#i also relate to what you said about a difficulty expressing emotions and appearing closed off to others

[happyk44]

Started a thing last night abt Coral and Melpomene's (or Mel, Melo, Po, because, let's be v real, it is not a modern name, picked it for the mythological figure theme, like w/ Jason and Thalia) and how they approach the world/how the world sees them.

Brief tangent: One way to explain their different vibes is that if Coral were able to feel her emotions, she would be better for it, but if Melo were able to feel her emotions, she would probably be worse. Not szpd related, but thought would be helpful because apathy/indifference presents a very monotone view.

But, anyway, in the meantime for those curious about the Neptune girlies and SzPD, here is how they match up to the DSM-5 description and criteria 👍

SzPD is defined by a persistent pattern of detachment from and general disinterest in social relationships, and limited expression of emotions in interpersonal interactions.

Pattern is shown by 4 or more of following criteria:

Little to no desire or enjoyment of close relationships, including those with family members

The first half of the "or" is true for both of them. Coral's derives from general detachment and never thinking much of people, where Mel's stems from social anhedonia (reduced ability to feel pleasure, in this case specifically derived from social interactions).

However, both of them do enjoy the close relationships they have - as much as they really can with their respective alexithymia (difficulty to recognize and understand personal emotions) and anhedonia.

Strong preference for solitary acticities

Yeppers to both, albeit more so for Mel than Coral, who defaults to solitude on instinct but can withstand social gatherings or spaces as long as she doesn't have to interact. Therefore she's much more capable and willing to participate in parallel play than Mel is.

Enjoyment of few, if any, activities

Point for Coral because of her severe anhedonia and alexithymia (RIP my girl) so! She gets very little pleasure from any activities, and can't tell the few times she might feel something. However, since she has no reference for what is and isn't enjoyable, she's content to do whatever comes along. She defaults to non-repetitive and solitary activities, or daydreaming!

Assuming few means less than 5, then 100% for Mel too. While alexithymia makes discerning joy hard, her definitive hobbies are swimming, knitting/crocheting, and daydreaming/writing stories in her head.

Note: Maladaptive daydreaming is commonly reported by people with SzPD. It's also been said that schizoids without MDD tend to have more complex and intense fantasies/daydreams than the average person's.

Lack of close friends or confidants, except possibly 1st-degree relatives

100% again to Coral! Her only "close" people are her mom and Percy. Does not apply to Mel as (provided I don't scrap that part of her backstory ofc) she has two close friends.

Apparent indifference to the praise or criticism of others

100% for both. Coral is too detached from every day life due to chronic depersonalization to even be interested in people's opinions of her. Mel doesn't care enough about people to be bothered, though repeated jabs or jibs at her expense will severely tick her off.

Note: This criteria is "apparent indifference". If you outwardly appear unbothered by praise/critique but inwardly are affected, it may still count 👍

Emotional coldness and/or detachment, or flattened affect

Yeppers again. Both of them are emotionally detached, but only Mel is also emotionally cold (although Coral can come across as emotionally cold). Coral has a flat affect. Mel's affect is blunted.

Note: Blunted affect is sometimes mistaken for or used interchangeably with flat affect. The difference is that a blunted affect is having a muted emotional expression, where range and intensity of emotion is significantly reduced. A flat affect is having no emotional expression. People with blunted or flat affects may still feel very intensely.

Additionally, said it before but wanna reiterate, the DSM-5 appears to focus more on how SzPD appears externally, and in more overt cases. There are common traits across schizoids not stated above, such as alexithymia, anhedonia, avolition, MDD, intense discomfort with emotional intimacy, etc.

[mrsjadecurtiss]

The thing that we won’t have a roose chapter it’s kinda sad. Like we will never know if doing certain things (like the red wedding) didn’t minimally affect him or otherwise. Like we can’t forget that he doesn’t EXPRESS his feelings not that he hasn’t any. I know Brabrey said this specifically but as wise she is she can’t read others mind. I’m not justifying any action I’m only saying it would be interesting finding out he actually “gives shit” about things he did. And I know the probabilities of this being true are very low, but as a person myself who has difficulties to express my emotions and seems apathic to others while I feel emotions with the same intensity as everyone I was curious.

Oooh now that you sent your second ask the original one appeared! My reply got a little long; I will use quotes from your ask as “chapter headers” for the different topics so it is easier to understand.

“We will never know if doing certain things (like the red wedding) didn’t minimally affect him or otherwise. [...] I’m not justifying any action I’m only saying it would be interesting finding out he actually “gives shit” about things he did.”

I don't think Roose feels *bad* about the red wedding - he didn’t have to do it after all, it's not like he was under coercion or threat of his life; arguably the entire thing wouldnt have worked without having a strong northern traitor. While Robb's cause was a losing one and this influenced Roose to turn cloak after weighing the alternatives, Roose was not in danger under Robb and his betrayal appears to have been about both minimizing his waste of resources in a losing cause as well as the advantages he can get from this new alliance and what Tywin offers.

Roose appears to fundamentally be a selfish man, who decides his actions after what will give him the most benefit at the smallest risk to his own person. Any regrets i imagine he might feel (this could be what you meant in your ask) would be not on a moral level, but rather about mistakes he made that led him into a position that might not end well for him, and the danger he has gotten himself into.

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.  - aDwD

Roose to me represents the worst of feudalism, and the epitome of how someone turns out who is raised at the top of this society and with an unchallenged privilege. He has no respect for the autonomy of the people below him in hierarchy, and sees politics and the power at his hand as a tool to benefit himself first and foremost.

“We can’t forget that he doesn’t EXPRESS his feelings not that he hasn’t any.”

Agreed - for all that he is evil and callous i believe it is shown that he has feelings and emotions, which he generally hides under a mask.

Roose Bolton's own face was a pale grey mask, with two chips of dirty ice where his eyes should be. - aDwD

We know he feels fear about his crumbling political situation, he feels fondness for Walda, he appears to talk about Domeric with affection, he is amused enough by Arya not to punish her, he refuses to break the taboo of kinslaying, and something drives him to keep Ramsay around even though it is not advantageous rationally. He has his wants and needs, he has societal expectations he adheres to (like the expectation to continue his family line), he has a distaste for being disrespected...

As an example of him showing emotion, in the Red Wedding itself i believe grrm intentionally contrasts his behaviour with the prior Jaime chapter: where in his dialogue with Jaime he seems relaxed, talks a lot and is shown enjoying his food, in the Red Wedding he is quiet and doesn’t eat much while exchanging subtle threats with Lord Walder. This appears to show that he was indeed stressed in this high-stakes situation and aware of the danger he was in. Note that the quote from aDwD about him showing fear also explicitly points out that he says "nothing at all" in a time of stress, paralleling his lack of dialogue during the RW chapter. (Catelyn is depressed and so probably not talkative, but he also doesnt engage in dialogue with his wife despite her “chatter”).

I wont expand on it too much in this post for length's sake, but i think it is also likely that Roose shares traits with Ramsay in terms of emotionality (which he then hides under his “mask”, as opposed to his openly emotional son); For example his behaviour of not tolerating disrespect and taking what is "his" in the event with the miller's wife. Some i also briefly touched upon in this meta.

“I know Brabrey said this specifically but as wise she is she can’t read others mind.”

In “The Prince of Winterfell”, Barbrey has a long paragraph about her opinion on Roose. As this is her first longer scene, it is my opinion that her entire long dialogue scene with Theon is meant not only to show insight into some of the characters she talks about, but also about her own character; since the way someone talks about people shows how they think.

The negative way she talks about Roose ( “Roose has no feelings, you see.”) seems to be informed by several things:

- Obviously, his callous and selfish personality and lack of morals

- The fact that Barbrey and Roose clearly have history. Considering that Roose now has Ramsay as his heir, and Barbrey loathes Ramsay for what she believes is his fault in Domeric's death, Barbrey likely harbors some resentment against Roose for this move. This likely boosts her opinion that he is completely emotionless and only "plays with [people]" without caring for them. Her line "He does not love, he does not hate, he does not grieve" seems to contain a certain bitterness, and i believe it at least partially refers to their personal history (one could try to continue her words: he does not love [Barbrey], he does not hate [Ramsay], he does not grieve [Domeric].).

- Barbrey calls Theon's heart "craven and cringing", she calls Wyman Manderly "craven to the bone, that one", and she holds a grudge against Eddard for what he did to her without presenting much understanding for his side of the story. I believe she has a tendency to have a slightly superficial view of people or at least to talk badly about these superficial aspects, informed among other things by their appearance (Ned and Roose are plain, Theon and Wyman have physical deficiencies) and presentation (the colder Roose/Ned vs the outgoing wolf-blooded Brandon), and by the slights she perceived they did to her. She also has a tendency to scapegoat people to cope with grief, like hating on Rickard’s maester for Brandon's marriage.

So while she is right about Roose' callousness and moral bankruptcy and has some correct statements, as a fallible character (as opposed to the all-knowing author) she likely somewhat designs her view of him to fit her own narrative and worldview. So while she is an enticing source since she is close to him, her view on him should be taken with a grain of salt the same way she is not 100% correct about people like Ned or Wyman. Some things she says can be argued with through character analysis, and some things we have concrete quotes we can contrast: For example while she says "I think [Roose] would be pleased if the fat man attempted some betrayal", we know that Roose is in fact worried and bothered by the prospect, and in his dialogue to Ramsay it reads like he describes the unfaithfulness of his allies as threatening instead of an amusement. She also theorizes Roose wants to be king in the north, which seems like an impossible plan in his current political situation and nothing we had any hints towards so far in his scenes (I sometimes like to muse it might have been a reference to grrm's plans for the five year gap).

So basically what i would love a Roose PoV for is turning all the "apparently"s and "maybe"s from my metas into either confident statements or to deconfirm them... Showing some more of his view on the world, some more of his past, how he really feels about people without filtering it through dialogue and political goals... His worries, his anger, his happiness, raw and unfiltered... His long scene with Theon in Reek III practically doubles as half a PoV chapter because of the insane amounts of exposition in his dialogue (Theon barely talks or thinks for pages while Roose talks), but it is still filtered through Theon's impression of him and the agenda Roose might have behind his spoken words to present himself in a certain way.

I like to analyze his character from his lines in the book, and what few quotes I find by grrm in the So Spake Martin collection round out my impression of him well, but I would love to have a view inside his head to really get to the meat of it, and get a view of his true personality without the help of assumptions and implications.

[lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall]

The Spark That Split the Seas - Poseidon x Reader x Thor

(A/N)

Hey guys I’m back! I’ve been grinding hard for a new character that I’d gotten in this game, Genshin Impact, so I’m sorry for the absence! Anyways, as always, I want to thank you all for the support on my past two stories and on my account, I truly appreciate every one of you! On a story-related note, since I’d mentioned on my previous post that I had a lot of Poseidon x Reader x Thor fics written in my drafts, I decided to post one so you guys could also join me in the feels! Any feedback would be appreciated! This was originally shorter than the final story you’re seeing now, as I’d first only written their dialogues, but as usual, I excitedly itched into making a story out of it!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Spark That Split the Seas

Poseidon x Reader x Thor

For more than all the millennia the gods and other species alike had known the lonely kingdom of Atlantis, never once did the crashing waves gave way to the chirping of the largest Albatrosses until now. Otherworldly flying creatures joined with the familiar exclusively earthly ones in enjoying the ebb and flow of the ocean, albeit this time, the hungry ocean appeared more satiated and seemed to follow a regular pattern ‘from sudden crash to a long calm, to crash again then back to another lengthy calm;’ life in the sea rejoiced in this odd occurrence.

Beautiful yellow sun rays poured through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope pattern on the large interiors of the kingdom ruled by the god of the seas, and catching the reflection of his nonchalant visage. The long, elegant dining table filled with every kind of seafood delectable imaginable also fell victim to the light, along with a figure that sat down opposite, whose invitation was clear.

Hidden from this heavenly atmosphere were the prying eyes of a little messenger bird who stood unobtrusively behind one of the tall pillars near the far end of the room, halting his slide just in time to witness this miracle:

The living bearer of the most fearsome title, the ruler of both this grandiose palace of the most precious gems and coral and all the oceans and waters, the almighty Poseidon, though against all reason and self-proved authority whatsoever, against the epics of Greek poets, was indulged, seemingly willingly, in the pleasure of having another’s company. In the shadows, Hermes’ red eyes shot wide open in shock.

Poseidon, the ever abrupt and rude god who had deemed most beings to be below him, received a guest, a still breathing one at that.

What in the gods’ name?

In a tone of haughty contempt, a grunt escaped from Poseidon’s lips. Finishing chewing the last bite of delicious food in your mouth, you nodded your head in earnest agreement with his point. Your next words were uttered with the firmness of an old sage who had all the answers, your beliefs shaped by the countless lifetimes you had lived.

“Existing is painful.” Your shoulders bobbed with your chuckle.

Although Poseidon felt a small measure of relief−a feeling that by habit had always been easy to brush-off with a condescending thought, his face betrayed nothing as his stoic features remained still. “If you agree, then why not allow me to kill you this instant?” As if to emphasize his strength, the crashing sound of dreadful combat between waves and rocks rang in the air, and you almost wished that a low rumble of thunder accompanied it, finding beauty in its loud peals, and additionally giving a volume of inspiration to Michelangelo below.

Despite your gaze being unrequited, you were sure you had the god’s attention. Since arriving here, Poseidon noted that your expression had always been smoothed into a calm, smiling one. “If you had intended to kill me, we would not be having this conversation right now.”

Poseidon sat rigid and silent.

“It’s a comfortingly tragic drama, my circle of life. I may not have been lucky to acquire a life as long as that of the gods, but I have definitely lived more times than you have.” Your words were so nonchalant, for a second there Poseidon thought you were kidding.

“That is for the simple fact that you mortals are weak, pathetic.” Lips as pink as young petunias touched the clear edge of the wine glass as Poseidon’s eyes closed, content to give over to listen.

“Yes, we are.” You paused. “But because of this frailty, we learned to adapt, evolve.”

“There is no need for evolution if you are perfect from the moment of conception. Hence why gods such as I, will always be above you.”

“You’re correct. Humans will never become gods after all,” Again, Poseidon found himself absorbing your words like a sponge. At the same time, he experienced an occasional sharp prick at the edge of his emotions, as if signaling him to pull back. “The same as gods will never become like humans.”

“Extremely foolish of you to think that trash is worthy of the shiniest Orichalcum. Your race has been created by us, for us, and will therefore always be inferior.”

“Humans are inferior in all aspects, this, is a fact. It is hence no accident that there is a history of rebellion and consequently, a false notion of superiority. But to be able to look beyond this, is to understand that we never truly intended to surpass animals nor the gods themselves. The nature of our desire: everything was meant for either survival or man’s search for meaning.

“We are by nature flawed and inconsistent creatures. And as you have no doubt seen for yourself as well, despite reaching all our goals, achieving our wildest dreams, we have never reached a position where satisfaction is achieved.” Keenness made your words sound almost heroic. There was a twinkle in your eye and a lilt in your voice, and Poseidon found that now he had a much clearer picture of your reputation for an irrepressible desire to see what is beyond your reach as you questioned: “If I may ask, as I have seen the gods share this sentiment of looking for meaning, do you feel an inkling of the same?”

When Poseidon had put the wine glass down, he hesitated a moment, his supposedly closed mind wavering between doubt and certainty. He would never come to understand this, nor admit to feeling this dissonance, but at last, he shook his head at his consideration, trying to reduce the unpleasantness he felt by the same way he had always used to get out of extremely rare difficulties.

“Do not disrespect me, mortal.” He knew himself that it was an empty threat.

“Those were never my intentions.” You bowed with great respect, but there was at the same time apparent in your manner the consciousness that while Poseidon would never in any way confirm your statement, he did not necessarily refute it. Your heart rose in gratitude as you regarded him with a look of affection, believing in your intellectual companionship.

“Lord Poseidon, as the fearsome god of the seas, what is the meaning of life for you?” The god surveyed your reflection in one of the golden plates, and maybe it was because he had acted in a charitable way towards you, but he saw brightness, a refreshing difference, as if there were no heavy shackles to weigh you down.

“My husband has always been in search of a worthy opponent. What about you?”

It was like a pin came dangerously close to the rational bubble of Poseidon’s beliefs. But then your words penetrated his mind, and he berated himself for almost falling prey, yet…

“Perfection.” Poseidon blurted out loud, full of self-indulgence, but uncomfortable with the thought of pity reeking from his pores, a role that was clearly uncharacteristic of him.

Tilting your head, your brows meshed inquisitively upon hearing this. “This presents the conundrum; you are already perfect, as should all the gods. Since you have explained, gods have always been pristine, perfect, the moment you all were born.

“So, if you have already achieved the meaning and purpose of your life, what is there left to live for?” There was something entrancing in your guileless form, and Poseidon was displeased that another should feel such an interest in your wise, unguarded character. “And if gods have already reached perfection, why is there an endeavor still for the dross of earth?”

For the first time in Poseidon’s life, he was receptive of contraries. Not one single time, had he ever been in the position where he listened, much more considered the act of interpretation. What he said goes, but for some frustrating reason, he was coming to terms of mutual respect; whenever he was sitting opposite you, chin in hand, the more he caught the flame.

Quickly, he stopped that train of thought and he seamed his mouth, stoic. Only his eyes betrayed a spark of defiance. “Stop asking ridiculous questions.”

Again, you bowed. “I apologize if I have overstepped such boundaries.”

“You better be.” With a look of eager inquiry, Poseidon asked, “Why are you not afraid of me? Is it because you are confident Thor would protect you?” One thing that distressed him was that the more he was alone with you, the more he saw your hands, always ungloved, noticed the wedding-ring on your finger. That closed circle excluded him, his face registering the insult. “As expected from a repulsive weakling,”

“No. I know he would be there for me whenever I should need him, and also the times when I don’t.” You said still a smile on your mouth.

Although you were unaware of the eagle eyes that were watching your every move, you had the instinct. You did not need all the information, and you had nothing to hide. Your shoulders were loose, back wasn’t ramrod straight and you exuded a carefree attitude. “The sole reason why my fears have dissipated is because perhaps, I enjoy your conversation.”

To say this whole exchange took Hermes by surprise would be an understatement. After the initial expression of shock, he laughed lowly.

You continued, “I have already accepted your beliefs. No one is entitled to those except yourself.

“If I were to die from imparting what my beliefs are, that is simply fate, a tragedy, but nonetheless, fate. Of course, I would try my best to avoid disappearing from this lifetime, seeing as I have made a promise with my husband, to continue to fight for my life, shall needed, until the very end.” Poseidon’s grip tightened the slightest bit.

“I believe that despite our obvious differences, we are simply two being who each have our own unique experiences that shape our views and beliefs. For hundreds of millennia, I’d seen calamity from all angles; mainly conflicts over a universal truth,

“But so long as there are questions, there will never be one solid concrete truth. And I’m okay with that.” You concluded.

Compliments never rolled off Poseidon’s tongue easily, since in his view they were nothing but hollow words. But this time, he could hardly slip a word in bad taste. He thought it pleasant to hear you, but it could not distract him from the uninvited presence in his throne room.

“You’re a heretic.” His usual strong voice beckoned your attention, discerning the sternness on the table of his expression to be forced. No matter, you had just enough of a last glimpse to see his face looking younger in repose.

“I have been labeled as such.” You noticed the unique rhythm of the crashing waves seemed to have settled along the sand grains, and you admitted it was so beautiful and timeless.

“You’re dismissed.” Poseidon believed in being straightforward with affairs. Since the conversation has ended, the final interchange of words was not likely to be a substantive one. Though this was his original reason, the face at the forefront of his mind right now was not yours but Hermes’.

You stood up and curtsied to show your gratitude. “Very well. It was splendid to be in your company this afternoon.”

Blue eyes followed you as you began walking away, and he watched you until you went out of sight when you began to ascend the Skíðblaðnir, a ship so completely reserved only for you by the Kingdom of the Norse. Then Poseidon’s ears turned toward the messenger’s direction.

Hermes quickly dashed to Poseidon and knelt to greet him with such a great respect akin to the expectations all elderly gods have always expected of their younger ones.

“We gods are perfect beings from the very start; therefore, we do not plot schemes nor engage in disagreements.” The implication registered with a jolt, and Hermes felt his mouth open as the real reason for your invitation became clear. He fought the urge to look at where Adamas had died brutally as a lowlife, not failing to recognize that this was the exact opposite of that faded history.

Finding quiet when Hermes immediately left, the god of the seas stared at his dominion, taking deep breaths of the air, not feeling the normal icy sting carried by the ocean. Over again he dwelt upon in his conversations with you, interested to find out if the Norse god of thunder had been able to sustain a similar type of conversation.

The very first quiver of interest sparked through Poseidon and though he did not recognize it nor perceived it, he understood the most important things, the only ones he ever needed to:

You did not seek validation nor attention. You had no fear of death, neither of the hardships of life.

Your depths of wisdom were unparalleled throughout the realms, which he would comment on its wasted potential, however, he knew Hermes already understood that part of it.

And the god of messenger did, as the word got around slowly but surely:

“There would always be those who dare to brave the ocean’s roar, but there was only one who withstood it.”

[antebunny]

never fear, your fairy godmother is here!

(It's Wei Wuxian. He's the fairy godmother)

Wei Wuxian is riding high off a difficult case finally closed when the next call comes through. He’s staring aimlessly into the beautiful delta waters of Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng when the tingling begins, a familiar sensation somewhere in his chest that tells him that somewhere is a worthy human in need of a guide for their happy ever after.

“–So then I thought, well what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t want a lover or a partner, but her future isn’t fame or riches either.”

Wei Wuxian isn’t sure that Jiang Cheng is actually listening to him, but he’s very proud of himself, so Jiang Cheng can suck it up. He’s used to finding his new charges in difficult and tragic circumstances, but he’s rarely found someone in quite such a sticky situation as poor Qin Su.

“And she insists that she doesn’t have someone in mind,” Wei Wuxian continues. “So you know what I did?”

“Uh-huh,” Jiang Cheng says vaguely, because he’s not listening at all. “Very cool.” He’s not a very good brother, Jiang Cheng. Well, they’re not related, but they also weren’t really born, they just kind of exist, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t worry too much about it.

“I found her a whole team!” Wei Wuxian finishes proudly. “I got a doctor from Qishan, who was looking to get away from her family, and her little brother, and a top disciple from Lanling, and boom! Team of four! That’s a family right there. They’re going to be friends for life.”

“Do you ever consider not boasting about yourself?” Jiang Cheng wonders out loud.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian objects. “I’ll have you know I’m the number one fairy godmother!”

Jiang Cheng merely rolls his eyes. “As you haven’t stopped saying for the past hundred years.”

“Well, it’s–” Wei Wuxian stops mid-sentence and puts one hand behind him on the wooden planks of the boardwalk so he doesn’t collapse when his stomach rolls.

“Another one?” Jiang Cheng demands. “So soon?”

“I’m in high demand,” Wei Wuxian says weakly.

“But jiejie and I have spent all day making a celebratory dinner,” Jiang Cheng says, dismayed. Then he corrects himself. “I mean, jiejie’s spent all day making dinner for us! Do you want to disappoint her? Do you?!”

Wei Wuxian stands up. If he wasn’t still flushed with success, if only he’d listened to the odd, twisting sensation that said this was not a normal case of a damsel in need of true love, perhaps he would’ve stayed. Perhaps none of what followed would have happened. But perhaps it was always destined to happen.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” Wei Wuxian declares foolishly, and vanishes.

He appears in a thematically dark and twisted forest near sundown. The wind is whispering ominously through the leaves. Wei Wuxian pushes aside a branch in order to enter the clearing from which an ugly sobbing sound is coming from. It must be his new client.

By the light of the dying sun, Wei Wuxian can make out a hunched form dressed in fine white robes. The crying is quiet, but the person’s back shudders. They seem to be holding something. Wei Wuxian takes a moment to adjust. A great pair of black and red butterfly wings appear on his back. Humans more readily accept that he’s capable of inhuman feats if there’s something inhuman (but non threatening) about him. He usually goes for crow or raven wings, but he thinks the current setting might be a little inappropriate for that. Many of Wei Wuxian’s fellow fairy godmothers also opt for fancy robes, but Wei Wuxian’s never really felt comfortable with them.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. “Hello,” he calls.

The man–because it is a man, Wei Wuxian quickly realizes, with a beauty he’s come to expect from his clients, and a cultivator’s sword–whirls around. He hasn’t got a very expressive face, but Wei Wuxian has spent hundreds of years around people. His client’s eyes are wild, disbelieving. He’s got a Lan ribbon on his forehead, one of the inner clan, if Wei Wuxian isn’t mistaken, and he never is. There are two tear tracks running down his cheeks, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Wei Wuxian steps closer. His new client staggers to his feet and looks away, but whatever he was holding or looking at is gone. When he looks back at Wei Wuxian, there’s an awestruck look of recognition on his face. Wei Wuxian grins, pleased to see that his influence has reached the ears of humans.

The man takes one shaky step forward. He seems to be trying to drink in Wei Wuxian’s presence, soak him in just by looking at him. Wei Wuxian can’t blame him. He is very impressive.

On that thought, Wei Wuxian spreads his arms wide. “Never fear, mortal! Your hour of distress has come to an end!” Above their heads, a cloud drifts away and allows the moon to beam through, bathing Wei Wuxian with soft light. “It is I, Wei Wuxian, your fairy godmother!”

Now his client is just staring at him blankly. Wei Wuxian’s grin falters. He lowers his arms and clears his throat. “Perhaps you didn’t h–”

“What’s a fairy godmother?” The client interrupts.

Really?

Wei Wuxian sighs. “I am in charge of finding you a happy ending, in whatever form that may take,” he answers.

He waits another beat. This is usually where his clients start thanking him.

The man does not look very impressed. “How does that involve butterfly wings?”

“I–!” Wei Wuxian starts, very offended and very taken aback. “I…thought they would be less threatening than crow wings?”

The man stares at him. Wei Wuxian vanishes the wings with a thought.

“Well, if you have a preference, just let me know,” Wei Wuxian grumbles sulkily. “I am at your service, after all.”

“That is unnecessary,” the man says flatly. The tears haven’t dried but he’s composed himself. He turns away from Wei Wuxian deliberately.

“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian asks, chasing his client through the clearing when the cultivator starts to walk away.

“I am not in need of your help,” the ungrateful bastard says.

“Wh–! Yes, you are!” Wei Wuxian argues. “I wouldn’t be here if there weren’t a worthy damsel in distress in need of my services.”

At that term damsel in distress the man turns and gives him a withering, wintry glare. It’s under-cut by a deep well of loss, pain, and sadness that Wei Wuxian is convinced he can see on his client’s face. And to the rejection of damsel of distress, he can only shrug. It’s true.

“I’ll have you know I am the top fairy godmother,” Wei Wuxian says, in reply to the glare, as pretentiously as he can. “For the past hundred years. I have never failed a client. Whatever it is you want, true love, honor, treasure, a kingdom, I can find it for you. I promise you I have seen it all before.”

His client finally stops running away from him. Wei Wuxian saunters up to him. “If it’s love you’re worrying about, people are less narrow-minded than you think. There’s bound to be someone out there who’s exactly who you’re looking for. Well, most of them. Actually, my clients are sometimes a little narrow-minded. One of them specifically requested that I find a true love for him that had never been turned into an animal. A little narrow-minded, don’t you think?”

At this point, Wei Wuxian is up in his face, and his client is starting to look a little overwhelmed. Wei Wuxian backs up, gives him a little space. The Lan cultivator turns to look at the spot in the clearing where he’d been kneeling before Wei Wuxian showed up.

“Can you bring back the dead?” His client asks abruptly.

Wei Wuxian falters. “That’s–ehhh, that’s a, uh, gray area. Kind of depends. I’m going to lean towards no. Yeah, feels like a no. No necromancy here. I have definitely never done that before.”

The righteous Lan cultivator actually has the nerve to look disappointed in him. “Then I have no use for you,” he says stiffly, and starts to walk away again.

“Okay, hold up!” Wei Wuxian splutters, hurrying after him. The man does not hold up, forcing Wei Wuxian to keep pace through the dark forest. It’s no problem for Wei Wuxian, but rather rude, all things considered. “How rude! Here I am offering to solve your life’s problems and you question my abilities–you know I once created a whole celestial mountain for one of my clients–hey! Think of my reputation,” he begs, when his rude client continues to walk away. “I have never, ever failed a client before. Think of how it would look if one of my clients just walked away! Just give me a chance. Please. Please?”

His runaway client finally stops running away, right in a thicket of trees. Wei Wuxian almost bumps into him.

“This is important to you?” His client asks finally, without looking back.

“Oh yes, very,” Wei Wuxian knows immediately, because that’s the thing about his clients. They’re all good people, whether they’d like to admit it or not. The only people who like to help more than them are the fairy godmothers. “It would make me very happy to make you happy.”

The man’s shoulders relax ever-so slightly. “Very well.”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian fist-pumps. He glances up at the moon, reminding himself that humans have to do things like eat and sleep. “Okay, first things first, I’ll get you home,” he decides. “Tomorrow we can–”

“I have no home,” his new client interrupts in a dispassionate tone that suggests this subject has one too many emotions for him to handle.

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow internally and thinks of his Lan clan ribbon, but says nothing. He merely mentally files this client into the hundreds of lost-their-home clients that have come before him. There’s no telling why his new client lost his home. Usually they tell Wei Wuxian about their woes willingly, without Wei Wuxian having to beg them to burden him with their problems. But there’s a whole host of solutions to the no-home problem, exactly none of which Wei Wuxian can think of when the man reaches up and pulls his forehead ribbon off with trembling fingers.

“Um,” Wei Wuxian warbles. He averts his eyes from the now bare forehead. Later he’ll chalk it up to the difficulty in acquiring this client and the subsequent need to prove his powers that leads him to suggest: “W-what about my house?”

His client turns to face him. He looks a little shocked, but mostly confused.

“I live in the heavenly Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian says grandly. Well, he tries to say it grandly, but it comes out matter-of-fact. “I’ve got plenty of room. And you needn’t worry about politics up there.”

Slowly, his client nods, his face unreadable.

“Great,” Wei Wuxian says brightly. He reaches for his client’s hand, ignores the scandalized look he receives, and vanishes both of them to Lotus Pier.

They appear in a pavilion at the end of one of the many boardwalks. Enormous pastel lotus flowers dot the still waters. In the distance, the still waters cascade into a roaring waterfall that pours off the edge of the heavens. Above them, the sun is setting. Wei Wuxian’s client is winded from the sudden travel, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t let go of his hand. The scent of fresh water and spice sets in.

When the client steadies himself, Wei Wuxian tugs him out of the pavilion. The human’s eyes widen as the halls of Lotus Pier come into view, and Wei Wuxian smirks to himself. That’s the only reason why he’s sad that humans don’t come to Lotus Pier. He’d love a chance to show off his home more.

His client is still trying to take in the magnificent sloping roofs, the purple clouds and the dusk orange sky, when Wei Wuxian urges him into a walk.

“Come on,” Wei Wuxian says, still smiling widely. “We’ll be late for dinner.”

[taekooktimeline]

December 31st, 2019 / January 1st, 2020

Following New Year’s Countdown, members take turns to talk about their resolutions. Tae says he wants to occupy himself with activities that heal his mind, although we understand it’s simply to maintain or - if possible - increase the level of happiness he experienced during 2019 as he said it was a happy year.

Jungkook interjects, interested in knowing whom he would do such activities with. If we go over prior events we can see that Tae had been going on trips with his family and various friends, including him & the wooga squad on a yacht, while Jk saw his own friends and relatives, complaining about Jhope and Jimin being the only members he had seen during their 1 month-long vacation on mid 2019, which could or could not be true, but if Taekook briefly saw each other they wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere outside an apartment. Jungkook could be bothered by this lack of private adventures and shared experiences (disregarding their variety shows). Wooga squad had also met up during Christmas Eve. Again, we don’t know if Tk spent some little time together or not.

Tae responds by saying there are many things that he can do alone. That answer doesn’t quite satisfy Jungkook who asks “not with us?”. It seems like Jungkook thought that they could be hanging out more than what they were and that Taehyung was going overboard with the closeting to the point of slightly distancing himself (although not reaching awkwardness like they later tried to sell).

Jungkook actually wrote a song that could give insight into this situation since it could have been written around this time. The Japanese demo was finished before March 2020 since it was first mentioned then, probably written only a few months before. Jk drew a big, artistic eye on a whiteboard on Dec 4th, which suggests he was already working on the songs’ adaptation to the Japanese film which gave it its name. This means he wrote the Korean version before December of 2019 and it had nothing to do with the pandemic. “Your Eyes Tell” talks about Jk being fearful of someone leaving him, even crying over it. He wants this person to believe him when he says that he wants a future with them no matter the hardships, even if he can’t say it out loud yet (meaning not ready to come out yet?) and his past demons haunt him sometimes (his lowest being late 2017/ early 2018). To believe him when he says that he finds this “darkness” to be beautiful if they are together. He says the world would be dull without the other and that he won’t take his eyes off of this person making sure that they don’t leave his side. If we assume this person to be Tae then, for whatever reason, Jk sensed that Tae was doubting Jk’s determination to keep going with their relationship, maybe due to the added difficulties that came with living in different apartments since around July 2019 and the weight of the prolonged closeting strategies. Jk may have interpreted the beginning of what seemed like a distancing as some sort of test where Tae gave him an easy way out or feared that if the situation progressed in this direction Tae would end up falling into thoughts that went something like “I should be the one to put an end to this for Jungkook’s sake” so he instead reassured him about his love through a ballad. It’s unclear whether Jk had real reasons to worry or he was just insecure about the changes in their relationship (living situation + heavier closeting = less private time together) and linking them to Tae’s past tendencies where he thought Jk would be better off without him.

Continuing with the topic, the night prior to this vlive Tae announced that he had recently written the first version of a song. It was written somewhere between the 14th & the 31st of December of 2019 and it seems like he was talking about “Sweet Night”, a song that was said to be completed by the start of March 2020 for the drama “Itaewon Class”. While we think that this song is based on Tae’s past experiences (finding common ground with the drama) from when he first realized he was deeply in love, unsure if the other still felt the same way, it was necessary for him to be able to relive the emotions he once felt, as he explained about his general creation process. The song tells that they had already crossed the line or grazed it at some points, but the sentence “are you my best friend?” & the part where he regrets realizing he’s in love only after the opportunity had passed are much more fitting to earlier in their relationship when things had never been labeled as romantic nor gotten serious, prior to an actual relationship ever ensuing which only happens at the end of the drama (not compatible with their mutual, unwavering gestures of love & compromise done throughout the previous years in addition to them “hiding” things like them sharing hotel room = having a serious relationship). The adaptation of Tae’s beloved webtoon inspired him to rediscover these emotions as it was also an opportunity to be part of an OST for a drama that his friend had a role in, but it also makes you wonder if he was truly in danger of going through the regression that Jk feared, Tae’s mind going back to the time they missed out on love. The song includes phrases such as “now my forever is falling down wondering if you’d want me now”, “I wonder if you are too good to be true” & “guess we were ships in the night” (meeting for a brief moment, or coming close to doing so, but then losing sight of each other due to the darkness). This last sentence is perhaps the most worrisome because it feels timeless, easily applicable to his musings at the time of writing, knowing they have to hold on tight to not part ways again because, as Jk reassuringly says in YET: “even this darkness we see is beautiful”.

”Sweet Night” opens with the lyrics “on my pillow/can’t get me tired/sharing my fragile truth”. On the 14th of December of 2019 Tae said he couldn't sleep well those days and that it could be due to it being the end of the year. It’s something he recouringly has trouble with so it can remind him of other occasions in which he had that problem. He usually writes down his emotions in his diary and revisits them. He also mentioned Itaewon Class.

On the 31st of December he then said he wrote a song.

The 6th of March of 2020 he talks about “Sweet Night”. He was saying it was hard to convey how he wanted the instrumental to sound to the staff (“express what’s in his mind”), but it was completed briefly before this vlive.

Regardless, “Your Eyes Tell” tries to retain someone BEFORE the end approaches, acting as a reassurance in case the other doubts (similar to “My Time”, released in February of 2020, where he promises they’ll overcome the restrictions), and we don’t think they broke up in 2019 due to many reasons, among them Tae saying in his final comments that it was a happy year with no particularly sad moments. January 25th was then the start of Tae being quite loud on Weverse throughout 2020 by mentioning Jungkook the most out of the members on free will (disregarding their iconic public exchange initiated by Jk on the 15th) and giving special attention to Jk-related questions as well as Taekook-related usernames. An indication of Jk’s efforts having an effect and Tae feeling encouraged to add subtle ways in which he could play with or challenge the exaggerated closeting limitations? An interesting set of rings also appeared within the month of January and it must’ve been Tae who gave Jk two rings out of the set of five that he initially wore himself. Jk held dearly onto them.

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 07

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 07: Apologies & Decisions

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault.  However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne,  surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your  choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 10k +

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Swearing and (Surprise!!)

Author’s Note: Haha Long Chapter, Yay! Needed a small break, but I’m back. Hopefully I can post weekly again. Gonna work hard for that cause I love writing this so much. Enjoy!

CHAPTER LIST HERE

In your head, gratitude morphed into the form of Alfred Pennyworth almost a million times whilst you stood before the stainless steel letterboxes in the apartment building lobby. Aside from graciously stopping by an ATM machine, Alfred was considerately patient when you took the opportunity to grab a carton of milk and a few envelops as well. This, when it came to your assigned duties as a roommate and friend, Alfred Pennyworth was your savior for the night.

Inserting the money filled envelop into the specified box, you prayed the farewell party would be a success. “Oh! Señora Hernandez...” you muttered to yourself with a soft chuckle, “ I almost died for you today”.

Given her previous call of concern, you expected Allison to show you what real dramatic worrying was all about. Instead, you did find her, sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

Though she sloppily slept on her side, with her mouth open, she managed to carry it adorably, all the whole the light of the television washed over her figure. Smiling, you entrusted your tip toes to guide you to and from the bedroom, only to bring a throw blanket for your friend. Covering her with it, you were suddenly fully appreciative of all the little joys that were presented to all in life. You were grateful, once again.

Speaking of gratitude, the phone vibrated, sending signals to your face, tempting you to smile from ear to ear as you opened the text from Bruce Wayne, your savior, the object of your desire:

Can’t sleep.

You chuckled, biting your lower lip. All the sudden, it came to realization how those two simple words carried so much more weight with all the variety of meaning. There entailed softness, excitement, a smile that would not wash off your face, and a sudden throbbing inside full of possibilities. Turning the television off, you floated over to your bedroom as your fingers expertly formed a reply:

Well I can. In fact, think I’ll take a sick day tomorrow.

Considering you hardly take any days off, this was a certainly bold move indeed. If almost getting killed by strangulation and bleeding doesn’t suffice as valid reasons, then what would?

Kicking your shoes off, you sank into bed, exhausted to do anything else but to stare at the screen longingly as he responded:

You deserve it

You may have been in your lonesome in your room, yet you had never felt this shy. Even the simplest of words suddenly tempted you to smile your troubles away. Heavens, you could literally hear his voice in your head. That voice of his, so kind, so soothing, rousing in every way. Greed suddenly begged to crawl its way back into your head, so you could long for him passionately. More importantly, greed even offered to bring in desire along, all so you would be free to long for his heavenly lips on yours once again. You missed them already, even a few minutes later. Finally, a new drug addicts frustration was relatable to you. The memory of that wonderful first kiss, it felt powerful enough to inject you with intoxication, forcing your eyelids to grow heavy as you proceeded to type:

Th-

Except your heart seemed more inclined to sink into that memory once more, releasing you from any form of control as you sank into that intoxication.

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As your eyelids slowly managed to open a few millimetres, it was clear that the intoxication had vanished. However, it managed to carry you over to witness the golden rays of morning. Opening them fully, you found a figure similar to Allison standing before you.

“Ali?” You mumbled sleepily, “Wha-?”

Pausing, you realized you had difficulty moving your lips freely, for your phone rested on your face.

Not only that, you also discovered how your roommate was stood there with her phone, dressed in her work clothes and a rather mischievous smile. Your seemingly goofy confused expression brought Allison hearty laughter.

“Oh my-!” She kept laughing, “You should have seen your face, Sweetie!”

She added, as the shutter sounds played rapidly from her phone, possibly from taking photos. Groaning with with chuckle, you turned away from her to the side, your phone sliding off your face as you covered it shyly.

“Shit! I should have gotten a video…” You heard her say, recovering from her laughter, until she gasped, “Wait! aren’t you working today?”

“Taking a day off” your tone remained muffled with your face pressed against the pillow. Putting her phone away, Allison chuckled.

“Oooooh…” as she rubbed her hands together, “Someone had a wild night last night?” “Mmm….You could say that” Clapping her hands together, Allison began, “Alright sweetie, Imma head out” she said, heading out of your room,  “ So I’LL DIG THAT DIRT ON YA LATER…” her voice echoed, followed by naughty laughter as the apartment door closed shut behind her.

Silence. With complete silence finally being in your ownership, you slowly sat up. You stretched, you yawned, all before you sleepily waddled over to the bathroom. Gasping loudly as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, did you truly realize the intensity of your injuries from last night.

Body getting sweaty with panic, you quickly stripped yourself from the hoodie, leaning on the sink as you observed your neck. It was simply a canvas, filled with the detailed colors of smothering, strangle marks evident in their dark maroon. You shuddered loudly, for a split second, it did not seem to look like your own. You felt disgusted, you felt sorry for yourself. Studying your right wrist, the wrapped bandage was another reminder, of the pain and the struggle for your life, all the while you almost bumped heads with the Grim Reaper, who came in the form of Alpha. Under the fluorescent light, you appeared lifeless. You needed a bath, you needed a proper hot meal.

“Sweetie…looks like I messed up the times. I have the night shift toni-”

Allison’s voice crashed in to the bathroom, stopping the very moment she caught the sight of you turning to her with surprise.

“Hey! Wassup?”

You blurted over-enthusiastically. Standing in just your tank top and leggings, you quickly found yourself covering your neck. However, given her furrowed eyebrows, Allison was not amused. In fact, she was quite far from it.

“What the hell are those?”

She inquired, pointing directly at your neck. You shrugged innocently. “Nothing...” You murmured. Pressing her lips together, she quickly dropped her handbag down, which alarmed you. For that move was nothing new to you. She was simply angered.

“Sweetie, I can fucking see them…” Allison yelled with frustration, “What the hell is going on?” She added, voice shaken soon after.

Being your trusted friend for simply ages, Allison Hughs was certainly no fool. You sighed heavily, not knowing where to even begin. With your hands on your hips, amidst the speedy heartbeat, you offered a somber reply:

“You’re gonna need to sit down for this” 

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“So let me get this straight...” Allison finally began, whilst sitting on one of the dinner chairs, “According to the police guy, Erik Henderson could be trying to KILL YOU?” She yelled, her frustration translated into rage, “And you’re JUST SITTING HERE DOING NOTHING?”

Truthfully, you did not blame her. How else would a friend respond when you finally decide to dump every trouble you encountered since that fateful Friday night? Getting up on her feet, Allison was clearly furious, “I mean, what were you think-”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I Ali?” you cut her off, with your own frustration. As soon as you broke out, you noticed the anger in her eyes slowly vanish. Standing before her with your arms folded, you sighed, “Say I step up and make my accusations…” you continued, “It’s just my word against his…No legit proof” scoffing could not be helped, “…and none of the perps will talk, no matter what” a sigh passed your lips once more, “He’s one bad, rich man!”.

Rubbing your forehead nervously, it finally dawned on you on the ferocity of your situation. You finally realized how powerless you really were. That foul hearted man had certainly had you trapped in the box of corporate power, and there were little holes of justice poked for you to truly breathe.

“Sweetie…”

You looked over to Allison, “As twisted as all this is, you can’t just go on like this, not without telling me…” she said, voice growing emotional with her hands on her chest,  “I mean…” she paused, for her voice broke, “…what if something had happened to you?” she inquired softly, her hand slithering over to her mouth. That very moment was when sheer guilt washed over you in a flash. How selfish were you truly to leave everyone in the dark this way? But your intention was never that. A nuisance was what you clearly did not wish to impose on anyone. If Lillian ever knew, she would surely be hurt. Your shoulders loosened while your arms rested on your sides.

“I’m sorry…” you said, shyly looking down. A few seconds of silence was adequate for you to walk over to her, confirm your apology as you gently stroked her shoulder. It was certainly adequate for Allison to succumb to it, until she willfully brought you in for a hug, pressing her face against your tummy. Allison truly defined a true friend. “But I was always fine…” you began, “I mean, Batman saved m-” “BATMAN!!” Allison cried out, her face lighting up as she pushed you back gently, “Oh bless that man for saving you!” She said, bringing her hands together in a prayer stance, before she clapped excitedly. You chuckled, relieved to find her in a better mood now. But of course you were not foolish. Revealing your story did not exactly entail revealing the entire truth about Batman. For now, he was merely a hero who saved you every single time. “But wait…” Allison paused, “Where were you when I called you, then? The police? The hospital?” Shaking your head, it came to your realization there was no other fitting lie to replace the original. “Uhh…with Bruce Wayne...” You answered shyly. It did not take long for Allison’s jaw to drop. Concern hit you hard like a bullet. Could she possibly connect the missing dots? “Wait…so you…him….” Allison began, getting up in an instant. With a gasp, her eyes widened: “DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM? Suddenly it was your jaw’s turn to drop. “WHAT?” You yelled, “NO NO!!!” Shaking your head frantically, you backed away, “WHY would you-” “I mean, you were gone for so long, I assumed you had sex with hi-” “Ali, could you stop saying the S-word please?” You blurted out, covering your ears as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks with fervor. The heat grew intense, as if an explosion were to occur was a result. Why on earth would you act this way? And Allison seemed to find it quite amusing. “Why?” She mocked, “Sweetie, why you suddenly so prude-” Pausing, she smiled widely, as if she just realized.

“Ha!” She scoffed, “You really like him, don’t you?” she inquired, “You’re serious…” as she looked at you with amazement. Your immediate response was clearly to laugh nervously and uncontrollably. Yet as each second passed, the continuous confident glance of your friend, clearly steered you towards the similar direction of realization, as you stopped laughing. It all seemed so clear.

“Yeah…” you breathed, nodding, “I do…I guess” you admitted, smiling softly by the thought of the very man being mentioned. It was true. Every reminiscent of your confession to Bruce last night,  and the blessed kiss that followed, it was a symbol of rebirth on loop. And you felt at peace. Squealing with excitement, Allison jumped up and down whilst clapping.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” She said, grabbing your hands, “So? So? You guys are finally a couple or something?”

That simple question. Funny how it surprisingly shooed away the smile on your face. Funny how suddenly that peace was disrupted. For that question led you to another realization. The realization that taught you the gravity of it all. The gravity of the harsh reality that shattered all forms of hope. Allison appeared confused the moment you simply headed back to your room, only to close it shut and scream your frustrations out in the fittest way possible:

“FUUUUUCK!”

Simply put, you kissed your boss. Fantastic.

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Allison Hughs certainly had quite the morning dealing with you. And the following stage was indeed no different. Laying on her side on the bed, she could only continuously shake her head with complete disbelief watching you pace from one corner to the other in your bedroom. And you knew of that, you noticed it clearly. Though you were caught in a tangled mess. Being a corporate woman, you handled conflicts and issues in a professional manner. Therefore, this was simply an embarrassment.

“Oh god! oh god! oh god-” you went. “I don’t understand what the big deal is, Sweetie“ Allison said coolly.

“Oh Shit! No no no” Your concern still continued as you kept muttering to yourself. “So you guys kissed...And?”

Allison pointed out, as she incited more groans from you, “Okay! Let’s say you guys do start dating…So what?” Allison posed the inquiry, sitting up finally with a smile, “Personally I think it’s hot” she grinned mischievously, while bringing her knees to her chest, as her mind wandered, “Imagine…” she began dreamily, “...getting it on with Mr.Wayne in his office at Wayne Tower...” A sensual tone exited from her, “....No one there to eavesdrop your sexy encounter because the doors locked-”

“Oh yeah...it’s all so tempting until you REALIZE this is REAL LIFE...with CONSEQUENCES!” You spat out frustratingly, before covering your face “...shit! I kissed Bruce Wayne...” Muffled tone emphasized your frustration. Funny how you were blind to all this last night.

“Sweetie! if you like the guy, what the fuck is wrong?”

Allison’s innocent inquiry forced you to look up. You were touched. She really did care for you. However you also sensed her naiveté. And life did not carry on the way one hoped it would. You were finally on the smack bottom of reality. Deeply breathing, You grew calmer.

“Ali, it’s not like I’m falling for a colleague, that’s different. THIS IS Bruce Wayne…” you scoffed, “I mean...dating my EMPLOYER BRUCE WAYNE! It’s just the worst timing. It’s bad enough I punched Henderson, but NOW THIS?? If I do this…” you continued, “I’m bringing Wayne Enterprises down with me…Just think of all the horrible rumors” sighing  heavily, you began rummaging the bed for your phone.

“Sweetie, Who cares?”

“I HAVE TO CARE, ALI!” You looked back at her, pausing by your own loud reply, “This is not a fantasy…” you said softly, grabbing the phone, “This is real life…” your tone brimming with sadness.

Breathing deeply, Allison stared at the wall with realization, “…for a second I forgot you’re the acting Head…Shit” she muttered, “Real life problems…” she said, breathing heavily, “…definitely not easy…”

With the phone pressed against your ear, You were finally relieved to see Allison finally understand.

“Greg? Hey!” you began as the call was answered, “No! No! I’m better” you said, shaking your head, “Listen, I’m coming by later to office, okay?”

Allison looked at you confusingly as you finally hung up. You jolted when your phone vibrated in your hand. It was him:

Hope you slept in today.

“Thought you were taking the day off” you heard Allison begin. Your heart could not help but clench when you forcibly swiped the message off your lock screen. The first grueling step.

“Well…” you said, looking up, “I guess I need a distraction from this nightmare”

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(Few days later)

The sounds of the television echoed throughout the Wayne Penthouse. All the while Alfred Pennyworth continued to set the dinner table for one. The evening news played, images of the variety of criminals courtesy of Gotham’s underbelly, captured and arrested taking main stage as the news reporters presented their usual reports. With the appetizing yet comforting meal served in fashionable white crockery, the butler finally sat on the sofa when the elevator door quickly opened with a ding! The old man smiled, especially when his wrinkled eyes caught the sight of Bruce Wayne enter.

“Another successful arrest…” He began, pointing at the screen, “Thanks to you, sir” he added with a teasing tone. However, the younger man did not acknowledge. Clad in his jeans and leather jacket, Bruce quietly made his way towards the bedroom. Alfred sighed in silence. Fourth night. This probably was the fourth night his young master had acted this way. And the fourth consecutive night he barely touched his dinner, even after his nightly duties. Not to mention, the fourth night of absolute silence. And by this very moment, Pennyworth simply had reached his limits.

“Something’s been bothering you, Master Wayne!”

Alfred began loudly, forcing Bruce to halt, “I can tell…” he added, walking towards the paused man. Tired, Bruce turned back.

“What are you talking about, Alfred?” He inquired with possible denial. Alfred’s eyebrows furrowed: “I’ve raised you since you were an infant…to know when you’re fibbing, Sir…”

The moment the words left Alfred’s lips, an invisible force urged Bruce to sink into the nearest armchair. Bending forward, Bruce covered his eyes before letting out a heavy sigh.

“It’s just that…” he paused, “…it’s her…” taking his hands away, he looked at the old man. Given the nature of their relationship, it was more than sufficient information for the both of them to understand what exactly was being discussed here. And who.

Nodding slowly, Alfred made his way to the counter:

“Think it’s time to open up that Whiskey you’ve been saving, Master Wayne”

He said, who did not notice the subtle sad smile that appeared on Bruce’s face during.

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Performance Appraisals : the review of employees performance and the overall contribution to the company. In other words, the busiest time of the year for the HR Department. It was certainly the most perfect distraction from the nightmare you had identified as reality. Which mainly was the situation between you and Bruce Wayne.

Forget him.

Your fingers, they were shamed, they were strictly forbidden from traveling anywhere near his name on your phone screen to form any sort of replies to his countless messages.

I suppose work is keeping you quite busy, huh?

Messages that kept coming:

Is everything alright?

With much enthusiasm and concern:

You know, I’m here if you need me. What’s going on?

In other words, you had made the horrid, difficult decision to forbid yourself of thinking about him. Let alone hope for any possible future with him.

Forget him.

You welcomed late night, early morning assignments, deadlines, work meetings. you volunteered on behalf of everyone, all the to the point they all began to wonder about your sanity. And it did not matter to you. Fully immersed, you made sure the only free time you were gifted with, was only to sleep. Just for one vital goal:

Forget him.

Physically and mentally, you were quicker and more reflexive than ever before. It seemed quite essential to do so, especially when you were more prone to accidentally encounter the man you wished to avoid with all your heart. And it was quite the challenge to avoid him, considering the fact he surprisingly was present at work every day.

However, those efforts were tested, and Lucius Fox was responsible. Little did you expect to submit a report to the CEO all the sudden, only to find Bruce Wayne sitting in his office conversing with him during. Though sheer panic came over, you remembered politely offering your greetings to both. As much as the sight of him brought a sense of comfort to a part of you, the strength of your will assisted in forcing you out of the office in time to recover yourself in the elevator.

Truthfully, you were no fool. You knew who he was, and you could appreciate him. If you were any other woman, heaven knew how much you would treasure him with all your heart. With no shame and no boundaries. Heaven knew the infinite amount of love you would give to him.

But you were you, and you were desperately full of bad luck. You were at the risk of being called out as the Senior HR Manager entangled with the owner of Wayne Enterprises, possibly sleeping with him as well. It was not what you were deserved to be called as, but it would be rumored and fabricated as such. Life was never kind to women. It still is not.

Forget him : Two words that you kept telling yourself. They were what you had to believe in, even though you truthfully missed him every single time. It was the pill you had to swallow every single moment your body would be in cold sweats deprived of his touch. That wonderfully innocent touch you were gifted with one night, being in his arms as you kissed him with all the love. You were not happy with this, that was the plain truth. In fact, the self-hate and disappointed increased by tenfolds.

Forget him

You prayed you would bore him. You prayed he would move on. You prayed to see him smile, alongside a wonderfully appropriate woman, someone that he could walk hand in hand with. You prayed he would be happy with no shame or regrets. Dying of jealousy would be inevitable for you, but at least you would be at peace. All because you truly cared for him, because you truly loved him. And thus, there you were, immersed in the distraction, your life consistently on fast pace , like a dance remix track on loop.

However, one early morning, a particular phone call suddenly managed to force your life to hit pause.

“Miss, Please come”  

Alfred Pennyworth said, his voice laced with a tone close to sadness, something you had never heard before:

“It’s about Master Wayne”

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

The manner you scrambled in to the elevator, “Forget him” was certainly the last thing you could ever do, for Bruce Wayne was all that you could think of at the moment. Was he hurt? Injured? Or something worse? The few seconds taken for the elevator to reach the Penthouse felt like an eternity, thus driving you beyond patience as your foot tapped nervously. Your heart was beating at a new pace of its own, speed so deadly you feared you might even explode. Hunger or thirst had come second in your needs this morning. The moment the elevator opened, the tapping of your foot joined the exact speed of your heart. You literally jumped out:

“ALFRED!” You cried,  “ Alfred…where is h-”

You paused, eyes widening with confusion. The worry and panic birthed in you suddenly seemed quite wasteful. Especially when you found Bruce Wayne casually standing next to the sofa chair alongside Alfred, being at their safest and calmest. That very moment, did you realize how overdramatic your behavior might have seemed, which caused nothing but sheer awkwardness in the room. It was clearly intensified when you noticed the mess of a state you were in. Dashing out of your own apartment so fast, you had forgotten to tuck in your shirt, while your hair remained loose and inhibited. With a proud smile, Alfred looked at his master:

“I told you so…” the butler said, beginning to walk away from him. You grew confused.

“Told?-” you paused,  “Wait!” you exclaimed, looking at Bruce. Confusion morphed into instant anger. Could this possibly be another cheap ploy to see you? By playing with your emotions? You were in disbelief, as you pointed at him accusingly:

“Did you put Alfred up to this?”

“It was purely my doing, Miss”

Your eyes widened once more when Alfred answered with confidence. Panting to recover your breath, you looked at the older man walking over to you.

“I only did the needful…cause no one else did…” he said, shooting you a look before looking over at Bruce, “I’ve made you some, if you excuse me”

You chuckled in disbelief. It appeared that someone was clearly compelled to take decisive action on behalf on both of you, as a proper adult. And his name was Alfred Pennyworth.

“Thank you, Alfred” Bruce said, to which the butler nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the area.

All your dire efforts in the past few days seemed moot, when finally you were back to square one, as you had this standing right before you. Dressed in such simple attire such as a crisp white shirt and black pants, Bruce Wayne still managed to break your defenses, leaving you breathless once more. He was the physical embodiment of the dewy grass in the early morning. Simply cooling and refreshing. The mere thought of being alone in a room with Bruce Wayne would have been your version of heaven a few days ago. Truthfully, temptation frantically begged you to run into his arms, only to just remain there for an eternity. And heaven knows what else it would urge you to do with a man such as he was.

But you could not. You should not. Not when you constantly felt as you were being trialed by morality. You despised it.

The room reeked of silence, to the point it was simply unbearable. The fact he did not seem cross made it worse for you. An explanation was needed by him. You could not disagree on that. Taking a few steps towards him, you inhaled deeply, especially when he looked at you with a gentle yearning:

“I-”

The phone rang frantically in your bag, making you jump. With a deep sigh, you took it out. Immediately, you looked over to Bruce:

“It’s Officer Blake…”

You said, knowing information of much importance was to be received. It was a call not to be ignored. With his nod of agreement, you put the call on speaker phone.

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

With a reasonably stacked file in hand, Officer John Blake sat comfortably at the rooftop of the Police Station. It was a cloudy morning as he looked over the Gotham city with his phone pressed to his ear. This call, was certainly the precinct walls need not eavesdrop to.

“Officer Blake!”

The woman known publicly as ‘The Bruiser’ answered, “ I really hope you’re calling to bring me good news” John could not help but chuckle by her response, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ma’am” he said, “But I promise to give you something better than ‘I’ve got nuthin’” Opening the file with one hand, he continued, “The shooter from last time…” “… Mr. Slender?” “Who?” John asked confusingly. The woman laughed nervously from the other side of the line. “Sorry…” she said, “…that was what I called him in my head…” “Makes sense…” John nodded, proceeding to smile when he saw a woman walking over to him. It was Nina Langdon. With her loose red hair brushed to the side, she quickly perched next to John, offering him a coffee cup, labeled “Commons Café”. Putting the call on speaker, John handed the phone to Nina as he went through the file whilst taking a quick sip of the hot beverage:

“His name is Emilio Cruz, or thats what it says in the system...” He said, as the coffee warmed his throat, “No priors, and…” sighing, John shook his head, “…there’s very little detail about him. He barely talked during the interrogation. And before we knew it, Henderson’s men got him out again” 

The woman exhaled deeply. John did not blame her. For even Nina did not seem pleased.

“So he’s a free man again…”

“Technically yes, there’s not much the police can do right now” John answered, looking through the file, “The CCTVs near the bodega were blocked the moment shots were fired, so we couldn’t make out the other people involved.”

The woman expressed her response with silence. Blake felt guilt clenching him hard. His distress was evident. And for a second, he did not even have the heart to look at Nina. Gripping the file tighter, his voice suddenly grew louder:

“Ma’am…” John began, “…I know this seems like a dead end, but it’s not. I won’t let it” he said, “I’ll do my best to open a case against Henderson, and you will have to come in every once in a while for questioning”

“Of course…anything you need, Officer”

The woman answered instantly. Her voice rife with enthusiasm and relief.

Finally hanging up, John quickly took in another long sip for comfort.

“You’re doing the right thing, John” Nina spoke, the warmth in her voice seemingly much stronger than the beverage. As he looked into her eyes, John knew he got the morale boost he so needed to carry with this mission.

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

Putting the phone away, you let out a heavy sigh. You were filled with such suspense during the call that your forced you to sit down. As he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, Bruce watched you silently. After almost escaping death, a partial hope formed within you, that perhaps your life would finally be spared and intruded. Truthfully, how far could someone really go for murder? But now, upon hearing the sombre tone of Officer Blake, another reality dawned on you. One where you might have to keep your eyes wide open. Open for ‘Emilio’ and for ‘Alpha’. Feigning a chuckle, you slowly got up, barely looking at the man.

“Guess I still got a target on my head…heheh”

You said, looking down. But the moment your eyes traced his footsteps growing closer, you cleared your throat,  “..right-”

“You’re avoiding me, aren’t you?”

You tensed, when Bruce Wayne finally brought up the elephant in the room. Turning your head up slowly, your eyes finally met his. His eyes, they were far from displeased. However, you did manage to catch a glimpse of sadness in them. As if he was let down. As this was not expected. Not from some such as yourself. You felt so ashamed.

“Mr.Wayne-”

“Bruce” he corrected, with a soft smile. Shushing yourself embarrassingly, you held your hands together for forgiveness, “Force of habit….” You muttered shyly. As your hands were engaged in a silent wrestling match of it’s own, you took a deep breath:

“I’m really sorry…” you began softly, “…truly…for everything, Bruce”

His name, simply unbelievable how it rolled out of your lips so beautifully. And more importantly, how you managed to involuntarily smile whenever it did. As you smiled, you felt your body relax, enabling you to admire those handsome features he owned. For a split second, you were overjoyed to implant your gaze at him. Your eyes, they indulged in the details as he grew closer. The brunette hair parted on the side and brushed back seemed so delectable, your fingers suppressed their desire to run through it with frenzy. The high cheekbones and the lines on the sides of his mouth seemingly majestic, distracting you until it was clear he stood merely a few centimeters away from your face, bending his head, high hopes to steal a long-awaited kiss.

Except you looked down. With a deep breath, you put your hands on your hips before looking up with a serious expression: 

“I am a woman...” you began, “....who takes her job very seriously…” You stated confidently, “And…” you chuckled, pointing at him, “…you being you...and me being me…” you said, pointing at yourself, “I just…” you paused, “…this ...is this right?” You inquired, “…Us? I mean…” taking another breath, you smiled, “Are you sure you want this?”

Beating around the bush just to inquire the ethics of a relationship. Was this over dramatic? Bruce however, did not flinch. Instead, he smiled.

“I think you should ask the question yourself...” he said, his voice softer than velvet, “... do you want this?” He said, passing the ball over to you, which you held with such reluctance. You sighed:

“Don’t do this, Bruce-”

However you shut up the moment he cupped your face with both hands. He was not amused. He seemed highly convincing:

“You’re the one who kissed me” he stated, his warmth breath falling on your face, “…you’re the one who drove me insane… from the very moment I saw you”

Breathless, you tried your hardest not to be. But it was difficult, especially when his velvet voice soothed your wounded soul.

“Well, to be fair…” you began in a witty tone,  “…you weren’t entirely innocent yourself” you said, smiling. Bruce shot you an amused glance. Breathing deeply, you sighed, “You have no idea how wild you drove me” you added with sincerity: “And you kissed me back, mind you”

You said. Chuckling together, the atmosphere seemed to grow normal and comfortable. Truthfully, you missed that dearly.

“I just hope you understand, I’m in a really screwed up place…” you said sadly, “…you being my boss and all…” you stated, for that was simply the truth. Bruce smiled gently.

“Well, until things get unscrewed…” he began, “I will wait for you…”

“I wish you won’t…” you said, reminded of the kindness  you felt in him on the very first day you met him. Instead of a defying reply, his lips landed on your forehead, kissing it gently to send a rush of warmth though you. As simple as it was, yet it called out for many of your frustrations to come out of the shadows. And it simply caused you to long for him even more. Forget him? It would be a herculean task indeed.

“But don’t make me suffer for too long” he teased, muttering on to your forehead before looking at you. With a chuckle, you tilted your head:

“See? I don’t want to be a burden to you…”

“You’re not-”

“Master Wayne!”

Alfred’s voice emerged out of nowhere, forcing Bruce to release you from his grasp. The older man walked over briskly, “Pardon the intrusion but…”

“And that’s my queue to leave…” you announced, unwilling to intrude on pressing matters.

“Best if you stay as well, Miss”  

Alfred certainly had other plans, as he turned on the television to GCN Breaking News. Complete surprise was the default mood as you all watched Erik Henderson standing before Henderson Incorporated surrounded by news reporters. His smug expression was as flashy as the tile of the news frame that read:

Wayne Enterprises: Guilty of Intellectual Property Breach?

Bruce’s phone began to ring continuously, however he silenced it as Henderson began to speak to the press:

“Henderson Incorporated has been robbed of our dignity. And I demand Bruce Wayne to step forward and address this. He may be able to protect thugs in his own company like ‘the Bruiser’ but, we will not rest until this issue is resolved”

Folding your arms worriedly, you wondered if you were actually a fatal curse brought upon to destroy Wayne Enterprises, and Bruce Wayne himself.

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

An Emergency Management Meeting was called. Being Lillian’s backup, it was imperative for you to participate from HR. Henderson’s surprising stunt had definitely caused quite the stir that a swarm of reporters waited outside Wayne Enterprises when you finally arrived. Thus, entering the building itself was a dire task with you bombarded with questions:

“Bruiser! Bruiser! Over here!” “What are your thoughts regarding the claims made by Erik Henderson?” “Do you feel partially responsible for all this?” “Have you been in contact with Bruce Wayne?” “Do you regret attacking Henderson?”

Those unanswered questions echoed in your head, sitting alongside the other Heads and members at the conference room. The group collectively clamored with questions, growing louder when Lucius Fox and Bruce Wayne arrived and took their seats. But as soon as Fox stood up, silence fell on all of them.

“Members of the Management” he began, his voice booming across “As we all know, Erik Henderson has made certain unsavory claims about Wayne Enterprises”

“What the hell is this devil up to?” Kline from Accounting certainly had no time to be formal, while the others heavily buzzed in agreement.

“He’s claiming Wayne Enterprises has stolen the…” Fox paused, as he read the file in hand,  “…blueprints of their Main Server” he added with raised eyebrows. As if what he heard was unimaginable.

“That’s preposterous!” Kline cried out, leading the crowd to continue their clamour.

Slight relief washed over you. When you expected the Heads to show their aggression towards you for your previous blunder, they somehow surprised you with complete solidarity instead. Perhaps that company dinner helped. And it was certainly a relief that the Board of Directors were not involved. They did not need to be. Heaven knows the chaos they would make, and the blame they might impose on you. Thank goodness for Fox. You looked over at Bruce, who sat on the other corner of the table. Looking at Fox with seriousness, he seemed to be deep in thought. Maybe he was.

“Regardless of the minor details, this is simply utter nonsense” Fox said.

“But Mr. Fox, we cannot take this lying down” Ted Hawthorne pointed out, sitting beside his Head in Legal with a concerned expression, “The Board of Directors will definitely have questions. And Henderson will not hesitate to press charges…”

“Exactly…” Fox said, “..so before this drags on to court, I suggest we meet Henderson’s team in private, resolving this as peacefully as possible”

“Henderson is asking for me”

All turned towards Bruce’s direction as his voice pierced through, “I will go.”

Your heart clenched. As valiant as he was, this was not the time to be Batman. He  could not take on this endeavour all on his own.

“You’re going to need us, Mr Wayne” Ted said, “Henderson’s Team is like a pack of wolves, you’re going to need reinforcements if this is gonna be resolved.”

“Thank you” Bruce nodded at him.

And so, whilst the Management continued to plan out their strategy before the fated meeting, you could not help but continuously glance over at Bruce. A sudden urge came over you to speak to him. Was he prepared with this? Will everything be alright? As he kept himself busy listening to the Legal Team, you were descending down on a personal spiral of regrets. Which included getting this entire company in trouble in the first place.

All because of a drunken punch in the face.

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

“What the damn HELL?”

Lillian Foster’s enraged voice filled your ears through the phone. In complete disbelief yourself, you could not help but laugh while walking out of the ladies washroom. You could not resist sharing the news with your Boss.

“Yeah! my thoughts exactly…” you said, bending to toss the used tissue to the trash bin. Lillian sighed heavily.

“I swear, that man Henderson is going off the rails”  her voice kept you in good company strolling through the HR floor, “So…He thinks we had a spy stealing a Blueprint?”

“So…you remember Caleb saying he went for an Interview at Hendersons before joining Wayne?” you recalled, walking over to your office,“And that was like TWO years ago” you stressed, locking the door behind you, “And now suddenly it’s a matter of company safety for Henderson? He’s unbelievable…” you scoffed, standing by the window blinders , opening it slightly to watch the staff outside, “Anyways, How is the baby?” your voice quickly changing to an affectionate one.

“Thankfully loves her mama…I could sleep for a few straight hours finally”

Nodding, your eyes seemed occupied once you caught the glimpse of Clara Bennett. Sitting in her lonesome in one of the smaller meeting rooms, she seemed to be far from her usual self. Down in the dumps, more like.

“So, what are you gonna do about the Offer?”

Your focus returned immediately upon Lillian’s query. Nervousness began to form.

“What offer?” you blurted out with feigned surprise. Your boss chuckled.

“Don’t play dumb with me, young lady …” she said,  “I bet you already got Hudson’s email …I heard from a contact”

With a deep sigh, you made your way to your computer. Lillian seemed patient with your silence, as she cooed her crying baby lovingly. You opened your inbox with trepidation, clicking on that fateful email titled:

Job Offer for General Manager -Hudsons Solutions

Hudsons Solutions, possibly the best HR Specialist Company in Gotham city. It was known to only hire only the best in the field, providing excellent services to all major companies and businesses. The fact that Clara Bennett herself was not a permanent staffer there was a clear example of their elite status.

Therefore, it was quite the surprise when they offered you a job. You remember going for the interview two years ago. It was an impulse decision after a bad day. But never did you think they would get back with a green light. This email was a blessing. Yet, you were reluctant to even consider it.

“So…how does it look?”

Lillian inquired as you looked at the email. You sighed with an involuntary smile, “It’s everything I hoped it would be…“ you said, “...the working hours, the pay, the benefits…” You added, feeling a sense of excitement the more you read it , “But” you paused, “… after the Bruiser incident… would they choose me?” You wondered, your fingers grazing over the mouse.

“The fact they sent this after the incident, clearly shows they want you no matter what”

Funny how you still were brimming with confusion, even with Good News staring at you in the face. “I really don’t know what to do, Lillian” you admitted, crossing your legs, “But…Hudsons is my dream place to work”

“Heheh…I’m really gonna miss you if you go…”

You chuckled, “Well, Why don’t you come along with me?”

“Don’t tempt me. I might…”  

Lillian said, with laughter breaking out between both.

Truthfully, you were surrendered by fear. It finally was evident that you possibly may fear of letting go. Imagining the possibility of leaving the company that was your home for a decade. The thought of it seemed heartbreaking. It was never hell. But you always longed to get better. However, if you did strive and take the daring step, would that not help you in every way imaginable? With Bruce Wayne, for example?

Then again, if the Billionaire ends up never being invested as you were, would it regretful to leave behind a trustworthy workplace?

“You were born to do great things, honey. I hope you make a good decision”  

Hanging up, a huge weight landed on your chest with more queries. But at the same time, you had a thirst that needed quenching. And a sudden urge to check on a friend.

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

Gently knocking on the small meeting room door, you surprised Clara with two paper cups of steaming coffee. And to your sheer relief, her face lit up soon after.

“Thanks...” she said, taking one cup, “…you already know my order” she added with surprise. You smiled.

“That happens when you come to the HR Department at Wayne Enterprises…you remember your coffee order” you chuckled, sitting in front of her. Finally, after a few of consulting, it was finally Clara’s last week. But that could not possibly be the reason for her blue expression, “You doing okay?” You inquired.

Looking up from her coffee, Clara appeared quizzical, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying I miss you poking on our business but…” you said ,shaking your head, “It’s just that…you’ve been unusually quiet these days” you stated, shrugging, “Just wanted to see if you’re okay”

Ever since the night you were almost killed, you were too distracted by being distracted ,to fully notice how Clara exuded a different energy at work. She spoke less and she smiled rarely. Holding onto her coffee, she sighed: “I’m sorry. It’s just that-” she paused, smiling, “Never mind..”

“What?” You asked quickly, only to stop yourself, “I mean- you don’t have to-if you don’t want to…” you said, unwilling to cause trouble by slowly getting up, “I can just-”

“No, I want to” Clara said, urging you to sit down once again. Taking a deep breath, she looked at you, “So…I’ve been seeing this guy”

“Ooh…” You began excitedly with a smile, “….someone tamed Ms. Bennett’s heart. Spicy!-Sorry…” you bowed your head embarrassingly upon seeing Clara’s look.

Taking another sip, she continued: “Anyways, We went out a couple of times. And he wasn’t shy on telling me how much he liked me”

“So he’s an expressive one, that’s rare” you noted, nodding before drinking your coffee. Clara chuckled.

“Yeah, I like him, I do” She added, “But, I was scared to admit it for some reason”, you swore you felt your smile fade upon hearing it, “And when I finally summed up the courage to tell him…” Clara smiled sadly, “…he didn’t seem that interested anymore. He had moved on”

“Oh Clara…” you breathed. She shrugged.

“Guess he figured I wasn’t as invested as he was…” she said, “…which was NOT true…I was just late to the party. I just didn’t…do it right…” she added, her fist clenching tightly. You sighed deeply.

“That just sucks…really, I’m so sorry”

Clara chuckled amusingly, "Why you getting so upset?”

The sadness was evident on your face, you may not have seen it. Yet you felt it. Coming to realization, you pressed your lips. She was right, why were you so upset? Could it that it was a clear reminder of someone else you knew? Yourself? Your future? Bruce?

“Me?” You feigned your disbelief, “ I just-” you paused, “ I guess I can understand when you like someone…and the challenges that come with it” Indeed, you could empathize to the core. More than ever. Along with the what would smother you. In every way.

"Ah well…what to do” the consultant replied, leaning forward “ All I can tell you is this: If you really care for someone…” she added seriously, slowly tapping her fingers on the table, “….like or love or whatever, better act on it… fast” she stressed, finally leaning back once again, “Cause very few people will be patient in life. And Life IS short so….” Getting up, you were left with some of your own pondering as she left.

Work proceeded as usual, going on until you managed to look through the glass window to the glittery Gotham skyline that evening. Unease remained in you throughout the entire day with one person in mind: Bruce Wayne. 8 hours since they left for questioning, and there were no news. The number of texts you sent were still left unanswered. So, this is what it feels like, you thought.

Perhaps Alfred. Being his confidant, he may have contacted him.  Making your way out of the Wayne Tower, you knew where to head over to.

But all was made simply made convenient for you, when you found Alfred Pennyworth standing by the Rolls Royce,  in front of the Tower, seemingly waiting for you.

“Master Wayne insisted” he said, before you could even question. And without any objection, you nodded to let him drive you home.

As the vehicle cruised through the city, you were quiet. It could not be helped. A certain form of guilt had occupied you, forcing you to do so. However, when Alfred’s eyes greeted you from the rear view mirror, you knew you were compelled to speak: “Any news from Bruce?” You inquired.

“Not at the moment, No”  the butler answered with politeness. Sighing was inevitable at this point, as you looked through the window.

“I hope they’re not in trouble” you muttered.

“It’s Master Wayne, miss” Alfred said, “He will figure it out somehow” The reassurance he offered, filled you with comfort. But simultaneously that guilt within you grew larger like a tumor, reminding you of the indirect cruelty you had inflicted on both men.

“Alfred…” You began with a deep breath, “I’m sorry….” You continued, “…for avoiding you both…” sighing soon after, “This situation…its not easy for me…”

“We are all bound by responsibility, that I understand, Miss” Alfred replied, as he continued to drive, “But one thing is for certain. In all my life, I have never seen Master Wayne wanting so much to be happy with someone…” he insisted “…and by someone… I mean you, Miss”

He may be the trusted Butler in the Wayne family, but given his tone, you also heard the concern of a father, watching over his son with affection. That strong concern pierced through your heart and remained with a memorable pain.

As you sat on your bed that night, rubbing hand cream, you recalled all the moments that clearly urged you to reflect: Lillian, Clara and Alfred. All three of them, involuntarily shedding light on the path you possibly should journey in. And in the end of the day, you were the one to decide, to take that daring step. Was Bruce alright? You wondered still. Given the time now, it seemed impossible to imagine Henderson’s legal team to wear them out with accusations at this hour. It was simply ludicrous.

Your heart skipped a beat when the phone vibrated. But the moment you glanced upon it,  you chuckled lightly, for you guessed it wrong. It was Clara.

Thanks for today. I felt much better unloading on you.

Smiling warmly, you were relieved. Such a sheer pity she would leave soon. It was certainly a rollercoaster ride of emotion knowing her. However, it all worked out well in the end. You formed a reply:

Yay! Glad I could help.

Would you be truly fortunate enough to receive a text from Bruce instead? At least one word, just to hint all was well. Sleeping seemed unimaginable to you now. For all you could imagine doing was to blankly stare at the screen, drown oneself in the blue light until his name would appear at some point. You were patient.

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

(5:30 am )

Dawn peacefully greeted your eyes when they slowly opened. Exhaustion finally had sent you to deep slumber, you appeared to have rested in fetal position, cradling your phone as if it was the most precious object. The reason for it, you had an important one. But, as you glanced upon the screen, the efforts still seemed moot.

With a glass of water in hand, you quietly paced around the apartment in your oversized t-shirt. Morning lights in shades of blue and gray had fallen over every object and corner of the premises. The blue hour, as it was called, was possibly your favorite moment of the day. Regardless of what time you may sleep, your eyes would always open to be greeted by the blue hour. Perhaps your body was hopelessly besotted with it, therefore efforts to wake up seemed nonexistent anymore. You were thankful, for it was the apt moment to indulge in peace, the beauty before the bustle of the streets grew loud, before your roommate woke up. The blue hour was indeed your own, special hour.

Gulping down the entire water, you kept the glass in the sink with a sigh. He never managed to leave your thoughts every single minute. It was inconceivable to imagine how one could think of someone always, but it seemed you could, at least once a minute. For no matter how many attempts arise, he managed to stealthily conceal himself in some undiscoverable corner of your heart. You asked for nothing much, all you really longed for was to confirm his safety, his company’s safety.

The doorbell rang, suddenly waking you up from your pondering. The fact it rang so early in the day, had you quite suspicious. Could it be another attack? Right here in your home? With a deep breath, you tip toed over to the door. Your heart evidently beating out of your chest as you pressed your ear against the door.

“Y-Yes?”  You inquired softly.

“It’s me”

That familiar voice. It suddenly provided you with the amount of life your body truly needed. Brimming with relief, you swore you almost felt your eyes water with tears. Overjoyed, you quickly opened the door wide to find Bruce Wayne standing there. Still dressed in his suit and tie, he certainly wore an extra exhausted look as he entered:

“Hey, sorry for barging in like th-”

He paused. He had to. Especially when you ran into him for a tight embrace.

“I-I didn’t go to war, you know” Bruce began, confusingly.

“Doesn’t matter…you’re here now” you replied, with warmth. Heartbeat began to increase the moment you felt his own arms tightly hold you back, to bring you closer. This very moment was when you realized this probably was the very first you shared an embrace. And truthfully, you certainly were pleased with the result. In fact, you were euphoric. His body, you found home in it, with its warmth and it’s safety, framing your own body with such care as your face rested on the crook of his neck. Bruce finally sighed:

“But it did feel like war” he breathed gently. You chuckled.

“Well, Welcome home, soldier ” you whispered teasingly. 

Pulling away was torturous. If only you could stay like this forever. Nature certainly was on your side, when you realized his magnetic energy exuded with strength. You were deeply inclined to press your forehead against his, witnessing the quiet, syncopated breathing between each other. And you did. Being in this close proximity, noses brushed against another, sending small sparks of electricity throughout your frame. The memory of that first kiss. The tension, the warmth and the affection. You were reminded of all of it instantly. Lips were heavily strengthened with the magnetic force, urging to reunite with one another. However before tensions skyrocketed, you moved away. Breathing in to reality once again. And it was Hell.

“What the hell happened, Bruce?”

You inquired casually, your hands resting on your hips, “How long did they keep you for?” “Since this morning” “What?” Hissing in shock, your eyes widened as he quietly closed the door behind him. “Henderson’s guys, they were good” He said softly, shaking his head as you offered him a seat on the sofa, “They were armed with enough questions to last the night. Some of them just plain outrageous, in fact. All just to make sure we didn’t steal their Blueprints” he chuckled.

“God!” You exclaimed quietly, “…that man is crazy” you said, walking towards the window while looking at him, “Were you alone?”

“No no...” he said, “Ted and the others...safe to say, they saved my ass” he added, following you. Smiling proudly, you tilted your head:

“You owe them big time, by the way”

“Oh, I told them to sleep it off today....” Bruce said, with a smile, “With pay...”   Clutching your chest, you were joyous to see all had ended well, “Thank you...” you breathed, to which he nodded graciously. All the sudden, it came to your awareness of how indecent you appeared before him. Being the woman who paraded around in her formal office attire, now standing in just her oversized T-shirt, messy hair and no makeup.

Yet, it indeed was surprising that it only occurred to you later on, for your strongest emotions and concerns had come first before reputation. With your long silence, it seems Bruce finally took a good look at you as well. Dare to catch his expression, you dared not, for you urged yourself to shyly look away.

“Henderson...he-“ you began, folding your arms, “I’m pretty sure all this happened because of me...” you added, looking down at his shoes. You sighed, “this was definitely a petty method to get you to fire me. I mean, none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me” you stated, “I’m putting this company through so much”. Hunching forward, you chuckled sadly:

“They should have just killed me in that alleyway in the first place-Ah!”

Gasps exited your lips when you felt Bruce snatch on to your right hand with an iron grip. Only then did you realize the intensity of his eyes piercing through the dim morning light. And how they glinted with hurt.

“If they killed you,...” he breathed, pressing his lips soon after, “I would never be able to live with myself…ever”

Those words brimmed with vulnerability. However, your heart could not accept them.

“You’re just saying that“ you whimpered. Looking in to your eyes with focus, he breathed in your name.

“I spent one whole night…” Bruce began, “…answering senseless questions, to a man child with anger issues…And I did it for you” he said, “And…I would do it all over again...”

To your surprise, this composited of all qualities deemed romantic, though it may not seemed traditional. They were certainly most adequate for you. But, your heart was not yet convinced:

“Bruce…” your voice almost broke, “…I’m just a Senior Manager in your company” you said, with a sad smile, “You deserve better”

And you meant it, truly. Gently pulling you closer, Bruce exhaled deeply: “I don’t care of what I deserve...” he stated, his thumb grazing over your hand, “…I care of what I need…”

Your fast paced heart had difficulty functioning when you felt him place a gentle kiss on the back of your wrist. The same traumatic place Alpha willfully slashed, the same spot blood managed to gush out. His lips, they were akin to an invisible bandage you preferred not to rid oneself of. And to find him  reach this stage of vulnerability, you would be lying if you did not acknowledge your broken heart as a consequence.

“Bruce...” you breathed, your defenses breaking down within seconds. Looking up, he looked at you with desperation:

“What is it?” he inquired with impatience, “What do I need to prove to y-”

He was silenced, when you clashed your lips against his with sheer desperation. Your heart finally understood, it seemed.

“Just kiss me” you breathed shakily, your lips brushing against his. Was this what he desired for? You wondered for a split second. But the moment he exhaled with relief, Bruce kissed you back with equal fervor, both finally have come to an understanding.

A desperate one, to be exact.

Bruce’s lips were as addictive and charismatic as his entire presence itself, and certainly strong enough to drive away and forget all matters that resided in your head, except one: your desperate need for him.

Desperation was what you tasted when he kissed you, and that was what your own lips preached religiously to his. It was the lead role of this passion play. Every minute, every day, every week you had deprived yourself of him, you hopelessly needed them back. All forms of doubts and suppression that lingered, you threw all out of the window. For you chose him, you wanted him.

His lips, they held on to you tightly, savoring your own with enough passion and impatience whilst his hands gripped on to your waist with intensity. And truthfully, you did not blame him. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you were relieved to share that similar greed for one another. You moaned into the kiss, as his palms made themselves at home on your buttocks. Backing up, you finally stopped the moment you felt the dinner table right behind you. And before your brain could even form any connection, Bruce was generous, lowering himself enough for you to jump onto him, just so he could carefully place you on the table.

Pulling him by the loosened tie, you felt the kiss deepen at last. Tongues were in a desperate race to reach their destination before the other, intoxicating each other with no shame. As he stood between your legs, you heard yourself gasp into his lips as bodies clashed intimately close. It sent goosebumps, it cause fireworks. Your body was awakened in more ways than one.

Like a drug addict deprived of her usual supply, you suddenly looked at Bruce with desperation when his lips quickly pulled away from yours. Looking at your messy, aroused state, he began breathlessly:

“I can…” he panted, forehead pressed against yours, “I can stop if you want-”

“Don’t dare fucking stop, Bruce!”

You whispered, sheer impatience leading you to kiss him roughly afterwards. His consideration even at this point led to even more arousal than before. By now, the level of desperation increased, to the point a sense of connection was expected of, where desire and lust grouped up form a stronger alliance. A pair of trousers being unbuckled never sounded this heavenly, especially when it was Bruce Wayne engaged in it. With your own fingers hooked on to the ends of your panties, you impatiently managed to pull them down whilst moving from side to side on the table. All the while his lips were desperately glued onto yours.

No clothes were in need of shedding, for there was simply no time to. Sloppy Desperation overruled this morning, to the point all that simply mattered were the uniting of one’s bodies until two became one, until that burning flame could finally be put out. Until that hunger was satisfied, and that thirst was quenched.

“Bruce…” you breathed, pulling away, eyes widening as you looked down.

For the moment your eyes caught the glimpse of his own aroused manhood reveal itself before you, the need for him was confirmed once more . The very moment you found yourself adjusting for him, you were aware of what you needed. The moment you let out of an incredibly emotional cry  when he finally inserted himself into you, all that seemed challenging in your life were suddenly filled with clarity.

“Ah! Bruce…” you cried softly, as his own grunts harmonized with yours.

With every thrust he made inside you, with every kiss  he planted on your skin, you gladly were prepared to be his. As the apartment filled up with suppressed moans, grunts and whispery sighs exchanged between the two, you were hopelessly and shamelessly his.

When finally the passion peak was reached, and his own passion erupted and released within your core, You finally knew what really was important for you. For you had finally decided. 

——————————————————

Chapter 8 HERE

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[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Merry Christmas

And you’re getting a special gift! :) I give you one chapter of a work that I will probably not presume, it’s the abandoned “A past and future secret.” You can find the chapter below the cut. Beware: NSFW, explicit. And now have a good time. 

Everything had a political dimension, at least for Emhyr, especially when it came to public events that he had to attend. The wedding had not been long ago, and appropriate to its status, it had taken place in Nilfgaard. At best, however, he had postponed the north's planned expansion, which is why Emhyr soon returned to Vizima after the festivities. There were also obligations at the court there that were directly related to his marriage. Of course, Geralt had subtly noted that celebrations did not necessarily have a political influence, but even he knew better. He suspected, not without reason that Emhyr simply liked all the effort. While he often emphasized that his status - and the current military power - alone should be enough to keep his subordinates in line, he knew well enough it wasn't. There were occasions when politics required an open display of pomp and ostentation, and there were also occasions when the court allowed itself to be appeased by festivities. And even the people appreciated this, for a prudent ruler ensured that an event such as a wedding provided certain privileges - a reduction in taxes, an extra bushel of grain in the silo, and the like. 

In this case, it might have been particularly necessary to influence the nobility and the people equally, because not only was the power structure in the north still fragile, but the usual beautiful princess was also missing, with whom many a decision was easier to sell. For this, Emhyr could not bring political motives into play. Nor did he succumb to the illusion, if he would have cared, that his marriage to a witcher would somehow benefit the profession's reputation. Nevertheless, he had taken the risk even though his own reputation might suffer, or people might think he had fallen into madness. Love was rarely a motive that lasted in the long term in the political arena. 

Tonight's ball was an attempt to smooth things over, and he knew that it would be successful, at least with some of those present. A kind of post-wedding celebration, if you like, exclusively for the representatives of northern kingdoms. The ball was the highlight of several days of celebration, which could only be a copy of the Nilfgaard festivities, but hopefully without scandals. That the original wedding date had been overshadowed by a perfidious assassination attempt had fueled the rumor mill. They had finally caught up with the matter a few weeks later without any further problems, but of course, the same kind of thing stuck in people's minds. 

Geralt was usually not interested in such considerations, even though he knew that he could hardly ignore them now. Only little by little did he realize that in this case he was actually taking the place of the expected princess - with all the consequences. And they were often of a representative nature. Even the one or other dance could not be excluded - and surprisingly, he was not a bad dancer. Emhyr was leading, of course. This was always the only unaccustomed thing, although Geralt had no difficulty in letting him take the lead in other areas. In fact, he even liked it. There was only one thing where he always insisted on getting the upper hand, which was when it came to Emhyr's safety. 

"They all think you married your bodyguard," mumbled Geralt as they led the first dance of the evening in the heated room. As far as Geralt was concerned, the only dance, but there was probably not the last word about that.

"Did I not?" Emhyr returned quietly. One hand on Geralt's back, he held with the other Geralt's hand, and perhaps they danced a touch closer than it seemed appropriate. This was not particularly scandalous for newlyweds, yet an unexpected display of emotion on the Emperor's side. In the end, however, one of the few he could afford.

Geralt snorted.

"What makes you think so?" asked Emhyr as the music swelled to indicate that the dance floor was now open to the rest of the audience. Now they could speak more freely. 

"Look at them," Geralt replied. "It's just like in Cidaris."

Emhyr knew exactly what he was alluding to. Back then, however, they had only pretended to be married - it must seem all the more ridiculous to anyone who had been at the court of Cidaris then, given the enormity of the actual wedding. 

"If I remember correctly, you said at the time that I could put you in these clothes, but one would still recognize that you had the witcher in you," said Emhyr, not without a slight twitch of the corners of his mouth. "Would you really mind if people thought I married you for that reason? "

"Hardly," Geralt admitted. "But who knows, maybe that was the real reason?"

Emhyr hummed. 

"Maybe," he replied and pulled Geralt a little closer.  

Even if it was one of those evenings that seemed endless to Geralt, at some point, the moment came when they could withdraw. Emhyr seemed willing to continue the only dance he had been given that night once they had arrived in his - well, now probably their - rooms. The door had barely closed behind them when Emhyr took advantage of the fact that he was still holding Geralt's hand: in one quick movement, he pulled him closer and pushed him against the wall. Contrary to his habits, Emhyr had drunk more than usual - Geralt clearly tasted it in the following kiss. It was only one of the reasons for Emhyr's impetuousness, with which his tongue performed a very different dance in Geralt's mouth. The fact that this was a way he got rid of his permanent tension, which one usually could not recognize, was nothing new for Geralt. And marriage - basically their whole relationship, if he thought about it - was still new, for them both. Still exciting. He wrapped his arms around Emhyr; his right hand slid up to his neck as if to pull him even closer. Emhyr pressed a knee between his legs, pushing himself tightly against Geralt. His hands gripped Geralt's face in an unusually tender gesture, reserved for the most intimate moments, something he would never show in public. His kiss, however, spoke a different language, reflecting the passion of which the bulge in his trousers expressed exact words.

As their now slightly swollen lips parted, Emhyr murmured at his ear, "Husband," knowing full well that Geralt still felt a thrilling shiver down his spine hearing this. 

"If you wanted to seduce me, fine, you succeeded," Geralt murmured as he tried to win back Emhyr's lips. 

"I guess it's not very difficult," his husband returned, and the little smile was unmistakable. It reached his eyes, which were dark with desire at the same time. 

A quick grip confirmed the obvious: all this had been enough to make Geralt completely hard as well. The unexpected movement produced one of Geralt's little noises that Emhyr loved so much. And he knew how to get more. His mouth wandered to Geralt's throat, and purposefully found the one spot where his tongue made a deep sound elicit from Geralt's throat. With one hand, he reached up and loosened the ribbon from Geralt's hair so that it fell on his shoulders. 

The loose hair gave Geralt a wild appearance. This hair seemed merely impossible to tame, just as the one to which it belonged could never be fully tamed. Nevertheless, Emhyr knew ways to wake up or contain the wolf if he wanted to. What he wanted now soon became apparent when he started to free Geralt from his pants with extremely dexterous fingers. 

"Gee, you're impatient, but let's at least find a more comfortable place...", Geralt murmured between the never-ending kisses with which Emhyr covered his mouth and neck. "I'm sure that's not necessary," Emhyr returned as his mouth reached the shoulders. It was not just a touch too much alcohol that made him talk like that, not even his usual impatience. Not only, at least. What had built up in him today obviously demanded a particular outlet.

But how particular, Geralt only realized when Emhyr suddenly slid deeper until he knelt before him. This was as much a surprise as his mouth, which only a heartbeat later took up his member without prior warning. Geralt gasped. Involuntarily, a hand wandered into Emhyr's hair, although he knew that he didn't like it - but now, he didn't complain. The other hand reached for the wall behind him as if he wanted to hold on to it. And somehow, he really wanted to. It was a rare opportunity, and since Emhyr did not comment further, Geralt decided not to do so either. He just enjoyed the moment. After all, the most important ruler of the entire continent knelt before him, and he worked his cock so skilfully that he almost became dizzy. It was a shame that he showed this talent so rare, although he was always extremely skilled with his tongue. 

The warmth in the room, the fact that he, too, had needed plenty of wine to get through the evening, in combination with the feelings Emhyr just caused in him by moving his tongue agonizingly slowly over his shaft... Geralt felt his legs literally become soft. A sound escaped his throat, which Emhyr did not miss. He looked up at him for a moment, and the sight brought Geralt so close to fulfillment that he sucked the air in sharply. The hand that had just been clawed into Emhyr's hair slapped audibly against the wall to find support. Emhyr also made a sound now, quite clearly a small, half-suppressed laugh. For a brief, almost painful moment, his mouth moved away from his delightful task. Still looking at Geralt, now almost provocatively - no, for sure - he put two fingers in his mouth to moisten them. With the other hand, he pushed Geralt's legs a bit further apart. In no time, the tongue was back, now much further, but he was still just playing with him. 

He only teased him, his tongue playing with the wet, shiny tip of his cock at one moment, then again he licked along the shaft; only to finally take it all the way back into his mouth, which made Geralt gasp sharply. Then a hand reached back, pushing Geralt a little bit away from the wall, and the fingers looked for a way into his insides. It was almost too much, although not much had happened yet, but the prospect alone seemed to be enough. Emhyr knew that, but the soft whimpering that Geralt emitted as the first finger slowly made its way was additional proof. The smacking sound his mouth made when he pulled back did the rest. Now his other hand firmly grasped Geralt's balls, and he looked up at him and muttered, "Behave yourself, husband."

Geralt groaned. 

"Me? You want me to behave?"

He made an attempt to spread his legs a little more, but Emhyr had pinned him down with his mouth again. 

"If you carry on like this," Geralt gasped, "I certainly can't behave."

Then a little "Oh" escaped him, followed by a barely perceptible curse as the second finger followed the first, and both picked up a rhythm that was in harmony with Emhyr's mouth. 

Finally, Emhyr let him go, everywhere, and the feeling of disappointment was almost palpable. Emhyr stood up, pushed him back against the wall, and whispered in his ear, "We really should find a more comfortable place - although I wouldn't mind having you right here and..." 

There was a knock at the door.

[ddaenghoney]

chapter eight

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): there’s a very small (paragraph and a half) instance of some guy implied to get angry about oc turning him down, but it’s such a short moment.

Word count: 5347

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

The far wall is an expanse of window facing off on the city surrounding the top of the building, lights twinkling yet hazy. Man-made lighting out in the world creating a cast over those inside the dim party of spotlights flashing around on people that become a blur-- something unable to focus. Just Jimin returning a gaze towards you, feeling like a real luminescence even though his irises only twinkled with the passing strobes above.

How long this feeling of longing would attach itself to you whenever you catch wind of Jimin, you don’t know, but hope you are able to move beyond it soon. Whenever you feel as though you make progress, even in the form of a small step, you still find yourself latched backwards by something regarding him. Whether it is the idea of returning to as you and him were, or just the contradicting answers you’ve found about the relationship, you’re still constantly getting stuck. All because Jimin appears in ways around you like now where he reminds your psyche of his importance in your life, and how much yearning still resides in your heart to be with him again.

After realizing your doubletake turned into a present stare, you swallow thickly, and don’t return that ghosting smile of a greeting he’s sending to you, instead turning on your heel and continuing on. A need to speak to him doesn’t exist outside of the workplace any longer. He’s proven to you that nothing can spark between the two of you multiple times now. You shouldn’t dwell, you should only walk away. Like Jimin has let you.

A bartender greets you after two others, though you take a moment to realize he’s done so, particularly not noticing him until a napkin slides in front of you to house a drink when you give him the word. You think against the idea, if only because of the current state of shock you found yourself having not prepared yourself for the idea of seeing Jimin. It isn’t that big of a deal, you try reasoning, you need to settle in the fact that you’ll always run into him. That you shouldn’t be like this anymore; he isn’t, you shouldn’t.

Yoongi said it’s okay to hurt as long as you need, but you don’t want to. The feeling of longing reminds you of the loneliness. You don’t want it anymore. It makes you feel pathetic.

You want to leave, but you ask for your usual, nodding as the bartender mentions they only have Sprite then goes to make it after you tell him to give it a kick. After you drink it, Yoongi will be back, the conversation will be as short as he told you it would be, and you can both get out of there; nothing to worry about when you’re gone and away. Thanking the bartender, you’re left with a large first gulp hitting the back of your throat.  Positioning your body towards the standing bar counter in solidarity you swirl the thin, black straw around to watch the ice in your glass clatter and shake with the strong beverage within it. If you could say whom you are at least then there’d be something to discuss with the people here, maybe even discussion about collaborative work, but that’s a faraway idea. One outside the spectrum of possibility with how things are.

Then you wonder if Yoongi told Hoseok. He’d mentioned that Yoongi spoke of you to him. Unexpected as it was to hear. Though you didn’t think Yoongi is friendless, or closed-off from telling information about himself, you can’t think of an instance at SoundWave where the people around you knew much about him, and neither did you. Maybe at this company he’s decided to keep work and private life completely separate. With the headlines that ended Hoseok’s career swirling in your memory, you could understand why. But with the mutual disdain between Seulgi, someone directly involved, and Yoongi, who is only a friend of Hoseok, you can’t imagine what went wrong between Yoongi and the couple to create that.

On the second drink you are now standing with hardened eyebrows. If you relate your own situation with Yoongi to whatever happened in his past company you can conclude that there are simply things that weren’t shown. In the way that you’re marketing to the public as Yoongi’s girlfriend, his old company could’ve had their own lies that caused whatever went on. You sigh after a particularly stinging sip, then shake your head at your thoughts to dismiss them: it’s not your business. If Yoongi wants you to know, he would tell you.

Your body shifts, straightening slightly as a man never seen before steps to the bar for a drink, hip nearly bumping against your waist at the proximity. A noticeable pace to the side takes you from him as you just give a meaningfully irritated glower at him in the corner of your eye for the rude mannerism.

He catches sight of it; the smirk you didn’t catch on his face when he walked up smothering at your hardened attitude. You think he’s ready to say something, but then he’s obscured from your view. Replaced by styled, richly brown hair and erect posture clothed in a fine midnight blue blazer. Out of your sight, Jimin gives a stronger glare, wordless, but appearing immovable. The man past him doesn’t find the confrontation worth it and turns to the rest of the bar, moving down.

Your expression doesn’t shift, instead your heart thumps loudly in your chest, and you just sigh again. Because he came--eyed you beyond the silent acknowledgement and paid attention to what you would do. Keeping a protective eye on your person. You finish the latter half of your drink when Jimin’s body turns towards you. Checking.

Jimin thinks of his inability to move his eyes from your person when you walked along from him, unreturning of any greeting. Likely trying to avoid, or keep away. Maybe for the fake relationship with Yoongi’s sake, most logically for yourself to not have to deal with anything like the last interaction in the meeting room with him. Jimin planned to give you that distance; not actively trying to involve himself with you when he realizes there’s so much confusion and pain swarming your thoughts towards him right now. He knows that he should have looked away himself, but he’s always captivated by you. Years have gone by of knowing you at this point, and not a day where he’s been able to avoid letting fondness towards you grow whenever he sees you, thinks about you.

“You didn’t need to do that.” Bitter tone like the kick from the drink invaded your speech.

“I know.” He watches you place the glass on the napkin with a clack, ice inside it sliding around.

“Then why did you?” You huff, avoiding eye contact in favor of watching condensation build, waving off the bartender as he offers you another.

Jimin’s posture must show that he’s not interested in a drink as the man continues past him to other guests. His elbow rests on the counter, though his legs are still straightened in an unrelaxed way. He thinks about your question in silence, admiring the way the overhead lights dance across your dress in the passing minute, creating a shine on your dress, pronouncing the curves of your stance. His throat tightens, because he misses you but can’t. Shouldn’t.

“I didn’t think about it.” Your head turns towards the candor. Finding his focused gaze, you consider the idea that Jimin didn’t mean to say that and expose affinity for you. He still feels warm to look at, like the cusp of being pulled into a hug. Knowing the thoughts will just get you hurt, you push them aside facing forwards once more. Your hands cradling the shadow of your drink are only inches from the one Jimin lays on the counter. It’d be so easy to take hold of, and it sounds nice.

But like it’s a memory. An impossibility.

“Don’t you think you should think about it a little.” You murmur in the mix of distant music. “It’s confusing.”

Jimin hears the frailty of your admission, registering that it still stings you to see him. He knows it would, because it’s the same for him, but he’s tugged towards you like he’s left the atmosphere. Floating unstably and hoping there’s a way to land on two feet. A tug-of-war between logic telling him that he should come back to the ground and emotions that say there’s a way to come out of this differently than the course he’s set the relationship too.

But that option isn’t realistic, and at the very least unfair to you because of what it means under the surface of unspoken words.

“I’m sorry.” Simple. Heavy. You hear the sound like it’s a war within himself. The logical side of your mind should also receive an apology from your emotions who don’t want Jimin to apologize at all, instead relishing in the fact that he still remains protective. Something you should do better to not be so happy about.

You blink hard a couple of times and shake your head, trying to keep reality at the forefront of your mind, and gesture a finger to your drink when the bartender from before sends a glance towards you in his rounds. “Congratulations on releasing the mini album, by the way.” Move on, even if it means forcing small talk. It’ll be easier when it drifts into something like normalcy. “The title track did well, I saw.”

Jimin’s head nods as he bites his lip to hide concern, playing along with the direction of the conversation that you’re attempting for the sake of comfort. “Yeah, it did luckily. A lot of the comments were about the lyrics on the last song.”

You can’t tell if he said that for your sake as a way to satiate your desire for ownership like Jimin used to, or if it is a mindless tidbit of information. There’s not a reason for him to feed your want for acknowledgement over the lyrics anymore, because this is the job you had before meeting him and becoming anything at all to him. Back when it didn’t feel like his compliments on the lyrics were meant to satisfy you, that they were just genuine and the grin he used to have about it was pure-hearted. But now it doesn’t give you positivity at all, instead frustration that flourishes in your rib cage.

“Yeah, I liked the way that one turned out after finishing it. I spent two weeks working on it.” When the sentences fall, they feel like an echo between you. There’s spite where you’re usually giddy to receive the feedback of public perception. You never let that sprouted seed flourish into ivy, but before you realize it the thorns slide into the air. Stabbing into Jimin’s ears like they’d cause an allergy, and he thinks back about what Yerin’s told him in the past. He swallows, both of you watching a fresh glass be placed in front of you while the old one is whisked away.

You take a sip as though it were water that would relieve the tension trying to escape in your voice.

“You should be careful how quickly you drink those, Y/N.” It irritates you that the sincere worry of Jimin’s voice is more soothing than water actually would be. The opposite effect occurs with this thought, because you’re frustrated more that he’s beside you, caring about you inexplicitly, but broke everything between you both.

And you don’t know why. It’s senseless given what he’s told you and expressed verbally about how he feels. That there’s no desire to be with you in a romantic way, yet he’s beside you looking out for your interest like a magnet. “If you don’t love me why are you acting like this?”

The glass releases from your grip on the bartop, eyes widening as you look into its fizzy clearness. A still moment passes like a year before you think to see Jimin’s reaction to your blurted question, but you don’t do it. Too afraid you’d see pity, or awkwardness that he’d have to relay the information to you again about not loving you.

Jimin watches you with his own shocked irises while you scoop the drink back up and down it in nervousness. In any other situation it would almost be comical about your method of moving beyond the question, but he recalls the one you just had before it and the worry is simmering back to mask the surprise from your call out. “You’re going to get dizzy if you drink those that fast, lovely-”

“Stop.” You bite your tongue to stop your voice from raising when you turn to face him, still upset and feeling idiotic, more so as his concerned frown registers in your vision. “I’m not that to you anymore. Don’t call me that-- it hurts, okay? It hurts a lot.”

“Wait-” Jimin’s voice isn’t loud, but its volume raises when you take the first step. Gentle hand finding your wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” You huff, tugging your arm from him and it comes easily. “Why do you care? Just let me walk away again.”

But you don’t want that.

As you continue on you think it’d be best for Jimin to follow you, because that seems right. If he cares this much to intercept you and some random guy, to speak up for your lyrics ownership in the meeting, to tell you vaguely that stopping your relationship is for the best-- if he cares about you in all those instances as much as they would entail then you’d like nothing more than for Jimin to follow and tell you why. Maybe that’s why it feels impossible for you to move on, or fake the healing that he’s already managed to go through since the beginning of the year.

Through the ballroom’s archways you turn past the elevators, unwilling to go to the ground floor because you still need to wait for Yoongi. If there was just some kind of quiet and silence away from that stuffy party than at least you could groan out loud and release the frustration that Jimin puts you into his back-handed affections.

So you try the first door you see, testing it’s handle that turns surprisingly, letting you escape into a much smaller party-space. One absent of people, music, and even decor. Just a few tables, chairs, all unclothed and dull under bulbs that aren’t on. The cityscape across the entrance is enough lighting, though its created with some shadowy lines from the downpour of rain outside.

You take it, walking in further and exhaling, happy to be separate from that party where you felt unable to relax. But your muscles tense again as the door behind you shuts with a small thump, and you turn to find Jimin once more. Your heart rate increases, surprised that he came with you. An enjoyable shocked feeling you didn’t expect.

“You came.” You can hear the relief in your own voice, where it had been frustrated seconds earlier because he never had before. Jimin’s always kept the distance, letting you metaphorically wander far from mutual understanding where he should’ve tried more. Talked to you in the ways he said he would but never did.

“Do you want me to leave?” Testing words as he steps towards you, the appearance of his downcast eyes disrupting the flow of confidence his question gives. You face him as Jimin stops just short of you, at an arm’s length, his chest inhaling air more largely like there are nerves, but his expression doesn’t give that away.

“If you don’t care about me, you should.” You continue locking eyes, unwavering in that moment to see his response; show you the honesty you deserve. That feels closer to the surface, if you could just crack through it a bit more. Maybe it could give you clarity. Jimin’s head tilts shaking gently, and his small smile looks sad,

“It’s never been a problem of not caring about you, Y/N. I do.” You bite your lip to try and hold back your confusion at the flowery voice, and how he seems to look at you like you’re sunlight in the midst of this somberly darkened room. “I care about you so much more than I’ve ever told you, lovely.”

The air you inhale feels like it breaks halfway from his unexpected softness. A frown plays at the corner of your lips at the apparent contradiction: if he cares about you then why all of this. Your mouth opens to question just that, but you stop to watch as Jimin’s eyes fall from yours glancing to the tile beneath your feet.

“It wouldn’t be good if we were a couple though.” You swallow back your nerves and feel an overcoming of frustration when he tells you that again, desperation leaking to get him to level with you as you take the step to meet Jimin. Your hand finds his forearm, jolting him in doing so to find your eyes again as you question quietly, yet firmly,

“Why?” Jimin nonsensically stutters, his whole body tensing like he didn’t think he’d actually be asked, because you hadn’t before. Just going along with his whims because you thought it stemmed from his lack of interest to become more to you due to unreturned feelings, but now that he implies that isn’t the case, how could he expect you to not want to know why. Your head shakes when Jimin bites his lip clearly undesiring to tell you. Maybe even scared. “I,” If these words leave it’d be decisive; inescapable to close a chapter though you have no idea where the next one would lead. You don’t want dwell longer. “I love you, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, arm growing limp in your grasp from the unabashed shock. Eyebrows furrow, and you can only smile sadly in response knowing this would be the outcome of unreciprocated feelings--

“You wouldn’t--shouldn’t.” His head shakes and you lock onto the tear escaping down his cheek in a path. He chuckles entirely bitter, free hand reaching up to brush back his hair. You’re silent, uncertain of how to react to this development. You expected another dismissal, not him seeming to be upset with himself for this occurring. As he shudders from his emotions you unconsciously move your hand to find his, hoping to help him calm down. Jimin’s hand wraps around yours immediately, holding it strongly, like he’d lose you to currents if he didn’t.

“Jimin,” You frown further, concern washing over you as you cup his cheek, thumb wiping the tears that flow as much as you can. He looks at you again, taking a moment to appreciate how utterly gentle you are with him despite how much crap he’s put you through. How he wishes he wasn’t an idol or you weren’t a songwriter. How he shouldn’t be selfish, and drag you back towards him time and time again. That he needs to let you walk away far so he can’t follow anymore. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you too, Y/N.” Your thumb halts as a tear comes to rest on it, heartbeat thumping once in your ear like it wanted Jimin to hear. You look at him quietly, thinking that you didn’t hear him correctly, that there’s no way considering all he’s done to separate you both. Maybe he was afraid the entire time that you didn’t feel the same.

His hand releases yours as he moves it to your waist, the other mirroring the action. It feels right again; the familiarity you’re used to returning. Puzzle pieces appearing to fit again and things will be on track again. It makes sense being in his arms, Jimin is still haven for you.

You test if the situation is all a dream by means of the hand on his cheek guiding him the tiniest bit forward. If you speak you may wake up, if there’s anything to interrupt it’d fall apart, and if it was a dream you think your luck would make you wake up before he ever kisses you. But you don’t; Jimin’s motions follow the lead of your hand and his lips find yours softly, slotting to your expectant mouth perfectly.

Your arms fall around his neck, pulling Jimin closer to you while his hands rub along your sides, embrading you against his chest as the kiss remains entirely sweet and full from missing each other. In the enamor how it is to kiss Jimin while your love if mutually expressed, you disregard anything about the outside world, wishing this small room could protect you from it all. Ignore that you’re both under obligations to the company-- the thing that’s probably why Jimin was so worried. You just want to be with him like this, even if things return to a similar state of how they were before, if you’re both upfront about loving one another that’d be enough to get through it. You just want to be his, want to be a couple.

“No-” Jimin tugs back, hands releasing you quickly, though they ghost your frame until you’re steady on your feet. You gaze at him in confusion, breaths softly leaving your lips from the length of time spent kissing him. He shakes his head, stepping back one more time, further than a simple grasp forward. Your stomach knots that he may tell you to forget it all. “Lovely, I meant it; you shouldn’t love me.”

“Jimin, if it’s just about having to be a secret-”

“It’s not that, Y/N!” He cuts you off, voice picking up in his frustration. You realize then that he never asked your question of why you both can’t be together. Why you shouldn’t love him. You spine feels cold all of the sudden, worry prickling along it like Jimin is about to admit to murdering someone, but you dismiss that naivety. Watching Jimin continue biting his lip and appearing beside himself as he stares at you, trying to build up the courage to say whatever it is that’s the problem.

You almost say that anything he needs to tell you can’t be that bad, that there’s nothing he realistically could admit to you as you think it over. Perhaps it’s something self-conscious, or worry about Yerin, maybe he thinks the relationship would just be unsatisfying due to his secrecy; it’s all feasible. You could work through something together with him-- if you both handle it together it’s something that you can overcome, you try to assure yourself that positively.

“I’m on Yerin’s side about your job.” You blink. The quiet overtakes the room. The words are simple, they sound trivial on first listen, but then the depth of information takes over your senses. Your lips part, and Jimin sees your eyebrows creasing. He knows it makes sense but you’re likely blocking the meaning away. “I don’t want you to take credit for any of your songs.”

“What,” You blurt, nearly laughing because he couldn’t actually be saying this. The one reason that a relationship with him wouldn’t work out to Jimin is that it’s because he didn’t side with you. He doesn’t think you should be publicly noted as the creator of so much music that they listen to. All along, he never helped you because he actively disagreed with you. “Why?”

It’s not a small reason. The longer his words sit between you both, the implications feel like multiple daggers; how he’s watched you hurt in dissatisfaction of never receiving attention for your work, how the songs are changed and mended without caring about your consent, how difficult it is for you to appreciate any idol’s album because your name is never scribbled into their lengthy lists of credits. Watch you feel insignificant, disposable, and worried that your invisibility will leave you with nothing if there comes a day the company drops you.

“It’d ruin so many people’s careers, Y/N.” Timid to admit the truth that you’re aware of. You’re painfully aware of it, but always battling with yourself that you shouldn’t be held back for that calculation.

“Yours.” Your eyes narrow but your voice shakes that this is about selfishness. That Jimin’s unwilling to search for an ultimatum because it risks his security, despite the love his fans give him and the acclaim he has.

“Yeah.” Not so timid anymore, though there’s an inkling of more sadness; frustration about himself or the situation. You don’t know. Your head shakes and a scoff escapes your lips as you look away from him, unable to reason how he’s immovable on the subject. “I spent five years as a trainee, Y/N. I barely made the cut the year I did to debut. I,” Jimin sighs, fist clenching beside him as he admits the truth, “I can’t lose it all. I’m not going to be anything if I do-”

“So I’m just supposed to be nothing instead!” You spit at him, glaring with your words though the frustration is filling hot tears in your ducts. Jimin recoils in surprise from your voice’s loud volume and its hurt tone. “I’m just supposed to let you lie to the world using me for your whole fucking career? Like everyone else in the company!”

Jimin’s lip stings between his teeth, knowing that your words are exactly what he wants. There’s clear selfishness and unethical implications of everything this choice makes. How it shows that there’s a scale between you and his career, and that Jimin’s found which one weighs more in his heart. But listening to it stings like it has every right to, and he hates the fact that it’s like this, but what you say doesn’t matter because this is the reality of the situation. All depending on you are the careers of himself and every other person involved in SoundWave, and he doesn’t want to lose it more than he doesn’t want to lose you, so he’s adamant in his frustrated outburst as he bites back,

“You made that choice!”

Now you stumble in your conviction, recalling the moment of greed entirely too well. Knowing presently that in the past you should’ve thought better about that contract, or got a lawyer to look over it with you. You should’ve considered future implications, but you didn’t. This is your fault.

If you fought for rights then, you wouldn’t have problems today.

Jimin exhales, shoulders untensing as the raise of his voice resonates with how much that would’ve hurt you to hear, especially from him. His entire expression is a frown, worriedly trying to comfort, “Lovely-”

“Don’t call me that.” Defeated murmur. Jimin hears that quality, knows this is like he thought. He understands that this is where the divide exists-- knew it ever since you started going on about the idea of wanting your name to be seen after your lyrics. He watches tears drip along your cheeks in the silence, wanting nothing more than to wipe them away and fix this, but he doesn’t want what you do in order for the relationship to be fixed. He knows it’s selfish, inconsiderate, but he doesn’t alter his stance. “You let us fall in love when you knew it’d all fall apart like this, Jimin.”

He feels the cool streams on his face when you speak distantly. Hurt and appalled by his thoughts like he knew would be the case. You’re right, Jimin let this go too far when he should’ve stopped it the second the disagreement was seen. But he already loved you then.

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing else to say. You nod your head once, bitterly. Feeling abandoned by him being uncaring in the one area of the relationship you would wish for his support the most. But the fact fills you with the troublesome conflict that this is also your fault too.

All because of silence in definitive moments, veiling your feelings with bright, accepting sheer to hide words you should have said.

“I am too.” You wipe away your tears, stepping to move past him. And as you walk along Jimin knows this is the goal he wanted to lead you to no matter how much it hurts him to stand still. You’re better off without him following.

As you step out of the room, your stare is heavy towards the ground, listening to the saddening sound of the door shutting behind you. Leaving Jimin separate from you by your own accord, and you wish that you could lock it just so you’d be unable to waver and try again to find a median. One didn’t exist where you’d be happy, you have to remember that, force it into your head at every thought of Jimin from now on. Love isn’t enough.

Your shoulders tense when you catch shiny, black dress shoes at the top of your peripherals. Head rising slowly, you see Yoongi standing against the wall across from you. A frown forms on his face taking in your somber appearance as his arms uncross in front of him where he appears to have been waiting for some time. He lifts himself from the wall, stepping to you as all the emotions inside of you fill up and feel uncontrollably tear-wrenching. Your lip quivers as you duck from his sight, unable to allow him to see you cry so foolishly for what just happened, but he’s absent of a judgemental atmosphere as his hand reaches for your trembling one.

The gentle nature of his actions cause you to look back up at Yoongi, watching the tiniest curls of his empathetic smiles. Whatever happened in his conversation with Seulgi is lost to your mind, just like how you’re unable to recall that you need to keep up appearances with Yoongi at this party.

And he doesn’t bring up those things either, watching the tears spill silently from your eyes. Yoongi doesn’t ask you what happened, already having seen you walk away with Jimin earlier, he can only assume a number of ways that a conversation with him would cause this outcome. From how torn up you’ve been about the waning relationship between Jimin and you since Yoongi’s met you properly, he had a feeling more would have to happen for change to occur. For your sake, he didn’t hope it’d be this; your eyes reddened from frustration and sadness, posture hanging low from being brought down by whatever was said. Obviously broken-hearted because this seemed worse than any other time, as you’re unable to speak to him and attempt to hide away your feelings like you usually try to.

Your mouth opens, though the choppy inhale in your throat stops words from coming out, instead shoving more tears down your cheek. Yoongi shakes his head, free hand wiping them away before he realizes. “You don’t have to try to be okay right now.”

A hurt whimper leaves your lips at the tenderness he speaks with, making you feel like all of your emotions are about to dribble out of you if he continues to be this accepting of everything you are going through. You just want to thank Yoongi for this and dealing with all of the drama you cause keeping Jimin in your thoughts and making any of his stresses related to this fake relationship probably grow more, but you’re completely unable to without feeling like you’d only get out disarrayed words and tears.

While managing to only release your hand for the second to slide off his sleeve, Yoongi quietly drapes his coat jacket over your bare shoulders to cover any sight of trembling. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, coaxing your eyes to try and look up at him as he speaks with warmth you don’t feel deserving of, “Let’s go home.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire @tsvkino-usagi @xionysus​

[black-is-no-colour]

AnOther Magazine Autumn Winter 2020  Cover Story: John Galliano on Fallen Angels, Blitz Kids & Meeting Margiela

EMAIL EXCHANGE BETWEEN JOHN GALLIANO AND ANOTHER MAGAZINE, JULY 2020

AnOther Magazine: You went back to your own beginnings with this collection – your work of the 80s, your formative ideas about fashion. Why did that feel right for now?

John Galliano: Compression and suppression inspire a distinct sense of creativity, resourcefulness. During the lockdown period, something drew my mind to the way we felt during the Thatcher years, our backs up against the wall. Nothing can stand in the way of this kind of creativity.

AM: Why was your 1986 Fallen Angels collection specifically a point of inspiration – what is it about that collection that resonated?

JG: In confinement, I had come across the neoclassical wet drapery of Antonio Corradini and Raffaelle Monti – these veiled heroines in marble – which really appealed to me. I was hungry for the kind of aspirational beauty that inspires hope. In many ways, we were expressing the same sentiment in the 80s. It was a hankering for beauty, for heroism, for hedonism and hope.

AM: Fashion has changed so much since that era – in large part through work you yourself have undertaken across your career, helping to reinvent the ways we see clothes and fashion as a whole. Why does that era’s aesthetic and spirit speak to you today? To hark back to another collection of yours, is it about rediscovering a forgotten innocence?

JG: Between then and now, the common denominator is resourcefulness. The motivations were different but the expressions are similar – working with what you have, you try to find hope through the beauty of escapism.

AM: The Blitz Kids were a slightly earlier reference, but also in the mix. Why is that pertinent to now? That idea of dressing up to party – a decadence, perhaps? Certainly a glamour.

JG: Zoom parties! Putting on a red lip for the screen. We may be in a time of limitation, but we still have a human need to dress up, express ourselves and have a good time. Glamour needs an audience. I’ve never referenced a period in my own life before, but the emotional state of lockdown evoked an energy I had felt before.

AM: Can you describe your feelings when you first walked into the Blitz? Do you have any anecdotes you’d be happy to share?

JG: I wasn’t queen bee at the time. I had not become the peacock people associate with John Galliano. I was still quite shy, on my foundation year at Saint Martin’s. But, working Saturdays at [the boutique] PX, I had met a girl named Maria. Her background was Spanish, we hit it off and she got me into the Blitz club, along with Princess Julia, who worked down the road. I was a bit in awe of these characters. Of course, I wasn’t ruling like the Stephen Linards and the Stephen Joneses – I couldn’t even afford to go every week – but I did serve some looks.

AM: Stephen Jones once said that people were embarrassed to be seen in designer clothes – apart from Westwood, actually – at Blitz, that people made their own clothes. Was that something you also remember and experienced? Why was that?

JG: I think it was in the spirit of the time. We didn’t have the resources. I remember I had a brown workwear suit, a two-piece, with asymmetric fastening and little gold studs on it. It had a blue contrast collar with an embroidered yellow oak leaf. And I probably wore some kind of pointed pixie boot. Charles, the manager of Mrs Howie [a groundbreaking boutique in London, opened in 1976 by future fashion PR Lynne Franks and her then-husband, Paul Howie], would sometimes let me wear a hand-knitted jumper that had the letter S, for Super, on it. In the Blitz, people would dress up as historical eccentrics. Resourcefulness became our gateway to self-expression.

AM: You talked about the theatrical costumier Charles Fox in the film you produced to show the Artisanal collection. Can you elaborate on that – what happened and what it meant to you? Many of the references – the military, the men’s formalwear – are still with you today, as is, undoubtedly, that spirit of reinvention and transformation.

JG: When Charles Fox closed down, all these amazing characters and Saint Martin’s students flocked there to buy it all up. Today, you might call it upcycling, but back then it was what they could get their hands on. If you have a love of theatre and history, reinvigorating the old is a reinvigorating process in itself. Creation is the very act of giving life to something.

AM: It’s interesting that you chose to reveal your creative process so openly in the film, from research, to narrative, to referencing, cutting and making and styling. That feels quite precious – a lot of designers keep it to themselves. Why did you decide to share that? Why is it right for now?

JG: The anxiety we all experienced during the lockdown period created a need for transparency. I felt a desire to be clear about what we stand for at Maison Margiela – our core beliefs in diversity, inclusion and self-expression – which all begins with the process work. By recording and showing our research practice, our genderless fittings and how we express ourselves through charity finds and upcycling, we reinforce those values in a way that might appeal to Gens Y and Z. It is my hope that when our clients eventually meander into a Maison Margiela store and see the results of that process, those values will resonate. Perhaps this format can be a blueprint for a new way of proposing our ideas and ethics.

AM: Your clothes always tell a story – often many stories interwoven. You find these extraordinary narrative references and they feed your creativity. Does fashion need to tell a story – does a narrative add to fashion, for the wearer – or is that your process, just for you as a creator?

JG: The narrative informs my research and the process work and the way I communicate with my team through that process. But in the end I often keep it to myself. During the creative process, however, it feeds into the values that are transmitted through our work and which create a connection with our clients.

AM: What was it like designing a collection during lockdown? What were the good things, what were the bad things? How did the process change? And do you feel it has changed your creativity – your viewpoint on the world?

JG: In the beginning, it filled me with anxiety – and like everyone, of course, we had to deal with practical challenges. To me, it became a matter of turning those challenges into a sense of resourcefulness. I applied some of the things I’ve been fortunate to have been taught in the past. It’s like a mourning period – once you accept reality, you are able to embrace the unknown. And so it became a driving force – the feeling that nothing would stand in the way of creativity.

AM: Given the current situation, people are speculating that the collective experience of the fashion show may be a thing of the past. You have staged some of the greatest fashion shows in history, redefining the medium. What is your reaction to the idea that fashion shows may be of the past? How important are shows to you, as a means of expressing your ideas?

JG: What I eventually realised during the lockdown period was that fashion as we’ve known it in the past will never be the same, at least not until a vaccine is found. For the moment, I hope the format we adapted to this season can be a new way of communicating and exploring one’s collection. I don’t really like doing those big shows any more, because so often the focus is taken off the clothes. I prefer smaller shows. For now, I’m happy treading gently in this new direction.

AM: Our fight and flight instincts have perhaps never been so acute, and both those elements are present in the collection. The confrontation of taking clothing apart at the seams and the romance and fantasy of veiling, clothes that appear drenched in water. Does that make sense to you?

JG: The idea of fight and flight is another way of expressing resourcefulness and escapism – elements that have been inseparably interlinked through history. The human desire for beauty and seduction is a powerful instinct.

AM: When it comes to difficulties, do you feel that you, as a designer, propose clothes to fight in, or clothes as a flight of fantasy, an antidote to reality? Which do you find more powerful?

JG: I have spoken before about our desire to transmit Gen Z’s appetite for defiance through self-expression as a reaction to conformism and the societal preconceptions that negate our authentic selves. My proposals reflect those values. I hope our work can be tools for the expression of individuality and a message of joy and hope.

AM: In the film you showed predominantly classical female veiling. Did you look at veiled men in classical sculpture too? In some ways that has always been more scandalous, the naked Christ.

JG: Historically, the wet drapery that inspired me was often related to images of goddesses – and gods, too. During the process work, I began to express it in these celestial bodies – heroines as well as heroes – which draw the mind to many areas of mythology. You’ll recognise it in how I christened each passage in the collection, and in [model] Malick’s performance in the film.

AM: How does that religious iconography relate to your childhood?

JG: It’s a familiar element of my upbringing, because my mum brought it from Gibraltar and Spain. But this collection is reflective of so many mythologies.

AM: You are a person who has often had to deal with a lack of resources and has somehow managed to turn those limitations into a positive. The São Schlumberger collection, for example. How – and why – does limitation inspire you?

JG: Limitation creates challenges, and challenges force us to innovate. Whether inspiration is born out of necessity or out of determination – such as a desire to be sustainable – it inevitably enriches the creative process.

AM: There’s always a conversation around the relevance of haute couture – people argue that it is moribund, anachronistic, and so on. In what way do you feel you have moved the Artisanal so it works for now?

JG: I work within a creative pyramid, the pyramidion of which is haute couture. The work we do in the Artisanal atelier – the experimentation, development and technical know-how – drip-feeds into every other collection at Maison Margiela. Haute couture isn’t an expression of elitism, it’s what fuels a fashion house. It is the highest and most authentic form of dressmaking, and in an age tuned into transparency, I think the role of the dressmaker will be re-evaluated.

AM: And why genderless? That also goes back to the Blitz, perhaps?

JG: Genderless-ness is part of our genetics at Maison Margiela. It goes back to the freedom of self-expression and breaking down preordained conformist ideas of masculinity and femininity. Without these societal preconceptions we are free to express ourselves, to discover new things and evolve. The Blitz club, like certain communities today, provided an escapism from societal norms, but so many people are still having to negate their authentic selves. There’s still work to be done.

AM: There is still an amazing sense of the emotion in clothes that are hand-sewn for days, even weeks, on end, the romance of the touch of the hand. It feels very much as if you own that territory and that there are not so many people doing it like that today. Can you expand on that a little please?

JG: Over the years, I have taken on the responsibilities of a creative director, and I accept the role. But I am, at heart, a dressmaker. The creative process is the fuel of fashion. And creativity is the blood that courses through my veins and through this house.

AM: Craft is incredibly important to what you do – and always has been. It feels integral to your idea of couture. What does handicraft represent now, in a time when it is more difficult for many people to be together?

JG: Someone who watched the film told me that the connectivity between the team really shines through. That meant a lot to me, because connectivity is created by authenticity – and there’s nothing more honest than craftsmanship.

AM: There’s also the idea of construction and the extremely technical pattern cutting involved in this collection specifically. Can you talk a little more about the circular cut? About the methods you explored in these clothes, this collection?

JG: I mentioned how I was hungry for an aspirational beauty that creates the same sense of hope I remembered from the Blitz years. Back then, I had discovered the bias through a technique I had developed called circular cutting. It’s a way of structuring garments from several circular pieces – in this case, fabrics like butter muslin and thermocollant – which diffuse the draping and can evoke that wet, chiselled effect. The tailored pieces are examples of Recicla – humble charity-shop finds that I reinvigorated with heroic cutting – rooted in décortiqué, inspired by the hedonism of the dance L’Apache, which conjured these armour-like silhouettes. That process reminded me of the resourcefulness of the Blitz era.

AM: You talk about the idea of a community, the Margiela pluralism of ‘we’. Do you think that is a more humane position than, for want of a better way of putting it, the concept of the designer superstar? You have experienced both – in a sense, you have epitomised both.

JG: It is my hope that the film reflects the sense of community and connectivity that exists within the pyramidical structure of our fashion house.

AM: You have always had your own community. You can really see that in the film. These are all people who have been with you for a long time, some even from the start. They seem like kindred spirits – is that important? Finding people you can communicate with instinctively, maybe even without words?

JG: Community is about sharing and connecting, becoming part of a unity and relating to one another through emotions rooted in mutual memories. As you see in the film, we share all these things and use that connectivity in the creative process.

AM: In general, what is the importance of teamwork – of community – in fashion? Does it feel more important than ever now, following the assault on our personal freedom and contact with other human beings that the pandemic has brought?

JG: The lockdown period demonstrated the human need for connection. Immediately, we all took to Zoom and other channels to invoke a sense of connectivity. Fashion has the power to express codes of belonging. Through the values we have reinforced this season, I hope we are able to communicate the ethics of our community – the values of Maison Margiela.

AM: I think perhaps people don’t always realise the many connections between yourself and Martin Margiela – the importance of white and clothing stripped back to the toile, the interest in 18th-century cut, the deconstructing and reconstructing of traditional garments and the value of a sense of the passing of time, of age. How do you feel your two aesthetics relate to one another?

JG: When I met with Martin shortly before I joined the house, as a couturier I was particularly interested in his adaptation of the codes of haute couture – the idea of the maison, the white coats, the genetics, and so on. As we continue to establish a new set of codes at Maison Margiela, I hope those parallels feel inherent.

AM: You have launched a Recicla collection as part of the ready-to-wear and the Artisanal, where you source vintage items and rework them. That, again, references the Maison Margiela Replica heritage, but it is also a gesture towards sustainability. It’s an overused word but why is it important and can fashion ever really be sustainable?

JG: Upcycling, the raison d’être of Recicla, is a self-evident proposal for sustainability, but one that invigorates the creative process at the same time. Recicla started its life in the Artisanal atelier but is now being embraced by our commercial teams and actively going into stores, and I’m so happy to witness this development. Step by step, we can all play our part in being resourceful and reducing waste.

AM: You are among the most-referenced designers in student and emerging designers’ work. Does that make you happy, even proud? It’s not easy for you to answer, maybe, but why do you think it is?

JG: If I can deliver some of the hope, aspiration and passion that I remember from my own time in college, it’s a joy. Every year, when our new lot of stages arrive from the colleges, I do a dinner for them and get out my finest china and crystal. Sometimes it’s a drag ball or a karaoke. We have fun. When they come here they’re no different from how I was. Their experiences today are different because of the internet, but they’re creative souls like we were.

AM: There’s that old cliché of money being no object. In many ways, the most brilliant fashion proves and disproves that. How would you look at that sentiment, given the value of experience/hindsight?

JG: Financial resources make a difference to the way in which ideas can be executed and communicated. But some of the finest ideas are born out of a lack of resources. Drive can be fuelled by desire, but also by necessity.

AM: What would you say to a student starting out? I feel that your words would be very important to them, given the challenges facing any young designer, but perhaps more than ever now.

JG: Believe in yourself. Believe in your dream. Be passionate. You can be whatever you want to be. Don’t listen to anybody who says you can’t. Work hard and never give up.

AM: What are your hopes and dreams for fashion as we emerge from this crisis? And what are your hopes and dreams for the world?

JG: Now, more than ever, we need to respect fashion as a platform for communicating our values and ethics. As we emerge from this crisis, it is our responsibility to stand up for what we believe in – inclusivity, diversity, nonconformity, self-expression. We have to use the voice of fashion for positive change.

The full article is here: AnOther Magazine

[pippin-kun]

Linguistics 3, Final Assignment

·       Some languages are harder than others. 

·       First off, I would like to start with what I learned from reading through this chapter in the book: Language Myths.

Many people say that certain languages are easy or difficult to learn. Linguists, however, don’t like to speak on such a global scale for whether you find a language easy or difficult to learn is very much based on your mother tongue and the language you are trying to learn. Take for instance a Swede, it would be much easier for him/her to learn Norwegian than Polish. Now if we take a Czech, it would be much easier for him/her to learn Polish than Norwegian. Swedish and Norwegian are similar because of the fact that these two languages are so closely related linguistically and also because they have existed in close cultural contact for several centuries. Correspondingly, this Slavic languages Czech and Polish are also close to each other. This means that if you’re English and English is your mother tongue it would be easier to learn Germanic languages like German and Dutch. This is primarily due to the fact that the vocabularies have so many similarities in both form and content in the related languages.

 Let us assume that our knowledge of a language consists of three parts:

1.     Grammar

2.     Vocabulary

3.     Rules of usage

 Let’s say English is your first language, you would have an English grammar in your head. This grammar would make you sound a lot like other English speakers. You would also have an English vocabulary at your disposal, while we won’t always find the right word we often do. You will also have a number of rules of usage, these rules tell you when to speak up, when to stay quiet, how to address a person, how to ask questions and how to conduct a telephone conversation for instance.

 Now arguably, the most difficult thing to learn in any language is vocabulary. Whether one is learning their native language’s vocabulary or a foreign language’s vocabulary. While vocabulary might not instantly come to mind when you think about the hardest thing to learn about a language it is, this is because it is the most time consuming one to learn. We learn the grammar of our native language before we start school, but we work on our vocabulary for as long as we live. So you could say a language with not a lot of words would be very easy to learn however it is not that simple. We need words to express our ideas and emotions. No one learns all the words in a language not even in their native language. Nor can anyone specify how many words there are in a language exactly, for it is very difficult to define whether a word is a word or not.

 Now the ‘rules of usage’ refers to number of things such as how and when someone should speak and rules for who gets the floor in various situations. In this case it is probably that increased cultural proximity leads to increasingly similar rules of usage. In the absolute sense, a language without complicated rules of usage will be much easier to learn because you will not need to learn the subtle differences in tone, sentences and conversations to learn the language.

 Another big obstacle for a lot of language learners are the writing system and the orthography of a language. Europeans, for instance, have to spend a lot of time learning how to use the Arabic, Chinese or Japanese writing systems. However, these difficulties are not considered here, and the main argument for this is that the writing system and spelling can be considered as external to the language. For it is, in principle, possible to switch from one writing system to another without changing anything in the language structure.

 Now if we are looking for the absolute measure of linguistic simplicity, we should find it in the field of grammar. First we can consider the sound systems of languages. It must be the case that the fewer vowels, the fewer consonants and the simpler syllabic structure a language has, the simpler the sound system is. Take Hawaiian for instance, it has 13 distinctive sounds, of which eight are consonants and five are vowels. Since the language also has strict rules about the syllable structure, the total number of possible syllables in the language is only 162. Of all the languages in the world, Hawaiian has one of the simplest sound systems. So we could definitely say that an easy sound system makes a language easy thus it would make sense to place languages along a scale from simple sound systems to difficult. English would then take a place somewhere in the middle, where most languages would also crowd. Meaning that most languages are quite similar in regards to their sound systems, however, there are some examples of considerably simpler or complexer sound systems.

 There is also the difference between analytic languages (languages with little or no inflection and derivation) and synthetic languages (languages with a large degree of inflection and derivation). In absolute terms one could say that analytic languages would be easier to learn than synthetic languages, there are two arguments for this claim. Firstly, children always learn a more analytic version of their native language, inflectional and derivational suffixes are learned later on. Secondly, pidgin languages from around the world are usually analytic. By pidgin languages I mean contact languages that arise or develop spontaneously. The world’s most famous pidgin language speaker has to be Tarzan. When he says ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane,’ he uses a simplified version of English. Since Tarzan has been translated and published in several languages, we could travel around the world and get an impression of people’s view of their simplified language.

 If we were to look away from this we would stumble upon another problem when we’re trying to find out what makes a language simple or difficult. This would be the fact that languages are never uniformly simple or difficult. Simplicity in one part of the language may be balanced by complexity in another part. In fact, matters are less straightforward than even this suggests, because we cannot in any sensible way say what is simple and what is not. Would a language for instance be simpler when it uses less words to describe something or would a language be simpler if it uses a less complex structure of modification to describe something? We cannot answer these questions with clarity thus we cannot give an overall measurement of simplicity in languages.

 Now considering everything that I’ve written above, the myth that some languages are harder than others is not merely a myth. In a very complicated way some languages are harder than others. Furthermore, there is not a single scale for measuring simplicity in languages; there are, at least, a handful of such scales. Summing up: some languages appear to be harder than others, but it is hard to explain exactly how and to what extent. 

 ·       What I’ve learned from this and my own thoughts.

Now I know that I’ve written down a lot above and everything that I’ve written down is indeed taken from the book Language Myths. I’ve written everything that I deemed truly important down above in, mostly, my own words. Now while I haven’t done thorough research online I do think that most of the things that we can talk about or say about this topic has been said or talked about in the book. So while I won’t really have anything to add to this topic I have to say something about this topic. Personally, I learned a lot from this. It has truly given me an insight in languages and how we learn and perceive them. I used to always learn languages with ease and thus I thought that language that I found to be difficult or hard were actually hard languages. Now I see that that might just have something to do with the cultural and linguistic differences between that language and my mother tongue. It also explained why I learned English with such ease because it is just so close to my own mother tongue, however, I do feel like my feeling for language had/has something to do with how easy I find languages to be. This is pretty much all I had to add to this ‘research’ of my topic. It was a lot of fun to do and I learned a lot from it.

[telekinsesis]

"🎭The Masked Autistic Quiz🎭

If you’ve spent your life ‘faking normal, you might not look autistic to the casual observer. So I’ve made a questionnaire that’s tailored to the masking autistic adult.

#ActuallyAutistic #AllAutistics"

1. Have you ever felt as if you were missing the built-in instruction manual that everyone else seemed to possess?

Yes. I had to slowly learn how basic things worked while others seemed to instinctively get it.

Did you spend an inordinate amount of time learning to copy the behavior of other kids so that they wouldn’t realize you were different?

Yes. I always just wanted to fit in and have friends and be liked, but I always felt different than them.

2. Are you able to make eye contact, but would much rather NOT make eye contact? Have you taught yourself to ‘cheat’ by looking between the eyes or at the eyebrow? Does eye contact make it harder to think clearly?

I can't handle eye contact for longer than a couple of seconds. Most of the time I find a way to avoid it, I can only remember doing it in stare contests with my sister or for comedic purposes.

3. When you’re alone do you make random noises or repeat interesting words to yourself? Do you move your hands or feet because staying still feels ‘wrong?’ Bonus points if you do this around other people.

I'm always shaking/bouncing my leg. Sometimes I hold my breath for no reason or find myself making involuntary noises with my throat. Every once in a while I also say random things.

4. Do people refer to you as a ’space cadet’ or a ‘day-dreamer’, even though those terms make no sense to you? Do you appreciate unusual things like constellations in the popcorn ceiling, tricks of light, numbers and textures?

I am always daydreaming or spacing out, I would be more called out for it as a teen than I am now. / I don't find those things unusual but I love noticing them and the little details about it, I do appreciate it.

5. Do your anxiety levels spike when there is a change of plans, or when somebody calls, rings a doorbell or sends an email/text? Do people perceive you as rude and antisocial for being unappreciative of their surprise attacks?

Yes, yes, yes. Unless it's someone I deeply trust (sometimes not even then though), sudden changes of plans or routine upset and stress the hell out of me. Phone calls can give me anxiety and sometimes I need a lot of time to reply to a simple text.

6. Do you have a hard time understanding why people feel the way they do without a personal point of reference? Are you able to relate much more once you’ve tied their experience to something that’s happened to you?

I can't remember or realize if I do, but I do know that I'm better at "empathizing (?)" when I relate to the situation in one way or another. My closest friends are people I share similar experiences/feelings with and we can get each other.

7. Do people jokingly call you ‘OCD’ for your organizational strategies or list making, even though there are perfectly rational reasons for your behavior? Does this ‘obsessive’ behavior also bring you a sense of calm and order when you’re allowed to see it though to completion?

Not really, but my sister who's a psychologist thinks I have "obsessive/compulsive traits" or whatever because of how often I wash my hands. I also enjoy organizing my saved files, even if it takes me hours, and feel much better when they are.

8. Do you have social anxiety, but only because you have a hefty track record of rejection due to missed social cues, difficulty navigating conversations and an inability to understand what other people are thinking?

I have been diagnosed with social and generalized anxiety but I don't know why, it's just my brain. I do remember it starting/getting worse when I got to high school, around the same time my depression kicked in.

9. Do you avoid places because of the overwhelming noise, visual clutter, bright lights or overwhelming smells? Do you avoid busy stores and do your shopping when things aren’t as busy?

I don't go out a lot overall, I like staying home better. I don't know the exact reason why and when I go out it's hardly ever to packed loud places because I'm very introverted, but I also hate when people talk too loudly 90% of the time.

10. Do you have a built-in ‘BS detector’ and despise playing along with things that infantilize you? Have people said you’re ‘not a team player’ for complaining about pointless gift exchanges or parties? Do you need to understand the purpose of a task?

Yes. I don't complain but I don't participate either, again, I'm very anxious and introverted so unless I feel comfortable with those people, I don't like socializing much. I don't remember ever doing tasks without purpose, I don't think they exist in the first place, everything has a purpose.

11. When you get happy and excited, do people say you’re ‘too much’ or tell you to calm down? Are you unusually animated when genuinely excited, yet find it hard to fake this enthusiasm on demand for others?

When I'm in a good mood, I'm in a good mood. When I was younger and participated in things I was passionate about I would get told to tone it down and be less "loud" or "annoying" because the way I expressed my excitement was too extra. I found it easier to blend in and calm myself externally after called out.

12. Do you feel so closely connected to your hobbies that you can blissfully engage in them for hours and have a hard time stopping for anything else? Does losing interest in them make you feel as if you’ve lost a part of yourself?

Yes, definitely, yes.

13. Is driving a stressful and exhausting experience for you? Do you tend to take the same familiar route every time and even go so far as to avoid stressful intersections and fast highways? Do you struggle making quick decisions behind the steering wheel?

I don't drive.

14. Do you feel as if you relate to animals more than other people? As a child, did you secretly suspect that you were from another planet or species than that of your classmates? When meeting someone similar to yourself, do you feel like you’re ‘home’, so to speak?

I relate more to cats than people I know. I still do, even though I rationally know it's impossible, kinda. It's not very often but yes.

15. Do you abhor the idea of making conversation with people who share nothing in common with you? Would you happily go out of your comfort zone to talk with others about a shared hobby or passion?

My classmates gave me anxiety but I would talk for hours with one of my sister's friends because she liked classic movies too.

16. Do people assume you’re angry at them when you’re not? Do you smile or laugh inappropriately, upsetting others? Have people told you that you have a ‘resting bitch face’?

I have been asked multiple times if I was okay or if I was sad when I was nothing of the sort, but maybe I was simply depressed? I remember laughing and then realizing it wasn't a good moment but I don't remember it happening a lot or why I did it.

17. Do you have an unusually monotonous or singsong voice? Do you have a hard time modulating your volume and speak with inappropriate volume for the situation?

I don't know, I don't think so but I constantly do get called out for not speaking clearly or mumbling or talking too low or fast even when I think I'm being clear or think it's possible to understand me regardless.

18. Have you purposely chosen interests that fly under the radar as ‘normal’, yet you still prefer to enjoy peripheral aspects of that interest, such as studying the stats of baseball players or making elaborate backstories for your Barbie dolls?

As a kid I would create novelas around my Barbie dolls, when I made pillow forts with my friends I would create dramatic/tragic stories and wanted to act them out with them. Currently I don't "choose" interests or care about how "normal" they appear, I'm just naturally invested in things.

19. Do you find it inordinately difficult to listen to someone when other people are talking? Do you have a hard time carrying on a conversation in a loud or crowded place?

I don't know but I don't think so, when a person is loud enough I can hear them over other noises, even if it's by a little. Again, I don't usually go to loud or crowded places so I can't remember.

20. Do emotions and sensory overload build up into a thunderstorm of rage that you have no choice but to ride out until it passes? This might be a meltdown. Alternately, does the buildup result in you retreating from the world and ‘zoning out’? This would be a ‘shutdown’.

Yes.

21. While not officially criteria, this is something that many autistics will relate to: Do gender, romantic and sexuality norms seem arbitrary and fake? Even if you don’t identify as LGBTQ+, do you hesitate when referring to yourself as cisgender or heterosexual?

I'm a lesbian that questions her sexuality at times and have no idea what my gender is, I just know I'm not cis.

22. Have you developed coping mechanisms such as lists, schedules, stacks of paper, alarms and reminders to help you function as an adult? Would you still be able to get by without them?

I'm currently not doing anything that requires me functioning like an adult and don't remember what I did when I had to but I would never be able to be an adult.

23. Do you go through periods where you can’t even remember how to make dinner or get ready for work, and even the easiest of tasks seem insurmountable because you can’t fathom completing the steps to completion?

I don't forget how to do things but I can forget to do them or it's almost impossible to bring myself to physically do them.

24. Do you find it easier to do things when they’re a passion or ‘special interest’? Were you good at cooking/gardening/organizing when it was interesting, but find it impossible to start once the passion has abandoned you?

Always. I have abandoned many projects once I lost interest even if I was somewhat good at it at the start.

25. Do you have a hard time recognizing or remembering faces? While not all autistics are ‘face blind’ many of us are.

I don't think there are many faces I need to recognize or remember, and I have a shitty memory anyway so I don't know.

26. Is keeping and maintaining relationships difficult for you, even if you’re loyal to them? Do you suddenly remember a good friend or relative that you literally forgot about for months or years? Is it hard to initiate conversations without a prompt, even with friends?

Yes. If I'm close and trust them, it's not hard to text them first but I don't always know what to exactly say or talk about.

27. Lastly, do you get emotional and feel ‘seen’ when reading the above tweets and other content by autistics? There might be a reason for that.

I do some and most times, but I don't wanna assume things.

[mbti-notes]

INFJ. I think I'm enneagram 9 (I know this blog isn't about enneagram, but a relevant point is they're titled "peacemakers"). I often have the ability to see things from all sides. While this can be good, I feel like I often end up repressing my feelings about things because of it. Sometimes I'll disagree or be made uncomfortable by someone and in the moment, I will be nice and agreeable, and later realize I was actually upset by what they said or did. ( 1 / 2 )

[con’t: It sneaks up on me because I’m more focused on dousing the fire than how I feel. My BIGGEST question: how do I become more in tune with what I’m feeling in the midst of conflict instead of way later? I feel like I’m dishonoring myself and “my truth” with this habit. And how do I approach expressing how I really feel after the fact? (And discerning when its really worth pivoting back to an earlier argument.) There was a point where I was starting to assert myself, but I got angry at the wrong people for the wrong reasons. In the beginning my anger was understandable, but I was very stubborn about not letting go of that anger instead of being sympathetic and working to resolve the conflict. It caused a lot of damage. I wouldn’t want to repeat that failed effort of asserting myself. How do I know when to show feelings of anger? Thanks so much!]

Read the articles about emotional well-being and communicating through conflict, as well as related tags, because this topic has come up several times from infjs before. If you need more than that, there are book recommendations on the resources page about these topics. You describe poor judgment, which means that your Fe-Ti functions require better development. It seems you overindulge Fe and have difficulty drawing appropriate emotional boundaries, too easily getting tied up with what people do or think. When your emotions get the better of you, you misuse Ti and Se, hurt morphs into anger, and you indulge the impulse to attack, only to deeply regret it. Aside from this, infj problems almost always trace back to dysfunctional Ni and one’s problematic beliefs/assumptions about the world. Let’s delve into your belief system and the assumptions you make…

Labeling oneself a “peacemaker” is rather useless when you have no insight into why you manifest this behavior. It’s obvious that this label is part of your persona and thus an unconscious source of pride. However, every source of pride is also a potential catalyst for your downfall. In FJs, playing “peacemaker” is inextricably tied to a deep-seated fear of conflict, which in turn is often accompanied by a deep-seated fear of hurt and rejection, which in turn is often rooted in low self-worth and the belief that one’s own needs and desires are illegitimate or “selfish”. “Peacemaker” doesn’t sound so hot when you put it like that, does it? It seems you don’t yet possess a deep enough understanding of your beliefs about yourself.

Serious question for you to reflect on: What’s wrong with conflict? You seem to treat it as the end of the world. Expanding on the first point, a false self-image means that you cannot accept the reality of who you are. You bristle when the mirror of your social interactions reflects back to you your true face, as your unconscious fears get triggered and your dark side quickly emerges. In other words, perhaps you fear conflict because it reflects back to you the truth that you’re not as agreeable, understanding, accepting, acceptable, etc, as you want to believe you are, and/or the fact that the world doesn’t actually live up to your desires and expectations. Instead of confronting your fears within and getting to the bottom of your problem, you seek to “manage” it out there in the world. You want to manipulate the social environment to suit your comfort level, but you can’t fully admit that this is what you want because then you sound like a “selfish b*tch”, so you have to couch everything in nice sounding words like “peacemaking” or “asserting”, etc. You’re basically asking me to provide you with permission to put yourself first, but it’s just part and parcel of the same old pattern: put others first, resent, put myself first, shame, rinse, repeat. As you hinted at, it’s pointless to ask me when it’s okay to get into an old pattern again.

You ask “how do I know when to show feelings of anger?” Wrong question. Ask “how is it that I got to be so angry?” Anger is at level 10 and you wait until 11 before you even consider the possibility of doing something, then you seem taken aback that you’re basically ready to attack someone like a frothing animal. Anger is merely a cowardly extension of sadness, and sadness often comes from feeling hurt. You are afraid of feeling hurt (because it reveals your darkness), you are afraid of appearing hurt and vulnerable (because that would disrupt social harmony and your self-image of how you promote social harmony), so how can you acknowledge your hurt let alone express it? You want to express your feelings when you can’t even accept that they exist. You suppress them until they morph into something ugly.

You’re not owning your emotions but rather misattributing them to an outside source, believing that “they made me angry”, so you wait passively for that external trigger to go away or you surmise that the resolution (or closure) lies in confronting THEM and maybe “correcting” THEM so that they agree with you. You’re turning anyone who disagrees with you into an enemy or traitor rather than taking a genuine interest in their viewpoint. If someone says something disagreeable to you, why is it not a viable option to simply say at that moment “I disagree” or ask “why do you believe that”? What do you think would happen? Do you believe that a civil discussion isn’t possible as soon as there is disagreement? And why is it not a viable option to simply allow someone to have their opinion, assuming that their personal opinion has no tangible impact upon you?

It seems you haven’t reflected on your beliefs about what makes for good communication. Many immature FJs actually treat communication as opportunities to fish for affirmation, but communication is about forging connection, which can’t happen when people can’t express themselves authentically. And how can you express yourself authentically when you can’t accept your own feelings and emotions? Perhaps you naively believe that communication must ALWAYS be positive, “peacemaking”, “agreeable”, a kumbaya circle, etc. Then you’re living in fantasy and you hope for something fake. There are always going to be disagreements because every individual has their own unique experiences that result in a unique viewpoint. You get stuck on disagreements because you fail to understand that confronting the negative is necessary for reaching the positive; it is through carefully exploring differences that people come closer together and develop appreciation for each other. Why do you think people naturally become LESS racist, sexist, homophobic, etc, the more they interact with the people they deride? Disagreements can be a good thing when you know how to utilize them to foster deeper understanding. Fear of conflict means that this option is completely closed off to you, since communication immediately shuts down the moment you get triggered.

Overindulging Fe means being oversensitive to social feedback. This happens because there is no clear understanding of the difference between “your business” and “none of your business”. You say you “have the ability to see things from all sides”. Do you really? It sounds like a myth that you like to perpetuate about yourself (false self-image). If you have this ability, then why do you begrudge differences of opinion? Do people not have a right to their own individual thoughts and the freedom to feel their own feelings? If you have this ability, then why do you downplay or devalue your own side? Are you not a person and do you not deserve to have your own thoughts and feelings? Believing something is true doesn’t make it true. You claim a fair-mindedness that is betrayed by your unfair approach to disagreement. You’re not that good at seeing things from all sides, but if you insist on believing you are (false self-image), then how are you going to improve this ability? Isn’t the truth closer to this: “I only have the ability to see the sides that closely resemble mine”?

Healthy Fe is fair-minded, respectful, and compassionate. But do you want to be these things because it would absolutely destroy you to learn that you are NOT these things (egotistical intention), in which case, every social interaction becomes a looming threat as every conflict reflects back to you your unexamined darkness? Or do you truly understand the value of Fe and aim to express it properly (authentic intention)? If you are truly fair-minded, it wouldn’t trigger you to hear differences of opinion and you wouldn’t take other people’s business so personally. If you are truly respectful of everyone’s humanity, you would not disrespect yourself or become excessively critical of people just because you feel hurt or afraid. If you are truly compassionate, you would know how to extend compassion to yourself and resolve negative social situations through patient empathetic dialogue. Work on Fe.

[cemeterything]

i want to hear more about why you're a thranduil apologist

this got LONG AS HELL so i’m putting it under a cut:

okay so. i am in part going off assumptions i’ve made about certain aspects of canon, but hey, if peter jackson can assume that dwarves are so indestructable they can survive everything from flying through the air in wooden barrels to being torched by dragon fire, i think i’m entitled to just a little bit of creative license of my own.

i’ve said before that a major theme of the hobbit films is that of loss and trauma. by the end of the trilogy, every major character has suffered great loss. tauriel has lost her love, thorin his home, his sanity and finally his life, bilbo his friends, bard the home he grew up in and possibly friends he had there, legolas his satisfaction with the life he currently leads (he says he “cannot go back” to dwelling in the wood) and thranduil the respect of both his son and tauriel, who was arguably the elf closest to him (from what their limited interactions suggest) prior to the dwarves’ capture in desolation of smaug.

however, thranduil’s experiences with loss go much farther back than that. he has lost both his father in the battle of the last alliance against sauron during the second age (also known as the battle of dagorlad) and his wife (although there’s pretty much nothing on her death in the books as far as i can tell, only her absence, so it’s not 100% canon) in another skirmish on the borders of angmar, at the fortress of gundabad. and the thing is with tolkien’s elves, they’re… really not equipped to handle loss and grief very well, from what i can tell based on the book canon. tolkien mentions that many elves simply fall into despair and “fade” if they suffer from too much strong negative emotion (even luthien, one of the most powerful elves in tolkien’s mythos, is shown to not be immune to this), and many of those who don’t tend to go out seeking revenge and self-destruction; for example: feanor, fingolfin, maedhros, maglor (and the sons of feanor in general). admittedly, all of the aforementioned elves (save luthien) are of the noldor race, while thranduil is sindarin, but i digress. the point i’m trying to make is that a lot of thranduil’s seeming lack of empathy in the hobbit films, i think, is a result of trauma and the inability borne out of lack of understanding to cope with it healthily. but reserve your judgement for just a moment, because there’s more i have to say on that!

from what i can tell of elvish culture, based on what i already mentioned, and just a general vibe i get, particularly from the silmarillion, most elves just… don’t really understand the effects of trauma. i’d even go as far as to argue there’s an undercurrent of stigma surrounding it in the elvish culture. elves place a lot of emphasis on physical appearance; it’s actually an indicator of health for elves since their soul and body are linked. when the soul suffers, the body suffers. examples of this include orcs, whose many origins include one claim by tolkien that they were elves tortured by morgoth (this varies though; the consequences of having an ‘unreliable narrator’ in most of tolkien’s works), the elf-king thingol, who deteriorated physically when news of his beloved daughter luthien’s death (she got better though) reached him, and maedhros, who suffered horrific torture and abuse at the hands of morgoth. the last in particular is important to my argument because maedhros is described as being almost monstrous in battle as a result of his ordeal, the fire of rage in his spirit transforming him into something so horrifying it terrifies many of his opponents. this parallels a scene in desolation of smaug, where we’re shown that thranduil bears a pretty gruesome injury which he claims was inflicted by the “serpents (dragons) of the north”. while this is only canon insofar that there textual evidence supports claims that there were dragons in the north ,which were slain, and thranduil’s involvement in their eradication is unconfirmed, i’m going to count it nonetheless for the sake of my point (which i’ll get to in a moment).

the fact that thranduil hides his injury with magic suggests to me that it’s a source of perceived weakness for him, since it’s heavily implied that elves value physical ‘wholeness’ as they believe it demonstrates good health, both mental and physical (yes, i am suggesting that a certain amount of ableism is ingrained into elvish culture as a result of this assumption. i don’t expect everyone to agree with me on this, since i’m making some pretty big assumptions myself to support my claims.) there are also interpretations of thranduil’s wound not being real, but manifesting in that moment as an expression of a memory of past trauma (which is supported by the fact that elves’ bodies and souls are linked). either way, it aligns with thranduil’s icy, closed off personality.

based on all of the above, my interpretation of thranduil’s character is that he is so traumatised by loss that in order to survive he essentially walled himself off from his emotions completely, severing his connection to them, so that they only manifest when they completely overwhelm his defences. this is implied by tauriel, who claims that “there is no love in you”, and by his interactions with legolas. on the rare occasion that thranduil does express sincere emotion in the hobbit films, it is almost always rage triggered by something someone else has said or done, suggesting that his mental health is not 100% (and i’m NOT trying to say that people with trauma and mental health conditions are violent and/or angry, but a symptom of many trauma-related issues is difficulty responding in ways deemed ‘appropriate’ or ‘socially acceptable’ to circumstances the individual finds triggering). it’s only after legolas decides he cannot return to mirkwood, and shows signs of feeling completely alienated from him, and the sight of tauriel’s sorrow at losing kili, that thranduil begins to show signs of regret and even compassion for others. this is why i believe he’s not just an irredeemable jerkass - in the final scenes he’s in in botfa, he demonstrates that he’s aware of the consequences of his decisions, and appears to have learned something from that.

does this justify any of his earlier behaviour? of course not! i’m a firm subscriber to the view that your mental health/trauma doesn’t grant you a free pass to be an entitled asshole, being someone who suffers with both myself. but it does make his actions more understandable, i think, and thus makes him a more sympathetic character, at least to me.

EDIT: thranduil's desire to go to war in the film for a "handful of gems" is also made more understandable when you learn that they're his wife's jewels, and the only memory he has left of her, as stated in a deleted scene. the fact that the thror basically taunted him with them while refusing to return them to him also explains his emnity with the dwarves, particularly thorin's bloodline, in the films.

[hugotontheonbiquiffinarians]

Arthur & The Myth of Sisyphus

(Arthur/staircase juxtaposed to Sisyphus/rock)

As disclaimer, this may be a generalised statement/inductive analysis, not unique to his diegesis. Will probably be too verbose for some to read, but writing is organic as breathing for me and if I don’t discuss my beautiful clown husband at length, I might very well be caught with a bruised and desiccated lung lol (as you can probably tell, academia is hæmorrhaging into my casual diction)

I’m typing this, more or less, to illustrate my (possibly exhausted) perspective on how significant the staircase is to Arthur’s narrative. Specifically focusing on how it relates to Sisyphus and his eternal struggle to push a cumbersome stone uphill. (Says this all the while knowing I’ll lose said focus by the end of this, oops) That being said, this also just might be some cathartic release in the form of diluted research.

All things considered, with an economy that appears to teeter just so on the verge of instability, most, if not all, may resonate with the impending sense of futility that accompanies society’s defective concept and subsequent flawed execution of ‘adulthood’, including, but not limited to: excessive demands imposed by draconian academia, 9-5 corporate mandates exercised to excess; in addition to parenthood (if applicable). All for the sake of feeding continued survival in a universe where life is erroneously scrutinised under myopic scope of legality. Summarily, we can all embrace solidarity in our respective sharing of adversity, attended by a seemingly endless, merciless journey towards acceptance.

Arthur is my most current muse within the fictional realm (irreplaceable, to boot) so this character study might be more gratuitous than enlightening, but, in essence, I often like to conceive him as a resounding echo that’s effectively sound in giving voice to the voiceless; whispered and indistinct though it may be. However, it could be said that the power of his presence resides, not in the delicate, understated nuance of his vocal tone, but rather the elegant and passionate language of dance pronounced by his feet. Namely, the Sisyphean task of climbing that emblematic staircase.

Whether suffering a daily, if not arduous, ascent one derelict step at a time, or dancing a rhythmic descent to liberation, Arthur’s soles bespeak of a soul that’s been tormented relentlessly throughout the near 40 year span of his existence. Heels throbbing with Weltschmerz, the resulting ache of his travails would often appear as little more than a numbing nuisance to be rubbed away upon a less whimsical return as the prodigal son. In this way, the audience might compare Penny’s impact in Arthur’s life to that of the onerous stone that plagues Sisyphus. Despite being an absent force to her son’s oppressive intimacy with these formidable steps, there is something to be said for the manner in which concern is essentially a wisp in the void when her child’s health utters a silent plea, a murmured urgency, for attention.

Perhaps, we could all agree that a fraction of Artie’s extroverted anger towards Thomas was only partially misdirected. As a means to demonstrate the implied difficulty Arthur expresses for emotional release, especially so for repressed anger, it would have been interesting to witness a scenario in which he doesn’t heed Penny’s request whilst hiding behind a closed door. Given the egocentric brush that paints a broad stroke to her demeanour, would he be vindicated in raising his voice a few decibels ? If for no other reason than to dispel frustration by virtue of necessity. Of course, this isn’t to undermine the fact that Arthur displays potential signs of regressive behaviour (not exclusive to his circumstance but nevertheless germane). A hapless symptom of afflicted childhood incited by an inflamed basis of Nature v. Nurture.

With nearly all sense of identity drifting aimlessly as unanswered queries, there could be reason yet as to why Arthur adopts his Carnival and Joker personas. Beyond factors of aspiration and affinity alone. As someone (myself) who could be classified with mild alexithymia, all the while being fairly averse to labels, the concept of employing alter egos solely to assist in self-expression may not be uncommon, if not muted in translation. In a way that isn’t explicitly stated, we could infer that Arthur enforcing a purpose to evoke genuine smiles and laughter is a means to compensate for those of which he was deprived during his formative years. Speaking as an armchair psychologist, there could be evidenced an intimation of placebo effect for the presence of Pseudobulbar Affect. While this syndrome affects the nervous system and is hence more physiological than psychological, the nature of its infliction could be considered as a bridge between the two.

Certain conditions, of which remain unknown, from his childhood may have contributed to the development of this condition, emphasising a noted relation to thinking patterns. My theory is that any measure of neurosis is directly proportional to the degree of physical complications that may manifest. Arthur is a fairly sensitive man. A rough sketch of this attribute can be observed even whilst Arthur is gallivanting as Joker. In fact, one could even venture to say that his identity is actualised in this form. Cliché ? Yes. But, no less pertinent. Furthermore, a deduction might be made in which Carnival alludes to being a medium that balances the dichotomy between Arthur/Joker.

Yes, these may be points that have been proposed ad nauseam 😶 You also may be wondering: Exactly what role does Sisyphus play in this ?

Ultimately, I’ve come to the conclusion (hagiography) that Arthur, while emotionally sensitive, hardly translates that sensitivity to his visceral being. Revisiting the first bathroom scene, maybe one could see the gloomy reflections of Atlas and Sisyphus reflected in one burdened man, lost in soulful dance. Summarily, he could never strike me as one to admit defeat. To succumb to the siren’s lure of quietus. As illustrated by every Joker rendition before him, Arthur Fleck is no different in how his philosophy materialises. Blending the colours of absurdism and nihilism. While the assertion seems contradictory, considering Arthur’s initial intent to commit suicide on live television, I do believe his animus was strictly encouraged by his comedic inspiration, opposed to an active desire.

Fundamentally, this leads me to my final point (although, admittedly, this isn’t the end, I could literally talk to death about this man, and I will). The contrast of comic styles between Arthur and Murray. This might be the understated controversy of discourse, and my perspective on the matter may be unpopular, if even acknowledged, but just to clear the air, the following assumption isn’t meant to excuse him or his actions. Rather, to offer perspective. If you observe carefully, you might notice that there’s no distinct disparity between Murray and Arthur’s sense of humour. Given the era and its dogged appeals to censorship, Murray’s delivery could be regarded as nothing short of condensed and disguised. As our dear Artie reiterates, comedy is indeed subjective, but, as a matter of course, the brand that either presents isn’t particularly risible given context.

As an audience, we only know Murray on a superficial level. We know he’s a comedian. By the end of the film’s duration, we might have dismissed him as the stock bully. His humour was cruel, callow and sadistic when dispensed towards a man who deemed him a pillar of admiration. However, similar could be said for Arthur’s execution. Consistently morbid and sardonic, these elements of comedy that provoke laughter for Arthur comprise a vague semblance to Murray’s comedic anatomy, despite how patently trite and puerile the latter’s jesting was, when delivered to our undeserving victim.

Arthur was thoroughly justified in his feelings of despondency and disenchantment. Yet, objectively speaking, depending on either side of contention, one’s perception may be determined by whether or not his sensitivity was merely exaggerated when juxtaposed to a comedian who was, more or less, just doing his job; albeit questionably. Unprofessionally. We couldn’t know exactly what Murray was thinking or precisely why he invited Arthur on his show. Surely, public humiliation wasn’t his prime agenda. Curiously enough, I seemed to detect an air of indifference expressed by him when Arthur confessed (*insert delusional gif*). As if it was to be expected.

Ipso facto, with how the sequence pans out, there may have been the possibility of Murray personally investigating the subway murders and considering Arthur a suspect, consequently aiming to extract his confession (a reach, I know ! ) but, maybe not...

Not when the theory of Arthur contriving delusions, having been situated in Arkham the entire time, chimes as possible reasoning.

That, in itself, is a paradox...

...Will we ever ?

[fuanteinasekai]

Meta #3: The One Where It Gets a Little Weird

Please note: this meta is heavily focused on recent manga developments, so if you don’t want to be spoiled by it you should catch up on fan translations. Okay these aren't spoilers anymore.

Also, while I think reading my previous two metas would be useful in understanding some of this, I don’t really consider this a continuation per se, since this is purely focused on developments in the manga. I really didn’t want to get distracted by anime issues, for reasons which will perhaps becomes clear. 

There are two recent stories with particular relevance to Tanuma and Natsume. (Well, three, in a way, but we’ll get to that later.)

First, “Tenjō-san,” a story that’s mostly about the four boys tracking down a mysterious, supposedly yōkai-related artifact for Himura-Sempai, a graduating senior from a different high school. Of particular note are two things: 

The unusually strong theme of mortality. The story opens with Kitamoto in the hospital, having scared the boys with a bad fall. He’s fine, but Natsume and Tanuma are very worried. There’s also a subplot about an elderly man who once went on a similar mission with his own boyhood friends. He speaks wistfully of “Tetchan and the others” as if he lost contact—or they died. It's a reminder that human life is short—sometimes shorter than expected—and one cannot wait forever to figure things out.

Tanuma’s complicated feelings make a spectacular comeback. Both chapters of the story have at least one meaningful exchange between Natsume and Tanuma. In the first chapter, Tanuma encourages Natsume to be open about his doubts by telling him, “I still sometimes want to see the same world as you, but I think it’s because we see different things that we’re able to confirm things for each other.” In the second, he tells Natsume that he might need to keep Nishimura and Kitamoto in the dark just so he can have space to be normal, “Since I, out of worry, ask you if there’s a yōkai straight away.” This is framed as a self-deprecating remark and an expression of deeper insecurities, but also as something Natsume doesn’t understand (that is, doesn’t agree with).

The next arc is another long Natsume-Natori-Matoba story about the complicated lives of those who can see yōkai, and the different paths those lives can or should take. This story reinforces the image of Natori as a protective and somewhat controlling big brother, complete with another incident of Touko-san aggressively adopting Natori. It also emphasizes the difficulty of intimate relationships, implied to be romantic, when one has a connection of responsibility to the yokai world.

The story after that is where it gets… interesting. Setting aside my own personal preferences, at the same time as I’ve seen a lot of queer subtext between Natsume and Tanuma, I’ve also always [until recently] assumed Taki would be the eventual implied wife. She’s the only girl Natsume counts as a friend, much less close friend, and she’s the closest anyone gets to being on Tanuma’s level of intimacy. Having said that, I wasn’t happy about it. Compulsory heterosexuality is one of my least favorite tropes, because it always cheapens romance and I am a huge romantic. There are essentially no obstacles between Taki and Natsume—certainly none she wouldn’t share with basically any other girl—which makes the concept of a romantic arc extremely weak.

Yet not only did the opening of the next story appear to confirm our compulsory heterosexuality, it did so in such a laughably cliche way it seemed to circle right around to subversion: 

It opens with a girl who acts like she has a crush on Taki (but not explicitly), squealing about how “lovely” but “difficult to approach” she is.

Nishimura-the-Projector assumes Natsume will be upset by Taki’s “boyfriend.”

Natsume claims to be upset because he was left in the dark, rather than because she has a boyfriend per se, which under cliche-logic reads as “denial” even though it’s a perfectly valid reason.

Jealousy trope-storm without actual jealousy.

The boyfriend is actually a relative! Heehee! Nobody acknowledges that this is heteronormative gossip at its finest.

Taki talks about her brother as if she’s trying to hook him up with Natsume??

Natsume notices… the brother… is “the cute type”???

No seriously, why would you do that now of all times?

In any case, this was all tremendously upsetting and frustrating. Since I would have to wait yet another four months (or longer) to see Tanuma again, I decided to temporarily skip the second Taki chapter and spend that time on a thought experiment/coping mechanism: What if it were a subversion?

At first I toyed with the idea of writing platonic Taki/Natsume and romantic Tanuma/Natsume separately, but it didn’t work out. While the idea of subverting “boys and girls can’t stay friends” in isolation is admirable, it’s not something with any basis in Natsume Yūjinchō. That is, Taki’s lack of romantic potential—if intentional—has always been illuminated by contrast with Tanuma, whether through the Furry yōkai/Ito-san pseudo-arc I described in Meta #2, or through more direct comparisons as in “The Time-Eater.” Thus, platonic Taki/Natsume and romantic Tanuma/Natsume are two sides of the same coin, and I approached my theory with this in mind.

Since this story was obviously heavily centered on Taki, with Tanuma having nothing more than a brief mental cameo, the only way to draw Tanuma in for comparison is the “pseudo-arc.” In that light, I created an outline of how the next three chapters should proceed if Midorikawa-sensei did intend a subversive, queer platonic Taki/ romantic Tanuma theme.

First, the real-world logic. There are two basic reasons why Midorikawa-sensei might write romantic Natsume/Tanuma the way it’s gone so far:

Standard editorial censorship. Natsume’s Book of Friends isn’t an international juggernaut, but it’s popular enough to be a reliable cash cow. So there’d be more pressure to stay within the heteronormative lines than in an “indie” manga. In this case, Natsume/Tanuma would never be fully canon, but consistent subtext.

Quiet natural development. That is, if Natsume/Tanuma wasn’t originally intended but grew organically out of character development, then there’d have to be a transition period from “nominally platonic” to “explicitly romantic.” Since they’re both boys and this is a mainstream manga (not BL), it would have to be handled much more delicately than M/F romance.

Some combination of 1 and 2.

The first is actually fairly common and much more likely than the second, though the second is technically a slightly better fit with how things have gone so far. Either way, we’d still be at the “subtext” level for now. With the socio-cultural context Natsume is being written in, shifting a character from “presumed straight” to “explicitly queer” is a complicated maneuver. M/M ship bait is very common, and even a sympathetic audience won’t necessarily trust build-up to be real. So if you want your audience to actually follow the romantic development, it makes sense in theory to present it as platonic emotional development (with subtext) as long as possible before moving on to romantic text. And the subtext, for the most part, can’t be the sort of thing that reads as ship-bait. Which makes “eventually canon” difficult to distinguish from “intentional, but permanently subtext.” For this reason, I won't bother to separate the two.

So, drawing on the way Midorikawa-sensei has written in the past, my theoretical pro-Natsume/Tanuma progression looked like this:

A second chapter of Taki, in which Natsume is implied to be a brother figure (consistent with my initial subversive reading—there are a lot of parallels between Natsume fretting about Taki and Taki fretting about her brother + Natsume and her brother both have complicated relationships with yokai that conflict somewhat with Taki's fangirl-glasses). This creates a sense of depth and longevity to their relationship, while at the same time pushing a more explicitly platonic reading. The “omg Taki has a boyfriend” opening subtly injects a question of romance into the entire pseudo-arc (not so subtly into Taki’s half), answering with “no, they’re like siblings” to the Natsume/Taki question, but leaving Natsume/Tanuma open in the second part. Ideally the girl with the crush on Taki from the beginning should return at the end as a nod to the queer reading, and to close the “Taki needs to talk to more girls” loop that was interrupted by the fake boyfriend. 

The second part of the “pseudo-arc” would be two chapters heavily centered on Tanuma where:

There should be some sort of thematic parallel to the first (Taki) part, with a corresponding focus on Tanuma. I speculated that there might be a family theme, since we don’t know anything about Tanuma’s mom (in retrospect a poor guess—in Taki’s story the “family" was mirrored to Natsume), but it doesn’t matter what as long as it’s a definite parallel. [This is the basis for subtextually carrying the romantic question over to Tanuma.]

The parallel should be explicitly acknowledged in some way, however brief. [This acknowledges the existence of subtext and invites the reader to notice and pay attention.]

There should be other, smaller parallel moments, akin to the previous pseudo-arc’s Taki-Tanuma “lonely” mirroring. [This reinforces the existence of the parallel even though the plot is very different.]

The Tanuma story should escalate emotionally. For example, since Taki “listens to Natsume,” Tanuma should do something stronger like “take care of Natsume.” [This reinforces the romantic imagery, in contrast with something more brotherly.]

The trend of Tanuma being emotionally centered on Natsume, in contrast with Taki’s family focus, should continue. [ditto]

Tanuma’s feelings for Natsume should be more romanticized than Taki’s feelings, ideally on a level with “The Other Side of the Glass” and similar stories. [ditto]

No explicit references to romantic feelings, but a story more like a love story than Taki’s. Depth vs. surface. [ditto]

Ideally a reference to the “pond of emotional intimacy” would be super-great, but probably too much to ask. I think Midorikawa-Sensei forgot about it.

So what really did happen?

Just before returning to university, Taki’s brother says “I suppose I could leave [someone like] you in charge of my little sister,” which could be interpreted as deputizing Natsume as “older brother” in his absence. [I don’t want to make any definitive statements about translation at my level of Japanese—it can also be read as a patriarchal approval of the “presumed boyfriend,” though if Natsume is considering Taki that way, it doesn’t seem to fit Natsume and Sensei’s identical reactions.] Natsume then proceeds to explain her brother’s situation to Taki before happily allowing Girl-With-Crush to distract her with sweets. The ending feels very neat—as if their relationship issues have all been more or less dealt with. It’s essentially the opposite of what I expected from romantic Taki, in which we might see a certain ambiguous open-endedness, tension, or a sense that Natsume is reevaluating the way he sees Taki. There is none of that here.

And then there’s the next story. As predicted, it was heavily Tanuma-centered. This alone isn’t terribly meaningful, since we hadn’t seen Tanuma in a while. However, it also had a few… similarities to my outline:

It parallels Taki’s story with a “visitor” theme, and with the way the visitor arguably mirrors Natsume himself. 

Natsume acknowledges the thematic parallel: “A visitor every day? I wonder if it’s family like that time with Taki.” I had to take a moment here to laugh hysterically; I wasn't expected it to be this obvious. (Taki: “boyfriend” → family | Tanuma: “family” → ??)

Several mirrored moments, mostly in the first chapter, including “what kind of person?,” Nishimura as contrast, the running, the explanation-of-the-problem, the shocked reaction to meeting, the final-bench-discussion and so on.

“I always get her to listen to me.” → “He always listens and smiles for me.”; “I too [will listen to you] the way you always listen to me.”  → “You’ve kept me company so many times when I was mixed up with yōkai, so […] I will keep you company, too.” (When I initially wrote my outline, I had missed that he uses もらう for Taki’s listening, which downplays her intent. So even though his description of Tanuma is similar, this is an upgrade.)

Pretty blatant difference in romantic subtext, here. Taki is emotionally preoccupied with her brother and their grandfather. The climax is her brother giving her the gift he made with their grandfather as a small child. Tanuma is emotionally preoccupied with the gap in power between himself and Natsume and how that affects their relationship. The climax is watching their yōkai mirrors, in matching vessels, spiral together into the sky.

Tanuma clutches at his heart when Natsume calls his name. Tanuma wants to “see the same things Natsume sees, together,” Tanuma wishes he could be strong so Natsume wouldn’t “worry and [I/we could]…”. Natsume feels that Misuzu is “seeing through” him right after Tanuma calls him a friend. A lot of interruptions, unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings. Etc. Though Taki’s story opens with romantic cliche, and Natsume is very determined to be helpful, it’s Tanuma’s story that’s thick with romantic imagery. Taki’s story, by contrast, romanticizes the protective, sheltering image of the older brother, who cares for his little sister (and vice versa) even though they can't quite understand each other.

In terms of the “love story”: again, Taki’s emotions are centered on her brother. Tanuma’s are centered on Natsume, with even his desire to get to know yōkai being fundamentally tied to Natsume. Tanuma in particular is written with strong undertones of longing and trying to find a way closer, while Natsume gets little chance to think deeply or speak to Tanuma alone, distracted by the Misuzu problem and how it relates to Tanuma’s health and happiness. Tanuma’s story is also much more open-ended. While Taki’s story seems to end with a sense of satisfaction, Tanuma’s is full of tension. The question of how they come together safely (platonically or otherwise) remains unresolved.

The pond continues to play a metaphorical role as a place that symbolizes what they do or don’t share. Though Tanuma cannot see the pond itself, he can see shadows ordinary people cannot—in “Same Scenery” he referred to these shadows as something only the two of them could see. For Misuzu and Sasame, it is a literal halfway point between their marshes, and a place where they meet specifically to be together.[IMO, this is why it doesn't appear in "The Days-Eater": the symbolism of the pond is specifically tied to the two of them, so it would be inapproprate to reference it in Taki's presence.]

So… what does this mean? I don’t know. I promised myself I would let go of the queer reading if I got anything less than a Taki-Tanuma pseudo-arc—even if I got a story that heavily romanticized Tanuma without paralleling Taki’s story. Actually getting what I wanted, exactly what I wanted, is less satisfying than it might seem. Set against the overwhelming prevalence of heteronormativity, it's left me in a curious limbo of uncertainty. It’s hard to swallow the idea that my accuracy was a complete coincidence, but I may have been wrong about the reasons for this pattern. 

While it’s objectively lazy, there’s a great deal of precedent in letting superficial romantic features like “cuteness” supersede features like devotion, so long as the former is opposite sex and the latter same sex. In other words, I may have the pattern backwards, with Tanuma being set up as platonic soulmate, and Taki as the romantic lead. Perhaps we are meant to draw a parallel between Tanuma and Taki’s brother as a “difficult older brother” figure (even though Tanuma is younger), given they are both “easily possessed.” If so, they have little else in common. The (simultaneous??) mirroring between Tanuma and Taki would probably be for the purpose of establishing Natsume’s most important platonic, non-family-like relationship as equally important to romance. This isn’t exactly inconsistent with the emphasis the manga places on the importance of platonic love.

Still, it’s an odd choice to make Taki’s feelings primarily about someone else if the story is meant to set a romance in motion, particularly in contrast to Tanuma. And the older brother/Natsume mirroring would have to be unintentional, since it’s a bit, um, awkward otherwise, which would mean the undeniable Misuzu/Natsume mirroring is coincidental. And so on. At its heteronormative best, “The Troublesome Two” is a story about Natsume’s crush on Taki, and Taki’s love for her brother and late grandfather. At its potential best, it’s a subversive story about how an unrelated boy and a girl can care deeply about each other without having romantic feelings—and about how girls aren’t necessarily more emotionally and socially competent than boys just because they’re girls.

In any case, Tanuma’s story is worth looking at a bit more closely.

First, a summary of the actual plot:

Tanuma receives a mysterious, persistent, explicitly gender-ambiguous “human” visitor who turns out to be Misuzu (the powerful horse yōkai) in disguise. He’s excited by the opportunity to get to know a yōkai, so Natsume decides to support him, despite his fears, by hovering like gnat and glaring at Misuzu while they go around looking at scenery. Eventually it’s revealed that Tanuma has been quietly possessed by Misuzu’s fellow marsh guardian… soulmate… friend thing, and that it’s this “Sasame” who Misuzu has been interested in, rather than Tanuma. There’s a climax where Sasame tries to escape being removed from Tanuma, and Tanuma empathizes with their relative lack of power because he sees Sasame (who is very weak) with Misuzu as being similar to himself with Natsume. Sensei confronts Sasame about their motivations, thereby leading to Sasame voluntarily leaving and joining Misuzu in their wooden-doll-possessing-competition… thing. 

Though nominally platonic, the story is romantic and emotional, centering on the gap in power between Natsume and Tanuma and their mutual attempts to bridge that gap without actually talking about it.

The first thing I’d like to talk about is the imagery.

Chronologically left to right this time. Tanuma looks odd on the right because of Sasame. Friendly reminder that Midorikawa-Sensei hates drawing hands.

Japanese culture is not physically demonstrative or openly emotional in general, but young children and teen girls are allowed far more leeway than teen boys and adults. So much so that teen girls can even hold hands in a “romantic” way and still be assumed to be straight. This is not as visible in Natsume Yūjinchō as in Midorikawa-sensei’s other work, since there’s only one recurring teen girl. But it is visible in her art for Season 6 of the anime, where Sasada and Taki are holding hands in the background. It’s also apparent in the way that different characters express themselves. Female characters are more physically emotional, and more visibly vulnerable than male characters. For example, male characters do not usually hold their hands in front of their stomach or their chest—a somewhat defensive gesture—and will ball up their fists at their side instead. (Or use Sensei as a shield.) Male vulnerability is mostly expressed through facial expressions.

So even for a boy like Tanuma, this kind of emotional gesture is notable. A single example would be interesting. Two is suspicious. Three is a pattern. This fits the theory that this story is meant to break open a new arc in Natsume and Tanuma’s relationship; changing course requires far more effort than staying on the new course. It’s exactly what Taki’s story was yelling about right before it veered off into “family” territory—except Tanuma’s story stayed consistent. The hand-over-heart, standing-on-water scene was on the very first page, without even a chapter cover to get in the way. The longing, out-stretched hand is from a scene that sets the emotional context for Tanuma’s behavior. The heart-clutching is part of the climax. Every one of these is directly or implicitly linked to his feelings about Natsume.

The out-stretched hand is particularly important. This is the dialog that sets it up:

あのヒト妖だったのか… すごいものだな　普通に人間に見えているのに… ささいで小さな妖との繋がりのかけら　夏目はいつもあんなに苦労している　それを知ってるのに夏目が見ているものを一緒に見てみたいと思ってしまう　ー夏目は強い　おれもそうだったらあんなに心配させずにー　… どうしたんだ　おれらしくもない　…なんだか欲ばりだ

“[Spoken aloud to himself] That person was an ayakashi…? What an amazing thing. Even though they look like an ordinary human… [Internally] Such a tiny, insignificant fragment of a connection to ayakashi. Natsume is always going through so much trouble. I know that, but I still find myself thinking I’d like to see the things he sees, together. —Natsume is strong. If I were too, without worrying him— [it would be possible to do something]… What’s the deal? That’s not like me. …Kind of greedy.”

When Tanuma is talking to Natsume about something similar in “Tenjō-san,” his wording is vague, potentially even reading as envy though that doesn’t really suit the context. He says he’d “like to see the same world as [Natsume], sometimes.” Here in the privacy of his own mind, he’s more clear. This scene, with it’s implication that Tanuma wants to share Natsume’s world, is implicitly romantic—particularly in light of Taki’s furry yōkai story. 

Though there were several moments when Natsume seemed suspicious of the nature of the furry yōkai’s feelings for Taki (never explicit), it’s reading the letter at the end that seems to convince him. In this letter, the yōkai expresses their gratitude for Taki’s help, and their desire to “see the beautiful mountains and beautiful valleys” with Taki. In fact, the wording itself is suspiciously familiar.

If we set aside the obvious differences and focus on the emotional core of the letter, we get:

[~]をともに見てみたいと思ってしまった。

“I found myself thinking I’d like to see [the beautiful mountains and beautiful valleys] together.”

Compare Tanuma:

[~]を一緒に見てみたいと思ってしまう。

“I find myself thinking I’d like to see [the things Natsume sees] together.”

There are two differences here. One, the word for “together”: the yokai’s letter uses the formal/written ともに, whereas Tanuma’s thought uses the casual/spoken 一緒に. The words are otherwise completely identical in meaning, so this difference should probably be considered functionally meaningless. The other difference is actually in Tanuma’s favor.

What I translated as “I find/found myself thinking” is the auxiliary verb しまう. This word has no real equivalent in English. It means “to finish completely” but is commonly used to add a nuance of lack of intention and probably regret to an action. For example, where an English speaker might say “Oh no, I forgot!” the Japanese speaker would say “I forgot—shimatta!” If “shimatta” sounds familiar, that’s because it’s very common and can even be used on its own (where it is frequently—and hilariously—translated as “damn”).

Here both furry yōkai and Tanuma are using しまう to express regret or even self-reproach for their seemingly futile desires as well as (in Tanuma’s case) the sense that the desire is selfish. The difference is the conjugation. Furry yōkai uses the perfective aspect—often taught as “past tense” because that’s the primary use—which indicates the completion of an action. Tanuma is using the imperfective, which indicates a lack of completion either because something is ongoing (recurring, not continuous), or because it is yet to be performed at all (future).

Grammatically there are a few different interpretations of perfective vs imperfective, but in this context only one thing makes sense. The furry yōkai is encapsulating his desire as a singular experience, something they have wrapped up and set to the side (consistent with their refusal to engage directly with Taki or allow Natsume to do so for them) and don’t expect to deal with in the future. Tanuma, on the other hand, considers this desire to be an issue he struggles with repeatedly and sees no quick end to. Even though he, like the furry yōkai, knows it to be impossible, he can’t let it go—and nor can the story.

Regardless of any potential parallels to Taki’s furry yōkai, this desire to see yōkai in order to share them with Natsume is a major theme. While we do occasionally go a few pages without being reminded, Tanuma’s motivations in this story are neither subtle nor subtext. The logic is fairly straightforward:

Knowing a yōkai ⇒ having a connection to the yōkai world ⇒ having a connection to Natsume’s world ⇒ being closer to Natsume.

The scene above lays it out all but explicitly, but this motivation is referenced multiple times (not in order):

—“I can’t let him keep worrying forever. If there’s anything that would help hurry things along even a little…” [While investigating a dream.]

—“I was happy that your ayakashi friend seemed to take an interest in me.”

––“[I miss feeling like I knew a yōkai but] I still had a good time, in the end. I got to see the same things as you.”

—“So that means I get to know a yōkai Natsume knows?”

The last one is rather telling. First, because it confirms the connection to Natsume is important to him. Second, because he says it while holding Sensei. Sensei does not “count” for this purpose because Sensei is not inaccessible. Even completely ordinary people like Nishimura and Kitamoto interact with Sensei on a regular basis, albeit without realizing he can talk. Tanuma wants more than that. But even more, he wants more than what’s available to, well, Taki—the other “ordinary” person who talks to Sensei.

Yet all of this serves only to reinforce a pre-existing theme. For Taki, the yōkai world is intrinsically emotionally bound to her grandfather. For Tanuma, it’s emotionally bound to Natsume himself. Further, he sees it as a barrier between them that he needs power to overcome. This has a long-running basis:

—When they first meet, Natsume makes it clear he wants to talk to Tanuma because he believes Tanuma can see the same things. Tanuma, likewise, wants to meet Natsume because he’s heard they’re similar. It makes sense, then, that he would see their relationship—and his worth as a friend—as being strongly tied to yōkai.

—In Tanuma’s special, his second major appearance, he frets about his weakness being the reason Natsume always lies and disappears without warning. He knows that Natsume is trying to protect him from yōkai trouble, but secretly fights the fear that Natsume is disappointed in his lack of power. The story ends with him wondering whether Natsume will ever tell him “what color the fish [in Tanuma’s yōkai pond] are” and whether he’ll ever be able to ask. Natsume talking about the yōkai pond, then, is established as a metaphor for Natsume opening up and treating Tanuma as a genuine friend.

—In the mirror arc, Tanuma borrows the yokai’s sight (i.e. power) because he wants to see what Natsume is reacting to. The yōkai later tells Natsume “It was what he wanted. […] Even though he knows [you’re trying to be kind] he doesn’t understand. Even though he’s right beside you, not knowing…” Earlier in the story, there’s a mildly comic set of exchanges where he repeatedly gushes about how “amazing” Natsume’s ability is.

—In “The Other Side of the Glass,” Tanuma’s flashback to Natsume not paying attention while he plays shogi connects the yōkai world to Tanuma’s perception of being kept at a distance. That is, Natsume is mentally drawn away from Tanuma by things that Tanuma (normally) cannot even see and therefore cannot work against. Tanuma eventually breaks down because he feels that in trying to be involved, he’s become “a burden” who “doesn’t know how far to intrude” and “doesn’t want to put up walls because of that.” At the end, he’s wistful about leaving the yōkai world and losing his sight.

—In “Distant Festival Lights” Tanuma reveals he “never even imagined” that yōkai were real until he met Natsume. Thus yōkai as something real to be wondered at must be inextricably bound to Natsume himself.

For several stories afterward, this desire is shifted to the background as the narrative focuses on what Tanuma can do: provide emotional support (as with Natsume’s story about his unwed grandmother) and run interference in the background. Tanuma’s desire to see yōkai does not come up during this calm period. However, the theme starts to creep back in with the ryokan story, along with his lack of faith in his own abilities—he assumes a real vision was “just a dream” because there’s nothing there when he wakes up, and apologizes to Natsume for reacting to it.

In Tenjō-san, he talks about how he feels about Natsume’s world:

夏目の世界はあいまいなものがいっぱいなんだな　おれは…やっぱり時々夏目と同じ世界を見てみたいなと思うけど　見えるものが違うからこそ確認しあえることもあるのかもしれ��いなって…

“Your [Natsume’s] world is full of ambiguous things, isn’t it? I… still think I’d like to the the same world as you, sometimes. But I also think maybe there are times when it’s because the things we see are different that we can confirm things for each other.” [Emphasis is original.]

In other words, this story is really just foregrounding something that’s always been subtext.

Which brings me to my next point: the use of mirroring. I assumed from the start that Misuzu was a mirror for Natsume in order to parallel Taki’s brother as a mirror. There seemed to be some basis for this in the first chapter—in spending so much time talking with Tanuma, Misuzu was preventing Natsume from talking to Tanuma. (Natsume frets about not getting to talk to Tanuma “at all” because the guest had been coming “for a few days.”) And in taking Tanuma around to look at various scenery, Misuzu’s actions are suspiciously similar to what Natsume worries about failing at: “Even though I have him right beside me, I keep him company with nothing but talk of scenery we cannot share.” [Emphasis mine.] The mirroring ended up being more explicit than I expected: Tanuma openly compares Sasame and Misuzu’s relationship to his with Natsume. This is an interesting narrative technique, for a couple of reasons.

Sasame—and Misuzu in particular—are not just yōkai. They are yōkai who act very differently from humans, to the point that it’s specifically highlighted. Of all the yōkai Natsume knows, Misuzu is one of the least human. They chose the form of a horse. They have a frog as a “retainer.” They once “tested" Natsume’s worthiness with a deadly curse. And in this story itself, they complain that they don’t understand why Natsume won’t just order them around, even though they specifically allowed him that power. In other words, they express themselves in ways that are not easily mapped onto human behavior. This is important because it allows the Misuzu/Sasame to Natsume/Tanuma mirroring to be opaque in many ways. For example, it’s not at all clear what the Natsume/Tanuma equivalent of possessing identical dolls and having a boisterous contest would be. This means that the story can move forward with strong emotional overtones while also refusing to define exactly what kind of relationship they’re supposed to have. It’s a convenient excuse to have two characters behave in a very romantic way without having to justify why they’re not actually in a romantic relationship. This is nearly the opposite of Taki’s story, where the use of her brother as mirror (if intentional) has strongly platonic overtones.

Another example of deliberate (and clever) muddling is in the presentation of Sasame and Tanuma’s emotions while Sasame inhabits Tanuma. Both characters are implied to be influenced by the other. Tanuma says “What’s the deal? That’s not like me. Kind of greedy.” Later, Sasame tells Sensei not to worry about Tanuma because “There was something off with me. [It’s not like me to] take advantage of the child of man this way.” Neither of them are really suggesting that the nature of emotions are strange, only more self-centered than usual. This suggests that their desires are so aligned, they effectively amplified each other, creating a stronger sense of desperation and thus greed. For example, both of them enjoyed their “daily routine” with Misuzu and Natsume, for related reasons. Sasame wanted to share Misuzu’s world, and Tanuma wanted to share Natsume’s world via Misuzu. 

However, since Sasame!Tanuma’s actions are influenced by the emotions of both characters, it’s difficult to tease out exactly who is feeling what. When Tanuma is so happy to get dragged off by Misuzu, is that because—as he later tells Natsume—he was “happy that your ayakashi friend seemed to take an interest in me”—happy that part of Natsume’s world was actively trying to involve him? Or was it because Sasame was happy about Misuzu’s active involvement? To a certain extent, it’s beside the point. These characters are mirrors. What Tanuma feels about Misuzu is what Sasame feels about Misuzu is what Tanuma feels about Natsume. Both want to be closer and more involved. Both are afraid of being left behind, of being “unable to keep up.”

On a similar note, we return to the mirroring between Natsume and Misuzu. Misuzu smirks through much of the story, but shows serious vulnerability on more than one occasion—right before returning to smirking. This suggests that Misuzu is hiding just how invested they are. Though they express themselves in very yōkai-like ways, Misuzu is just as concerned about Sasame as Natsume is about Tanuma. Misuzu even uses the same phrase, 付き合う or “to keep company,” as Natsume. That is, Natsume says he will “keep [Tanuma] company” with Misuzu because Tanuma has “kept me company so many times when I was involved with yōkai.” Misuzu later explains their own behavior, saying that they only intended to “keep Sasame company in whatever it is they want to do.” Both, then, are shown to not entirely understand their companions motivations, but to want to indulge them regardless. The implication is that they mirror each other in their style of showing affection.

Further, both Misuzu and Natsume seem clueless as to their companion’s desires. Natsume shows progress in understanding, but is repeatedly distracted by Misuzu. Misuzu, for their part, claims that Sasame retains possession of Tanuma because Tanuma is “comfortable” and “easy to possess,” apparently unaware that Sasame is specifically enjoying the new type of companionship with Misuzu that having a human body offers. On the same note, Misuzu’s confusion about why they want to spend time with Sasame!Tanuma in such “odd” ways is interesting in the context of being Natsume’s mirror. It suggests that Natsume himself does not quite understand how he feels about spending time with Tanuma like this. The reveal that Misuzu was actually talking to Sasame only makes this confusion more poignant: Misuzu does not understand why they are enjoying simply walking around, looking at nostalgic places with their favorite companion, when they had come for a boisterous contest. This is another good example of how being yōkai make the parallels somewhat opaque.

Another interesting point is the way in which Natsume’s feelings balance Tanuma’s. Though we’re given somewhat more access into how Tanuma feels, due to Natsume being distracted by Misuzu, we do get a hint of the broader problem. Natsume is worried about whether Tanuma will “listen and smile” for him “forever.” Then he chides himself for only “keeping Tanuma company with nothing but talk of scenery we cannot share.” When Tanuma sympathizes with Sasame, he points out how “unbearably painful” it is to be “unable to keep up with your friend.” Both Natsume and Tanuma use いつでも “forever” in the context of trying to make their companion happy. For Tanuma, it’s because he knows he worries Natsume. For Natsume, it’s the concern about Tanuma's interest in "scenery we cannot share." Tanuma is worried about spiritual power, and how it would (in theory) facilitate being closer to Natsume. Natsume, on the other hand, is worried about his actual relationship skills. He knows that he’s not giving Tanuma as much as he should, but doesn’t seem to have any ideas about what he should give. The only thing we have to go on is “scenery we cannot share,” which suggests that moving forward might involve finding scenery they can share—exactly like they did with Misuzu. So there’s a sense that they’re both actively trying to find a way forward, but they’re not communicating well enough to do it right.

There is one way in which the story could be read as explicitly platonic. When describing the marshes that they and Sasame protect, Misuzu describes them as being “like identical twins.” If this is intended to mark them as “surrogate twins,” then obviously that would be a platonic reading. However, I don’t think this is the case. Instead, I think this more “soulmate” subtext. After all, it’s not Misuzu and Sasame who are described as “identical twins,” but the appearance of their homes. And place, in Natsume Yūjinchō, is often a stand-in for something like heart.

For example, many of Taki’s stories happen in her home, to symbolize the importance of family to her. Likewise, the Fujiwaras home is a symbol of the affection and safe boundaries they provide to Natsume. Natsume had to let go of the “Natsume” family home before he could move on from the loss of his parents. More dramatic is Reiko’s field of flowers: isolated, hidden from human and yōkai alike, a secret for Reiko alone, yet beautiful—and blue for Souko, the girl who came the closest to seeing her true self. The pond that’s so important for this story is also symbolic: it’s both the place where Natsume and Tanuma’s powers meet and the place where Misuzu and Sasame meet to be together.

But more directly relevant is the story of Gen and Sui: the gods who inhabited a “set of two” dog statues and protected a village from afar, until Sui’s statue was destroyed and she became a demon. The term 一対 implies either a perfectly matched set, or items that are nearly identical but with a twist (like male and female or silver and gold). So while the word “twin” wasn’t used in that story, it’s conceptually very similar to how the marshes were described. Misuzu is an explicitly genderless horse-person and Sasame is literally formless, but Gen and Sui were heavily anthropomorphized and explicitly gendered as male and female. And while the nature of their relationship is never explicit, Gen and Sui made much more sense as a romantic couple than as siblings. For one thing, their style of speech is consistent with an old-fashioned couple (similar to Touko-san and Shigeru-san’s). They also use similar romantic language as other couples, like wanting to “be able to be together forever” and being “happy because you were there.” So the reading that Sasame and Misuzu’s “twin” marshes are symbols of emotional compatibility—and their need to be together—is at least consistent with how Midorikawa-sensei has written in the past.

For a while I was troubled by the symbolism of Sasame’s fading marsh in this context. It’s a terrible fit for Misuzu and Sasame (and thus Natsume and Tanuma) being “like identical twins,” but didn’t seem to fit much better with the idea of their hearts being “like identical twins.” But eventually it occurred to me that the fading of Sasame’s marsh along with their powers did fit with a certain view of “heart”—just not the limited scope of love. In Japanese, “heart” has roughly the same set of metaphorical meanings as in English, but with an additional dash of “mind” depending on context. So think emotions, deep thoughts, sincere beliefs. Sort of an “inner self” thing. In this context it’s easier to understand how Sasame’s heart has been weakened. With their diminishing existence and the “widening gap” in power, Sasame is emotionally stretched thin. Fading hope, the strain of feeling left behind by someone they adore, the belief that the one thing they have no control over is the one thing that matters the most. This is Sasame’s fading heart—and this is what they have in common with Tanuma.

And in fact this fits Sasame’s dialog, as they wonder whether taking advantage of Tanuma, and focusing so much on Misuzu’s power, means their heart has grown “barren” along with their power.

This might be depressing but for the implication that it’s not actually Sasame’s or Tanuma’s power itself that has made them feel this way. It’s the fact that they have been following an old, inadequate rulebook with Misuzu (and Natsume), and need to communicate in order to adapt. Sasame frets about power, but when they comment on the “liveliness” around Misuzu, Sensei makes a point:

にぎやかから満たされているとも限るまい

“I suppose we can’t assume that lively surroundings always mean that one is fulfilled.”

This triggers Sasame’s memory of Misuzu’s “nostalgia” comments, and their realization that “It’s not as if [Misuzu] came hoping I would just be strong.” In other words, there is something about Sasame (Tanuma) that is important to Misuzu (Natsume) that cannot be replaced by all the other “lively” people and yōkai in the world. What exactly this means for them and their future is left unspoken, but it’s clearly emotional:

“I’m sorry [for what I did], child of Man. Surely, even without being able to keep up…[something they want will be possible]”

The way the story ends, as well, feels pointed. As I mentioned earlier, Taki’s story did not fit my conception of “setting a romantic arc in motion” because it felt too finished. The only thing arguably unfinished in the end is Taki’s new friendship with Girl-With-Crush. The end-cap is Natsume cheerfully affirming the importance of keeping promises to family-figures (in this case Sensei, to whom he promised an eclair for dealing with Taki). This is superimposed over an image of the gift from Taki’s brother and grandfather: a rock painted with floral designs (it's a fake yokai connection [the stonewashers], but authentic feelings). The overall feeling is that Natsume has solved all their issues. He convinced Taki she could talk to him, figured out why her brother was acting weird and helped the siblings uncover the gift that was meant to help tie them together, then finally observed Taki having positive social interaction with someone who wasn’t yōkai-adjacent. (Note that Natsume had nothing to do with Taki’s new friendship; it was the girl herself who worked up the courage to approach Taki. And she used sweets—the language Taki speaks—to do so, showing a higher level of mental compatibility than anyone else thus far.) There’s no sense that Natsume’s feelings about Taki have shifted, that he sees her any differently, or that he has any curiosity about her future romantic life.

On the other hand, the ending of Tanuma’s story does what Taki’s didn’t: it leaves a suggestive opening. Tanuma happily says goodbye “Again, tomorrow!” in much the same way as Misuzu has been, implying a return to regular close interaction—and perhaps a more deliberately “daily” interaction. Then Misuzu reappears, and smirkingly tells Natsume “Tanuma Kaname is a rather fun/interesting guy.” Choosing to use Tanuma’s full name for the first time is all but a wink, and using 中々 for “rather” suggests either they’ve begun to see Tanuma with new eyes—or they think Natsume has and they’re making a point of noticing— 中々 has a connotation of “unusually high” or “more than expected.” Natsume’s unimpressed reaction suggests he’s not pleased at the idea of Misuzu’s renewed interest or teasing, and he pointedly reminds Misuzu of Sasame, asking how their “contest” went. Misuzu’s counter that it is, essentially, private is overlaid on an image of the contest’s meeting place: the pond which, to Tanuma, symbolizes both the connection and the barrier between him and Natsume. The pond whose dripping water Natsume was distracted from when Misuzu arrived. This has a strong implication that there’s something about Natsume and Tanuma’s relationship that’s not meant to be shared outside the two of them.

This is all… more than a bit suggestive. But it’s not explicit.

It’s not clear how Misuzu and Sasame will move forward, considering they ended with the same “competition” as usual, but we know they have learned from the experience. Both Misuzu and Sasame found that they enjoyed a quieter way of being together, and Sasame began to realize that Misuzu sees them as more than just someone to play games of strength with.

Likewise it’s not clear how Natsume and Tanuma will move forward, though the fact that they spent time basically looking at scenery together is a neat counterpoint to Natsume’s lament that he “does nothing but talk about scenery we cannot share.” It’s also something they can do without Misuzu or Sasame—as they did with the fireworks so long ago. They do make explicit progress when Natsume, hurt by Tanuma’s reticence, reminds him that “it doesn’t matter whether it’s yōkai or not, if something is bothering you, you should tell me!” However, this is only a single facet of their problem. It’s the sort of thing they ought to have been taking for granted by now, but it doesn’t really answer the question of what they can actively do together to find contentment. There’s a sense that they’re making progress, but still have somewhere to go. Acknowledging that they want to talk about something other than yōkai is simply the first step in that direction.

In the end, there’s still quite a bit I haven’t gotten into: the use of suspiciously suggestive wording, and the way Misuzu is positioned as a subtextual rival. The way Tanuma’s insecurity about his powers mirrors his insecurity about his relationship with Natsume. The various connections to earlier stories. Tanuma’s romanticization of selflessness and the way this, with his insecurity, is an obstacle in their relationship. But this meta needed to end at some point, so this is as good as any.

I’m still uncertain as to the intent of this story. I still don’t know whether it meant to lay down romantic subtext or just sort of stumbled clumsily into it. But no matter what, it’s a deeply emotional story that solidifies Tanuma’s singularity and significance, and the importance of being closer to Natsume. So whatever may happen with Taki, or with Tanuma, there is some comfort to be had in that.

[hodgeofthepodge-blog]

Foggy Memory

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13114905/1/Teen-Titans-Foggy-Memory

In the early morning, Jump City would very occasionally be enveloped by a swell of fog clouds, moving in from the sea towards the shore. Being situated on a small island offshore, Titans Tower was the first to feel the velvety dampness of the mist. This also included anyone exposed to the moistening air — in this case, the resident cloaked empath. Raven floated gently above the roof of the tower, unmoving from her signature lotus position, reciting her mantra near-silently. Her hood rested on her shoulders; the sun made the pale skin and chakra gemstone on her forehead, glisten. There was a comforting warmth in the morning air that persisted even when she was surrounded by a soft blanket of clouds.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos." Her gentle voice spoke. Those oh-so famous words, dissipating into the muffling softness of the mist that slowly enveloped her being. She was often awake at this time of the morning, greeting the sun as it broke the horizon at dawn each day. The same could not be said however, for the green young man slowly approaching her from behind. Despite his outlandish appearance, he remained unseen. The thickness of the fog would have prevented Raven from seeing him even if her eyes were open. Nothing however, could escape her perceptive empathic abilities, they could have sensed his unease from a dimension away. Beast Boy stood atop the roof, struggling to peer through the fluffy semi-transparency of the mist at the empath floating before him. He knew she was there, though. His keen sense of smell could identify her scent in a split-second. He stepped forward as quietly as possible so as not to disturb her concentration.

"I know you're there, Beast Boy…," Raven spoke with slight volume. Garfield stood in place for a second, her figure now much more visible through the sea of clouds. Raven's eyelids remained closed. "This fog can't hide your emotions from me." She stated, perfectly aware of her surroundings while unable to see. She could tell she was surrounded by mist, simply by how the thickness of the air gently muffled her mantra, a testament to how often she really was up here.

"I know." Beast Boy replied in a sombre manner. Confusion sparked in Raven at his response. "Then why were you trying to be so quiet?" she questioned.

"I didn't want to disturb your meditation. I know how important it is to you." He truthfully stated. Raven was slightly taken aback at his polite gesture then presumed the most logical explanation.

"I guess the fog doesn't muffle my voice as much as I thought it did." Raven joked, still facing out toward the sea, presuming he must've overheard her chanting.

"No." He gently responded, much to Raven's confusion again. Her brows furrowed from his responses.

"Hmm, I guess I'll have to ask Star for some nice smelling soap to help cover my scent then." She quipped once more, assuming he had used his nose instead.

"I didn't need to use any of my senses to know you were up here meditating, Raven. I know you." Garfield explained. Raven's eyebrows slowly raised, and her eyelids began to open. She unfolded her legs and her feet touched the top of the roof once more. She couldn't deny how humbled she felt at how familiar the changeling was with her everyday habits. His emotions told her he was telling the truth. He did know her, really damn well in fact. She turned to face him, struggling to see him through the fog. They both stood in place, knowing the other was looking right back at them despite how little they could see of each other.

"Hmm. Let's see – up before noon, depressed feelings pouring off of him, and he hasn't made a cheesy joke in the last 5 minutes. Something's wrong." The empath thought, keeping her gaze locked on the blurred, green man before her.

"Can I talk to you about something?" The Changeling asked quietly.

"Uhh… sure."

The Demoness replied, trying to fight off a blush from him expressing his wholesome familiarity with her. Garfield approached Raven, gently stepping past her through the mist before sitting with his legs dangling over the side of the roof, looking out into a vast sea of white. Raven mimicked his actions.

"What is it you want to talk about?" she asked sincerely, knowing how vulnerable his emotions were right now.

"I've… been having trouble sleeping," he explained, looking down at his feet with a solemn look on his face. His mouth was a flat, tight line. Not a smile nor a frown, his lips were static, the monotony only being pierced by his one exposed fang. Raven was caught in a metaphysical juxtaposition; she was simultaneously being smothered by soft, welcoming fog clouds and harsh feelings of depression, radiating from the usually chipper changeling seated next to her. While she usually seemed to give the impression that she enjoyed seeing him in pain, the truth was she hated seeing him like this. He put so much effort into making others feel happy and experience joy…even if it was sometimes at his expense. It was so upsetting to see someone who put others' feelings ahead of his own seem so down. Even now, despite feeling such strong, negative emotions, he was still thoughtful enough not to disturb her meditation. This gesture had most certainly not gone unnoticed by the empath.

"Oh. Do you know what might be the cause?" Raven asked curiously, genuinely concerned for her friend's wellbeing.

"Well… I keep having this nightmare…" he explained with a hint of reluctancy. "…and I can't seem to stop thinking about it no matter how hard I try." Garfield raised his head, looking out, musing on how much their foggy surroundings mirrored the turmoil in his head.

Raven looked on, taking in every word. "Well, what happens in this nightmare? Whatever it is, it must be pretty bad if it's affecting you of all people this much." Raven commented, recalling his joyous attitude towards life and the people around him.

Garfield cracked a small smile coupled with a slight, reddening blush to his otherwise green complexion. He wouldn't dare deny; she knew him pretty damn well, too. Quite possibly more than anyone else, in fact.

"Well basically… I keep finding myself in the middle of this grassland, but there's no animals in sight. It's so weird though, 'cause I dream about animals almost all the time! There are trees in the distance, and the grass is long and a kinda yellow colour…" The green hero explained, clearly trying to avoid the main focus of the dream. Raven remained patient with him, however. She was no stranger to having difficulty expressing her emotions, so she sympathised with her teammate's current struggle. "… and then… out of nowhere… this mirror just appears!" He exclaimed, whilst gesturing with his hands as though what he was talking about was actually in front of them.

"A mirror?" The empath queried. Perhaps this was related to his and Cyborg's unintentional visit to Nevermore a few years ago. She hoped not as she could not deny the slight guilt she felt if this was the case. Perhaps there was some hidden trauma deep within Garfield's psyche since that day that she just hadn't sensed. Raven felt creeping dread, struggling to convince herself otherwise and beginning to doubt the quality of her empathic abilities.

"It looked nothing like your mirror, just in case you were worried about that." Garfield clarified.

"Umm… ok." Raven responded in an aloof manner, hiding her true feelings of relief behind an indifferent expression. The fact he had also considered this as well, showed her how much he cared for her feelings. Raven blushed, inwardly. "Did you see anything in the mirror?" she asked, suspecting that something he saw must be the root of his current depressed feelings. Beast Boy fell silent for a moment with a look of pain painted on his face. He looked down at the rocky outcrops being lashed by the waves below, jutting into the soft blanket of grey-white cloud above, now completely surrounding Titans Tower.

"When I looked into the mirror… I saw…" he paused. Raven now drowning in his feelings of deeply-rooted sadness and conflict. This was coupled with her own feelings of apprehension, now desperate to know what he had seen in his slumber, for both of their sakes. She placed her hand on top of his.

"Gar…it's ok. You can tell me." She reassured him with the gentlest of tones. This sweet gesture almost brought a tear to his eye as he looked deep into the empath's amethyst irises. Garfield knew she was telling the truth. She always told him the truth.

"I know." He responded, confidently. "When I looked into the mirror… I saw… this kid…" He explained, now looking down again, glum.

"Kid?" Raven echoed in an inquisitive manner.

"Yeah. A little blond boy." Gar stated bluntly.

"Did you know them?" Raven asked, despite already having a pretty good idea as to what his answer would be.

"You could say that…" he alluded, with an unhappy smirk gracing his features. Raven said nothing. She had an unbreaking gaze on his emerald green eyes, she already knew what was coming.

"It was me. Ya know, before…" he trailed off, knowing Raven had already guessed, just from looking into her beautiful eyes. The empath moved her hand so that their fingers interlocked. She tightened her grip ever so slightly to ensure him she was here for him. "I know this is gonna sound weird but… I actually don't remember what I used to look like. But I knew it was me." Garfield admitted. Raven was speechless. She knew he wasn't always green, but she had never given his previous appearance as much thought as she had now. He had been this way for so long that his old, 'normal' appearance was now becoming a distant memory to him, to the point where he could no longer remember what he looked like before. She gripped his hand tighter, with sadness in her eyes.

"I couldn't help but think… how things could have been if…" he trailed off once more, fighting back tears.

"Gar…" Raven could barely form words. It was eating away at her, seeing someone so close to her in such distress. The blanket of clouds surrounding them provided no comfort.

"I lost it!" Gar exclaimed abruptly. "I didn't want to think about it! I didn't want to see it! I punched the mirror and it smashed to pieces." His face scrunched up as all his emotions began to seep out all at once. "And then everything went black. I know there's more but… I just can't remember it… it's all a blur." Beast Boy's voice began to break up and his eyes stained red as tears began to stream down his cheeks. Raven let him get it all out. Beast Boy was always so chilled-out and laid-back, and she knew he needed this chance to vent.

"Garfield… I… I'm so sorry." She comforted. No animal instincts were required to tell him how genuine she was. Suddenly, an idea popped into the demoness' head. "There is… a way I could help you remember…" Raven trailed off. "It might help you deal with what you're going through. It just depends on one thing… Do you trust me?" she asked, looking hopeful and expectant at her green contemporary. Garfield turned towards her and reached out his arm, placing it gently on her shoulder.

"Raven, I trust you with my life." Garfield stated truthfully. They both looked into each other's' eyes, Raven's cheeks blared crimson and Gar's lips showed a much-missed smile. She struggled to find words and attempted to disguise her infatuation with his statement, by falsely clearing her throat.

"I could enter your mind and see what else is hidden in your dream." Raven explained.

"Dude, are you sure you wanna see that? For all we know there isn't anything else going on up there and you could get stuck in my brain!" Beast Boy stressed, pointing both hands towards his cranium in a panicked manner.

"Garfield I know what I'm doing. I don't need to see anything else. And if you let me in, I promise not to look any deeper." She clarified, now placing her hand on his back.

"I know you do, and… I know you wouldn't. It's just… what if there's a ton of nasty stuff waiting in my mind for you? I'm not sure I could risk putting you through that. I'd never forgive myself if something horrible happened to you!" The changeling stressed.

Raven, touched by his concern for her wellbeing. "Well, I'll never forgive myself if I do nothing and have to watch you deal with this all alone!" Raven retaliated. "Besides, you're not the only who has to feel all of your sad emotions..." she reminded him.

Garfield's brow furrowed as he looked down at the roof below them, slightly peeved with himself for forgetting how much his emotions could negatively affect her too. He settled on a decision, then looked up at her with confidence.

"Ok… do it. And hey, if it worked with Robin, then why not me?" He said. "And Raven…" She looked into his eyes as he spoke. "Thank you." While Raven was touched by his sentiment, the gratitude was premature.

"Don't thank me yet, Gar." She proclaimed, placing her hands on her temples and gently closing her eyelids. Beast Boy relaxed his body and mind, gently closing his eyes.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos…" Raven spoke quietly, her eyes glowing white and her soul self floating up into the shrouding sea of clouds, before diving down into Garfield's psyche. When Raven opened her eyes, it looked almost no different to the view she was seeing a few moments ago, just without a green changeling in view. There were many clouds surrounding her, except these were dark grey in colour. "This is definitely the right place!" she proclaimed to herself. She had managed to manifest herself into Garfield's place in his own dream. As the clouds parted, she found herself in the middle of a grassland, with many trees in the distance and long yellow grass at her feet. There was no mirror though, but instead the shattered fragments that once formed a mirror, lay strewn in the grass with an empty frame standing tall between the shards. In the reflection of one of the fragments, she saw lightning strike behind her, followed by a crash of thunder. Suddenly, different sounds assaulted her ear drums from every direction. Somewhere she could hear an animal squealing angrily. She recognised the call from Beast Boy's habit of transforming into them: a monkey. The sound of violently running water began booming all around her with unbearable volume, interjected with haunting screams. Raven placed her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to nullify this shrieking pain collapsing to her knees in the process, clenching her teeth and forcing her eyes shut. When the mortifying noises finally stopped, there was an eerie silence. When the empath opened her eyes, she was looking directly at the ground in front of her. She saw there was only one shard of the mirror left, and it bore an all too familiar face: the orange and black mask of Slade. Stumbling back slightly, Raven slowly removed her hands from her ears knowing he was once again more than just a nightmare in the physical world since the defeat of Trigon. Gone were the horrifying booming and shrieking sounds from before, now there was the exact opposite: near-silent whispers.

"She doesn't want to see you, anymore. She doesn't want to see you, anymore. She doesn't want to see you anymore." The menace in his voice was a painful memory for any member of the Titans. While she hadn't been present for this, she instantly knew who the masked man was referring to. Raven had seen all she'd needed to see, not to mention, hear. Her soul self took off into the horizon, appearing to become one with the dark clouds above, before soaring through them and leaving the expanses of Garfield's mind. Emerging from the changeling's psyche, a dark bird made of pure magical energy broke through the sea of foggy clouds surrounding the two teammates. Her soul self re-entered her body and her eyes began to dim from their shining white, returning to their normal amethyst state. Garfield opened his eyes, looking like he had never been happier to see Raven in his life, and that was saying a lot! Raven looked over at his tear-ridden face. They exchanged a look of understanding for only a second, before she pulled him in for a much-needed hug. Garfield was so overwhelmed with emotion, it took him several long seconds before he could even reciprocate.

"So uhh… I hope you didn't see anything too embarrassing in there, haha." Beast Boy chuckled through the tears, muffled by his face being nestled into Raven's shoulder.

"Garfield…I'm so sorry." The empath consoled. "I'm sorry for all the horrible things that have happened to you: The accident that gave you your powers, Terra, even me at times… You are such a kind and gentle soul, and you didn't deserve any of it." Raven explained, calming and mollifying the teary changeling.

"Raven…" Garfield didn't know what to say. What she had said had struck a chord with him. He knew that what she'd said had come from the heart. "Thank you… so much." Tears of sadness had slowly turned to tears of joy and love. A void deep within his heart felt as if was being filled again. Much to his dismay, she removed her arms from him, giving him some room to breathe and catch his breath after crying.

"A lot of it still seems… well, foggy to me though, heheh." Garfield explained with a distinct lack of confidence and a breathy laugh coinciding with his corny joke. "Like, I'm still not exactly sure what I looked like back then…maybe it wasn't even me and I was wrong? I dunno…" he trailed off. Raven didn't speak, but had a laser focus on his expression. "Oh well… I'm Beast Boy now, so I guess it doesn't really matter that much, right?"he asked rhetorically, but Raven interjected.

"No." She stated sternly. Garfield looked confused by both her statement and the tone in which she spoke it in. "That was you." Garfield was still in the dark. "I didn't see it, because that's not how I see you. That kid you saw was you, but you weren't sure because that's not how you see yourself. You see yourself as Beast Boy, but that's not who you are." The green teenager looked on with wide eyes. "No matter what happens, no matter how much you change… you are and always will be Garfield Logan. Nothing anything or anyone ever does will change who you are." Raven spoke with dead-seriousness in her voice.

Garfield could barely even comprehend what had just occurred. He was at an utter loss for words. "Raven, I… I don't know what to say…" he said in a quiet tone.

"You don't need to say anything." She cut him off. Raven stood up and began to walk away after dropping such a verbal and emotional bomb on her teammate.

"Raven… wait!" Garfield called, urgency in his voice but a calm demeanour. She froze in place after hearing her name uttered in such a way. She had made it halfway across the roof before Garfield caught up to her. He reached out his arm, and gently gripped her hand in his, prompting her to turn around. When she rotated on her heel, she saw a beautiful pair of emerald irises looking deep into her heart and soul, but only for a second. The next thing she knew, his lips were upon hers. She didn't fight him, and she didn't want to. In fact, she couldn't help but let her eyelids drop, euphoric at the sensation of his touch. It just felt… right. The kiss was simple. No tongue, no moans, chaste and heartfelt to its core. The tears still adhering to his cheeks began to mark hers too. Gar's eyes were closed, and he felt like the luckiest man in the world right now, because in his mind, he was. He knew there was no one else like her, and he was so lucky to even know her and now here he was, kissing the empathic demoness like the invaluable treasure she truly was to him. When their lips finally parted, no words were spoken. The silence spoke for itself. When they opened their eyes, there wasn't a cloud in sight.