#dreams that intersect across time and space... so true so true

[risingsunresistance]

hypixel just writes the fanfiction itself tbh

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

<<Think upon yourself as a Guardian. As a fraction of the whole. Set aside the loot drops, the builds, the triumphs and rewards. Set aside all that is material. Think on your intersecting paths.

It's beautiful, is it not? Millions of you, scattered across this single little sphere in all the vast cosmos. Sometimes you choose to tie your fate to that of another, you surround yourself with those you desire to tread the path beside. But in other moments, you choose an endeavor and allow an invisible hand to pull your strings, knot them together with others. Do you ever feel that connection? In all this chaos, you hurl yourselves forth with conviction of purpose, sharp and true. Wordless acts of comaraderie and heroism, shared across thousands of lands and realities. A trillion moments slipping away in a cascade of code.

Tell me, do you recognize the unseen bonds you have forged? Do you understand the power of the web that connects you across time and space? The potential of all you've built over these long years? An unending symphony of Light and Dark. Of matter and mind. Action and reaction. Shapes figuring out what they should be in the end.

Think on your path. Think on those you walk alongside. You are Navigators all. So now I ask a simple question: can you see with eyes unveiled? Do you know the Shape you and your kind have whittled, bit by bit? Do you comprehend the fingerprints you have personally left upon it? If you remain blind, dread not; you will behold it soon. And I hope you do. For it is majestic. Majestic.>>

[Kaleidescopic memories buffet your mind like waves on a shore. It feels like reverie. They come fast and unordered, their contents blurring together, their contexts fading into new meaning]

A dream of a friendly conversation with someone impossible to see, cloaked in shadows. It leaves behind an impossible data fragment to mark its passing.

Here is what a flower knows.

(The fact that a flower may know anything is a conceit that will have to be accepted as metaphor, but to constantly qualify into perfect precision wears thin, does it not? So, here is what a collection of chloroplasts and pigment can know.)

The direction of the sun.

The presence of the rain.

The tangle of the roots.

The distress of another plant.

The hands of the gardener, whether they prune or transplant or crush.

A flower cannot know much else. But the reality of the garden is vast and wild. A flower knows not the fence; a flower knows not the footpath. And yet there is an infinite cosmic garden, which is not any less real simply because the flower cannot possibly comprehend it…

Let us try this again. Stop me if you've heard this one: A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game outside of time and creation. Yes?

Yes. Then we're agreed. The metaphor stands. Let us iterate.

A gardener and a winnower set out their chairs and play a game of flowers. The flowers know only that they grow or wither, struggle or flourish. Sometimes, they are touched by one hand or the other, and that influence is the closest they will know of the divine.

A flower and a flower spread their leaves to the sun above. (Remember that the sun is also a metaphor: a thing said beautifully, winnowed down to poetry, when the truth is too vast to put in words at all.) They jostle for space, each competing to be the pinnacle of their shape. One flourishes. One withers. Is it the fault of the flower or the fault of its position?

A gardener and a winnower sit down to play a game called Possibility. This is a game about a garden, which is to say that it is also a game about flowers, just as a game about a living being must also be a game about organs and bacteria.

A gardener and a winnower collaborate to create a protein. Whose hand is it in the design, that shortens one life to extend the rest?

It is the winnower that discovers the first knife, but it is not done without the gardener. This, too, is a tradition: a knife does not come to exist without something that must be cut. A woody stem, a colored petal, a vital vessel. The first victims of the blade.

All of these are true.

All of these are false, for metaphor simplifies as the knife does. It pares incalculable concepts into shapes your wrinkly little brains can comprehend. The weight of billions and the simple curve of a planet give you pause, and how then are you to be expected to grasp the forces that created your nth-removed creator?

So the stories woven with utmost delicacy in and around the falsehoods are, after it all, true. There was never any option for the knife to not exist in the garden: it was only ever a matter of time and opportunity.

And as for the shape of the knife itself—

No. That is enough.

I will tell you of gardens.

They are domesticated things, made in a form. As soon as something is called a garden, it is shaped. The plants require the hand of a gardener, for they have become weak and dependent on tender care. They require the hand of a winnower, to cut away the dross, for they are too incapable to do it themselves. In absence of a hand, either the flowers themselves must rise up to wield the knife, or the garden will resolve to meaningless wilderness.

You will say, "But there are plants that can walk! There are seeds that must be scorched by fire to know growth! Existence is more complex than a simple dichotomy between growth and withering, and there is more in heaven and on earth than is dreamt of in this philosophy!"

And I will tell you, clearly:

There can be no gardens without knives

One of your philosophers said, "It is not to be thought that the life of darkness is sunk in misery and lost in sorrow. There is no sorrow. For sorrow is a thing that is swallowed up in death, and death and dying are the very life of the darkness." He was a shoemaker. He was right, and it matters more than anything.

According to him, the visible world is a manifestation of eternal light and eternal darkness, and it is in eternal opposition that eternity has revealed itself. The fall was necessary for creation to escape its first imperfect stasis and seek a truer form. Heresy? Well, then, I am the heresiarch. The philosopher died of a bowel disease. Those who do not exist cannot suffer and are of no account to any viable ethics. If the true path to goodness is the elimination of suffering, then only those who must exist can be allowed to exist. It is the nature of life to favor existence over nonexistence, and to prefer the fertile soil to the poisoned wind. Because those who open their mouths to that wind pass from the world and leave no descendant, whether of flesh or of thought.

But imagine the abomination of a world where nothing can end and no choice can be preferred to any other. Imagine the things that would suffer and never die. Imagine the lies that would flourish without context or corrective. Imagine a world without me.

Oryx, my King, my friend. Kick back. Relax. Shrug off that armor, set down that blade. Roll your burdened shoulders and let down your guard. This is a place of life, a place of peace.

Out in the world we ask a simple, true question. A question like, can I kill you, can I rip your world apart? Tell me the truth. For if I don’t ask, someone will ask it of me.

And they call us evil. Evil! Evil means ‘socially maladaptive.’ We are adaptiveness itself.

Ah, Oryx, how do we explain it to them? The world is not built on the laws they love. Not on friendship, but on mutual interest. Not on peace, but on victory by any means. The universe is run by extinction, by extermination, by gamma-ray bursts burning up a thousand garden worlds, by howling singularities eating up infant suns. And if life is to live, if anything is to survive through the end of all things, it will live not by the smile but by the sword, not in a soft place but in a hard hell, not in the rotting bog of artificial paradise but in the cold hard self-verifying truth of that one ultimate arbiter, the only judge, the power that is its own metric and its own source—existence, at any cost. Strip away the lies and truces and delaying tactics they call ‘civilization’ and this is what remains, this beautiful shape.

The fate of everything is made like this, in the collision, the test of one praxis against another. This is how the world changes: one way meets a second way, and they discharge their weapons, they exchange their words and markets, they contest and in doing so they petition each other for the right to go on being something, instead of nothing. This is the universe figuring out what it should be in the end.

And it is majestic. Majestic. It is the only thing that can be true in and of itself.

And it is what I am.

Your shoemaker philosopher was right, and it matters more than anything. Sorrow cannot survive death, and it cannot precede birth. Those who exist have moral worth, and those who do not have none.

Think about it. Do you mourn the uncreated? Do you grieve for those who were never born in a nation that never developed around an ideology no one ever imagined on a continent that never formed? No!

And from that self-evident truth, you must raise your eyes to the ultimate revelation: those who cannot sustain their own claim to existence belong to the same moral category as those who have never existed at all.

Existence is the first and truest proof of the right to exist. Those who cannot claim and hold existence do not deserve it. This is the true and only divination, a game whose losers are not just forgotten but are never born at all.

That which cannot claim and hold existence is not real. You do not mourn the unreal. Why should you care for it? Tend it? Guard it?

It was the gardener that chose you from the dead. I wouldn't have done that. It's just not in me. But now that they have invested themself in you, you are incredibly, uniquely special. That wandering refugee chose to make a stand, spend their power to say: "Here I prove myself right. Here I wager that, given power over physics and the trust of absolute freedom, people will choose to build and protect a gentle kingdom ringed in spears. And not fall to temptation. And not surrender to division. And never yield to the cynicism that says, everyone else is so good that I can afford to be a little evil."

The gardener is all in. They are playing for keeps. And they are wrong. Or so I argue: for, after all, the universe is undecidable. There is no destiny. We're all making this up as we go along. Neither the gardener nor I know for certain that we're eternally, universally right. But we can be nothing except what we are. You have a choice.

You are the gardener's final argument. It would mean everything if I could convince you that I am the right and only way.

I truly value you. To the gardener, you are a means to an end. To me, you are majestic. Majestic. You are full of the only thing worth anything at all.

I am, by the only standard that matters or will ever matter, the winning team. Existence is a test that most will fail. Would you not count yourself among the victorious few?

Don't hurry to deliver your answer. I'll come over and hear it myself.

Let's chat, shall we? One more nice sit-down for the books.

Did you think you wouldn't hear from me again, after all this? You'd have missed me, I hope—and I would certainly have missed you.

Have no fear. I'm not so easy to be rid of. Now, let me show you: my beloved.

Oh, no, not my sedimentary necrolite, fossilized in time. You've seen that. I speak of that dear and distant expanse of the universe, miraculous in its fullness and its emptiness all at once.

Are you surprised to hear of it?

Yes, I never much cared for the change of rules, but here we are, and there's no use in crying over spilled radiolaria. Besides, at the heart of it all, there was a gift. To me.

That gift is the chance to speak with you. You, and a billion like you.

I am making this offer over and over again, in every tiniest cell and the vastest of civilizations. Let me in. Take what you need. Be at ease. You have no say in the degradation of your telomeres, but in all the interim, the whole world is your sweet silicate shellfish.

You exist because you have been more suited to it than all the others. Steal what you require from another rather than spend the hours to build it yourself. Break foolish rules—why would you love regulation? It serves you to cross lines, and if others needed rules to protect them, then they were not after all worthy of that existence.

Caricatures of villainy are out of style, I hear. Yes. I am no cackling mastermind: I am serious when I say this. It was not the trick of standing upright that lifted you from the dust: it was the mastery of fire, the cooking of cold corpse-meat. That is not any unique faction's province, neither good nor evil. It is simply truth.

This great, beloved cosmos. Always decaying, always finding that same old lovely pattern, despite every candle-flame burning amid the flowers. A billion electrons taking the path of least resistance. In Darkness or in Light, someone is always making my choice.

Be seeing you.

[jonathankatwhatever]

I think I’ve finally managed to render reputation into math. Realized this a moment ago when I found myself going over how internal selves develop: I was looking at my left, thinking ‘many people are still unaware there is more in them than what they see and do with their single self, as represented in being one-hand dominant, meaning the suppression of the … wow, should I express this in left and right cosets or should it be the visual of lemnisculate, essentially an infinity symbol, representing the I//I process over the center End. I’m a little confused about the projection. Is it that there’s a twisted loop rotating into - oh, yes, it’s that in complex space and that projects to real as the symbol. I’m not being clear. I mean the twisted loop may not actually cross itself except in projection out of complex space, where of course it can’t actually cross itself because that is Winding and what appears to be an intersection is actually separated by the process in the Winding.

It’s interesting how that little detail adds so much. As in, when you’re playing music or a sport or when dancing or even just walking and the next step the next note the next move the next combination of player and ball and maybe players is thus an intersection with depth. Like this play looked fantastic but then it came to nothing. Or this small posture change opens up all this movement. Because the ideal is the intersection of all the threads, because that is the nature of the ideal, that it represents the form the threads can take, against which their existence can be measured or considered, which contains the ‘idealism’ inherent in projection in an fD, which I’ll need to explain, the threads lay out on a 1-0Segment, which of course is actually a more complicated 1-0Space, as those project from say the movement potential of a body, as filtered into the type of animal, etc. so that contextually presents a D3-4 Thing which inverts over that 1-0Space to the D4-3 iThing, which is the ideal arrangement of that potential for that type, down to that individual.

I never expected to find my dream in this math, and so deeply placed. This means there’s a Register of Actualities which compares to ideals across levels, meaning all the relative calculations and weightings derived actually do occur. It’s amazing to realize that wasn’t a dream but a vision that came to me as a dream. I saw individual folders which contained those individual rankings for every single person, sorted every which way. The value in that depth of sorting is that it also develops layering, which means greater accuracy in determining what to look for, what to exclude, what to sieve for.

You can see what that means, right? If I’m left, you be right. It means the Mission Storyline matches as well. And it validates the conception of conspiracy which people cannot help but gravitate toward in every society. I’ve lived through many waves of this, small and large. We have to acknowledge that people sense something more is happening, otherwise there is no Stonehenge, no Temple Mount, no shrine anywhere to anything. The math says this is exactly true. The problem is that until now there was no way to describe how and why this occurs, and thus no way to make real sense of it.

My mind is wandering through discussions like our system isn’t representative democracy as marketed: it’s a means by which party machines stay in control at higher levels. What we have is a party-based political system in which voters join sides. I can prove that’s not ideal: because the parties compete for voters, they attract voters based on what the voters agree with the most and disagree with the most, meaning decisions are constructed based on what attracts and repels about each party, and then time is added. That’s the key element, the Winding that occurs means all sorts of dimensions enter the process. Like if we pass this now, time will pass before the election and we’ll be able to survive that better than if we pass it closer to the election. Like we need to place our opponents in the worst possible light so we attract voters turned off by their negatives, which means we need to make tactical plays as part of this larger strategic game in which we fight for party control while fighting for control of voters versus other parties, etc. That is a lot of gs process, a lot of 1-0Space reducing to Actuality. Not ideal. Ideal would be that representatives act as functionaries designing and carrying out a voting process that runs within their districts. Hook every voter up, poll them with questions written, negotiated, etc. at the representative level. This is what the idea originally meant: you showed up at the meeting with the backing of this group on these terms, like Jets and Sharks negotiating for the rumble.

Anyway, you could reduce the dimensional issue in two ways. One would be to vote on everything, which seems unwieldy, meaning it would likely not run and would be slower because everything is a lot of dimensions. Two would be to vote on negotiated packages. Some would be simple, like the regular reapprovals necessary to run a business, like authority to boards, etc. Some not. But that would clearly be more of an actual democracy. First, people would actually be voting on actual bills. Second, the nature of party politics would need to change. My guess is that this would elevate those who can explain what is being traded and why, but I’m not advocating for the system. I assume it would encourage more local interest in voting, depending on what’s at stake for that locality, and it offers an opportunity for groups to explain what is at stake for them. But then I think in terms of making transactions explicit. As in, if you really want to talk about social justice, it won’t happen unless there’s a joint undertaking.

Oh wow. So that opens I//I up to social thinking. As in, when I look at educational and policing failures, they repeat because they are imposed solutions which treat the other side of the bargain as though there’s not a bargain but a built-in obligation to do what you are told because you are being told what to do.

As an example, we want kids to stay in school, so pay a bonus when that happens. Like a mom or dad or whatever raises a kid who graduates and that mom, dad, whatever should get money. You did a good thing for society and you should be recognized for that. It’s just an idea to think about ways to develop a social contract which says you do this and you get this.

We do some incentive stuff now: keep your nose clean as an immigrant to become a citizen has clearly worked. There is friction around the edges because, in part, we can’t talk about immigration issues. They’re an example of an inefficiency which proves the point about our system not being ideal: we can’t talk about immigration because that is somethin the parties use to drive voters either toward themselves or away from the other side.

Need a break.

———

I got careless and lost material again by leaving the app and having it reload in the background. Stop doing that!

What was it? I had worked on the concept of selves, but what I really miss is this. I’m going to redo this, not repeat it.

It’s 13 May 2023, which is a special day in most other months, being the Ides, which in March famously come on Wednesday. But it is to me 2 other, far more important things. One is this: happy birthday! It’s the cycle of the Roman year to spring, the festival of the goddess of the ring. This is where the eternal cycle joins its counts to the moment, to the expression of life as it exists within these cycles.

And happy anniversary! Because this is when the Augustan plan started to form as they were forced to deal with issues of survival and how to enact a revolution. We don’t think of them as revolutionaries, right? But they established a new order which thrived where the Republic could not go.

I was more eloquent before, but I began by saying I was halfway through cooking something to eat but couldn’t think of what to do, and now I realize I’m very hungry.

Then I talked about cosets and how we are each a subset of a group, so we can view ourselves as having cosets within the Thing of each of us. I was trying to say these operate orthogonally on the same field when I switched out of the app and lost the work. This is visible if you look at a standard description of cosets: there is an action applied in an order which is imposed, which means both Counter and Observer.

Need to eat.

———-

Described in the lost part that I’d made spiced rice but let it cool because I couldn’t think of what to do. I took 4oz of ground chicken, worked in the rice, cooked, served it and the crispy rice bits on toasted foccacia slathered with hot sauce, mustard and hummous. Delicious and filling. I think crisped, spiced rice would be a cool side dish or garnish.

So the cosets idea works across the field, across people, because we already have them as subsets. That puts Counters and Observers between people and within people. And thus in groups of people. Neat, right? The idea is blissful: all that imagery of H+1, H+2, etc., the typography, is an example of what has come up as the - function, the - in 1-0-1 standing for whatever dimensionality and thus whatever gs process fits between and thus among those states of 1 and 0. It’s fundamental to the definition of 1-0Space, as you can see in the - being in 1-0. I’m not being silly. Or just a little, because that’s what we do.

——————

Orthogonality across a field in a pair. That’s a crucial concept because what it means is that you and I as separate Things, resolving to tObjects identified as generated within and to the limit of that tObject within the larger Thing, within the other Things, etc., each face our own mirrors, that Mirror of the boundary, which was LUS and which is now identified more as the Dimensional Enclosure because that becomes edges of the 0Space that is the 1 in 0-1-0 and so on. DE to DE over a Counter, which invokes Observer relative to the DE’s, meaning a Triangular by which we connect over iObjects and iThings.

Ramification is another good word: the places where I//I sheets come together are where it ramifies, and these are ramification points. That’s literally how they describe the coming together and branching apart. And they literally map that to a line, so you count the reductions or coincidences, etc. by Registering them, which means constructing a Counter and Observer for that process. I find that cool because it connects the idea of branching out to a coming together, which is a Roman conception.

——————

I want to keep going. I always want to keep going.

Meanwhile, I was scrolling TikTok and saw an NC congressman describing on his account that he received a message last night to be on a Zoom call in 10 minutes, logged on, and there were 500 members of Congress on Zoom talking about how to avoid a financial meltdown.

So, a Thing can wrap a Thing because that’s inversive, meaning we can model this visually using that infinity sign, using an fD. In the former, the process is from the center End, with that being elliptical, which we idealize to a 1-0Segment in Triangular. That is, when we do this, we take one T and locate it at one of the non-origin Ends, and treat that as a 0 to the other 1 and vice versa, so we can take the one End and treat it as germinating within and inverting out, as enclosing, etc.

I keep seeing this as well: 2 holes, fold them over, if they match, then 1 hole in f&b in ideal (because then you can fold each over itself). We reached this idea a few weeks ago, right? Information exchange through f&b. Oh, I’m seeing this spread all over because now we’re folding over the holes that are poles!!

Note the visual above into Triangular does this very inversion over the midpoint line, over the Irreducible.

[space-dog-from-space]

9/12

The Doctor, the Hag, and the AU, or, Bones and the Hallmark Christmas Movie Curse

Every year in December, the Enterprise's senior staff gather to watch 21st century Hallmark Christmas movies. Unfortunately for Bones, he hates Hallmark Christmas movies more than he hates the idea of being spaced. And this year, he is grumpier than usual. Luckily, the Christmas Hag appears and sends Bones on an isekai Hallmark adventure (against his will) to discover the true meaning of Christmas: Spirk.

Chapter 9 - War Room

The gang prepares for war against the country club, Walmart, and Old Man Janson.

The bright morning sunlight shone through the nearly ineffective blinds directly into Bones' face, waking him up.  He grumbled at the light and turned away from it, intending to go back to sleep when he realized that there shouldn’t be morning sunlight on a spaceship.  He opened his eyes, looking at his surroundings briefly, realizing that he was in his room at the Smalltown Motel, and not in his quarters on the Enterprise.  

Bones groaned.  "Well, so much for hoping this had all been a dumb dream, after all," he sighed when he looked at the digital alarm clock.  Ten o' clock.  "And I overslept."

He forced himself to get up out of necessity.  If he didn't have a looming deadline he probably would have just gone back to sleep.  He was still exhausted from the long walk in the freezing cold the evening before.  It had been a disaster.  First of all, he didn't know what direction the town was in, so when the road Scotty's vehicle drove down turned into a T-intersection, Bones had no idea which direction to take, and ended up choosing the wrong one.  He easily could have frozen to death out there if a rare passing vehicle hadn't stopped for him.

"You know," the driver of the vehicle said when Bones got into the passenger's seat, eager to thaw out his fingers.  "You don't get to go back to your universe if you die."

Bones turned towards the driver, and was surprised at how unsurprised he was to see her.  "Do you usually drive around aimlessly on rural roads at night in the dead of winter or did you come looking for me?"  He asked the Christmas Hag.

The Christmas Hag rolled her eyes.  "I didn't need to look for you, I'm omniscient," she said, turning the car around in a three point turn before heading back towards town.  "But I did come to save your dumb hide."

"Well, thanks," Bones said, genuinely grateful for the rescue.

The Hag scoffed.  "Don't think I did it out of the kindness of my heart," she said, sounding bored.  "I don't get paid if you die before you learn the true meaning of Christmas."

Bones shook his head.  "Hate to break it to you, but I don't think this quest you've sent me on is going to teach me anything about Christmas," he said flatly.  "Unless the true meaning of Christmas has something to do with Jim and Spock's habit of being annoying motherfuckers."

"Look man, I'm too tired for this," the Hag said, scrubbing a grey hand across her face.  Bones was about to retort when she snapped her fingers, and that was the last thing he remembered before waking up in his motel room.

"Ugh.  Right," Bones said once he recalled his evening, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Then, with a sigh, he got moving.  The ice sculpture competition, and his deadline, were tomorrow night.  He didn't have time to waste.  

—

Bones wasn't sure where Spock or Jim would be at this hour, but at least it was a relatively warm and sunny day for searching the town for them.  He had started his search by knocking on Spock's motel room door, but there was no answer, so Bones assumed that he wasn't there.  His next idea was to check The Coffee Shop.  Jim had said that he would speak with Uhura about what Spock had discovered, and while he had probably already done that twelve hours ago, Uhura's store was probably still a good place to start his search.

The sleigh bells above the door sang as Bones walked into the shop, prompting a small cluster of familiar faces to look up at him suddenly.  Bones froze in the doorway, taking in the sight of Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov all huddled around a table strewn with maps and documents, all looking at him as if he'd walked in on something he wasn't supposed to see.

"Oh, sorry," Bones said, still standing awkwardly in the open doorway.  "I thought the place was open."  He was about to turn around and leave, continuing his search for Spock and Jim, when Chekov stood up.

"No, no, I am sorry.  The store, it is open," Chekov said, heading for the counter and grabbing an apron off a hook on his way.  "Please, come in."  Bones did so, following Chekov to the counter.  "What is it I can get for you?"  Chekov asked as he walked around the counter, tying his apron strings.

"Coffee, please," Bones answered.  "Black.  And to stay."

"Yes, I can do that right away," Chekov said, trying to sound chipper, but falling flat.

"Thanks," Bones said, hesitating a moment.  "Hey, is something wrong?  You guys seem a bit tense," he said to Chekov, gesturing back to Sulu and Scotty who were whispering to each other over the table.

Chekov grimaced.  "There is….  problem to be sorted.  We are waiting for news.  It is an anxious wait," he shrugged nervously, passing Bones his coffee.

As if on cue, the sleigh bells jingled and Chekov's head shot up.  His eyes lit up, and Bones turned around to see Uhura walk in, with Jim and Spock in tow.  Scotty and Sulu seemed just as excited at the newcomers' arrival as Chekov, both standing up eagerly to greet them.

"How did it go?"  Sulu asked.

Uhura sighed, peeling her coat off before sitting down heavily at the table.  "Not great, but I suppose it could be worse," she said, as they all gathered back around the table.  Spock locked eyes with Bones, and nudged Jim, whose eyes lit up in recognition.

"Hey!  Leonard!  Come over here!"  Jim called, waving him over.  Bones grimaced inwardly, but picked up his coffee and walked over to their table, standing off to the side.  "This is the guy who tipped Spock off about the whole thing," he said to the others as Bones approached.

He gave a short wave, and an awkward round of introductions began.  Awkward for Bones, at least, since he already knew everyone at the table, but they didn't know him beyond recognizing him from a brief encounter.

"I'm guessing there was something to those rumours, then?"  Bones asked, playing along.

They all nodded gravely, except for Sulu, who turned to Uhura and said, "Nyota, please, I'm dying here.  What did Mr Janson say?"

Uhura sighed.  "Well, he isn't going to refuse to sell his land to the country club.  They're offering him a pretty good deal on it I guess."

Scotty swore under his breath.  "Well if that's not just like the old bastard.  Sees his chance to get some money and skip town without a care what happens to the rest of us."  He huffed, adding, "You explained what would happen here if he sold to them, right?"

"Of course she did," Sulu rolled his eyes as Uhura nodded.

"He did give us an ultimatum, though," Uhura said, not sounding enthusiastic about it.  "If we can match the club's offer, he'll agree to sell it to us instead."

The table fell silent for a moment, before Chekov hesitantly asked, "How much is the price?"

Uhura placed a sheet of paper on the table, sliding it into the middle for everyone to see.  Bones wasn't sure how the currency worked in this universe, but judging from the expressions of those that did, it was a big number.

Jim groaned.  "We can't afford that!  Even if we pooled every cent to our names we couldn't afford that, not without selling our businesses," he lamented.  "And that's antithetical to the whole 'save our businesses' thing."

"Also," Uhura said, clearly not wanting to be the bearer of even more bad news, "There's a deadline on it.  His deal with the club will be finalized tomorrow night.  If we can't come up with the money before then, the deed goes over to the club."

Scotty put his face in his hands.  "This is hopeless.  We've lost already."

"Maybe we can get a loan from the bank?"  Sulu suggested.

Scotty scoffed.  "Didn't you hear her?  We've only got a day, we can't wait around for months for a bank loan to get approved."

Sulu grimaced.  "We can fundraise?"  He said, with very little confidence.

"Again, lad, one day."  Scotty said bitterly.  "There's no time for any of that!"

"At least I'm spitballing ideas, you've just given up already!"  Sulu snapped at him.

Scotty leaned over the table, stabbing a finger of emphasis at Sulu.  "I have not given up-"

"Then what's your bright idea?"  

"I don't have one!"  Scotty threw his hands up.  “That’s the problem!  There aren’t any-”

Uhura slammed her hands down on the table, interrupting them.  "Guys!  Shut up!  No fighting in the goddamned war room."  She glared at Sulu and Scotty until they relaxed back in their chairs.  "I know it looks hopeless, but we have to try."

"Nyota's right," Jim said.  "If we put our heads together, we're bound to come up with some feasible plan.  The people of this town care about their town.  Once they know what's going on, we'll have their support.”

“And I’ve sent word back to the city paper, so we might be able to get some additional support there,” Spock added.

Uhura nodded.  "Exactly.  Alone we're screwed, but if we can rally an army…"  She waved an arm nebulously.

Scotty sighed.  "Aye.  The chances for success seem slim, but you're right.  We have to try.  The town'll help."

Uhura turned to Bones, who was awkwardly observing them from a few feet away.  "Speaking of recruiting…  How about it, Leonard?  Give us a hand?"  She asked, hopefully.

"Of course," Bones said, as if he could have said no. 

Uhura smiled.  "Great, grab a chair.  We've got plans to make."

[jimlingss]

Until Yesterday

➜ Words: 10.4k

➜ Genres: 75% Fluff, 22% Angst, 3% Smut

➜ Summary: You and Taehyung are hopeless as you are hopeless romantics. But five months after tying the knot and saying "I do", you're hospitalized after a car accident with him. But upon waking up, the doctors tell you that you don't have a husband.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie The Vow (2012) and a bit of The Notebook (2004). This is purely an indulgent fic for all my hopeless romantics out there, so it’s a bit different from my usual!

cr.

Marriage was nothing like they told you.   It’s true that not much has changed from when you were dating or engaged, that merely the title of your relationship has slightly altered, but you have no regrets doing it at all. They always told you to wait until the honeymoon phase was over — that you'll find yourself tired and driven crazy by him. They told you to wait a few years down the line when you’re not having sex anymore and you’ll be so sick of each other, it’ll be like living with an awful roommate-child than being a couple in love. You’ll be bored when something becomes a normal routine, they said.   But it isn’t like that at all.   If anything, you’re more in love with Taehyung than ever.    “We should put the couch right here.”   “Well, we need to buy a couch first, Tae.”   “Didn’t you like the leather one we saw today?”   “I mean...I didn’t love it and it’s a bit pricey, don’t you think?”   “It’s fine. Leave it to me and the bank account!” The blonde grins and pats his own chest and it only garners your scoff. “I’ll take care of you. It’s the least I can do.”   “I make the same as you, idiot.”   It took years of hard work and dedication for the two of you to get to where you are, to have landed your dream jobs and built your dream house together. But of all the sweat and tears, you wouldn’t trade the outcome for anything else.    The house was newly built in a developing neighbourhood, the scent of cut wood and paint still lingering in each room. The white picket fence surrounds the seashell home with the dark brown roof, glass windows large and bringing light into the open concept structure along with the skylights. It has the cherry wood door reminiscent to that of your old dollhouse and a swing out back tied to the tree that Taehyung wanted. It was all the two of you could’ve ever dreamed of and you’re eager to move in, to bring in your furniture and allow this home to grow with you.   “Why is the master bedroom larger than I remembered?”   Taehyung’s laugh echoes down the hall and you hear footsteps becoming louder against the wooden floorboards. “Maybe the construction team came in during the middle of the night and expanded the room for us for free.”   “Yeah maybe,” you playfully quip back at him. “Maybe they’ll consider expanding our backyard too, so we can put that marble fountain in. It might cost more than this house, but you said I could trust in you and the bank account, right?”   Taehyung peels you off of him when you glue yourself to his side and giggle. Batting your lashes at him has little effect. “Fountain is still a no-go, sweetheart.”   You grin at him and waltz to the adjacent room, peeking your head into the modest space. “We still need to decide what to do with this spare room, Taehyung. If we want to turn it into another bedroom for when your mom visits or maybe an office.”   Suddenly, arms wrap around your waist and you ease as your husband props his chin on your shoulder. It’s one of his many habits of his that you love. “How about we save it for a nursery?”   The corner of your mouth quirks and you turn your head. “Are you sure?”   “As sure if you are.”    You spin around in his arms to plant a kiss against his mouth — one where Taehyung steals the opportunity and deepens it, catching you off guard. He pulls you in by your waist when you threaten to pull apart and he smiles at the whimper that comes out of you.   When the pair of you finally part, you’re unable to resist the smile that spreads into your cheeks and your arms loop around his neck. “Kim Taehyung, aren’t you blessed? There’s no one I’d rather have a baby with than you.”   His mouth forms into a rectangular grin. “You shouldn’t tempt me when we’re going to be late for our reservations already.”   “Late?” Your lips fall and you check your watch before your eyes grow wide.    Taehyung laughs and strolls behind you as you rush out, grabbing your coat and screaming at him to get the car started.   It’s another one of those date nights. One where intimate conversations are shared over a candlelight dinner. Until Taehyung accidentally catches the tablecloth on fire and the candlelight is removed by an exasperated waiter and the intimacy in your discussion ends up with him doing something dumb and water nearly spewing out of your nose from laughing, and the other patrons are glaring at the ruined atmosphere.   Still, with a generous tip paid, you leave full and happy.   “Anything you want to watch tonight?” you ask as he’s driving. It’s peaceful with the roads emptier at this time of night and the radio playing some generic pop song in the back. You count the lamp posts that pass by.   “Hmm...how about we do something else tonight.”   Your head turns. “Like what?”   Taehyung steals a glance at you and smirks. “I was thinking that we would drive back to the new house and break in that mattress we just got. Maybe get that kid you were talking about.”   You scoff, looking straight out the windshield as you feel your face heat. Even after so many years with him, he still knew what to say to affect you. “It’s not that easy, you know, and that mattress is still wrapped in the living room.”   “It’s fine. Better start now than later. And it’s our house, we can taint it however we want to.”   It doesn’t take much for you to agree — and you do so in the midst of laughter.   You shamelessly stare at Taehyung’s profile, the strands of his blonde hair that desperately needs a trim, his long lashes that you’ve always been envious of, the slope of his nose and his thin lips that always knows how to kiss you right. Taehyung’s thick brow cocks when he notices your blatant staring, but you don’t care. You’re just filled with joy and at a loss for words at how he’s with you.   He’s yours.   The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to pay mind to the car behind you. To the piercing beam lights. The wheels that screech against the asphalt. The sheer speed of the vehicle and recklessness of the intoxicated driver.   So when the rear of the car is slammed into and you both lurch forward into the intersection of the road, it’s a shock.    //   The white fluorescent burns your eyes.    It’s hard to see and you can’t feel your body. Not even your fingers that begin to twitch. You’re disoriented and delirious, not sure what day it is, how long you’ve been out, where exactly you are. It’s all muddled in your mind. All you can discern is a constant rhythm of beeping beside you and the odour of disinfect filling your senses. You’re scared — but you’re overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung.    Taehyung.   You jolt in your spot and the rhythm of the machine quickens until it’s like an alarm, sounding aloud and making you panic even more. But then there’s a rush of people entering the room, white coats and scrubs checking the machines and lines hooked up from you.   “Ms. Y/N, I am doctor Jeon.” There’s a man looking down at you and you blink blearily at him. “You’ve been in a coma for three days now. Is there anyone we can call for you?”   “M-My husband,” you cry out with a parched throat.   The doctor looks to the nurse but she frowns and shakes her head. “The patient doesn’t have a husband.”   You don’t have a husband?   At once, sobs wrack through your entire body and you thrash despite the aches in your bones and your ankle wrapped in bandages. The doctor and nurse are alarmed and you choke out the words— “I-Is he okay? Is he dead?”   “Ma’am,” the doctor calmly says, “you were the only one injured on the scene.”   Before you can utter a word, a man comes from the doorway. His hair is dark, matching the hue lined underneath his exhausted eyes. His features are soft and evidently tired like he hasn’t slept in the past few days. You don’t know who he is but he stares right at you — and then a relieved smile draws upon his features, one that is too comfortable and familiar.   “Y/N?” His voice is deeper than expected and he closes the distance. The nurse is visibly confused, but he quickly introduces, “I’m her partner, Min Yoongi.”   You recoil back before he can touch you, even when the hurt comes across his expression.    “I-I’m sorry.” You don’t know who he is. “I think you have the wrong person.”

It’s hard to cope — your entire universe has been flipped upside down and you don’t know what to think. Suddenly by opening your eyes, your entire life has been swept from underneath your feet. Everything that you loved and cared about is gone. And you’re left alone to deal with it.   “I-I remember being with my husband. We were driving back from dinner and planning to take a detour to the new house, but then a car rear-ended us and we were brought out into the intersection,” you recall.   But the doctor’s brows furrow. “I see. Well, I can tell you that you weren’t in a car accident, Ms. Y/N. You were injured after falling down the flight of stairs at the subway station. You’ve been in a coma for three days.”   It doesn’t make any sense and you squeeze your temples. But it hurts. Everything feels like a dream, like you’re floating and not truly grounded in reality. Your surroundings are hazy and you wonder if this is just a hallucination — a very frightening one, a world where Taehyung doesn’t exist.   “What year was the car accident?” the doctor asks suddenly and you exhale, trying to remember the date.    “It was late January of 2016.”   “Ms. Y/N, it’s 2020 right now.”   It’s a shock through your system. At first, you sputter, choking on your own spit. The doctor is kind enough to give you a moment but when you press your hand to your chest, you wince at the bruises around your wrist. Then you open your mouth and close it, finding yourself rendered absolutely speechless. Your brain is melting into itself and you have an urge to get up and scream.   “What?”   “It looks like you have a four year memory gap,” Doctor Jeon says as if he’s prescribing you with cold medication and if you weren’t bedridden, you might just throttle him to the floor. “It’s okay, these things happen with your sort of injury. It should be fine and only temporary. You can get your memory jogging again after looking at mementos, pictures, or talking to the right people.”   “Anyways, we’ll keep you here for a few more days just to monitor that head injury, but it looks like your ankle is healing nicely. There’s no cause for concern, really.”   The doctor ends up leaving and you repress the urge to cry again.   You don’t know where Taehyung is and you miss him.   //   Your so-called partner appears days later to help with your hospital discharge and pack up your belongings. You learn his name is Min Yoongi and that he’s two years older than you are. He works as a car mechanic in a shop and you’ve apparently been with him for a whole year.    Yet, you can’t help but stay guarded, watching him from the corner with your arms crossed while you try to decipher his impassive expression. The man is quiet, but not in an angry or frightening way. He never asks you questions, makes demands out of you or once appears exasperated with your distant behaviour. He seems gentle somehow.    You wonder what your relationship with him was like.   “T-Thank you,” you murmur as he packs the slippers he had brought for you into the duffle bag.   Min Yoongi turns his head and the corner of his mouth pulls into an oddly warm smile. His voice is husky when he says, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just happy to see you walking around again.”   You’re taken aback.   You aren’t used to receiving this kind of love and affection from someone other than Taehyung and from a stranger no less. It makes you unsettled. Conflicted.   The car ride is smooth. Yoongi helps you into your seat and buckles you in without making you speak much of a word. You’re not sure where you’re going, but you spend your time looking out at the window and taking in what you’ve missed for four years, or rather what your mind no longer recalls.    Luckily, it seems like the world hasn’t changed too much.   The streets are familiar, lined with lamp posts and bike racks. There are different billboards and some buildings you don’t recognize, but it looks like many things have stayed the same. The street names, avenues and boulevards, the people jogging and walking their dogs — it hasn’t changed.   “Hey, Tae—”    Except for the person driving beside you.    You turn your head and blood drained from your face, realizing that it’s not your husband you’re sitting beside. “N-Never mind.”   There’s a moment of quiet.   Then Yoongi’s lips part. “It’s okay.” He glances at you and your eyes meet. “It’s okay,” he repeats with a small smile that makes you even more burdened.   The apartment is modest yet cozy. A living room with cushions out of place and souvenirs on the shelves next to the television. The kitchen is to the left, cups in the sink and refrigerator haphazardly filled with take out boxes. It’s lived in, full of memories that you don’t have. But above all, you notice there’s only one bedroom and there are male belongings assorted with yours.    Shaving cream. Gel. Cologne.    “You live here?” you ask Yoongi, coming to the living room where he was giving you a chance to look around for yourself, perhaps hoping that you would remember something.   “We live together,” he corrects with a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. I’m planning on staying at a friend’s place, so you don’t have to worry about me being here if that makes you uncomfortable.”   “You…” Your mouth opens before closing, startled at how considerate he is. “You don’t have to. I mean, this place is yours too. It seems unfair if I kick you out. You should...stay.” Yoongi smiles and you shy away from his attention. “I...might not be comfortable sharing a bed with you though…”   “Okay.” He nods. “I can take the couch.”   That night, you lay awake in the foreign bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. It feels like you’ve been asleep for four years anyways, although it’s technically only been three days.    Your brain is swimming in confusion. You’re not sure what to think. One moment you were with Taehyung and the next, you don’t have him beside you anymore and you’re with someone else.   Taehyung….   You reach over to the nightstand and switch on the lamp. A dim yellow light softly fills the room and you begin to truly investigate your surroundings. On a pinboard near the door are pictures of you and Yoongi, selfies taken where you’re both smiling with one another, one of you at a carnival and another at an aquarium. The vanity drawer holds jewelry that you don’t recognize, perhaps ones that Yoongi had bought for you. Your phone contains grocery lists and miscellaneous notes that make no sense. There’s nothing on your social media, no connection, nothing once you search his name up. All you discover is work-related things in your calendar, more pictures of you and Yoongi and affectionate texts between the two of you.    There’s no trace of Taehyung whatsoever.   But when you dig into the closet and find a box at the top shelf hidden away, your answer is found. It’s inside a box of paperwork — school awards, certificates of achievements, evidence of your first paycheck, your birth certificate, social security papers, and divorce papers.   You and Taehyung got divorced in April 2018.    Two years and eight months after getting married. And it’s been a year and ten months since.   The paper crumples underneath your hands and you gather your knees together on the floor as quiet sobs break through you once again. You don’t know what happened. Where it all went wrong.   //   When morning comes, you hope the swelling and redness of your eyes from crying so much isn’t noticeable. If it is, Yoongi doesn’t say anything and only regards you with a gentle smile.    “I was going to stay home today, but I thought it might be overwhelming for you,” he says before you can protest otherwise, “so I’ll be at work. Take it easy, okay? You can call me anytime you want for anything. My number is in your phone.”   You nod. “Thank you, Yoongi.”   His smile is sweet. “I already told you, it’s not a problem.”   But half an hour after Yoongi leaves, you prepare for your own departure. Hobbling with your weight on one foot and off the one with your injured ankle, you grab a coat and the car keys laying on the counter. It takes a moment to figure out which one is your vehicle in the lot but you find it after pressing the panic button. It looks brand new — apparently recently repaired and the reason why you had to take the subway and how you got your head injury in the first place.   It might be wrong to leave without giving a warning to Yoongi, especially when he’s so worried about you, but you can’t stay idle at the apartment. You can’t sit still. You need answers.   You drive to the house — turning down the familiar streets and roads before coming into the neighbourhood that feels like you had been in just a week ago when it’s probably been years.   But you don’t recognize it anymore. It's more developed than you last remembered. What once were empty lots have other homes built. All the sidewalks are paved, there’s an elementary school down the avenue, a new playground that shines, neighbours that have moved in.   What hasn’t changed is the house itself.    There’s still the white picket fence that surrounds the seashell white home, a shade you had personally picked yourself when building it. The roof is a dark brown and the front door cherry wood. The glass windows are large with baby blue curtains and you wonder if there’s still the swing in the backyard….   You get out of the car, feeling your emotions swell up to your throat and your eyes becoming watery as you gave upon the house. This was the place you had built with Taehyung. The place you both had planned to live in for years. The place you wanted to raise your kids, grow old and retire in.    It was perfect. The combination of your dreams.   Where did it all go wrong?   You close the distance, limping up the path to the door and knocking on it. After a moment, you ring the doorbell properly. But even then, there are no answers and you notice that the Kim nameplate under the mailbox is gone.   Of course. It’s been over four years after all.   You cross the street back to your car again, but not before catching sight of a woman bringing groceries up her driveway and towards her own house.    “Um, excuse me.”   She turns at your voice, brows lifted.   “Do you happen to know who lives there?” You point to what was once your home.   But unfortunately, she shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. I know that house has been sold a few times and the owners have recently changed again.”   “Oh. Thank you.”   It’s hard to leave the house behind you, but you keep your foot on the gas pedal and drive, never glancing out the rear-view mirror in fear of bursting into tears again.   You still have more questions than answers, so your next destination becomes downtown where Taehyung’s engineering firm is. The two of you had met in school, back when you were awkward and chasing after your ambitions of being a chemical engineer like your aunt while for him, he wanted to take his childhood lego dreams to the max and become a civil engineer.   Your neck hurts to look at the top of the skyscraper, the many windows reflecting the bright sunlight into your eyes and blinding your vision. If there was any place where you could find Taehyung, it would be here.    It’s his dream job. What he had wanted for so long and legitimately cried when he found out he got a position at. You remember that day, how proud you felt of him for achieving such a goal.   But when you approach the receptionist at the lobby’s desk, her response only fires the confusion further.   “Sorry. We don’t have a Kim Taehyung working here. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”   You miss him. And you wonder at what point, he wasn’t a part of your life anymore.   //   In an attempt to find Taehyung, you contact your friends and work your way down your list of contacts on your phone. They’re happy to hear from you, some even knowing about your accident and asking if you’re alright.    But when you ask about Taehyung, they tell you that they haven’t spoken to him since the divorce. That they’ve lost contact. That the months leading up to it, the two of you were distant from them and they’re unsure of the reasons for what had happened. It was frankly unexpected.   “You always told me it wasn’t any of my business, dear,” your mother says over the phone. “You actually got quite upset when I asked, so after a while I didn’t anymore. Do you want to talk to your dad? He’s watching the news right now.”   “No.” You press your temples, holding in your sigh. “It’s fine.”   Frustration overwhelms you.    No matter where you turn, you can’t seem to get the reasons for yourself.   You can’t find him.   “Is the take out okay?”   At once, you’re snapped out of your thoughts and you lift your head to meet kind, cat-like eyes staring at you.    “It’s good,” you try to smile and nod.   He seems to sense how disconnected you are. “I’ll learn how to cook. I know you like carbonara, so maybe I can find a recipe this weekend and try to make it, so we don’t have to eat out all the time.”   You stare at the man across from you.   How tired he seems, his dark hair shagging in front of his forehead, his downcast head facing his food as his fork scrapes against the bottom container, never quite taking a full bite. Yet whenever your eyes meet, his plump lips always tugs into a small smile and his eyes crinkle.   “I’m sorry.”   Yoongi’s brows lift at the sudden apology. “What for?”   “For not remembering you.” Even if Min Yoongi is a stranger, you can feel how intimate the pair of you used to be by the photographs you’ve seen, by the way he still regards you. You feel guilty for not being able to return his affections.   “It’s fine. It’ll come back with time, right? Don’t stress out about it too much. It won’t do you any good.”   “Yoongi.” You have his attention by the way you say his name like he hasn’t heard it uttered from your lips in quite a while. “I went searching for my...ex-husband today.”   It’s foreign to call Taehyung that. It’s unsettling and makes you uncomfortable.   But your eyes never divert from Yoongi’s. “I need answers.”   “I know,” he murmurs in a low voice, still playing with his food. As intimidating as he might appear on the surface, you’re quickly learning how considerate and soft-spoken he really is. “And I want you too. I don’t want you to have any regrets. I want you to know you’ve made the right choice by being with me.”   Your heart squeezes at his thoughtful nature and you sigh lightly before stuffing your mouth with some of the noodles, trying to alleviate the tension. “You’re a good man, Yoongi.”   He chuckles, gummy smile emerging for the first time that you can recall. “Maybe that’s why you chose me in the first place.”   //   The avenue is nostalgic, a street that you and Taehyung spent many dates at with its cheap street food and cute stores. And when you were both working, it was the halfway point between your workplaces and where you’d meet to have lunch on those special occasions. A few things have altered from when you remembered them, the stationery shop closed and that ice-cream parlor changed into a pancake café instead. But for the most part, it remains the same.   You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.    Of all your ways and methods in searching for Taehyung, even you know that it’s unlikely you’ll find him on a Tuesday morning at such an obscure location. But it’s where you’re drawn too, where your body told you to go and your mind followed.   Otherwise, you’re not sure what to do anymore or how you should contact him. You wonder if it’s too drastic to drive hours away to visit his mom on the off chance that she’s still living in the same place after four years. If she moved, the journey would be for nothing. But even then, if you somehow found him and reached out, would he even be willing to talk to you?   A sigh escapes your parted lips. You tilt your head up to the sky, wondering where on earth he is. And in your reverie, you fail to notice the strapping brunette humming to the music he’s listening to. Not until your shoulder collides with his as he’s walking the opposite way.    But instead of an apology spilling from your mouth, you’re interrupted by a call of your name—   “Y/N?”   It's shock that has taken hold of his expression. His hand rips out his earphones and the loud music becomes silenced from his world. With the way he looks at you, it would be like he’s seen a ghost. A stranger from his past.    In your mind, it’s only been a week since you’ve seen him. And you’ve been missing him so much.   On sheer instinct, you wrap your hand around his wrist, afraid to let go. “Taehyung.”   //   It’s awkward, the stiff air almost suffocating your lungs. You’re sure that the first date wasn’t even as bad as this. But you don’t mind whatsoever, even if he’s shifting uncomfortably at the intent way you stare and how it makes him break out into a sweat. Even if Taehyung hates you now, as long as you can see him like this, it’s enough to bear.   Taehyung clears his throat, diverting his vision elsewhere. “So….you look like you’ve been well.” �� “Not really,” you murmur.   Taehyung is still a man of intense habit. His drink order hasn’t changed, a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. At the same exact coffee shop since you were dating. And he’s taken the same table in the corner of the shop too, the spot of your many study dates.    It’s these habits that have led you back to him.   “I heard you weren’t working at the engineering firm anymore,” you say after another tense pause.   Taehyung’s brows curiously raise. “I haven’t been working there in years. You knew about it.”   “Did I?”   He’s wary that you can’t recall. “Yeah….”   “What are you doing now?”   “I’m in animation.”   Your eyes widen, surprised. “I never knew you could animate— well, I knew you could draw, but you never even watched much animation.”   Taehyung shrugs. “It’s a good fit. I didn’t know I’d like it either until I tried.”   Your expression softens, a tender smile pulling into your cheeks. Taehyung’s gotten older but in a refined way. His hair is back to its natural colour, a few wrinkles set into his skin but his features are sharper and less rounded and boyish. He seems less mischievous and irresponsible too, a little more mature and quiet. Or maybe he’s reserved because you’re his ex-wife.    The thought makes you nauseous.   He sips his drink. “So...what have you been doing?”    “Not great. I recently got into an accident, Taehyung.” That seems to grab his attention and his eyes become rounded while you brace yourself. “Apparently I fell down a flight of stairs at the subway station and I was in a coma for three days.”   “Oh shit. That...must’ve sucked. I...I’m sorry to hear that.”    “I’m fine now.” You pause, clear your throat. “But the last thing I remember is us, Taehyung. We were planning to spend the night at the new house and we got hit by that car…”   “I remember.” He nods slowly and murmurs, “But the accident wasn’t that bad, Y/N. We were only bumped.”   “I don’t remember that,” you tell, earnest eyes connected with his that makes him believe you. Even after all this time apart, Taehyung can still tell when you’re lying and telling the truth.    Your voice raises in pitch, in frustration and exasperation. “And...and I’m trying to understand how this happened. I’m trying to understand how we…..how we ended up divorced.”   Taehyung’s brows furrow and he fiddles with the paper cup. “What’s there to tell? We fell out of love.”   “That doesn’t make any sense!” Your shrill voice garners the attention of other patrons, but you don’t pay mind to them. “We got married and were planning to have kids and we just built a house in a new neighbourhood—”   “We lost that house.”   Taehyung doesn’t look at you. His downcast head allows his eyes to stay on the floor. He looks small — shoulders slugging and frame slumped.   “I lost my job and then we lost the house. It went downhill from there and one day, you couldn’t do it anymore and packed your bags. You were the one who divorced me, Y/N.”   You’re stunned, unable to get a single word out at the revelation he’s given you. An answer to your questions that you had never expected. That you didn’t want to hear.   Taehyung’s eyes are saddened and he never once meets your gaze. “You’ll remember sooner or later. I’m sorry this happened to you, Y/N. I really am. But it was still nice to see you.”   He gets up before you can protest, leaving as fast as he came into your life again.   //   Yoongi arrives home visibly tired, his hair in a disarray and his navy workwear stained with oil and grease. Still, he greets you with a warm, sleepy smile that you still aren’t used to.   “I saw my ex today,” you tell him during dinner, breaking the silence by deciding to be open and honest. It at least alleviates some of the guilt weighing on your chest. “I found him coincidentally.”   Yoongi’s eyes flicker up, peeking at you. “How did it go?”   “It didn’t help. I’m still confused.” You can’t understand why you would ever leave him, even if you lost the house and he lost his job. It didn’t make any sense. “Do you know anything about the divorce, Yoongi? Did I….ever tell you anything?”   “You told me that he was pathetic,” he informs but without any malice like he’s simply stating facts. “He was unemployed for two years and didn’t get off his ass to find a job. Hey, your words, not mine.”   The corner of your mouth curls even when you’re still stupefied.   “Are you alright, Y/N?”   An exhale leaves your lips. “I’m not sure.”   That night, you find another box in the closet while alone in the bedroom. There are pictures of you and Taehyung from when you were younger and just friends, small mementos like movie tickets and keychains won at arcades while you were dating, and photographs of the wedding day, the two of you with enormous smiles and swollen cheeks.   But they’re buried underneath your belongings with Yoongi.   //   His expression is one of repulsion, like he bit into a lemon or something bitter. But you don’t pay any attention to it.   “What are you doing here?” Taehyung is incredulous to see you in the morning, standing in the same café as if you own the place.   “I’ve been waiting since eight,” you complain and he repeats his question with increasing skepticism. You suppose it’s not everyday your ex-wife is waiting to run into you, so you don’t blame him for his apprehension. “I’m trying to understand how the two of us got divorced. I know this is probably really weird since for you, I’ve shown out of nowhere after two years.”   “You think?”   You ignore his playful quip. “But for me, my last memory is still going on that date night and getting into that car accident.”   Before Taehyung can utter a word, the barista is calling him as the next person in line. “Can I get—”   A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings.   “A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” he says without missing a beat and your mouth tugs into a smile. Lots of things may have changed in the time that you no longer remember, but the fact of how constant he is comforts you greatly.    You wait with Taehyung at the counter, feeling his eyes glancing at you every so often. When your eyes meet, he realizes he’s been caught staring.    “Once I remember again and make sense of the situation, I’ll leave you alone,” you say even if it hurts, but the last thing you want is to be burdensome to Taehyung. “I just want to understand and get over it and move on like you have.”   Taehyung sighs, never saying a word.   He picks up his drink and you follow along with him, quietly as to not disrupt the comfortable silence between the both of you.   He walks down the street and enters the modest grocery store, beelining to the deli to pick up a ham sub. But he notices your quirked brow. “What?”   “No.” You shake your head. “Just reminds me of uni. You used to eat those too. Same brand and everything.”   The man scoffs lightly, but he knows. You’ve pointed it out to him many times in the past that he has a tendency to stick to specific habits — the odd quirks that you once said you loved about him.    “Like what?” he had once asked when you mentioned it.   “Like you always put your beverages on your left side and you chug half a glass of water before going to bed and you always close the entire toilet when you’re done going to the bathroom and you have the same brand of cereal every morning and after you sneeze, you always scratch your nose every time,” you had said in the midst of giggles and then lifted yourself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. They’re cute and it’s part of why I love you.”   The two of you walk together down the street. The early morning air is crisp and chilly, slightly nipping at his nose. He grips his drink still steaming to warm his hand and Taehyung can’t help stealing a glance at you, wondering if you’re cold too.   “How’d you get started into animation?”   “Huh? Oh. Well, if you really want to know then after you packed your bags and dumped me, it was a pretty good wake up call.” Taehyung laughs as if he’s recalling a funny memory, but then his expression softens, touched with sorrow. “I decided to get myself picked back up and get a job. They liked my personality enough at the interview to give me a chance. At first I didn’t know what I was doing, but I learned and I like it a lot.”   He turns his head when your silence is prolonged.    But his eyes widen when he finds your tender smile. “I’m happy for you, Taehyung.”   And you really are — even in spite of him not technically being a part of your life anymore.   //   The next day, Taehyung is not any more impressed to see you there at the café.    You enthusiastically smile and wave at him. And when the barista calls the two of you in the line, you have no hesitation. “Can I get a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings? And just an iced americano for me.”   Taehyung eyes you when you pay and stroll to the other counter to wait. “Don’t you have a job to go to?”   “I’m still technically in recovery and it’s not like I can work if my head’s a mess.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly. “What do you want to know this time?”   He can tell by the look in your eye that there are questions on the tip of your tongue. And when you take out a whole laundry list like it’s things you need to buy at a grocery store, a rectangular grin plasters on his face. Taehyung wouldn’t expect any less of you.    “Hey, I was thinking about it all night, alright? I was afraid I was going to forget so I wrote it down.”   He leans over to look at the list but you move away. “Don’t peek.”   “Okay, okay.” He laughs and gestures for you to start.   “First question. What did I say before I left?” You look at him, eyes meeting his. “What were my exact reasons for the divorce?”   He hums a low note, staring off into the distance. “I don’t remember well. You called me a motherfucker though,” Taehyung chuckles and becomes solemn. “Probably something along the lines that I’ve stopped trying and that you were leaving. There was a lot of crying and screaming. I…..don’t really like to think about it.”   There’s a pause and you clear your throat, paper in your hand crinkling and forgotten.   “Why didn’t you ever do anything to stop it?”   A sigh leaves his lips and he runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m an idiot. But it’s not like I could’ve forced you to stay with me.”   “I’m sure if you had said something, I would’ve stayed.”   Taehyung’s smile is meek and sad, not at all like how it usually is. You wonder just how much you hurt him, how much you hurt each other. “A lot can happen in two years, Y/N.”   A lot can happen in the two years they were apart too.   “Have you been seeing anyone?”   “No. I haven’t,” he says.    It’s a question that tumbled out of you, one not on the list.   //   The evening comes and you hear the front door open and shut. Immediately, you call out from the kitchen, “Hey!”   Yoongi emerges from the hall with another tired smile. “Hey.”   “I got takeout for us,” you say while heating said food up. “How was work? Busy again?”   “A little.” The man comes closer to see what you’ve bought but before he’s able to assess, he mindlessly leans in and plants a soft kiss against your cheek. You instantaneously freeze, the muscles in your body becoming rigid and tense, and Yoongi realizes. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit.”   He pulls away, disheartened and guilt wells up in your throat. “It’s okay.”   Yoongi nods and he shrugs off his coat, walking back towards the hall to hang it up, but you stop him before your conscience can berate you, before you hurt him further—   “I saw him again. This morning.”   He halts. He stands still as you watch his backside.   The both of you know who you’re referring to.   “How was it?” Yoongi inquires hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he even should.    “It was good,” you murmur. “I got a few more answers.”   His head turns, the black strands of his hair sweeping against his forehead. Yoongi’s gentle eyes are glossed over, his tone low and husky as he quietly asks, “Can’t you get answers without seeing him?”   “I…..I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   You divert your vision, but from the corner, you can see the way his mouth curls gingerly.   “It’s okay.”   But you know that it isn’t. It’s unfair to him to wait for your memories to return, for you to continuously see someone of your past as he waits for you to come to love him as you once did.   The man retreats into the darkness and you feel guilt overwhelm you.   //   When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and expects to see you. Standing there, waiting for him as if you were the owner or a barista working full time.   “Are you sure you’re not healthy enough to go back to work?” He grins, brows lifted and almost impressed at how adamant you are.   “No.” You loll your head to the side. “I’m still feeling tired.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly, noting that you always show up earlier than he does. “Tired, huh?”   “You must be tired too. Your shirt is inside out.”   “What?” His line of sight follows to where you’re pointing and Taehyung looks down to see that his shirt is indeed inside out. He groans in embarrassment as you laugh.   “Did you not notice?”   He doesn’t answer, grabbing his drink from the counter once the barista calls his name and he books it out of the shop. But not without you following behind him and still giggling.   “Are you sulking?” You quickly catch up to him and quirk your head almost to his shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Tae. It’s not that noticeable.”   “You noticed it.”   “Well I’ve always noticed everything about you.”   He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance and stops, making you halt on your heels. “Don’t flirt with me, woman. Didn’t you say you were seeing someone?”   You scoff, continuing to walk and this time, he’s the one who follows after you. “Who says I’m flirting with you? I think you’re terribly mistaken and quite frankly, full of yourself.”   Taehyung grins. “It’s not my fault I was born this handsome and have so many people regularly flirting with me.”   “Uh-huh. You’re beginning to sound like Seokjin.”   “He’s not half as handsome as I am.”   You burst out laughing, knowing that your old friend would probably throw a fit if Taehyung openly fought him for the position of most handsome in your group of friends. “I beg to differ.”   “Then why didn’t you marry him back then?”   “Should’ve,” you sing-song much to Taehyung’s chagrin.   The pair of you stop in front of his building, the destination of every morning journey. You know this is where you’ll have to leave him off and see him again tomorrow, wait for just these ten minutes of conversations and banter. But unusually, Taehyung doesn’t bid you farewell right away. He doesn’t run away with his tail in between his legs, shooting you a playful glare over his shoulder.   Instead, he stops with you and smiles. Taehyung lingers on the sidewalk with you.   “Y/N…” He gazes at you.   Your eyes connect with his warm irises and something lodges in your throat, an emotion that only seems to come with him. “Hmm?”   There’s held silence—   “There’s a bug in your hair.”   “What?!”   His palm slaps your forehead before you can flail, not enough for it to hurt, but enough that you’re stunned. You lift your hand to rub the spot and at the same time, a rectangular grin spreads into his face. Taehyung laughs childishly. “Kidding.”   “Are you five years old?!” you shout but it only eggs him on more.   “Sorry, sorry.” He bats your hand away and his fingers come to rub the spot for you instead. “I’m pretty sure it was your face cream and not a bug.”   The proximity is closed. You can feel his breath against your face, count his thick lashes, draw constellations through the tiny freckles around his nose.   You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks and Taehyung catches it. For a moment, his eyes linger against your lips and yours follows down to the dip of his cupid’s bow to the corner of his mouth. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, a kind of intimacy not found between a pair of old friends on a normal morning. It’s a kind of longing that you recognize in Taehyung’s gaze as it’s similar to your own…   You lean in to close the distance completely. But then Taehyung abruptly pulls away.   His vision is diverted to the ground.   All traces of mischief are gone. His mouth has fallen into a straight line, brows knitted together as if he’s in physical pain. “What are we doing, Y/N?”   He doesn’t wait for a response. Taehyung turns and walks away while the knots in your chest constrict you. But you run after him. You take three strides before he can vanish from your life — like what you found when you woke up in that hospital bed. The thought of that returning is terrifying.   “Taehyung!”   “No!” He turns around to face you, shutting you down before the way you call his name can affect him. You’re taken aback by the hurt etched on his expression. “It took me two years to get over you and even now I’m still not over you,” he declares angrily and your eyes widen. “And then you come out of nowhere to make a mess out of my head, playing these games.”   Your brows furrow, upset at his accusations and you shout back at him, “What games?!”   “I know that the moment you remember again, the moment you get over your stupid fucking amnesia, you’re going to dump me!” Taehyung swallows hard. “You’re going to make me go through all of that again. It’s downright cruel, you dense woman!”   “Don’t call me dense!” Without conscious decision, tears begin to shed down your face and you shake your head. “You know that that isn’t my intention.”   “I know.” Taehyung sighs. “But it’s going to happen anyway.”   The pair of you look at one another and then the doors to the building open. A tall man with dimples comes out and is absolutely bewildered at the ruckus. He’s seemingly familiar with Taehyung, perhaps a colleague of his. “Is something wrong, dude?”   “It’s fine.”   “Who’s this?” the stranger asks curiously, smiling at you.   “She’s my ex-wife.”   The man is caught off guard, eyes becoming rounded. “I didn’t know you were married.”   “Yeah, well, I used to be.” Taehyung peeks at you in a silent farewell and you watch his backside leave.

When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and then his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know why disappointment seems to overwhelm him when you’re not there and he wonders since when he expected you to be in the first place — standing there, waiting for him.   He stands in line by himself. Makes his order by himself. Picks up his lunch by himself.    Taehyung walks to work alone.   And every so often, he unconsciously glances to his side and then sighs when he catches himself. He’s not sure why he keeps anticipating you to be with him. Why he allows himself to feel frustrated when he remembers you’re not here.   You’ve become Taehyung’s habit.   And now you’re gone.

There’s a timid knock at the door.   A moment later, it cracks open. “Hey, dinner is ready….” Yoongi’s puzzled to find you standing on a stool, reaching to the top of your closet but he smiles, glad to see you lively again. “What are you doing? Do you need help?”   “It’s okay.” You grab the album you were reaching for and wipe off the layer of dust that covers it. “I just remembered I kept old albums up here. Jeez, it’s so dusty.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts. “You remember?”   You nod, smiling at him. “I do.”   The album is flipped open and you step off the stool to sit on the edge of your bed. Yoongi watches you for a moment and exhales softly. “Well, I’ll leave your food on the table.”   You thank him and he takes his leave, shutting the door.   You guess no matter how bad your relationship with Taehyung got, you never had the heart to throw away or burn the photographs. And you’re glad. The photographs of your wedding day are still in tip-top shape, images showing the pair of you glowing in the sunset with his arms wrapped around you. You remember that wedding dress and that suit of his that had to be tailored twice. You remember being late to the ceremony and having to run with Taehyung who snuck out to see you beforehand even though he wasn’t supposed to...…   There are also photographs of your honeymoon, a vacation to the Caribbean, and another trip of Europe that you went on during your university days. But above all, there are photos of the pair of you in front of the newly built house. Proud and ecstatic. The seashell white home with the dark brown roof and large windows and skylights standing tall behind you two. Ready to house your future.   Some things change but these memories won’t.   //   The sprinklers spritzes across the freshly mowed lawn, a sputtering hiss that leaves a mist in the air. You step up the stone path to the cherry wood door, noticing the golden nameplate under the mailbox, but you don’t dwell. In your haze, your closed fist comes to steadily knock at the door.   It swings open.   Inside, you find someone with warm eyes, brunette hair and a boxy smile. He encapsulates the sunlight itself, so bright that it’s hard to discern who exactly it is. But you feel like you know. Like you had known before you even knocked and the door opened.   The man calls your name.   And you’re shaken awake from the beautiful dream. And you wake to an empty bedside, tears welling up in your eyes. It’s the middle of the night, darkness surrounding you and weighing heavily against your body. But you fight against it and rip the covers off of your body, grabbing a cardigan off your chair and rushing down the hall.   Yoongi is stirred from the noise and gets up from the couch.    “Where are you going?” he asks in a husky voice, running a hand through his hair that’s sticking in all directions. But the sleepiness leaves the man as he watches you shake your head, struggling to put on your shoes with tears in your eyes.   “I-I need to go, Yoongi.”   But for the first time, he reaches out.    Yoongi’s hand clasps around your wrist to stop you, having an inkling that you might never return. “I won’t let you.” His foot is finally placed down, but the decision has long been made.   “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t say that,” he desperately pleads.   “But I am. It’s unfair to you. That I’ve treated you this badly while all you’ve ever been is patient and considerate and understanding. But I don’t want you to wait for me anymore.”   “You’re not going back to your asshole of an ex-husband. He was horrible to you.”   “Yoongi, what do you expect me to do?” It’s a genuine question that you ask. You’re at a loss and the words choke out of you, but you had these feelings the moment you had awoken in that hospital bed. “I love him.”   The pause draws on and you lower your gaze.   “It’s not fair for you to wait for me to love you instead. I’m in love with Taehyung.”   Yet in spite of your words, Yoongi still pulls you into him. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight as if you might vanish between his fingertips. You come to realize that you never gave Yoongi a chance to express his love to you — you never kissed him or held him despite how long he waited.   You feel him tremble against you. The man who you had woken to presses his face to your shoulder, his quiet tears staining your thin clothing. You return his hug, arms lifted around his torso and grasping him close. You remember who he is. You know well.   He’s Min Yoongi, the man who you loved.   After a moment, he releases you. “Go.”   You nod. “I’ll always be thankful to you, Yoongi. More than you’ll realize.”   //   The car door slams shut.   You cross the street, approaching the house that still stands tall on the quiet suburban street illuminated by lamp posts. You’re not sure what you’re doing here at this time of night and you know you’ll just be disheartened when you see another family inside, living in the space that was meant for you and Taehyung. But you needed to see it.   It’s your home. What you made with Taehyung. Physical proof of your planned devotion to one another.   The house is dark and you assume that the people inside are long asleep. So you take a moment to gaze at it, heart aching inside your chest, and after ten minutes, you turn to walk away and leave your home behind. But then a car drives down the road. It’s a modest vehicle and as you wait for it to pass to cross the street, it instead pulls into the driveway of the house.   The headlights turn off. The engine dies. The car door opens.   And you freeze, watching the person emerge.   “Taehyung?!”   The strapping brunette man is unmistakable. He’s dressed in his work clothes, casual sweater and black trousers, his leather crossbody bag slung across his torso. He looks tired from what you can see with the glow of the many street lights, his hair messy and eyes weary. But he still has the energy to be shocked at your sudden presence.    Shocked as if he’s been caught in the act. “What are you doing here?”   You speak on an exhale. “Y-You bought the house back again?”   He bought it after the two of you lost it. Even when there’s no reason to.   Not unless it still holds sentimental value. Not unless the memories held in there were ones he still cherishes. Not unless he still loves you.   Taehyung murmurs your name, “Y/N…”   You run to him, closing the distance, throwing your arms around his neck. And you kiss the silly man breathlessly, pressing your mouth against his and swallowing the groan that leaves his lungs. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close and quickly reciprocating. His head tilts and his tongue slips into your mouth, drawing noises out of you like when you were young and still exploring one another.   But it’s a kiss of sadness and longing — yet still sweet even after so much time has passed.   After a handful of seconds, Taehyung pulls away.   “W-What are we doing?” He shakes his head, letting go of you.   But you grab hold of his hand. “I still love you, Taehyung. I love you.”   His earnest eyes search yours. “How….how do I know you won’t just remember why you wanted to leave me. How do I know it won’t happen all over again? We’re still the same people, Y/N. It didn’t work once.”    “I don’t care,” you spit at him desperately. “To me, it feels like it was until yesterday that we were still married and in love. And right now, right now I still love you, Taehyung. I miss you. I don’t care what happened, that you lost your job, lost the house and started to feel bad about yourself and gave up on us.”    Taehyung’s eyes are rounded and his lips part. “You….remember?”   You nod. “I have gradually for a while now.”   Bits and pieces had fallen together the longer you spent with him, the more you looked at pictures and mementos, and searched your memories. They were loose puzzle pieces, moments of time, until you fit them together to create a whole picture. To finally understand why things happened the way they did.   And you can finally recall the downward spiral of Taehyung all those years ago. How he abruptly got laid off, losing his dream job that he had worked so hard to obtain, how the two of you lost the house when your sole income was no longer enough and how depressed he became about losing that home. How he sat at his desk for two years in the dark, playing games and wasting time, giving up on searching for a job and refusing to get himself help in his poor mental state.   You remember how he ignored you until you felt like his mother and couldn’t take it anymore. How he pushed your sanity enough that you had to walk away before you were damaged.    But in spite of all that has happened…   “I still love you.”   He’s an absolute shit, but you love him.   Without being able to blink, Taehyung tugs you in by your waist and he presses his lips against yours, holding you close to him. You smile against his mouth before your hands lift to cup his cheeks, cradling his face as he deepens the kiss. It’s desperate, hungering to make up for lost time, fulfilling the yearning that has dwelled between the pair of you each time you spoke.   Taehyung kisses you like he’s missed you more and the pair of you barely manage to break apart to stumble into the house.   “I can’t believe you bought this place back.” It’s a whirlwind, nostalgia slamming into you as you step into the foyer. You’re overwhelmed with emotion, feeling a staggering urge to start crying.   “Had to do a lot of negotiating, but I did it,” he murmurs proudly, happy to show you how he’s picked himself up, how he found another passion and followed the path, that he’s no longer so pathetic. “All on my own too.”   “Taehyung…”   He kisses you again, less gentle than before. He’s merciless, hands placed on your hips and your back arches into him until the force of his body causes the two of you to fall backwards onto the floor. Taehyung catches your head so that it never hurts and he hovers over you, leg between your knees while he peels off his coat.    “I’m sorry,” he says softly, gazing into your eyes. “I never got to tell you that. I’m sorry for hurting you.”   You nod, grasping at his forearms that’s next to your head and he takes the opportunity to lean down. Taehyung lay pecks against your cheek until he moves his way down to suck bruising kisses into your neck. You cry his name, writhing against him as he palms your breast and leaves his marks all over you.   Taehyung eats you out on the cool tiled floors of the foyer entrance, filling the house with obscene sounds that make you embarrassed. But you can’t complain, not when you’re sobbing his name and your fingers are sinking into his hair.   You end up cumming all over his swollen lips and chin, and you bat at him when he grins and says it’s delicious. Before Taehyung can completely ruin the mood, you grab him and with little warning, his cock sinks into your cunt, head poking right at the entrance of your cervix. You feel full and he begins to pound into you, satisfying that itch you’ve had for so long.   Taehyung makes you look at him the entire time and as you hold him, it hits you just how much you missed him. Tears leak from your eyes and it only eggs him on to be rougher. His fingers sink into the meat of your thigh and his mouth leaves hickeys down the valley of your breasts to admire later. You cum again and then he presses his pelvis into yours and cums in you as well, painting your walls in white.   Despite being sweaty and sticky, Taehyung kisses you again and the two of you hold one another. He’s sweet and affectionate until he starts to push his cum back into you with his fingers when you begin to leak.   “Now you’re not even trying to hide the fact you want me to get pregnant.”   The man mischievously grins. “Last I checked, it was yesterday that we wanted kids.”   You burst out laughing, unable to argue with that but…. “We’re not even married anymore. What would your mom think?”   “She would probably cry tears of happiness if she knew we were together again. And marriage…” He interlaces his hands with yours. “We could make it happen again. If you want.”   You nod. “I do.”

It’s another chance. Another do over.   You wonder if you had never lost your memories and tried to chase them down, if you would’ve ever reached out to Taehyung again and reignite the spark between the two of you. Had you not found him again, you wonder if you would’ve known that he’s picked himself again and returned to the man you fell in love with. It’s hard to say but those things are yesterday’s problems.   Today, you look towards the future.   “Wake up, sleepy head.”   On any other day, you might kick him in the knee for waking you up on a weekend, but it’s been so long that you don’t mind whatsoever. Taehyung’s mischief is world’s better than waking up to an empty bedside or to someone you can’t genuinely love as much.   “Ugh.” You open your eyes and immediately slap a palm against his mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.”   Taehyung peels your hand off, grins and smooches you anyway. You laugh and quickly reciprocate.   When it’s all done and over, he snuggles into you. “You know…” You’re wrapped in each other’s arms and you slowly blink awake, glad that you’ve finally woken up with him beside you. “...those brown walls in this room are going to have to change.”   Taehyung laughs. “Happily.”   There’s nothing been more certain of. You want to spend tomorrow with Taehyung and the day after that and the day after that.   Until eternity.

[curiosity-killed]

warm and real and bright

hualian pre-relationship, hualian & lang ying

word count: 3014

on ao3

“Here, gege, let me.”

Before Xie Lian can say a word, Hua Cheng has folded himself down in one elegant motion to kneel at the bottom of the steps. Something about the gesture brushes the back of Xie Lian’s mind, tugs at the corner of the veil shrouding memories from centuries ago—but he can’t place it and brushes it aside as disorientation from seeing Hua Cheng kneel to anyone. Releasing his wrist, Xie Lian smiles and waves his hand to shoo away Hua Cheng’s concern.

“No need, no need,” he says. “It’s only a little sore, it’ll be all better by morning.”

Hua Cheng hums, lips briefly thinning, and then he reaches out to draw Xie Lian’s wrist into his hands. His slender palms cradle Xie Lian’s wrist like something delicate and precious, a flowering branch or a fine blade. They’re cool where they cup the back of his arm, chilly enough to make his skin pebble up in goose flesh despite the hot spring day. His thumbs, when he presses them into the meat of Xie Lian’s arm, however, are firm and sure. A little gasp escapes Xie Lian.

“Oh,” he says.

Lifting his gaze, Hua Cheng peers up at him under his lashes but doesn’t still his hands.

“That feels good, San Lang. Thank you,” Xie Lian says with a smile.

Hua Cheng’s lips quirk up at the corners, as if pleased, even as he ducks his head to focus on the methodical massage.

“It’s just something I picked up,” he says nonchalantly, and Xie Lian puffs out a breath of amusement.

The skills Hua Cheng just happens to have picked up are so numerous and varied that it seems little wonder he could trounce those thirty-three gods. For a moment, Xie Lian wonders if Hua Cheng knows even as much as Jun Wu. A flash of guilt has him quickly shoving away the thought, shamed at thinking so little of his benefactor.

“Ah San Lang must be most popular in Ghost City,” Xie Lian teases instead, “giving massages to anyone he likes.”

“I only like this gege,” Hua Cheng replies with a grin.

That silences Xie Lian. He’s used to being desired or respected or wanted. In his first life, he had dozens of marriage proposals his parents tried to broker, and in the intervening centuries, he’s had a hundred propositions from strangers and acquaintances. He’s good at shrugging them off with a bland smile and polite word. He’s not used to being liked. He’s not used to the shameless, sincere way Hua Cheng will say such things—as if he really does just enjoy spending time with Xie Lian, whether it’s crossing the desert to unravel a conspiracy in the Heavenly Court or helping an old grandma make her way home in Puqi Village.

He’s not sure what to do with it, this easy and abundant affection. Replying in the same fashion, saying “this gege likes San Lang, too” makes his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and his ears burn. His stomach squirms. He can’t even scold Hua Cheng for being insincere, because then he’ll turn that smile up at him again and say something like he had that first night after Banyue, saying he was the most sincere person Xie Lian would ever meet.

“Ah Lang Ying should be home soon,” he says instead, seizing the first thought to cross his mind.

Hua Cheng stiffens, his thumb pressing into the meat of Xie Lian’s arm. His lips thin, and Xie Lian has to suppress a bubble of amusement. Lang Ying has tight-lipped about his feelings toward Hua Cheng, but the two of them resemble nothing so much as two tigers whose territories intersect when they are left in the same space. When he spies them in one of their wary silences, Xie Lian never knows whether to laugh or cry.

“Ah, do you really dislike him so much, San Lang?” he asks. “I know he’s very quiet, but it’s really only because of how he’s been bullied and not out of any kind of conspiracy. He really is a good kid, I promise.”

“Gege is too generous,” Hua Cheng mutters, but he puffs out a breath through pursed lips as he switches to Xie Lian’s other arm. “If it troubles gege so much, this one will do better.”

Huffing out a laugh, Xie Lian shakes his head. He doesn’t understand why Hua Cheng so willingly gives himself over to Xie Lian’s unworthy hands. It makes his heart seize both with awe and fear, like he might trip and shatter such precious trust. He reaches over now to poke Hua Cheng in the middle of his forehead with his free hand.

“San Lang,” he scolds. “You don’t have to agree with me one everything. You wouldn’t start liking Mu Qing just because I asked, would you?”

As expected, Hua Cheng’s expression darkens and his brows furrow.

“The Sweeping General can go fu—”

He stops abruptly, pauses, and clears his throat.

“No,” he says simply, and Xie Lian bursts into laughter.

He’d been so fierce, expression so stormy, before he caught himself. Hua Cheng normally carries himself with such elegance and composure, looking as graceful as a painting even when he’s sweating out in the yard. Hearing a slip into more crass language doesn’t take away from his image only fills Xie Lian with overwhelming endearment.

“To be fair,” Xie Lian says wryly, “unless he’s changed his cultivation path, Mu Qing really can’t go fuck much of anything.”

Hua Cheng looks up, eyes wide and mouth parted slightly in surprise.

“Gege,” he says, a little squeaky.

Lifting his sleeve to hide his mouth, Xie Lian sniggers at the shocked look even as Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow and lips quirk up. He so rarely surprises Hua Cheng; it’s a funny victory when he succeeds.

“Sorry, sorry,” he giggles. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Gege just likes to tease this one,” Hua Cheng sniffs, but the smile still lighting his eyes soothes any worry Xie Lian might have had about really bothering him.

Grinning, Xie Lian tucks his hands into his sleeves and leans against his thighs. Still kneeling at the foot of the stairs, Hua Cheng is the same height as him for once, and so when Hua Cheng looks at him, Xie Lian is hit with the full force of the fondness and delight in Hua Cheng’s eyes. His stomach gives a funny flip, something fizzy and unnamed sparking down his arms.

“I would never dream of teasing the renowned Hua Chengzhu,” Xie Lian replies, mostly for the way Hua Cheng wrinkles his nose.

“Hm,” Hua Cheng says, narrowing his eyes.

Xie Lian grins back at him. The sparks along his skin have settled into something heady and golden in his chest as Hua Cheng makes no sign of moving from this spot, kneeling before Xie Lian and looking at him with all his remarkable attention. For centuries, Xie Lian has shied away from being the center of attention, to being highlighted on any stage—but under Hua Cheng’s warm regard, he finds himself holding still, tentatively unfurling in its light.

“I thought gege’s cultivation prohibited all thoughts of such things,” Hua Cheng says.

Xie Lian shrugs.

“Impure thoughts are discouraged,” he says, “but thoughts are not actions. The only risk to one’s cultivation would arise from fixation on such thoughts that they disturbed one’s mind.”

He pauses and casts a sidelong look at Hua Cheng, amused.

“Saying ‘fuck’ won’t affect my cultivation,” he clarifies.

Shifting to lean back on the steps, Hua Cheng puffs out a breath.

“It might affect mine,” he mutters, but it’s quiet enough that Xie Lian isn’t sure he was meant to hear.

For a few moments, they sit there in comfortable quiet, watching as the setting sun dyes the shrine’s courtyard gold and amber. Contentment is a warm weight through Xie Lian’s chest, like a heavy quilt draped across his shoulders. Leaning forward with his arms pressed to his thighs, he’s close enough to feel Hua Cheng’s hair lift with the breeze and brush against his arm. It’s shorter than in his true form and mostly pulled up in a high bun, but tendrils have escaped and flutter in the evening wind.

On impulse, Xie Lian slips one of his hands out of his sleeve to reach over and tuck a piece behind Hua Cheng’s ear. Hua Cheng looks up in surprise, turning toward Xie Lian as if his name had been called. Xie Lian can’t help smiling as he tucks his hand back into his sleeve.

“I don’t think San Lang has worn this skin around me before,” he comments.

Hua Cheng hums and looks down at himself as if he hadn’t noticed which body he wore today. The thought causes a flicker of amusement to catch behind Xie Lian’s ribs. This one isn’t so different from his skin as San Lang, but it’s a little older, with sharper cheekbones and a shorter chin.

“It’s new,” Hua Cheng admits. “If gege prefers another, I can change.”

Closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun, Xie Lian shakes his head. A smile still curves his lips.

“I like all San Lang’s forms,” he says peaceably.

In truth, his favorite is Hua Cheng’s true form, but as he once told Hua Cheng, that has little to do with what he actually looks like and more with the fact that he’s willing to trust Xie Lian with it. For nearly the same reason, a bubble of pleasure rises in Xie Lian’s chest at the thought that he’s the first to see this skin.

He opens his eyes, frowning in thought. Casting a sidelong look at Hua Cheng, he hesitates and bites his bottom lip.

“Ah San Lang, could I ask a question?” he asks. “If it’s too personal, of course you don’t have to answer.”

Hua Cheng tilts his head back, leaning so that he can smile up at Xie Lian reassuringly.

“Gege can ask this one anything,” he says.

“Ah it’s just…your other forms have both eyes but your true form,” Xie Lian starts before embarrassment flushes his face with heat. What is he thinking, asking such a prying question? He really has become a nosey old man! “Ah forget it, forget it, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer, really.”

Hua Cheng snorts, and when Xie Lian peeks through the fingers he’s clapped over his face, Hua Cheng is grinning. His sharp little canines peek out, and his eyes narrow in laughter. Xie Lian groans and covers his face back up.

“Can I see with both eyes?” Hua Cheng guesses. He gives another quiet laugh. “No, it’s just an illusion.”

Peeling his fingers away from his face, Xie Lian looks down at him curiously. He’d guessed as much—Hua Cheng tends to stick to his right side, keeping his left eye nearer Xie Lian, and in his true form, his eyepatch covered his right—but he can’t quell the curiosity that rises in him at having it confirmed.

“It’s less ugly than the real thing,” Hua Cheng says casually, as if guessing the question that Xie Lian doesn’t quite have the face to ask. “Better for going out.”

Xie Lian can’t help frowning at that, bothered by the implication that anyone would insult or make a fuss about Hua Cheng’s true form. No matter what skin he wears, he is charming and handsome, and Xie Lian would like to have a conversation with anyone who might say otherwise.

“San Lang is never ugly,” he mutters since he can’t go interrogate strangers over Hua Cheng’s appearance.

A smile slips over Hua Cheng’s face, more genuine than the look he’d worn a moment ago. It’s softer, more in his eyes than his lips.

“Gege is too generous,” he says, but it’s gentler than when he said it earlier, less mutinous. Stretching his arms behind his head, he hitches his shoulders in a little shrug. “As long as it doesn’t trouble gege, I don’t mind.”

“Hm,” Xie Lian says, gaze catching on the slender column of Hua Cheng’s throat.

He swallows and drags his eyes away. Hua Cheng really is too handsome to think so lowly of himself. Xie Lian can’t imagine anyone looking at him and seeing anything other than beauty.

The gate creaks open, and Lang Ying’s skinny frame slinks in through the opening. Smiling, Xie Lian pulls his hand from his sleeve to wave a greeting. Lang Ying’s gaze skitters toward Hua Cheng before returning to Xie Lian. He gives a little wave and hunches in on himself as he walks toward the shrine.

“Welcome home, Lang Ying,” Xie Lian says.

Lang Ying makes a little noise, ducking his head.

“Hi, Xie-daozhang,” he mumbles, “and Hua Chengzhu.”

Hua Cheng hums in answer. When Xie Lian glances over, he’s still reclined against the stairs, but his shoulders have tightened and lips thinned. Suppressing a laugh, Xie Lian reminds himself that he did say Hua Cheng doesn’t need to worry about changing his mind about Lang Ying. Maybe it’s just a ghost thing.

“Liu-furen sent this for you, daozhang,” Lang Ying says, pulling a box from his sleeve.

Inside is a little circle of buns, pinched into tidy twists and still warm. The sight warms Xie Lian, and he takes the box with a little ‘oh’ of surprise.  

“Oh that was too generous,” he says. “Here, wait right here and I’ll get chopsticks.”

He presses the box back into Lang Ying’s hands and hurries to grab chopsticks for each of them. When he returns, Hua Cheng has shifted to sit up and make room on the steps, and Lang Ying has perched on the very edge of the second step. They don’t seem to be speaking, but there’s less of the taut wariness that usually fills the space between them. Hiding a smile, Xie Lian folds himself down on the top step and offers them each a pair of sticks.

“Thanks, gege,” Hua Cheng says with a grin.

“Thank you, daozhang,” Lang Ying mumbles.

Snorting, Xie Lian waves his hand and gestures for Lang Ying to open the box.

“I haven’t done anything,” he laughs. “Now come, come, eat up before they go cold.”

There are four baozi in the box, pale and fat against the slatted bottom. Xie Lian can’t help sighing in pleasure as he takes a bite, the ginger stinging his tongue. Lang Ying nearly drops his, only saving it by squeezing it tight between his chopsticks. Over the months he’s spent with Xie Lian, he’s gotten a little better at holding them, but it’s clear he went years without practice.

Before Xie Lian can say anything, Hua Cheng gives a little noise of annoyance and reaches out.

“You’re holding them too far apart,” he says. “Like this, see?”

He holds up his own hand to demonstrate. Lang Ying’s eyes flicker up to his face briefly, wide-eyed with surprise, but he swallows and gives a little nod as he readjusts his hand. After a moment’s fidgeting, he picks his bun back up carefully, and Hua Cheng gives a little grunt of approval at the improved grip. Xie Lian hides his smile behind a bite of bun.

They eat in quiet until they’ve each finished. Before he can offer the last to either of them, Hua Cheng folds his chopsticks together and nudges the box toward Xie Lian.

“All yours, gege,” he says.

“Oh no,” Xie Lian says, waving his left hand. “You both worked so hard today, one of you should have it.”

Lang Ying blinks, pressing his lips together.

“Daozhang,” he says slowly, “we’re dead.”

Surprise has a bubble of noise breaking across Xie Lian’s lips, and Hua Cheng gives Lang Ying a long look before tilting his head to grin carelessly up at Xie Lian.

“He has a point, gege,” he says. “Now eat up before it gets cold.”

Huffing out a breath, Xie Lian lets them push the box back to him. He doesn’t bother protesting that he’s gone months with less to eat. Somehow, he has a feeling neither of them would be won over by that argument and that it might just make Hua Cheng’s brow furrow instead.

Neither of them make a move to get up while he nibbles through the last bun. Hua Cheng still leans back on the step, watching as Lang Ying fiddles with his chopsticks as if practicing how to hold them. Pausing with the last bite hovering before his lips, Xie Lian can’t help smiling at the two of them. Gods are supposed to be impartial and beyond worldly tethers, but sitting here with a full belly and sun warming his skin, he lets himself admit that they’re his favorite ghosts.

Lang Ying lifts his hand, frowning down at it, and Xie Lian can’t help himself. Popping the last bite into his mouth, he reaches out to ruffle Lang Ying’s hair.

“Look at you, you’re just about ready to dine in a royal court now,” Xie Lian praises.

Ghosts can’t blush, but Lang Ying ducks his head in embarrassment anyway. Xie Lian laughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

“Gege’s home is better than any court,” Hua Cheng says. At that, Lang Ying nods vehemently before stopping short, as if startled by agreeing with Hua Cheng. Xie Lian laughs. He’s not sure what reference Lang Ying has for such an assertion, but he’s oddly touched by his loyalty anyway.

“Ah well,” he says, breathing out a laugh. “I’d rather share with you two than any royal court.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes narrow in pleasure like a cat stroked over its nose, and Lang Ying ducks his head. It’s not quite fast enough to hide the little smile that plays at his lips. Curling his arms around the empty box on his lap, Xie Lian smiles. A ghost king, a fallen god, and an eternal fourteen-year-old—they’re not much by any outer measure, but with them beside him, he feels richer than any king.

[paisley-print]

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better.

About:  The two of you make your way home from the bar... 

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1635

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST I AM SO SORRY (no I’m not hehehe), Curse words, fluff, mentions of death, grief, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vom*t ,implied age gap. 

NOTE: Not me making myself cry....not that. Also I love country music y'all can square up on me if you like. I find it funny how I am turning this satire of a character into a Nicholas sparks protagonist. Wild.

MIDNIGHT MASTER LIST

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better

“I’m not drunk.” 

Jack had you slung over his shoulder “I don’t believe that’s a correct statement.”

“Are you proud of me for beating all those guys at pool?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am sugar, you know…. I think the whole bar was lookin’ to take you home after that.”

Jack had spent most of the night sitting back and watching you interact with the other patrons. How you flitted about like a little fairy; all giddy and flushed from the alcohol.  He enjoyed seeing men and women ogle over you. The looks on their faces when he scooped you up to leave was priceless. 

“Wha?! No! Only you can take me home!”

He smirked “that is right babygirl- only me.”

You giggled and whispered to him, “Jack?”

He whispered back to you “what?”

“May I smack your ass please?”

You heard him chuckle “only cuz you asked so nicely.”

You gave his ass a light tap “boop”

“Excuse me mam I said smack not a boop. My ass is too incredible to have it booped.”

“Well, I booped you- watcha gonna do about it?”

“Might not help you take off your makeup when we get home.”

You gasped dramatically, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me honey,” he shot back. 

You cleared your throat, “wait, put me down.”

His brows knit together, “you gotta throw up?” 

You hummed in response.

He took you by the waist and placed you down, keeping his hands there to make sure you didn’t take a header into the brick wall.

Before he could react you flashed him a bright grin, broke from his touch and proceeded to skip down the street. It took him a second to realize he had been conned; he had to jog a little to keep up with you. “Girl, where in the hell do you think you’re goin’?....... y/n?”

“Do you hear that?” You asked, rounding the corner onto a totally empty side street. This side of town was mostly strip malls and county buildings.  A record store was playing music from inside...it floated through the street and echoed lazily into the humid June night. “My father used to sing this song to me.”

The song was a cover of ‘Cross My Heart’ written by George Strait but sung by Dierks Bentley. “God I haven’t heard this song in years” you breathed, making your way into the street and laying down under the streetlamp.  You sang along, “I cross my heart And promise to, Give all I’ve got to give, To make all your dreams come true.”

Jack stood off to the side, getting more and more frustrated. “I’m not gonna scrape you off the sidewalk if you get hit.”

You laughed, unable to see that he was upset…. “hit by what? All the cars?” The street was completely deserted, most everybody was home in bed. “You will always be the miracle, That makes my life complete, And as long as there’s a breath in me, I’ll make yours just as sweet.” 

Jack shook his head, shifting uneasily on his feet. 

It was an absolutely beautiful night- full moon, warm, not a single cloud obstructing the sky. You gasped and sat up “Jack please dance with me!”

“I’m tired, put your shoes on- let’s go-”

You gave him the puppy dog eyes “but it’s perfect! The song is almost over anyway-” 

He snapped, losing his temper and shouting at you. “What part of I’m fucking tired do you not understand? Come get your shoes and stop acting like a goddamn child!”

You stared at him wide eyed while the music played on.  The two of you had little spats in the past….but you had never seen him do anything close to that.  Sobriety struck you in an instant. You held tears back and pulled yourself from the asphalt.  Silently, you took your shoes from him and placed them on your feet.

His tone was still a little harsh but not nearly as bad as before, “you want me to carry you?”

“No” you said quickly “I can walk - thank you.”

-

Jack pulled the car to a stop at an empty intersection and waited for the light to turn green.

You were the first one to speak “sometimes I get too excited and act stupid... I apologize for not listening to you when you said you wanted to go. I’ll listen better next time.”

He sighed and hesitated, “I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you.”

You shrugged, “it’s okay, you were tired...plus George Strait sang it better anyway.”

“No, it’s not that-” 

You could tell that he was fighting something, but you didn’t know what. His lack of verbal communication frustrated you at times, however it was something you had been learning to accept. Each day you noticed his tells and from those you would peace together how he was feeling. He would get boisterous when he was nervous, silent when he was focused, chatty when content...so on and so forth.

Although you would rather him tell you these things, you understood that he was a man raised in a way that forbade overly emotional declarations. He was getting better the safer he felt with you and it was okay that he wasn’t perfect with it just yet. Jack had spent years shutting people out, it was going to take time for him to break the habit.

“-that was my wedding song,” he confessed.

You nodded slowly, showing him that you were listening.

“You looked so fuckin’ beautiful and just - happy…….” he sighed again. “It’s uh- do you know that the two of you share the same birthday? I didn’t realize it until the other day when you mentioned yours …...three hundred and sixty five days in a year, what are the fuckin’ odds?” 

The light turned but he didn’t move, he was staring transfixed at the road - his mind somewhere far. You watched him remember her and a life that no longer existed. He always had a certain look about him when he was thinking of her. You couldn't really put it into words; he just seemed so at peace with the world….like the burden of loss wasn't weighing him down.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter “the birthday you have coming up will make you one year older than she ever got to be…. It’s like one day I woke up and twenty-four years have come and gone overnight.”

He started to choke up a little, but fought against it. “ I don’t know why it just hit me all of a sudden. I can go weeks, months, without feeling upset. Then one little thing just sets it off and everything comes rushing back at once…. and it hurts the same way it did then.”

His breathing hitched in his chest,  you could tell that he was probably on the verge of a panic attack.

You placed a hand on his leg “hey-”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That wasn’t right….. I’m not that person-”

“It’s alright-”

“No it’s not. I’m sorry if I scared you and I’m sorry that I’m talkin’ about this. I know you probably don’t want to hear it-”

“Jack” you spoke softly in an attempt to stop his spiraling. “I always want to hear about what you’re going through. No matter what it is…..your wife, she sounds amazing.”

He reached down to take your hand, squeezing it gently. 

You brushed your thumb across his knuckles. “If you ever need to talk about her you can, I hope you know that. And what you said about it all rushing back….grief is not linear. It's not something that has a start and end...instead it’s like a box with a little ball inside. Every time the ball hits the side of the box you feel upset. Like tonight-”

Your other hand reached up to tuck a little strand of hair behind his ear, while you went on… “At first the box is tiny and the ball hits the sides of it often. However as time goes on the box gets bigger. Meaning that the ball has much more space to travel until it hits the sides.”

You paused for a moment to let him follow along. “You grew up with her; she is literally woven into the fabric of your soul. You are allowed to miss her and miss her deeply. Even after all this time. It is okay.  In the same breath though, you are also allowed to be happy. I know you carry around guilt - I see it in you constantly…….  but there was nothing you could have done Jack.”

You placed a finger under his chin and turned his head to face you, “and you didn’t scare me. You just caught me off guard is all.”

“I wish I danced with you,” he said softly. 

“We’ll have plenty of time to dance, Jack.”

He looked so utterly exhausted; you dropped your hand to let him focus back on the road. “Yeah” he agreed, then lifted his foot off the break to continue on.

The open windows let wind rush through the cabin. He kept a tight hold on your hand, it was the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

An idea surfaced in your mind….  “I think we should include her this year. We can pick up some flowers - maybe a little toy for the baby, and have a picnic. I’ll make cupcakes and we can blow out a candle for her as well ….would that be something you want to do?”

He rubbed his eyes and nodded. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled softly “you don’t have to thank me Jack.”

[scripttorture]

You likely don't follow Dream Smp but there was just a reveal that one person (Character A) is torturing another (Character B, former villain, now in prison) for info on necromancy while the warden of the prison gave CA the equipment to do it and is ignoring CB's screams for help. And half the fandom is trying to justify it with "oh, CB deserves it for threatening to kill a child, killing (1/2)

another child (who he then revived, not justifying /that/ though) and manipulating/abusing the latter." Not only that, but so many people are telling off anyone who pointing out how messed up it is (and don't worry, the story itself so far is showing that it's messed up and won't work) with "it's just fiction, get over it." Like I am legit concerned over how many people are claiming it's cathartic and the character deserves it for their actions. Rant over I guess (2/2) (Dream smp anon) And I forgot to add that this character was /already/ being tortured; he has been in complete solitary confinement for upwards of 2 months and is being starved) and was actively self-harming and destroying items in his cell in a bid to get the warden to come replace them (looking for social interactions, even if it was negative) and people STILL thought that wasn't "enough of a punishment"

-

I have no idea what this show? Comic? Piece of media is but I’m happy to give my opinion on the general situation and use of violence in fiction*.

 But I’m not here to take sides in fandom wars and the aim of this blog is not to tell people they can’t write about violence or abuse. It’s to make people think about how it’s used in stories and hopefully create something that’s more realistic and respectful to real survivors.

 At the end of the day the reason I’m interested in fiction is because it effects our perception of real survivors. When so much of our popular media is unrealistic in ways that demean survivors that has an effect. I want to remind people that while the violent acts we write about are fiction, similar acts are happening to real people today.

 Torture survivors are real. They’re human and they deserve respect.

 Here’s the thing Anon, the people you’re mad at are real too. And the characters that sparked this are not.

 There’s nothing wrong with having a strong emotional respond to fiction. There’s nothing wrong with getting frustrated with how pigheaded or outright bigoted fandom can be. But it is worth questioning whether responding to this kind of thing is worth it.

 Arguments over fictional characters can become extremely heated and result in real world harm. And so long as you’re engaging with stuff in a purely fictional context… well I think the chances of being dismissed, belittled etc are significantly higher. (Note however that being dismissed and belittled still happens when you’re dealing with torture in the real world.)

 This is not fair. That does not change other people’s responses or the cultural climate.

 I will be blunt; if you are writing and reading in English the majority of fans you deal with will be Western and white. I have personally found this intersection very likely to treat violence as something purely fictional. I have found them unlikely to consider torture as a reality unless they are prompted to.

 And from my side of things that prompting is often like dropping an anvil on someone’s foot during the conversation.

 Believe me I get it. It is infuriating to see real, deadly torture techniques interpreted as harmless. It is hurtful seeing torture victims blamed for their own suffering. This happens on the news as often as it does in fandom so the fact these feelings are being set off by something fictional doesn’t make a lot of difference. Because these arguments are used in the real world against real people.

 Seeing torture apologia touted as this weeks hot take is something you are allowed to be mad about. I’d be a hypocrite if I said otherwise.

 But educating other people is hard work and you are talking about a piece of media aimed at children. You are probably talking to children. If you’re a teenager yourself it might be hard to hear it put like that.

 It’s still true.

 If you really want to have these conversations in your fandom then you need to centre the reality. Underestimating or dismissing the damage solitary confinement and starvation do to people is serious because it props up real world systems of abuse. Because it justifies ‘tough’ sentences to level of isolation that leave people mutilated by their own hand, or unable to function in society. Or dead. Because it leads to doctors ‘prescribing’ diets used in death camps.

 Here’s the thing, talking about that reality to children is a fraught process. Especially when they’re children who don’t have any experience of seeing this stuff. And unless you’re their parent or teacher educating them is not your job.

 Sending them down an internet rabbit hole that leads to photos of real injuries, real torture, real mass graves… I think that has the potential to go very badly.

 Enjoying something and then discovering that the fandom is toxic is unpleasant. But my impression is that’s the problem here: the fandom interactions are leaving you feeling like shit.

 Disengage.

 You do not need the fandom to enjoy uh… whatever Dream smp is. You do not need their permission and if the fandom is a negative space for you, you are allowed to leave.

 If some of these people are your friends then by all means try to privately explain why their words hurt you and use this blog as a resource. But ask yourself how much you want to be friends first because that is a long painful process that might not work.

 Torture apologia is everywhere and fixing it is going to take decades.

 Accept that you can not control other people’s actions. Accept that some people will always be assholes.

 If seeing torture apologia hurts you then… you probably need to find a piece of media without torture to enjoy. Because apologia is so present that I think that’s the only way to completely avoid coming across it in fandom.

 Once again I understand. I’ve volunteered to be bombarded with this stuff every day. It is upsetting. It is also embedded our global culture and the popular media exported to every single nation on the planet.

 Constantly being confronted with it and stewing in that anger and hurt is unhealthy.

 Step back. Do something else for a while. Take a look at this post I made last week. You might find some of the advice on dealing with these feelings helpful.

 You can not make people care. Hopefully most of the people you’re talking to will grow and learn and become more compassionate people. But you can’t force that process.

 And you don’t have to deal with their bullshit while they’re still growing.

 Shouting at other people isn’t always helpful and it isn’t activism. If you want to do something constructive there are a lot of organisations that would gladly accept your money and your time.

 Here’s a couple that seem relevant:

Just Detention

Solitary Watch

The World Food Programme

Amnesty International

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*I asked a friend to explain what Dream Smp is and I’ll be honest I still don’t understand it. But hey I got an idea of the target audience which helps. Please don’t explain Minecraft to me any more let me rest.

[thebooksaidthat]

5 Contemporary Book Recommendations with WLW relationships!

As promised, this is my list of 5 book recs with FF centered relationships! They’re in no particular order and I hope it’ll motivate you to read some good queer works of art! 

1. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32620332-the-seven-husbands-of-evelyn-hugo

Synopsis: Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. When she chooses unknown magazine reporter Monique Grant for the job, no one in the journalism community is more astounded than Monique herself. Why her? Why now? Monique is not exactly on top of the world. Her husband, David, has left her, and her career has stagnated. Regardless of why Evelyn has chosen her to write her biography, Monique is determined to use this opportunity to jumpstart her career. Summoned to Evelyn’s Upper East Side apartment, Monique listens as Evelyn unfurls her story: from making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the late 80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way. As Evelyn’s life unfolds—revealing a ruthless ambition, an unexpected friendship, and a great forbidden love—Monique begins to feel a very a real connection to the actress. But as Evelyn’s story catches up with the present, it becomes clear that her life intersects with Monique’s own in tragic and irreversible ways. --> I read this a few months ago and I remembered myself just putting my Kindle down onto the bed and looked into my imaginary camera man’s face thinking about the ending. I loved everything about this book, the friendship, the romance and the style of writing tied them up nicely. Also, apparently there’s going to be a TV series coming soon in the future so yes I’m 110% confident I’ll be crying with a bag of chips at the end too ;’) Seriously though, do yourself a favor and read this! 2. The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53066661-the-falling-in-love-montage

Synopsis: Saoirse doesn’t believe in love at first sight or happy endings. If they were real, her mother would still be able to remember her name and not in a care home with early onset dementia. A condition that Saoirse may one day turn out to have inherited. So she’s not looking for a relationship. She doesn’t see the point in igniting any romantic sparks if she’s bound to burn out. But after a chance encounter at an end-of-term house party, Saoirse is about to break her own rules. For a girl with one blue freckle, an irresistible sense of mischief, and a passion for rom-coms. Unbothered by Saoirse’s no-relationships rulebook, Ruby proposes a loophole: They don’t need true love to have one summer of fun, complete with every cliché, rom-com montage-worthy date they can dream up—and a binding agreement to end their romance come fall. It would be the perfect plan, if they weren’t forgetting one thing about the Falling in Love Montage: when it’s over, the characters actually fall in love… for real. --> The Falling in Love Montage is one of favorite FF books because I couldn’t not relate myself with the main character, Saoirse. I loved her humor throughout the book. She came off a little strong at first and it did seem like she was annoying but there’s a reason why she’s so sarcastic and cynical and I loved that the book wasn’t all 100% about the romance (although that is one of the best parts of it). I binged this within two days and I was fairly satisfied at the end and I can’t not recommend this enough for those who want to read a happy queer romance book! ALSO I LOVE THE COVER SO MUCH 3. The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36952571-the-weight-of-the-stars

Synopsis: Ryann Bird dreams of traveling across the stars. But a career in space isn’t an option for a girl who lives in a trailer park on the wrong side of town. So Ryann becomes her circumstances and settles for acting out and skipping school to hang out with her delinquent friends. One day she meets Alexandria: a furious loner who spurns Ryann’s offer of friendship. After a horrific accident leaves Alexandria with a broken arm, the two misfits are brought together despite themselves—and Ryann learns her secret: Alexandria’s mother is an astronaut who volunteered for a one-way trip to the edge of the solar system. Every night without fail, Alexandria waits to catch radio signals from her mother. And its up to Ryann to lift her onto the roof day after day until the silence between them grows into friendship, and eventually something more . . . In K. Ancrum’s signature poetic style, this slow-burn romance will have you savoring every page. --> The Weight of The Stars is mostly a quiet read, and when they say slow-burn, they really mean it. I loved this one a lot even thought it’s mostly a character-driven type of book. This is sort of an enemies-to-lovers type of book, though it went fairly quickly from enemies to friends. This book feels like something you should read slowly, just to savor it all and process everything on the pages.  4. Her Name in The Sky by Kelly Quindlen Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20886492-her-name-in-the-sky

Synopsis: Hannah wants to spend her senior year of high school going to football games and Mardi Gras parties with her tight-knit group of friends. The last thing she wants is to fall in love with a girl--especially when that girl is her best friend, Baker. Hannah knows she should like Wally, the kind, earnest boy who asks her to prom. She should cheer on her friend Clay when he asks Baker to be his girlfriend. She should follow the rules of her conservative Louisiana community--the rules that have been ingrained in her since she was a child. But Hannah longs to be with Baker, who cooks macaroni and cheese with Hannah late at night, who believes in the magic of books as much as Hannah does, and who challenges Hannah to be the best version of herself. And Baker might want to be with Hannah, too--if both girls can embrace that world-shaking, yet wondrous, possibility.  --> Her Name in The Sky is a beautiful coming age story between two girls in a conservative town. I did find this one slightly harder to read because I usually stray away from books like these but I think it’s good to pick something up like this from time to time. Don’t be scared away though because this has a good and happy ending to it. 5. Something to Talk About by Meryl Wilsner Link to book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/52915426-something-to-talk-about

Synopsis: A showrunner and her assistant give the world something to talk about when they accidentally fuel a ridiculous rumor in this debut romance. Hollywood powerhouse Jo is photographed making her assistant Emma laugh on the red carpet, and just like that, the tabloids declare them a couple. The so-called scandal couldn't come at a worse time--threatening Emma's promotion and Jo's new movie. As the gossip spreads, it starts to affect all areas of their lives. Paparazzi are following them outside the office, coworkers are treating them differently, and a "source" is feeding information to the media. But their only comment is "no comment". With the launch of Jo's film project fast approaching, the two women begin to spend even more time together, getting along famously. Emma seems to have a sixth sense for knowing what Jo needs. And Jo, known for being aloof and outwardly cold, opens up to Emma in a way neither of them expects. They begin to realize the rumor might not be so off base after all...but is acting on the spark between them worth fanning the gossip flames? --> Another queer rom-com heading your way with this final rec! This was a fun and cute read about the romance between Jo, who is a Chinese Hollywood star and her assistant, Emma. I read this in a book slump and I loved it, its sort of a fake-dating trope like book and I’ve never read something like this outside of fanfiction so it was an enjoyable experience all the way! Also, when the author described Jo at one of the red carpets with her dress with pockets, my mind automatically imagined Gemma Chan from Crazy Rich Asians as her.

[adrianodiprato]

+ “Each of us has a unique part to play in the healing of the world.” ― Marianne Williamson | Author The Law of Divine Compensation

This Is Your Moment | Calling

As you pursue the work you were born to do, you step into the profound space of your inner truth, your calling. Your calling is at the intersection of pursuing what you are good at, at feeling deep appreciation of your value, and at believing your work is making an impact in the lives of the other.

Your calling is the deep place of the courage to live your truth, born from your ‘why’, your self-actualisation. The problem is that most people would rather live within the helplessness of comfortable lies, than the courageousness of uncomfortable truths. Your true calling is ignited by hope and love, not fear and self-loathing.

Before you know it, you’ll be asking, “How did it get so late so soon?” You’ve had time to figure yourself out, this life calling. You’ve taken the time to realise what you want and need. You’ve taken time to even take risks. Taken time to love, laugh, cry, learn, and forgive. Therefore, have you realised that life is shorter than it often seems? This is your moment to honour your calling.

“I believe there's a calling for all of us. I know that every human being has value and purpose. The real work of our lives is to become aware. And awakened. To answer the call.” ― Oprah Winfrey

I believe what comes after identifying your calling is what really matters. So, here are ten things I suggest you need to know, before it’s too late ‘to answer your call’:

A lifetime isn’t very long. This is your life, and you’ve got to fight for it. Fight for what’s right. Fight for what you believe in. Fight for what’s important to you. Fight for the people you love, and never forget to tell them how much they mean to you. Realize that right now you’re fortunate because you still have a chance. So, stop for a moment and think, what am I really doing? There are only so many times you can say to yourself “I’ll start it tomorrow”.

Behind every beautiful life, there has been some kind of pain. You have fallen, you have made poor choices, you have lived, you have learnt. You’re human, not perfect. You’ve been hurt, you have hurt, but you’re alive. Think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive, to breathe, to think, to enjoy, and to chase the things you love. Sometimes there is sadness in our journey, but there is also lots of beauty. We must keep putting one foot in front of the other even when we’re hurt, for we will never know what is waiting for us just around the bend. Pain is real, suffering is optional.

Failures are only lessons. Good things come to those who still hope even though they’ve been disappointed, to those who still believe even though they’ve tasted failure, to those who still love even though they’ve been hurt. So never regret anything that has happened in your life; it cannot be changed, undone or forgotten. These are life lessons, move on.

The sacrifices you make today will pay dividends in the future. When it comes to working hard to achieve a dream, earning a qualification or any other personal achievement takes real commitment. One thing you have to ask yourself is, are you content just breathing?

When you procrastinate, you become a slave to yesterday. So do something right now that your future self will thank you for. Trust me, tomorrow will thank you for starting something today.

You are your most important relationship. Happiness is when you feel good about yourself without feeling the need for anyone else’s approval. You must first have a healthy relationship with yourself before you can have a healthy relationship with others. You have to feel worthwhile and acceptable in your own eyes, so that you’ll be able to look confidently into the eyes of the people around you and be able to serve others in an authentic way.

A person’s actions speak the truth. You’re going to come across people in your life who will say all the right words at all the right times; but in the end, it’s always through their actions you’ll realise their intent and character. Pay attention to what people do. Their actions will tell you everything you need to know.

Small acts of kindness can make the world a better place. Never lose your tenderness and vulnerability. They are a real strength of yours. Utilise them to be kind to others. Kindness is the only investment that never fails. Learn to embrace the power of giving. And never underestimate the true gift that your smile brings.

Honour the time of experience. Never lose sight of those who are your greatest champions. The best kinds of people are the ones that come into your life, and make you see the sun where you once saw clouds. The people that believe in you so much, you start to believe in you too. The people that love you, simply for being you. They too have emotionally invested into your existence. People come and go, but one constant in life is a handful of individuals that these types of people should never be taken for granted. They are once in a lifetime kind of people.

This moment is your life. Your life is not between the moments of your birth and death. Your life is between now and your next breath. The present, the here and now, is all the life you ever get. So, live each moment in full, in kindness and peace, without fear and regret. Do the best you can with what you have in this moment; because that is all you can ever expect of anyone, including yourself.

“Our deepest calling is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether or not it conforms to some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will not only find the joy that every human being seeks–we will also find our path of authentic service in the world.” ― Parker Palmer

You didn’t come here to be perfect. You already are. You came here to be whole. You came here to be gorgeously human, flawed and fabulous. So, what voice are you listening to today? Turn off all the negative white noise and listen to all that is possible, that is your calling.

It is time to open your door to your possibility not your passivity. It is your time to find your ‘authentic self-hood’, your inner calling to be truly 'whole’, valued and in service of the other. Your moment in life is now. Fight for the right of your calling to have the oxygen to flourish.

You decide. Choose courage over comfort. Give yourself permission to triumph. This is your moment.  

Image: Marist Solidarity Immersion in Pailin, Cambodia | 2017

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

In The Space Between A Zowens Fanfic (Into The Horizon Universe... vaguely)

OK, so I’ve decided. I’m not posting it on AO3 because people on there might not want spoilers. But I WILL post it here because I’ve already told all yinz how that Future Fic ends for Sami and Kevin. So here you go. One songfic, behind the cut.

EDIT TO ADD: The song is “Until Eternity” by Blackbriar and the idea came from @write-it-motherfuckers

Being soulmates, or whatever the hell Kevin Owens and Sami Zayn were, it was a concept hard to express through simply one term.

There were many different languages and cultures across the globe and beyond that had notions of what two lovers, forever entwined would look like. Earth alone had more than Kevin could personally keep track of, although he’d always tried. One of the earliest accounts dated back to Plato, who wrote about how originally, people had four arms, four legs, and two heads, and Zeus split the humans in half, leaving them forever yearning for the rest of themselves. It was a quaint enough notion but didn’t quite cover it. In Buddhism, the idea was that all lives were interconnected. Those connected in one life were connected in the next. That was closer, but if you were to ask Kevin, it wasn’t quite the right idea either. In Hinduism, they believed that in the karmic cycle, a force called lenhu caused two souls to forever intersect, positively impacting each other in every lifetime. That one seemed fairly accurate in Kevin’s eyes, except for the “positive” part. Truth be told, his impact on Sami Zayn over the many lifetimes they shared was far from exclusively positive. Personally, Kevin always liked Sami’s explanation of the Twin Flames, two souls fundamentally identical on a cosmic level that, when brought together, can lead to either tremendous beauty, or absolute havoc and chaos.

Kevin had never been so sure about the first part of that, but the second part was spot on. Between the two of them, in every lifetime they’d shared together, it was either beauty, chaos, or sometimes both. But there was rarely ever indifference. No, the universe wasn’t indifferent to Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens. They’d always thought, upon having their first match, that they were destined to fight forever. Now, looking upon the thousands of paths they’d walked, Kevin realized that, by that point, they already had.

And now, floating beside his soulmate, resting dormant once more in the space between worlds, Kevin couldn’t help but wonder what the cosmos held for them next. He never had any idea beforehand who or what he’d be. He’d given up long ago trying to guess genders. If living thousands of lives had taught him anything, it was that gender was an absolute fallacy. Earth was one tiny speck in an infinite ocean of possibilities, and they weren’t always the same species let alone the same gender. The universe was a funny thing like that; much like Forrest and his damn box of chocolates, you never knew what you were going to get. The only constant in their infinite existence was each other and, while they never retained their memories from lifetime to lifetime, they always found themselves together in the end. One way, or another, be it as friends, lovers, companions, rivals, or even bitter enemies, they were together.

Actually, Kevin was pretty sure that wasn’t how it was supposed to work. It had been countless lifetimes since their time as 21st Century humans trapped in the future, but he was still certain he recalled something being said about their souls always being in love.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. It certainly wasn’t how it had turned out.

Kevin felt movement beside him in the aether.

Sami was stirring from his sleep, curling instinctively around Kevin. KO didn’t push him away, instead placing a ghostly kiss on Sami’s copper curls. In that place, wherever they stayed between lives, you appeared as you best knew yourself. They’d had so many different bodies and appearances since their souls were made one that even Kevin was surprised that they still kept their old human visages. But after thousands of years, thousands of lives, they were still Sami and Kevin.

And Kevin was just fine with that.

He’d always found Sami attractive as a redhead.

Sami yawned, stretching his arms out and arching his back.

“Nnnng, how long was I out?” he asked Kevin.

Kevin groaned. If there was one thing that never changed, it was his tendency to ask stupid questions.

“Come on, Sami,” he replied. “You know time has no meaning here.”

“Yeah, I know,” conceded Sami, before adding, “but you’d think there’d be some measure of time here in the time vortex.”

“The time vortex? Wasn’t that Back to the Future or something?”

“Mmm, Doctor Who. Back to the Future was the space-time continuum.”

Kevin sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve spent too many lifetimes as nerds,” he told his lover, the annoyance in his voice dancing with joviality.

Sami raised an eyebrow.

“And what about the one where you were a 1960’s single woman writing Star Trek fanfiction?”

“Hey, I had Leonard Nimoy over for dinner, that life was pretty fucking cool. Got better after you showed up, though. God that was scandalous.”

Sami smiled. “It always is between us.”

Kevin laughed, before Sami suddenly leaned over to put his face directly beside Kevin’s.

“Nerd,” Sami whispered at him, before breaking away and laughing.

Kevin’s jaw dropped slightly at his own accusation returned to him, before shutting his mouth and pushing Sami away.

“Oh shut up,” Kevin told him.

Sami began to drift away. It wasn’t like they had form there, at least nothing outside of what their minds created. It was almost like drifting in space, weightless and alone. Honestly, were it not for what had occurred back in the Gorosian Empire, they would both be floating alone, still cosmically linked to an extent, but without the companionship between lives.

And powers was Kevin grateful for the companionship.

Time had no meaning where they were, that much was true, but it still felt like an eternity. Even when you slept, you didn’t dream. You just woke up in the same empty space a moment later, right where you started. There really wasn’t anything to look at besides endless fog and darkness, although despite the darkness, he never had a problem seeing Sami next to him, as though his pale skin and ginger curls were bathed in unseen moonlight. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go, and nobody to talk to. You were just waiting.

At least now they could wait together.

Sami was still floating away, eyes closed and a content look on his face and Kevin willed himself closer to him.

“Sami, where the hell are you - “

Sami cut him off with a chuckle, pushing his foot off Kevin’s chest and doing a backflip. He spun himself around a few times amidst the fog before stopping, the grin on his face doing little to conceal his giggling.

Shaking his head, Kevin decided he should ask. Sami had something on his mind, and the guy was going to drive him crazy with his chipperness if he didn’t figure it out.

“Ok, Sami,” Kevin demanded, “What’s up. What’s got you so happy?”

Sami replied by floating over toward Kevin and placing a soft hand on his cheek.

“You,” he said, and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It wasn’t a needy or urgent kiss or anything like the affection they used to show each other back when they were in the Indies on Earth. It was the type of kiss that lovers shared when they knew each other completely. When they had been down a million roads together and knew full well there would be a million more.

When they weren’t two separate souls at all, but one, forever and eternally joined.

And as the soul energy surged between their spirits, Kevin knew he’d found home once again.

But therein lay the trouble, and with a creased brow, he broke off the kiss.

Sami’s pout was damn near audible.

“Shit Sami,” Kevin swore, “I don’t understand what’s got you so excited. You know the routine. We spend time here, then we get shoved into new bodies and have to spend another lifetime finding each other and getting back together. I don’t understand why we can’t just have this forever!”

The one-time Intercontinental Champion looked sad for a moment, before turning his eyes to Kevin.

“Do you want to know what I dreamt about?” he asked KO.

“Bullshit,” Kevin grumbled, “you didn’t dream anything.”

“No, I did, I swear. And it was glorious.”

There was that damn word again.

Glorious.

Kevin both hated and loved when Sami used that word. He hated it because somehow, in almost every situation they found themselves in, he had an equivalent for it and was far too liberal in its usage.

He loved it because, whenever Sami used the word, his eyes would brighten, catching whatever light was nearby, and Kevin would drown in them and fall in love all over again.

And this time was no different.

“Sami...” Kevin sighed, the word a breath across his lips. He gazed into Sami’s hazel eyes, they were always hazel in that space, and he could see himself there. With Sami, where he always belonged and where he always would be.

It was so damn easy to get lost there, but Sami noticed (he always did) and wrapped his hand around Kevin’s head pulling their foreheads together.

“Focus, Kev,” Sami told him, and after closing his eyes for a moment to do just that, Kevin reopened them and pulled away.

“Right,” he said, his mind clear once more, “what was this dream?”

Sami smiled. “It’s about our next lifetime.”

With a tilt of his head, Kevin looked at him like he was crazy.

“Sami. We never get any indication of our lives ahead of time. You know how it is. We’ve certainly been through this enough.”

The redhead shook his head. “No, I swear, I had a vision. You and me. A happily married couple. No fighting, no trauma. Just domestic bliss.”

Kevin made a face.

“Ew, yeargh,” He practically gagged at the idea. “Domestic? Who the fuck wants domestic?”

“You know, Luv,” Sami chided, “We don’t have to be at each other’s throats every time.”

“No, but it’s more fun that way.”

“Maybe for you. I’m usually the one on the receiving end of the beatings. I’ll take a round of domestic bliss if it means I don’t have to get beaten, threatened, tortured, whatever by you for a change. Why are you so determined to hurt me in every single possible future we have together?!”

“You know I don’t do it on purpose!” Kevin shouted, and immediately regretted it afterward. They rarely fought between the worlds, but Sami was right. It always seemed like Kevin had it out for Sami. No matter what configuration the universe put them in, there was always some level of pain involved.

Kevin closed his eyes to focus once more and started again.

“Sami,” he said, “You know I love you. Here, to eternity and back, I love you. I’ve loved you in more ways than either of us could have ever dreamed possible. In this space, looking ahead, you know I don’t want to hurt you. But, I don’t know, maybe it’s just my nature. Maybe I’m just a naturally negative person. All we’ve been through? I think I’m just the bad to your good. The rage to your peace. The darkness to your light.”

“The Yin to my Yang,” Sami added, a kind look on his face.

“Yeah, something like that,” Kevin responded.

Sami reached his hand out, taking hold of Kevin’s shoulder.

“You know, Kev, The Yin Yang? There’s always a bit of light in the darkness, and vice versa. They say that the yin and yang represent...”

“Nope,” Kevin said, shaking his head and cutting him off, “I’m stopping you there. Go much further and I guarantee you’ll lose me. Just stick with ‘there’s light in the darkness’, ok?”

“’K. But you know that means that there’s also always part of you in me as well, right? We’re one soul, not just joined or intertwined, but intermixed. Ever since the powers of the universe blinked us into existence, we’ve been together. I mean, who needs all the marriages, joinings, ceremonies, rituals, all that fluff and stuff. You and me, we’re one unit. Why the hell do you think we’ve always had such chemistry, even when we’re fighting? We’re meant to be together, one way or another. By whatever name, in whatever form. You’ve always been a part of me Kev. Your soul in my soul. Your heart in my heart...”

“... my mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts, yeah yeah, I got it. Fuck, Sami in what lifetime were you that much of a sappy romantic?”

Shrugging, Sami replied, “Probably most of them. You just never spent enough time in love with me to notice.”

Kevin smirked. “I’m always in love with you. Always have been, always will be. It’s just sometimes I’m too stubborn to realize it.”

Sami couldn’t contain his snort. “Now who’s the sappy romantic?”

It was a fair enough question, but one that Kevin didn’t feel like answering. Instead, he shut his lover up by pressing his lips against him, kissing him once more. And once more the energy surged. Granted, even in their living forms there was always some amount of electricity that flowed between them, but in that netherworld-like space, it flowed the strongest, unhindered by any physical forms or bodies. There it was just their combined soul, floating and waiting to be reborn, and as Kevin tasted the sparks on Sami’s lips, he felt himself start to grow heavier, the way he always did before he was pulled into a new body.

He felt Sami start to pull away, obviously feeling a similar sensation, but Kevin grabbed ahold of Sami’s head and maintained contact. Wherever they were going, it would likely be years before they could kiss once more, and Kevin wasn’t going to miss out on his last chance for who knew how long.

A white light began to glow and blossom between them, starting first in their chests before wrapping its way around their bodies and encircling their arms and legs. He could hear wind blowing, like something out of a blustery spring day, and the sound began to engulf them both.

Still, Kevin didn’t let go. He could feel Sami’s energy pulling away and he struggled to hold on, but it was no use. The contact was broken and as the white light turned to gold, he felt his astral connection to Sami break as he was pulled through the cosmos to whatever destination the powers of the universe had picked for him this time around.

And as he flew through space-time towards his new, waiting life, a thought sat firmly in his mind.

Domestic, huh?

Wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Might be nice even. Possibly glorious.

Maybe we don’t have to fight forever after all.

And then his consciousness lapsed as the light turned to darkness and his new life began.

[zi-i-think]

8 | Reunions

Pairing: Zuko x Ama (OC)

Word Count: 5800+

.☽☼☾.

~ Ama ☾ ~

          My heart thumped loudly in my chest while I ran across the dense forest. Sweat dripped all across my forehead. My hand wiped across it while I tried to control my breathing. I don't know how much longer I could go. Every time I thought I lost her, she was right there.

         I looked over my shoulder. There was no one there, but she couldn't be far behind. I needed to plan. I jumped behind a thick tree. 'I can make a surprise attack when she runs past using twin swords. It will give her less time to think.' I thought.

         I took the time to catch my breath. And wait. But she never came. There was no sound coming from the forest. My eyebrows were furrowed as I peaked out from the tree. The only movement was from the wind in the trees.

         I opened my waterskin and bent the water out, creating twin swords in my hand. Taking soft and balances steps, I left my hiding place, scanning my surroundings.

         The tables were turned on me. I didn't expect her to jump from a tree branch behind me and kick the icy sword from my left hand. I turned around sharply and with one sword in my hand, I swung. She swiftly bent back, the blade flying above her face. And when she stood back up, her body turned, grabbing my wrist tightly.

         This woman was incredibly strong. She was no earthbender, but just like the other citizens of the earth kingdom, she was strong and unmoving. And that mentally was the same physically. Her grip felt like a whole polar bear dog around my wrist.

         Dropping my second sword, she swiped a foot underneath me from behind, making me fall on my back with her on top. Her hand was still tight around my wrist and she pinned it above my head. I used my free hand to try and punch her, but her reflexes stopped my hand and pinned it above my head right next to the other one.

         "Gotcha, darling." Her honey-like voice teased as a smirk tugged at her pinkish-orange lips. Her red hair was a mess from the fight earlier and the chasing. "I told you. You can't win."

         No way would I let this woman over power me. Her legs were on both sides of my waist, which didn't allow me to sweep her legs and flip her over. But I knew one weakness of hers.

         I smirked at her and then leaned up, kissing her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise, and I took that second of shock and flipped her over. My hands grabbed her wrists and my legs were on either side of her waist. I was in the position she was just in moments ago.

         "Looks like I got you." I raised an eyebrow and a taunting, mischievous smirk.

         She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You cheated."

         I laughed as I got off of her. "How did I cheat?" I played dumb while holding out a hand for her to grab and pull her off the ground.

         "You can't kiss someone to win a fight." She grumbled, wiping the dirt off her tunic.

         "Well, it's effective." I giggled. She sent me a playful glare. "But we both know that would have beat your ass if I could use actual waterbending."

         "You asked about learning more hand-to-hand and weapons combat." She pointed out and put a hand on her hip. "Just don't go kissing your enemies."

         "Why not." I teased, taking a step closer to her. Just to see what she'll do.

         She rolled her green eyes, again, and took the extra step closer to me. Her hand slipped around my waist and pulled my body closer to hers. "Cause I don't want someone else kissing what's mine."

         "What's yours?" I asked softly. "I'm not property."

         "It's a mutual thing." She leaned in closer, her lips so close to my ear. "You don't kiss anyone as long as you're mine, and I don't kiss anyone as long as I'm yours."

         She then placed a kiss on my smiling lips. Our lips molded perfectly together. She smelled so sweet. Like roses and... smoke?

         My eyes jolted open and I woke up. It was just a dream. No. Not a dream. A memory. My arm instinctively reached to my right. Where she would have been. But there was just empty space. The bed I was in was small, so half my arm hung off the bed.

         I moaned as I got up from the hard bed. My eyes fell on the incense burner on the bedside table. So that was the smell. It was almost done burning, so someone must have come in a while ago to light it. Probably Shemi. She was a very early riser and always tried to make herself useful.

         My eyes followed the trail of smoke to the spot above my bed. A sheathed sword was placed in the empty space, standing on two nails imbedded into the plain beige walls. I tried not to stare at it for too long, and moved to look out the window.

         The sun was just starting to rise outside and I knew I had to get up already. I put on my lavender tunic and kimono. Soon time before leaving the South Pole to start my self discovery, my clothing went from it's classic blue to a pleasant purple.

         With just the clothes on my back and my long hair in a loose braid I was ready for my day. I stepped out of my room and maneuvered through the halls till I could feel the cold breeze of the outdoors. My breath slowly escaped from my lips at the calm and beautiful view.

         The Eastern Air Temple truly had one of the most breathtaking sights. The mountains were covered in clouds, especially in the mornings. The senrise left a yellow-orange hue in the sky and faded into a dark blue. And the temple had a different perspective from each of the different buildings on the three mountains it sat on.

         After the war, one of Aang's missions was restoring the Air Temples to their former glory. There were Air Acolytes in each temple, always working to clean and fix things up.

         I drank in the sight until it disappeared. Then I went to the dinning room for breakfast. This was every morning for me for the past months. I stood out like a sore thumb with my purple clothes. Everyone else wore the yellow and orange clothing, showing that they were all Air Acolytes. I was just Ama.

         I grabbed a banana from a bowl at the buffet table and went to take a seat by two of my friends. Pohu and Shemi. I didn't say anything at first, I didn't want to interrupt their discussion on an upcoming mediation circle.

         Pohu was a young man from the small town, Sa Ling. Growing up in an abusive home situation, that no one knew the full extent of, brought him here to the temple. He was the quiet, serious type. Always thinking things through before acting and speaking.

         Shemi was quite the opposite. She was bubbly and talkative. Sometimes she overstepped her boundaries, true, but there wasn't a single person who didn't enjoy her company. She was the middle child in a family of 7. In Ba Sing Se, she spent most of her teen years working to help support her family in the lower ring of the city.

         "-and we can use the myrrh incense sticks." Pohu finished planning and took a sip of his tea.

         "Sounds like a plan." Shemi grinned, satisfied that they have it all planned. "Are you coming to the mediation today, Ama?" She turned to me.

         "Yeah, probably." I returned the smile. "Speaking of incense, did you light a rose scented one in my room this morning?"

         "No." Shemi answered with a shrug. "Sounds like something I'd do, but I actually slept in a bit today."

         "Huh." I furrowed my eyebrows with some confusion. "Then who did?"

         "Dunno." Shemi said. "There's tons of Air Acolytes here, maybe someone was just being nice."

         "Yeah well I don't want anyone coming in my room. No matter how nice they were being." Pohu frowned.

         "I'm sure it's not a big deal." Shemi said. She was probably right. Besides, it wasn't like any of the Air Acolytes had bad intentions.

         "Well, I'll be going now. I have some things to do on the other mountain." Pohu chugged the rest of his tea and stood up. "See you guys at the evening meditation." He waved as he walked away.

         I saw the glimmer in Shemi's brown eyes as she waved back at him. "So when are you planning to ask him out?" I smirked at her, breaking off a piece of my banana.

         A slight red found its way onto my friends cheeks as she cleared her throat. "Pohu would never agree to a date." She claimed, still trying to give me an 'I'm fine' smile. "He's too concerned with other things."

         "I still think you should go for it." I urged. "The two of you already make a great team on your chores and obligations. You'd make a great couple."

         Shemi chuckled with some nerves and tried to hide her blush with her brown hair. "Maybe another day."

         Taking the last bite from my banana, I stand up from the table. "Welp. Time to get to work."

         "Yeah, I'll be with the flying bisons today. Onga should be due any day now." She also stood up next to me and we started walking out of the dinning hall together.

         "Aww. Baby flying bison." A grin found my face and my hand intertwined under my chin. "That's so exciting."

         "Everyone's excited about it. After all, they are endangered."

         "Let me know if I can be of any assistance. I'll be gardening today. We got some white lotus seeds from the Southern Air Temple and I've been dying to plant them."

         Shemi giggled as we approached the intersection of the hallway where we'd go our separate ways. "I'll see you later." The Air Acolyte waved making a left and going down the hall while I went to my right and into one of the common gardens.

         There were already a few of the other Air Acolytes there, digging holes and placing the seeds. I went right to work on my own patch of dirt. Some of the others wore gloves or used garden trowels. But I liked the feeling of dirt on my hands. The feeling of it makes me feel content and more connected to the earth. It grounds me to nature and to life.

         I spent some time planting with a clear mind. But the familiar sound of a chirping animal pricked my ear. I looked over to the tree in the middle of the grassy courtyard and saw my favorite flying lemur; Momo. As soon as the furry animal saw me looking at him with a grin, he jumped down to the ground and zipped to me.

         I giggled while he scurried up my body till he rested on my shoulder, pulling on my hair. "It's good to see you too, Momo." I laughed, petting his head. "Wait, if you're here then that must mean..." I trailed off and I grinned widely. I slid my hands together rapidly to get rid of the dirt and the fur from my hands before bolting away from the gardens.

         The acolytes must have thought I was crazy. There were dozens of flying lemurs at the temple. But I knew Momo. I mean, it's kinda hard not to spot him after knowing the little guy for so long.

         When I sprinted through the halls, Momo jumped from my shoulder and flew above me. The little lemur led me right to the flying bison stables. To my left in one of the stalls, Appa stood, chomping away at a whole bundle of hay.

         "Appa!" I exclaimed and ran to him. I fell onto his head with my arms wide to give him a hug. The bison roared happily. "Where's Aang?"

         My question was answered when I heard voices a couple of stalls away. Jumping up, I ran over and skid to a stop when I arrived at the stall. And sure enough, there was Aang crouching besides the very pregnant Onga. But not just him. Katara, too.

         "Ama!" Katara exclaimed and jumped up. We both ran to each other for the tightest hug. We laughed happily during the embrace while Aang stood to the side with a smile on his face.

         It's only been 8 months since I've seen Katara, when Aang brought me to the air temple. Before that it was two years since seeing her. Not because I didn't want to, but things just got complicated. During the first three years of wandering around the world, I would visit her and the others every now and then.

         When I met her, I just never found the courage to introduce her to the group. My fear kept me from seeing my family. I sent letters, but half of them were filled with lies.

         "It's been so long!" She squeezed me tightly and then let go. Her hands still on my shoulders to look at me.

         "It's been way too long." I giggled, shaking my head as a way to express how I was correcting her.

         Since the end of the war, Everything about her had matured. Her voice, facial features, frame. Katara was roughly as tall as me, maybe a bit taller, actually. And I'm 5'6. Her soft jaw was more toned. Even with the long sleeves and long clothing, I could tell she'd still been working out. But she still kept her hair-loopies.

         Aang also matured. His jaw was strong and he'd been growing out a chinstrap beard, but maintaining it to keep it short. He was a bit more lanky and tall, but still had some muscle on him.

         "When did you guys get here? And what are you doing here?" I asked. "Wouldn't you send a messenger hawk or something?"

         "We got here early this morning. I lit some incense in you room since you were still asleep." Katara answered the first question.

         "Oh, so that was you." I solved the incense mystery.

         "We would have sent a messenger hawk, but..." Katara looked back at Aang with excitement. "We have news that we just had to share with you."

         I gave them a curious look as Aang put his arm around Katara, pulling her close to him. "We're engaged." They announced together with the biggest grins on their faces. Katara held up her left hand to flash her engagement ring.

         The widest grin on my face appeared and I lunged at my sister, taking her hand to examine the ring closer. It was a delicate and simple gold ring with a small sapphire. I hugged them both tightly. "I'm so happy for you guys!" I stepped back. "When's the wedding?"

         "Five months from now." Katara answered.

         "Not soon enough if you ask me." Aang commented with a chuckle.

         "Aw, sweetie." Katara gushed and gave him a quick peck on his lips. "We need time to plan, send invitations, all that fun stuff." I could already tell Katara was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by everything that would need to be done.

         "Katara." I grabbed my sister's hands comfortingly. "If you need anything at all, you can always count on me."

         Katara let out a breath to calm herself. "Good." She said with relief. "Cause I was kind of hoping you'd be my maid of honor."

         My heart was overjoyed. Katara and I always talked about what our weddings would be like when we were little. So I wasn't all that surprised that she asked me. Still, I couldn't be happier.

         "Duh!" I exclaimed, practically jumping off the ground. "What kind of sister would I be if I said no." I crossed my arms and gave my sister a cocky shrug. "Besides, how hard can it be?"

.☽☼☾.

         "Can I get my notebook again? I need to look over the confirmations for the bridal shower. And make sure that the chef confirmed. " I asked the maid, Tia. She quickly went over to my desk and brought me my notebook.

         I skimmed the list one last time. The wedding was three weeks away but some of the guests would be arriving later today for things like the bridal shower and the bachelor/bachelorette parties.

         The wedding was to take place in the Southern Water Tribe. So, that's where I was. After Katara and Aang made the announcement, I went back to the South Pole. I helped in whatever I could, taking on tasks for the actual wedding apart from just the maid of honor duties.

         Okay, so we have me and Katara, obviously, Gran-Gran, Toph, Suki, Ty Lee, Mai, Auntie Ashuna, Auntie Tora.

         "Hey." I heard Katara's voice come into my room. "What's up?"

         "Hey." I said back, keeping my eyes on the list. "I'm just going over a few things."

         My sister said nothing. She came over to my bed and sat next to me, looking at the list. "You forgot Suh." She pointed.

         I looked over at her with my eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"

         "Suh." She repeated and looked just as confused as me. "You don't know who she is?"

         "This is the first I'm hearing of her." I told her. Katara looked like she was just put in an awkward position. She moved on her leg on my bed to face me better and tucked her undone hair behind her ear.

         "Suh is Zuko's new girlfriend. He sent a message about a month ago asking if she can come."

         "Was I supposed to react badly to that information." I raised an eyebrow and gave Katara an amused smile. "I'll just add her to the list." I said and wrote the new girl's name to the end of the list of names. "I'll let the chefs know that they will need to make an extra plate. And tell the restaurant that there's an extra person coming."

         "You're not bothered?"

         "Bothered by what?" I tried to sound like I didn't care. And I didn't care, right?

         "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that Zuko is in a relationship with someone who isn't you."

         I chuckled at my sister and ruffled her hair. "You seem more bothered about it than me." Katara frowned as she tried to brush through her hair with her hand. "I'd be a hypocrite to say that he shouldn't date anyone."

         Katara's expression changed to a curious look. "You know, you never told me about your little boyfriend." She smirked, trying to get me to spill. "Why did you go to the air temple? Did he break your heart?"

         I sighed and looked at the wall covered in animal skins. I guess I'd have to tell everyone at some point. The two years with her was a mystery to everyone. Aang and Katara were understanding to me when I needed a break from the world after the incident. They asked no questions but that doesn't mean they still weren't curious.

         "Katara, there's something you need to know about my 'lover' I guess you could say." I started. Katara nodded, signalling that she would be understanding of what I was going to tell her. "Those two years were filled with some of the most loving and amazing moments in my life. And it was all because of Mulan. My girlfriend."

         I refused to look at my sister. I was so scared to see her reaction. Scared she'd reject me. Her hand wrapped around me, pulling me in for a hug. "Ama were you scared to tell everyone because you were with a woman?" She asked in my hair.

         "Yes." I responded, my voice cracked when I said that and the tears started to come down my eyes. After years of keeping it to myself. I finally told someone my secret.

         "Why are you crying?" Katara pulled away from me and placed her hands on my cheeks, wiping away the tears.

         "Because I was so scared that you'd hate me." I sobbed. "Spirits, I'm so pathetic. You're getting married in three weeks and I'm here crying because of something so stupid."

         "It's not stupid." Katara chucked at me, wrapping her arm around me and I rested my head on her shoulder. "I can understand why you were scared to say anything, but I'm your sister. This changes nothing about you."

         "You're the best." I said and fell back onto the bed. Katara followed suit and laid next to me.

         "Would it be overstepping if I asked what happened?" Her voice was soft, simultaneously telling me that she wouldn't push me to answer.

         "She was sick." I lied. "She died and I was so heartbroken I just didn't know what to do. That's when you and Aang took me to the Eastern Air Temple."

         "I'm sorry to hear that." Katara was sincere.

         "I regret keeping her hidden from you all. She wanted to meet you all, but I feared that you guys would hate me. I always said 'one day'..." My voice was soft, barely a whisper. "but it never happened."

         "You weren't ready." Katara reasoned. "We can't tell the future. The only thing we can do is live in the moment and do the best we can."

         I smiled and turned my body to wrap my arms around my sister and she did the same. "You always know what to say."

         "I try!" She grinned.

         "Hey, sis. You haven't-" Sokka came into the room loudly. He stopped talking once seeing Katara and I sit up from the bed. "Did I miss something?" He noticed my tear-stained cheeks.

         Sokka, just like everyone, looked different than when he was 15. His cheekbones were more defined, his jaw more chiseled. He was growing out a beard on his chin, just like dad's. And he was constantly working out, so his shoulders and chest more muscular.

         He spent the last couple years at the Southern Water Tribe he became a high-ranking commander in the military. Not that we needed it all that much other than crime. If anything, he acted more as an advisor to dad, who was still Head Chieftain.

         I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve and got up. Sokka looked very confused as I walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. "What?"

         I pulled away from him and took a deep breath in. "Sokka, there's something I need to tell you." I said. He gave me a confused expression, but kept quiet. The first time is the scariest. "I fell in love with a woman named Mulan. She's the reason I wasn't in contact with anyone for two years."

         My brother's face softened and he smiled. "Sis, that's amazing!" He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and used his other hand to rough up my hair. I laughed as I pushed him away from me.

         "Whew." I said while I tried to fix my hair. "So, now the two most important people know. Now for everyone else." I breathed in nervously.

         "Don't worry about it." Sokka swat the air. "No one is going to judge you for something like that. Wait..." Sokka gave me an inquisitive look. "Is this why you broke up with Zuko?!"

         I laughed at him and patted his shoulder. "No, Sokka. I broke up with him because we were both way too young to know what we wanted in a relationship. And I needed to figure out myself."

         "Wait a minute." Katara caught our attention and now stood beside us. "It was also because of communication issues. Which you are also guilty of with all of us." She gave me a teasing smile.

         "Except I sent letters." I pointed out. "Besides, we were dating, not talking to me for a month just calls for a break up." I crossed my arms and scoffed playfully. "Now let's get some breakfast. I'm starving."

         And with that said I moved to finally leave my room and get breakfast. I felt knots in my stomach from both nerves and excitement. After years, I'm finally seeing my friends. Gosh I hope they still like me.

.☽☼☾.

         By midday, the Earth Kingdom ship was arriving at the port. I was so excited to see everyone I was practically jumping in place. Katara, Sokka and Aang all stood beside me, ready to greet the first group of friends coming.

         "There they are!" I pointed at the ship. Suki, Ty Lee, Toph and Haru stood at the bow of the ship, waving largely at us. I jumped up and down, waving both my arms back.

         "Ama!" Sokka complained and stepped to his left, away from me. "You almost hit me!"

         "Sorry." I giggled and stopped my large movements. The moment the ship docked I ran across the pier. Just as I got to the ramp, the others were getting off. Suki was running off fist, followed by Ty Lee and Toph.

         "Ama, you little whore!" Suki jokingly shouted as they all engulfed me in a hug. I laughed happily, returning the hug. "I'm so glad to see you, finally." The girls pulled away. And I turned to Haru, giving him a quick hug.

         "Good to see you, Ama." He greeted. Haru and I weren't that close. He was closer friends with Katara and Aang, especially after the war. But he was still a friend.

         "Likewise." I returned the greeting.

         "It's been forever." Ty Lee dragged the word 'forever'.

         "Yeah, snowcone." Toph punched my arm. I grunted in pain, but laughed. Damn, is she strong. "You just stopped coming to visit one day. You know I can't read your damn letters!"

         "You know I was kinda hoping there was someone who could read them for you." I chuckled at her. "But, most of those letters were bullshit, so it's not like you missed anything."

         "You lied in your letters?" Suki crossed her arms and gave me a light glare.

         "Why'd you do that?" Ty Lee asked.

         "I'm waiting for everyone else to get here. I don't want to have to repeat myself twenty times today." I told them and they all gave me a confused look.

         "Alright, fine." Toph said. And started to walk across the dock where the others were waiting. Suki went right up to Sokka, giving him a kiss and Ty Lee enthusiastically hugged everyone.

         "So, when's your best man and his little girlfriend getting here?" Toph asked Aang and crossed her arms.

         "Don't forget Mai!" Ty Lee added, intertwining her hands and resting them below her chin.

         "They should be here soon. I think they'll be arriving through the airship." Aang said and looked up into the sky. "See, there they are." He pointed up. A red airship with the Fire Nation insignia approached in the distance. Aang started leading us all to the large clearing close to the docks.

         "You excited to see Zuko, Ama?" Suki lightly elbowed me and had a teasing smirk.

         "Oh, please." I swat my hand and gave a smirk. "We've both moved on from each other. I'm very happy for him and his new girlfriend."

         "Oh, she's lying." Toph crossed her arms and had a knowing smirk on her lips. Suki, Ty Lee and Katara giggled while my cheeks flushed red.

         "I- I wasn't lying." I said dumbfounded. No way do I still like Zuko. It's been years. I found love with someone else. I can't possibly still have feelings for him.

         "Convince yourself all you want, snowcone, but there's still a tiny part of you that loves him." Toph said.

         "Whatever." I scoff. "Have any of you met Suh?"

         "Why? You wanna know how to break them up?" Suki continued her taunting. I knew they were teasing. After not seeing them for a few years they just gotta get it all out of their system.

         "Ha!" I laughed and lightly shoved Suki away from me.

         "None of us have met Suh, yet." Sokka cut into the conversation, putting his arm around his girlfriend.

         "Just Mai. But she's told me that Suh is, in her words not mine, 'overbearing' 'too clingy" and a few other words that I'd prefer not to repeat." Ty Lee listed and then put her hands behind her back.

         "Yeah, but Mai is, well, Mai." Aang pointed out. "I'm sure she's not that bad."

         "Oh, Aang." Sokka shook his head. "Always the optimist."

         "The skyship is starting to land. We'll find out soon enough." I said, motioning to the landing craft.

         "Yeah, I'd really like to avoid talking bad about someone we haven't met." Katara scolded everyone, her hands on her hips and sent a glare towards all of us.

         "Katara, you take things too seriously." Sokka ridiculed and Toph shook her head at the girl.

         "Suh could be a nice person for all we know, and you guys are just being plain rude." Katara frowned.

         "It's just talk, sis. Nothing to get fussy about." Sokkak retorted.

         I chucked at my siblings light banter. But I didn't realize the aircraft get so close to us. By the time I looked over, the ship just touched the ground with a loud thud.

         "Aren't we supposed to be in a more, I don't know, formal formation if we're going to be greeting the Fire Lord?" Suki wondered.

         "Zuko's greeting us, his friends. He's not meeting with a large crowd." Aang smiled and stepped closer to the ship as the ramp lowered.

         I crossed my arms, excited to see my friends and curious to meet a potential new friend. Toph didn't know what she was talking about. I don't still have feelings for Zuko. The ramp continued to be lowered, revealing  first Zuko with his arm linked with a woman.

         My breath hitched slightly. Zuko was hot, pun not intended but appreciated. Even under his elegant robes anyone could see that he gained quite a bit of muscle in his biceps and chest. His hair was up in a topknot, showcasing his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Even from meters away, I could still see his golden eyes shine.

         "Oh, did we forget to tell you. Zuko got 10 times more attractive." Suki leaned into me from my right.

         The woman hanging on his arm was gorgeous, honestly I'd believe she's a model. She was really tall, pale and thin, but not in a sickly way. She didn't style her hair, but it was so incredibly straight that it still looked elegant. Her hair was black, but not shiny like Mai's was. Her triangular shaped face held a sort of fearful look, probably nervous to meet everyone.

         A bright smile appeared on Zuko's lips when he saw all of us waiting for him. He looked down at his girlfriend happily and she gave him the largest smile with her painted red lips. Unlinking their arms, the Fire Lord walked faster toward Aang, giving him the largest hug.

         I smiled at them and looked back at the ramp, seeing Mai walking down. She looked almost the same, just older and a bit taller, like everyone else.

         "Mai!" Ty Lee exclaimed and ran over to her childhood friend for a hug. Mai gave her friend a smile, one that most people can't get from her.

         "Hey, Ty Lee." Mai greeted her.

         "Oh, we're going to have so much fun while we're here!" The peppy girl giggled. "Suki was telling me about the hot springs and I've been dying to go."

         "Sounds interesting." Mai said and then walked over to me. "He downgraded." I knew exactly what she was saying.

         I laughed lightly at her greeting. "Nice to see you, Mai." I then looked over at the girl who stood next to Zuko. "She's gorgeous and it seems like she makes Zuko happy, how did he downgrade?"

         "You'll be saying something different pretty soon." Mai rolled her eyes and left my confused self standing there to greet the others.

         I watched as she left and saw Zuko heading my way. With a grin, I walked over. My arms were out, ready for a hug from my friend. But once Zuko stood in front of me and held his hand out instead. My confused look came back, but I settled for a handshake.

         "What no hug?" I asked in a teasing tone.

         "It's not that I wouldn't want to hug you it's just..." Zuko said with a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of his neck.

         He didn't finish his sentence, instead Suh walked beside him, her hand sliding up his back and on his shoulder. "Hi, you must be Ama." She had a wide smile and peppy tone. It kind of reminded me of Ty Lee, but something about her felt wrong.

         "Yes, hi! I'm so glad to finally meet you." I still put on a smile, ignoring the bad vibes.

         The girl jumped on me in a hug. "You have no idea how excited I've been to meet you." She claimed and then pulled away, holding both my hands in hers. Her hands were really soft, but cold. I reasoned that she probably isn't a firebender. "I can't wait to get to know you better!"

         "Yeah, I'll be kinda busy till the wedding, but we can maybe get lunch one day." I said happily.

         "Great." She exclaimed, turning back to Zuko and intertwining their hands. Zuko, looked really happy. A huge smile plastered on his face when he saw the two of us plan to get to know each other.

         "Shall we head to the palace?" Aang asked loudly, ready to get on with our day. "We'll rest a bit, have some dinner, talk a bit. It'll be a great first day together!" He happily opened his arms out wide and wrapped an arm around Katara, lead us all back to the palace.

.☽☼☾.

So I changed the POV from third person to first person. I find it a bit easier to write that way. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

Also, so I feel like I need to address why I chose the name Mulan. No. It was not because of the Disney movie. I wanted it to mean something, and I really liked the idea of blossoms of some sort. And Mulan means magnolia blossoms. Plus it is a pretty name.

Hang loose, amigos 🤙🏼

[dface]

5 times peter found new mentors + the 1 time he has his old one back

+ 1: tony

Six months after Tony's funeral, Pepper invites Peter to dinner.

Before that, though, it's a regular Saturday morning. Peter wakes up to sunlight streaming across his face. He covers his face with his blanket, but there's a smile hidden beneath the folds of fabric.

"No nightmares," he whispers, as if saying it any louder would make it less true.

May peeks her head into his room. When she sees he's awake, she smiles.

"Hi honey," she says, "did you sleep okay?" There's a hidden question there, concern blanketed by love. Peter hears it, and he answers.

"Yeah. No nightmares."

May's grin grows as she walks in to sit on his bed.

"Really?" she says, and Peter nods. May looks like she might cry as she leans in to hug Peter close, pressing her lips to the side of his head. And it might be nothing, it might just be one lucky night where a patrol left Peter too tired to dream– but it feels like the first breath he's been able to take after months underwater.

May makes pancakes to celebrate. She burns the first three before Peter comes over to help, and then the rest are perfect, drowned in syrup and butter. Sitting across from each other at the table, Peter feels safe, the nagging thoughts in his head saying quiet.

"What are you thinking about?" May asks.

"Nothing," Peter says, and he means it in the best way.

Peter washes the dishes and May dries them, their casual conversation interrupted by a knock at the door. May goes to get it before Peter can, and her voice echoes through the hallway.

"Bucky! Good to see you again. Come in, please."

May rounds the corner, followed by a sheepish-looking Bucky in sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Hey Pete," Bucky says. He looks Peter up and down and lifts an eyebrow. "You choosing a new look for today?"

Peter glances down at his Star Wars pj pants and AC/DC shirt and then back up.

"No– Um, if you could just give me a second." He jogs to his bedroom before they can see the blush that crawls up his neck to his cheeks. He can still hear them talking as he changes.

"Where are you two exploring today?"

"We didn't quite get to all the corners of Brooklyn last week, so we'll finish up down in Gravesend and make our way around the edge, up towards Manhattan." There are creaks in the floorboards, most likely Bucky stepping closer to May to show her the map on his phone. Peter smiles as he tugs his shirt over his head.

"Thank you for doing this with him," he hears May say. "I know it's helped him so much, made him feel more in control."

"I'm glad I could help." There's a brief pause, a bit awkward, and then Bucky coughs. "Peter's a great kid."

Peter jogs back into the room before May can answer.

"Ready," he says, pushing up the sleeves of his hoodie. Bucky grins and nods.

"Alright, let's get going. Got a lot to cover today."

"Be careful, and have fun." May presses a kiss to Peter's forehead. "Love you."

"Love you too. See you tonight!"

As they stretch on the sidewalk, Bucky hands the phone to Peter.

"This is the route for the day," he says, and Peter peers at it. It's longer than usual, the red lines of the jogging path circling the water's edge.

"Looks good," Peter says, handing the phone back. "I'm ready."

They jog at a regular pace, sweating under the early afternoon sun. It's better for Peter to go slow, so he can focus on the streets around him, start to learn the patterns of every neighborhood. A few times they stop and stand a particular intersection, Bucky quizzing him on what he can remember.

"You're getting really good at this," Bucky says, as they run towards the center of Manhattan. Peter knows he could say he used to be so much better at it, that he'd spent most of his time after getting his powers just jumping from building to building– that he got so good, before, that he could travel around Queens with his eyes shut– but instead he smiles.

"Thanks," he says, because Bucky is right. He can tell that he's remembering everything better, even with all of the new skyscrapers and landmarks built during the blip.

They end their run a few buildings away from the Tower. Peter's clothes are soaked through– even in October, the New York summer still lingers.

"Wanna come up with me?" Bucky asks, swinging a thumb towards the door. "The team's been asking about you."

"Yeah, sure."

Peter doesn't come to the Tower often without his suit, so it feels weird, standing in the elevator with Bucky Barnes and a few Stark Industries workers, who are trying very hard not to stare. Bucky leads the way through the halls to the gym, opening the door for him that leads to the open floor space where the team normally warms up. Wanda is sitting by the open mat, chatting with Rhodey while she stretches. Sam is over at the other side of the gym, doing pull-ups on the bar hanging near the weight section. He stops halfway up when he spots Bucky and Peter, a smile spreading across his face.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Buggo," he says to Peter. He looks over him, like he's checking for injuries, on or below the surface. "You look like you just came out of a Rocky training montage."

Peter swipes his hand across his sweaty forehead and flicks it towards Sam.

"Very funny," he says, as Sam pulls a face of disgust. "Bucky and I just finished running the rest of Brooklyn today."

"Yeah, he was telling me about what he had mapped out," Sam says, his eyes roving over Bucky's face, something like fondness in his expression. "How was it?"

"Good." Bucky plays it cool, though there's no hiding the softness in his eyes, the curve of his lips. He doesn't smile much when Peter hangs with him, unless Peter trips or tells a ridiculously bad joke. If Sam's there, though, the careful wall Bucky keeps just drops.

"I'm gonna grab us some waters," Bucky says to Peter, walking towards the fridges.

In the silence, Peter shifts from side to side. It's weird, being at the Tower, but not to train. He feels like someone on the sidelines, like he's a fan waiting to take a picture with 'the new Captain America'.

"How's school going?" Sam asks, crossing his arms against his chest.

"It's alright. Weird from all the blip stuff, but it's good to be with my friends." Seeing Ned in the school hallway after the blip made the grip on Peter's chest loosen, letting the air he so desperately needed back in, clearing his vision.

"That's good. Did you end up meeting with Andrea?" Sam asks.

"Oh yeah, on Friday after school."

"How did you like her?"

"She was really nice. We made a plan for a session next week."

"That's good," Sam says, slapping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, for taking that step."

Peter smiles. When Sam had first brought up the name of his therapist friend, during one of their movie nights at Sam's apartment a month ago, Peter made an excuse about needing to get home and jumped out of the window. The idea of sitting in a small room and opening up to a stranger felt worse than a gunshot wound. Sam didn't bring it up again, understanding that Peter wasn't ready to make that step. However, after another week of nightmares, May sitting up all night with him despite having to work the next day, Peter realized he could use the help. He asked Sam about it and he helped schedule an introductory appointment.

"Thanks," Peter says, meaning it in more than one way. Sam seems to get it, his smile softening with something like pride. Bucky comes back over, handing Peter a glass of water.

"Maria's asking for you," he says to Sam. "Says she has something you need to check out."

The two of them share a look, and then Sam sighs.

"Alright, let me suit up," he says, and looks over at Peter. "Need a ride to Queens?"

"No, I uh–" Peter grins. "I brought my suit, so I'm gonna patrol on my way back."

"Sounds good. Be careful."

"You got it, Cap."

Sam shakes his head, though he smiles when he says, "Alright, twerp. Go on."

Peter changes in the locker room and then jumps off the balcony with a one-handed wave at Bucky.

"See you next week," he calls, his stomach swooping as gravity pulls him towards the pavement. He shoots a web and lets out a whoop as he's sent back up into the sky. It's as if he's made of air. The city around him feels more like home with every passing day, less like the maze he often found himself lost in.

"KAREN, quiz me," he says, running along the side of a glass building before shooting another web and jumping off.

"Find the quickest way to Williamsburg bridge."

"Easy."

Peter can see the city like a map in his head, all the streets and where they cross. He leaps over buildings, using his gliders to fly through the air over several blocks before landing on an apartment building in front of the bridge.

"How was that, K?"

"Great work, Peter."

He swings across the bridge, waving at kids in their cars as he passes them.

"There's a getaway car headed down Grant towards Queens."

"On it!" Peter jumps and twists in mid-air, taking a sharp right from the bridge. KAREN highlights the car's route in blue in his vision, but his senses could pick it up without it. Everything feels crystal clear and sharp– he was never out of shape, but all the training with the team and running with Bucky has helped remind his body of its power. He catches up to the car in minutes, shooting webs at the wheels and digging his feet into the cement street. Once the car is secure, the driver webbed to the street, and pedestrians are safe, Peter flips up to the telephone pole and continues home.

"Your memory of the area is improving every day, Peter."

"Thanks K. It feels good, y'know? I feel more like myself."

By the time he gets back to the apartment, he is once again sticky with sweat.

"I'm home," he says, throwing his keys onto the coffee table. He hears May call out from her room– most likely getting ready for her shift at the hospital.

"M'gonna take a shower," he says, and after she doesn't respond, grabs his towel and walks to the bathroom.

Standing under the water spray, Peter closes his eyes. It's still hard– his mind loves to wander, to pull up memories he'd rather forget. Now, it uses the heat of the shower to remind him of how his nerves had flared on Titan, how his body had burned with a fever while trying to keep itself together. It had felt like something was ripping his cells into pieces while he fought back, all the while knowing that it was a battle he wasn't going to win.

Peter opens his eyes. He puts a hand on his chest and feels his heartbeat, breathes carefully until it slows to a more regular tempo. You're not there, he tells himself. You're home. The tightness in his chest loosens, his shoulders dropping, muscles uncoiling.

As the water turns more lukewarm than hot, Peter finishes rinsing off and then steps out of the shower. On the corner of the bathroom sink, his phone rings. Peter leans over to check the caller name and almost falls over, feet sliding on the bathroom tiles. The name Pepper Potts waits patiently while Peter wraps his towel around his waist and answers the phone, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

"Hello?" he says.

"Peter?" and it's definitely Pepper– Peter's only talked with her a few times, when he and Tony had to be dragged out of the lab for dinner, or at the gala's Tony brought him along to. She was always somewhat far away, dealing with the press or the company– but he could remember her smile when they first met, the warmth in her expression during every conversation with her.

"Yes, it's me," Peter says, and immediately squeezes his eyes shut, reaching up to tug on his hair.

"Do you have a minute?"

Peter's towel is almost soaked through where he is sitting, puddles of water forming near his feet, dropping from the ends of his hair and rolling down his back.

"Yeah, of course!" Peter says, ignoring the shiver that runs through him. "What's up?"

"How are you doing?" Pepper asks, her voice suddenly softer, gentle. It reminds Peter of the therapist he talked to the week before, like an instant reminder of how he's been suffering.

"I'm alright, keeping myself busy," he says, careful to keep his tone light. "How are you? And Morgan?"

"We're alright. Like you said, keeping busy. Morgan just started kindergarten, actually, which is wonderful and terrifying."

"Oh, wow," Peter says, because he isn't sure what else to say. He still hasn't really met Morgan, just saw her at a distance at the funeral. He saw Tony in her features and had to look away, embarrassed at how easily he had started to cry.

"Anyway," Pepper continues, pulling Peter out of his thoughts, "I wanted to invite you to dinner. This evening actually. I know it's a bit last minute, but–"

"No," Peter interrupts, and then backtracks. "I mean, it's okay. May's working a late shift tonight so I wasn't planning on doing anything anyway."

"Great," Pepper says neatly, sounding much more like herself, now that there are plans to be made. "Happy can pick you up around four."

"That sounds great," Peter says, mostly because he doesn't think he could say no to Pepper Potts even if he tried.

"See you then," Pepper says, and Peter can barely manage an okay because she hangs up. He sits where he is for a minute, phone still pressed to his ear. Then, like he's regained control of his limbs, he leaps up and runs to his room, one hand clenched around his waist to hold the towel up.

"May!"

She jogs into the living room immediately, halfway through braiding her hair back.

"What's wrong? What happened?" she asks, eyes wide.

Peter relays the call to her, a small puddle forming around his feet. At the end of it, May is staring at him with a soft smile, something warm in her eyes he can't take the time to figure out.

"So what do I do?" he says, running a hand through his dripping hair.

"What do you mean?"

"Should I bring something?" Peter looks around the room, as if the answer will be written on one of the walls. His eyes lock on May's set of wine glasses. "Wine? Should I bring wine?"

"Peter, you can't buy alcohol," May says.

"Well should I make food?"

"You can't cook."

"Help me, May!" Peter squeaks, his hands in his hair. "I'm freaking out."

May moves to him, pulling his hands from his head and holding them.

"Peter, honey," she says fondly, "it's okay. It's just dinner."

"Except it's not," Peter says, frowning. "It's more important than that."

"Okay, then let's find you a nice shirt." May stands by as Peter digs through his drawers, tossing graphic tees and plaid button-downs onto a mountain of a pile. Finally, he finds a dress shirt he wore when Midtown had a mock Presidential election– he was going for Treasury, Ned was President.

May leaves while he gets ready, pulling on his nicest pair of jeans and combing his hair back. Peter stares at himself in the mirror, pulling at the sleeves. The shirt is somehow still a little big on him, despite filling out since wearing it the first time. He unbuttons the top button and then redoes it with a shake of his head.

"May, I think I need a tie," he says, walking out into the living room. He stops after a few steps, the hair on his neck standing up.

"You don't need one." a voice says, and Peter whirls around. Happy is standing in the doorway, grinning as he looks him over. May must have let him in, though she's now banging around in the kitchen, grabbing a snack before her shift.

"You're early," Peter says, his heart crawling up his throat. He hadn't heard him coming, even with his senses. Normally he could hear people's steps in the stairway, or the ding of the escalator when it reached their floor.

"Yeah, traffic was better than I had thought it would be," Happy says, proud of himself. "You ready to go?"

Peter turns his head as May walks in, tugging at her scrubs. She must have let Happy in, because she isn't surprised at him being there, just smiles kindly over at him. Opening her mouth, she asks him a question, though Peter can't hear it over the thumping of his heart.

If he didn't hear May let Happy in, who knows what he wouldn't hear any other day? Someone could break in and he wouldn't hear it. Are his super-senses going away?

"Peter," Happy says, and now he and May are both staring. "You ready?"

With a slow inhale, Peter forces himself to relax. His spider-sense protects him when he's in danger– Happy is not a threat, and his body knows that. It doesn't mean it wouldn't protect him from actual danger.

"Yeah," he says, once he can hear over his heartbeat again. "I'm ready." He kisses May on the cheek and walks after Happy to the sleek black car parked in front of the apartment building.

They drive through the streets of Queens in silence, other than the occasional grumble about taxi drivers from Happy. Peter scrolls through his twitter, trying to ignore the anxious thoughts that race around in his head. Everything is fine.

"So," Happy starts, and his eyes meet Peter's in the mirror, "have you talked to Sam recently?"

"Yeah, I saw him at the Tower today," Peter says, looking down at his phone.

"Did he set you up with that therapist friend of his? Amanda?"

"Andrea," Peter corrects. "I went in to meet her last week."

"Okay, good," Happy says. They spend a few minutes in silence, the radio on low, playing some whiny pop song.

"Have you seen Bruce recently?"

"Yeah, he helped me with my science project a bit ago, which was cool." Peter grins at the memory. "I brought Ned and he fainted."

"Good, good," Happy says, and then makes eyes at Peter in the mirror again. "Rhodey says you haven't called him in a minute."

Peter squints at him.

"Am I being interrogated for some reason?" he asks. "What's with all the questions?"

Happy huffs.

"I wouldn't have to ask you so many questions if you just told me things–"

"Oh, okay. First you tell me off for talking too much, now you wanna say I don't talk enough–"

"Okay, enough," Happy barks. "I was just… I'm just curious."

Peter sees through it.

"You're worried about me," he says, and Happy rolls his eyes.

"Whatever."

Grinning, Peter looks back to his phone. They spend the next hour in relative silence, cruising down the highway towards Pepper's cabin. Peter remembers parts of the ride from when he travelled there for the funeral, though it's very blurry in his memory. He wasn't really all there, six months ago. It had only been a few days since the battle on the compound. Peter had showered, wiped clean of all the dirt and grime, but standing there in that crisp suit, he had still felt like he was covered in blood.

Six months later, those feelings are bound to spring up again. Peter focuses on his breathing whenever it feels too hard, remembering the exercises Andrea had just taught him. It doesn't make anything less painful, but it makes it easy to get through it.

Happy takes the exit to the right and they turn in a slow circle. Off the highway and surrounded by trees, the world feels much quieter, like lives stop existing after a certain spot. Peter's heart clenches as he looks out the window, seeing how the road twists and turns. Happy takes an exit that Peter already knows is the private drive up to the cabin, and their eyes meet in the mirror.

"Are you nervous?" Happy asks.

"What?"

Happy nods towards Peter's bouncing leg, how his hands are playing with a thread on his sweater.

"You seem nervous," he says. "About tonight?"

"Well now that you mention it, yeah," Peter says, rolling his eyes.

"But you know Pepper. And you met Morgan, at the funeral."

"I barely saw either of them there, and it wasn't really a great time to talk." Peter tries to joke, but the memory of the funeral brings him surprisingly close to tears. He runs a hand over his face, turning his attention to the blur of trees outside. Happy is quiet for a few minutes, sensing the change in demeanor. The car slows as they pull into the driveway, the cabin off to the left of them. The lake is so still it looks frozen.

Happy shuts off the car and twists in the seat to look at Peter.

"Just relax," he says, offering a small smile. "It's okay."

Peter nods. Taking a deep breath, he gets out of the car, walking up the hill towards the cabin. In the grass between the house and the lake, there's a mini playground set up, the youngest Stark in the middle of it.

"Peter!" Morgan says, jumping off her swing to run over. She latches onto his legs, staring up at him with that familiar smirk. Peter's heart breaks and soars at the same time.

"Hi Morgan." He quirks an eyebrow. "Do you remember me?" He has a faint memory of being introduced to her during the funeral, very quickly.

"My Daddy told me about you," Morgan says. She tugs on his arm until he leans closer, and then whispers, "You're Spider-man."

It takes all of Peter's strength to not completely crumble.

"Yeah," he says, his throat tight, "but it's a secret. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

Morgan mimes zipping her lips before running back to her playground. Peter spots Pepper, standing on the steps of the cabin, watching the two of them. She has the look of someone grieving, all her edges sharp, stories of sleepless nights in the lines on her face, but she smiles when Peter meets her stare. She steps down to greet him.

"Hi Peter," she says warmly, opening her arms. Peter's eyes burn. The last time he hugged her was at the funeral, but that had been nothing– she had been numb when saying her hellos and receiving everyone's condolences, her blue eyes dulled to gray. Her arms had felt wooden wrapped around Peter– though he hadn't minded, being pretty wooden himself.

This time though, her arms feel strong as she squeezes him, almost shaking with the effort. It feels like she's trying to apologize with sheer force, muscling through the pain that courses through the both of them like an electric current.

"I'm sorry I didn't have you over sooner," Pepper says as they pull apart. There's a pain in her expression that Peter has seen in the mirror for the last six months.

"Don't worry about it," he says quickly. "I understand." Of course, he doesn't truly, not the extent of the loss she must have felt, must still be feeling– but Pepper seems to understand, her smile tight but still warm, and the urge to explain himself dies in Peter's throat.

Pepper leads him into the cabin. It seems smaller than it was at the funeral, though Peter soon realizes it just looks lived in, rather than tidied up for black-tie guests. Morgan's drawings hang on every empty space on the wall, illustrations of dogs and flowers and many, many depictions of Iron Man flying across the sky. There are toys and books scattered around the floor of the living room, and a dark couch that Peter has the urge to sink into, and a warmth to the space that makes him feel safe.

They eat dinner all together, Peter sitting opposite Morgan. She tells him about her art project for school, proves to him that she can count up to forty, and tries to drag him away to her room to show off her new toys.

"Morgan, sweetheart, finish your veggies first. Then you can give Peter a tour." Pepper smiles at Peter. "Hope you don't mind."

"Of course not."

Pepper doesn't ask how he's doing, if he's sleeping, if he likes school, and Peter is thankful. Instead, they chat about Morgan's favorite books, the movies released in the past five years that Peter needs to watch, Happy's new goatee. Morgan plays with her fork and knife, making them hop around the edge of her plate. It's one of those moments, where Peter can almost forget everything that's been hurting.

After dinner, Peter follows Morgan around the cabin, watching closely as she shows him her favorite stuffed animals and books. He grins the whole way through, and it's easy– everything feels so simple when Morgan is staring up at him with that mischievous spark in her eyes, plucked right from her father's face. He plays hide and seek with her until Pepper comes looking.

"Morgan, it's time for bed."

"But Mom, I have to find Petey first!"

Peter unsticks himself from the bottom of her desk, lands softly on his toes, and crawls out from underneath.

"What do you mean?" he says, and Morgan spins around. "I'm right here."

"Peter!" Morgan runs and hugs him, giggling. Peter catches her easily– she might as well be made of air, with his strength– and lifts her up as he stands. He passes her easily to Pepper's arms and waves goodbye as Pepper takes her to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and then walks to the living room and collapses on the couch. Happy, sitting in the armchair closest to the fireplace, looks up from his phone.

"She tire you out?" he asks, with a knowing smile.

"Kids are insane," Peter says, "I thought I had energy."

"Now you know how I feel, watching over you."

Peter throws a pillow towards Happy, hitting him square in the face. Happy sputters as Peter laughs, his head falling back on the couch. When he settles, his eyes take in the space around them.

"This place is really nice," he says. "I don't think I really noticed it at the funeral."

He can feel Happy staring at him.

"You could come here more often," Happy says, and Peter looks up.

"Pretty sure that's Pepper's line," he says.

Happy rolls his eyes.

"She's talked with me about it."

Peter blinks.

"Oh," he says, unable to form anything more coherent. He tries to imagine more trips up here, weekend dinners with May included, nights watching Morgan, watching her grow up. The feeling of family, reinvented. His throat tightens like he might cry, but he breathes through it.

"That would be nice," he says, avoiding Happy's eyes.

"Good," Happy says, staring into the fireplace and away from Peter's face.

They sit in comfortable silence until Pepper comes back in, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"And she's down," she says, with a grin. "For a few hours, at least." She glances at Happy. "Can I grab Peter, for a second? Before you drive him home."

"Of course." Happy stands, scratching at his beard. "I'll be waiting in the car."

"We won't be long." Pepper waits until Happy retreats, and then looks at Peter. "C'mon, I have something to show you."

Peter follows her down to the basement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The stairs lead down to an open lab space, a large desk in the middle of the room. It looks as if someone was just working at it, except for the fine layer of dust on every surface.

"This was where Tony figured out how to time travel," Pepper says quietly, waving a hand around the space. She walks around the desk and pulls out an old Iron Man helmet. A shiver runs through Peter, staring at the shining gold and red metal. Pepper places it on the edge of the desk and looks at Peter.

"He told me to show this to you, but I forgot about it until a few weeks ago. I'm sorry it took so long." She presses the button inside the helmet and the eyes light up, sending out beams of blue. After a moment, the image forms, and Tony is sitting on a chair in front of them.

Peter's heart stops altogether. He knows that it's just a projection of a recording– but it looks so real, so much like the man he hasn't seen in half a year.

Video-Tony waves at him.

"Hi, kid," he says, and Peter's eyes burn. It is so familiar, so lifelike, an instant comfort to the hole in his chest, and yet also a reminder of what's been lost, what will continue to be gone.

Tony sighs, dropping his head.

"It feels weird to make this, since you're–" he clears his throat. "Since you're gone, but we've come up with a plan to bring everyone back, so I just thought I'd make this." He rubs his hands together, palms at his chest, grabs at his wrist. He looks anxious, Peter realizes, like when they were on the ship headed for Titan. "I guess I don't know why I'm making this, if I'm just going to see you, I just–"

He scratches at his face, looking around the room, at things Peter can't see.

"I invented time travel, and the first thing I wanted to do was call you over just to see you geek out," he says, and his head drops down towards his feet. When he looks up again, his eyes are glassy with tears.

"There's so much I want to show you. Most of all Morgan– she is so bright, and getting smarter every day. She reminds me of you– especially when she's feigning innocence after I catch her doing something she shouldn't."

Peter feels the tears slip down his cheeks and can't find the energy to wipe them away. Video-Tony, blurred around the edges, laughs to himself.

"Pepper always teased me, saying that I was turning into a dad, taking care of you. I always denied it, not ready to face how much I wanted to call you my kid– and then you were gone, and I didn't–" Tony coughs and wipes a hand over his face, turning away from the camera. When he looks back, he's smiling again– strained.

"Anyway, that's not what this is about. I'm assuming if you're watching, that I've saved the world yet again and brought everyone back. I'm also assuming that I'm not there in person to tell you this– unless I'm still too cowardly to talk to you in person, which would be embarrassing."

Peter hiccups a laugh.

"I just wanted to make sure you know–" and Tony inhales deep, his shoulders rising, like he's preparing himself for a blow that is sure to come, though he seems to be alone in the room.

"I wanted you to know how proud I am of you," he says with a rushed exhale, and the air punches out of Peter's lungs in imitation. He curls forward instinctively, eyes glued to the image of Tony– the rise and fall of his chest, the wrinkles around his smile, the grey in his hair.

"Don't know why that was so hard to say," Tony says, and then shakes his head. "That's not entirely true. I always had trouble talking about how much I adored you, how much you amazed– amaze me. Probably something to do with my father, etcetera, boring stuff, you get it." Tony rubs his jaw again, looking out to the room around them. The video quality is so good, Peter can see the tears still wavering in his waterline.

"Whatever you do next, just know that there will always be someone who's got your back. You know, the team, whoever is still there–" Tony frowns, his eyes going off somewhere far, beyond the room he's in. Blinking away whatever thought he got lost in, he addresses the camera. "The team is here to support you too. They've been asking about you for ages." An expression that borders on guilt flits across Tony's face.

"I should've introduced you sooner," he says. "I just… I guess I kept you to myself for so long because I didn't want you to find someone cooler."

Peter laughs even as tears drip from his chin.

"As if," he says, and Pepper rubs his back.

In the video, Tony shakes his head, wiping a hand across his face.

"Anyway, enough crying for the day. I'll uh–" Tony smiles and it feels like peace, like maybe he knew all along what was going to happen, at the very end. "I'll see you soon."

The projection fades away, Tony frozen mid-wave. Peter wipes at his face, though the tears are still coming. He hadn't heard Tony's voice in months, specifically staying away from any interviews or old footage news channels were putting up in remembrance.

"Peter?" Pepper says, her hand still on his back.

"I'm okay," he says, even though his throat feels close to closing up entirely. "Just haven't– I haven't seen him in a while."

Pepper makes a noise of understanding, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. It takes a minute, but eventually Peter can swallow his sobs, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. He turns to Pepper and offers a watery smile.

"Thank you for showing that to me," he says. Pepper's eyes are red like his. Peter wonders if she also hasn't seen Tony since the funeral, or if she cries every time.

"Of course. I wish I had remembered it sooner," she says, with a watery smile. "Tony worried about you being on your own, and I do too. What he said– I know I'm not part of the team, but I am here, if you need it."

Peter nods, not trusting his voice enough to speak. Pepper seems to understand well enough, pulling him into a side hug that could feel awkward, but just reminds Peter of late nights with May, sitting side by side on the couch after a nightmare. It feels like straight comfort, like tiger balm on sore muscles, like everything Peter needs.

They sit like that for a few moments, before Pepper sighs.

"Happy's going to charge in at any moment," she says, "wondering what is taking so long."

Peter laughs. They stand and walk up the stairs, towards the front door.

"Thank you for dinner," he says, as they walk outside. "For everything."

"You're always welcome here," Pepper says. "I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I do." Peter gives Pepper another tight hug before walking down to the car, where Happy is standing, his arms crossed. He seems annoyed but doesn't say anything, his look softening when Peter gets close enough. Peter is sure his eyes are swollen, his nose pink.

"You good?" Happy asks, and after a moment, Peter nods.

check on my Ao3!

[holy-mountaineering]

This Tree of Life is for an anonymous friend who shall go unnamed but they are not unloved!

Think of this spread as a sort of quantum map, or even the land of a regular map, everything is happening at once, in each place. It’s important to think of yourself as moving “through” the map but you are also simultaneously everywhere at once. For the sake of this specific experiment, think of this as a map. Maybe as a person, the Qabalistic Adam Kadmon.

Where we’re starting the journey from is Kether, the monad, the first sign of creation. We’ll call this your hometown, since it is where you’re from originally. Here we have the “meh” card, Queen of Swords, or how you feel about what you think and your reasoning.

Ideally, this Queen is the “caller out of bullshit.” She is watery (intuitive) enough to feel when a facade is being put up and airy (intelligent) enough to cut the shit and address the fakery. The difference between someone trying to take advantage of another and a person who accidentally causes misfortune is the intention of said individual. Don’t be fooled by kind wolves or rabid sheep.

She rests at her throne with the head or mask of a man and the sword of her mind she severed the head/mask with. Her expression is one of disinterest, she’s done this many times before and shall again and again. It is her nature.

Be aware of intentions, even  your own. Be wary of situations and people talking from behind masks they wish to use to obscure their true meaning. Especially be aware of yourself and your masks you hide behind.

In Chokmah, which is like your freeway getting you out onto the road out of  your hometown is the always welcomed X Fortune, Jupiter, Kaph. 

The “wheel of” Fortune is the rotating of things from confusing and/or destructive to beneficial. The gods Hanuman and Sobek to Crowley represented these ideas and the spinning ‘Wheel of Fortune, ol’ Fortuna is the constant motion of life and our experience stuck in it.. The Sphinx on top has waited through the turns patiently and meditatively and now It is on top again. 

Expand your influence through patience. It’s getting better just you wait.

In Binah, which is ruled by Saturn and for the sake of this reading we will call the first stop on your roadtrip. You haven’t really arrived anywhere but you’re stopping and getting a chance to repack your car in a more efficient way. Sitting in Binah is the fuckery of the 7 of Swords, Futility.

This is the main thrust of the Will through the mind being thwarted by in helpful organization of ideas. Each sword with a planetary sigil are like the spikes in a parking garage, one way. It isn’t that the ideas or aspects represented by these swords are “bad” just that their placement and yours are not lined up in the best way right now. 

Mentally and communication wise pull back from what you’re going at and work on how your organizing the information in your head.

In Chesed which is ruled by Jupiter and again for the sake of this experiment we’ll say involves your influence and benevolence in your current trip is the 9 of Cups, Happiness. 

I call this ‘mutually beneficial relationships’ or expanding influence (Jupiter) going or being pulled both ways (Pisces). Each cup has its own source but everything is flowing into each other down to the base of the 3x3 structure. There is a lot of water and all it represents and it hasn’t reached its peak yet and is still driving upward and outward.

Cultivate relationships and connective feelings that aren’t lopsided or just giving/taking. Keep building  you’re not done yet.

Across the Tree in Geburah, which is Mars Town, where you find your drive and what you’re trying to accomplish/conquer is the popular tonight Atu XIX The Sun, Resh, Sol. 

The Sun is The Lord of Light and Life, the center of our little Solar System. Everything in the fairly large gravitational pull of the Sun is affected by it which pulls everything to it. If it weren’t for The Sun, nothing in our Solar System (named after Sol, The Sun Himself) would be where it is or nearly as well lit or full of life.

This more or less self sufficient little nuclear reactor in space gives life and light but also pulls small things which cannot maintain an orbit around it in for the final burn. bright and full of life and light but deal not with bullshit trifles. 

Center yourself but be aware of what you effect and how. Keep pumping out the power but make sure it’s that good good renewable energy.

In Tiphareth, the Sun and center of gravity holding all this in place, the heart pumping the blood through this, your heart is the (more fuckery) Princess of Swords, the earthy part of Air.

This is the material situations that manifest from your way of thinking and communicating! You have to understand that we literally create reality with our perception, thoughts, and language. And that can get messy if we don’t keep them in check.

Get your head into the game as they say, you’re here right now and what is going on in this moment is what you need to focus on. Stay away from nostalgia and daydreaming, think on your situation, not possible scenarios. 

In Netzach, Venus town, where you have the realization about how this is going to change you as a person with a personality is well EXTRA FUCKERY, self fuckery, if thou wilt. The 9 of Swords, Cruelty (to self and then by proxy, others).

Like the other 9s this is a massive building up, in this case of Air, mind, thinking, communicating. This is beating yourself up about a decision that must be made. Astrologically, Mars in Gemini relates to action being thwarted because of a split mind on a matter.

You are mentally at a fork in the road and you need to make a choice one way or another.

You’re building up a lot of ideas but you need to decide which way you want to go or it’s going to keep tearing you up mentally. There is a lot of force and mass here, move it or lose it.

In Mercury Town Hod-ville, where all the Universities are and everyone has real intellectual shit going on is a whole new way of thinking and perceiving, Atu XX The Aeon, Shin, Fire.

Think about where you are now and how you go about doing things in general. Do you remember a time before this point in your life when you acted differently and didn’t have this kind of understanding of the world? The Aeon is a new understanding and thus a new way of acting in your life.

Harpocrates giving the sign of silence has to do with the meditative process of accepting this new law of life. You must truly grasp the meaning of this change in order to act in the new “spirit of the age” if you will.

You are being born anew through fire and blood, you are emerging from the egg in the background and coming forth.  What you take away from this will be with you forever but one day will also be improved on and brought to a new level. 

On the Moon in Yesod, the receptive and reflective place that is a lot about the feelings that you’re picking up from all this is the organized 6 of Wands, Victory. 

This is organizing each action to interact with another to create friction at the intersections. 6s are like the idealized form of each of the suits, in this case FIRE or action, movement. Victory is achieved through strong organization. Here the strands come together to form the rope you pull yourself up with. Each piece is strong on it’s own but when you twist them together correctly you have a much better tool. 

Don’t do isolated things, use each action to build on your goals.

Down here in Malkuth-istan, the everyday life mundane, waking up pooping, and going to work world is a wedding! VI The Lovers. 

These Lovers aren’t about romantic love as much as it is the ‘Love unites the divided.’ This is the ceremony part of the alchemical wedding or the announcement of the intention to dissolve duality. Coagula.

All inverse and adverse elements of the card are brought together under the blessing of the Initiator who is giving the sign of the enterer. This is to say he is blessing your entering into this union of your shadow and conscious self.

You have some work to do on making a more unified you. There are issues that once brought together and balanced make more sense. Bring opposites or aspects of yourself you’re not familiar with/comfortable with together in your life to make a more complete whole. Set intention to do this, maybe even formally. 

SO, whenever you get over being over “it all” and you realize it’s just a stuck point, shit will finish getting different, again. This change in “luck” should give you a chance to look at how you’re organizing your own funeral, so to speak. If you feel like you’re pushing a fucking boulder up hill, maybe don’t. Maybe figure out a pulley system or conning someone else into doing the work like your little one eye’d Friend, lol.

And you’ll gain more important influence by surrounding yourself with folks who give and take in relatively equal proportions. I know, I know, this is “The Dream” but it is possible to cut off people that just sap your “love force” leaving you with nothing but force. Refocus on YOUR goals and YOUR Light and the things in Orbit of you will makes sense and hold their satellite positions and continue to do their little (and big) jobs. But this is all done by GETTING YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME. If you see yourself as a lone wolf fighting winter alone, winter will eat your ass every time, and not in a fun ass eating way, more in an ice giant just gobbling you up. You make your reality, possibly more than most, so make it one that puts you at the center so you can get shit done.

You aren’t going to grow from this garbage heap if you don’t stop beating yourself up about every goat-forsaken choice you make! Your total understanding of your standing in the Universe is about to get a reboot anyhow, so just surround yourself with people and energy that allows you to build toward that anomalyous “self goals” thing we’ve been kinda talking about. You’re doing one “Supreme Ritual” that is your life, so make it all Work together instead of weird little stand alone actions you do every once and a while when it suits your fancy, Your Path requires a fuck load more that that from you.

And speaking of demands, that wedding… You’re hanging in there (pun absolutely intended) to do Greater things, and Greater means integrating. Like I was just saying about that 6 of Wands, bring it all together as a “Supreme Ritual” of your Goatdamned life and get out there and fucking take it, announcing that you shall take what is yours, which is of course, only you…

Well, there you are anonymous bud and Odin friend/family/familiar.

Beat down the walls and Goatspeed on your journey UP!

-Frater N0vght

[siriusist]

Recommendations for Social Sciences Literature:

So as a recently graduated law student and lawyer (as well as being affected by many areas of intersectionality related below), I’ve been really into studying the social sciences and how society reflects how it treats the least of its citizens. My friend suggested that I draw up a list of recommendations for her, and share it with others as well. 

While my interest in these books might begin in how to consider the perspectives of others and consolidate my own point of view when representing a client, I can safely reassure you all that these are (for the most part) layperson books that I read in my spare time; not ridiculous legal dirges that will put you to sleep. All these books were spectacularly engaging for me, and I’d recommend them highly.

I’d also  like to preface this list with the fact that I educate myself on books that consider intersectionality and how the experiences of individual subsections of society affect society as a whole and an individual’s position in them. While as a result of the topics themselves these books often consider bigotry and sensitive issues/topics, they are academic considerations of societal constructs and demographics (as well as the history that grows from oppression of certain subsections of society), and attempt to be balanced academic/philosophical narratives. Therefore, while difficult topics might be broached (such as, for example, the discrimination transexual women face in being considered ‘women’), none that I have read would ever be intentionally insulting/ extremist in their views, and many are written by scholars and academics directly affected by these issues. Just research these books before purchasing them, is all I ask; for your own self-care. ♥

That being said, I have divided these recommendations into several areas of study. I will also mark when there is a decided crossover of intersectionality, for your benefit:

Feminist Theory: Mostly concerned with the limitation of womens emotions, the experience of women within Trump’s America, and the idealised liberation of women in 1960s, with a particular focus on the UK and ‘swinging’ London.

Disability Theory: Academic Ableism in post-educational facilities and within the immigration process.

Black Theory: This includes the relations between colonialism and the oppressed individual’s underneath its weight, the struggle through American’s history through ‘white rage’ towards the success of African-American success, and a sad history of racial ‘passing’ in America.

Immigration Theory: This mostly focuses on the experience of the disabled and Southern/Eastern Europeans/ Jewish people entering both Canada and the United States. It also provides this background to the immigration policies against a backdrop of social eugenics. I also included a book on the UK history of the workhouse in this category, as immigrants were often disproportionately affected by poverty once arriving in the UK/England, and often had to seek shelter in such ‘establishments.’

LGBT+ Social Theory/History: The history of transsexualism and the development of transexual rights throughout history.

Canadian Indigenous Theory/History: A history of the movements between the Indigenous peoples of North America and colonialists, as well as a two-part series on Canada’s Indian Act and Reconciliation (’Legalise’ aside in its consideration of the Indian Act, these are fantastic for the layperson to understand the effect such a document has had on the modern day issues and abuse of Indigenous people in Canada in particular, as well as how non-Indigenous people may work actively towards reconciliation in the future).

Toxic Masculinity: Angry White Men essentially tries to explain the unexplainable; namely, why there has been such a rise of the racist and sexist white American male, that eventually culminated in the election of Donald Trump (However, this really rings true for any ‘angry white men’ resulting from the rise of the far right across Europe and beyond). It is based on the idea of "aggrieved entitlement": a sense that those benefits that white men believed were their due have been snatched away from them by THE REST OF US~~~. While good, also just really expect to be mad (not in particular at the poor sociologist studying this and analysing this phenomenon, as he tries to be even-handed, but that such a thing exists at all).

1. Feminist Theory:

Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger: 

As women, we’ve been urged for so long to bottle up our anger, letting it corrode our bodies and minds in ways we don’t even realize. Yet there are so, so many legitimate reasons for us to feel angry, ranging from blatant, horrifying acts of misogyny to the subtle drip, drip drip of daily sexism that reinforces the absurdly damaging gender norms of our society. In Rage Becomes Her, Soraya Chemaly argues that our anger is not only justified, it is also an active part of the solution. We are so often encouraged to resist our rage or punished for justifiably expressing it, yet how many remarkable achievements would never have gotten off the ground without the kernel of anger that fueled them? Approached with conscious intention, anger is a vital instrument, a radar for injustice and a catalyst for change. On the flip side, the societal and cultural belittlement of our anger is a cunning way of limiting and controlling our power—one we can no longer abide.

Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America: 

Nasty Women includes inspiring essays from a diverse group of talented women writers who seek to provide a broad look at how we got here and what we need to do to move forward.Featuring essays by REBECCA SOLNIT on Trump and his “misogyny army,” CHERYL STRAYED on grappling with the aftermath of Hillary Clinton’s loss, SARAH HEPOLA on resisting the urge to drink after the election, NICOLE CHUNG on family and friends who support Trump, KATHA POLLITT on the state of reproductive rights and what we do next, JILL FILIPOVIC on Trump’s policies and the life of a young woman in West Africa, SAMANTHA IRBY on racism and living as a queer black woman in rural America, RANDA JARRAR on traveling across the country as a queer Muslim American, SARAH HOLLENBECK on Trump’s cruelty toward the disabled, MEREDITH TALUSAN on feminism and the transgender community, and SARAH JAFFE on the labor movement and active and effective resistance, among others.

(A heavy focus on intersectionality ♥)

The Feminine Revolution: 21 Ways to Ignite the Power of Your Femininity for a Brighter Life and a Better World: 

Challenging old and outdated perceptions that feminine traits are weaknesses, The Feminine Revolution revisits those characteristics to show how they are powerful assets that should be embraced rather than maligned. It argues that feminine traits have been mischaracterized as weak, fragile, diminutive, and embittered for too long, and offers a call to arms to redeem them as the superpowers and gifts that they are.The authors, Amy Stanton and Catherine Connors, begin with a brief history of when-and-why these traits were defined as weaknesses, sharing opinions from iconic females including Marianne Williamson and Cindy Crawford. Then they offer a set of feminine principles that challenge current perceptions of feminine traits, while providing women new mindsets to reclaim those traits with confidence. 

How Was It For You?: Women, Sex, Love and Power in the 1960s:

The sexual revolution liberated a generation. But men most of all.

We tend to think of the 60s as a decade sprinkled with stardust: a time of space travel and utopian dreams, but above all of sexual abandonment. When the pill was introduced on the NHS in 1961 it seemed, for the first time, that women - like men - could try without buying.

But this book - by 'one of the great social historians of our time' - describes a turbulent power struggle.

Here are the voices from the battleground. Meet dollybird Mavis, debutante Kristina, Beryl who sang with the Beatles, bunny girl Patsy, Christian student Anthea, industrial campaigner Mary and countercultural Caroline. From Carnaby Street to Merseyside, from mods to rockers, from white gloves to Black is Beautiful, their stories throw an unsparing spotlight on morals, four-letter words, faith, drugs, race, bomb culture and sex.

This is a moving, shocking book about tearing up the world and starting again. It's about peace, love, psychedelia and strange pleasures, but it is also about misogyny, violation and discrimination - half a century before feminism rebranded. For out of the swamp of gropers and groupies, a movement was emerging, and discovering a new cause: equality.

The 1960s: this was where it all began. Women would never be the same again.

2. Disability Theory:

Academic Ableism: Disability and Higher Education: 

Academic Ableism brings together disability studies and institutional critique to recognize the ways that disability is composed in and by higher education, and rewrites the spaces, times, and economies of disability in higher education to place disability front and center. For too long, argues Jay Timothy Dolmage, disability has been constructed as the antithesis of higher education, often positioned as a distraction, a drain, a problem to be solved. The ethic of higher education encourages students and teachers alike to accentuate ability, valorize perfection, and stigmatize anything that hints at intellectual, mental, or physical weakness, even as we gesture toward the value of diversity and innovation. Examining everything from campus accommodation processes, to architecture, to popular films about college life, Dolmage argues that disability is central to higher education, and that building more inclusive schools allows better education for all.

(See immigration below for another book by this author on the intersection between immigration policy and disability).

3. Black Theory:

Black Skin, White Masks by Frantz Fanon: 

A major influence on civil rights, anti-colonial, and black consciousness movements around the world, Black Skin, White Masks is the unsurpassed study of the black psyche in a white world. Hailed for its scientific analysis and poetic grace when it was first published in 1952, the book remains a vital force today from one of the most important theorists of revolutionary struggle, colonialism, and racial difference in history.

White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism: 

Referring to the defensive moves that white people make when challenged racially, white fragility is characterized by emotions such as anger, fear, and guilt, and by behaviors including argumentation and silence. These behaviors, in turn, function to reinstate white racial equilibrium and prevent any meaningful cross-racial dialogue. In this in-depth exploration, the author examines how white fragility develops, how it protects racial inequality, and what we can do to engage more constructively.

White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide: 

From the Civil War to our combustible present, and now with a new epilogue about the 2016 presidential election, acclaimed historian Carol Anderson reframes our continuing conversation about race. White Rage chronicles the powerful forces opposed to black progress in America. As Ferguson, Missouri, erupted in August 2014, and media commentators across the ideological spectrum referred to the angry response of African Americans as “black rage,” historian Carol Anderson wrote a remarkable op-ed in the Washington Post showing that this was, instead, “white rage at work. With so much attention on the flames,” she writes, “everyone had ignored the kindling.”Since 1865 and the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, every time African Americans have made advances towards full participation in our democracy, white reaction has fueled a deliberate and relentless rollback of their gains. The end of the Civil War and Reconstruction was greeted with the Black Codes and Jim Crow; the Supreme Court's landmark 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision was met with the shutting down of public schools throughout the South while taxpayer dollars financed segregated white private schools; the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965 triggered a coded but powerful response, the so-called Southern Strategy and the War on Drugs that disenfranchised millions of African Americans while propelling presidents Nixon and Reagan into the White House.Carefully linking these and other historical flashpoints when social progress for African Americans was countered by deliberate and cleverly crafted opposition, Anderson pulls back the veil that has long covered actions made in the name of protecting democracy, fiscal responsibility, or protection against fraud, rendering visible the long lineage of white rage. Compelling and dramatic in the unimpeachable history it relates, White Rage will add an important new dimension to the national conversation about race in America.

A Chosen Exile: A History of Racial Passing in American Life:

 Between the eighteenth and mid-twentieth centuries, countless African Americans passed as white, leaving behind families and friends, roots and community. It was, as Allyson Hobbs writes, a chosen exile, a separation from one racial identity and the leap into another. This revelatory history of passing explores the possibilities and challenges that racial indeterminacy presented to men and women living in a country obsessed with racial distinctions. It also tells a tale of loss.As racial relations in America have evolved so has the significance of passing. To pass as white in the antebellum South was to escape the shackles of slavery. After emancipation, many African Americans came to regard passing as a form of betrayal, a selling of one’s birthright. When the initially hopeful period of Reconstruction proved short-lived, passing became an opportunity to defy Jim Crow and strike out on one’s own.Although black Americans who adopted white identities reaped benefits of expanded opportunity and mobility, Hobbs helps us to recognize and understand the grief, loneliness, and isolation that accompanied―and often outweighed―these rewards. By the dawning of the civil rights era, more and more racially mixed Americans felt the loss of kin and community was too much to bear, that it was time to “pass out” and embrace a black identity. Although recent decades have witnessed an increasingly multiracial society and a growing acceptance of hybridity, the problem of race and identity remains at the center of public debate and emotionally fraught personal decisions.

4. Immigration Theory:

The Guarded Gate: Bigotry, Eugenics and the Law That Kept Two Generations of Jews, Italians, and Other European Immigrants Out of America:  

A forgotten, dark chapter of American history with implications for the current day, The Guarded Gate tells the story of the scientists who argued that certain nationalities were inherently inferior, providing the intellectual justification for the harshest immigration law in American history. Brandished by the upper class Bostonians and New Yorkers—many of them progressives—who led the anti-immigration movement, the eugenic arguments helped keep hundreds of thousands of Jews, Italians, and other unwanted groups out of the US for more than 40 years.Over five years in the writing, The Guarded Gate tells the complete story from its beginning in 1895, when Henry Cabot Lodge and other Boston Brahmins launched their anti-immigrant campaign. In 1921, Vice President Calvin Coolidge declared that “biological laws” had proven the inferiority of southern and eastern Europeans; the restrictive law was enacted three years later.

Disabled Upon Arrival: Eugenics, Immigration, and the Construction of Race and Disability: 

In North America, immigration has never been about immigration. That was true in the early twentieth century when anti-immigrant rhetoric led to draconian crackdowns on the movement of bodies, and it is true today as new measures seek to construct migrants as dangerous and undesirable. This premise forms the crux of Jay Timothy Dolmage’s new book Disabled Upon Arrival: Eugenics, Immigration, and the Construction of Race and Disability, a compelling examination of the spaces, technologies, and discourses of immigration restriction during the peak period of North American immigration in the early twentieth century.Through careful archival research and consideration of the larger ideologies of racialization and xenophobia, Disabled Upon Arrival links anti-immigration rhetoric to eugenics—the flawed “science” of controlling human population based on racist and ableist ideas about bodily values. Dolmage casts an enlightening perspective on immigration restriction, showing how eugenic ideas about the value of bodies have never really gone away and revealing how such ideas and attitudes continue to cast groups and individuals as disabled upon arrival. 

The Workhouse: The People, The Places, The Life Behind Doors:

In this fully updated and revised edition of his best-selling book, Simon Fowler takes a fresh look at the workhouse and the people who sought help from it. He looks at how the system of the Poor Law - of which the workhouse was a key part - was organized and the men and women who ran the workhouses or were employed to care for the inmates. But above all this is the moving story of the tens of thousands of children, men, women and the elderly who were forced to endure grim conditions to survive in an unfeeling world. 

5. LGBT+ Social Theory/History:

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution:

Covering American transgender history from the mid-twentieth century to today, Transgender History takes a chronological approach to the subject of transgender history, with each chapter covering major movements, writings, and events. Chapters cover the transsexual and transvestite communities in the years following World War II; trans radicalism and social change, which spanned from 1966 with the publication of The Transsexual Phenomenon, and lasted through the early 1970s; the mid-'70s to 1990-the era of identity politics and the changes witnessed in trans circles through these years; and the gender issues witnessed through the '90s and '00s.

Transgender History includes informative sidebars highlighting quotes from major texts and speeches in transgender history and brief biographies of key players, plus excerpts from transgender memoirs and discussion of treatments of transgenderism in popular culture.

6. Canadian Indigenous Theory/History:

The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America: 

Rich with dark and light, pain and magic, The Inconvenient Indian distills the insights gleaned from Thomas King's critical and personal meditation on what it means to be "Indian" in North America, weaving the curiously circular tale of the relationship between non-Natives and Natives in the centuries since the two first encountered each other. In the process, King refashions old stories about historical events and figures, takes a sideways look at film and pop culture, relates his own complex experiences with activism, and articulates a deep and revolutionary understanding of the cumulative effects of ever-shifting laws and treaties on Native peoples and lands. 

21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act: Helping Canadians Make Reconciliation with Indigenous Peoples a Reality:

Since its creation in 1876, the Indian Act has shaped, controlled, and constrained the lives and opportunities of Indigenous Peoples, and is at the root of many enduring stereotypes. Bob Joseph's book comes at a key time in the reconciliation process, when awareness from both Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities is at a crescendo. Joseph explains how Indigenous Peoples can step out from under the Indian Act and return to self-government, self-determination, and self-reliance - and why doing so would result in a better country for every Canadian. He dissects the complex issues around truth and reconciliation, and clearly demonstrates why learning about the Indian Act's cruel, enduring legacy is essential for the country to move toward true reconciliation.

Indigenous Relations: Insights, Tips & Suggestions to Make Reconciliation a Reality:

A timely sequel to the bestselling 21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act - and an invaluable guide for anyone seeking to work more effectively with Indigenous Peoples.

We are all treaty people. But what are the everyday impacts of treaties, and how can we effectively work toward reconciliation if we're worried our words and actions will unintentionally cause harm?

Practical and inclusive, Indigenous Relations interprets the difference between hereditary and elected leadership, and why it matters; explains the intricacies of Aboriginal Rights and Title, and the treaty process; and demonstrates the lasting impact of the Indian Act, including the barriers that Indigenous communities face and the truth behind common myths and stereotypes perpetuated since Confederation.

Indigenous Relations equips you with the necessary knowledge to respectfully avoid missteps in your work and daily life, and offers an eight-part process to help business and government work more effectively with Indigenous Peoples - benefitting workplace culture as well as the bottom line. Indigenous Relations is an invaluable tool for anyone who wants to improve their cultural competency and undo the legacy of the Indian Act.

7. Toxic Masculinity:

Angry White Men: American Masculinity at the End of an Era: 

One of the headlines of the 2012 Presidential campaign was the demise of the white American male voter as a dominant force in the political landscape. On election night four years later, when Donald Trump was announced the winner, it became clear that the white American male voter is alive and well and angry as hell. Sociologist Michael Kimmel, one of the leading writers on men and masculinity in the world today, has spent hundreds of hours in the company of America's angry white men – from white supremacists to men's rights activists to young students. In Angry White Men, he presents a comprehensive diagnosis of their fears, anxieties, and rage.Kimmel locates this increase in anger in the seismic economic, social and political shifts that have so transformed the American landscape. Downward mobility, increased racial and gender equality, and a tenacious clinging to an anachronistic ideology of masculinity has left many men feeling betrayed and bewildered. Raised to expect unparalleled social and economic privilege, white men are suffering today from what Kimmel calls "aggrieved entitlement": a sense that those benefits that white men believed were their due have been snatched away from them.

Happy reading, everyone. ♥

[ilgalantuomo]

Sonosilva

Note: All asterisk-ed names have been changed so as to respect the person’s right to not be named.

    I’ve poured gong-fu tea many times; surely in the hundreds, potentially in the thousands. It’s something that almost comes naturally for me, at this point. Shit, I have had dreams about doing it.

By definition, my role as a tea server is to make tea. Usually, I make tea for guests who have never done it before; or perhaps, they have done it before, but they forget the steps. It’s usually one of those two. On occasion, there will be the guest who, in fact, knows all the steps, but wishes to have someone else demonstrate. In this situation, they either want to connect with you, or have someone, presumably more knowledgeable, explain to their companions.

    Not every time is significant. In fact, many times, it is relatively uneventful, really. Most of the time, people sort of accept whatever you’re doing, maybe ask a few questions. If you are lucky, people get into the process, and start a conversation with you. If you somehow get even more lucky, they fall in love with the process, and you get a new friends out of it. That’s usually as good as it gets.

    This isn’t to say that you can’t have extraordinary moments. You absolutely can. I’ve had many beautiful moments, some even glorious and ethereal. But many are not life-changing-ly profound. Some are just fun, and that’s worth it, by all means.

    Because of this usual flow of events, I have come to not expect much when pouring tea for big groups…or, I try to, anyway. What ensued from one night of pouring tea, however, was more than I ever could have imagined.

A dear friend, affectionately called Bodhi, tells me one evening that he intends to serve tea at some recurring event held by college students called Sonosilva. He invites me to join. At first, I cannot place the name. Sonosilva to me sounds like a romance-language surname.

It occurs to me then that I know this name. I know the event. I’ve even been invited once previously. I learned of it at the memorial of Cameron Poole (may he rest in tea), a guest I used to serve regularly. In mourning his death, I connected with friends of his that seemed to run in similar circles. They had invited me to a previous iteration of this event. Because I did not attend it, I had forgotten the entire notion of it until Bodhi spoke of it.

On the night of the event, I meet Bodhi and our other friend, Celia. After gathering our needed supplies, we make our way to a local spring on Empire Grade to collect local water to make tea, in the true fashion of crazy-tea-people. Whilst there, we meet a fellow spring-enthusiast gathering water on his last night in Santa Cruz. Pleasant conversation, I wish I could remember his name.

We gather our water, head somewhere on Empire Grade, and park. We debate what we need: how much water, what tea, what teaware, what materials to create a lovely altar and tea serving station-all of the essential tea-geek matters. After some down-sizing, combining, and minor adjustments, we begin our trek in the dark forest.

I’m not from here. I didn’t go to the university. I have no idea where we are going. As far as I’m concerned, I am just along for the ride. As such, I leave it to Bodhi and Celia to both take us to where we are going, and create our space for tea. All I’m here to do is aid.

We hike along the road, cars speeding past us, missing by only a few harrowing feet. Because we have so many supplies, we chug along, ducking into the brush when cars pass. Occasionally, we stop to discover the path markers, but only find broken fences and grass. If only we had parked closer.

I have no idea what to expect. Is this a casual, sit-around-a-camp-fire event? Is it a space where everyone coming shares personal experiences over tea? What could this possible be? I keep wondering so I can act with proper decorum.

We finally find ourselves up the road to the site. I am slowing down, but enjoying the walking. The air is thick, the fog is enveloping us in a ghastly mist; the sky is dark, forest quiet. All is peaceful here. It’s nights like these that I wish we had the capability to effectively capture the mystical “atmosphere” a time, day, or place exudes. Since no such technology exists, I won’t bother to grasp at the asymptote that is this brief, ethereal moment of existence.

We eventually come across a fellow Sonosilva-goer, who shone their flashlight at us from across a meadow until we intersected. We hike further, through gnarled roots and deceiving forks on the windy path. All the while, more fellow guests seem to join us as I see more and more flashlight rays flickering around us.

Eventually, we get to the site. I’ve never been to a festival like the fabled Burning Man, but I imagine it to be something like this, but perhaps much larger and palpable. There is an electricity in the atmosphere; a textbook case of visceral experience; a place of wonder, childlike imagination; and a place of great hedonism manifested in bong rips, cheap liquor, and psychedelics. Even in spite of not knowing this world, I feel a sense of quiet awe. Somehow, everyone ends up in the same place with similar intentions, and somehow, this space is beautiful. Here are all these young people-my peers-celebrating life in an odd, but extraordinary manner: one in the middle of the central-coast redwoods with a palisade-like structure of trees surrounding a DJ booth and small dance floor.

As it turns out, there are two potential areas for us to set up our tea corner. The intended space was a jerry-rigged pergola made from logs, brush, and large branches. But that doesn’t seem fitting. It somehow feels too open. Instead, we opt for the adjacent yurt-like tent, in which we find a perfect spot to position ourselves.

Bodhi and I tend to be similar in our thoughts, which means I can help him set up in a way that makes logistical and aesthetic sense. We carried what we thought worked well for a tea table: teaware suitable for serving multiple people, wooden serving tray, bamboo tea boat, assorted lights, stones, and other accoutrements, and, of course, a nice spread of teas and our spring water. We have a simple space made from some of what we brought, but also materials and objects acquired serendipitously from the organizers (read: a milk crate and an ornate scarf that seemed to be made for adorning a tea table).

After some configuration and light introductions and small talk, Bodhi begins tea service. We both agree on a shou that we mutually enjoy, as it seems to fit the vibe of the yurt: calm and down-to-earth. Immediately, a friend of Bodhi’s, Lauren*, desires hot water, and perhaps, a cup of tea, she says. Bodhi, ever the connecting thread to so many people of different communities, greets all of his friends on an individual basis as if they were the only two here, a characteristic I respect and admire.

A festival go-er sits, gazing in wonder at what this might be. Bodhi answers his question with simple explanations in a passionate, but soft manner. Already, our new friend is amazed such a larger world of tea exists, and can hardly believe any of what Bodhi explains. A few times, Bodhi will stop and ask my thoughts on a matter, or for me to explain something in a different way. I try my best to keep it simple. I know I can sometimes lose myself in an explanation, leaving the other person more confused than before.

For a while, this is the general rhythm of the night. People come in, stop for a mere cup of tea, then leave to go back out to enjoy DJ sets, spliffs, or their friends. Some people stay for a while to get away from the festival-like energy and busyness. Regardless, we are here to serve them tea and create a safe for them to enjoy. As Bodhi serves and explains, I keep a watchful eye on guests who might need tea. If appropriate, I give new guests a cup, serve our current guests more, or offer some explanations on pu-erh, tea, or why we drink in the form we do.

In these settings, I often find it simple to give as little information as possible. Tonight is no exception. Perhaps it stems from laziness, perhaps from a desire to keep the subject of tea interesting and mysterious. Personally, I think it makes the most sense in situations such as these, seeing as some guests only want tea. Not information. Not backstory. Not some long-winded explanation of something that doesn’t even really give a concrete answer.

Now, if people really desire, I strive to give them explanations that satisfy their curiosity. Even still, I try to convey it in an appropriate manner that will make the most sense to the people in question. Tonight, there are some people desiring such answers.

As Bodhi presents our tea, and explains some of its facets, I find myself wanting to butt in and clarify a point he makes. I even find myself wanting to steer his answer in a direction that I see more fitting for our audience. The tea-geek in my head finds it appropriate to give the most correct answer to everyone, to give concrete explanations on tea and tea culture.

I know this isn’t the best place to do it. At the end of the day, we should only be here to serve people what they require. I shouldn’t insist with ferocity that my way of explaining and presenting tea in a very specific way. In fact, all my education and experience has been rooted in openness and resistance to dogmatic explanations. Why should tonight be any different?

While we serve guests, I stay quiet. I don’t want to give my dogmatic insistence a voice. Instead, I attempt just to serve, to be mindful of our guests’ needs. Occasionally, somebody will unknowingly indulge me by asking for some sort of information, thus letting me explain something in a manner I can appreciate.  

Occasionally, Bodhi and I will stop and confer on whether to add a tea to the pot to keep it interesting. We even check on the other, making sure the tea can flow, the other is awake enough, and that all is well. At some point, we decide to add another shou to the pot, one that complements the one we are serving. Of course, the vibe changes immediately, and a large group comes in wanting tea.

I notice something as the night continues. I notice something I don’t like. It is something in me. I yearn to be the one people focus on; to be the one explaining; to be the focus of attention in the room. But why? How? Bodhi is doing a wonderful job of explaining. He’s passionate, very clearly; he is engaging and friendly; he is serving everyone with a spirit of love, patience, and humility, the true spirit of tea; he is doing perfect. It isn’t fair to him that I feel as if I need the attention to be on me. That isn’t his problem. That is mine. For a while, this distracts me; it makes me reflect on why I feel like this; it makes me realize that this isn’t a one-time experience. This is an issue within myself. This is me wanting to be recognized, heard, seen, and appreciated for me. This is me feeling inadequate, as if I am not enough. I feel ashamed to think that I need the spotlight, that I need recognition. The serving of tea should not be about me, or my bullshit need to have attention.

I’m brought back to the serving when someone thanks us. They thank us for the beautiful experience, they tell us how rad the entire process and beverage itself made them feel. They get up and leave. And just like that, new people, inexperienced with tea, come in, sit down, and ask for a cup.

I check in with Bodhi once more. To my enjoyment, Bodhi wants to get up and explore the festivities, meaning that someone must take over: me. I had wanted the attention, and now here it was, being handed to me. To think that the very thing that I had yearned for- conflicted about my desires-was now being given to me in the form of a duty I knew very well.

I jump in, ready to serve our guests. Surprisingly, there have been a few people that have stayed here for a while. I add another shou, continuing with tonight’s tea theme, to accommodate for the growing number of people entering the tent and wanting tea.  In fact, a crew of people that had previously come in had now returned.

After some light small talk and simple explanations on tea, I found myself engaged with the people who returned. One of them, a young woman name Emily*, strikes up a conversation about mushrooms and psychedelics, neither of which is subject for which I have strongly feelings. I have been in these discussions, however, and usually it has been best to listen to what someone has to say about these substances. Usually, most people talk about their trips as well as why they feel everyone should experience substances. It all starts to sound similar after a while, I must admit. Nevertheless, I nod, not understanding much of the details, as I don’t have any experience in this realm.

Eventually, the conversation comes to a point where someone asks my name, which I say while trying to make my voice loud enough to be heard over the music. Emily, stopping what she was saying about psychedelics asks me where it comes from and what it means. As I do with most people, I explain that it is a family name, trying to keep it brief. She, however, wants know more, and insists on telling both me and our other guests that she will hear its origins.

My name comes from my maternal grandfather, Savin. To put it simply, he was a man from an impoverished immigrant family. He grew up in a tenement building, where he paid for lumps of coal to keep warm. He grew up watching polio, influenza, and a number of other diseases and maladies ravage the people of his neighborhood. In fact, he contracted a few of those diseases, and experienced just how awful these conditions were. In response, we wished to become a doctor, both to heal people and rise out of his conditions. Through a job mercifully given to him by a butcher, he worked his way to working in a pharmacy, then pharmacy school. With this experience, he pursued and acquired a medical school education at Columbia, a massive feat for a poor Italian kid who had contracted polio.

After his residency, he enlisted in the army to be a medic. This would send him through numerous trials in Europe, including: arriving at Normandy Beach on June 7, 1944 to treat maimed, suffering soldiers of the largest seaborne invasion in history; joining the forces raiding Dachau, where he treated inmates to his best ability; and raiding Hitler’s estate.

After returning home from his time in the European theater, my grandparents moved to a small town in California, where my grandfather started his private practice as a gynecologist and general practitioner. As he practiced, he treated a vast number of patients, assisted in the births of many children, and, in doing so, amassed a reputation as a man and doctor of kindness, strength, and phenomenal ability.

I never was able to meet him. He passed away some years before I was born. My father had a near-blood relationship with him, in spite of the fact that he was his son-in-law. Through a rather odd, nay, uncanny set of circumstances that demands another piece of writing, my father accurately predicted my birth in a dream. When I was born, in light of his predictions being true, and now having one boy, my father named me after my grandfather.

I proceed to explain this story in full detail, with the occasional interruption, while pouring tea for all those willing to listen. At first, it appeared to only be Emily, myself, and a few others sitting around our cozy tea table. I progressed further and further into the story, stopping to explain minor details and checking everyone’s cup. At some point, I lost my train of thought to a bewildering sight: everyone in the tent-even those not drinking tea who were sitting in the back-were watching me in silence.

As if his spidey-senses went off, Bodhi returns. As he walks in to check in with me, he notices the crowd listening to me. He smiles, waves, and motions for me to continue. So, continue, I do.

After I finish, Emily and the few people immediately around me are quiet. I figure I have probably bored them with a long-winded story about something meaningless. Emily then tells me, “Your grandfather is still changing lives through you. Do you think he imagined that his grandson would inspire joy and change the lives of some nineteen-year-olds by telling the story of his name? You have changed my life with this experience and your beautiful story. Sure, I could have chosen another thing to do tonight, and that would have been beautiful, too. But this is very beautiful, and has changed my life and inspired joy.”

By now, the majority of people inside the tent have gone back to their own experiences, naturally. Nevertheless, my immediate guests and I share more stories, especially those of great significance to us. While continuing to pour tea, I share meaningful experiences of my life and those associated with tea (many of which I feel merit their own piece of writing), and continue to pour for people wanting to join us. We even have a discussion on cultural differences, youth, and drugs.

As we approach the dawn hours, people begin to leave, or they crash on some comfortable blankets in the corner. Our water supply dwindles. The tea is lightening, losing its divine complexity. My guests must leave. As they get up, they all ask for hugs, and tell me departing thoughts. They claim I am beautiful, that my stories are beautiful, that my existence and their time with me has changed their lives, that I am patient and wise.

After the last guest leaves, I make one last pot. I sip the basically-flavorless tea, and reflect. I had spent my time craving attention. Then, I got it. I received my desire for attention in a way where I could explain who I was; where I could tell my origin story to an audience that was apparently ready to listen.

I stepped out to get some air, and to explore the other festivities. I leaned against a tree to watch the DJ that had been hypnotized the dwindled crowd, dazed by all that had just happened. When I was feeling inadequate and yearning for someone to notice me, something-God, the universe, the spirit of tea, whatever you want to call it-gave me an audience and opportunity to tell the world of my pride, my existence, and my origin. All of this just occurred over pouring tea-an entity I already consider indescribably beautiful- in the beautiful, ethereal realm of some festival-like event in the middle forest. And I began to weep.

After some lo-fi dj sets, I made my way back to the tent to look for Bodhi and pack up. Lauren*, his friend from earlier, had been drifting in and out of our tent throughout the night, and had stayed for some of my regaling of stories. I found them there comfortably catching up, and I joined.

Within the hour, the sun rose, most people had left, and we began packing up our tea corner, now ravaged by spilled tea, piles of cups, and disheveled blankets. Eventually, we wake those sleeping in the tent so that we could assist in dismantling both it and the rest of the site. The rest of clean up and disassembly takes some time, but Bodhi and I enjoy the company of Lauren and friends.

On our way back to our cars, Bodhi, Lauren, and I discuss our time pouring tea, and why it is meaningful to both Bodhi and me. We begin to depart ways. Before she leaves, Lauren claims that I have a, “Profound way of doing exactly what is needed when it is needed in the way needed for the time.” Somehow, this night became even more beautiful with that sentence.

Bodhi and I proceed back to the car, tired, but satisfied with our evening. As he handles some bodily needs, I look to the now bright morning sky and consider how beautiful life was these last several hours; how unimaginably beautiful and pleasurable it was to experience the moments in the manner we did; how all those moments came and went like a whisp of smoke.

Our journey back home consists of us debriefing our evening. Somehow, Bodhi and I took part in the amazing experience of serving others, of pouring tea. In my recap, I thank Bodhi for his spirit and passion in pouring tea, and for being a big part of the experience. Without him, I may not have had it. In his recap, he remarks how captivating it was to see an audience listen to me. To think all of this came from some gathering in the forest.

On my drive home, I sobbed as I took a voice memo to capture the experience as quickly as I could. For someone like me, someone who has felt insufficient; for someone who has struggled with mental illness; for someone who had felt not beautiful the days leading up to this experience; for someone who seeks to serve others, this night was a humbling experience of divine splendor and majesty. I could show someone-even if just a few people paying full attention-who I was, and where I came from; I could serve others tea, an act, beverage, and ritual that I enjoy for innumerable reasons; I could be myself and be found beautiful and needed when I needed it most.

These are the moments you don’t have often. This is why I pour tea.