t say anything and only nods, but his hand remains on top of mine throughout the ride to my station.

“so.. are you finally moving into that apartment?” he breaks the silence when we finally step out of the train.

“yes, thankfully i was able to snag it before someone else could.” i hear him mumble a small “i see..” before trailing off. silence settles onto us again and this time it’s awkward. i shift around uncomfortably, fiddling with the necklace that rested on my collarbone while minho texted on his phone.

“well, since i actually live near by, do you need help with moving in?” he lifts his head from looking at his phone, the anticipation in his voice going over my head. there’s the question i’ve been dying to ask. i guess the odds are in my favour this time.

“that would be nice, yeah.” i smile at him gratefully, and he returns a toothy one, his eyes curling into crescent moons. i feel my heart skip a beat, but i ignore it, continuing to smile to myself as we walked to my apartment.

when we arrived, the delivery truck has just parked, the boxes of my items already starting to get unloaded. after the items were all outside my apartment, i quickly thanked the delivery man and watched the truck speed off into the distance.

“alright, shall we start moving things in?” i turn to look at him, rolling my sleeves, but already find him looking at me. well shit.

i clear my throat again, and begin carrying as many boxes as i can manage, minho following suit behind me silently.

i was winded by the time we carried all the boxes up to my apartment, but he only looked like he went for a light jog. he finds me practically panting at door step and laughs hysterically, pulling my hand to sit down on the floor with him.

“damn, i would think that all that training you went through would help with your stamina, but i guess not.” i elbow his side when he says that, his laughter continuing to float around us like a melody. the atmosphere remained light and comfortable, with the rays of the setting sun shining into my apartment.

“hey, it’s getting a bit late.” i prod him with my finger, causing him to look at his watch. i expected him to get up and leave, but he waves his hand dismissively, saying, “it’s fine, i did say that i lived close by anyway. i’ll even help you unbox if you’d like.” his eyes glowed expectantly, his eyebrows raised. how can i say no to that? so i nod my head, earning a grin from him in return.

“god, when was this?” he laughs, shaking a faded polaroid that he held.

“what’s that?” still trying to wade my way across the sea of boxes that was my apartment. i squint, walking up to him to see the picture in between his fingers.

“is that us?” i reach out to take his hand to stabilise myself, which he extends for me grab onto. my hand remains on his arm as i look at the photo, feeling him tense up slightly. the polaroid was yellowish and faded, the edges torn and tattered. it was clear that the picture was taken quite a few years ago, the protective layer of the film peeling off.

minho clears his throat, shaking his arm to get my hand off. i pretend not to notice the flushed hue on his face as he rubs his ears slightly in an effort to conceal the redness.

all that confidence, where did it go?

taking a closer look at the photo, i was standing next to minho, both of us dressed in matching costumes that made it felt like a thousand degrees whenever we wore it. i think the light sheen of sweat on both our foreheads was quite telling of that. my arm was drapped over his shoulders a bit uncomfortably due of the height difference, with his resting lazily on the curve of my waist.

a wave of nostalgia washes over me, i instantly recognise the background of the photo, memories from three years ago coming back.

“was this from the big day?” i grin, turning over to look at minho, who was clearly being more productive than i was; taking empty boxes and stacking them on top of each other at the doorway.

he mutters a yeah, with his head deep into a box while casually rummaging through the items inside.

“i think this was the day of the show in our first year, the one where i nearly sprained my ankle before it even started,” i reminisce fondly, whilst watching minho continue to take items out of the boxes.

his head peaks out of the box, his mouth forming an “O”. he goes back to digging through my boxes and being the productive one, ignoring whatever questions i shot at him within the next few minutes.

“catch!”

“what-“ i whirl around, only to be hit with a crusty leotard and tutu.

of course, it hit me square in my face. minho broke out in a shit-eating grin, his eyes lighting up and his laughter filling the air. i cough as if i have concrete powder stuck in my lungs, wafting my hands through the air that was in front of me; the dust from the tutu and leotard filling the air thickly. i grimace, my face contorting into disgust. it was clothes that have not been washed for years thrown at my face for god’s sake.

“what was that for?” i shout, a string of curses slipping out.

he only shrugs and walks away nonchalantly, a smile creeping up onto my face the moment i see him nearly trip over a smaller box at his feet.

“now, that is something i call karma. ever heard of it?”

“shut it.” he bites out, grabbing the kitchen counter to rebalance himself. i snort, placing the tutu and leotard aside on my ‘table’, which was a large box that had my actual table inside, just unassembled.

comfortable silence settled upon us, the sound of boxes getting shuffled being the only thing filling the air. its been years since we danced in that play — i remember distinctively about how anxious the both of us were the day before the actual play; we practiced and practiced till our knees buckled whenever we stood up.

“practice makes perfect,” our ballet instructor always spoke in his posh sounding voice. in reality, instead of perfection, practice gave me bunions on my feet that never went away even after i graduated. pstd too, but we don’t talk about that.

millions of spotlights shining onto the stage and the silent anticipation from the audience was something i could never forget — i find myself yearning for that feeling of breathlessness and relief after the curtains come down to end the play, the thunderous sounds of clapping filling the air.

“i want to relive these memories again.” he mutters, finding yet another picture of us together, but in different costumes.

this time, we were much younger, probably in high school. our shoulders awkwardly brushing against each other, obviously forced by our parents to take the photo. i looked at the picture, remembering the all the times we stayed back in that academy to practice together after school, even after the sun had set just to get away from our responsibilities.

if i had to be honest, i missed it too.

“we could, you know, um,” i stutter, internally slapping myself for stumbling over my words.

“what? dance together again?” he says casually, a slight smile resting on his lips.

“yeah!” i say with a bit too much enthusiasm, the volume of my voice shocking me lightly. i purse my lips, forming an excuse to save face but he beat me to it, quickly standing to take my hands away from the dusty boxes. minho takes a shallow bow, extending his hand for me to take. i stand before him amused, but i followed suit, curtsying with my imaginary skirt.

we danced around my apartment, careful to not knock over any of the furniture. his eyes bored into mine, the darkest of brown. yet his eyes glittered brightly — brighter than any star in the sky; his adoration clearly displayed for me to see.

“as professional ballet dancers, ballroom dancing was not what i had in mind when i said i wanted to dance again.” i say a bit breathlessly, my eyes wandering everywhere but his face.

he laughs, but doesn’t reply, twirling me around before doing a large sweep, bringing our bodies closer together than it was before. “i did take classes.” he grins, only to get a smack from me in return.

“what a humble bragger you are.”

“you love it.”

“in your dreams.” i deny, yet, my smile betrays me once more.

he only smiles in return, our bodies moving in unison once more.

it was only after midnight that minho decided it was time to head back, his hands outstretched to motion for me to give him a hug. i hesitantly walk over into his arms, feeling them wrap around my waist. my breath hitches, but i snake my hands around his neck, feeling his hands tighten their grip. after a moment of us hugging in silence, he lets go and places his hands on my shoulders. “i’ll see you around, yeah?” his eyes were filled with so much fondness i think my heart melts. he pats my head gently before waving goodbye, leaving me alone in my apartment.

i slouch down, leaning my back against the door, a part of me wishing he didn’t leave. i wish i told him to stay. to stay with me for the night. for him and i to talk things out about what our status is. will we always remain best friends? will we keep the status quo? will i never get to tell him that he was really the best part of the hell that i had to walk through? i hope not.

my masterlist!

© northsoulss 2022, all rights reserved

——

its been such a long time since i posted any proper works lolol. but i am alive

also i have no idea how moving works lol so sorry if i get anything wrong 🕺

[notyetbulletproof]

I think what his siblings sometimes forget is that Anthony takes their upbringing very seriously. Too seriously forgetting sometimes that they are their own people capable of their own mistakes and that not all those mistakes are on him. Or that not all those mistakes are because of him. Because of him being their father figure instead of their actual father.

It’s not that he doesn’t view them as people being allowed to make their own decisions. It’s just that he takes on their decisions and their mistakes. It’s why he donated money so Benedict could go to Art school because he believed in his brother and wanted him to have success no matter what. He believed Benedict just needed the opportunity to apply himself and when presented with the chance to help him do that, gave it to him. It is also evidenced in his concern when he visits Benedict. It is why he encouraged Colin to go on that trip. It is why Francessca is off being awesome at the Pianoforte. It is also why he took the launching of his sisters into society so seriously. To the point that he forgets that he DOESN’T know best. It is why when Lady W attempts to ruin Eloise’s reputation, he takes it so hard. The family is already suffering his scandal and he’s been so caught up in that, he neglected his primary objective— protect his family. And it takes us back to his response to Violet at Lady Danbury’s house and to the museum (and the church) with Kate. Did he fail them? How badly has he failed them?

He takes on the responsibility of being responsible for the respect (and also potential ruin) of his family. A respectable family is run by a gentleman. He parents them and they all struggle with it in their own ways. It is not that they cannot make their own decisions it is they when they only think for themselves, they aren’t the only ones that carry the consequences. He knows that better than anyone because his family suffers every time he messes up and I think a huge part of him is tired of having to carry that alone. Yet at the same time, he feels incredibly responsible for not knowing what is going on with them. He feels guilty for trying to do things for himself. Exploring what he wants instead of ignoring it. But he’s trying to do that and look at all he missed!

When he walks out after they read the Lady W in ep 7, my heart went out to him. I also feel the only person that understood his feelings on the matter were Kate’s. This is also evidenced by him lashing out, not thinking about the consequences of his words and improving them causing all his siblings to just walk off (beginning of ep 8). And everything that happens in that ep for Anthony is so important, admitting what he feels, admitting his fear, going to see Kate, his conversation with Gregory about putting too much pressure on everyone expecting too much of everyone. Acknowledging the other roles he needed to play in their lives too. That he had to know them as much as look out for them. Finally talking about his father and internally asking himself the question of— can he be the best of himself like his father was too? Can he let someone see the best and worst of him? Can he share his life? Can he be his own person, carry the lessons, lead with love but know that he himself is enough? Letting himself talk about his father again. Sharing the love and light he’s locked away for so long. His conversation with Benedict. You sound like me—- putting yourself down, not rising up to all you can do. You are incredibly talented and I believe in you and your best gift is always seeing in people what they refuse to see in themselves or will not admit to. Always knowing what others need. Without you, I would not be able to see a way forward, thank you brother. —— Essentially coming back to the brother that knew him -Anthony as himself- before everything else. Also this isn’t me saying Anthony is 2 different people. I’m saying Anthony let a lot of the light in him die when his father died. He became a person who was consumed by the expectations of others (again, shout-out to Daphne). He became a construct of who he had to be. That’s also why I believe he’s so affected every time something goes wrong because he sees it as a personal failing. He failed. He failed them.

And he didn’t. It’s not always on him. And he is finally learning that.