#how am I supposed to curate my experience if you force it on me

[dogesphere]

They’ve also made it so you can’t click on the blog name of sponsored posts to go to their page. (At least on the iOS app.) You literally have to go search for the blog to block it. I’ve had to do this for the past two. Isn’t this counter productive?? What if I WAS interested and wanted more information?

But Tumblr just said nooo stop blocking brands guys ):

GOOD LUCK STOPPING ME THO 😈

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[www-sys-net]

My experience with Plurality

An admittance and story by Vulpes of Triple Threat

Let me just start off by saying that this is my own personal experience. Because I have a feeling there are others also in my shoes. I know this isn't going to be accurate for every single person out there that experiences plurality

For. Quite a long time, actually, I had always had those little feelings in the back of my head. For a while, I ignored them, not knowing what they were and not really being distressed by them. If anything, me and them seemed chill. I thought they were fictional somehow.

There were two of them. And I remember them kind of collecting names for themselves. One being Adrian, and the other being Eros. They would come around every now and then fully, but they were always there no matter what. I was kind of the third, making three of us in total.

Then, of course, I heard about plurality. But specifically under the lens of DID/OSDD. I had heard about other forms, but they were "fake." "Mocking survivors." "Making light of a terrible disorder."

I thought I had OSDD1B. It seemed to be what fit. And what was accepted.

But, eventually, after years of being in exclusively traumagenic spaces and recalling from my own past, I realized just how little it actually fit. And so I began panicking. I thought I had "faked" a disorder and forced my way into survivor only spaces. I couldn't possibly be plural. I felt absolutely terrible for my actions during all those years.

I began to get curious about the other side. About these "evil evil endos" that I realized were more similar to me than I had known. I joined a few communities on a new account and realized just how skewed the narrative was against them. They were just like me. People trying to live their lives who somehow in one way or another, just happened to be plural.

Honestly, it's a little saddening to see just how poorly some people are treated just because they're not considered to be plural in the "correct way" and I'm ashamed of my own actions when I was vehemently a sysmed who thought that these other random people should pay for "wanting a disorder that came from trauma" when most are just trying to live their lives.

This isn't to say we don't understand why some traumagenic systems could be uncomfortable with endos, but for gods sake curate your own internet experience instead of harassing anything you don't understand. Live and let live, you'll save so much energy just not fighting with people if neither sides are going to change their minds. It's just not worth it in any way.

I don't really know where I'm really going with this. I suppose just coming clean. I know I don't exactly deserve forgiveness, and I know I'll probably get a bit of hate, but hey. I'm Vulpes. I am the main member of a three member plural system. Mutuals are welcome, but this is mostly just me saying that I apologize for my past, and now understand that not only are endos valid, but that we're some form of endo ourselves. Hope that yall are ok with us being here now, and feel free to request our discord if you want! We're more active there. Ignore the new creation date, it's a new account to start anew with our new outlook and values.

[nagirambles]

Rant

Hi, I’m sorry. This is a vent. You don’t have to read it, I just really need to get it out of my system. 

“Well, (otherwise) is canon.”  "Stop complaining, it's already happened and nothing is going to change that." “You’re not the writer, Mashima can do whatever he wants with his series.” “(Character) has done nothing to deserve your unwanted criticism.” “I don’t understand why you’re still watching Fairy Tail if you so clearly hate it, then.” 

I’ve had enough. People like this please shut the fuck up. Please. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Fucking hell. 

Why are there so many of these people in the Fairy Tail fandom? I don’t care if you’re ‘tired of people hating on those characters’, you do realize that by jumping in and fighting against them, you are perpetuating the hostility on both ends and making the community fucking miserable to be in? You’re not a hero and you’re not ‘brave’ for speaking out against antis. You’re just another menace that wants drama. They posted it for like-minded people, not you. Leave them alone and they will, you. Curate your own experience. So what if they’ve created a blog to ‘hate’ on a character? You’re not forced to look at it! You think it’s silly? I think it’s sillier that you’re complaining when the block button is right the fuck there for everyone, and even if you accidentally scroll upon an anti post that isn’t tagged, it takes zero effort to roll your eyes and scroll past it. You don’t have to read every post in full! If you realize something is a critical opinion you disagree with, why are you still reading? 

We are allowed to have critical opinions and have negative viewpoints of things without you jumping in to defend everything under the sun. The fictional character’s feelings cannot be hurt, she won’t mind if I say she’s terribly written. Mashima does not give a shit what a random tumblr user thinks, either, he won’t even know me when I say I hate how he’s over-sexualizing his characters. 

Seriously, how does someone see my blog and think I hate Fairy Tail? 

Oh, I’m so sorry dear, I didn’t know you were having a bad day and went off on the first person you saw! It’s okay, I forgive you, thanks for your meaningless apology! I’m also sorry, I had a horrible day too... and then some jerk came into my comments and started snidely and indirectly telling me I’m dumb for having some opinions. Forgive me too okay! :) 

Is that how you expect a human being to react or something? 

Seriously how the fuck do you people justify yourselves? Even had the gall to play the victim once I called them toxic. They had the gall to allude that they had depression or were suicidal and struggle getting by each day. Am I supposed to pull out my list of struggles too so we can start comparing who was more justified in their anger? I’m supposed to be understanding of you? Oh, no, please. You be the mature one first. I barely got back into blogging because I was struggling horribly, and somehow I’m supposed to be sympathetic of an asshole because they pulled out the ‘I’m baby don’t hurt me’ card first? I’m not a fucking babysitter, you pick a fight you sit the fuck down and take the hit. 

People are getting too fucking comfortable revealing and saying whatever the fuck they want online to pretend that’s a justification for everything. 

[rockinlibrarian]

Short political understanding(?) post:

This morning when we were getting dressed, the clock radio was on the news, and I finally outright asked my libertarian-republican husband WHY are republicans still so gung-ho about Trump after all he's done.

Quick aside for those of you who don't know him: yes, I, the hippie fierce-queer-ally Woke Librarian, am married to a libertarian-style registered republican. He is neither stupid nor cruel (I wouldn't have married him otherwise), he's just fiercely opinionated and a Gun Nut. So I figured I'd be getting the most logical answer to my question possible.

And I did. Unfortunately. Because I have no idea how we, the anti-Trumps of the world, can fix the situation.

Because the short answer is, because he makes the Democrats mad. The more against him we are, the more that fires up and galvanizes the GOP. J says there are loads more qualified GOP candidates (a statement which he then ruined by naming DeSantis first off), but the GOP can RALLY behind Trump.

And "after all he's done," (a phrase he repeated with audible quote marks)-- the belief among the conservative news sources is that there's "no proof" of any actual wrongdoing and the democrats "forcing" the investigations just looks even more like people just picking on the side they don't like. "Now see THAT'S what the Hunter Biden stuff looks like," I countered. "But no, for that there IS proof!" and I just went "hmmm," because what can you say to that? "I think you're getting your information from biased sources"? Because the obvious comeback is that WE are getting OUR info from biased sources!

Now here's the real key to understanding his mindset-- he kept saying "the Democrats forcing these investigations looks an awful lot like Tyranny." Tyranny tyranny tyranny. The word kept coming up. And then, "the Founding Fathers were criminals to the Crown, too." BAM. This is what it hinges on. The republicans LIKE the complete mess Trump made BECAUSE they want to tear the whole thing down! The government is tyranny! Taxes are theft! Viva the revolution!

Which doesn't explain all the tyrannical laws republicans DO support. But I think that's a secondary problem to the first: how do you fight a cult of personality when everything you say against it just makes YOU look like the aggressor?

So, just wanted to put this out here, since at least MY curated Tumblr experience hardly gets into the HEADS of republicans. It's a matter of "You're wrong, but if I say you're wrong it just further convinces you you're right." Why you're not supposed to debate the guy who says "DEBATE ME!" What do you think?

[just-call-me-angel]

The Perfect Girl

Warnings: nsft content, non-con/dub-con elements, manipulation, slut shaming, Reader is Ruby Sparks, author is a disgusting little Calvin Weir-field's apologist

Author's Note: I am not ashamed to admit that I have had severe brain rot over Calvin Weir-Fields since the moment I saw Ruby Sparks. I am a Calvin apologist first and a person second. Please be mindful of the tags, this fic involves heavy non-con/dub-con elements that may be triggering. If this is not something you are interested in I ask that you simply move past my fic and forget it even exists. (Curate your online experience how you want it to be!)If you do read the fic and enjoy it feel free to leave some comments for me to read later when I inevitably come back to read through this and giggle like an idiot over Calvin being a dickhead.

Pairing: Calvin Weir Fields X Reader

Summary: Calvin should hate himself for how easy it is to lie to you. He should hate himself for how much he enjoys bending you to his will. But he doesn't hate himself, he doesn't even try. In the beginning, he had tried to delude himself into thinking he was doing the right thing in rewriting you. He told himself he was helping you and for a time he was content in believing that it was true. But with every edit he made to you it became clear it wasn't about making you happy anymore. It was about him. Because the truth was that Calvin was a selfish man who wanted you all to himself. He wanted you to belong to him. He had made you after all, was it so awful for him to want to keep you as his perfect girl?

Ao3

You should have known the night wasn’t going to end well as soon as Calvin had reminded you about that stupid fucking party.  You should have told him to just go on his own. Maybe then you wouldn’t have ended up arguing.

Or maybe you still would have argued. These days you never really knew what to expect from Calvin. Hell you barely knew what to expect from yourself anymore. You were in a constant loop of going from extremely happy, giggling as Calvin kissed the back of your neck while you tried to cook to so depressed that you’d taken to locking yourself up in the spare room so Calvin wouldn’t see you crying to angry at everything, especially Calvin and then back to happy. 

It was driving you insane. You were tired, you were frustrated and your feet were fucking burning after standing in heels all night. The last thing you wanted to do right now argued. But that didn’t stop Calvin from tearing into you as you tried your best to ignore him.

“You’re supposed to be my fucking girlfriend, (Y/N)”

You scoffed, tugging your heels off and tossing them aside, “I AM your girlfriend.” 

“Then fucking act like it”

You rolled your eyes, shoving past him to enter your shared bedroom, “Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t acting like the idealized version you have of me in your fucking head.” you shook your head, “Jesus you can be such a fucking prude sometimes.”

“No! Because you don’t want me doing anything!” you’re throat was already burning with the force of you shouting at him, “You have all these fucking rules and you don’t tell me until, WHOOPS– I’ve broken one! And then you get to be a self-entitled prick and act all disappointed in me?”

It was Calvin's turn to scoff as he followed you into the room, “ I’m a prude? Why because I don’t want you skinny dipping with other men?”

He stalked towards you, frustratingly less shaken than you were, “Okay.. You wanna know my rules?” he spoke to you like you were a child, “ Don't fuck other men. Don’t let other men think about fucking you.” 

“So now I’m responsible for what people think too?” 

He nodded as if you had asked him the dumbest question, “Yea. You are responsible. When you act a certain way, it leads people on.” he pauses, looking you up and down for a moment as if assessing you, “When you take your clothes off at a party, it makes people think you’re a slut.”  he licked his lips, pushing he glasses back up his nose and leaning forward to stand eye level with you, “So i’d really prefer it if you didn’t do that. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You saw red as soon as the words ‘slut’ passed from his lips. “Fuck you Calvin.” You huffed, shaking your head and shoving roughly past him to get to the closet, tearing off your dress hastily, “I’m not your child for fucks sake. You don’t get to decide what I do.” You shuffled through your closet, grabbing one of your sleep shirts to toss on. You just wanted to go to bed.

“Wanna bet?”

You spun around, “What?”

He wasn’t looking at you as he spoke, “I’m pretty sure I can make you do whatever  I want.” 

You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek as you shook your head at him, “Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do Calvin? Tie me up?”Any other day the idea of Calvin tying you up and controlling you might have made you feel hot between your thighs, but tonight it wasn’t a flirtatious remark, and you both knew it.

He shifted a little, “No, I don’t have to.” he tilted his head at you, expression flat as he pushed past you to leave the room. You stood there angrily for a moment, wiping at the tears already streaming down your reddened cheeks before following after him to find him standing quietly in front of his desk, holding a stack of papers.

He stared at the stack of papers for a moment and then peered at you, setting them down on his desk and motioning for you to come closer. Slowly you did, brows furrowed in confusion, as you hoped he’d just pull you into a hug and apologize for being an asshole so the two of you could finally go back to normal. Instead, he tapped the stack of papers for a moment and slipped the top sheet off of the stack. Calvin didn’t say a word, just silently handed you a piece of paper and waited for you to read it. You looked at the paper and then back up at him, trying to understand what he wanted from you.

“Calvin can we please just go to bed and we can talk about this tomorrow…” you sighed, already losing whatever fight you had left in you. You were so sick of arguing with him. You missed the old Calvin and you were desperately clinging on to the hope that the two of you would eventually go back to being the happy couple you had once been.

“Read it.” 

Slowly you read the first few lines on the page and with every word you became more confused and angrier. Calvin was writing about you. 

You stared at the paper for what felt like hours before looking up to meet his gaze. Everything was so confusing. Why was Calvin writing about you? Did he think this was some sort of joke? He didn’t seem at all bothered by the tears already forming in your eyes. It was terrifying the way he just watched you, waiting for you to react. You felt anger rise in your belly, why was he acting like this wasn’t even a big deal. Did he not understand that you could end the relationship in an instant? Did he not even care? 

“Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you Calvin.” you crumpled the paper and tossed it at him, “You can’t fucking write about me…. That's…. That's fucking personal!” You moved to hit his chest again, yelping when he caught you by the wrist. He squeezed your wrists hard, but still refused to speak a single word to you. You tried to pull your arms out of his grasp, but he refused to budge.

You waved the paper in front of him wildly, “What the fuck is this Calvin?” he didn’t answer, just cocked his head at you and stared blankly, “You can’t write about me.” you shouted, shaking the paper again, and slamming your fists against his chest. Still, he refused to react.

“Calvin. I'm fucking serious are you even fucking listening to me?” your throat was already burning before you could scream and shout at him as much as you really wanted to. He rolled his eyes. He actually fucking rolled his eyes and sighed like you were the one being unreasonable. 

“Calvin… You’re hurting me…. Dammit, let me go.” you pushed against him, scrambling to catch yourself when he finally released you to sit in his desk chair.

“What the fuck is going on with you Calvin?” you hissed, massaging your wrists, they were sure to bruise. “Calvin can you just answer me,”

He looked up at you, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he tilted his jaw up at you exhaling heavily. “What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?” 

That was the final straw before you imploded, stomping out of the room to pack your things, “You know what fuck you, Calvin, you aren’t fucking worth it.” 

You shuffled through the house in a mad dash, grabbing your things and tossing them wildly into a bag as your vision blurred from the tears in your eyes. It didn’t even matter what you were grabbing at this point, you just needed to get the fuck out of here and as far away from Calvin as you possibly could. You had no idea what the fuck was going on with him lately but it scared you the way he seemed so fucking calm about the whole situation. He was writing about you. About things, you had never told him about and yet he somehow knew every single detail. It didn’t even fucking make any sense.

Scotty whimpered by the door, clearly distressed by the noise you were making moving around the house frantically. You passed the small dog, kneeling to kiss his head before entering Calvin’s office again, with your bag stuffed full and hanging off of your shoulder. Calvin remained exactly where you had left him, he didn’t even look up as you entered, he just stared at his typewriter.

“Calvin please.” you were crying now, hard enough to make your eyes burn and your chest ache. He began to type, you could barely see him through your tears but you could hear the click of each key locking into place. 

“Calvin,” you said voice trembling. He couldn’t even give you the common decency to end the relationship peacefully.

“Calvin,” you repeated a little louder, shaking your head when he still refused to meet your gaze. Instead, he pulled himself closer to his desk, fingers gliding over the keys of his typewriter.  

“Calvin?” you whimpered before you could stop yourself. You reached for the door again but it only made you feel dizzier until you crumbled to the floor with a sob. You looked up through teary eyes at Calvin as he stared over his typewriter, not daring to get up and help you. You tried not to think about the way he looked almost smug as he stared at you, it only seemed to make you feel worse.

You shook your head, “Have a good one Calvin…I’ll have someone come by and grab the rest of my stuff some other time.” you mumbled, not even really caring if he heard you at this point. He continued typing as you walked to the front door and didn’t stop until you were twisting the knob to open the door.

Suddenly you felt dizzy and you’re knees buckled under you causing you to lean against the door, wincing when your bag crashed to the floor. 

“Calvin please.” you sobbed, as he began to type again, light reflecting off his glasses and making his eyes impossible to see properly. 

“I told you I could make you do what I wanted,” he said lowly, voice barely above a whisper as he typed furiously. What was he even talking about? What was going on? Why were you even mad at him? Why were trying to leave? You couldn’t remember, trying to remember made your whole body ache. 

“Calvin please.” you cried, dragging yourself up slowly, letting out a broken sob when you felt an ache between your thighs, “Calvin… I don't…. I don’t know what's happening.” Why did you feel so hot all of the sudden? Why did you feel so dizzy? Why was Calvin writing while you were just 

laying there in agony? 

So many questions and each one only seemed to increase the ache between your thighs. You sobbed, curling your body forward into a ball on the floor.  You were so confused and you could still feel the anger lingering in the back of your mind but you just couldn’t reach it. 

“You were perfect (Y/N) why did you have to make me do this?” he asked softly as if he were speaking to a child. A tiny voice in your head begged you to tell him to fuck off but you couldn’t, the words got stuck in your throat, and instead, you whined for him. You needed him. You needed to apologize. You didn’t even know why you needed to apologize but it didn’t matter. You needed to make things right. It was like someone had gone in and rewritten your programming. 

“Calvin, please ‘m sorry.” you whimpered, shaky hands reaching out towards him even though you were too far to reach him. 

He crooned at you, shaking his head as he shoved away from his desk, patting his thigh gently, “Come here (Y/N). Poor thing you can’t even understand what's happening.” you scrambled forward without hesitation, every fiber of your being begged to be closer to him despite the angry little voice in the back of your mind that seemed to grow quieter and quieter with every passing minute. He helped you gently onto his lap, situating you so you straddled one of his thighs as he pulled his chair back towards his desk.

“ ‘m sorry Calvin, ‘m sorry,” you repeated through broken sobs as you leaned heavily against him, whimpering when he moved his knee to grind between your thighs where you were aching to have him. 

“I know baby I know, It’s alright, I’m gonna fix everything okay,” he hummed softly, one hand caressing wrapped around your waist while the other moved to bring his typewriter closer so you could read what he had been typing.

You whined, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt nervously,” Come on baby read it for me.” he directed softly, his hand moving from his typewriter down to your thigh. He waited patiently, fingers gliding over your skin, carefully moving beneath the bunched-up fabric of the dress you were wearing until you could feel his fingers just barely grazing over your panties. He didn’t move any further, clearly waiting for you to do as he had instructed.

With a sob, you obeyed, leaning forward a bit to better read the words on the page through the haze of your confusion, “ (Y/N) couldn’t leave Calvin. She needed him. (Y/N) couldn’t remember why she had been so angry or why she had tried to leave, all she knew was that she needed Calvin. Every time she tried to remember why she was angry she would feel desperate for Calvin.” You paused, choking on a whimper as he slowly moved his hand past the waist back of your panties, “Calvin, please… I’m…I don’t know what's happening… this doesn’t… this doesn’t make sense.”

“Shhh baby I know just keep reading, I’ll explain it all once you finish and then I’ll make it all better okay.” He whispered, gently brushing your hair over your shoulder with his free hand to leave kisses along the nape of your neck.

You whined but couldn’t bring yourself to disobey, Calvin knows what's best for me, Calvin always knows what's best for me. Taking a shaky breath you began to read the paper again, “ All (Y/N) knows is that she needs Calvin and only Calvin can give her what she needs. Only Calvin could make her feel better.” You let out a broken sob as another wave of heat burned through your body making your thighs tremble and your hips buck desperately against Calvin’s hand.

“You’re so close baby, just a little more and I’ll make you feel better like I promised.” he crooned, sucking on your neck, leaving purple bruises in his wake, “You want to feel better, don’t you? You want me to make you feel good?” he asked sweetly, letting his finger just barely graze over your clit causing you to sob, fingers grasping desperately at his shirt, an effort to pull him closer. “You want me to fix this don’t you baby?”You nodded, whining breathlessly when he motioned for you to continue and moved his hand to graze over your clit again. 

“Only Calvin could make the ache stop. Every time (Y/N) tried to remember being angry at Calvin she would become consumed with desire, unable to think of anything other than how badly she wanted Calvin and how desperately she needed to cum. She belonged with Calvin. She belonged to Calvin.” Upon reading the last words on the page Calvin blessedly moved to rub his thumb gently over your clit, cooing praise when you bucked into his hand. 

“Do you remember when you asked me earlier why I was writing about you, do you remember that baby?” he whispered against your jaw. You shook your head, whimpering when he nipped at your neck, “come on baby, try to remember” he encouraged, smiling against your skin as you shook your head.

“Please… ‘m sorry Calvin.” you whimpered, bucking your hips against his hand to lessen the ache still burning between your thighs. He chuckled, kissing at a bruise he had sucked into your skin moments before.

“I can’t…. Calvin… Can’t re-remember… hurts” you said through broken sobs. He hummed, rubbing soothing circles over your side with his free hand while his other hand remained between your thighs, lazily thumbing at your clit.

“You need me to remind you, baby?” he whispered, kissing along your jaw and down your neck, nipping at the skin when you didn’t give him an answer immediately.

“It's alright baby,” he hummed, moving his free hand from your side up to cradle your jaw to get you to look at him. Even through the blur of your tears, you could see his green eyes were blown out and dark with something between madness and lust. It terrified you and yet you couldn’t look away nor could you stop yourself from leaning into his touch, kissing the palm of his hand as it cupped your cheek. 

He smiled, wiping tears from your cheeks with his thumb, “You asked me why I was writing about you… do you remember that baby?” You shook your head, wincing when it made your vision blur even more. He nodded, his hand stilling against your cunt to make sure you were completely focused on his words, “Well I wasn’t just writing about you baby.” he paused watching your expression closely as you blinked back at him. 

He leaned in a little closer, pressing a kiss to your other cheek, catching the taste of your tears on his lips as he whispered, “I wrote you.” You froze completely, like a dear in headlights, eyes wide and brows furrowed as you tried to understand what he was talking about.

“W-what… What are you talking about?” You ask through hiccups and sniffles.

“I wrote you baby.” he paused, smiling as he traced little shapes on your cheek with his thumb, “Everything you are. Everything you do. Everything you have. It's all because of me. Because that’s how I wrote you.” The voice in the back of your head comes back, Leave! Leave! Get away from him! You have to leave! Don’t let him do this! He can’t do this! He can’t get away with this! Leave! ESCAPE! 

He smiles as he watches you wince with the force of the aching in your head coming back as you try desperately to remember what was going on before Calvin pulled you onto his lap. God, you just wanted the aching and the burning to stop. You wanted the voice in your head to shut up. You didn’t care why you couldn’t remember, you just wanted the pain to stop. You wanted Calvin to help you. You needed Calvin to make everything better. The yelling in your head comes to halt. The silence is deafening and it makes you cling harder to Calvin for a moment.

You pull his hand from between your thighs before he can stop you. He grunts, lurching forward to grab you until he realizes you are twisting around in his lap to face him. You fall into his chest, fingers grasping desperately at his shirt to pull him as close as possible while you sob into his shoulder. He sits frozen, momentarily shocked by your actions. He had expected you to fight him again, yet here you were curled into his lap, crying pathetically and begging for him to fix her. 

“Calvin please… it hurts so bad… please… I want it to stop…” your words came out broken, lost between your sobs, “Please… please Cal….you…you promised… you promised you would make it better.” 

Calvin had a moment of clarity. He should put a stop to this. He should let you go. He shouldn’t do this to you. But how could he possibly say no when you’re begging him to make everything better. 

He wraps his arms around you carefully, “shh baby I got you… I’m gonna fix this okay.” you sobbed harder, nodding into his shoulder, “I'm gonna make you feel better, just like I promised don’t worry.” Thank you. Thank you. God. Thank you, you think desperately clinging to him like he’s a god damn lifeline. He moves to stand up suddenly, making you nearly jump out of your skin but he’s holding you close enough that you don’t fall back. He taps your thighs, and you bring your legs around his waist before he even needs to say the words. 

He hums, you can feel the vibrations of him speaking but you don't hear what he's saying, all you know is he’s holding you and he’s never letting you go, and he’s going to make you feel better. He shuffles away from his desk quickly and shoves his desk chair so hard that it spins backward, hitting the wall with a thump that makes you yelp,  fists curling tighter into his shirt. 

“Sorry baby,” he mumbles pressing a kiss into your hair. It’s okay, I forgive you, you think, just fix this. Fix me. You don’t even realize he’s taking you to the bedroom until he’s leaning forward to gently lay you onto the mattress. You whine as he pulls away, no don't go, stay, you promised you would make this better, your voice echos desperately in your head. 

“You have to let me go for a moment baby, I’m not gonna leave you, I just need you to let me go so I can make you feel better remember?” he hummed, breath fanning over your neck and making you shiver. You whine again but allow him to pull away until he’s standing over you and you can barely see his face with the light behind him. 

Is this what salvation feels like?

You don’t have time to decide on an answer to your thoughts before his hands are on your thighs, tracing lines upwards until he’s got the hem of your skirt bunched up around your waist. You shift your legs to press into his touch, whining when he presses you back down into the bed.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, leaning forward to press kisses to your thighs. You whimper but don’t argue. Calvin always knew what was best for you. He hums in approval, sucking little bruises into your thighs as he makes his way up towards your panties.

He clicks his tongue, “Oh poor thing you’re soaked.” he tugs at the band of your panties with one hand while the other moves to lift your hips to guide the fabric down your thighs. 

“Thank you,” you whine breathlessly.

“Lift your hips again honey,” he tells you, shuffling to swipe his pillow from his side of the bed. You do as he says without question, legs trembling as you let him place the pillow under your hips. He is back between your thighs before you even have to beg him, pressing kisses to your thighs again until he reaches your cunt. You sob and move to push your legs together the moment his lips ghost over your clit. 

“Come on baby, you gotta open your legs for me to make you feel better.” he croons, tracing little circles over your hips, humming in encouragement when you shakily spread your legs again. 

“There ya go, sweetheart,” he whispers against the apex of your thigh, “Just let me take care of you baby.” You don’t even have to say a word before his lips are back on you, tongue lapping at the slick pooling between your thighs.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

You aren’t even sure if you’ve said the words aloud but it doesn’t matter when Calvin’s got his face pressed into your cunt like it fucking belongs there. He presses one hand against your hip while the other guides your legs up and over his shoulder. 

It’s unfair how quickly Calvin unravels you. A simple swipe of his tongue over your clit and his hand slipping down to join his mouth between your thighs and your mind goes hazy. He doesn’t even have to try very hard to slip two fingers into you, groaning against your cunt when he feels you squeeze around his fingers. 

“Christ, baby you’re a mess,” he says it like it's a compliment, curling his fingers against that sweet spot inside you that makes you go all stupid for him. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” you’re positive you’re saying the words aloud this time, distantly you can hear the airy whine of your voice beneath the haze you’re practically drowning in.

“Please” you whimper through broken sobs, fists curled into the bedsheets and cheeks flushed red and dripping with tears. He lifts his head from between your thighs, chin shining with your slick, smiling lazily at you with his glasses askew and foggy.

“So good for me sweetheart, such a pretty, perfect, little thing you are” he praises, slowly slipping a third finger into your weeping cunt, chuckling when you try moving your hips. He’s slow and meticulous in taking you apart but you’re already so impossibly close to the edge it makes you sob with every delicious curl of his fingers.

He presses his fingers deeper, thumb tracing tight circles over your clit that make you pant for him, “Please what baby? Tell me what you want.” You look at him through wet lashes, tears blurring at the edge of your vision as he presses gentle kisses on your thighs, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin when you don’t answer him immediately. He grins when he feels you clench around his fingers. You shake your head, shifting your hips to try to get him to move a little faster. 

 “Don’t be a brat now pretty girl,” he says, stopping almost instantly just letting you clench pathetically around his fingers, thighs trembling as you keep trying to move your hips against his hand. He presses his free hand to your hip, holding you down against the pillow tucked beneath you. 

“Come on baby, all you have to do is tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He curls his fingers inside you, letting his thumb graze over your clit briefly and grinning at the way you turn to putty in his hands.

“Please… Please ‘m so close.” 

He hums in approval but remains still, leaning down slightly to press a kiss just above your clit. 

“Please… please….ple- fuck… please make me come.” 

He smiles, doesn’t even give you a chance to repeat yourself before he’s fucking his fingers back into you, “Atta girl…  See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t even tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, distantly you think you can hear yourself agreeing with him. Calvin’s right. Calvin’s always right. Calvin knows what’s best. Calvin always knows best.

“I’ll make you feel good baby,” he promises.

And he does. He doesn’t even have to fight to pull you over the edge. He latches onto your clit and your mind goes blank. And before you know it you’re falling over the edge, crying out Calvin’s name in broken sobs as you clench around his fingers. He groans, lapping at your cunt as if he needs it to survive while he fucks you through your climax.

You’re a mess beneath him babbling incoherently and he fucking loves it. He loves that he’s the only one who’s ever gotten to see you like this. He doesn’t even notice he’s rocking his hips against the mattress desperately seeking the tight heat between your trembling thighs until he hears you whining for him.

“I..” you whine, fingers curling into his hair and tugging lightly, “I want– fuck, please… I want you Cal… please…” 

He can’t even bring himself to tell them to say exactly what they want as much. He wants to tease it out of you, make you beg and cry for him to he fucks you like you need him to. But he needs you just as much as you need him. 

He leaves one last kiss over your clit, slowly slipping his fingers out of you with a slick noise. He pushes up onto his knees, cock straining beneath his pants. You tug him upwards with more force than he expected, fingers already grasping desperately at the buttons of his shirt. 

“Please” you whine, fumbling with his shirt, tugging on it in frustration when your fingers slip on the buttons. Calvin shuffles closer and moves his hands to guide yours to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Once his shirt is tossed to the side, you lay still beneath him, shaky hands making their way up to his chest as you stare up at him with a dazed smile. 

“Calvin please… make me feel good,” you whisper like it's a prayer, a silent confession of your sins.

Mercifully he answers your prayers in an instant, pulling you into a heated kiss, groaning when your fingers tangle into his hair. One hand reaches up to cradle your head while the other fumbles with his belt until he can shove his pants down too hastily to his thighs. He doesn’t even bother taking them off fully, and even if he tried you probably wouldn’t let him pull away from you enough to succeed. 

It’s exactly easy for him to situate himself between your thighs when you refuse to let him go but he manages well enough, grunting when he presses forward and lets his cock glide against your clit. He slips his fingers between your legs again and guides his cock against your cunt until he’s as soaked as you are.   

“Please” 

He doesn’t even make you ask him again before he’s pressing the tip of cock into you with a long-drawn-out groan.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, fuc- thank you” you sigh, pulling him impossibly close until you start to forget where you end and he begins as he presses deeper. 

He bottoms out with a low whine, gripping your hips as he lays over you for a moment, lost in the feeling of your tight cunt clenching around him. 

“You’re so fucking perfect.” he groans, pressing bruising kisses along your jaw and down your neck, one hand moving from your hips to tug at your top, bunching it up at your collarbone as he sucks a few bruises onto your chest. You roll your hips up, crying softly when he pulls back until only the tip of his cock is pressing into you. 

He looks down at you through fogged-up glasses, breath catching in his throat at the little smile you give him. You look at him like he’s saved you, and he crumbles instantly, hips driving into you until all you can do is stare up at him through teary eyes, his name falling from your lips like it's something sacred.

“You’d be lost without me wouldn’t you?” he asks, one hand back on your hip while the other guides your legs around his waist. You whine, nodding frantically, unable to form any words that aren’t his name.

“Pretty girl” 

“Fucking perfect.”

“Such a needy little thing.”

“All for me.”

All you can do is desperately pull him closer, your cunt clenching around him with every slow drag of his cock pulling out and driving back into you. He pulls you into a dizzying kiss, his hands shifting between the two of you until his thumb meets your clit and you jolt against him with a sob. 

“You’re already so close aren’t you?” he hums, pressing so deep you swear you can feel his cock in your stomach, as his thumb rubs quick tight circles around your clit. 

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please

“Go on sweet girl, come for me”

It takes barely a minute for you to fall apart all over again, tight cunt spasming around him as he continues fucking you through your second orgasm of the night. Through the haze, you can hear yourself chanting his name, grasping desperately at his shoulders while continues driving cock relentlessly into you. 

You can’t even agree with him before you feel him reach his own release. You can feel every pulse and twitch of his cock, like a heartbeat as he spills himself inside of you, making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a whimper as he shakily rides out his orgasm.

“Fuck– you’re so fucking perfect, never gonna let you go.” he babbles, sucking more bruises into your skin as his hips stutter, “ ‘m gonna keep you all to myself, baby.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He whispers as he collapses against you, cock still twitching inside your aching cunt. He repeats the apology quietly against your neck, and in your post-orgasm fog, you can’t tell if he’s asking himself or you for forgiveness.

But you offer it nonetheless, fingers carding through his hair as you whisper back, “It’s okay, Calvin, it’s okay.” 

He shakes his head but doesn’t say a word as you pull him up into a kiss, distantly you realize he’s crying and you wipe the tears gently with the pads of your thumb as he hums into the kiss. 

The two of you lay there for a while, his cum leaking from your cunt even with his cock still pressed inside of you, just holding one another as you both come down from your highs. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead as he pulls out, hissing softly when your cunt flutters around him as if trying to beckon him back into the tight wet heat. You whimper, feeling him brush against your clit as he pulls off of you.

“I’ll be right back baby,” he whispers, pressing a line of soft kisses down your body before standing slowly, kicking his pants off completely so he can shuffle off to the bathroom for a washcloth. 

You don’t move an inch until he comes back, and you offer him a little smile which he timidly returns, brows furrowed slightly as he takes in the sight of you laid out on the bed, covered in bruises, thighs already sticky with his cum. 

He’ll never let you go now, a broken voice echoes in your head, it doesn’t even sound like your own voice anymore but you can’t bring yourself to think about it too hard as Calvin gently cleans you up.

You thank him quietly as he helps you undress, tossing your clothes off to a random corner of the room and helping you stand up for a moment so he can quickly strip the top blanket off the bed tossing it along with your clothes to wash later. 

You lean against him, legs trembling far too much for you to stand fully on your own, and let him help you back into bed watching him as he cleans himself up before joining you in bed. He’s oddly quiet as he pulls you into his arms but you decide he’s just as dazed as you are.

“I love you, Calvin,” you mumble, curling up against him and pressing your face into his neck.

It takes him a moment to stutter out a response, words dying in his throat at first, “I love you too, baby”

“Promise you’ll always love me?” you smile, pressing a kiss to his neck.

You can hear Calvin’s breath stutter as he answers, “I Promise.” you hum, pleased with his answer as you nuzzle into his neck, finally closing your eyes and letting your mind drift into a dreamless sleep.

Calvin woke long before you the next morning, he had hardly slept, how could he after doing what he had done to you? Never again, he told himself as he carefully moved you off of his body, stilling each time you stirred in your sleep until he was sure you would not wake.

“I promise I’ll never stop loving you.” 

-----------

I’ll never hurt you like that ever again, he watched the rise and fall of your chest, tracing over the bruises decorating your skin like constellations. You seemed so at peace despite what he had put you through the night before. You had no idea that he had even done anything wrong. You were hopelessly devoted to him. 

He was your salvation.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks. You mumbled sleepily, turning to your side, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself. I’ll make things right, he promised you, silently making his way out of the room, patting Scotty on the head as he passed. 

Scotty’s tiny fluffy face looked up and despite being a dog, Calvin had the sneaking suspicion that Scotty was silently judging him for what he had done. You hurt her, Scotty tilted his head up at Calvin. I know, I know, I’ll fix it, Calvin sighed, watching as Scotty seemed to lose interest in him, padding off to the bedroom, where he would likely curl up at your feet. 

At least Scotty would never hurt you, he shuffled into his office and froze in the doorway for a moment, staring at the typewriter still sitting on his desk. He curled his fists at his sides until his palms burned with little crescent-shaped imprints from his fingernails. Just fix it, dammit. 

He moved closer, pulling his desk chair with him until he was standing in front of his desk, still staring at the typewriter as if it had personally wronged him. But it hadn’t, and he knew that. He knew that since the very moment he first started making changes to you. 

Almost.

It had started small, just little adjustments. He had told himself that he was doing it all for you. That he was doing it to make you happy and that he would never try to change you beyond that. He had repeated that lie to himself under the dim lighting of the desk lamp while making his edits to your very being that he almost started to believe he was doing the right thing.

Any belief that he had before of being a good person was gone now. It had faded away the moment the two of you had started arguing the night before and whatever had been left disappeared completely as you desperately clung to him, crying out his name like it was a god damn prayer.

He should feel sick thinking about how you cried underneath him, begging him to make the pain stop. But it doesn’t. And he can’t even find the will to hate himself for pushing you till you were trembling, unable to think of anything but him. 

Instead, he feels dizzy with power to the point that makes his head hurt. He sits and pulls his chair forward until his knees are tucked under the edge of his desk. His fingers ghost over the keys of his typewriter, I have to fix this. I should fix this and let her be free of me. 

He repeats the words he knows he should be typing like a mantra, Calvin could no longer control or change (Y/N). (Y/N) was free of Calvin. Free to live her life safe and happy far away from him. He wills himself to move, to type, to just get it over with already so he can keep his promise to her. But his fingers don’t move, there is no clicking of the keys locking into place and there are no words written on the paper. 

He exhales, reaching up to rub his eyes and brush his hands through his hair until he’s tugging at his scalp in punishment. Just fucking let her go. If you really loved her you would let her leave and you would have never tried to change her in the first place. 

I do love her.

Then why can’t you let her go? Calvin huffs kicking his desk, slamming his fists down onto the surface. He stares at the paper, still blank, staring back at him in silent judgment. You promised. You promised you would fix everything. 

“I know. I will. I’ll fix this.” he whispers bitterly to himself, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Liar.

He bites the inside of his cheek, placing his hands back over the keys of his typewriter. With a shaky inhale he begins to type, the sound of the keys clicking fills the room until it's all he can hear. But the words he types are not the ones he knows he should be reading as they form across the page. 

Instead, he did what he did best. He told a story to make you believe that he was still a good person. To make you believe you still loved him. He spun pretty words into a tall tale about you had both come home the night before and had a civil discussion after the party. It was a lie of course, but you would never know that. It would be the truth to you, and that's all that mattered.

You would never know what he had done to you. You would simply remember coming home, arguing briefly, having a long discussion with Calvin that ended in sex after he apologized for being unreasonable and you apologized for making a scene at the party. He scrapped the bits of the fight that didn’t fit into the narrative he needed you to believe. You would never even know he had called you a slut or that you had threatened to leave. Because in your mind it had never happened. 

He told himself as he typed feverishly that he’d make everything better and then he’d never try to rewrite you again. Even as he made it every possible chance to make sure you would remain his perfect girl, he kept repeating to himself that he was doing the right thing.

This is the last time, he promises himself as he pulls the paper from his typewriter, rereading the lies he had written. The lies that would become your truths. He decided it was best to let you believe the lies as he tucked the papers back into his desk, where they would never see the light of day.

I’ll let her go next time.

And he almost believes his lie when he spins around in his chair to find you standing in the doorway in nothing but his shirt. 

“Calvin?” you mumbled, rubbing sleepily at your eyes, “What are you doing up?” 

He freezes for a moment like he's been caught in the act. But he hasn’t been caught. He knows he hasn’t the moment you give him a sleepy little smile and pad over to him to curl into his lap.

He just laughs and holds you close, “I’m sorry baby, should I have Scotty arrested for such horrible crimes?” 

“I just had to take Scotty out a little bit ago and I had this idea I wanted to get down before I forgot.” he pauses, to comb his fingers through your hair, smiling at the way you lean into his touch, “I didn’t wake you did I?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into his neck, “I woke up because Scotty was licking my feet.” you admit giggling when you both hear Scotty come scampering into the office. He should hate himself for how easy it is to lie to you and pretend everything was normal. But he doesn’t hate himself, he doesn’t even try. 

You giggle and shake your head, pulling away just enough that you can look at him, “Did you manage to get the idea down?” 

He shakes his head, “Nope, I’ve been sitting here for a while trying to remember the idea.” He doesn’t even need to think about it anymore when he’s lying to you. 

You hum, moving to rest your hands on his chest, “You know I hear spending a day in bed helps with brainstorming.” 

Calvin snorts, raising a brow at you, “Oh really? Where’d you hear that?” 

You shrug, a cheeky grin already forming on your lips  “Can’t remember.” 

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Any more advice you got for me, baby?” 

You hum in approval at the pet name, turning to catch his lips in a quick kiss before he can pull away, “ Yea I heard it's especially helpful for writers to spend a day in bed with their super cute girlfriend.” He laughs, pressing another kiss to your lips, and then along your jaw.

“That sounds like good advice to me,” he mumbles, before nipping at the underside of your jaw, grinning when you let out an airy sigh. 

“I know right, whoever came up with it is a total genius.” He nips at your neck, this time a little harder and you laugh between a gasp.

“Cal comes on at least take me to bed first, we gotta figure out if my advice actually works” You shove playfully at his chest until he pulls away from your neck with his glasses sitting at an odd angle. You shuffle off of his lap and he follows quickly, rolling his eyes at the smug look you give him.

I did the right thing, he decides as he lunges forward, throwing you over his shoulder and grinning when you squeal in surprise and slap playfully at his back. 

Besides, who were you without Calvin?

[takaraphoenix]

Ship game!! What about Nico and Will?? It’s pretty popular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you write much of it…

That's an interesting one in that I have vocalized my reasons for disliking it way back when it first became popular but instead of just linking that, it has been years so I think it's time for an updated version.

Firstly: This post is gonna be properly tagged and not crosstagged so if any shipper comes across it and feels the need to bitch about it, just don't; your lack of curating your own tumblr experience is not my problem! ;D

Now, there are three key factors that play into my dislike of this ship: How it was written, what it represents, how the fandom around it acts.

1. It’s rushed and uncomfortable

In BoO, it was incredibly rushed. They had literally five sentences of interactions before they walked into the literal sunset together. Five. It was just entirely born from Riordan's Noah's Ark Complex, where he just can't let people be single. The series was ending and he needed Nico to have an endgame so he rushed into some random romance with zero build-up.

The way their interactions went down was also severely uncomfortable for me. Will was acting so offended by Nico not wanting to go to camp and be friends in an entitled way that he had no right to be, he downright guilt-tripped Nico about how he had wanted to be friends. Nico has been just so severely traumatized at such a young age and his coping mechanism, as unhealthy as it was, was to run away and hide. Will acted like Nico not wanting to form attachments to people who could potentially leave him again was somehow just an Edgy Emo Decision and not a direct reaction to his trauma. His entire approach to Nico was basically all these hippie posts of "Don't have depression!! Just go out into the sun and stop being depressed!", which is already a bad take with non-medical people but he's supposed to be a doctor (and let's not get into the shadiness of him technically being Nico's doctor).

There is also an inherent "I can fix him" angle to this ship and to me, only few ship dynamics are more uncomfortable than that. If you want to fundamentally change a person's behavior and personality, you... don't actually want to be with this person.

Now, here's where my points overlap, because the following parts of their writing that bothers me also stand for what this ship fundamentally represents.

2. Solangelo is a queer ship written by and for straights

I'm a queer woman and as a queer woman, I want queer wish-fulfillment, not what straights want out of queerness. I'm kind of tired of that, I've been sitting through it for enough decades now. That's, of course, not to say that no straight writer can give proper queer representation, but far too often do straight writers - even the most well-meaning ones - project straight desires of queerness into their queer representation.

Let me explain that closer through this ship.

Nico's been in love with Percy for years and I'm going to do my best to not hijack this post with some Percico agenda; that's not what this his about, this isn't some "my ship is better than your ship" ship-war nonsense. It's simply a canonical fact that Nico has had romantic feelings for another character for years.

A character who, in this medium, is heterosexual. And if you're queer, you've been there. In love with your straight best friend. It's a cliche, but it's a cliche for a reason.

We have also all been well-meaningly rejected by said straight friend.

And here's the straight desires for you: The queer person who was in love with a straight person just immediately stops having those feelings and will then as quickly as possible fall in love with the next queer person they meet to be happy and no longer uncomfortably in love with a straight person, because that thought makes the straights uncomfortable.

Queer wish-fulfillment would be for Percy to return those feelings, for the queer character to get his first love, to not be rejected. That thing queer teens always dreamed about for themselves.

Aside from the wish-fulfillment angle, the pacing is another problem. Let me repeat, Nico was in love for years. But a five sentence conversation with Will once causes a crush on Will and we see him physically turn away from Percy and toward Will just immediately to rebound and actually fall out of love with Percy and in love with Will. Anyone who's ever been unlucky in love will attest to just how unrealistic and ridiculous the pacing here is.

It's also straight queerness in another respect; Nico has been the first ever queer character we meet in that world. He loves a straight guy - and to get over that, we introduce the second queer character. Because heaven forbid there are multiple queers to pick from. No, in straight-written queer romances, there is always that one main queer and then they introduce a second one and the two just immediately hit it off and develop a romance like all a queer person needs to form attraction to someone is the confirmation that the other person shares your sexuality.

Also the notable gay guy on gay guy ship here, whereas the more queer-wish-fulfillment option would have also included more nuance to the queer experience, because Percy doesn't have to be heterosexual just because he has only been with girls so far. It's a very old-fashioned - think 90s and early 2000s - kind of straight-written queerness that there are only exactly two homosexuals and that those two homosexuals then pair up.

And, listen, I'm not immune to these outdated straight-written queers entirely, I have many such ships that I grew up with that I am still fond of because they were groundbreaking at that time and they weren't outdated yet back when they happened in said 90s and early 2000s. I am however a grown woman now and just like I have grown, so has queer rep so I am not as easily baited into falling onto my knees in gratitude for canon rep. You have to go with the times. And this ship, by all that is given to us, is just entirely outdated straight-written rep.

Which, I mention earlier that even straight-written rep can be good. If the author tries. Riordan doesn't really try though; he does the bare minimum when he writes any of his rep - and there have been many, many more qualified voices being very vocal about his depiction of people of color and, as a woman, I've been vocal about his depiction of women. I don't want to derail this post with all of that, but I do think that it bears mentioning that Riordan doing rep but only doing a bare minimum and not putting in the necessary work to deepen the representation he wants to give is a repeating pattern that has been pointed out many times by now.

(I’d also like to point out that no, it is not just the ship and not just the listed instances that make it straight-written rep for straights. It’s Nico’s entire queer arc, starting with his forced coming out. A severely traumatizing event that is completely brushed over because the straight author doesn’t understand the impact this has on queer people. Not to mention the framework; Nico’s coming out isn’t Nico’s story, it happens in Jason’s POV, it is given to us through the POV of the straight bystander who gets to be Best Ally by assuring Nico that being gay is okay. This kind of coming out is not a queer wish-fulfillment, it’s a straight wish-fulfillment of getting to be the straight savior, the ally to show the gay the light of acceptance. And, additional to the ridiculous pacing of how fast Nico gets over his love for Percy, Nico also gets over years of internalized homophobia just because of, I don’t know, Jason’s few encouraging words and the fact that Will paid attention to him? For a gay kid who was in the closet all his life, the nonchalant way in which he publicly confessed his crush to Percy at the end made absolutely no sense and was written as basically a joke, finished off with Nico literally high-fiving Percy’s girlfriend despite those two never having seen eye to eye before but this is straight wish-fulfillment so all straights are Super Allies, because that’s the way straights want to see themselves, even though Annabeth has shown before just how jealous she can be and she most definitely wouldn’t go around high-fiving people who confess to her boyfriend. Nothing about Nico’s queer arc in HoO felt natural or queer or satisfying.)

Sure, Solangelo on a surface level is big because it's a canon queer couple in a YA book-series and kudos for that and yay for the kids who get to grow up seeing queers in YA books, but I actually do think that kids growing up with books written in the 2010s shouldn't grow up with 1990s levels of representation, because the 2010s overall are actually at a far more nuanced and better level of representation when it comes to queerness. And I do reserve the right to quit on too straight-written and too outdated queer rep in a landscape where I can get more satisfying representation elsewhere; we don’t live in times anymore where you necessarily have to love every bit of rep because it’s the only one you get.

Now that we've gone through my first two gripes, let's wrap this up with the final point, because it also directly ties into this.

3. The new wave of antis hiding behind this ship

A huge part of the fandom is so busy kissing Riordan's ass solely for giving them queer rep at all they think that both the author and the ship are beyond flawless and that kind of attitude is not good. Just because an author includes rep doesn't make either perfect. Absolutely no one is beyond critique - especially not when said critique comes from the very people the author is representing. And even beyond any "valid" critique on the ship, quite frankly, someone should also be allowed to just not like it, without any reasons given at all.

But there is a certain... protective obsessiveness about this ship that doesn't allow a not liking. Very similar to how PJO bore this mindset around Perc/abeth already. It's okay to have OTPs, even OTPs that you have a blindspot for and just don't want to see any flaws in. It is however not okay to then go around attacking people who don't like the thing and mind their own business.

Solangelo's bred a new generation of antis in this fandom. And, particularly with the fact that this post too receives an "anti" tag, I feel like there needs to be a clarification (because tumblr likes to forget what actually makes an anti). Not liking something doesn't make you an anti, venting in properly tagged posts doesn't either; it's the people who harass others, who seek out the content they dislike to then complain that it even exists and who actively try to make others stop creating for it - those are antis.

And with Solangelo's popularity, there was a high rise in Percico antis, who sought it out, were unnecessarily nasty about it, harrassed creators and tried to enforce some kind of "Solangelo supremacy" that won't allow other ships for the characters.

I've been in fandom long enough to be perfectly aware that not all Solangelo shippers count into this category and that there are completely normal and nice Solangelo shippers, but this is a Venn diagram where the overlap between Solangelo shippers and antis is too large to not widely associate the nasty people with the ship itself. (I've been there myself, shipping the very ship behind which a fandom's antis all hid. The second-hand embarrassment of having these people give the ship a bad name is horrendous and I do feel bad for all the normal Solangelo shippers.)

The more often I encountered these people, who made Percico bad (sometimes in wildly ridiculous manners that bent and deliberately misinterpreted canon) and who in the same breath praised Solangelo high, the more tired I grew of that ship. It's a simple game of association, really. You see that linked to the gross and nasty behavior and you start associating the ship itself with that gross and nasty behavior - and with all the things I said before that already weighed into my dislike of the ship, this just was the final tipping point, really.

And that's it. That sums up why I dislike Solangelo. It was hastily rushed, uncomfortable in its execution, it is outdated rep that very much feels as straight-written as it factually is and it does not feel aimed at me as a queer person but rather at the straight audience and it has gathered a cult following of quite uncomfortable people who on their own would be reason enough to avoid it so you can avoid them.

Send me a ship and I will explain why I do or don't ship it

[bryte-eyed-athena]

Afrofuturism in the work of Janelle Monáe

Ashley Clarke, a curator for the Brooklyn Academy of Music, defined Afrofuturism as “the centering of the international black experience in alternate and imagined realities, whether fiction or documentary; past or present; science fiction or straight drama.”

Themes of Afrofuturism can be found throughout the works of Janelle Monáe. Her previous albums like The ArchAndroid and The Electric Lady showcase this through the exploration of androids as a new “other.” Today I want to talk about one of her most recent projects, Dirty Computer, and the way it contributes to the conversation on Afrofuturism. Janelle Monáe released Dirty Computer as an album and a 48 minute long Emotion Picture to draw her audience into a visual and auditory world of her own making. The dystopian future she presents to us is very similar to our own current reality, except that the voices being amplified are those that have historically been silenced. People of color and the LGBT+ community are central in this story rather than pushed off screen. Dirty Computer is so powerful because it focuses on joyful rebellion, love, and freedom in an oppressive dystopian setting.

The project, as Monáe has shared, can be split into three parts: Reckoning, Celebration, and Reclamation.

Part I: Reckoning

gif credit: scificinema

gif credit: scificinema

The Emotion Picture begins with Monáe’s character Jane 57821 laying out how her society has begun to capture people deemed dirty in order to “clean” them of their supposed filth against their will. This is meant to produce beings that are stripped of all individuality and ready to conform to societal norms and expectations. Jane tells the audience that, “You were dirty if you looked different, you were dirty if you refused to live the way they dictated, you were dirty if you showed any form of opposition at all. And if you were dirty it was only a matter of time.” The dichotomy between dirty and clean has created a system where an entire class of people can be demonized and oppressed. This foreboding tone at the beginning prepares the viewer for the grim implications of the cleaning process in this universe.

Dirty Computers are strapped to a table and forced to undergo the “Nevermind” which is a program that deletes memories. It is a process that is horrifying because of what it symbolizes to the individual and entire communities of people. To erase someone’s memories is to erase who a person is. The character of Mary Apple 53, Jane’s love interest, shows us just how alien a person can become once their memories are gone. The horror of erasure is also something that marginalized communities have faced for centuries and continue to face today.

In an interview on Dirty Computer, Janelle Monáe said “I felt a deeper responsibility to telling my story before it was erased. I think that there’s an erasure - of us, and if we don’t tell our stories they won’t get told. If we don’t show us we won’t get shown.” Afrofuturism is a response to this erasure of black people and people of color in culture, history, and art. Monáe has made a deliberate choice to tell her story even if it might get erased because if she doesn’t do it then no one else will. Remaining silent would be to assist in that erasure and Afrofuturism is all about refusing to be erased.

This first part of the Emotion Picture is all a reckoning with the Dirty Computers and how they are pushed to the margins. The lyrics in Crazy, Classic, Life speak about how the same mistake made by two people on different ends of the spectrum of social acceptability is punished unequally. Take A Byte follows it with a more upbeat tone, but even then the lyric “I’m not the kind of girl you take home to your mama” speaks to a feeling of being outside social norms.

There are moments of light and joy that are counterweights to the dire situation Jane is in. These come in the form of her memories which are played one final time before they are erased. Jane’s life before she was captured was filled with exploration, youth, love and celebration.

Part II: Celebration

Gif credit: normreedus

Gif credit: daisyjazzridley

Gif credit: nerd4music

Dirty Computers seem to recognize that they are living on borrowed time and that any day could be the day they are forcefully disappeared. This is why they fill each moment with as much fun, life, color, and joy as they can. There are many scenes at clandestine parties where Dirty Computers live freely and openly despite the threat of drones or police that could capture them at any moment. It is important to have these scenes of celebration though because Afrofuturism is also about providing hope.

The future must be a hopeful one if we are to strive for it and Afrofuturism allows us to be creative in crafting our visions of a hopeful future. Even though Monáe’s future is dystopian, there is still room for hope and joy because those are the things that make life worth living. These Dirty Computers have to live their lives joyfully because they don’t know when they’ll be sterilized.

In the interview mentioned previously, Monáe added that “I had to make a decision with who I was comfortable pissing off and who I wanted to celebrate. And I chose who I wanted to celebrate, and that was the Dirty Computers.” The LGBT+ community, people of color, black women, immigrants, and low income people have all been mentioned as people Monáe wished to celebrate. This celebration comes intertwined with images and themes of rebellion as expressed in Jane’s memories. Screwed, Django Jane, Pynk, Make me Feel, and I Like That are the songs that embody celebration the best. Whether it's a celebration of sexuality, femininity, unity, or of self love it is all encompassed in these songs. Jane is shown connecting with others and being unapologetically proud of herself. We also see her falling in love with two people, Zen and Ché, and we see them love her in return.

Gif credit: thelovelylights

Viewing these memories and interacting with Jane seems to encourage the questioning of authority. The employee utilizing the Nevermind process seems to question why he should be deleting Jane’s memories at all. Mary Apple 53, previously named Zen, also directly questions their matriarch after speaking with Jane and realizing that she’s connected to her. It all culminates in a nonviolent escape attempt where Jane, Zen, and Ché reclaim their names, bodies, and their lives.

Part III: Reclamation

Gif credit: thelovelylights

The Emotion Picture ends with Jane 57821 and Mary Apple 53 freeing themselves, and their recently arrived lover Ché, from the facility. They escape without harming others the way they themselves have been harmed. By leaving they are reclaiming their freedom and their right to be proud of being Dirty Computers. They refuse the new names that were forced upon them and leave to rediscover the memories of the life they lived before capture.

It is a hopeful ending that plays into the themes of Afrofuturism. Even though both Jane and Zen’s memories were erased they still have the ability to create new memories and stories. Their ability to recreate their past as well as create a new future was not taken away. As they escape the song Americans can be heard in the background. The lyrics subvert the typical American patriotism expressed by racist white southerners. The trope of preserving gender roles and being a gun carrying american are satirized in these lyrics. America as a whole is being reclaimed by Janelle as a place for the people who have been marginalized.

Janelle sings “Don’t try to take my country/ I will defend my land/ I’m not crazy baby/ nah I’m American.” This sentiment is typically espoused by xenophobic americans, but when it is sung by Janelle she is saying that she won’t be forced out of America due to the bigoted beliefs of the people who hate her. She also pleads for the listener to love her for who she is which is something that has been denied to black women for centuries. The song ends with a powerful message of reclaiming America by Rev. Dr. Sean McMillan who said “Until Latinos and Latinas don't have to run from walls/ This is not my America/ But I tell you today that the devil is a liar/ Because it's gon' be my America before it's all over.”

This also shows themes of Afrofuturism since Monáe is reclaiming her history and is refusing to be excluded from it. She is asserting her presence and that of all the Dirty Computers by saying that they too have a claim to America. The Emotion Picture and the album are both a masterpiece of Afrofuturism art and music. Monáe masterfully weaves various musical genres and visual storytelling to show her pride in being a black queer woman. There is no other artist like Janelle Monáe, and I am excited to see what new worlds she will take us to next.

[hrtiu]

Would you consider writing something super short, like a couple hundred words, about Tech helping Brit'ni integrate that really tough problem you had trouble with a few days ago? 😅 (sorry, I'm trying to make you laugh lol)

Ah! You're the greatest! Ok, I think I can manage to put something together. for you <3

"Argh!!" Brit'ni let out a primeval scream and threw her stylus across the room. It landed against the dull durasteel wall with a pathetic plink, the sound not equal to Brit'ni's rage.

Tech looked up from the servos he was soldering and lifted his safety visor, eyes blinking at her in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"It's this stupid assignment," Brit'ni said, gesturing to the datapad she'd been staring at for the past two hours. She'd come to Tech's apartment to study--he had the perfect, no-frills setup and even just being around him focus pressured Brit'ni into being more productive--but so far she'd made almost no progress.

"Ah, the economics of past cultures class?" Tech said, pressing a finger to the bridge of his nose to lift up the goggles that weren't currently over his eyes.

"Yes," Brit'ni said with a scowl. "I don't understand why I have to learn any of this to study history. When am I going to need to find the expected value of a random variable curating a museum exhibit?"

Tech set his soldering gun down and pursed his lips, like she'd insulted him personally. "Just as your understanding of history and cultures can inform the way I program this computing system," he said, gesturing to the servos on his work bench, "so too can statistics inform the way you evaluate and interpret history."

"Ok, ok, you can get off your high fathier. Just help me, please?"

Tech's eyebrows raised and he nodded. "Certainly."

He got up from the workbench and headed over to Brit'ni. With each step she wondered if she was making a huge mistake. She'd never asked Tech for help on this sort of thing before because she had a sneaking suspicion he'd be absolutely insufferable. And she liked kissing Tech. She didn't want to mess that up.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked, leaning over her datapad.

She took a moment to answer, letting herself enjoy the warm feeling of him looming over. "It's this integral." She pointed to the tortured s-loop on the screen, even just the sight of it twisting her brain into knots. "I know we're supposed to use a change of variable, but the new derivative just doesn't fit."

She'd looked at it backwards, frontwards, sideways, and upside down. She'd stared at this problem for thirty minutes straight without writing so much as a single calculation. But the harder she stared the more inscrutable it became. She was convinced that only a true genius could solve it, and even then only after considerable effort.

"Substitute in u equals w over pi sin of x," he said.

"What?"

"Substitute in u equals w over pi sin of x. This is a normal distribution, and that will become obvious once you take that substitution."

Brit'ni stared at him blankly. It had taken him less than five seconds to find the solution. Five seconds. Five seconds to solve this thrice-blasted problem. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Tech said, his brows gathering together in confusion. "Are you having trouble hearing me? This question is a bit tricky, but quite solvable. From your outburst earlier I was worried it might take longer to help-"

Brit'ni stood up fast from her seat, her chair scraping noisiliy against the floor beneath her. "I'm going to get some air," she said, as if there was anywhere you could get fresh air on Coruscant.

"Brit'ni, did I do something wrong-?"

"No, you were very helpful."

"It was no problem at all, the question was elementary-"

"I'm getting some air!" Brit'ni reiterated with more force, slamming the door shut behind her as she stalked from Tech's room.

She ended up going for some jwa bing--a tasty fried dough snack sold by a vendor just outside Tech's apartment. She walked around his neighborhood, slowly consuming the greasy disc as she let herself cool off. The area was a little tough, but during the day she felt safe enough.

About a half hour later and Brit'ni was filled with regret--both at the heavy, greasy feeling settling in her stomach and at the childish way she'd reacted earlier. She knew Tech wasn't the most tactful with how he expressed himself--it was one of the things she liked about him. She'd need to be patient with him if she wanted him to be patient with her.

She walked back to the apartment and Tech buzzed her in without question. She entered the keycode to his room and was already composing an apology in her head when the door whooshed open to reveal a flustered Tech, his goggles resting haphazardly atop his head and a stack of flimsi--flimsi--in his hands.

"Brit'ni, I wanted to apologize-"

"You shouldn't have to apologize," Brit'ni said, almost angry with the contrite lilt to his voice. "I was being childish. You helped me, and I'm grateful."

"I appreciate that, but I still need to apologize. I spoke with Echo and he helped me understand that by answering your question so quickly and with no explanation, I may have implied a shortcoming in intelligence on your part. That I trivialized the difficulties you were having with the assignment by suggesting that it should have been easy."

He was right, of course. That was exactly how he'd made her feel. Most of the time Tech's staggering intellect didn't intimidate Brit'ni. She knew she was smart too--maybe in different areas, but smart all the same. And she knew that Tech's brilliant mind sometimes kept him from seeing the bigger picture. But every once in a while it hit her just how much better he was than her at certain things--a lot of things, if she was being honest. And sometimes it hurt.

Tech took a step towards her and held out the short stack of flimsi like a peace offering. Brit'ni took it and looked down to find neat lines of scribbled calculations filling the flimsi, Tech's consistently-chaotic handwriting unmistakable.

"I wrote out a detailed explanation of the integration--each step as well as the underlying theorem supporting them," he said, taking a step back as soon as she had the flimsi securely in her hands. "I also tried to build in an explanation of the kind of intuition that makes problems like these easier. When I said this problem was simple, it is because I have seen others like it before. The next time you see a problem like this you will see what to do next just s easily. It is only a matter of experience."

Her eyes scanned the first page of notes, and already the impossibly tangled problem she'd been slaving over for several hours seemed to slip loose. His notes were thorough, straightforward, and easy to understand. She could do this.

For some reason, hot tears filled her eyes. She clutched the papers to her chest, the stress of her coming exams and the frustration of the assignment hitting her all at once.

"Brit'ni?" Tech asked, his voice quiet. "Is this acceptable? I can offer an alternate apology-"

"It's perfect, Tech," she said, raising a hand to wipe the moisture from her eyes. "Thank you."

Relief flooded his expression and he stepped up to her, wrapping his arms around her in that oddly precise way of his. "I think you are very intelligent, and especially knowledgeable in your field," he said into her hair. "And I want to be able to help you when you need it."

"I want that, too," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. "Just... try not to be a condescending ass about it."

He chuckled, the sound resonating across each unit of surface area they shared. Then he coughed. "I'll, eh, do my best. I'm sure you will always let me know if that is the case?"

"Deal."

"Deal."

[dailydnp]

Daniel Howell: "Mental health isn't a mystery"

YouTuber Daniel Howell has written a book aimed at demystifying mental health and offering a toolkit for people who are struggling. He tells us why You Will Get Through This Night.

Dan Howell has a message for the struggling.

Don't suffer in silence. Reach out. Connect.

"It can be hard to ask for help, but you just need to think how you'd feel if a friend did the same," says Howell. "It wouldn't be a burden, you'd feel better that you can help them and it might bring you closer."

The YouTuber has written a book that aims to demystify mental health, a straight-talking missive that offers practical solutions and even a few jokes. He describes You Will Get Through This Night as a "lean, mean, mental health machine" – check out our interview below.

Tell us about your new book – You Will Get Through This Night…

This is the book that I wish I could have read when I needed it. Too many of us go through life not really thinking about our mental health, how we think and how it makes us feel, and if we just learn a few tips (that we should all be taught) it can literally change our lives! Why waste any more time? The book is a lean, mean, mental health machine - there's no fluff or waffle, it gets straight to the point and tells you the practical things you can try in your life right now that will make a difference.

I'm here as the guy that makes it relatable, so you don't feel bad if you see yourself in these struggles, and funny. Because sometimes after a long day the last thing I want to do is 'homework' or read something boring, so if I can make a few inappropriate jokes about my mess of a life to make it enjoyable, I'm happy to.

Are there any books you used as inspiration when writing yours?

I actually really tried to avoid getting influenced by other books out there! A lot of mental health books are either: celeb memoirs that are amazing for relating to and shattering the stigma, but not great advice for you, or serious psychological self help that goes really deep on specific topics and the theory, but are a struggle to get through to the important revelations.

If you only ever buy one book to understand your mind and sort your life out – I want this to be the one. It's like the highlights of the entire library, crammed into 300 pages – designed for you not to just read once, but come back to and refer to as a toolkit for whenever you need it.

Was there a specific incident in your life that spurred you to write it?

Definitely. When I opened up about my struggles with depression, it was incredibly hard – and terrifying. I seriously thought I'd damage my career, people would judge me and think I'm 'crazy' and I'd have to wade through misunderstanding. It was the opposite. People empathised, understood and related.

Some people saw themselves in my story and realised for the first time that their life wasn't supposed to be that way, others finally understood a silent struggle that someone in their life was going through too. It showed me not just the importance of sharing your story to break the stigma that still exists around mental health, but how much incredibly important stuff there is for all of us to know about our minds!

My experience in life has given me a following of passionate people that show me every day the power we all have by telling our stories, the responsibility that comes with a platform, and the good you can do with it. I knew I had to write the book that could have saved me years of struggling – so hopefully someone out there doesn't go through the same.

Great trailer for the book! And really astute point: everyone in the world is alone with their thoughts before they fall asleep. How do you manage your thoughts in that time?

Thank you! I really wanted to show firstly, that mental health is universal. A lot of us only think 'mental health' applies to people with serious anxiety or depression, when it's actually how all of us think and feel all the time – if you are too stressed, have difficulty dealing with anger, or worry too much up in your head and it's holding you back in any way from enjoying life, that's your mental health! You can do something about it.

I'm someone that has real trouble getting to sleep if I'm worrying about stuff and the book deals with this in so many ways: from learning mindfulness to get perspective on your thoughts, to being present and using your senses and body to change how your brain operates, to the practical side of sorting out your problems so they don't go bump in the night.

Deep question – but why do you think night often brings out our darker thoughts and emotions? (No pun intended.)

'The Night' is such an important metaphor, not just for the dark times, but that literally we spend all our days pushing our fears to the back of our minds (to be distracted by the activities of the day), but when night comes and it's just you and your thoughts – they suddenly appear and you have to confront the truth.

We're all great at lying to ourselves about what bothers us and how we really feel, whether that's a day to day problem on your mind or a huge skeleton in the closet (for me literally my own skeleton) that is having a huge effect on your life.

The good news is – you can 'be your own light'. Mental health isn't a mystery or something set in stone, it's something you can influence and shape to make yourself healthier and happier.

As a YouTuber, how would you describe the relationship between your mental health and social media? Presumably it must be complicated…

I am definitely trapped in a digital nightmare that I created, haha! Social media has its good sides, from finding communities and support, to having fun and even learning about things that you might not get from a classroom or in your real world environment.

The downside is that the internet brings out the worst in people, from trolls hiding behind screens, to social media beaming us with addictive algorithms that force us to compare ourselves to the highlight reels of our friends' lives and the world's most perfect and successful celebrities.

Even just the information overload of our social lives and the 24 hour news cycle is too much for our primitive brains to handle, no wonder it's so bloody stressful!

How would you recommend people use social media for the benefit of their mental health? And negate its potentially harmful effects?

I do a whole deep dive on social media and how to manage it. From 'muting' that annoying friend, to curating the content on your timeline to take it from stressful and upsetting, to inspirational and mood boosting! It's important to get perspective on why people act differently on the internet and how to interpret the sometimes extreme actions we see (that someone would never do in real life).

We have this incredible power in our hands, connecting us to the whole world all the time, we just need to know how to make it work for us.

Is there a piece of advice or mantra that you’ve found helpful? Either someone else’s or one of your own?

I'll spoil it now: the number one tip for managing your mental health and general emotional wellbeing is support from others. I say this as the biggest introvert in the world that needs a two week holiday alone in a cave after going to a party for five minutes – but sharing what you're thinking and feeling with another person can be a lifesaver.

Even if they don't have magical advice, just feeling seen, heard, acknowledged and getting what's going on up in your head out into the world and onto the table can give you perspective and feel less alone. It can be hard to ask for help, but you just need to think how you'd feel if a friend did the same – it wouldn't be a burden, you'd feel better that you can help them and it might bring you closer!

Don't suffer in silence. You've got this. You will get through this night.

[panharmonium]

you know what?

no.  absolutely not.

i already did part 1 of this post here.  i’m back again with part 2, because unfortunately the awfulness factor doesn’t stop with arthur, and as much as i adore hunith generally, this entire sequence is a MESS.

and yes, i am aware that pretty much nobody else thinks so.  every time i see this scene referenced in fandom, it is always framed as a fun, cutesy, sing-songy moment of “oooo, hunith ships merthur!”  literally every time.  

which, you know, like i always say about everything fandom-related - that’s fine.  everybody is going to enjoy things differently; you do you, and keep on having fun!  but here on my own blog, in my own space, i am gonna do me, and in this case ‘me’ involves yelling about how much i can’t stand that particular read, and how angry the end of 1.10 makes me.

disclaimer, to help folks curate their own fandom experiences: i am going to be Very Cranky for the rest of this post.  if you love this particular scene in the way i just mentioned, you will probably want to scroll on by, because this piece of meta most likely won’t be your jam.  as always, these are my personal thoughts and nobody is obligated to share them, so please do not hesitate to simply skip this post if we are on different wavelengths - instead, keep enjoying fandom in whatever way is most fun for you!

fair warning now given, off i go on a long, frustrated tirade.

i already wrote about the first half of this scene, where arthur decides that the appropriate thing to do at this particular moment is to give merlin a scolding about the evils of sorcery, despite the fact that the only reason arthur is even alive to deliver this lecture in the first place is because merlin’s ‘sorcerer’ best friend just DIED saving arthur’s life.  but sure, you know what, let’s use said best friend’s funeral to chastise merlin about how “dangerous” sorcerers are.  let’s just make that completely dickheaded decision.  

and, moving on to the second half of this scene - here’s the thing.  hunith overhears this entire conversation.  she overhears arthur telling merlin off about sorcery, in front of the burning corpse of merlin’s best friend, who is, as far as arthur knows, the ‘sorcerer’ who died saving arthur’s life.  

and yet, for some inexplicable reason, hunith still cannot get off the arthur pendragon train for two damn seconds.  

she has known arthur for less than a week.  by contrast, she has known will for his entire life.  but the instant arthur walks away, hunith sidles up next to merlin and says, “you’d better be going” - like.  okay, my god, can you try to hustle him away from his best friend’s in-progress funeral any faster?????  how about we maybe give him a second?  the pyre hasn’t even burnt down yet, and merlin hasn’t had a single second to himself since this sequence started.  he’s had to stand there and listen to arthur insult the dude who everyone is supposed to be memorializing, and then hunith - who overheard the entire thing - zips right over and tries to chivvy merlin on his way.  you’d better be going.

HELLO?!  the pyre is still roaring.  how about, instead of hassling merlin and hustling him offstage, everybody just sits down and waits for a minute.  how about they all just leave merlin alone for three everloving seconds.  

honestly, just - every time i think about this scene i get angrier.

i love hunith, and i know she’s well-intentioned.  but everything she gives merlin in this scene is the exact opposite of what he needs.  he doesn’t need to be hurried off the village green like there’s some reason he can’t stay there for the entirety of his friend’s funeral.  he doesn’t need to be pushed into going back to camelot when he is clearly struggling with the idea of leaving ealdor again.  and he absolutely does not need to be told how much someone else “needs” him right now, when he himself is the one who is having a fucking crisis and who needs someone to take care of him.

i cannot emphasize that last point enough.  it is just - beyond upsetting to me that hunith literally watches arthur shitting on merlin’s dead best friend (and, by proxy, merlin himself, since merlin is the actual sorcerer) and she still somehow thinks the right thing to do is walk over and start telling merlin how great arthur is and how arthur “needs” him and how merlin “belongs at arthur’s side.”  

i can’t stand that.  it makes me so angry.  it’s not right.  it’s not fair.  it’s damaging.  it’s the same shitty messaging that destroys merlin’s life in later seasons, this idea that he exists for someone else’s sake, the complete disregard for what he himself might want at any given moment, for what he himself might need, for the reservations he might have about this plan that other people have formulated for his life.

he is UNCOMFORTABLE when she says these things to him!  he doesn’t look at her; he shifts his gaze to arthur and the camelot squad with this grim, unconvinced expression on his face, and then he averts his eyes from her.

everything hunith tells merlin in this scene is the exact opposite of what he needs to hear.  he does not need someone to tell him how badly his services are “needed” by a man who hates the person merlin truly is, not when the only friend who ever accepted merlin’s true self has just been killed.  he does not need to be told that arthur, who is alive solely because will is dead and who only seconds ago expressed exactly zero gratitude for that sacrifice, is the person to whom merlin owes his undying loyalty.  he does not need to be shuffled off to camelot as quickly as possible, as if it would be better for him to just rush forward and forget what happened here, as if what happened here didn’t matter.  

because what happened here did matter, whether hunith and arthur find it convenient to acknowledge or not.  i have to lay this out again, because what happened to merlin in ealdor is so much more important than anybody ever seems to realize - and i do understand that, i really do (because yes, it was just one episode for us) - but we have to look at it from merlin’s perspective, not the audience’s.

will wasn’t ‘one episode’ for merlin.  

i can’t say this enough times.  i cannot say this loudly enough.

merlin, at the beginning of this show, has only ever had ONE FRIEND.

most of us can’t even imagine something like that.  

but try.  TRY.  

merlin has only ever had one friend.  he’s only ever had one friend to love him.  he only had one friend for the first two decades of his life.  he’s only been in camelot for a couple of months; he’s only known these camelot people for a couple of months, and they don’t know his real self anyhow.  and now his ONLY FRIEND, the person he’s known all his life, the only friend he ever had who knew him for who he truly was, was just violently cut down before his very eyes, whilst saving a guy who can legally have merlin murdered for just existing.  and even though merlin and will spend the entirety of 1.10 having a painful, complicated argument, will still uses his last moments on earth to tell the biggest fucking whopper of his life, in order to shield merlin from harm, taking all of the danger and infamy and condemnation upon himself.  he dies with a lie on his lips.  he dies with merlin’s hand in his hair.  

and all the while, merlin knows that this would not have happened if he had just been willing to use his magic in the first place, instead of letting his fear of discovery prompt him into allowing his neighbors to offer themselves up for the slaughter in his place.

the avalanching double-whammy of grief and guilt that merlin is suddenly slammed with at the end of this episode is almost incomprehensible in scale.

i’ve talked about this before, but again, i think it’s something we don’t generally remember: losing will is the first time merlin has ever experienced personal bereavement.  and he doesn’t get to start out with a warm-up; he goes straight to the big leagues.  this is not some trifling thing.  this is a total implosion of merlin’s world as he knows it.  

when we think about the mark this episode leaves on merlin’s life, i don’t think most of us consider the magnitude of this event deeply enough.  losing will in this way is not some one-off thing that merlin just...gets over.  this is the most earth-shattering thing that has ever happened to him, at this point in time.  it is still one of the worst things that has ever happened to him, period, even years later.  the guilt never goes away.  

and the thing that’s unique about this particular trauma is that merlin has to manage it alone.  there are other tragedies in his life where we witness him receiving support/comfort from others - freya, lancelot, balinor (though of course there are aspects to these miseries that merlin has to keep secret from other people, as well) - but with will, merlin has to do everything on his own.  he can’t get one single moment of peace at will’s funeral.  his own mother, the only person who knows what really happened, can’t help him without making everything about arthur.  and merlin can’t tell anyone else what happened, not the truth of it, because doing so would squander the gift he’s been given - will’s lie is still protecting him, years later, from arthur and morgana both.  

merlin, at the end of 1.10, is forced to navigate this grief completely alone, in the silent secrecy of his own heart.  arthur is actively making it worse.  hunith is out here singing arthur’s praises.  and will is just like - he’s suddenly not part of the conversation anymore.  he doesn’t even register on anyone’s radar.

it truly is...incredible, for me, to watch hunith overhear arthur being legitimately terrible to both merlin and the guy who just died saving merlin AND arthur’s lives, and then to see her come over and start talking about how merlin belongs at arthur’s side, how much merlin needs to be there for him, how they’re two sides of the same coin.  meanwhile, the guy who literally just lied his life away to protect merlin’s secret and who NEVER made merlin feel like he had to hide who he was and who never had any problem with magic in the first place and never made merlin feel unsafe and never treated merlin like he was less of a human being just for existing -

- he’s just burning to ash there, and hunith doesn’t even acknowledge that, despite the fact that merlin is so visibly, intently, single-mindedly focused on that funeral pyre, and so clearly in distress and in pain and NEEDING somebody.  all she can talk about is merlin’s responsibility to arthur.  

the dissonance here is baffling.  hunith has known will forever.  she met arthur less than a week ago.  she barely knows him, and what she does know is that he thinks magic-users are dangerous/evil.  she saw him being a dick to her kid.  she knows her son is having the worst day of his life.  and she still doesn’t offer a single comforting word in reference to the person who just died protecting merlin’s secret, instead choosing to wax poetic about a man whose bigotry is what merlin needed protecting from in the first place.

that...is a hot mess.  the merlin-hunith-will dynamic is one of the few things in this show that reflects less-than-stellarly on hunith’s character, however much i love her.  and even though it all stems from an overwhelming desire to keep her son safe, it doesn’t make her choices any less damaging.  she sends merlin away specifically because she finds out that will knows about his secret.  she spends 1.10 analyzing and encouraging and dissecting merlin’s relationship with arthur, when merlin’s relationship with will is the one that desperately needs attention.  she’s proven wrong about will’s trustworthiness in the most stunning, powerful way possible, and then she never even acknowledges him, instead choosing to laud the dude who literally forces merlin to live in fear of execution.

she’s merlin’s mother.  she’s the only person in his life who knows anything about what will actually meant to him.  she is his only possible resource as he tries to weather a kind of devastation that defies description.  

and she, like arthur, just barrels right on ahead and makes everything about someone else.

the cinematography choices in this scene matter.  whenever arthur or hunith tries to talk to merlin, the camera is placed on the opposite side of the fire from them, meaning the flames are always in the foreground of the frame.  they are something we are required to see and look past before we can get to anything else in the scene.  and in terms of directorial/acting decisions - merlin doesn’t take his eyes off the pyre until the end of his conversation with hunith.  not once while talking to arthur does he look away from it.

the funeral pyre is always in the foreground of the shot, because it’s in the forefront of merlin’s mind.  that is where his focus is right now.  that is what is taking up all of his attention.  that is what is edging into the frame, eating up our entire field of view.  that is what he needs help with.

but he doesn’t get any such support.  the entire sequence ends up revolving around arthur.  will’s entire funeral is about arthur fucking pendragon.  arthur inserts himself so he can talk to merlin about how evil magic is, and then hunith inserts herself so she can talk to merlin about how great arthur is.  nobody ever stops to think that maybe merlin doesn’t want to talk to anybody right this second.  merlin’s entire ‘farewell’ to the only true friend he ever had in his life is completely swallowed up by the prince of camelot, and if that isn’t a metaphor for the rest of merlin’s life, then i don’t know what is.  

i know nobody needs to hear this, because very few people are invested in this kid at the same level of embarrassing detail as me, but here it is, anyway.  

yes, will is prickly.  he’s hard to get on with.  he’s angry.  he’s bitter and snappy and uncharitable, sometimes.

but you know what?  he has every reason to be like that.  

this kid has nobody.  his own best friend’s mother - who has known him all his life - doesn’t trust him and doesn’t respect him.  she is too afraid for her own son’s safety to give will any credit.  she sends merlin away to camelot, the most violently anti-magic place in the world, because apparently, will knowing about merlin’s secret would be even more dangerous than uther pendragon’s genocidal reign.

think about how that would feel.  to hear something like that about yourself.  to be somebody who is already so goddamn alone in the world, and to have your only friend vanish without so much as a ‘see you later,’ and then to be made to feel, however indirectly, like this is somehow your fault, like you’re the liability, like you’re the untrustworthy element here.  as if you, somehow, are more dangerous than a king who literally pays to have sorcerers trafficked to him in cages.

will has every right to be upset, all the time.  he has every reason to be angry, and bitter, and hurt, all the time.  to be thought so poorly of - to be held in such low esteem - when he hasn’t done anything wrong, when he hasn’t ever done anything to earn that kind of mistrust - and to have that same misplaced suspicion used to justify separating him from the only person in the world who gives a damn about him - if it were me, i would be constantly on the verge of screaming, all the time.

will has always been on merlin’s side, and he has never done anything to endanger him, and in the end he gives up everything to make sure merlin can stay safe and hidden and unhunted.  he shouldn’t have needed to prove his goodness, his constancy, his worth; not when he’s already kept merlin’s secret for who knows how many years, but even after he does do so, it doesn’t even matter.  arthur acknowledges him only to disparage sorcery.  hunith passes him over completely in favor of praising arthur, with no acknowledgment of the misjudgment she made.

i have said before that merlin tends to befriend people who have nobody, people who’ve been left behind by the rest of the world, people who’ve been made to feel that they aren’t worthy of love.  and will, merlin’s oldest friend, was the first of those many characters, and it is so heartbreaking to me that in this instance, the same kind of disinterested and careless attitude towards his worth that dogged him all his life is perpetuated and affirmed after his death.  ‘people are used to ignoring him,’ merlin tells arthur, and merlin is right - even when will is dead and burning, arthur only sees sorcery.  hunith, who we would expect to be more sympathetic, only sees arthur.

merlin is the only one who knows better.  merlin has always known better, and he loves will so much, but he is the only one, apparently, and honestly, after will dies?  nobody else even tries to understand.

to sum up:

hunith and arthur, for all that i love them, are both way out of line at the end of this episode.  

the legacy of this experience, for merlin, is that he spends the rest of his life processing this particular trauma alone.  and that is why i always, always have to keep will and ealdor in the back of my mind when i write for merlin in any capacity - because this event isn’t some simple stumbling block for him; it changes him forever.  it teaches him what he can and can’t expect from the people around him, and it solidifies how irrelevant his own needs are when viewed in comparison with arthur’s, even to people who barely even KNOW arthur; people who are supposed to put merlin first over everything.  it teaches merlin to bury his sorrow, and to wrestle with personal suffering in secret, because if things aren’t ultimately about arthur, then they aren’t important enough to be granted any significant amount of time for merlin to deal with.  merlin’s own grief, even at his best friend’s funeral, takes too long to resolve.  arthur walks away from the pyre, and it’s time for merlin to leave, too.  you’d better be going.

bottom line: i don’t care if other people think this whole ‘ooo, everybody wants merlin to be with arthur’ thing is wonderful or beautiful or dreamily romantic.  it isn’t.  it’s ugly, and it’s cruel, and it stripped merlin of his present identity and his future potential, one stolen moment at a time.

[onewomancitadel]

Was the aura-bond idea inspired by the one Reylo had? Or did you come up with it and only notice the similarities later? It's a cool way to tie into another one of your ships, especially since it's plausible in-universe.

It's reaaaaaaaaaally awkward getting an ask about Reylo when I have new followers, but let's rip off the bandaid anyway. (Don't worry Lar, you're wonderful).

If there's anybody who followed me today who doesn't like Reylo, I won't ask any questions if you decide to unfollow. There might be a post about it on here eventually anyway, I just don't really post about it anymore. I think it's only fair that you make sure to curate your fandom experience - that's also a standard policy on my blog, come and go as you please. (:

Anyway, that aside.

Well, it's not specific to Reylo and it sort of is. I love psychic bonds but generally the trope of enemies having to spend time together without hurting each other, and also ideas about transcendental contact beyond their respective stations.

Being that I'm a TFA Reylo (am I bragging? Is this bragging? Yes, I've decided it is), so before the Force bond became canon in TLJ, a lot of us were all already on board with the Force bond because of Ohtze's essay about it, and a few others - a very popular meta writer who wrote incredible stuff was harrassed until she deleted her blog so those posts are unfortunately gone. If you look at the date on Ohtze's post, you'll notice it was only a couple of weeks after TFA's release.

It was probably one of my favourite fandom experiences ever, being right about TLJ. Forget theory posts on Reddit, Reylo Tumblrinas already knew what they were doing.

Anyway, what I'm saying is, is that there was a canon precedent in SW canon for a Force bond - namely, the romantic connection of Revan and Bastila there that you can see - and we also know that probably the only concrete thing planned in the Sequel Trilogy, other than Lucas' initial concepts for it (like isolated, cynic recluse Luke), was Reylo. So, they had some idea where they were going with that, and also it's known that Rian Johnson is a fan of KOTOR, lol.

But there are also other ships I've shipped that have this sort of stuff, and I'm not trying to say I'm copying Reylo, but sort of that this is a general idea that interests me and it's why Reylo was so precious to me (one of many). With another ship I was into, there was the sense that they could see/interact with one another in their dreams - and even separated, caught glimpses of each other. Unfortunately, it's relatively rare... that is, enemies-to-lovers, or lovers-to-enemies, etc., which also happens to involve mystical, magical, transcendental forces...

which are also kind of slightly, not really slightly, but overtly, metaphorical for compassion. It's a very Campbellian idea (which is why it's appropriate to SW), because I think he was interested in the metaphysics of compassion and empathy - and in fiction you can literally realise that, in a way. But embedded within that are all of my favourite tropes about enemies-to-lovers.

Pic to break up the text, now I kind of want Boss Undercover Cinder Fall.

Because what interests me in particular isn't really hatred - though that is one of them - but moreso the idea that this is a type of contact/compassion that is BEYOND ANYTHING. Beyond who they are, who they're supposed to be, what they're supposed to do, whom they're supposed to love, where they think they should be going... this compassion and love defies all things, it carries all things, and it's the scariest/hardest thing and it's also the most immediately correct thing, it's the most powerful

These are really compelling themes, particularly once read in the context of a villainess who wants power to never be hurt again and a hero who thought he had it all figured out.

So all of the aforementioned can be represented by a psychic bond. How and where and why you do it will always look different. If you look at Alina and the Darkling's bond, it's not a good thing - because The Gris/ha Trilogy is textually confused, it is metaphorically messed up, but he comes to represent her lust for power. His bed is a cold comfort, their metaphysical contact is actually a bad thing. More reasons I don't like those books and I don't like that ship at all. (I can elaborate more, but basically the books are so textually confused and misuse a lot of their source materials, and I also find the books honestly sexist).

I hate Alina and the Darkling's example, but I just used that for the purposes of demonstrating it will always seem a bit different. Rey and Ben's, of course, is cinematic, and the kinds of ideas you can convey with that is different to text - for instance, when they're finally onscreen together, it's also when they finally physically touch and he's witnessed her deepest, darkest fears. That carries a different sense of poignancy.

Wait... this isn't Reylo.

Anyway, I loved Reylo in particular because of the bond and what it represented, and it's a real shame the third film never really capitalised on its potential beyond its use for... fighting?

But circling around to R/WBY: an Aura bond is already an idea in the show, it's the imprisonment Oscar experiences with Oz. In their case, that is a transition into adulthood for Oscar - it's thrust on him, like the hero's journey - and Oz's is a reincarnating curse post-divorce with his ex-wife.

So now you see where the Reverse Salem/Ozma stuff comes into play, because the differences between Oz's bond and Jaune/Cinder's bond are actually pretty significant, which you can see I do... attempt at going into.

1. They both chose it

2. It's a product of Jaune's Semblance (an expression of his soul) and Cinder's Dark Curse (all of her pain means something), not anything to do with the Brother gods. It's a moment of intense beauty amidst intense ugliness

3. They both... continue to choose it

4. Cinder (Salem analogue structurally) is the one bonded to Jaune (Oz analogue structurally), so it's not Ozma reincarnating forever with other, random people (who are 'like him'). It's a symbolic healing of their split and what they wrought on the world together

And I'm actually sort of stoked with how well it lined up. Reverse Salem/Ozma was part of the reason I first started shipping it, because I love poetic storytelling, I love stuff being healed, and it is FRANKLY INCREDIBLE to me I'd ever get anything remotely as good as Reylo ever again. Reylo ticks all of the boxes I'm completely and totally obsessed with, and then somehow Knightfall goes beyond that!?!?!!?!?!!??!!?!!? I mean, the distinction with Knightfall is that its canonicity is still arguably in the air, whereas Reylo was the true canon ship of ST, but I'm speaking just in terms of fandom experience.

So, I would say overall that I've always loved psychic bonds (I can think of a very early enemies-to-lovers ship that involved tangential stuff too, it's a pattern for me), I love what they represent metaphorically, I love all of the stuff you can do with it - seeing each other when they're vulnerable... funny hijinks, perhaps - and so yeah, Reylo inspired me, but it's textually grounded in R/WBY too, and even works for Reverse Salem/Ozma, not just in a metaphorical way. It's actually a 'thing' that where if Salem experiences Ozma's grief, and vice versa, they can come to know each other better and heal and confront the real conflict.

Also like, I think I've said it before, but I also wanted The Distance Which Fools the Skimming Eye to explore all the stuff I haven't seen necessarily explored in other psychically bonded enemies-to-lovers. The context of Knightfall really changes things too, compared to Reylo and my other ships, so that's a lot of fun. I also really just like that because R/WBY is so fairytale-grounded and emotionally earnest, it feels textually/canonically appropriate to really lean into the mystical elements, whereas I feel like with SW canon certain audiences are resolutely distinterested in Campbell (or Jung, as he's used in TLJ).

That's one of the many reasons I love writing it. I hope my answer isn't too long, but I did actually experience grief early on being like, 'Am I making Knightfall something it isn't?' or 'Am I just copying Reylo?' when I realised that no, it's actually very canonically appropriate, and it's something I was always interested in - pre-canon Reylo Force bond.

And idk, I make jokes to myself about Cinder and Jaune accidentally getting married in Vegas.

[chaoticspacefam]

wonder if part of why the swtor jedi-sith conflict plays the way it does with “sith stans” and etc because the sith empire are functionally saturday morning cartoon villains - “murder and mayhem await!” compared to the more, i guess, believable evil of the republic/jedi following good ideals to bad conclusions and justifying war crimes

I'd certainly say it doesn't help things, you're right! I have...a lot of issues with the Jedi and their portrayal (especially in the Legends/SWTOR era), but I also recognise that a lot of that is very personal to me and that another fan might feel differently. Long, ranty post ahead so if that's not your deal, skip this one.

TL;DR: thinking critically about the behaviour of the Good Guys bad, I guess, since they're the good guys and you're obviously not allowed to use your own agency to decide something they do makes you deeply, viscerally uncomfortable.  And God help you if you disagree with anything they do and cite personal experience behind your (very justified) avoidance of that rhetoric/teaching, because Bad Things Justified If Good People Do Them and how dare you have different personal experiences and responses. If that's what you do, you're doing fandom wrong /s Also, bad writing choices of the writers themselves that perpetuate toxic, harmful viewpoints and/or stereotypes don't mean anything when said viewpoints/stereotypes are the Bad Guys because...Bad Guys Aren’t Supposed To Be People With Rights, Thoughts and Feelings Too, They’re Just Evil, (cringe)

Disagreeing with someone’s opinions is fine, but if you’re going to deliberately expose yourself to content you don’t like and then attack the person that is making the content because they made it and it upset you when you went looking for it....you are, in fact, the one at fault babes. No one is holding you hostage, you can block tags or unfollow a person (especially me. I really don’t care honest to god, if my posts are not your jam just leave. please.) if you hate what they post so much and are unable to just scroll past things you don’t like to stay for things you do. I’ve done it and will continue to do so, and my fandom experience is happier for it. Also, people are human and sometimes we’re tired and we make mistakes like we miss a trigger tag, and you are within your right to come to the person and point that out, but you are not within your right to threaten them because they made a mistake. Then you’re just a dick.

But I still wouldn't be the one going around (passive) aggressively attacking other fans for disagreeing with my opinions and again, this is based on personal experience, but I've seen a lot more of that stuff from "pro-Jedi" people who seem to be conveniently okay with shit like mass-genocide and cultural erasure because "the Jedi are the good guys and the (OT) Sith are fascists!"

I don't interact with the subsect of fans that do think "the (OT) Empire did nothing wrong hurr durr" unironically (and for good reason, I don't agree with that viewpoint either and the fact that half the time the "defence" of these other fans is "well you're pro-fascist then!!" lmao) but there's a very big gap between the OT Empire which is rightfully a mirror of fascism and dictatorial governments and I do, in fact, raise my eyebrows in heavy criticism and disdain at the writers of the TOR-era deliberately choosing to "justify" the ultimate end being said fascist Empire by making the Sith species (and as always I preface this by saying I am in fact white & therefore know I have priveledge and can only "relate" on a much shallower level as POC fans, but there are places where I do find them more relatable than the TOR-era Jedi which reek of conservative, pearl-clutching Christianity (which I spent way too much of my life having forced upon me by the bible-bashing Evangelists(tm) in my family) to me and I just don't have the fucks to give to spend time fixing something that's honestly traumatising for me to be reminded of):

-heavily Indigenous/POC-coded

-"tribal" and not in a properly-researched and respectfully portrayed sense but in a very deliberate "these people are savage and need to be colonised and "sophisticated" by the More Acceptible (Human) Dark Jedi" even though they had their own society, belief systems, and even had technology - just not in the "socially acceptible, conventional sense" I guess

-perpetuating this by adding slavery and all of that can of worms into the mix too, just to drive home the "evil and bad" prototype ig. I'm not even gonna speak more on this part because it just makes me angry.

-Deliberately giving them more "alien" or inhuman characteristics, which while by itself is not necessarily a bad thing, put it together with all the other things?? Big. Fucking. Oof.

-Were literally exterminated and the survivors selectively bred for ONLY the "bad and evil" traits for not agreeing with the Jedi's beliefs. Their own practises and beliefs were automatically "evil" and "wrong" just because they didn't want to "convert" (sniff sniff, Christianity, is that you?)

A direct quote for those who can't be bothered to click and read the link:

For nearly two thousand years, superstition, loyalty and sympathy were bred out as the two groups interbred, and qualities such as cunning, ambition and affinity to the Force were favored, which shaped Sith society over the centuries.[3][21][22] In the Sith Empire, as time progressed pure-blooded Sith were steadily bred out,[6] resulting in only a few pure-blooded Sith left in the Sith Empire by the time of the Great Hyperspace War.[13] Long after, the true species in the Empire were believed to have gone extinct due to the interbreeding process.

And conversely the Jedi:

-Deny young children contact with their parents, siblings and families from the moment their Force sensitivity shows (hmmmm. )

-Continually and actively support the condemnation and Exile of "imperfect" Jedi, hell, it's even pointed out on Wookieepedia, that any Force sensitive, even those who are not aligned to either faction, but that train with or follow teachings that are not Jedi Approved (tm) is labelled as a "Dark Jedi" by the Jedi Order

Although "Dark Jedi" originally referred to a Jedi who had fallen to the dark side, it could also refer to uninitiated Force-sensitives who received no Jedi training but began their careers under another Dark Jedi. Others were simply dark-side users who did not follow the teachings of the Sith or other dark side organizations.

because "oh noooo you do not follow the way of the Truth and the Light you horrible person how dare you defy The One True Correct Teaching, that makes you the Devil Incarnate no matter what" UGH.

-Continuously push the idea (very heavily) that Emotions Are Bad, which just creates a bunch of emotionally-stunted powderkegs unable to recognise, confront and deal with said emotions (and as I've said, I would know, I was one and maybe still am in some ways lmao) , then blames said powderkeg for exploding because they were never taught how to handle the emotions in the first place.

(Fuck "there is no emotion, there is peace", that's not how people work and never will be lmao)

I don't really know what else to say about this to be honest, because even though I've only been on tumblr about a year now, I'm already tired of this constant "I'm right, you're wrong" finger-pointing between those people in the fandom.

Cause to some of these "pro-Jedi" people it's an unthinkable crime to dare to have a different opinion to them and just want to be left alone, I guess. I've literally been attacked for saying "I don't like the Jedi and find dealing with their dogma too traumatising based on personal experience and trauma from my childhood so I'm going to avoid it but you do you"

I've had American Christians (tm) clap back to that with the ever-wonderful "LMAO bitch you don't have religious trauma, you didn't grow up in the bible-belt, stop trying to be edgy, shut up and go to therapy"

(all of this is sarcasm, for those who need me to spell it out for you. I'm still traumatised by the shit I went through and have to constantly check myself and my own feelings because of the toxic "habits" those teachings tried to push onto me as a child and I have zero tolerance and patience for your (not you, ssalmon, but the royal "you" as it were) victim-blaming abuse apologism "gotchas")

because 1) clearly American Christianity and the bible-belt are the only insidious and harmful subsect of Christianity and it's not like the concept of Evangelism as a whole is inherently toxic, harmful, and traumatising to those subjected to it right 2) Obviously there's a Stated Right Way To Be Traumatised and anyone who falls outside of that (Non-Existent) handbook is "faking it for attention" 3) bold of them to assume that curating my own fandom (and life) experience, and refusing to engage with things that trigger me, isn't something that I literally fucking learned in therapy lmao

Also, I find it funny how these are the people going around attacking people like me, who are literally minding our own motherfucking business, but then claim to preach “love and tolerism” and all this other bullshit. Karen, sweetie, only one of us is going around telling people they deserve to be murdered/stabbed for disagreeing with thier opinion about a videogame and pointing out that “hey, that’s...very yikes maybe don’t do that, step back and calm down” and it ain’t me (true story, this happened a couple of months ago and I don’t wanna dredge the post up because it’s very upsetting to think about) People are allowed to have opinions, and they don’t have to agree with your opinion just because that’s what you think, and the second that you sink to sending people death threats because they don’t share your opinion, you are, in fact, the asshole in that conversation.

It was even funnier because the person in question followed me first, I initially thought they were pretty cool so I followed back, then they threw a massive temper-tantrum and threw a bunch of very upsetting and triggering shit at me without my consent because I didn’t agree with them (I’d even put my opinions in tags on MY blog in an attempt to be courteous and not hijack their post with negativity, in hindsight perhaps I should have made my own post in the first place and I do acknowledge that BUT if that’s all they’d said I would have apologised and moved on, quite gladly, there was no need for them to explode the way they did at me for...making a mistake because I’m a stranger on the internet who didn’t know them & wasn’t a mind-reader and I happened to miss a trigger tag that I didn’t think of at the time lmao)

This post is getting awful long and rambly so I'm going to shut up now, but that's my take on it I guess, I hope that's what you were getting at and if it's not I apologise, I've been taking a huge step back and actively just avoiding any and all major posts related to this discourse as of a few months ago because it just infuriates and upsets me too much, it’s not worth the detriment to my mental health, I’m just here to make friends who are also hyperfixated on SWTOR and have fun vibing and talking about our characters, not get into one-sided morality debates with pearl-clutchers. 🤷

[p---ink]

Stark Contrasts Chapter Five

Author’s Note: This is the last installment, in my Tony Stark Fan-fiction. I loved writing this, but I am also happy to see it come to an end. Please, tell me what you think of this. I can only get better. It means the world to me when I get comments, so let me know how this makes you feel. Also, to my artists out there...I promise I don’t know jackshit about art, so please dont come for my throat. Everything is purely fictional. German speakers, I used google translate, please tell me if anything is off. I love you guys! Thanks for reading!

Summary: Y/N tries to adjust to her life away from Tony. 

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut. In that order. 

Song: I had the song I saw you in a dream by the Japanese House, in mind while writing this. 

Word Count: 11.2k

Parts: one | two | three | four | five 

Chapter Title: The Ends of the Universe

Disclaimer: Picture is not mine. 

Berlin, Germany. Pepper Potts sent you to Berlin. Fucking. Germany. While Berlin was breathtakingly beautiful, and to your surprise very diverse, you knew nothing about it. Nothing about the way of life there. Nothing about the people. To say you were nervous would be an understatement. Scared, would still not do your emotions justice. You were in a place you had made no preparations for, as well as no thoughts of ever visiting. But you guessed that was the point. 

Tony would never look for you here. 

Six months. That’s how long you would be here. Pepper had taken care of everything. The rest of the semester and classes that you were enrolled in before you left, were now moved online. It was that or completing them the next semester. Usually, your university required students complete all prerequisite courses before they took on any internships within their respected fields. So how Ms. Potts got your Dean to agree to such an outlandish change of pace for one of her students, you would never know. What she achieved was unprecedented. That was when you learned quickly to never underestimate her. 

Six months. That’s how long you would be away from Tony. Well actually, the idea, as Pepper calls it, is that you two will have moved on from each other by the end of it all. You weren’t even supposed to contact him when your time was up here. In fact, as long as you were in Germany, you were not to contact anyone you knew. 

Pepper had assured your family and friends of your well-being ahead of time. No they could not know of your location, nor contact you, but they were ensured that you were safe. It took some heavy convincing on her part to get your family to agree, but ultimately they did. In their eyes, they were supporting what was best for you. 

Nao, on the other hand, was not keen on just letting you leave the country. Though your friendship had less than a few days to develop, she became very protective over you. She felt that your leaving was downright bullshit as well as unfair. “Why should Edward fucking Stark, get his happy ending?” She spat. She was also not as willing to trust Pepper as you were. But because you had already made your decision to leave, you entrusted her with the secret of your hidden twitter account. No one, save yourself, knew about it. You agreed that you would regularly tweet from it, as your way of letting her know you were okay. That was the only reason, she didn’t blow the whistle to Tony right away.

Unlike Nao, you had faith in Pepper. You two weren’t the closest, but you had an unspoken respect and trust for one another. Pepper, despite every reason you gave her, did not behave in the way that any other woman in her shoes would have. You had broken her son’s heart by sleeping with his dad, her now ex-husband. Yet here she was, going through all of these hoops for you, just to make sure you didn’t ruin yourself. Of course you trusted her. 

There was one thing she was not truthful to you about however. When she told you the internship was all-expense paid, what she really meant was that she was covering all of it. Your school fees, apartment, food, and any and all luxury items, Pepper would be dishing out the money to take care of it all. While you felt you had no control over everything else, you drew the line there. Though you sort of resented her for her speediness to remove you from States, you refused to let her pay for your mistakes. She had already done so much. 

Your entire time living with Tony, he never let you pay for anything. This of course meant, you had money saved up from your previous employments. Enough to live comfortably until you could find a job. While Pepper was more understanding than her ex, she still insisted on covering your school fees as well as the first two months on your apartment so that you could focus on school before money became an issue. She even set you up with some extra spending money to get started. “To have a job, on top of an internship, as well as a full course-load, is too much for any student to bear.” She told you. “I will not set you up for failure, just to prove your smug ass Dean right.” 

Once you were settled in, and she felt confident enough to depart, Pepper left you and Germany, wishing you the best of luck. She was in a hurry to get back home before Tony could catch a whiff of where you were, and where she had been. 

So there you were. In Berlin. All alone, far from home, with no one but yourself to console. That was when the waterworks began. Between Nao’s place and the plane ride here, you didn’t have time to process your emotions. Your life, though not the most morally ideal, went to absolute shit in less than seventy-two hours. You didn’t care who was looking from the outside in calling you ungrateful. You got to experience the world, and your experiences with Tony alone should have satisfied you. 

Still, you didn’t ask for any of this. He was all you wanted. You would give up all the luxury in the world, if it meant just being with him. But alas, you did not have that choice, so you decided to cry. 

And cried you did. Your first three nights consisted of tears, and headaches. You barely even ate. It didn’t help that Tony’s face was plastered every where. He was famous, so what did you expect? “How the fuck am I supposed to get over him, when I can’t even escape him?” In fairness, you also didn’t make it easy on yourself. A t-shirt of his that you stole, covered your pillowcase. You were scared of the day it’s scent would leave. The new phone that Pepper purchased for you, had his wallpaper on the cover. Of course you later willed yourself to change it, but it took time. You even bought books that he begged you to read for months, just because they reminded you of him. Your entire time in Germany, you were a woman of your word to Nao. You tweeted about him constantly your first three nights, just  to feel like your old self again. It was small things that made you feel closer. But small things turned into big ones. You were practically torturing yourself. 

Where nights ended in crying, mornings began with half-hearted reassurements. “This is what’s good for me.” You would chant, to yourself in the mirror. “This is what’s good for Tony.” It was now the weekend, and come Monday you would be starting your internship. “The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go home.”

  ººººº

Starting your art internship sounded dreadful to you now. Before, you were more than excited as you planned it with Tony. Your eyes were starry when you fawned over how rich the art and culture was in France. Of course you would be excited, given that Tony had taken you to France on numerous occasions, as well as taught you some of the language. You were even comfortable enough to navigate the streets of Paris alone. That was more than you could say about Germany. 

When Monday came, and you left your apartment, you got lost almost immediately. Luckily to you, in Berlin more people spoke English than you thought. So your day was off to a bad start but you could still turn it around. That was your train of thought before it began to pour down raining. The cute, but simple little outfit that you had put together was now drenched. Not to mention your hair; tight coils retreated to your scalp, and makeup ran down your face. You had tried. You really did. You wanted the outside of your person, to deflect what you were feeling on the inside. Too bad the universe had other plans. 

You were still determined to complete your first day. So you continued on to the location that a kind stranger gave you. 

It sounded right, because soon you were standing in front of the soon-to-be art gallery that you would be interning at for the next 6 months. You were to shadow an art-curator, with the hopes of teaching it one day. Sure becoming an art professor wasn’t very fulfilling financially, but you loved art so you didn’t care. 

You walked into the magnificent glass structure, with high ceilings and tall windows. Your strides made wet squelching sound, as you stepped from the outside concrete pavement onto the wooden linoleum.

Immediately, a man who seemed to be directing others about the room, turned his attention to you. He almost dropped the clear clipboard he was holding, upon seeing the soaking wet brown girl before him. All he could think of was the damage to the floors you had probably caused. 

“Wie kann ich Dir helfen?” He asked you with a grimace painting his features.

If your confidence wasn’t shot before, it was now at a zero as you realized how stupid you must of looked. “I’m sorry I don’t speak German.” You apologized.

The man huffed as he switched languages. “I said, how can I help you?” Now you genuinely felt like an entitled American, in someone else’s country forcing them to accommodate you by speaking your native tongue. 

“I’m Y/N, and I am here for the Schmidt Internship.” You said lowly. You watched him bring his attention back to the clipboard in hand, flipping harshly through the paper. 

“You’re late. On your first day at that. How could you come in here like this?” His words were harsh, but he was right. You were late, and even if you weren’t your appearance would have sent off red flags in his head. 

You had to blink back the water that was forming in your eyes. This was something that you had become an expert at. “I apologize, but I had trouble finding my way here.”

He scoffed “So not only are you coming up with excuses already, but you’re telling me you haven’t even prepared yourself. How are you supposed to retain the necessary knowledge for this job?”

“Again, I’m sorry, but I can assure you that this won’t happen again. ”

“You’re right. So go home.” 

Your brows jumped to meet each other. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You clearly don’t have what it takes. My clients will eat you up and spit you out within seconds.” He looked you up and down before adding, “And if they don’t, I will. So go home.” He turned his back to you as if you were nothing, and began redirecting men on where to put certain paintings. Not sparing you a second glance.

Something told you that he was used to making people cry. You almost did, until you realized that you had been crying for the past week, and now you were just angry. 

“You can place that Delegado by the window.” You heard him say to two men. You walked up to them to interrupt their conversation.

“Actually place it as far away from the light as possible.” You ordered the men who were holding the piece.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The curator asked. 

You could feel his scowl on your face so instead of spinning to address him, you furthered your explanation. “The choice of medium Delgado used is not compatible with the sun. It will certainly drain its vibrancy. But anyone who attended secondary school art would know that.” You sneered, side-eyeing him. Your insult did not fall on deaf ears. His scowl turned into an almost pained expression. You ignored it, and moved on. 

You walked around the room, as the curator silently, but obviously followed you. “I assume you intend to place a light fixture over this.” You asked him, looking over your shoulder. “If not, this is the painting you should place next to the window. It will not thrive in the shadows. The artist intended for light to cast on certain areas to reveal hidden figures.” You took your phone out to flash its light against the frame to prove your theory, and almost immediately new elements appeared in the work. 

You could almost hear the change in features on the curator’s face. Still you continued your dance around the room, explaining to him pieces of art that worked well with others, and ones that did not. 

Going up to your next piece, you inspected it closely. “When did you purchase this” You asked him.

“A few days ago. Why?” He questioned, his tone was now different, almost inviting you to say more. He was now curious about your every word. 

“Bankole, the artist this is inspired by has not sold a painting in years.” You informed him.

“I bought it from a secondhand distributor. So what’s your point?” 

“You were scammed. The original piece only has seven hooded men. A reoccurring theme in Bankole’s art. This painting only has six.”

“Well maybe Bankole miscounted.” He suggested, chuckling. It was like he was amused, and it was vastly different from his earlier cold demeanor. 

“It also has too many etchings along the border.” You continued. “And the signature is misspelled.”

He stayed silent for a minute. He was awestruck. His assistant who had been standing near him, looked up everything you said to fact check you. She whispered a “she passed, sir” in his ear, when she could validate your arguments. And that’s when you realized it was a test. 

Upon realizing the whole thing was a set up, you relaxed your bewildered eyebrows, and looked down at your feet to smile a smile that screamed ‘I’ve been tricked’. 

The curator, as if scared to take his eyes off of you leaned his head to the side to ask his assistant, “Could you please get Ms.?”

“L/N” You sheepishly smiled, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. 

“Yes, could you please get Ms. L/N something to dry off with, Hanna?” He asked the girl, returning a smile back. 

“Right away sir.” Hanna spoke, scampering away to search the building’s custodial closet. 

He offered his hand to you, and broke the silence. “I’m Finn. Finn Schmidt.”

You took his hand, and shook it gently. “Wait Schmidt? Does that mean you’re—”

“Yes, my family owns this gallery.” He replied as a matter of fact. 

You mouthed an inaudible ‘oh’, as you were now embarrassed about your secondary school comment. Thankfully Hanna was back now with a towel to distract you from your growing shame. Changing the subject you asked, “So is it a German thing to be rude and test your future interns?”

He laughed, eyes lingering on your neck as you dried your hair. “Well its a Schmidt thing to test future interns. As for the rude part, I’m sorry. I was just a bit upset about something from earlier.” He confessed. “I promise I would have called you back later to apologize.”

“It’s fine. I did show up late and track your floors with rainwater.” You glanced outside, noticing the sky was now as clear as day. Just my fucking luck, you thought. But at least the new found light gave you a chance to properly examine Finn. The events from earlier, blinded you from realizing how handsome he was. 

He was much taller than you. At least more than half a foot. Chestnut brown locks, thrown up into a messy bun, graced the top of his head. He had honey brown eyes upon first glance, but when the sunlight hit them, they were a brilliant amber. He looked to be close in age to you, but still more experienced; so maybe late 20’s early 30’s you concluded. He was built. Not too muscular, but far from skinny. His beard was immaculate. In fact it looked as if he took better care of it, than he did his hair. Both made him look majestic. He had skin of olive, and it was dewy and radiant; you just knew his skin-care routine was more rigorous than yours. When he spoke, it was gruff. His accent was thick, but he spoke English like he lived in a native-english speaking country for years. He was definitely a man who prided himself in his looks as well as his knowledge. 

“So tell me, is it an American thing to ogle at complete strangers.” He smirked at you. You immediately thanked God for blessing you with darker skin, for you felt your blood pool to the apples of your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, embarrassed and suddenly intrigued by the ground.

“Don’t be. It’s definitely a Schmidt thing.” He informed you, raking his eyes down your figure. Is he flirting with me? You asked yourself. 

Now desperate for air, you took in a deep breath to overcome the fluster. “So, um. I’m sorry, just to make sure I’m not getting ahead of myself: your assistant said I passed?”

He cleared his throat, and began rapidly blinking away his daze before speaking. “Yes with flying colors.”

“Does this mean I still have the internship?”

“Yes. I’d be honored to have you. ”

You beamed a bright smile. “Great. Well I hope we enjoy working together.” You stretched your hand out again for him to shake. 

“As do I.” He said, grasping your outstretched limb, before bringing your hand to his lips. 

Oh boy. 

ººººº

It turns out, you two did enjoy working together. Finn, despite your first impression of him, was a major sweetheart, at least to you that is. You didn’t know if that reigned true in other aspects of his life, or if it was just because he wanted to sleep with you. Either way, you welcomed his charming nature.

He became your best friend whilst you were in Germany. He was proud of his country, and very eager to show you why. You were dragged from museum to museum soaking in beautiful art. Landmark to landmark, reveling in famous architecture. Restaurant to restaurant, engorging yourselves with famous German cuisines and desserts. He was elated to finally have someone to boast to about his culture. And you were happy to have someone take your mind off of Tony. Temporarily.

As months passed, you still found your mind drifting off as you wondered about him. You dreamed about him at least every other night. But you would still tell yourself,  He’s over me by now. He’s probably happy I’m gone. At least I didn’t ruin his life.

Finn could only do so much. You were close now, so you informed him of a man who had taken over your dreams. He didn’t know who your mystery man was, but he wanted to be him. He wanted to be the one who occupied your mind. He made it clear on numerous occasions too. Spouting to you German phrases that he taught you before hand, revealing his feelings. 

‘Ich steh’ auf dich’. I’m into you. ‘Ich bete dich an’, I adore you. The words were beautiful flowing from his lips. But you always feigned ignorance, acting like you forgot what they meant. He could scream his feelings to the sky in your mother tongue, and you would still say something along the lines of “Quit joking around.” Or “You’re so silly.”

You would be a liar if you said you hadn’t thought about Finn in that way. He was sexy, and more than willing to replace Tony. And Pepper, if she were there, as well as your friends and your better sense, would have begged for you to fuck him…but alas, you just couldn’t do it.

You two were currently planning the grand opening of his family’s second art gallery. It was tomorrow night, and it took all of five months, most of your internship to get the museum ready for the public. It would be a formal event, where renowned guests were invited to partake in a cultured but light-hearted social gathering. It was going to be grand, which meant Finn was bugging out. 

“Lydia, have Hanna approve the guest list for me. I need her to make sure, no strays show up.” He said to one of his staff members. He had a group of people following close beside him as he took long strides to his office. 

“Again?” She asked. 

“Yes! Again.” He shouted.

She rolled her eyes, before skittering off to find Hanna.

“Luka, have you checked with the caterers to make sure the hors d’oeuvres will arrive by 17:30?”

“Yes sir.” The boy squeaked. 

“Check again.” Finn ordered. 

“Right away sir.”

“Oliver—” Finn Started. 

“The wine has already arrived, sir.” Oliver interjected, feeling quite sure of himself. 

“So the Chambertin Grand Cru is here? Great!” Finn began smiling and relaxing a bit. 

Confusion took the place of certainty on Oliver’s face. “Actually sir, I thought you told me to get Richebourg Grand Cru.” 

“Fuck!” Finn yelled in his native tongue, about to tear a new hole in the smaller boy. That is before you stepped in. You were waiting for him by his door. 

“Your guests are coming in for the art Finn. Not the wine, nor the food.”

His expression softened when he heard your voice. “Our guests.” He corrected, smiling at you. “I feel you worked harder than me, so they are our guests.”

“Fine. Our guests do not care about the damn wine.” You smiled. 

He chuckled at your playful chide. “You know you keep me sane right? You’re my savior.” 

“I thought Jesus was your savior.”

“Well you’re a close second.” He smirked, as he let you enter the room before him. You both sat down in close seats, and ran down a list of things he needed to confirm for tomorrow nights events. 

As you two worked, he decided to start a separate conversation. “Have you decided on whether or not you’re coming yet.” His voice was hopeful.

You sighed, knowing you were about to shatter that hope. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I think I’ll pass.”

“Why?” He cried, abandoning his previous tasks. 

“I have nothing to wear.” You informed him. “Besides I’m a bit beat. I should relax before my exams come up.”

“But, it’s just one night. And anything you put on will be amazing. It’s the girl in the dress that makes it beautiful.” As he said the last part, he placed a hand on your knee and caressed it.

You stood to your feet to avoid his lingering touches as well as ignore the look of disappointment on his face. “I can’t just show up in any thing. There are way too many important people coming. I would have to make a good impression, and I’m just not up for it.” 

Finn abruptly raised now hovering over you and turning your body to face him. “What is this really about?”

“What do you mean?” You asked looking at him through an inquisitive lens. 

“We both worked so hard on this. This gallery is practically your baby, don’t you want to see other people enjoy it?” The pads of his thumbs massaged your shoulders. The act was innocent, but to you it burned to have another man touch you in the way that only Tony should. 

You shrugged your shoulders to make his arms fall and took a stroll around his desk, placing space between you. “Of course I want to see her success, Finn.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” He asked, slowly meeting you on the other side, unsure about his actions now. 

You knew what was stopping you. Finn had to practically beg you to go out with him on regular days, and you would eventually do it to rid your mind of Tony; but this was different. Attending this event reminded you of the ones you, Tony, and Edward would participate in. 

While you were Edward’s plus one on paper, it was really Tony who you would move through a room with. He would introduce you to some of his friends in high places. You two would have riveting conversations about the world and art. By the end of it all, you would ditch Edward (which wasn’t hard, because he was usually the one to ditch you guys) to sip expensive ass champagne until you passed out the next day in some hotel room you had no memory of entering. This event screamed reminders of your past life. And your past love.

“I don’t know.” You lied. But Finn knew you were lying. He also knew what, or rather who, was stopping you.

He sighed, and gazed at you before speaking again. “Is this about your ex?”

You were curious as to why he asked about Tony when the conversation had nothing to do with him. “Why do you ask me that?”

“Because it always seems to be.” He came to stand directly before you, now more sure of himself. 

You could admit your tone of voice changed as you said your next line. “Well it’s not.”

“When are you gonna get over him?” Finn asked, ignoring your words as well as ignoring the defensive tone they were laced in. 

“I am over him.” He made you feel small, so you straightened your posture to appear more intimidating, a sharp scowl now decorating your face. 

“No you’re not. You’re still depressed about him.” He sounded a bit annoyed now. 

“I wouldn’t say I’m depressed…” You cooed, trailing off a bit with your thoughts. Am I depressed? And if I am, do I really wear it for the world to see?

Worry etched itself into your expression, which made Finn say, “You’re too young for this. And you’re too beautiful. You shouldn’t be worried about a guy who isn’t even here.” Finn stated. You thought that what he was saying wasn’t fair, because he didn’t even know the full story. “I can help you get over him.”

He made you blink rapidly at his words. “Woah Finn,” Finn continued his case. 

“Just let me take your mind off of him. I promise i’ll be worth it.” he was always forward, but never this forward. 

“Finn stop.” He was now closer to you, cornering you between himself and his wall. His office felt much smaller now. 

“I like you Y/N, and not just as a friend.” He was now just a breath away, so you threw your arms in between the two of you, only for him to lightly grip your wrists. 

“Finn—” You were cut off by his lips, as they stole a soft kiss from yours. You immediately broke the connection by looking down, brushing the area he just touched with your fingertips. Finn looked at you expectantly, face flushing as he realized what he just did. He dropped his hands from their positions on your wrists and stepped back.

“Y/N, I-I’m so, sorr—”

“I’m late for my other job now. I’ll see you Monday.” You hurried out, as you circled around him to leave the room before he could say another word. 

ººººº

Your entire shift at your neighborhood cafe, felt like a blur.  You chose to work at a cafe for similar reasons to the ones at home: the rustle and bustle of the world made you feel calm, and like your problems were small. But now all you could think about was Finn.

He was right, you were still hung up on Tony. In your defense, five months didn’t seem like enough time for you to move on from a relationship that shifted your entire being. But they did say, to get over one man, you should get under another one. And Finn, was a man that you would have been attracted to under normal circumstances. 

He was handsome. Articulate. Cultured. Kind. He was the type of man, who could move a room just by walking in it. But he wasn’t Tony. That fact alone was how you knew you were beat. If you could pass up an amazing man, for one you couldn’t even have, then you were crazy. 

He smelled of ginger, and he tasted like cinnamon for those fleeting moments that he held you. You thought to yourself that you could do worse. You weren’t supposed to be with Tony anyway, so what was the harm in being with a man who was begging for you to use him?

The harm was, that you weren’t that kind of a girl. And you didn’t wanna hurt him. 

I am making this harder than it needs to be. You thought to yourself, as you walked into your apartment building. Your decision to go to the gallery’s opening became a hell of a lot easier, when your doorman greeted you with a package. You hesitantly thanked him and took the elegant box, before walking up to your flat. 

Setting it down on your counter to rid it of its satin pink bow, you freed the top cover and unraveled the tissue paper. Underneath all of the wrapping was a sparkly rose gold material. You pulled it out to reveal a ball gown, that looked as if it was made specifically with a princess in mind. The puffy skirt of the gown had a large slit in it and it was made of a sheer, almost see-through fabric. Glitter ran throughout the entire dress, but where it was most prominent was the bodice. The straps were off the shoulder, and they connected to a deep plunge a few inches below the neckline. It was beautiful.

Your first thought was to anger. The dress looked like it cost him a fortune.  You felt obligated to thank him, but you were also mad that he spent money on you as a form of apology. You hated when people just gave you things. It instantly made you feel like a burden.

But then your second thought was one of guilt. Leaving him so quickly, must of made him feel terrible, and that fact helped you swallow your anger. He really liked you, and you could at least show up to the gallery to support him. After all, you were still friends. 

You just silently prayed you wouldn’t regret going. 

      ººººº

Cool air nipped at your bear arms and chest as you made your way through the night. The wind caused cold tears to fall from your eyes, and your fingers felt like icicles. You knew it would be cold tonight as winter transitioned into spring, but you didn’t anticipate it this much. You didn’t have a proper shawl to sit across your shoulders that matched your dress, so you sucked it up and power-walked to the gallery.  It definitely felt nice to step into the building’s warm and inviting embrace.You instantly felt your cheeks warm up as you stood in the middle of the entryway.

The event was in full swing by the time you arrived. You were instantly surrounded by laughter, and chatter, as rich people debated amongst themselves about the intent of certain pieces of art. Beautiful melodies filled the air, as classical music played softly in the background. The ambience was warm despite the cold night air peering through the high glass ceilings. You thought it was nice, how even though the building was so well lit, you could still make out the faint glow of stars above you. 

Being an observant person who could easily meld into the background, you thought the sight before you was beautiful, and you immediately felt regret grow smaller in the pit of your stomach. 

You searched the crowd, trying to seek out Finn and thank him for urging you to come, as well as for the dress. You found him at the top of a balcony, chatting up one of his guests. You swallowed your uneasiness as you made it up in your mind to confront his and your feelings. Maybe I could give him a try because he really is a nice guy. That was your train of thought as you made your way up to him. I could learn to love him. You thought. If it doesn’t work out, I still have home in just a month. 

As you got closer, and closer to him, you thought of Tony, and immediately froze in your tracks. You felt guilty for even thinking about someone else before you were over him. You were disappointed in yourself, for your readiness to use one man, in order to get over another one.

You were about to turn around and forget about the entire event, before Finn caught your gaze. He stopped his chat with the man in front of him and excused himself to walk over to you. 

You looked like a gapping fish out of water as he approached you. Finn was always so well put together. Seeing him in a tux, only made him appear more intimidating. He somehow made you, with your dress, naturally done makeup, and beautifully pinned up hair, feel small. Little did you know, he felt smaller.  

“Y/N” He started, almost at a loss for words. “You look beautiful.”

To save face you forced yourself to speak, opting for the playful banter he had come to love. “Why are you acting so surprised?”  You sheepishly smirked. 

“Well I didn’t think you were coming.” He beamed. He was relieved to know you weren’t still mad at him.

“I couldn’t just waste this.” You said referring to your dress, grabbing a fistful in each hand to lift it and emphasize your point. 

Finn bought his eyes over you, basking in your beauty. “You look darling in that. But I thought you said you didn’t have anything to wear.”

You furrowed your brows at his words, smile faltering. “I didn’t, until you—”

“Finn! Over here darling, I want you to meet someone.” His mother called to him in english, gesturing to a well-dressed attractive woman. 

“Okay.” He replied to her before bringing his attention back to you. “Stay right here. Don’t move I mean it.” He floated off, abandoning you and your confusion.

Why was he acting so oblivious? 

You felt moments pass as Finn worked himself around the room. You watched him as he drifted from person to person, seemingly forgetting about you. He was in his element, and you were happy to see him happy. 

Leaving him to do his own thing, you walked down the stairs deciding to occupy yourself by people watching. That was when your emotions began to overwhelm you again. You leaned against a wall, newfound glass of wine in hand, trying to drown out the noise around you. Everything seemed to remind you of Tony Stark. The rich men in their suits. The stimulating discussions. Even the drink between your fingers, reminded you of him. Now too encapsulated with your thoughts once again, you turned to the wall behind you, immersing yourself into the art. The sad girl in the painting, derided you, as you met her eyes. She was pretty, and like you she felt alone. At least we can be lonely together you thought, scoffing at the idea. 

“Why that frown, everyone in here knows you’re prettier than her.” Your heart sank, as you turned to the side meeting the face of the familiar voice. 

“Tony?” You exhaled, blinking rapidly as if your eyes were playing tricks on you.

“In the flesh.” He smirked down at you. You threw yourself into his open arms, as he wrapped himself around you. You felt him kiss the top of your head, then your temple, as you inhaled his scent; it had been such a long time since you had even done that. Your drink spilled on the floor behind you, and the look of shock you received from a nearby stranger made you feel deranged. It didn’t matter, how crazy you looked, Tony was here and that was all you could care about. 

Pulling back from his embrace, you felt your words form at the back of your throat unable to bring them out. “What are you doing here?” You managed to ask. 

“You know I could ask you the same. Berlin? Was all that French I taught you, for nothing?” He joked, holding you in place. 

You were becoming blurry-eyed. You terribly missed his wittiness. “How did you find me?” Though you were happy, you couldn’t help the tears that streamed down your face. 

Tony wiped them away with the pads of his thumb, “First. Dance with me.” He reached a hand between the two of you, willing you to take it. 

“This isn’t that kind of an event Tony.” You chuckled.

“Who cares? I need to hold you.” His words made you tear up again. You soon became a sobbing mess, and those around you shot him dirty looks for making you cry. 

“Princess.” Tony cooed, sending apologetic nods to random people as he tried to comfort you. “You’re making a scene.” 

You ignored him, and kept silently whimpering, gradually growing a bit louder, as your face contorted further into a frown. “You’ll ruin your makeup.” 

Still crying you began dry-heaving as you chocked between sobs. “Alles ist gut.” Tony assured strangers, informing them that all was well. 

“You know German?” You squeaked between sobs.

“When I found out you were in Germany, I learned a bit on the plane ride here.” He grabbed a napkin from a passing by waiter, as he told you this. 

“So you learned German for me?” You sobbed louder, causing more people to look over.

“Y/N, baby please stop crying.” Tony pleaded. “Please stop."

You sniffled and began wiping your eyes, smearing your mascara in the process. He used his napkin to wipe away the excess mess on your face. “Now can we please try this again?” He asked holding his hand out. You took it, and he lead you to the center of the room. 

Now the attention was as a result of the spectacle in front of them. First a girl practically pours her expensive wine on the ground. Then starts crying. And now she and her beaux are dancing in the middle of the gallery. How unhinged you must of looked in the eyes of a stranger. 

Tony couldn’t be more in love with you. He held you close, one hand clasped with yours, the other resting on your lower back as he gazed into your eyes, mesmerized by your existence. You two swayed back and forth, ignoring the judgmental stares and whispers. Eventually others gained the courage to join in, inspired by the silly Americans of the room. 

He broke the comfortable silence first. “I see you like the dress. You make it look beautiful.”

“You bought this for me?” You exclaimed smiling. It made sense now, how else would the measurements be so perfect?

“Of course I did. Who else would?” He asked with a single raised brow, his signature “you better tell me, or you’re in trouble” expression.

“Mmh, hmm, Mmh.” You mumbled shrugging your shoulders upwards. Of course that was a lie, but you would tell him later. 

He decided to address your lie later as well. He changed the subject for now. “So why Berlin? Why not London, or Italy? Italy was you second choice, you loved Italy!”  

You giggled at the amount of times he said Italy. He bathed in the sound. “Germany was the first place Pepper could arrange on such short notice. Besides, we thought you would never think of looking here.”

“I would search the ends of the universe for you.” He said, face and tone all of a sudden serious. You inspected him for a minute, heat rising to your cheeks, before you both cracked a smile. 

“You’re so fucking cheesy.” You laughed. 

“I thought you loved it when I act cheesy.” He expressed, mocking fake hurt. 

You smiled and kissed his chin, ignoring his dramatics, opting to be enveloped by the silence. You were calmed as he rocked you in his arms, pulling you as close as he could. His large warm hand on your exposed lower back felt like home. You two fit together like puzzle pieces, and you were happier now than you were the first time you kissed. Now you weren’t in secret. You were out in the open, as you experienced a new first in your relationship. 

You broke the silence this time, as you laid your head on his chest. “So how did you find me?”

“Tonysbitch99 Y/N? Come on, I’m a fucking genius, and I’m not exaggerating.  Your last tweet led me here”

Your head shot up so you could question him. “Wait. So you went out on a fucking whim?”

He laughed at your outburst. "Well actually a blue-haired girl encouraged me to check your twitter account. I found your hidden one on your old phone. That led me to your apartment.”

“Nao.” You said in a low menacing tone. You had some words for her as soon as you got back home. But when you thought of home, your mind wandered back to the obstacles in your way. Being so happy to see him, you forgot about Edward. “Tony” You sighed. “You can’t be here. Edward will find out. And you could lose everything you worked for. Your dreams have to mean something to you.”

“They do. You’re one of them Y/N.” He always had a way with words, and just as you were about to protest he cut you off. “I won’t go into details about it, but everything is fine. You can even contact both Edward and Pepper if you don’t believe me.” 

You believed him. The fact that he involved Pepper’s name encouraged you to. “Enough  about me though. You seem to have been keeping yourself busy.” He whispered against the shell of your ear.

“What do you mean?” You asked, flustered by his action. He suddenly, but slowly dipped you so that you could focus on where his line of sight was. Your eyes met Finn, who was busying himself with guests, as well as stealing glances at the two of you. As you focused on him, Tony peppered kisses along the heart of your exposed bosom. The gesture forced you to shoot up out of embarrassment. You knew he was marking his territory, but you immediately scolded him. 

“Who is he?” He asked you, ignoring your tiny hits and reprimands. Once you calmed down, you told him about Finn.  “He hasn’t taken his eyes off of us, or should I say you, since my being here.”

You averted your gaze from Tony, and he immediately knew you were hiding something from him. He pestered you, until you told him about Finn’s crush, as well as the shared kiss. By the end of it all, he was sending death glares his way.

“You should introduce us.” Tony suggested, gravitating towards Finn, before you held him taught. 

“Calm yourself.”

“What did you say his name was again? Finn?” He asked, but he already knew the answer to his own question. “Finn. Finn. Finn.” He repeats, as if the name felt like a bad aftertaste on his tongue. “You know what? I like it. No, I really do, it fits him, because he looks like a fucking fish.” He spat.

You grinned and asked, “You’re not jealous are you Tony?”

“And what would I have to be jealous of? Did you not hear me say fish?” He questioned. 

“He’s a sweetheart. Come on, let me introduce you.” You were about to take his hand to meet Finn, but were surprised to see that he was already making his way over to the two of you. 

“Y/N, who might this be?” Finn asked reaching out to shake his hand. He knew who Tony was, most people did, but this was Finn’s way of acting as if he himself was more important. 

“Tony Stark” Tony interjected, acknowledging the outreached hand, but blatantly refusing to shake it. 

  Finn dropped his hand, before speaking again, smile now twitching. “Nice to meet you Mr. Stark. I’m Finn Schmidt.”

“Well that’s rather unfortunate.” Tony mumbled, loud enough for the both of you to hear. 

“Tony!” You chided, slapping his arm. 

“What?!” Tony cried. “You heard him say his last name was Shit, right?”

“He said Schmidt.” He knew that. Tony ignored the glare on your face that demanded he apologize.

The sound of laughter rang in your ears, as you both snapped your necks towards it. Finn must of  thought he was funny. “Y/N, your grandfather is hilarious.” Finn said, now deadpanning at Tony. 

Tony looked down at his hands, then at your brown ones, then back up to question the handsome boy. “Do I look like her fuc—”

“You’re right Finn. My boyfriend is pretty funny.” You say, examining his face with a small smile. Your comment shocked both him and Tony. He was happy that you could finally call him that. 

“Now,” you continued. “I’m a bit tired from these past few weeks. I think I’m going to call it a night. Enjoy your evening Finn. I’ll see you Monday.” You smiled, as you tugged Tony away.

“Goodnight Fish Shit,” Tony smirked over his shoulder, as you dragged him towards the door.  

“It’s Finn Schmidt, you idiot.” You corrected, sending an apologetic nod back to your friend. 

“What did I say?”

ººººº

Pushing the door open to your apartment, you unstrapped your shoes to place them next to the door, urging Tony to do the same. You threw your keys in a dish, and turned to him to whisper your intentions to go and slip into something more comfortable. He stared at you with a small smile as his response, dark eyes searching yours, while his remained unreadable. The dim light from the kitchen, illuminated his face, making it look intimidatingly beautiful. Or was hauntingly the word?

You suddenly felt nervous, realizing that this was the first time in months since you had been alone together. Handing him back the coat he let you borrow for the walk here,  you cleared your throat, and averted your gaze before excusing yourself from the room. Tony relished in the fact that he had reverted you back to your first stage of innocence. 

Upon your exit, he took a slow stroll around the room. He was careful to take in all that he had missed. Curious of how much you had changed, and how much you stayed the same. 

Accents of your favorite color were spread throughout the room. You had an open kitchen, and the living room was right across from it. They were both tidied to perfection. You had sleek wooden floors, that looked like they had never been stepped on. Furniture, that looked like it had never been sat on. A stove, that looked like it had never been turned on. Your place was nice, but he could tell you were rarely home. 

The walk here, you told him of your job on top of your internship, and school.You didn’t complain about it. In fact, you appreciated the chaos, and constant busyness. But he hated that you worked like a dog just to make ends meet. There was now all this time he would have to make up for, by spoiling you. 

He bent over to examine the books on your shelves. Some were new. Some that he had suggested. But what he searched for were the ones you would spend your summers rereading, as if the words would leave the page; desperate to memorize every letter. 

He moved on, now curious about your smart TV. What new shows were you watching? Did you still love the ones he remembered to be your favorite, or did new ones take their place? 

He picked up the candle on your coffee table. The scent of honeysuckle assaulted his senses. It was much different from your usual vanilla. He sat it down to continue his journey to your kitchen. 

He raided your pantry, your cupboards, and your fridge to see if you had been taking care of yourself. The contents were scarce, and he had to remind himself to scold you later.

“Are you hungry?” You asked smiling, grasping the hallway’s entry frame. You were wearing an oversized ash gray shirt whose front was tucked into a pair of frilly pink shorts. Your previously pinned hair now fallen was framing your cheeks, as stray pieces were pushed behind your ears. You removed all of your ruined makeup, and the result left a sheen of dew on the surface of your skin. If he thought you looked surreal at the gallery, ethereal was the word he’d use now due to your natural glowing state. 

“Yes” He replied. But he was getting full off of your appearance alone. There was no need for useless human sustenance. The way you looked was enough. 

You came into full view, grabbing a glass from your cupboards to pour yourself some water. “Well I’m afraid you’re not gonna find anything here.” You took a sip, offering him some. “But it’s not too late. There are still restaurants open.”

He reached for the glass in your hand, but instead of taking it, he placed his hand over yours to make you feed him sips of water. He eyed you over the rim of the glass before setting it down to say, “I’m full now.”

You swallowed hard, walking to sit on a stool on the other side of the island. Tony fell backwards directly in front of you, letting the cabinets behind him catch him. He drank you in with his eyes, as you felt yourself shrinking under his scrutiny.

“What?” You questioned, shy from his gaze. He said nothing, and just watched you. 

After a moment of playing the staring game, you tried to break the silence again. You looked down at the shirt you were wearing to spark a conversation. “I’m sorry I stole your shirt. I needed something to remind me of you. I hope you didn’t miss it too much.”

“The only thing that I missed, was you.” He said after minutes of deafening silence. Is he mad?

Looking down out of guilt you told him, “Well I’m here now. Tell me how you’ve been.”

He felt like your question was a loaded one. Not once did he think about himself while you were gone. He was constantly thinking of you. I’ve been lost. He wanted to say. I’ve been hopeless. I felt helpless not knowing where you were. Not knowing if you were okay. So many things were on the tip of his tongue, but instead he settled for “Let’s just say, I’ve missed you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” You were genuinely curious about how his life was without you. But Tony looked like he didn’t want to explore the subject further. 

“That’s how I feel.” He declared, drifting slowly towards you. 

You decided to continue talking in order to fill the awkwardness. “Well its obviously how I feel too, but I wanna know how you’ve been holding up.” You ignored his sudden closeness. “Could you at least tell me how every one is? You mentioned Nao had blue hair? It was pink when we met.” Tony stood silent by your side as you asked your questions. “How’s Samuel? And Pepper?”As you rambled on and on, he traveled behind your stool, placing his hands on the chairs bars. His scent began to envelope you, and thats when your rambles became incoherent. If you weren’t already nervous before, you definitely were now. 

He picked up on it, like he usually does, and asked  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” in a hushed tone. You felt his breath fan the back of your neck, goosebumps formed on the little parts that were exposed. Your thighs clenched together, as you were suddenly turned on by how he made you feel both small and secure at the same time. 

He grabbed your chin, lifting your neck upwards and to the side, just before he placed a soft kiss on your lips, the first kiss since your reunion. It was so soft, you felt that he was afraid you might break; or as if you were only a part to a vivid dream. Deepening his touch, he let the fingers that were lifting your chin,  trail down the line of your neck. Soft fingertips brushed against your skin, until they collectively found a loose position around your throat. He let his thumb explore your jaw, while his tongue explored your mouth. Soft lips quickly turned into rough ones, as they fought to release every frustration and emotion he felt for the past five months.

When he pulled away, he had the nerve to place a chaste kiss on your cheek, as if he hadn’t just tongue-fucked your face a moment ago. “Sorry.” He apologized, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” He then walked back to his position by the counter, as if nothing happened, turned to you and asked “So what was your question again?” Innocence and genuine curiosity etched his features, like the lust, from a moment ago, never existed. 

Quickly overcoming your fit of fluster, you hesitantly stood to your feet. Tony never took his almond brown eyes off of you, as you seductively sauntered over to him. You had an idea. It was one you rarely thought of. One you never acted on; but if your time in Germany taught you something, it was to go for what you wanted. 

Now standing directly in front of him, doe eyes boring into his, he shut them as you placed your hands against his chest, leaning in for a kiss. Much like his, it was soft. A feather like touch against his mouth. You barely pulled back to whisper, “follow me” against his lips. His eyes fluttered open just in time to see you retreating down the hall. 

It was now his turn to become flustered, as he felt himself growing hot. He gave himself a moment to cool down, before taking his time walking down the hallway. As he poked his head in every room, just before he came to the last one, he found you sitting comfortably on your bed, stripped down to nothing but your bra and panties. Your elbows were propped up holding your weight, and your leg was crossed against your other as you patiently waited for him to enter the room. Your head was tilted as a seductive smile played on your features. 

Tony returned the expression, and he was about to dive into you, until you raised your hand to halt his actions. “Take off your shirt.” You ordered.

“Excuse me?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in amusement. 

“You heard me.” You dared. Though your tone was soft, he knew you meant business. He searched your eyes for a moment, not finding his usual hint of submissiveness. So he decided to humor you. He leisurely unbuttoned his cuffs, glancing up at you every now and then. Then he took his time loosening his bowtie, dragging it off of his collar. He went painfully slow as he unbuttoned his bib, leering in your direction as he did so. Making you wait is what would usually break your spirit, and it was his favorite game. But you had learned patience while in Germany, so tonight was your night. You uncrossed your legs and raised to your feet, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to roughly pull him into a kiss. This one was more feverish than the one shared in your kitchen, and it caught him by surprise since he was usually the one to take control. 

You switched your standing positions with him so that you were now the one facing the bed. As you deepened your kiss, he got pushed further back, until his knees collided with the mattress. You stood between his legs surveying his cherry swollen lips, before you reconnected your mouthes.

You laced your fingers in his hair, breaking your kiss, to harshly tug his head upwards. The guttural groan that escaped his throat, left an ache between your legs, while liquid pooled to the center of your panties. 

With the newly exposed skin of his neck, you stuck your tongue out to lick a slow stripe from his adam’s apple to his jaw, eliciting a string of curses from Tony. You then placed wet kisses down from there to his abs, kneeling to face his crotch. 

The prominent bulge, made your eyes widen with anticipation, and mouth salivate from thirst. You fell to your knees, licking your lips, fingers now fumbling with the buckle of his belt. Tony grasped your chin, lifting it to meet your eyes. “Y/N, I don’t want you to think you have to do this.”

You smiled at him, assuring him that you wanted to, kissing his fingers before going back to your previous tasks. He tensed up when you placed your hand on his thigh, just as the other worked to release his cock. The veiny appendage sprung free, and its size still intimidated you as you struggled to fit it in your tiny hands. Still, you were determined to make him feel good. 

You wrapped your hand around it, holding his drunken gaze, before stroking him up and down. You placed chaste kisses along the base, until you reached his crown. When you swirled your tongue around his head, Tony’s dick bucked in your hands, and his large palm shot up to tangle in your hair, urging you to suck. You swatted his hands away, and fixed him with a stare, silently telling him you’d stop if he didn’t let you have this. When confident that he learned his place, you wrapped your lips around his tip, lowering yourself further down his shaft, twisting the parts you couldn’t fit (which was still a lot.) He was a moaning mess, when his dick hit the back of your throat. You bobbed your head up and down his length, mewling when you made him groan. The vibrations from your moans, sent jolts of electricity up his spine, and he struggled to contain himself. 

Gagging against him, you shot back gasping for air, only a string of spit connecting you. After six more motions like that, Tony shot three thick ropes of cum down your throat. The sound he let out as he came, made the area between your thighs slick.

He usually spewed words of encouragement when you gave him head. “Just like that” or “Suck daddy’s cock” filled your ears as you worked him through his orgasm. But to see him come completely undone, unable to form a sentence, let alone control the situation, had you feeling more than satisfied. His head was thrown back surveying the ceiling before he bought his attention back to you. His face was a soft shade of pink, and sweat covered his forehead; it worked like glue, as pieces of disheveled hair stuck to it. “Who taught you how to do that?” He asked between breaths. 

“Finn.” You joked, but as soon as you said it, Tony grabbed your arm to yank you to your feet. He grabbed the nape of your neck to pull you closer to his face. 

“I know you’re just kidding sweetheart, but I don’t find that funny.” He rasped in a low tone. The grip he had on your  neck caused you to whimper, but you didn’t mind the sting. It only riled you up. 

You stepped back from his embrace, to undo your bra, just for him to yank you back in once it was off. He began kissing between your sternum, dangerously close to the mounds of your breasts. You chuckled at the feeling of his facial hair tickling your skin, but then your giggles turned into moans as his beard created delicious burns across your surface. He reached his hands down to your waist ridding you of your panties. Once you stepped out of them, you pushed him backwards on the bed, to crawl over him placing both thighs on each side of his. 

He bit his bottom lip at the sight of you, eyes burning with desire, and hands trailing from your thighs to your waist. You grabbed his dick, brushing it against your lips, before slowly guiding it to your entrance. As you sunk down on him, he sucked in air harshly, while you yourself let out a gasp of pain. 

“You still fit like a glove, baby.” He moaned out, glowered at you through hooded eyes. His hands tightened their grips around your waist to help you ease yourself onto him. 

A pained gasp erupted through your chest; the farther you sunk down on him, the further you stretched out. Pleasure began to burn in your loins when you met his end. You threw your head back and planted your palms against his chest,  rocking and grinding on his cock at a painfully slow pace. Your clit grazed his base as you did so, encouraging you to pick up your speed. His hands that were previously on your waist, crept up your front to fondle your breasts. You grabbed his wrists to help lift yourself up and down his shaft. 

The faster you bucked against him, the closer you came to meet your edge. He found his words of encouragement, when he heard your lusty pants of pleasure. “Such a pretty girl.” He praised. “Look at you go.” He whispered. He watched sweat form against your cupids bow, and your expression contort further into one of pleasure.

Your pace began to falter which is when he placed an arm around your back to sit the two of you up. Using the edge of the bed, he met your hips with his own, fucking into you at a new angle. His pace was faster, and more accurate than your own, which meant with each thrust he his your g-spot head on. His grunts and your pants echoed off of the walls as he sent you barreling towards your orgasm. You shut your eyes, letting the ecstasy hit, as you panted his name, over and over again. 

Letting the pleasure wash over you, you came to a complete stop, your moans sending vibrations through Tony’s chest. He didn’t stop though, his thrusts were relentless, as he tried his hardest to bury into you. “Keep going.” He ordered you. 

“I can’t daddy.” You whimpered, already fucked out, when you barely even started. 

“Yes you can.” He simply said, forcing you to sit up straight. You straddled his lap, met his eyes, and placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, trying to will yourself up and down, but your hips just wouldn’t let you. By this time, he stopped completely as well, to catch his breath. 

You laid your head in the crook of his neck, defeated. “I’m sorry.” You exhaled into his skin. 

He lifted your head to cup your chin. When his eyes met yours, he pecked your lips before saying, “It’s okay princess. You did so well…but now it’s daddy’s turn.”

With that, he picked you up and wrapped your legs around him to place you at the top of the bed. He got rid of the rest of his clothes before he crawled back into bed, sinking into you again. You both let out groans at the feeling of his fullness.

Tony threw nice and slow out the window, and immediately began drilling into you. Your moans turned into deafening screams as his hips bruised your pelvis. He pried your legs open, placing quick kisses along your neck as he did so, knowing it would drive you up the wall as well as comfort you. He bit and sucked harshly along your collar bone, sending your mind into a blissful haze. Your hands shot up to his back, clawing at the flesh. You left blood in your wake, as you raked your hands down the skin. He let out a growl at the feeling, thrusting harder into you as a result. 

Your second orgasm arrived quicker than your first, but the feeling was more intense. He left you writhing, and shaking on him, as ripples of pleasure coursed through your body. Giving you a minute to collect yourself he flipped you over, before saying, “I’m not done with you yet, princess.” 

A look of alarm spread on your features, when you looked behind you to see him lining himself up yet again. “Tony I don’t think I can cum again.” You whimpered. 

“Awe, I thought you were a big girl.” He teased, smirking as revenge for earlier. While he loved the way you look on top, it obviously hurt his dominating spirit when you took his control. He leaned down, grabbing the side of your face to better access your ear. You felt his hot breath fan the side of your cheek as he whispered, “You’re gonna take all of me, until I fill you up with my cum.” Then he let you go, causing you to fall forward. 

You were so turned on it didn’t make sense. You just had three orgasms rip through you, yet your pussy was begging for more. 

He slammed into you for a final time, this position trumping them all. He gripped your hips, locking in on you, giving you no chance of escape. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t try. You climbed to the top of the bed, trying to put a bit of space between yourself and Tony’s strokes, but he just pulled you back in, fucking you harder than before. 

Tears welled up in your eyes. The intensity was becoming entirely too much. Your nipples brushed your bedsheets the harder he fucked you into them. His balls slapped against your clit, every time he met your hips. And his grunts of pleasure from using you, sent you toppling over the edge for a third time. The stimulation sending you into a convulsing fit. You squirted against him, covering his member with your sticky wet cream. Luckily for you, he followed shortly after, coating your walls with his thick white seed. 

When you collapsed, he rolled to the other side of you, both of you breathing heavier than before.  When he caught his breath, you turned over to drape your naked body onto his. 

“Was I too rough” He asked, suddenly feeling like he went overboard.

“Absolutely not.” You giggled. “Please do that to me all the time.”

He smiled in response burying his nose in your hair. The smell of coconut immediately comforting him. “I love you Y/N.” He cooed.

You lifted your head from his chest to kiss him sweetly. “I love you too, Tony.” That was the last thing you both said, before drifting off into a peaceful slumber. 

Whether your relationship lasted a lifetime, or ended in a year, in this moment you were happy. Happy that you no longer had to hide from the world. Happy that he was finally in your arms again. Happy to want someone, who wanted you even more. 

Happy to exist at the same time as him. 

A/N: Please do not repost my work as your own. Comments, likes, and reblogs are encouraged. I love you all, and really hope you enjoyed this! Thank you for reading :)

[seasonsofeverlark]

Curiosity Killed the Kat

Author: @mellarkablegirl​

Prompt: Everlark going to a haunted house (or other haunted tour event, e.g., zombie paintball, haunted farm, etc) Everlark can be friends or together. One of them is scared, and the other is fearless. You choose which! The emergence of fluff and/or romance is a bonus! [submitted by @mandelion82​]

Rating: T

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of 3. The other two parts will be posted on my blog. Thank you!

__________

“Ugh! Peeta Mellark is the biggest thorn in my side,” she all but yelled into the emptiness of her apartment.

Katniss Everdeen, or as the gossip rags liked to call her, Miss Uptight Restaurant Heiress, was a perfectionist. She ran a tight ship. The three restaurants she owned on the upper east side of Panem were her babies, and if there was one thing she hated more than mistakes, it was a wrench in her carefully calculated plans. The head chef of one of her most celebrated outlets was just that, a giant wrench in her plans. Not that she could blame him really, but where did he get off with his jovial, always ready for a laugh, all-around chaotic personality? She still remembered the day she was forced (yes forced, there was no way she did it willingly) to hire the culinary genius, as the restaurant world called him.

She’d been having the week from hell. No scratch that. The whole month was doomed. She just couldn’t manage to keep up with all three of her restaurants. The fourth one had been in the pipeline for a while, waiting to be scrapped. Her mother had called up again, from whatever part of the world she was currently holidaying in with her latest husband, only to berate her on her lack of social life (read significant other).

And to top it all off her next-door neighbor just wouldn’t stop playing Metallica at the loudest possible decibel at ungodly hours.

So yes, she was a mess when her uncle Mitch walked into her office on that fateful Thursday morning. The first thing out of his mouth was,“ Sweetheart, you need a break and a drink, or six.” But his usual smirk was replaced with a look of concern. “I spent the weekend going over your plans for the new bistro, but I’ll be honest with you Kit, it makes the most sense to leave it untouched for now and revisit it later.” He’d called her Kit, and that’s how she knew just how serious this was. “However,” he said, “I do think I’ve found a solution for your other problem and have managed to set up a meeting with him too.”

“Him? What are you going on about Mitch? I have no other problems, it’s just been a bad week. And I hope to god you haven’t gone and set me up with that nephew of Effie’s!” she all but yelled at him.

He let out a belly laugh, a real one this time. “Oh no, I’d never do such a thing. I was talking about how you’ve been feeling so overwhelmed lately. I think what you need is to delegate your work to more people, and I think I’ve found the perfect candidate to fit that role.” She raised her eyebrow for him to continue, not wanting to interrupt what he had to say. “Kit you can’t keep going around handling all aspects of all three restaurants. You already handle the finances, curating the menu, and the whole running of the places. And if I’m being honest with you the menu’s been looking dull for a bit.”

A brief flash of anger (or was that offense?), followed by hurt, spread across her face before she settled on a serenely calm façade. “So what is it that you’re suggesting Mitch?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice void of any emotion.

“Hire a new creative head. A head chef, if you may? Try and spice up the menu and add a little more life to this place. It’s starting to get a tad boring if I’m honest with you.”

“Hire?” she asked incredulously. Then she sighed. “Hm, Mitch, I don’t I have the finances to hire a big shot chef right now. We are struggling as it is.”

“Oh sweetheart, you just need to go see him once. I’m sure the financials will fall into place. He’s an all-around nice guy. I’m pretty sure he’ll be flexible for us.”

Great, nice guys were easy to handle, right? Wrong. Because, for as nice of a guy Peeta Mellark was, he pushed all of her last buttons.

—————–

Two hours later, she found herself standing in the mall district, searching and failing to find an appropriate meeting location anywhere on the entire street. The place was drowned in various fall and Halloween paraphernalia, although the weird mishmash seemed to bring a smile onto her face.

Katniss stuck out like a sore thumb standing in a blazer and dress pants with a few files under her arm. Why would anyone invite your prospective employer to the middle of a busy shopping area on Halloween?

Her internal musing (and admitted grumbling) was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to the most brilliant flash of white teeth, blue eyes, and floppy blonde curls. Who was this golden retriever?

“Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you,” he said extending his arm to introduce himself.

Her eyes widened, and the look she saw on his face was a mix of extreme joy and mischief. She took his hand and shook it vigorously, avoiding making eye contact, because if she did, she was sure to burst out laughing. She took in his outfit, regarded his chef coat, and what she could only describe as a pair of bottoms from a Marvel-themed pajama set. Was this the man Haymitch thought would be the best creative head of her restaurants?

No thank you.

“So shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the mall entrance. Her face scrunched up in a look of confusion.

“You’ve invited me to a mall? For what could be a business meeting?” she asked.

“Oh, we’re not going to the mall. We’re going there,” and he pointed in the vague direction of the building attached to the mall. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head.

“The Horror House?” she coughed and sputtered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mellark. I think that’s highly inappropriate for the meeting. This is not a date; this is essentially an interview. ”

“Oh, Miss Everdeen, I think the Horror House is the perfect place to showcase my skills. You could always eat the food I cook at one of the restaurants. I’m sure you’ve gone through my resume before you came here,” he said, ending it with an infuriating smirk.

Where did this man get off? She admitted he was beautiful in a boy-next-door kind of way. He seemed very very confident about himself (a tad too much), and really what did he think of himself and her? Was this some kind of elaborate joke Mitch was trying to pull on her? He kept saying she needed to lighten up.

He piped up as if reading her thoughts came second nature to Peeta Mellark. “I’m sure the respected Katniss Everdeen isn’t scared of haunted houses?” But she was.

Was he egging her on? Because now he’d gone too far to insinuate that she was afraid, and if there was one thing Katniss was, it was a hot-headed, stubborn woman.

She put on her bravest expression and turned to Peeta. “Alright, Mr. Mellark, I’m curious to see how exactly you turn this experience into a prospective employment opportunity for yourself, but let’s get some things straight. I’m not your friend. Do not egg me on about being scared, and if you aren’t able to convince me in eighteen minutes on just how much I need you, I will walk myself to the car, and that will be the end of this conversation. I hope we’re clear?”

“Crystal,” he said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Oh, the man was already getting on her nerves. How was she supposed to work with him? Yet, to be honest, she had read his resume and was impressed enough to hire him on the spot. Hell, Mitch had threatened to use his veto as the financier behind her projects to hire him if she didn’t herself.

But curiosity killed the Kat.

And as absolutely unprofessional and infuriating as Peeta Mellark was, his chaotic attitude seemed to intrigue her. She was curious to see how he’d manage to turn a haunted house trip into a successful employment opportunity. What she did not expect, however, was having a full-blown panic attack five minutes into the ordeal.

She’d always hated graveyards and spooky places (haunted mansions and abandoned buildings), but her true trigger was collapsing walls. Ever since she’d lost her Pa at the age of thirteen from a building collapse, she was extremely paranoid about being stuck in similar situations. Although, the first five minutes of the ride were comparatively normal, the usual jump scares caused her to latch onto Peeta’s hand.

It was at the entrance to the second room when a simulation caused the walls to start collapsing on them. Some part of her brain told her it was mechanized. Still, fear gripped her like a vise and wouldn’t let go.

As her senses shut down, she had the distinct feeling of being lifted off the ground. Was it an actual building collapse? Would she die in there? Maybe she’d see Pa now.

Her therapy conditioned brain made her automatically start reciting her mantra. “I’m Katniss Everdeen. I’m 26 years old. I run three restaurants: Iris, Luna, and Hestia on the Upper east side. I love the feeling of freshly fallen snow and marshmallows in hot chocolate. My favorite color is green. My dog Willow is an adorable puppy. I am going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. ”

She came to under the harsh fluorescent lights of the lobby. Comfortable earth engulfed her, and she felt someone rubbing her back as they muttered assurances in her ear. She lifted her head to look into the eyes of her tether, immediately getting lost in the bright pools of blue. The color was as clear as the sea off the Maldivian coast. He had tiny flecks of gold and green in them too.

She’d never seen a prettier pair of eyes before.

“Well thank you, Miss Everdeen,” came the deep reverberations of his voice, which she felt through her body. Then she realized she was cradled in his lap.

She leaped up like she’d been burned, a blush spreading across her face. The feel of his arm around her did things to her that she’d never expected. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mellark, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Peeta.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I believe if we’re going to be working closely together over the next few years, it only seems right that we get comfortable addressing each other by our first names.”

“Well, in that case, Peeta,” she said, testing how it felt to say his name out loud. “It’s Katniss from today forward.” His smile could have lit up the entire dreary dark Horror House with its brightness. “I’ll see you on Monday at Hestia. We start team meetings at eleven in the morning,” she said in a way of farewell, before turning to walk towards her car parked on the curb.

As she threw a backward glance over her shoulder, she saw him standing where she left him, smiling even brighter than before if that was possible.

He was infuriating.

Infuriatingly adorable, and she was going to have a hard time maintaining a strictly professional relationship with him. Never had anyone been able to break down her walls quicker, and she was curious to see just how well they worked together. After all, curiosity killed the Kat, but she had a good feeling about this.

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day twenty-five

Prompt #25: “Sometimes you can even see.”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Characters: Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani

Words: 1937

Author’s Note: In the aftermath of a rough mission and all the philosophical questions it entails, Joe takes Nile to the Aarhus Art Museum in Denmark. All pieces mentioned were displayed in the Objects of Wonder: From Pedestal to Interaction exhibit, which ran from Oct. 2019- March 2020. Nile POV.

>> the sweetness remains

Nile scrolls mindlessly through Pinterest, wishing for not the first time that she’d been allowed to recreate her socials.

Copley had barred her from practically all of the actually useful ones, but she’d bullied him down to just having an account on Pinterest, with the argument being that no one cared about the site. Granted, she doesn’t really want to be on Pinterest either, but sometimes the comfort of an app with infinite scroll is all she’s looking for in a distraction.

And right now, she really, really needs to be distracted.

Overly photoshopped cat pics.

Memes ripped straight from tumblr or twitter.

The most white girl aesthetic imaginable.

Three slugs ripping through her abdomen and spitting her liver out the other side—

Nile breathes in sharply. Exhales.

Her thumb resumes scrolling.

Photos of downtown that feel like home.

Recipes for harvest butternut squash soup.

Tips for keeping braids fresh longer.

Nile scrolls, and scrolls, and breathes.

Her abdomen still aches every time her lungs expand, even though she knows it really doesn’t. It’s perfectly healed; not even a scar for her troubles. But it’s hard to forget how her instincts had screamed that a gut shot like that shouldn’t be survivable, even as she pushed herself towards the next target.

(She didn’t survive it.)

(She didn’t survive the next half dozen times it happened, either.)

“Did that phone of yours do something to offend you?”

“Whoa!” Joe’s sudden appearance next to her only makes her clench her phone tighter. She forces out a laugh and eases the tension out of her fingers. “Feel like you should know better than to sneak up on someone that’s part of a bunch of immortal warriors.”

“Most of them would have caught me coming long before you did.”

Nile snorts. She scrolls a few more seconds, then closes the app and opens Temple Run. The game’s ridiculously old, but she’s a millennial. Sue her for being nostalgic.

She can feel Joe watching her as she starts the round.

“Am I correct in thinking you enjoy the arts, Nile?”

It’s not the question she was expecting, and she winds up tilting the screen to the left a half second late, and her character falls off the bridge.

It’s okay though, because she can just use a gem and respawn in the same place, so it’s basically like not dying at all.

Right?

“Uh, yeah,” she says. She winds up restarting the round entirely. “The military was supposed to pay for my degree, but I don’t think I can cash that if I’m technically KIA.”

“That would present a certain set of problems,” Joe agrees. “Andy talk to you about that?”

“Yeah.” Nile’s stomach twists. “Guess it depends on how easy it is to schedule classes between firefights.”

She’s practically laying the opening for a talk out herself, but Joe seems uninterested in taking it.

Instead, he shifts beside her, propping an elbow on his knee. “What kinds of art did you want to specialize in?”

She dies again. This time, she begrudgingly uses the in-game save. "I prefer classic sculpture, but I’m not against modern.”

“You like what was modern art for me, then.”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I dread the day I become as weird as you guys.”

He laughs, patting her on the shoulder as he stands. “I suspect by that time you’ll be too busy tormenting our next recruit. But unfortunately, the exhibit we’re going to will be more in the contemporary style.”

It takes Nile a half second to register his words. “Wait, what?”

“The description said it would be 1960s to the present only. If it suits you, we could hold off on our discussion of it for another thousand years or so. I’m sure we can claim it as classic at that point.”

“What?” Nile locks her phone and zeros her attention on him, registering the mischievous glint in his eyes this time. “Museum?”

“The Aarhus Art Museum has a special exhibit on loan from the Tate Modern at the moment.” He glances down at her phone, the corner of his mouth forming a grin. “I’m told its purpose is to help move its audience’s attention from their devices.”

Nile scowls and looks back down at her phone. “I died a dozen times yesterday. I’m allowed my coping mechanisms of choice.”

And.

Whoops.

“Of course you are,” Joe says, offering his hand to her, and she’s once again surprised he doesn’t force the conversation. “But phones are portable. You can take it with you to the museum.”

Nile worries at the edge of her lip with her teeth. She doesn’t really want to go anywhere right now, but…

But Joe’s brown eyes are warm and welcoming, and his callouses help steady her when she takes his hand.

“You said contemporary sculpture?”

The grin he gives her is blinding. “For now.”

_________________

It’s a twenty-five minute drive from their safe house to the museum, and the route takes them next to the Bay of Aarhus for most of it.

Nile stares out at the water, determined to not give Joe any more ammunition for making fun of her regarding her phone.

It’s hard. She’d never considered herself a technology addict—never had enough time to be one—but she really, really wants to stop thinking about the fact that she knows what the inside of her liver looks like.

Or did look like, she guesses.

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there—

“D'you know about the Ship of Theseus?” She spits it out before she can decide against it. She figures if she’s thinking about it, she might as well talk about it. “And don’t say you were there for it. You’re not Andy and I at least know enough about you to know when you’re lying.”

The grin on his face tells her that he was very much intending to before she called him out on it. “It’s a thought experiment. The character Theseus owns a ship that, over a long span of time, has all of its parts replaced, until nothing of the original still remains.”

“Yeah, and so then the question is, is it even the same ship,” Nile finishes.

Joe weaves in and out of traffic, a pensive look on his face. “I assume you aren’t asking simply to test my knowledge of early western philosophy.”

“No.”

Nile looks down at her hands. She can still remember how horrifically mangled they were from her impromptu dive off a skyscraper, but at least—at least she’s pretty sure they’re the same ones she had before.

Though that might not last long.

“In your opinion,” she says, cautiously, “if—if there’s nothing left of the original—if you have to rebuild something that many times—”

“Nile.” The sound of the car’s turn signal distracts her spiraling thoughts. Joe nods towards the windshield. “We’re here.”

It’s a large, red brick square building, fairly nondescript but for the circular and multi-colored glass walking track at its top.

“Come on, he says, parking the car. “I find physical objects superior to mental ones for solving such issues.”

Nile doesn’t understand why the one time she wants to talk about something like this is the one time Joe decides to go full mysterious.

She climbs out of the car and follows him inside.

Despite her misgivings, she quickly discovers Joe was right. The exhibit is genuinely incredible, and there are pieces from multiple names she recognizes—Anish Kapoor, Donald Judd, Rasheed Araeen—and pieces she finds herself strangely moved by, such as Damian Hirst’s Away from the Flock, Richard Long’s Red Slate Circle, Rachel Whiteread’s Airbed II. Nile stares at that last one in particular for a long time: a concrete casting of an airbed, the artist’s presence made known in the negative space where her body had pressed the material down.

Joe, however, seems to be moving with a specific purpose in mind, and it’s not until they round one of the walls of the orange-pink room that Nile has a guess as to what it is.

In the far corner, bathed in the additional light of a single fill light, is a massive pile of multicolored cellophane wrapped hard candies.

Joe walks her over to it, an almost reverence to his steps.

“Untitled: Portrait of Ross in LA,” he says. “Are you familiar with the piece?”

She shakes her head, bending down to inspect it. It doesn’t look like much more than what she’d seen from a distance—candy, multicolored, on the floor. She looks to Joe for an explanation.

“Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s partner died from AIDS,” Joe says. The grief on his face is hard to look at. “To honor him, he made this as a portrait—one hundred and seventy-five pounds of candy, representing Ross’s weight from when he was still healthy.”

Nile looks at the pile—it’s a lot, but it’s not a hundred and seventy-five pounds worth of a lot.

Joe notices her confusion and smiles. “Take one.”

“What?”

“Take one,” he repeats. “The purpose of the work is to invite you to partake in both enjoying his presence and lamenting the lack of it. A sort of communion—choosing to take part of his body into your own. It was a powerful statement when so many were afraid to even be in our presence at the time.”

Nile looks at the pile again, and just like with Airbed II, her heart aches at what isn’t there, rather than what is. She selects a red piece and brings it out of the pile, cupping it in her hand and considering its weight.

“What happens when it runs out?”

Joe selects his own piece—a green one—and it rolls around in the palm of his hand. “It has. Many times. But that’s the beauty of it—it’s the curator’s responsibility to replenish the pile, metaphorically granting immortality and new life to the loss.”

The cellophane crinkles in Nile’s hand as she unwraps the piece. “How do they decide where to get the candy from?”

“The only firm rule is the original weight. Outside of that, there are no set instructions for the candies themselves.” He chuckles, threading his fingers behind his neck and leaning back against the wall. “Sometimes you can even see these strange combinations of greens, oranges, and purples.”

Nile considers the candy. “Not your favorite?”

“It has an almost Halloween quality to it. I tend to prefer the rainbow.”

The candy in her hand feels heavier than it did before—weighed down with the knowledge of what it represents, what it’s taking away.

She slips the candy into her mouth and her eyebrows raise in surprise. “It’s sweet?”

“It’s candy,” Joe says, unwrapping his own piece. “Did you expect something else?”

“I thought it’d be…” She pauses, trying to parse out her feelings. “Bitter. Or sad, somehow. Considering.”

“It could have been,” Joe agrees. “But the portrait isn’t meant to represent just grief and loss. Candy is a happy thing—a reward for yourself, or a lover’s gift on Valentine’s. And even when it’s gone, the sweetness remains. Still lingering on the tongue, or dwelling in the mind. It is the love of friends and partners that keeps the memory alive—and what keeps this the same portrait, even though its pieces have been cycled through many times.”

The candy melts away on her tongue, and she closes her eyes in grief for its loss, appreciation for what it was, and hope for the pieces that would come after it.

She swallows the last piece of it down.

Her stomach settles.