#i try to remind myself that i’m pretty not just because society deems me so

[gumgamug]

barbie spoilers

it made me so emotional when barbie is crying to america fererra’s character and she says “i’m not pretty anymore” because god, isn’t that what it’s like growing up? you’re a young girl and you’re happy and confident and you like who you are and the things that make you happy and then you grow up and there’s a shift. and all of a sudden you’re so conscious of who are and the way you look and the thing you care about most is if you’re pretty, not because you’re shallow, but because you want to be loved. you know that being pretty means that people love you. you know that when someone says you are not pretty they mean that you are not wanted. barbie just perfectly encapsulated how women long to be called beautiful not just because of societal conventions but because we want to belong! we want to be loved! we are afraid of loneliness and rejection! and that’s why i think the movie was so powerful when it said: being beautiful and wanting to be beautiful aren’t inherently bad. it is where we draw our beauty from that really matters. not from others, but from ourselves; and when others recognize and uplift you because of the qualities within yourself that you have nurtured, it is the most wonderful feeling of all.

[excerptsfromjournaling]

the beauty race

I’ve been thinking about the movie Howls Moving Castle. There’s a character in it, Sophie, and at the beginning of the story she’s all shy and useless. Then she becomes old and ugly, and suddenly she’s liberated from all the pressures of youth. She no longer has to look beautiful. She no longer has to be charming. To be liked. To be lovely. To be young.

She no longer has to be desired to have valued; she simply is. And she finds freedom in that.

She can be whoever she likes. And she learns to stand up for herself. She learns to speak her mind even if will make her disliked because fuck it. Why not. What are they gona do? Dislike her? 

It got me thinking about the obligation to be pretty.

As a woman. You must be beautiful. You must always be lovely to look at.

There is no opt out button.

You can choose to be pretty in a non-conventional way. But to be ugly is... I don’t even know.

I am envious of Sophie, of her ability to have all the vigour and energy of youth, but all the social passes that come with being old and unsightly. No one expects anything of her. No one cares what she eats, what she wears, how she styles her hair. She has the freedom to decorate herself however she likes because she has already been deemed a lost cause in terms of desirability. 

Thats beauty it feels like to me: a competitive race. 

A game pitting everyone against each other. 

Those at the front getting the harshest judgement. Those at the middle being degraded for not trying hard enough. Those towards the end considered pathetic and those in the final 50? Well... they’re not really part of the game at all are they? They are lost causes.

Thats what I love about Sophie.

In the game of desirability. She found a way to stop playing. And I’ve never seen a woman on screen do that before.

Not while maintaining her value and voice.

Typically to sacrifice your desirability is to sacrifice your voice. Society only cares about the beautiful.

Why do we have to be beautiful? Well. We just do.

There’s no choice not to be. You have to be beautiful but don’t worry- there are a selection of aesthetics you can choose from. Pick your favourite.

You know I’ve never seen an ugly person on TV. The movie I’m referring to is animated. Even in glow up stories, it’s a beautiful person pretending to have one or two contrived ‘bad features’ which are easily remedied. I have never seen a depiction of a woman having a rough day or looking dishevelled that wasn’t clearly an actress who had her hair perfectly styled and then slightly back combed. Any depiction of a woman going through a depressive state simply looks normal. She looks, not like a super model, but like an average woman on the street. Which is insane. If Hollywood’s idea of dishevelled is normal, then normal is unthinkable horrific. And ugly?

Beyond comprehension.

Taboo.

I often have to check my assumptions of “normal”.

A normal face, I remind myself, doesn’t look like an actress. Try picturing someone off the street. They’re normal.

But.

Even if I picture a woman from the bus. I still see effort. So much effort to emulate what is desirable. I see sloppy fake tan. Uncomfortable looking eyelashes. Or carefully sculpted brows.

And I don’t exclude myself from this. I have curated my eyebrows since I was 12 and first hit puberty. The sight of hair on my legs made me feel such shame and disgust I refused to expose my legs even at the height of summer.

Still does.

I can’t go to the pool without shaving. I would never dare expose my legs with more than a day or two of stubble growing. I would as quickly let you smell my stale armpits as let you see my hairy legs. These are comparable levels of hygiene in my conditioned brain.

And it’s just... really messed up.

Is there no way to exit this game?

I feel I never agreed to play in the first place and that the rules and premise are unjust and frankly ridiculous.

If I want to attract someone to have sex with, then yes. I will focus on making myself desirable. But why must I be desirable simply to move through society and love. Why is desirability a currency? Why does desirability equal social standing? It’s wrong. To disregarding those who aren’t beautiful as having nothing to offer is ludicrous. Of course they have value.

Why are we trained not to see them?

Just because someone is not easy on the eye does not make them worthless.

I am envious of Sophie. I wonder what it is to be so behind in the race that you can decide to style your hair a certain way because it brings you happiness, and know in your heard that is the only thought influencing your decision.

Not the judgement of potential suitors. Of employers. Of colleagues. Not the whispers of women in pictures and on TV, the ever constant awareness of your social standing, your ranking in this stupid race. 

The thing that gets me is.

I can’t escape it.

Alone. In my home. In my room. In private. I dress sexy for myself. I try to adore my own beauty.

And I feel tired for it.

I’m tired. Of having to be beautiful. Of forcing myself to see beauty and it’s absence all the freakin time. I am tired of performing for this stupid eye, this big brother in my brain.

Where do I get to be ugly?

[albelen]

book talk: oathbringer

So. MUCH. HAPPENED.

Granted, it took me two months to read this because I had finals and sometimes I was not in the right headspace to read.

Where do I even begin? My thoughts, as always, are so scattered and since I have the smaller copy of the book I didn't use any sticky notes to write my comments, but instead just doggy-eared some of the pages I deemed important / I liked:

● this is from a conversation between Jasnah and Dalinar about the claims of the latter's heresy:

"I don't mind people believing what works for them, Uncle. That's something nobody ever seems to understand- I have no stake in their beliefs. I don't need company to be confident."

Among all the characters in the book, I feel like I respect Jasnah more than anyone. Her intelligence and confidence in herself and in her work are the things I admire about her a lot.

In particular, I resonate with her when it comes to religious views, which I'm not gonna talk about because that's a conversation for another day.

● there is a page of Moash marching with the parshman and Voidbringers, he's contemplating about the how humans can't govern themselves.

I honestly don't remember why I thought this was an important page, but upon re-reading it there's this line:

Moash had failed Kaladin and the others- but that was merely how men were in this debased age. He couldn't be blamed. He was a product of his own culture.

Now, I don't want dismiss Moash's hatred for Elhokar and the lighteyes, he's more than entitled to feel that way after his grandparents were killed unfairly, but the fact that he thought he couldn't be blamed for his actions and that he is what he is because of his culture... that's just way too easy, Moash. Just because the society you grew up in is as is, doesn't mean you just take it, storming man. I feel so strongly about this because I love everyone from bridge four, but after what Moash did in this book... I don't know if there's a way for him to redeem himself.

● Adolin hanging out with Bridge Four!! ISTG, Adolin is the real GOAT in this series.

I feel for him when he felt small, being surrounded by Radiants.

I mean, who wouldn't? Your father, your brother, your fiancé, your cousin and your friend. Personally I would have had very low esteem in myself, but Adolin fought through it and just did what he can. He is a character I admire a lot too. Because despite his upbringing, his background and his privileges, he still choses to be humble, be nice to anyone and work hard.

All in all, he's really the most likeable character imo. He and Shallan haven't known each other for the longest time, but it really feels like he's sincere with his feelings despite his prior reputation with girls haha

● Kaladin's friendship with Adolin and Shallan: I know our favorite bridgeboy has his Bridge Four and thinks that's they are all he needs, but I can't help but feel relieved that Kal has Adolin and Shallan.

Like I've said previously, I don't think Kal had any romantic feelings for Shallan, but he thought he did because she reminded him of Tien. His friendship with the two newly-weds are important and it's gonna help him along the way. I love that for Kal ;w;

● I need a Wit in my life, I need him to make me see things I don't see, to make my reflect and realise all the important things in life.

There is this line I particularly liked when he found Shallan:

"[...] You mostly failed. This is life. The longer you live, the more you fail. Failure is the mark of a life well lived. [...]"

This is something a lot of us should probably hear, because I know I do especially when I have doubts in myself and I'm scared of doing things for the fear of failing.

● I don't like Taravangian, and I know he's just trying to save the world but also just actually trying to save his people but when he told Dalinar this:

"This is the sacrifice, isn't it?" Taravangian said softly. "Someone must bear the responsbility. Someone must be dragged down by it, ruined by it. Someone must stain their soul so others may live."

This reminded me of someone, but for the sake of not going into a more serious tone I shall leave it like that.

● As this post is getting longer, these two lines are the last ones that I'm gonna mention:

"I will take responsibility for what I have done," Dalinar whispered. "If I must fall, I will rise each time a better man."

I feel like this is pretty self-explanatory. Dalinar frustrated me all throughout this book. I wanted to slap young Dalinar, especially because of how he treated Evi. I have to admit he was so cool in the last part of the book lol I loved his interactions with Lift.

I kinda wish we had interactions between Lift and Kaladin - I hope we got one in the next book.

And the last line and the one that gave my goosebumps:

She pulled him tight, “Maybe you don’t have to save anyone, Kaladin. Maybe it’s time for someone to save you.”

Kaladin always thinks of saving others, but never thinks that maybe he’s the one who needs to be saved. He helped the parshman, he bonded with the Wall Guards... he cares so deeply for anyone he barely thinks of himself. 

Oh, Kaladin, I just wanna wrap him in a blanket and give him a warm soup. :(

I’m itching to read Rhythm of War, but I think my brain needs a break from fantasy books.

[oingo233]

Rapture is a Boy (2)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior?  And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader

Warning: brief talk of weight (as someone who is overweight I would never write anything or imply that being overweight is a bad thing, I know society deems it as less beautiful but the truth is that we are so beautiful, every single one of us despite our weight/size or appearance, we just have a different journey to self-love than those who are conventionally pretty, a much harder path to confidence no doubt, but let me remind you that you are breath taking because most to all of beauty is the uniqueness that one has), some angst sprinkled into this one, get ready for loads of it later, bitches like em’ sad, it’s me, I’m bitches.  Also, there are some cuss words, nothing too bad though. Self-doubt, cheating is mentioned.

Authors note: I try to keep my writing(self inserts) gender, body type, ethnicity and house neutral/not specified.  If I ever slip up please let me know so that I can change it. Remus’s/3rd POV is italicized, it switches back and forth briefly to better show the relationship and luv. Shit will go down in the next chapter, enjoy the little amounts of fluff and joy in this one while it lasts mwhahaha!

Word Count: 2k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

                                                      Part Two

                                      **** Chocolate Pudding ****

I was distracted in class for the second time this month, all because of Remus Lupin.  He plagued my mind, and now Lucy accompanies him even in my thoughts. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions, and I almost never do.  But Lily saying I should talk to him, and Lucy running off to comfort Remus when it should have been me, pushed me into a full spring leap. And the conclusion I leapt to was a heartbreaking one, but with all the confidence of the world I believed it.  It’s the only thing that makes sense with what I know now.  He’s cheating on me.

He told me earlier today, he will be studying in the library with the rest of the marauders before dinner. I will meet and talk to him there, I decided, wringing my fingers and then wiping the sweat off on my robes. Because although yes, I do think he could be cheating on me, I know Remus is a great person.  Great people don’t cheat, right?

“Lily, you don’t think he’s cheating do you?” I blurted out, whispering it softly to her through her blockade of dark red hair.  She turned to me flabbergasted, her mouth agape to me.

“No,” She says definitely.  “Remus is not that person...” There is a silence as I nod blankly at her, I know she is being truthful but she wants to say more. I tug on her robe sleeves, I need to hear what she wants to say but can’t bring myself to ask aloud.  What if I don’t like the answer?

“But I think, that ya should talk to him about it.  He seems off, no?  Maybe it isn’t Lucy at all.  You’re jumping to conclusions.” She gives me a pointed look and I nod now in both acceptance and thanks.

“You’re right.  I’m being a git.”  We both laugh, my mind now eased slightly. We continue to talk amongst ourselves here n there throughout the class. I mentioned James once and she glares at me, but I smile and say,

“Gee Lily, your hair looks awfully bright with that complimentary blush of yours.” She nearly shoves me off my stool. Spending alone time with Lily (despite the large group of students around us) was refreshing, I felt a lot lighter.  But the thought of this up coming confrontation with the love of my life once again settled above me like a dark cloud.

It was the last period and it ended minutes ago, I am now making my way up to the library. To Remus. The doors were heavy but glided over the floor as I opened them, the room smelt of old books and dusty pages. I inhaled deeply and smiled to myself, it smells slightly like Remus. Speaking of, his laughter rings out and without a second to waste, Peter, Remus, Sirius and James are shushed aggressively.  

I turn around the corner to finally meet them and they’re huddled over some large piece of parchment. Giggling and whispering to themselves, heads nearly clinking together.  I clear my throat as so not to intrude. Remus quickly turns to me, his eyes wide in surprise before he stands and hugs me, enclosing my head in his chest.

“(y/n), what a lovely surprise. How was class?” I muffled a hello into his sweater, and can hear shuffling around, from the boys and only when the sound ceased did Remus let go of me.  He rubbed his hands down my arms, and smiled warmly down at me.  Before I could answer James leans his head in his hand, breathing heavy, he turns to me. 

“How’s Lils?  Ya have that class with her, right?”  I roll my eyes and sit down beside them, Remus stands behind me. The paper is gone but I pay it no mind.

“Yes,” I chuckle to myself, remembering her blush at just the mention of his name.  “She’s doing quite well actually.  And you boys?  Any mischievous plans stuffed up your sleeves?  20, maybe?” They all look at one another and shrug, Peter shook his head yes. Sirius hit his arm and shook his head no, dramatically until Peter followed along. Then the two turn to me and I laugh, not pushing the obvious truth of a scheme from them. They’re sly when they want to be, so this was a definite bashful action. Cheeky.

“Hey love, we’ll meet you down at dinner yeah?” My heart sank for the 2nd, no 3rd time that day.  When did Remus get so dismissive? The boys stared up at him a little, mouths agape before they turned to me with soft smiles.  

“We’ll miss you dearly until then,” Sirius adds, once again in high spirits.

“Yes, and don’t eat all the pudding in spite.” Peter makes sure to add after last time I did such a thing.  It was Peters favorite and he once said I looked bigger when I returned at the train station for the beginning of the year, after the summer of puberty, when really he was just awkwardly talking about how I grew taller and more into myself, good bigger, he thought.  But, like anyone with ears I assumed he was calling me fat (fat and all shapes and sizes is beautiful and worthy of love and appreciation, but when someone, such as Peter, implies such a thing to another, in such a way, they could only mean it harmfully so of course I was not going to let that shite slide), so that night I shoveled in all the chocolate pudding before he could get even one bite.  

Remus was laughing hysterically with the other boys, as I smirked a blob of pudding fell out between my lips, and Peter looked like he was going to cry.  I remember Remus pulled me aside that night to clear up the misunderstanding.  He awkwardly confessed it was about my surprising change in appearance, and that I actually look very beautiful.  We snogged later that year and the rest is history. (Though the romantic build up was a lot more romantic than just snogging, Remus can be a romantic kind of guy, now was not once of those moments.)

I turn to him.

“Okay. See you then!” I fake the cheeriness in my voice and hope my breath isn’t too shaky as I go and kiss Remus’s cheek.  He kisses the very edge of my lips distractedly as I pull away, far from our usual goodbye kisses. I make my way out of the library before stopping in my tracks to yell something over my shoulder.

“The pudding is yours Peter, though it’ll look more appetizing each time you bring that night up,” I expected laughter, or for Peter to say something, anything in response but instead there is silence. I turn around to see the large parchment out again, and the boys huddled over it animatedly.  

Thoroughly aggravated, I huff my way down to the dorm and rant to Lily about it all. Then she suggests both the best and the worst idea we, as intellectual, well-put together (well we like to think so) people, have had all day.

“Well, maybe we could throw a little party?  Lift your spirits a wee bit, huh love?” Lily suggest, after the fifth time I explain the library scene and how rejected it made me feel.  Remus did not want my company, he sat behind my chair and waited until he could ‘politely’ tell me to go, after ignoring me half the day since the incident with Snape.

“And,” she continues, twiddling her thumbs anxiously. “it can be like an impromptu date for Remus and you, if he comes, because of course we’ll invite him-”

“And James,” I smirk, she glares at the way I rudely cut her off but I think she did it more so because of the blush that arose to her cheeks.

“er, sure.  But as I was saying, it could be good for you too. I know he hasn’t been spending much time with you lately and everything.”  She glances over at a giggling Lucy adorned in red and gold. I scoff bitterly.

“Yeah we haven’t.  But ya know what, it’s nothing new innit.  He always gets like this.” I stab my dinner with a fork and hear a chuckle coming up from behind me. Peter glances over my shoulder at the chocolate pudding bowl in front of me, seeing as it is still very much full he bows to me and kisses my cheek.

“Thank you, O’ so gracious one,” I can’t fight the laugh, though Remus may upset me, his friends are good blokes that always cheer me up, or at least try too.

The boys all pile in next to us, though it’s been a while since dinner started, they’re a bit late because of whatever they were doing in the library.

Remus saw you and his heart stopped you were, as always breath taking but tonight you looked off, you were stabbing your food with frustration, something must be wrong?  You always happily eat your meals, and your laughter is always the first he hears when he walks into the great hall. He watches as Peter makes you laugh, he feels a little off seeing you act this way with Peter. You, lately haven’t been as light hearted around him.  

He sits down next to you and is eager to apologize for his behavior earlier. He wanted to take the words back right after his comment.  As if he wasn’t feeling bad enough James and the boys ripped into him.

“Bloody hell mate, you might as well demanded she left.” The room was silent as all 4 of them nodded in agreement, Remus included.  He sat down and grumbled to himself as they pulled out the marauders map. The very reason he was eager for you to leave, he didn’t want you to see the latest secret of his. Another one of his reasons to be riddled with guilt, he felt so dishonest with you. And he’s been more and more moody with the full moon coming out tonight.

Tonight, as they made their way to the shrieking shack they were going to map it on the marauders map.  They were so close to finishing and Remus was eager to, between the map and his soon to be shift he’s had less time to spend with you.  Which means less time with your smile, and kisses, and hugs and laughter and bloody hell did he feel like we was going through withdrawal.  

But he feels, though the boys disagree, that he should keep his distance from you before full moons.  He gets too quite, and angry, and annoyed, he’d hate for you to see this side of him, and all his flaws, and leave him.  He wouldn’t survive the pain, he wanted to marry you one day.

“ello’ darling,” Remus whispers into my ear, kissing my cheek. James stares at us before looking lovingly at Lily, who is looking back with raised brows  As if to say ‘what now, potter’.

“ello’ darling,” James copies, leaning down to give Lily a kiss on her cheek but she pushes his shoulders back, nonetheless he pulls back with a smile.  

“Worth a shot, you’ll miss it one day Evans, once my heart has had enough and I become a reclusive slug,” He says matter-of-factly as he begins to pile food onto his plate.  

“I’d act quick Lily, he’s already beginning to look like one.” Sirius leans into to say, though his hair dangles in the pudding making Peter yelp.  Remus removes the pudding and adds some to Peters plate.

“You should thank him, grease adds flavor to everything.” Sirius gasps and turns to Remus with slitted eyes. The whole rest of us are laughing, and trying desperately to keep the volume at a minimum as Sirius runs his hand through his hair and tries to rub “the grease” over Remus face.

“If only grease could erase that smirk off your face, mate.  I’ll find a way,” Sirius grits as he wrestles Remus who is bumping slightly into me fighting him off.  He turns his head during the battle of a lifetime, and apologizes to me for the rough housing, though the look in his eyes seemed like he was sorry for much more. I was taken aback slightly, so I shrug with a loving smile.

Eventually we all finish our dinner and Lily invites the table to our party, all of Gryffindor table actually.  Many cheered and said they’d come and bring friends, some even declared to bring butterbeer by the jugfull.  But the Marauders just stared at us with a frown.

“We, uh, we can’t make it tonight.  Haven’t done enough studying for the exam. I can’t fail this one (y/n), you know that...” Peter trails off and I almost feel bad, maybe the party was a bad idea. The boys all nod along and Lily and I swallow our pride and doubts before telling them it was fine.

Lily holds my arm as we walk back.

“They’re just studying, nothing else to it.”  But we both saw the way Lucy stuck behind as well.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget​     @beyondprincess​

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard. 

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking. 

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. 

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him.  If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain. 

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head. 

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble. 

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda. 

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time. 

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :) 

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses Part 4 (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Part 4. Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince! Louis x Canine!Dog! Reader.

Warning: Slight NSFW +18 Themes ahead

//////////

Over the next few weeks, you and Legoshi struck up a perculiar yet inevitable friendship. You would love to say it was of natural causes but it wasn’t. The two of you were similar in so many aspects, it would be odd if you two didn’t find kinship in one another.

He was the royal body guard to Princess Azuki and, much like yourself, he was hardly ever allowed a moment of peace. She liked to keep him by her side at all times, which he explained was very stressful because her life was essentially in his hands, leaving no room for error.

“I’m actually glad there’s so many rules and regulations at this palace. Finally there’s some separation and I’m not working at all times.” Legoshi told you one night as the two of you ate together. Whenever neither of you were on duty, he tended to gravitate towards you to try and learn the ways of this land, hoping to fit in. Well, fit in as much as a 6’5 massive Grey Wolf could.

The small number of other Carnivores that Princess Azuki had brought with her were not acclimating quite as well as Legoshi and you could tell they were not fond of the place Carnivores had in this society, mainly with them not being able to be in the castle during the day. You could tell just by your fellow kitchen coworkers that the Herbivore staff was growing antsy as well.

“She never lets you take breaks back in your old land?” You asked.

“No, I have to be at her beck and call almost nonstop. Sometimes it’s like I’m there more for her entertainment than actual protection. Can get a bit tiresome,” Legoshi said in that soft tone of his which was almost an oxymoron compared to how deep his voice was. It was as if whenever he spoke, he was trying to put the person he was talking to at ease. You hated to admit it, but it worked on you every time.

/////////

The more time you spent away from Louis and his bizarre behavior, the more he began to fade from your mind. With how busy you were in the kitchen day and night, you barely gave the Prince a second thought. You also had a new distraction in your life that undoubtedly kept your mind preoccupied.

You and Legoshi quickly became as thick as thieves. You found yourself looking forward to seeing him during any spare moment of the day, even for just a little bit. Which brought you to where you were today, walking with Legoshi around the grounds while you took the too short lunch break you were allotted.

“Shouldn’t you be using your lunch break to actually eat?” Legoshi asked, tugging at your tail as the two of you walked by the garden. You waved to the Carnivores maintaining it, promising to bring them some iced water as soon as you headed back to the kitchens.

“I’m surrounded by food all day and night, I like to savor every moment I can away from it. What about you? Don’t you have a princess to guard?” You teased, playfully swatting his hand away.

“I’m dismissed for the evening. She’s with her fiancé. He doesn’t like me hanging around,” Legoshi smiles fondly, obviously enjoying the indirect free time Louis had granted him. You could see Louis not wanting him around, he did hate Carnivores after all.

‘Especially you...’ a tiny voice reminded you. You brushed it off.

“An entire evening off, I might have to utilize your time for my own gain then,” you smiled as his hand latched back onto your tail.

“Anything you need, just put me to work.” Legoshi smirked as he tugged you closer by your tail. It was incredibly familiar, and some might even say intimate, for one Canine to play with another’s tail yet Legoshi could never leave yours alone.

“Having fun back there? You know it’s not that interesting, you’ve got one too,” you teased.

“Yeah but not like yours. It’s so soft and shiny, it almost reminds me of a-“

“Y/N!” You and Legoshi turned to see the Prince approaching with his fiancé by his side. She looked just as infuriated as he did.

“What do you two think you’re doing out here?” Louis sneered, his eyes trained on you.

“My apologies my liege, but Carnivores are mandated to be outside during the day. We were simply walking the grounds outside. We.... we weren’t breaking any rules...” you said awkwardly. Louis knew the rules because his family had been the one to put them in place so why was he so upset?

“You’re supposed to be in the kitchen doing your duties, not frolicking in the gardens with some mutt,” Louis bellowed and you felt your tail slip from Legoshi’s grip as it tucked between your legs.

“My apologies, my liege. I was on my lunch break-

“I don’t care, nor did I ask. Now get out of my sight.” The usual humiliation came in but this time was accompanied by a bitter anger that you weren’t sure how to place. No matter where you were or what you were doing, the Prince always found a way to demean you simply for existing.

You turned to return to your position and Legoshi followed beside you.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“No, you won’t,” Princess Azuki said in an ice cold tone causing Legoshi to freeze. “You’ll stay here and guard us during the rest of our stroll.”

“Ma’am, I was given the afternoon off. By him.” Legoshi said glancing at Louis.

“Well I’m taking it away. Now assume your position.” She snapped and he reluctantly let you go as you resumed your trek up to the kitchen.

You fought your emotions the entire way there until you finally felt calm enough to work.

//////////////

The next morning you found yourself once again with Legoshi. He had come to visit you in your quarters last night after you were done with your duties and hadn’t left since. You’d usually be asleep at this time but you much preferred his company to the inevitable swirling of your thoughts that would have kept you from slumber anyway.

You were sitting inbetween his legs with your back pressed to his chest. Neither of you had said much to one another since the ‘incident’ from earlier that day. It still made your blood boil just thinking about it but having him here with his tail wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on top of your head did make you feel immensely better. It was the first time you’d felt such comfort from another Canine and you were beginning to wonder how you never sought out this type of intimacy amongst your own kind before.

“You smell different, you know,” Legoshi commented suddenly. You could feel the vibrations of his voice rumbling against his chest despite his low volume.

“Different how? Bad different?” You sighed, looking out the window. You maybe had half an hour before sunrise when you’d have to report to the kitchen.

“Not bad, really, just different. When I first got here, you didn’t smell like a Carnivore. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was but now I can. You smelled like the Prince,” Your ears shot up at the statement. It wasn’t that strange to smell like him, you supposed, seeing as how you worked for him personally, however the fact you were taking naps in his bed probably wasn’t exactly deemed appropriate.

Or him kissing you on the balcony either...

“I guess so. Before you guys arrived, he used to make me watch him eat every meal,” you chuckled darkly.

“That... probably explains why you only smell like you now,” Legoshi hummed but you got the feeling he had more to say.

“Something wrong with smelling like myself?” You laughed, elbowing him playfully.

“Of course not, there’s nothing wrong with your scent but uh....” Legoshi was hesitating again, his tail unconsciously wrapping tighter around you.

“H-how would you like to smell like me instead?” Legoshi asked and you felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. Legoshi was asking you to let him.... scent you?

“You...? You mean like-”

“Yeah,” Legoshi answered quickly.

“Wow, had no idea you liked little ole me so much,” you giggled, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

“I don’t see how you couldn’t, I uh thought it was pretty obvious,” Legoshi muttered and now it was your time to feel embarrassed. A boy had never confessed to you before but then again there weren’t many domesticated male animals that worked in the palace and even then they were usually kept far away, doing more labor intensive work. You had never imagined that someone so high in the Canine class like a grey wolf would ever have interest in a common, lowly dog like yourself.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt the cool temperature of Legoshi’s nose burrowing softly along your scent gland.

“Is this okay?” Legoshi’s voice rumbled, his long arms wrapping around your abdomen to join his tail.

“It’s more than okay,” you sighed, leaning into him. You wished you had more time with him. It was like you could never get enough of being around him, could never get tired of his presence.

When you were with Legoshi, everything seemed to just fall into place.

//////////////

“Here ya go,” One of the Gazelles from your station, handed a platter of assorted cheese, veggies, and spreads.

“Where’s this going?” You asked taking it off her hands.

“Where d’ya think it’s going? Straight to the Prince. Apparently the food we serve in the dining hall isn’t good enough for ‘em,” she rolled her eyes before walking off. You huffed, preparing yourself for the inevitable trek to his quarters.

You knocked on the door of his study and entered, wordlessly setting down the tray in its usual spot on a side table by the window. You were about to make a silent exit but Louis was not having that in the slightest.

“And where do you think you’re going. I didn’t dismiss you nor did I give you any proper instructions. Now pick up that tray and set it in front of me,” Louis sneered.

God you were so sick of his mind games.

You did as you were told, setting the tray in front of him only for him to grab your arm as you tried to retreat. He stood suddenly at full height, his towering figure intimidating, even to a Carnivore such as yourself. You tried to shrink away from him but he had your arm in a deathgrip.

“Why do you....?” He leaned forward, his face nearly in your neck as he inhaled deeply. His face took on a look of horror as he leaned back. “Y-you’ve been scented!”

“My Prince, this isn’t appro-”

“Cut the bullshit, Y/N!” Louis snapped and you cringed away from him. “It was Azuki’s fucking lapdog, wasn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation he needed. Louis’s grip on your arm had turned from uncomfortable to down right painful. His eyes were lit with rage and you had honestly never seen the Royal this decomposed. Usually his anger was tactical, reserved yet percise. The state he was in now could be described as nothing less than a blind fury.

He didn’t waste a second as he dragged you out of his study and to his personal bed chambers. He kicked the door close behind him and then proceeded to throw you into his bed. Before you could even get your bearings, he was ripping off your uniform.

“My liege, my liege please! Don’t do this, I-”

“Shut up! Has he had you? I have to know if he’s had you!” Louis had completely ruined the lower half of your uniform and was about to rip your underwear off in the same fashion before he seemed to think better of it. He then grabbed you by the thighs and dragged you closer to the edge before getting down on his knees. He brought his snout to your core and inhaled deeply.

You were humiliated beyond belief and shocked into silence at his bizarre actions. Your mind struggled to keep up with whatever the hell it was he was doing.

“He hasn’t defiled you yet, at least not recently.” Louis huffed, his anger still simmering but not as erratic as before.

“I’m going to ask you this only once and if you lie to me, you and every single Carnivore in this vicinity will pay the price,” Louis said darkly, “Has he fucked you?”

“N-no,”

“Did you let him touch you?”

“P-prince Lou-”

“Answer the question!”

“Y-Yes,”

“Where? Be percise.” Louis was fuming but there was another emotion bubbling to the surface: desperation.

“M-my tail. My neck. H-hands...” you trailed off awkwardly.

“Has he kissed you?”

“No, never,” you could see the tension physically leaving Louis’ body as he gazed down upon you.

“So he hasn’t touched you here?” Louis asked, his hands sliding up to fondle your chest lightly through the ruined uniform.

“N-no, sire,” you could feel your lower abdomen flutter at his touch.

“What about here?” His hands trailed down to your exposed thighs. You shook your head.

“And here?” He asked, his voice thick with lust. His fingers brushed against your clothed entrance, the thin fabric of your panties offering no resistance to his intentional administrations. You choked on a moan as he applied pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“N-no, my prince,” you gasped, attempting to clench your thighs together but he wasn’t allowing that at all.

“So you’re still my good girl?” Louis urged, increasing the pace of his hand.

“Y-Yes,” you bit your lip trying to hold back more embarrassing moans.

“Then say it,” Louis taunted, pinching your clit in slight pain.

“I-I’m your good girl,” you panted, eyes fluttering close.

Louis leaned over and kissed you right as he pulled your panties to the side and slid one long finger inside you. You gasped at the intrusion allowing him to shove his tongue down your throat with ease. He added another finger inside of you as he proceeded to give you the sloppiest, most erotic kiss of you life (not that you really had anything to compare it to other than the time he kissed you on the balcony.)

You were grinding against his hand while openly moaning into his mouth, beyond the point of trying to mask how turned on you were. Louis finally broke the kiss so that the two of you could catch your breath. He slid his fingers out of you, causing you to whimper in protest at their removal. He then stuck the glistening digits in his mouth, licking them clean of your juices. You looked down to see the Prince was straining with his own sense of control, his pants tenting with his own unsatisfied member.

“I’m forbidding you from seeing him,” Louis declared, adjusting his uncomfortable ‘visitor’ so that it wasn’t so noticeable.

“W-what?”

“You’re forbidden from seeing him. Or any Carnivore male for that matter. I won’t have them deflower you and that’s final,” Louis said, turning to walk away.

“You can’t do that, sire! I’m a Carnivore! I’m supposed to be with my own kind! I’m not your personal pet you can torment just because you’re bored!” You huffed, standing up from his bed.

“Exactly, but you’re too stupid to realize you’re so much more than that.” Louis scoffed, cutting his eyes back at you.

“I’m not stupid! And I’m not going to just sit here and let you just continue to humiliate me day in and day out. Not anymore. I quit,” you adjusted your uniform as best you could but Louis stood in front of the door that served as the only exit and he seemed to have no intention of moving.

“You can’t quit. I won’t allow it,”

“I don’t care what you allo-

“Let me rephrase this in a way you’ll understand then. You’re not to leave this room under any circumstance. And if you do, I’ll have you arrested for treason against the royal court and you can spend the rest of your days in the dungeons with the murderers and theives,” Louis apprehended you for a moment in case you were going to try and make a run for it but you were stunned into silence. He then turned and left his quarters, a loud resounding click ringing through the air next signified that he had indeed locked you in.

You were trapped in every sense of the word.

///////

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 26. The Heart Wants What It Wants

'chaos is only understood when it is loved by the wild, not the weak’ - Zachry K. Douglas

I wondered, briefly, if my parents were as nervous as I was about that day. None of us had planned on me being back in England anytime soon, but there I was anyway. I suppose I should thank Adrien for continually attracting scandal and, therefore, needing me to distract the media from his wild American adventures.

In May, soon after my sister had returned to her previous insane schedule of ice skating training, there was a report from TMZ, of all places, that Prince Adrien of Savoy was now dating Sienna Lapa, a wannabe singer who’d come in second in X Factor a few years prior. This, we came to find out after asking Adrien what was happening, was the friend who had helped him find an apartment in New York when he decided to relocate there.

My parents and Adrien’s mother deemed it a ‘completely inappropriate choice’. Adrien’s sister, Natalie, seemed to be trying to keep an open mind -- she was and had always been her brother’s biggest defender, after all. Lourdes immediately pulled up all the videos from her X Factor journey to show anyone who’d listen, but that only made our family hate the girl more, as most of her performances involved her with too much energy and very few clothes.

“You can all be so close minded…” my sister complained, rolling her eyes, as Natalie watched the video over her shoulder with furrowed brows when she and our aunt came over for tea after the news broke. “We’re just looking out for him.” Our cousin told her. “So you’re on their side now?” Lourdes asked her. Natalie shrugged, defensive. “I think if Adrien likes her, she must be nice.” Her mother scoffed. “We all know your brother’s record with women is not stellar, chérie.” “He dated Faye!” “Exactly.” My father sentenced. “Maggie, what do you think?” Natalie asked.

As they all looked at me, expectantly, I took a moment to ponder how much this had been happening lately. I had been used to speaking softly before, to remarking carefully on things, in case someone would hear me. But as the Crown Princess, my opinion mattered in more ways than I had immediately realized. It wasn’t just the press that suddenly cared about me, my family, too, seemed more invested in my thoughts. As if my verdict could make or break anything within the family just because I was bound to be queen one day.

“I… I don’t think being an artist should mean she will inevitably ruin this family.” I said. My mother shook her head, and my Aunt sighed, but nobody disagreed.

After tea, my father asked me to stay behind as the others left, and sat me down to remind me, sternly, that being the heir – and, one day, the Monarch –, meant it was my duty to safeguard our family from anyone who, purposefully or not, my damage it.

“You think this girl will damage us?” I asked, suppressing an eyeroll. “Papa, she’s just a girl.” “She’s American. They don’t understand monarchies.” He replied. “Not to mention she belongs to an industry that thrives on scandal and notoriety, things that do not have a place in this family.” “We don’t even know her!” I said, smiling, amused against my better judgement. “We know she wants fame.” He replied, seriously. “That doesn’t have a place here.” “We don’t even know if it’s true.” I argued.

Unfortunately, it was. I texted Adrien after this conversation, and he was as frustrated as we were, but for other reasons. ‘Its so new’, he said, ‘we just wanted to enjoy each other before inviting the whole world into it and now here we are’.

According to him, it ‘just happened’. They’d been friends for a long time, she was really supportive after his breakup and helped him adapt to New York. He moved into the same building she lives in, and they started spending more time together; before they knew it, it was more than friendship.

He also made clear he knew perfectly well how unsuitable the relationship was: ‘she’s been trying to establish her music career for a long time, so her future lies in America’, he said. ‘She also has pink hair and a lot of tattoos… can you even imagine her in mass with the rest of the family?’

I could not.

The world couldn’t, either. Press and public alike had a lot of opinions on this relationship, which became everything anyone could talk about. It wasn’t just me that gained notoriety with Louis’ death, Adrien did, too, and, with him, any girl he could one day turn into a princess.

And that was the main reason I was sent to England. An invitation for Royal Ascot was issued every year to our family, we tended not to go simply because it was far and we had other commitments. But we needed to change the conversation, so if it took putting me under a hat and in the same picture as the British royals, so be it.

I could see my parents’ tension about this plan in the way they exchanged silent glances while we talked it through, but they didn’t voice any of it. Of course, they couldn’t. Not if they wanted me to do as I was told. So, they didn’t mention Harry, and I didn’t bring him up, either.

Regardless of this, he was very much in my thoughts essentially 100% of the time, even before the Ascot plan was born. All I had to do was just keep that to myself and, if my parents did the same, we could hopefully hold onto the lie that the issue was over.

So, on that day in mid-June, I took the train early with Cadie and Auguste and my security, headed to England, with a fancy outfit safely packed away in a weekend bag, which I changed into before we arrived.

I was wearing a salmon pink, wide-legged jumpsuit that my mother had deemed ‘too modern’, with my hair styled in vintage waves under a flowery disc fascinator.

The Royal Ascot races were a society event, with the actual races taking a backseat to… pretty much everything else: the fashion, the high profile guests, the arrival of the queen and royal family later on… honestly, it was everything but horses.

As a guest, I didn’t arrive with the other royals in a very much televised carriage ride into the main front lawn, and I was glad to be able to skip it, hoping I might be able to go straight to the viewing area, free of press. Unfortunately, that was the opposite of the goal.

So, even though I arrived privately, I was then escorted to the entry lawn for socializing before the race started. Though Cadie didn’t seem to think it was necessary – which I tended to agree with –, Auguste made sure to find me a pin with my name on it, a must-wear for every guest no matter how high ranked.

“A drink would be actually helpful.” I told them. “Not until the enclosure, I’m afraid.” Cadie replied. Auguste leaned in closer. “Though my colleague may have a different view, ma’am, I feel being seen with alcohol might not be the best course of action for what we’re here to do.” “Boss.” Cadie whispered his way, rispid. “I’m your boss, Mr. Authier. Not colleague.” “Is it appropriate to discuss that at this time, boss?”

I sighed, walking further away from them and into the crowded, sun soaked lawn. One thing I hadn’t grown used to yet was the looks. Every step taken through a public area, particularly one with such a high concentration of high class people, was the target of laser focused glances from almost anyone around. I was forced to develop the ability of confidently aiming my eyes at something abstract, so I was seen as being busy, but didn’t accidentally lock eyes with anyone. It was a perfect recipe for disaster. Which is why I should have expected it.

I didn’t bump into him, that kind of thing didn’t happen at highly planned events like this, especially when you had a large entourage of people with you whose job it was to make sure you went to the right place at the right time to meet the right people. It was more accurate to say our eyes bumped into each other.

There I was, walking slowly through the crowd, avoiding one pair of eyes after the other. First using the far away stands as a distraction point. Then using the awkwardly placed decorative flowers as a distraction point. Which led to using the one very weird hat as a distraction point, as its owner was standing right next to it. But then the hat was so weird I had to see the face of the person wearing it, but she was already looking at me, so I felt awkward and looked away as quickly as possible and, in my hurry, didn’t think too much about it, so instead of a safe distraction point, my eyes found… Harry.

“Ma’am,” Cadie leaned closer, “shall we go greet the president of the Ascot association?” “What? I–” I stuttered, barely able to take my eyes off of Harry. “Sure.”

Heaving a sigh, I allowed myself to be walked around to meet the people it was important for me to meet, doing what I had been doing every day since the last time I had seen him: smiling politely, making smart, appropriate conversation, representing an entire country. All things that were painful reminders of what kept us apart.

I woke up early, I worked hard every day to hold myself accountable to my new role, keeping busy the best I could, but every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, it was his eyes that I saw. It was his voice saying ‘don’t marry him’, the tap of his hand on mine above his heart as he told me ‘it’s yours’, and every time I thought about it my whole body shivered with joy and I wanted to cry of frustration, sadness and anger that I couldn’t just embrace something that was meant to just be a happy thing.

“Yes, my parents were so sad they couldn’t make it.” I told a trustee of the event, sustaining a neutral smile as though my entire body wasn’t shaking.

Sometimes, hypocritically, I wondered why Harry hadn’t reached out, either. I knew, rationally, that it was better that he didn’t, but he had made a point of saying he didn’t have to listen to his advisors when they told him to stay away from me, but he had. Whenever I started to feel sad about this, I reminded myself it was better this way. Safer. Healthier. Then I googled him to make sure he wasn’t dating anyone new, ‘just in case.’

But now there he was, in Ascot. Because of course of the five days of this event we would both go to the same one, believing differently was something only my parents did to help them sleep at night. On my end, I knew it was going to be this way.

It’s like I was fated to always run into him after weeks or months of absence, just to remind my heart of what it was leaving behind. Destined to try and forget him just to see him again, the man I could see, but not feel. Love, but not have. At arm's length, but worlds away.

As I turned away from the U.N. Ambassador, assuring him I would transmit his best wishes to my parents, I startled.

“Harry.” He startled, too; looked me up and down, closed his eyes in frustration, and sighed. “Damn, Mary, really?” He asked, sounding tired. “Wh-what?!” I asked, nervously, drying my sweaty palms in the pants of my jumpsuit. I’d been nervous all day they were a choice too ‘out there’. “Where do you find the audacity to look this beautiful?!” He asked, seriously.

It took me maybe two seconds to understand this flattery, and that he wasn’t actually criticizing my fashion choices, and when I did I was washed by such a deep wave of relief I was almost angry.

“Seriously?!” I slapped my handbag playfully against his arms, rolling my eyes, and turned away to walk into the building, leaving him as well as my team to catch up. “What?! It was a compliment!” He said, hurrying after me, suppressing a chuckle. I was smiling in spite of myself. “Maybe, but your tone was very misleading.” He smiled. “I apologize about my tone, Mary. May I try again?” I blinked, slowly, grinning now, and he went on. “You look beautiful.”

His second attempt was all that it shouldn’t have been: intense, yearning, full of a double meaning only we seemed to hear.

Bashfully, I gulped. “Thank you… I wish I could say the same.” “Ouch?” He laughed, taking a step back. “It’s not your fault, coats and tails is just not flattering on anyone.” “Well, that’s it.” He took off his hat and immediately started unbuttoning his vest. “What are you doing?” I asked, laughing. “I will go naked before I let you see me in something unflattering.” I took one step closer and stopped his hands with mine. “Oh, my God.” I said, looking around. “Stop!”

The main building was guests only, no press, so we were pretty safe there. But there were still guests around.

“What? You started it.” He chuckled but, at least for now, stopped undressing himself. Someone behind him cleared his throat. “Sir, you should probably button up before we go upstairs.” Harry nodded, serious. “Of course. Thank you, Edward.” He subtly buttoned his shirt while I looked around; some people had their eyes on us, but nothing too out of ordinary. “My secretary.” He explained. “Trying to keep me from trouble is literally his job, so I try to listen to him sometimes, throw him a bone, you know how it is.” “I hope you pay him enough.” I told him, teasing. “Sounds like an impossible mission.” “Touché.” Harry giggled, the sight making my stomach flutter.

We exchanged a long look, the whisper of our smiles still holding on to our lips dreamily.  

“So, how have you been?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. Well. Merci.” I nodded. “You?” “Awful, thanks for asking.” He smiled, so it was tough to know if he meant it or not. “Oh?” “Nothing that we can fix, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Should I escort you upstairs?” “Oh. Uhm. Sure.”

He led the way to the elevators, our team right behind us. With our security, we crowded one elevator with no room for anyone else. Though this was a pretty safe environment, I didn’t feel safe enough to inquire about what he meant.

“So, how’s Lourdes?” He asked, upbeat. “Pretty good.” I said, nodding. “She’s skating again.” “Nice!” He broke into such a huge smile it was hard not to smile as well. “I want to see her skating, do you have any videos?” “More than I need.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll–”

I was about to say I’d send him some, when I stopped myself.

“You have her number, right? You should ask her, trust me, she’ll be delighted. She loves showing her routines to people.” He nodded, “I will.”

Though it was a very big building, the elevator stopped on every floor, where both our security alerted people it was crowded before the doors closed again. We were headed to the last, highest floor, the Royal Enclosure, which was the best viewing point for the races. It was also highly exclusive and invite only, and a person could online invite someone else after attending for four years. Divorcées weren’t even allowed in until 1955.

So the elevator ride took a long minute, which may be what gave me the courage to surrender and lean in closer to him to ask:

“Truth or dare?” He smiled to the ground, biting his lower lip, but leaned in to me as well and whispered, “Dare.” Smiling in return, only slightly annoyed I’d have to wait to ask why he said he’d been ‘awful’, I went through my head for a good dare idea. “Let’s see….” “May I remind you we are in a very public, heavily press-present event?” He whispered, still close. “Sounds like something you should have thought of before choosing dare.” I shrugged, whispering back. “Okay… get someone in this elevator to slap you.” He leaned back. “What?!” “Go on.” “How?” “I don’t know.” “Mary… I–” He sighed, looking around. His eyes paused on every person present, my staff, his staff, the security… and then it paused on the tall, slender man who he had referred to as his secretary before. “Hey, Edward, I need a favor.” “Yes, sir?” The man replied, while I suppressed a giggle. “Slap me.” The whole group looked at them for a moment, before looking away, pretending not to be overhearing. “S-sir?” “It’s not a big deal, just slap me. It doesn’t need to be strong.” Harry insisted. “Sir, I–I don’t understand!” “It’s a long story,” Harry lied, “I’ll explain later, but I need you to slap me now. Go on, I promise I won’t mind.” I bit my lip strongly to stop myself from laughing. Edward looked truly concerned, and Harry sounded increasingly more desperate. “Harry, no!” Edward said, shaking his head.

The elevator stopped in place with a melodic ‘ding’, and Harry sighed as the others filed out before us – Edward leading the way.

“Any chance you’ll slap me?” He asked, making me laugh. “Ask me again later.” I said, walking out. “But then I’ll have already lost.” He lamented. “Well, then you’ll have to live with the defeat.” He groaned, following me to a table of drinks and appetizers. There were no cameras in this enclosure, and no one else I had to be formally introduced to. As I didn’t know anyone else, this left me free to grab a drink and something to eat.

Harry, however, waved a quick hello to a handful of people as soon as we walked into the room, but continued to follow me.

“Okay, rematch.” He started. “Give me another dare, I must redeem my honor.” “God, men… it must be so exhausting feeling you have to prove yourself constantly.” He grinned. “We both know you’re judging me for not doing a dare. Go on, give me another one.” I giggled, and sighed. “Alright, remember you insisted… I dare you to…” I thought about it deeply, looking around.

There was a couple of girls a few meters away looking at us – more particularly, at him – with jealousy and desire in their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling oddly powerful.

“To improvise a poem.” He looked so confused it made me smile again. “A poem? Like, like poetry?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Take your time.”

As I took a sip of my sparkling wine, he put his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could see his mouth silently moving as he talked quietly with himself. It was an amusing sight, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he looked deep in thought like this.

“Okay.” He nodded, seriously, approaching.

He removed his hat, brushed his hair to the side with his hand and stood unnervingly close to me.

“You're a vision in pink, I might need a drink…” He risked a look at me, but his cheeks were reddening, so he looked away again. “And I might pass out, if you gave me a wink…” I tried to suppress a giggle, as I thought any sudden movements might dissuade him from this dare. “Every day I remember, when the leaves were ember… In blue, you breezed through… your skin, warm and tender, In all of your splendor…” he looked at me again, still pink in the cheeks, but with renowned intensity in his eyes, “Waking up with me, your legs between my knees. I woke up desperate to please, and tease, with ease…”

His eyes locked on mine, intense, he recovered his color just as I felt my cheeks heaten up. He said each word slowly now, over-enunciating double meaning into each syllable.

“And squeeze, your hills, give you chills, thrills, until… Your daisy became daffodils… Asleep and awake, three days of bliss, give and take… Slow, sweet, fast or rough. Forever wouldn't be enough.”

His eyes hovered over my face, slowly lowering towards my lips, pausing there for the longest minute as I felt breathless. To the silence, I realized it was over, and struggled to think of something teasing, light-hearted enough to say to this. How to hide the way his voice – his words – made me feel?

I bit down an embarrassed grin thinking of his words. Walking in wearing blue when the leaves were ember? That was when we met last fall. Waking up with my legs between his knees? When I ran away to his home and we slept in the same bed. ‘Squeeze your hills, give you thrills, slow, fast, or rough, forever wouldn’t be enough’? That, that was… an alternate reality that felt the more tempting the more he continued to look at me.

“I don’t want to break the moment, because I feel there’s a moment here… but that was really good, right?” He asked, sounding honestly shocked.

It made me laugh out loud.

“Oh, my God, did I… write that?” He added, looking around, seemingly astonished with himself. “Did I maybe hear this somewhere? Did I accidentally plagiarized someone?” Laughing, I held on to his arm to steady myself. “Honestly, it was very good.” I managed to say. “I know! It was incredible!” “I mean, it started just okay… but it got… really interesting in the end.” “Interesting?! I think I’m a poetry miracle!”

I laughed again; throwing my head back, I had to hold on to my hat so it stayed in place.

“I need a pen and paper to write that all down before I forget it!” he added, patting his pockets. “Oh, my God, shut up.” I begged, still laughing. “Alright, alright…” He smiled. “My turn. Truth or dare?” I sighed, “Dare.” He grinned, surprised. “Oh, wow. Okay… I dare you to…” He considered it for a few seconds, looking around the room.

Silently, he grabbed my half-drank wine glass and moved to the drinks. He picked a bottle of whisky, and poured some into my glass.

“Hey!” I protested.

He did the same with the scotch, the vodka, the mango liquor, and every other bottle in the table until my glass was almost full to the brim.

“I dare you.” He said, handing me the glass. “Are you s–? This is so unoriginal.” “Just drink it.” He grinned. I smelled the contents of the glass, which smelled oddly of citric coca cola, and took a quick sip. “Oh, my God.” I complained, trying to remind myself not to yell in disgust. “You can do better, come on.” “No, I think this is enough.” “What? You drank nothing!” “Yes, but you never said I had to drink a lot, just that I had to drink.” I shrugged. He closed his eyes, and smiled, annoyed. “Wow. Such a lawyer.” I laughed. “My turn.” “Fine. Truth.” He said, rolling his eyes. I gulped, placed the disgusting concoction in my glass back on the table, but kept the smile in my lips as I asked, “Why did you say you were awful before?” His smile faltered. “Oh. You know…” He shrugged, nonchalant. “No, Harry… I don’t.” I said, softly. He avoided my eyes, but his lips sustained a humorless, emotionless smile. He took in a long breath, and looked at me. “Do you maybe have another question?” “What? No. Harry…” I shook my head, confused. “That’s the question.” He sighed. “It’s just work.” “Work?” “Yes, Marie. Work. I have a lot to do to get Invictus ready for September…” “Okay. Is that all it is? Because your tone says differently.” Still smiling coldly, he looked around, and brushed a hand through his hair, nervously. “Speaking of work, how’s your work?” He asked. “Is royal work as an heir any different?” “Harry.” I insisted, seriously, now feeling my heart beating increasingly heavier in my chest.

Finally, something snapped. He bit his lip, avoiding my eyes, then closed his eyes, muttered ‘hallway’, and walked off without affording me a second glance.

Chilled to the bone, I waited a couple of seconds before following him out, strategically avoiding Cadie and Auguste’s worried glances from nearby.

We walked out of the enclosure to the elevator hallway. It was emptier now than when we had come in, but still had a couple of people in it. So Harry passed them towards other doors, where it was emptier.

He stopped by a window, hands in his pocket, and heaved a sigh, brows creased, eyes pained. My heart ached just to watch him.

“Look, I–” He started, avoiding my eyes still. “I…” He laughed, humorless still. “Harry,” I tried, softly, “you’re worrying me.”

He closed his eyes, painfully. After a couple of seconds he opened them and stared right into mine. When our blues connected, I felt again that old chill down my spine; that feeling of being seen for all I was, that chill of knowing there was a lot being said, even if we weren’t speaking.

“Work is hard, yes, but–” He licked his lips, pausing. “I can handle it. What makes it harder, though, is that I can’t go very long without thinking about you.” I gulped. “W-what?” He smiled, a little more honestly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mary. I know that sucks to hear. I just…” He sighed, heavily, and took a step closer to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Feeling my stomach do a cartwheel inside, I gulped. “I… W-what?!” His smile grew now, amused. “I look around my house, and all I can think is I miss having you there. I miss waking up with you, cooking with you, talking with you all day long...” He took another step closer, now in a way where his smell was all I could breathe; still the same citric L'Occitane smell I could never forget. “I think about you every time I open my bathroom cabinet and see the toothbrush you forgot.” He shrugged. “It’s pathetic. And even now as I say it, I know it’s pointless. I know just looking at you that it’s a lost cause. And it’s not your fault, even if sometimes I wish it were. It might be easier if I had a reason to be angry at you… But you didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. I just…” he shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I sighed, breathless. “Harry. I…” “I know.” He nodded, staring at the ground. “I understand better than most. You have a duty. You have rules to follow and a huge number of people around ready to remind you why this would be a terrible idea, and I get it. I have the same. Lower stakes, maybe, but I do, and I hate it.” He smiled, in a sad, desperate way; eyes full of yearning as they looked at me. “The truth is I think about that kiss every day.” He whispered, gently. “The truth is I think about that date we never had every day, and about everything that could have been different… The truth…” He sighed, longingly. “The truth is I think I’m falling in love with you.”

My mind was both completely blank and going a thousand miles an hour. I felt my hands… shaken. My legs felt weak. I thought of Louis’ funeral again, of trying to kiss him at the worst of times, of how much it hurt when he pulled away, of when he told he didn’t want to be something I might regret.

I remembered sleeping with Chris right after, getting back together with him without even realizing it. Of the proposal and the yelling and the months of headlines about it.

If my brother was still here, Harry and I might have been just a complicated, unique love story. But he wasn’t, and because of that everything was such a mess. I was such a mess.

And yet, here he was: loving me anyway. In spite of it all. What was the universe thinking?

“Maggie?”

My fragile, already shaken up heart went cold. I looked back to find…

“Christopher?

--- ---- ---

Royal Ascot Outfit

[A/N: I know what you’re thinking, ‘how dare you not post for 2 weeks and then leave us with a cliff hanger????’. Guys, I’m SORRY! In my defence, 2020 was a hell of a year, I had to move, the holidays were a lot, I had a guest over, and I GOT A DOG! So...........a lot has happened! But things should calm down now, so I promise to try my hardest so this doesnt happen again! Spoilers: the story is going into its next phase! Secret-relationship-angst kind of next phase. But anyway, enough about me... how have YOU been? Tell me all about it, oh and also your thoughts on the chapter? hopes for the next ones? notes? criticisms? I’ll take it all! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND STICKING WITH ME AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE! PS: Lola, my fur child, is a 2 years old rescue, loves munching ice and guilting me into petting her instead of writing/working. I also accidentally scard her out of going to the bathroom where shes supposed to so now I’m slowly moving a pet-mat through the apartment back there. Tips? LOVE YOU HAVE A GOOD WEEK! BYE!

PS 2: I PROMISE I’LL COMPRISE ALL THE CHAPTERS INTO A MASTERPOST LIKE ONE OF YOU ASKED ME TO, I JUST NEED TO FIND THE TIME BUT I WILL! Thanks for the suggestion <3 ]

[monchikyun]

26. so happy, I could die

Connor is a very happy person. He has everything one could ever need – a stable job, a semi-dysfunctional family and one huge slobbering dog. There is nothing to complain about, nothing that would make his life uncomfortable. His kind has been given all the rights and freedom one such as them could ever ask for, all odds are in the favour of them integrating into the society with the status of being equal. He has made many acquaintances on both sides, some of which he dares to call friends. There is a roof over his head, a place to call home, even if he thinks he doesn’t need it.

Connor is happy. Or he’s supposed to be. He goes over all the good things that happened to him in his head every night before shutting down, reminding himself of all the nice words he’s received, all the positive aspects of him being alive. He repeats the phrase “I’m happy” to himself for as long as he can withstand it before it turns to something awful and volatile, a curse rather than a blessing. Every time he tries to take it back and make it become a phrase meant to cheer him up it breaks him a little. He’s been doing it for months now, and there are only so many times his soul can bear that kind of damage. It’s been months and months of Connor lying to himself that he’s doing great, that there is nothing missing that would make his existence more tolerable. That it’s never going to get any better, so he should as well enjoy what he has now before it all crumbles in front of him.

He doesn’t know why he feels so tragically empty, why he can’t stop seeing himself as an imitation of a real person. He doesn’t try to figure out the cause, since all his energy goes to pretending that everything is fine, that he doesn’t preconstruct all the means of deactivating his body when there’s nothing else going on inside his mind.

The only reason why he hasn’t gone through with it is because he’s scared, utterly terrified of death. But he also craves it, seeking it like it’s his adrenaline sport. Standing on roofs of tall building just a little closer to the edge than would be deemed safe, putting a gun to his temple when no one is watching, yet never once taking that one final step or pulling the trigger that would put him to rest.

Connor never actually does anything that would put him in lethal danger. Instead, he submits to the corrosive pain inside of him, letting it carry him through his days.

He’s thought nothing would ever change, at least not this soon, until the moment someone kissed him. But it wasn’t just someone and the kiss wasn’t just another vapid occurrence in his dull life.

It was detective Reed’s doing - the small bastard who thinks that he could hide his true feelings behind bullying and belligerence. He likes how wholly pathetic the irritable man’s behaviour truly is, it’s quite cute in his opinion. Like Reed’s supposed meanness could ever fool an advanced android such as himself, like their small strained conversations aren’t the highlight of Connor’s days. He’s not sure what he feels toward the man, if anything. Everything potentially pleasant is buried deep under the numbness that plagues his heart.

Despite all the signs Reed displays, Connor couldn’t imagine the detective actually acting on it, which has been just one of his many mistakes.

Because one of their heated chats in the vacant locker room somehow ended up in them making out like two secret lovers hiding from the rest of the world. It was nice, more than, but only while it lasted. The surprise of it, the closeness and all the fire that came with it made his mind temporarily blank in the best of ways. It was like he has lost his corporeal body and existed just as a concept, formless energy coursing into someone else’s mind, into a body that wasn’t tainted by the hideous beast that dwells inside of him.

When it ended, everything has become even worse. The vague taste of happiness still fresh enough to make him despise the fact that it doesn’t really belong to him, that he’ll never be free of his demons, even more.

That’s why he’s standing at the door to Gavin’s apartment, deciding whether he should knock or give up and leave because he doesn’t have a clear idea of what he’s going to do when he’s allowed in (if he’s allowed in.)

He turns around, dragging his feet from the closed entrance ever so tentatively, like he’s trying to convince himself that this isn’t the right choice. The further away he gets, the more he wants to see Gavin, and when he’s outside of the building (which he oh so unlawfully hacked into), he runs and runs until he’s back where he started.

But this time he knocks.

The head that peaks through the small crack between the door and the frame doesn’t suggest that he’s an awaited guest. But that’s isn’t all that shocking considering the inappropriate hour he chose to make some sort of a move toward what he has no idea about yet.

“Absolutely phcking not.” His voice is hoarse, his hair dishevelled, but it doesn’t look like the detective has been sleeping, judging not only by the speed at which he reacted to his late-night visitor.

“Please, Gavin.”  

It’s the first time Connor has ever used his first name, still, it rolls off his tongue like it’s the most natural word in his vocabulary.

And it seems to do the magic since the crack widens and he’s being gestured to go inside.

The apartment is messy and unorganised, painting a perfect picture of the man who occupies it. It has more personality than Connor does, he thinks, but that isn’t all that of a difficult feat.

He watches Gavin jump on the sofa, being immediately followed by his fluffy roommate, who nestles in his lap. It’s a sightly picture, one that he sneakily stores in his files for the void times to come.

“Why are you here, Con.” Something inside him shifts at the uncharacteristically affectionate nickname, so much so he momentarily forgets his original intentions.

“Can I… “ He can’t summon the strength to voice the rest of the question so his hands try to mimic asking whether he can sit down next to him.

The silent nod he receives makes him hesitate because with it he notices how pretty Gavin’s face is when he blushes.

Eventually though, Connor finds himself looking for the least awkward position while being so close to the tense man.

Gavin is pretending that this situation doesn’t phase him at all, which is only causing to make him appear even more adorable in Connor’s eyes.

And that’s what makes his next sentence all that harder to say.

“I don’t think I want to live anymore.”  Hearing it so loud and so raw and outside the borders of his mind reveals the weight of the statement to him. It makes him sound like a very cruel person, considering he’s well aware of Gavin’s feelings towards him, but Connor never claimed to be anything more.

“Did something happened or are you just generally fed up with everything?”

He almost wishes that he went through some tragedy, just so he can have a straightforward explanation for this sentiment.

“It’s just… I can’t stand being stuck with myself.” 

It’s like he’s in a prison where death is the only escape route.

“Yeah, me too.”

“But… I think I don’t want to die either. It’s… complicated.”  He wonders if Gavin is suffering from the same affliction, if he too spends hours fantasying about his own demise. Somehow it’s scary imagining that he might.

“That’s how life usually is, Con. Welcome to being a human.”

Gavin scoots a little closer to him, so much so their thighs are touching and Connor can smell the lemony scent of the shampoo still lingering on the detectives’ bed-hair. It’s more than just data to him, nothing is that easily defined anymore, not since he has deviated.

“It’s better when I’m near you though, like I can stop existing solely inside of me. It doesn’t make much sense, I know but… that’s why I came here. So it doesn’t hurt as much.”

The man puts his head on Connor’s shoulder, breathing in as to cool his overheating insides. It’s nice to have someone feel similar enough to him, it makes him gain a sense of belonging he’s been lacking almost his entire life.

“I… I can’t fix you, Connor.”

“I know and I’m not asking you to. Just…”

Connor places his own head on Gavin’s and gently clutches his trembling hand.

“...stay with me. Show me what happiness can look like.”

Gavin is so warm and his presence so soothing that he can make himself believe that they could maybe find it one day, the beauty in being alive.

“Okay, okay. But once I do you’ll never get rid of me, tin can. I’m too selfish to let you slip away.”

@convinseptember enjoy some freshly served angst xD

[jadestrange]

Death.. it’s not what you think

I don’t know why but ever since I was a child I was soulfully drawn to a character in a drama series I’m to embarrassed to mention the name - She said somehow she’d always known she would die young and indeed she did.

Ever since I’ve never really managed to let it go. I contemplated death from an incredibly young age and I’ve never really known why. No one close to me had even ever died when I was a child, yet death and the concept of the non-existence was constantly on my mind.

I recall for some reason I always thought about it every time we would drive through this one curve of the road near my grandparents home that would trigger it. Every time they drove past it on the way to drop me off at home I would immediately imagine non-existence, something I possibly couldn’t grasp. For some reason “nothingness” terrified me.

Death seems to be motif throughout my life, but to an abnormal degree. Ever since I could cognitively dream, I had only and ONLY had lucid nightmares. I was aware. But never fully in control. If I screamed, my voice disappeared. If ran I’d move in slow motion. If I covered my eyes from gore or horror my hands and eyelids would turn transparent. I think about the age of 5/6 I finally managed to gain enough control to do one thing and one thing alone…Kill myself

It was the only escape. The simulated pain of death within a dream was much more bearable than the nightmares themselves - even though I experienced genuine pain while doing it sometimes.

One time in particular there was nothing to kill myself with. No tall building. No bridge. No water. No knife. Nothing… 

but a wall

So I ran 

over

and over

smashing my face into my wall - until I woke up.

I felt it all

In fact recently I had a similar lucid nightmare. 

The problem with lucid dreams is that the deeper you go the more real and tactical they feel... and the more you feel. 

I often recall ever tactical piece of physical items in my dreams, analyzing them with my hands and fingertips in awe, amazement and sometimes fear at how real they felt. There was no physical telling in the difference between the dream and reality itself. Only the conscious tells whether it is or isn’t a dream - normally due to the absurdity of their nature.

In this Dream people or things were chasing me. Fear pure fear. I don’t know why. But all I knew was that THAT emotional pain was so unbearable that the risk of the pain of jumping headfirst off a bridge was worth it. I took a moment, feeling the scratchy grit of the cold metal poles of the bridge railings inside my sweaty palms. ‘This felt real’ I knew it. ‘But I had to’, it was the only way to escape. I was no longer in the lucid state of being able to control my environment only myself. I had to fight every instinct any real person would jumping head first into the low ground, the only difference was that little shred of hope - that maybe - just maybe I would wake up from the impact before I could feel anything.

I wonder if that’s what people who jump off buildings think as they’re falling down and there’s no turning back - that maybe - just maybe - they’ll die before they feel any true pain.

I paused writing this. A sudden chilly reminder came over me of a boy who momentary lost his sanity and indeed jumped head first down the stairs and indeed died. My friend saw it... I just felt a memory of a dream doing the same thing. That was weird.. I’m moving on

So right death. Another theme I carry is the need to resolve things with everyone and anyone I have encouraged to the point that it is either annoying or maddening for other people.

I guess I felt and still feel like I’m in a perpetual awareness of my death possibly arriving on tomorrows door.

Or perhaps I just want to feel lighter, because everything else, all the hidden things were too heavy to carry on their own. Like a camel’s back I could handle no straw - or more yet not even a feather.

I guess that makes me rather pathetic in other people’s eyes. But perhaps those are normally the eyes of someone who has not felt that weight.

I’m aware that a kg/ton of feathers is the same as a kg/ton of straws ( a metaphor for different the forms of pain if you didn’t catch that) - but how strong are the camel’s legs? How wounded are they? How well nourished were they since they were born? Are they loved or lashed?

Perhaps the weight may seem the same to outsiders eyes however - how it feels internally cannot be seen but merely felt by those who themselves have experienced it or at least something very similar.

I think I have a very confusing and troubling relationship with Death. On one side it always made me aware of the appreciation of my existence (the physical world, emotions, senes, conceptualization)

But on the other side it always came with an impending sense of constant pressure to fulfill my deeds and “pay my debt” in some sense. perhaps that’s not the right way to say it. More like “do the best I can” you know? Leave your mark on the world, give something back, make a positive impact as your farewell.

Which could either be unrealistic or perhaps it is just my assumption how grander that impact has to be. Something big. Something that says “The carbon footprint left by this one was worth it” haha.

Is that silly? Is that normal? Do other people feel this way or is everyone right about me? That I put too much pressure on myself.

Which too within itself seems to be a contradiction since society itself, friends, family, work, reputation, sustainability all requires pressure.

Some say I over think. While I think others under think.

Which is funny - considering I once had a lectuer tell me I was under thinking a script concept when in reality he was under thinking and unwilling to assume it had any more nuances or complexities that was an incredibly difficult topic to tackle.

It’s funny how sometimes you can seem stupid when you try explain something complex because the jargon and general context / information you’ve build up over time seems so obvious to you. Without that context your explanations can become muddled - since they would require a lot of time to give the context.

Quantum Physics for example. I remember trying to explain the concept to my friends in high school. It seemed… crazy - ridiculous - stupid - pseudo. In a strange retaliation my ex BFF went to the science teacher and queued it to come back to our group to tell me I was wrong (after we all agreed to have dropped it by the way).

I of course responded “Yes because a person who’s literally only studied a high school’s equivalent of physics would have the knowledge of a field way beyond her years and degree”

Eh.. School. Not so much friends. More just the people you settle for. Looking back all my relationships were pretty toxic - aside from one. I wrongfully teased my one friend for having hairy legs once and I still feel really bad about it today, in fact I messaged her a few years ago about it saying sorry.

But what the rest did to me… was.. ah.. definitely not on the same scale. I was betrayed a lot.

I got use to betrayal from a young age. Families seem to think it’s funny to undermine things that are important to children. It’s like they seek joy from it, I think they think it’s fun for the kids but it’s not.

Having your secrets shared between your family and laughed at as a child is.. betrayal. Being neglected, left in unsafe or unhealthy hands, unjustifiably disciplined … physically disciplined - are all betrayals.

I got accustomed to it. Silence was the way. Never tell anyone anything. People don’t help you anyway. In fact they often use it against you. Or worse undermine your pain.

It was strange.. I was clearly bullied. Yet I was the one who got sent to a shitty - oh lets just distract you for a bit but not really do anything- school councilor.

Death… mm. death death death. I understand the contemplation at around the time I started school, but why when I was like little little? Why have I always been crushed so easily?

Why was I always a target?

Did I want pity? no.. maybe sometimes (not that THAT ever worked - but no mostly it is was genuine emotion and debilitating pain. Crying. Freezing. Hyper-ventilating.

I wonder if I did it to myself. Had I done something so outright bizarre that deemed my the school target? What it cause I was a year younger? Was the shame of teachers shouting at me due to my ADD in front of my class.

Or was I just Overly Empathetic?  I remember my first day of school…. the teacher shouted at a girl next to me and I started crying - she in turned shouted at me for crying.

Despite being broke now I did have money as a kid. Not like the rich kids of the school but, I had lunch money. Maybe that was it. I shared it too often maybe?

Was I too honest? Too weird? Too much of a push over? It was everything I had every been taught to my by mother’s side of the family. The family I mostly grew up in.

It’s quite sad. My mom could write a way better book full of funny characters and bizarre relatives like a movie - all the drama - the comedy. She started writing - it was good too. But she was too tired from work and stopped.

I think it’s sad because my stories aren’t funny.. just sad. Maybe with some beautiful moments (although the best ones would be indescribable). I think hers would have been better. A story a woman overcoming a broken abusive family and poverty who worked her way to the top of owning her own company.

Inspiring.

While mine just feels like a bummer… maybe that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.

[viktor-noctis]

The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McSh*tFace

This is my review for the film: The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McShitFace.

Enjoy.

Tagging @christopherleefan because I think you might enjoy this? Also, I wrote a fic for Taste of Fear (or Scream of Fear for us Americans), and you can expect one for this film as well.

Pre-face: Okay, okay……………………………… Let me compose myself.

………..

………………..

……………………….

……………………………..

Alright, hit the play button.

London 1874 – I paused just to be sure this was the actual date when the book was written.

It was originally published in 1886.

We’re off to a roaring start.

Ew. Children.

Playing in a garden, yep, this is about what I remember.

Little boy shoves girl’s flowers to the ground, and McShitFace talks about “dumb human animals” when referring to children. We agree on that, at least.

“Play out when they cannot speak out.” Jekyll McShitFace suggests they’ve mentally blocked the ability to speak, due to the fact that they are letting another part of them be free to express itself…. What a load of garbage.

You resigned? Here I thought they fired you for being a creep. The fact that Ernst believes he really is a genius makes me want to punch something.

They’ve been married for six years??

No servants, no friends, and Jekyll has cut all professional ties to study the mind… Like a madman. Yeah, I can see Kitty hating this.

Beyond Good and Evil? Beyond the reach of society?

“A very dangerous man, my friend.” No shit, Ernst. Jekyll is suggesting the ‘higher man’ is the one within, while Ernst suggests that the weaker man maybe the ‘evil’ one. Or what we deem ‘evil’. Jekyll, like some, has come to some crackpot conclusion that by drawing out the ‘evil’ man, the ‘weaker’ man within him, that he can isolate and destroy him… Or something to that effect.

Jekyll never answers Ernst when he asks if he’s used it on anything other than a monkey and I find that telling.

Paul is here. Ernst is leaving.

Jekyll is quite charitable to Paul, if nothing else, and Kitty is putting up a marvelous front. Kitty even tries to get him to spend time with her here, but I have a feeling she knows where this is going. She’s probably done this a million times. This is another for the till.

I can tell Kitty is tired of this. Jekyll spends night and day in the lab. All the time. Yeah, that’d wear on most women. Considering the time period, this is all very strange. Then again, this is a ‘Strange Case’, or it was supposed to be.

Kitty telling him about Jekyll shouting to himself in his room, along with a strange voice that wasn’t his own, for an entire night… ���Married to a man of great talent.” Ernst, my dude…

Kitty’s asking if he is insane enough to be sent away. Ernst says he isn’t: “we must both try to help him.” Right.

Christopher Lee! Damnit, he’s so tall. How tall is this actress?

They’re so cute. Terrible, but cute.

The top of her head reaches his nose or so. He’s a damn good kisser…

Kitty looks lovely in blue.

And is an extrovert.

Jekyll is an introvert.

Still hate him.

Don’t bash the girl for liking to go out. Or ask her to: “take the evening off”.

“I need you tonight, Kitty. Stay.” That’s not creepy. After years of being ignored, that’s not creepy in the slightest.

Okay, this might be just me, but… I see Kitty’s perspective. I sort of see Jekyll’s? It’s a grey area. I’ve paused it to explain my reasoning –

Kitty, is an extrovert, as I’ve stated. She gets her energy from going out, being around people, and having a good time. That’s great. Good for her, you have fun girl, and take your boytoy (he really is, as often as he gets in money trouble) with you. Jekyll is decidedly not. To say they are incompatible would be an understatement.

Kitty is the type of woman who glows under attention, who craves it from both her partner and others. But mostly, her partner. Enter Paul, who’s proven to be attached to her mostly through money, but there’s so much more there. Again, I love these two, because they’re so terribly flawed, but so clearly in love.

Jekyll, meanwhile, cut all attachment to “live like a hermit in the center of London”. Ernst’s words straight from the beginning of the film. I bet you Kitty was stifled, for years, before Paul came along. Now, not much is revealed of the how Jekyll became friends with him, when he did, or even why he did, but I want to bet it was during University or something. That seems the most likely theory, given Jekyll’s nature.

The Jekyll side is a bit more convoluted. Again, I don’t think Kitty is being unfair here. There’s no telling how long she stayed lonely, cooped up in that house (reference back to when Ernst talked about no friends, no company, and no servants), and was just… bored, sad, and upset.

Ernst even mentioned the house being ‘in ruins’.

She calls him selfish for making it such an issue. I get the feeling he sort of deserves it. Also, she’s in love with Paul now, so that adds another layer to their relationship not working and being incredibly strained.

“I’m not going to insult my friends for the sake of your whims.” Is what her argument amounted to. Again, the movie is making her sound like the selfish one, but you really have to take into account the history, nature, and aspects of each character. In doing so, I don’t really think she is. I think she’s in love with another man, bound to a farce of a marriage, and is doing the best she can by not staying near her creepy husband.

And yep, human experimentation time.

Yeah, go ahead McShitFace, sit at your desk and wait to become The Literal Worst.

Party time. I’m shuddering. Too. Many. People. Ew.

They’re both terrible.

I love them.

Awful.

Paul complains of being bored, and yet she is bored doing the things he likes. They jab and jibe. He looks at another woman. They jab and jibe some more.

They’re bickering like they’re already married.

Get a room.

Terminate their relationship?

They bring up their attachment, again, always with the money. Kitty likes a man free of shame, Paul thinks he might lose her to a man who had even less. Hahahaha. You nerds. You’re in too deep and you both know it.

The Literal Worst has arrived. And he’s uglier than ever.

The Sphinx? That’s the name of this trash heap ballroom?

Hyde looks like a Tool. Barely two minutes on screen and he’s got the Creep Smirk going.

Hoes do not stand together, I see.

Paul and Kitty smiling at each other, having a grand old time. I love them.

Hyde showing his true colors already, by eyeing up Kitty, while dancing with another girl (though I’m pretty sure she’s a prostitute. Or just a woman who gets around, living off other men’s money). Wow, he also says some not-so-nice things to her before heading after Paul and Kitty, who’s having a hell of a time. Paul can also be a jackass –

“Don’t drink too much tonight, my darling.” She says it with such tenderness, while taking the glass from his hand.

“Cunning little kitty cat. Rather a dull husband than a drunken lover, eh?” Paul’s already slurring. He’s entered cad mode. Feel free to kick him to the curve, my dear. He deserves to nurse his hangover by himself.

She just looks disappointed.

Kitty’s creep alert is going off. Listen to it, honey. Run. Run, far away.

She’s trying to take Paul home.

Then going to dance with Hyde. Fuck. Kitty, listen to your Creep Radar.

Friendship with Kitty? Honey. No. Run. “Can I trust you?”

?? Kitty. No. Do not trust the creep.

Prostitute girl is back, claiming Hyde tried to force her, and some dude wants recompense. Kitty just wants to go home. Paul refuses to leave, to help Hyde.

Has common sense become a commodity that only Kitty is buying??

“Give the lady a few sovereigns, and there’ll be no trouble.” Yeah, sounds like a prostitute. Kitty bids them all goodnight. Paul looks sad to see her go. Should have thought about that before you acted the bastard.

Hyde tells them to go to hell and take the trollop with him. Dude dives at them, Paul knocks him out… And Hyde keeps hitting him. Paul stops him, telling him not to kill him, and then asks him if he’s ill.

“Let me alone, Jekyll. Let me alone.” Dumbass. Jekyll voice coming out of Hyde. That’s not creepy. Paul looks amused by the creep show. Hyde leaves the place, screaming, and being weird.

Lots of voice changing. This actor is actually really good. Jekyll realizes what he did, because Hyde says: “I will be back, Jekyll. I will return.”

Jekyll: “Never. Never.”

So he knows this was a bad idea?

Goes into Kitty’s room, whose reading, and she starts talking about her ‘party’. She wants to go to sleep. Jekyll still comes closer, being a creep. Creep Radar is blaring.

“I need you, Kitty. I need you desperately.” And he comes in, trying to kiss at her, mouthing at her neck. Like a creep. I know this is a parallel to later in the film (yeah, it’s terrible), when Hyde is in control, but I still hate this.

I had to pause during the next scene to do a deep character analysis –

Kitty pushes him off, telling him she’s tired, and even says “please”. As if she should have to beg him to keep his damn creep hands to himself. He still has a wild, crazy look in his eye, and asks: “What are you really like, Kitty?”

“I’m your wife, that’s all I am.” She answers it with such evenness, barely disturbed, and it reminds me of what Paul said to her –

“From perfect wife to perfect mistress, and back again to perfect wife.”

This movie has a lot to do with the masks we wear. We change them, depending on who we’re talking to: family, friends, strangers, lovers, etc. All the different relationships we have require a mask, shadowing the core of who we are, because letting someone see everything of ourselves is too terrifying to consider. We don’t show our true selves out of fear, pride, or some other convoluted mixture of emotions.

However, every mask has a basis, a template of origin.

I feel as if, at some point, Kitty really did love Jekyll. She must have. She married him not for his intelligence, not for his money, but because she genuinely loved him. Kitty loves too deeply, too strongly, and has all the hallmarks of a woman who has been burned by that depth of attachment.

“It’s my fault, a woman who shows her feelings always loses dignity.” Kitty says this during the first bit of the dance she has with Paul, which reveals so much of her character. She doesn’t look at him when she says it, the pain of her admittance is too much, and she shies away from anyone witnessing it. Even Paul.

Her relationship with Paul is strained right now. It’s weird. It seems like neither of them knows where it’s going, too afraid to continue, but even more horrified by the prospect of letting the other go.

When speaking of breaking their ‘arrangement’ (look up ‘affair’ in the dictionary), Kitty suggested Paul wouldn’t be able to get along financially without her. Paul rebuffed her, saying that Jekyll and he had been friends for years, and she was just his dutiful wife… despising him.

There’s an ease between them that feels years old, yet I doubt it was from the get-go of hers and Jekyll’s marriage. No, she probably did hate him quite a bit, in the beginning. But there’s a thin line between love and hate, one that can be crossed with loneliness. I like to think it was physical at first, a build up of tension between a woman caged in a house, and watching this man go out and spend her husband’s money.

It was probably Paul who convinced her to come out with him one evening. Fuck it. Jekyll wants to stay in his lab all night? Well, why should you stay too? Kitty probably said no at first. Why would she go out with this smarmy bastard, who gambles, who sleeps with anything that has legs, and drinks himself silly? But then there’s the wanting, the listening to her husband tinker away, watching life go by without her…

She probably went to Jekyll. She tried to talk to him, have dinner with her in the house that night. Without any servants, she’s learned to cook. He makes a point of trying to be nice but talks about his work… Always his work. She asks him to kiss her, as if that’s something she should have to nearly beg for. And what did he do? On the verge of some great breakthrough?

“Not right now, Kitty. I’m busy.”

Kitty, who is strong, vibrant, and beautiful, is not enough to stir a man from the wake of progress. From pride.

Humiliation and defeat, a loathing that breaks through love, stuffs her chest and nearly throttles her on the spot. Retreating, glassy eyed to her room. She probably cried, mourning her broken heart.

After that, she demands to go with Paul.

There’s probably a touch of shock, then a knowing smirk. He’s probably seen lots of women with husbands who ignore them, falling into his kind of life, dancing and drinking and laughing their nights away.

He’s not ready for this one.

Alright, hitting play again –

“But the woman inside of you, is that woman my wife?”

No. No, she’s not. She belongs with Paul.

Stop shaking her. She’s right. Get out.

Take your: “Who am I?”s and get the fuck out.

Cut to Paul being a cad again. Ugh. Go home to Kitty, you absolute tool bag.

He and Hyde are sitting at a table in The Sphinx with two bimbos. Wonderful.

Hyde is a creep. I will say that no less than ten times in this review. I probably already have.

The fuck is this?

They’re doing something weird.

Really weird.

A snake charmer dance.

Am I to assume they wish us to believe that snake is venomous?

Okay, to be fair, all snakes and spiders are venomous, but the potency of their venom varies in such a way that they effect most human bodies on different levels. I say ‘most’ because you can be allergic to something, and receive a far more harrowing experience than 98% of the population.

However, that does not excuse the fact that the creature in question is a ball python and is therefore basically harmless. Minus some swelling and bruising.

I had to pause to write that, okay, playing again –

Yeah, this poor animal is being abused by being forced into a ‘sensual dance’ with this woman. ‘Tigress’, they call her, kill me now. Paul says she’s exclusive to the elite. Kill me twice over. This dance is the worst. That poor snake is confused.

Paul is looking worriedly at Hyde as he stares, transfixed, at this woman. Dude, he wants to get bitch slapped, let him.

Christopher Lee’s eyebrows are doing things to me. Paul is the real eye candy in this shit show.

UGHASDKFJASDKFNAMSDKFJNASDKF

Jkljasdfklajsdklfansdkfnj

Klasjeirkmaskdfnjkasdjf

Klasdmfnkasndf

JKLASJDKLFNASKLDFNJ

UGH

SHE

SHE PUT

THE SNAAEK

HEAD

IN

MOTUH

WHY? WHY? WHY would –

WOULD uuo –

That poor animal.

Tell me that was fake.

She did not really put that poor creature’s head in her mouth.

This is abuse.

Not to mention, really gross. Salmonella, and a million other diseases could potentially exist on the skin of a reptile. Do not handle reptiles and then touch your face, or eat, or put any part of their body inside your mouth. Wash hands after handling, thank you.

Disgusting.

And people are clapping. And cheering.

Is this what passes for ‘exotic’ in the 1700s????

Maybe it’s my modern cynicism, but I am not impressed. I am shuddering in revulsion.

Mostly because of the snake in mouth bit.

Gods.

End me.

I’m about to shriek.

“Forget it, dear boy. She’s not in the prep-school class. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Paul. Paul.

Have you ever considered:

She’s blind.

You’re gorgeous.

And you have a gorgeous woman waiting on you at home.

Why do you bother with the bimbos?

Girl on the right is pretty, okay, she’s like… an 8. Chick on the left is… also pretty, but like a 7.

Kitty is a damn 16, she blows them out of the water. There is no competition. When you’ve already had it all, why bother even looking at anything less? She gets bumped up to a 30 for the fact that she has a brain, she snarks, she jabs with the best of them, and is not afraid to leave you to your well-deserved hangover.

I will fight for Kitty’s honor.

Paul. I’m about to throw down.

He calls the dancer over – Maria – and I can already tell he’s going to –

Yep. Be a bastard.

“She only uses Christian names in bed.”

He deserved that drink to the face.

Even Hyde looks surprised. Then impressed.

Pft – HA! I have to quote this:

“Well, ladies, it seems that I must entertain you both.” He says, while soaked with what one can assume is scotch. “I trust that you will not be too disappointed.” Girl on the right looks like she expects to be disappointed. Ms. Left has her game face on.

“Oh, we’ll just have to manage.” Left is already up and at it.

“Somehow or other.” Right is playing along for now.

“Thank you for your confidence.” Paul’s reply does not sound confident in the slightest. He follows them through a curtain doorway. I’d say, ‘poor bastard’, but he doesn’t deserve my sympathy right now.

Hyde is creeping on Maria now.

“Keep away from him, he is dangerous.”

Yeah. To medium sized rodents.

Actually, considering Hyde is nothing more than a big, smelly, greasy, slimy rat –

Nah, wouldn’t want to give the poor thing indigestion.

“Your friend talked to me like a common whore.”

I assumed you two knew each other? I don’t know, they are weird and vague on that. Alan says he’s tried, then claims what names she uses in bed, and she did throw the drink on him afterwards. I’ve no idea.

I will give this to Hyde: He is a smooth talker. He is also, however, still a bastard.

And the makeup they used on this actress is not flattering at all. I’ve seen pictures of her, and she was beautiful. They somehow made her look hideous. ‘Impertinent’ is a word, though not quite the one I would use for this piece of garbage.

I love putting subtitles on. They’re so dumb.

(Soft sensual music) my ass.

Of course they shag. Why wouldn’t they?

She’s given him an in, now… “You do not buy, you do not beg.” A man who ‘takes’. No, do not give him that.

“A nice, cold wife.” I’m so furious.

They do have a servant! An old woman. Probably a concession after years.

“Mr. Hyde.” Creep.

‘Nanny’.

“Lately, this house has become unused to visitors.”

“The wife of a recluse…”

Trying to sweet talk a woman in love will not go over well for you.

Paul’s??? Paul’s friendship. What a save.

“The question of trespass hardly arises. Mr. Allen has no property rights in me.”

And as for Henry: “Henry leads his own life. He doesn’t seek my approval, and I don’t seek his. Is that wrong?”

OOOOOOFFFFF.

Sweet talk till you talk like that.

“To the boredom of being a neglected wife, and the humiliation of being a rejected mistress.”

It almost felt like she was into the flirting till he said that, but I still get the feeling she wouldn’t have slept with him. You can enjoy flirting, some people do it for a living, but not the act that comes after. As I said before, Kitty wears many masks. This one is short-lived. Hyde has insulted her, and the change in her demeanor is like a switch.

Kitty loves too deeply, to be reminded of her first failing, and the possibility of her loss of Paul is a kick in the teeth. Is she not worth loving? Is science, money, knowledge, other women – is she just no match? Can she have nothing out of this?

“I must say, you are honest. A trifle obvious, perhaps, but honest.” And too close to the surface, too close to the proverbial nail. Kitty is genuinely afraid of losing Paul, and it shows. She’s clinging onto something she feels she can’t hold onto, whether for her already damaged pride or because she doesn’t want to be hurt again. Her face only really started to shift when he said mistress.

“My great affair has already begun.” She’s pulling herself so easily from his arms. He talks about great love since he felt her in his arms, and she just turns away with this casual walk of a knowing woman.

“It was well advanced before ever you appeared on the scene.” She looks almost proud, though there’s still this edge to her. She expects it to crash and burn. She’s just waiting for it.

“I wonder what is the special quality in a man as weak, unscrupulous, and utterly unreliable as Paul Allen?” This really bothers him. Hyde is essentially Jekyll unchained, a copy of the inner, dark urges of one man laid bare, and given free run of the place… And he’s a total rat bastard.

And Kitty is smiling. Kitty is overjoyed.

“I don’t question your description, Mr. Hyde.” She’s radiating with delight. Even that description of Paul in all his awful glory stirs nothing but happiness in her.

“Well then, but why…” And he’s reaching for her, stroking his fingers over her back. It’s this odd mimicry of how Jekyll tried to hold her that night. Ugh.

“I merely happen to love him.” Yes! SHE SAID IT!

“Love? Love is an idiocy!” And she’s laughing again. I’m beginning to believe Kitty uses laughter to cover her pain. Hyde/Jekyll McShitFace uses rage.

“An idiocy of mine, perhaps, but a fact.” Then we get this beautiful close up of her face, the vindication with which she says it has me living –

“I love Paul Allen.” Love, you must be so blind and so wonderful.

(Ominous music). As Hyde descends back to his basement to turn back into Jekyll. Back to the sewer, your garbage monster.

Ernst is here. Okay, something weird is happening again. Jekyll has a heightened metabolism. Probably from sustaining two rat bastards instead of one. I’ve no idea how much time has elapsed, but quite a bit I’m guessing. A week? A month? Another year? Nah, probably more like a week or so.

Jekyll’s life is “burning out at a much faster rate.”

Kitty is fed up with being Paul’s ‘bank clerk’. Yeah, let’s bring Henry into this. ‘Let him deal with life’s little problems and leave us its gaiety’? You are a cad. Why do you love him again, Kitty? You can do better.

She’s sick of being used.

“How can you talk of our love in this way?” Love? Is this the first time you bring it up to her? While asking for money? Aklsjdfkasjdf

Men are annoying.

“You hypocrite!” Thank you.

Debts of honor, my pale ass.

He’s going to Henry.

Ernst knows he’s addicted to something. He says it’s more damning, whatever it is.

At least Paul is honest. Jekyll is being cold to him now. He knows about him and Kitty now. He goes back to his work desk. ‘Going away’. Right. Run.

Paul gets nothing. Notes something must be wrong with him.

Kitty is worried about Paul now.

And fuck – Jekyll is giving full power of his shit to Hyde. His estate, his money, his assets, everything goes to Hyde. This happened in the book, of course, but this completely cuts Kitty off as well.

Also, he even says he’s using Hyde to ‘learn all he can’. You pretty much know it all. Kitty, your wife, is in love with your ‘friend’, Paul. It’s not that hard. You’ve effectively been gaslighting them from the beginning.

“For do I want to return to a life of frustrated isolation and loveless misery?”

I.

I have…

So many problems with this statement alone.

You left your wife, even said it yourself, neglected. For years. So much so, that she’s alone as well. Of course she searched for something beyond you, when you chose to isolate yourself first… And you know what? I’m happy for Kitty, she found something, someone to love and love her in return. Is it perfect? No, but –

Anything and everything can be traced back to you, you sorry sack of literal shit. I’m about to lose it. He’s reaping what he’s sewn, and now he’s trying to escape it.

I’m so pissed off.

He drinks more stuff. Great. The return of The Literal Worst is upon us.

Wow… Never heard Christopher Lee say that before –

“Damn bad luck you’ve been having, I hear, Allen, old man.” Some man comments on the state of Paul’s life, which has gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Damn bad luck.” Paul’s agreement seems to taste as bad as the cigarette he’s smoking. I wonder how many are his, in that overflowing mound of ash and stumps, at the center of the table.

“Oh, well, luck’s a bitch, old boy.” Not sure that was a saying yet, but maybe this is the one that starts the trend.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Paul looking like he’d like to swallow down the rest of the decanter on the table, with Hyde being the creep that just walked in. “I’ve always had the best possible luck with bitches.”

I just about spit my tea. Not even kidding.

“Almost always, anyway.”

You’re terrible. Kitty should leave without either of you.

How is this review over 4K words? Who’s still reading this?

“Women aren’t a weakness they’re a recurrent necessity.” Paul. Paul. What are you doing?

‘Oldest mistress’.

Paul. You’re awful with money and it’s obvious.

They’re going to go out on the town. Like bastards. Hyde is The Literal Worst.

Snap shots of London’s underbelly during the 1700s… Brawling, lots of drinking and bad singing, and… smoking? Opium? Hooka? Who the fuck knows anymore.

Paul’s out. Hyde is doing the 100-yard Creep Stare.

Paul is out making debts again. ‘Honorable’ ones, at least.

Now he’s out of ideas. It’s been a week. He spent all that money – 5,000 in a week. Ouch. “But you, are a fool.” We agree on that. That is the only thing Hyde, and I will ever agree on.

“And I’ll try Kitty.”

Ha.

Haha.

You can see the wheels turning unpleasantly in Paul’s head. His brow is doing that furrowed thing when he’s confused.

“What the devil do you mean, Hyde?” You know what he means, you just don’t want him to go on. You’re hoping he doesn’t mean what you think he means.

“Well, that should be simple enough for even you to understand.” Again, insulting people while mixing in kind words, though his next ones are far from kind: “I am telling you to obtain your mistress for me.”

Paul is rising out of his chair. His brow is still doing that furrowed thing, but it has gotten even deeper. The rage is coming, a wave that was slow to foam, but quick to rise.

“You unspeakable devil.” There’s still some disbelief, but there’s no denying the shock.

Hyde is doing the creep laugh with a – “How very amusing.” Now you can see the anger, it’s chiseling its way into his features, hard and sharp.

“Paul Allen, breaker of every law in the moral code, is shocked into morality.”

Full blown: I’d punch the ever-living hell out of you. I’m about to.

“You vile, disgusting degenerate.” His lips are quivering. He’s barely holding it together.

“Be rational, my friend.” You’re pushing him far beyond ‘rational’. “I’m asking for the temporary loan of a proven adulteress, of whom you yourself have grown somewhat tired.”

First of all: fuck you. Second of all: Kitty already said he has no property rights to her.

“You go back to hell!” Paul. Punch. Him.

Oh… Wait… Yeah, he’d probably get in trouble for that. And then be sent to jail. And I doubt he wants to be in there while Kitty is out here with this lunatic. Yeah, running out before you lose it seems wise.

Still should have throttled him a bit.

Now what is The Literal Worst doing? Going back to the house…

And sneaking into Kitty’s room. You creep. I’ve never wished to jump through a television screen more.

They only have one servant, ‘Nanny’, is her name.

He’s blackmailing her. With Paul’s notes. Fuck. ‘Buy him back’.

She’s laughing. Yes, that is Kitty’s response to being uncomfortable.

“You utterly repel me.” YES! Go girl! She laughs as he storms out, tossing the notes away. Then she closes and locks the door, pressing her back to it. She was probably more than a little terrified.

Hyde assaults a homeless man, shoving him down, and steps over him. That was in the book… Then back to some cesspit that Paul showed him.

There’s something weird going on here with Hyde and this girl.

Cut to Kitty and Paul snuggling. And kissing. This is the quality content I came for. He’s wearing the same shirt from earlier… Which means he probably took a good long walk, had a small conniption, and then went straight to her.

“Why does love make us behave so hatefully to one another?” Yeah, well, Paul has been the terrible one here.

“Because we’re cowards, my darling. We want everything.” I’m not sure what Paul’s deal is, why he is the way he is… He could just be an ivy league guy who grew up, not knowing how to handle money, he might not come with as much baggage as the rest of them.

Why can’t they just be happy and cute?

Go away? Start a new life? Yeah, do that.

Right now.

Leave.

Before Jekyll McShitFace gets back.

Ah, they planned to mug Hyde, using the girl as a means to dupe him. Seems about right. Also deserved.

Ah, Kitty is leaving Jekyll. About bloody time. Also, the wrong time, considering the whole Hyde business.

Jekyll has destroyed his drugs, though admits that Hyde’s grip is too powerful. Right. As if Ernst didn’t warn you it was an addiction. “No degeneracy is low enough to satisfy him.” You mean you, right? Because, he is, after all, you.

The kids are back in the garden. This can only end well.

Oh, they’re leaving. Good…

Paul and Kitty are making out again. Good for them.

Jekyll shoved a kid. Bad for him.

Same little girl who’s always trying to give him flowers. Yeah, he’s losing it. Rushing back into lab to pen a last will and testament one can hope –

Nope, no such luck.

‘Exorcise him’. Right.

Handwriting switch. Interesting.

Paul admitting to Kitty he’s in trouble with Hyde.

If looks could kill.

Hyde lures them with an invitation from Jekyll, about their last evening together being ‘gay’.

Kitty doesn’t want to go, she’s frightened. Listen to your gut.

Paul wants to stay, because they think he’ll settle. Kitty agrees.

Fuck.

Cabaret. Ugh.

Someone get me out of here. Lots of underwear. This is painful.

Hyde making plans to meet with Maria before meeting with Paul and Kitty, who’s dressed for a funeral. Paul. Don’t. Go. Of course, he does.

Up to Maria’s room. Piss it.

More cabaret. I’ll hand it to you ladies; you can cartwheel and front flip. That is impressive. Also, I’m completely serious, because the amount of muscles it takes to do that are insane. Flexibility is also key. Congrats ladies.

Paul meets with Hyde.

“Surely we can keep Kitty out of this.” He knows something’s up and didn’t want to involve her. Smart, but also stupid.

“Hardly.” Hyde’s reply sets my teeth on edge.

Paul. Don’t go into that room. To meet him in private. Fuck me. Backwards. Paul.

A ball python. How dangerous. Paul. There’s a table right there. Squish the fucker. I mean, I’m against animal cruelty, but in the case of the story, that thing is supposed to be deadly. Squish. Squish. Otherwise, leave him the fudge alone and he’ll leave you alone.

Kitty… Don’t go with the creepy man. Listen to your Creep Radar.

Paul’s dead. Kitty doesn’t deserve this. Don’t –

I hate this. I hate this. Paul is literally dead in the other room.

I’m writing so much fix-it fic for this, you won’t believe.

This review is 18 pages long. If you’ve made it this far, may the gods have mercy on you, because my wrath at this point is endless.

Maria is in Jekyll’s house. He told her to go back to that house, put on Kitty’s clothes –

“The pattern of justice is complete.”

Rot. In. Hell.

Paul and Kitty deserved better. They deserved each other.

Kitty waking up, gods’ I hate this. She’s a wreck. Her hair, her clothes… You can tell she’s about to be sick. She’s barely holding it together. There’s a fucking note… A note leading her to the snake… She finds Paul dead. She’s already shellshocked. Out onto the balcony…

“Paul.” Her last word.

She plummets over the balcony, through the glass roof, and –

Cut to Maria saying: “I love you Edward.”

“I can’t love.” We can agree on two things. Those two things.

“I must be free.” Right before murdering Maria.

Jekyll finally takes back over, rightfully horrified, and runs back to his lab. With three corpses under his belt.

What an interesting mirror effect…

“Why must you destroy?”

“I must be free.”

Then we go back-and-forth, about who murdered, who revenged, and who was wronged. They weren’t in Hyde’s way, but Jekyll was. He doesn’t ‘feel’. Yeah, right…

Hyde is every dark, terrible impulse Jekyll has had, given life and form. His desire to be free, to run rampant, has been a desire of Jekyll’s since the beginning. Free the beast so he could kill it… Then proceeded to twist it to gaslight his wife, his friend, and everyone else. He was living a life, a lie, a sham. The desire for freedom from persecution for our desires, to be allowed to do what we want, when we want, without judgement has been an overarching theme in all of society. People are persecuted for what pronouns they want to use, for how they eat, how they dress, how they talk –

However, because Hyde is merely a reflection, one can assume his desire for freedom is mirrored in Jekyll’s continued desire for the same. Jekyll wants to continue to exist, so Hyde must desire to exist in turn. He’s still composed completely of Jekyll’s desires.

He says he doesn’t feel, yet there is a desperation, a fear in his voice when he says: “You must lose, Jekyll.” Because he’s afraid he won’t. He’s horrified by the idea of being trapped forever, of their relation being found out…

Cut to Inspector being on the case at The Sphinx.

Wow, a lady in gentleman’s clothing runs The Sphinx. Nice.

Jekyll trying to leave a letter to Ernst. Yeah, that’ll go over well. He calls a street cleaner over to take his note to Ernst, but of course, Hyde has to upset that plan.

Again, I give props to the actor for the massive amount of voice switching, and playing the ‘tortured’ scientist, and the King of the Creeps.

Hyde is about to kill this street cleaner. Mate, why did you come into this guy’s house to randomly move something for him? He shoots him in the back, of course…

The Inspector arrives! Not in time…

Hyde is about to torch the place. Of course he is.

He puts up a performance for the police, saying Jekyll is nuts… Whole place is on fire, with street cleaner acting as a sub-in for the body of Jekyll.

I swear, if this fucker gets away with this, I will riot.

Is nobody seeing the Creepiest Grin of the Century?

No, of course not, they’re trying to fight a raging fire.

And of course, there’s a court hearing over the whole thing. Jekyll went nuts. True. He was addicted to drugs. Also true, though it’s not any kind ever seen before. Sought vengeance for imagined slights. True again.

“Fortunate to have escaped – “

Screw you.

Death by suicide. If only.

Do not tell me this is how this movie ends.

“A fine man. A fine – “

Shut up Ernst.

“The higher man.” Shut your face hole, Hyde.

Jekyll is coming out.

“I must leave immediately.” Oh no, you don’t, you bastard.

“Help me.” Keep talking, Jekyll. Get out of there. Confess. You deserve it.

Lots of struggling here. Again, props to the actor.

Inspector, Ernst, and everyone are watching. Do it now, you bastard.

He turned back into Jekyll!

Finally! You did something useful!

He looks really old. Apparently being Hyde aged him decades.

You can still rot in hell.

“I have destroyed him.”

“And yourself, my poor friend.”

“Only I could destroy him.” Dramatic pause. “And I have.”

He’s arrested.

Abrupt Hammer Horror Ending.

Kitty and Paul deserved better.

This review is 20 pages long, over 6K words, and it took me 4 hours to get through it because I kept pausing and rewinding to quote.

You’re welcome.

[apparitionism]

Hark 4

I certainly didn’t expect to finish a Christmas/New Year’s story on Valentine’s Day, but, as Myka says at one point in this concluding part, “here we are.” Writing takes as long as it takes. Fortunately no one is paying for this, so I haven’t had to jam the “as long as it takes” into a contractually obligated timeline. I’m grateful to those who read the prior parts (part 1, part 2, and part 3), and I offer much respect and thanks again to @kla1991​ for running the @bering-and-wells-exchange​ .

Hark 4

Throughout the game, Myka and Helena held hands below the table: a warm clasp of accord. Myka harbored a fitful little hope that someone would actually try something cheesy with mistletoe, because while they were reconciled, they weren’t fully at ease, and mistletoe would be a helpful excuse... but she realized, with a certain amount of guilt, that maybe she and Helena had spooked the rest of them such that they were unlikely to poke the bear. Or the bears. Or say “Messiah” to the press, or to the presses, or whatever metaphor she was looking for. She couldn’t blame them.

Pete played Sorry like he was being paid not just to win, but to humiliate everyone else: every chance he had, he bumped one of someone else’s pawns, and he exulted in saying “sorry not sorry!” each time. The universe clearly didn’t see fit to punish him for any of this preadolescent gloating, for he continued to draw ideal cards and make ideal moves. 

If Myka had been focusing on anything other than Helena’s hand in hers, and how near each other they sat, she might have cared. As it was, she listened with half an ear as Pete trumpeted, in ultimate triumph, “Now for Star Wars trivia! At which I will also rule.”

“You won’t,” Claudia said. “I will. But you’ll always be King Dub to me.”

“Hey, that makes me a saint too,” he said, “because of the song.”

Myka said, “If you’re a saint, I’m good King Wenceslas.”

“Can’t be two,” Pete decreed, “and I already called it.”

“Steve’s the saint anyway,” said Claudia.

“Stephen,” said Steve.

Pete pointed at him and accused, “You said that isn’t your name!”

“Right,” Steve said. His patience very nearly equaled Leena’s. “I’m not the saint. In the song. Well, one of them. Wenceslas, but Stephen has a feast day and everything.”

“I want a feast day,” Pete grumbled.

“I’m certain Saint Peter has one,” Helena told him. “You could appropriate it.”

Myka said, “Please. You’ve seen him eat. All feast all the time, no sainted day required.”

Claudia said to Steve, “My point is you are one though. Not in the song.”

“I think you’re still under some saxophone influence. Besides, my exes would disagree,” Steve said with a sigh.

“They just didn’t know you like we do,” Claudia assured him.

“To bring it back to what matters,” Pete said, “however they knew him, it wasn’t like how I know Star Wars.”

Leena said, very dry, “I think Star Wars is the grateful party here.”

Everyone except Pete looked at her with matching raised eyebrows.

“I can make a joke, you know,” she said.

Helena found her voice first. “Indeed you can,” she said. “Ahem. Is this trivia contest multiple-choice?”

Claudia said, “To repeat myself, or I mean ourselves: Sorry. It’s fill-in-the-blank.”

Helena nodded. “No possibility of my winning by mathematical chance, then. I joyfully decline to participate.”

“You can sit beside me while I play,” Myka told her.

“You’re playing?” Pete yelped. “You didn’t play last year!”

“I’m in a winning mood. I’d like to keep it going.” Under the table, she felt Helena tighten her grasp, and in response, her heart offered her an extremely cheesy throb of pleasure—no mistletoe required.

Pete waved incredulous hands at her. “Keep what going? I called Wenceslas before you, I just whupped you at Sorry, and what do you even know about Star Wars?”

“I’ve seen the movies. You forced me to.”

“Yeah, but that—”

“So I’m pretty sure I know everything about Star Wars. To repeat myself, because apparently I need to: I like how everyone always forgets I will never forget anything. Do you people even remember your names?”

Steve said, “I did recently go into detail about mine.” It hadn’t been residual saxophone influence, Myka was pretty sure, that had made her agree strongly with Claudia’s sainthood idea. And it was definitely not residual saxophone that made her chuckle at his reminder.

Pete snorted. “Strategic forgetting is how most of us get through life. Particularly, how we handle our relationships. Obviously Myka wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Myka tightened her own grasp on Helena to blunt the impact of her words as she said, “Believe me when I tell you that if I could forget strategically, my strategy would be extensive. But I can’t. So here we are.”

Now Pete frowned. “I think you oughta tap out then. This should be a fair fight about supreme Star Wars knowledge.”

“How is it not fair that Myka can remember more than you can?” Leena asked him.

“Also,” Steve said, in full saintly-peacemaker mode, “she probably doesn’t know behind-the-scenes stuff, so the rest of us have an outside chance.”

“Not me!” Helena chirped, and Myka was reminded—not that she needed to be—of how impossibly charming Helena was when she was cheery. “And yet I can maintain my own winning mood, for I will be able to sit beside Myka and not watch a movie.”

Claudia squinted at Myka, then at Helena. “I don’t get it,” she said.

“Me either,” Pete agreed.

Leena looked at Myka. She looked, specifically, in the direction of Myka’s ears, as if she could see them through the hair that Myka hoped kept them hidden. So much for that: Leena said, “I think Myka does.”

*

The Star-Wars-movie this one of these had, in fact, shown that the argumentative tailspin wasn’t compulsory. Myka and Helena had had the B&B to themselves on a rare free afternoon, and Helena had for some reason announced a determination to watch the first one, which Pete and Claudia had been insisting she put next on her list. Myka had said, “I’d rather read a book than watch a movie.” Particularly Star Wars, she added internally.

“That is because you are accustomed to movies.”

“No, it’s because I’d rather read a book than watch a movie.”

“First, you of all people should understand that one’s preferences are shaped by one’s historical circumstances. But second: any book? Over any movie?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why maintain that that is your overarching position?”

“Why do you always think I’m talking about some inviolable rule I live by?”

“Because as a rule, you do talk about inviolable rules you live by. Which are in turn inviolable rules you believe others should live by.”

“I am not dictatorial like that!”

“You are,” Helena said, very quietly.

That had hit Myka as an open hand to the face. A judgment—and she remembered feeling the obstinance of argument begin to take hold. “I am not,” she said.

“You are,” Helena said again, and Myka had tried to clear a preemptive mental break around whatever territory this new conflagration was poised to burn through: movies, books, history... but then Helena had, uncharacteristically, declined to ignite it. “However. It’s right that you should be.” A twitch of face, and Myka understood, as another open hand, exactly what that twitch meant.

“But it wasn’t right,” she said, knowing it for a terrible, hated fact. “Not for you, it wasn’t. Not for you or about you. Judgment based on stupid inviolable rules. No nuance.”

“I left you no room—well, left no one any room, but in particular you—for nuance. I did what I did, and you had no choice.”

“You did what you did,” Myka agreed. “But there are always choices.”

“They can be impossible to discern.”

“I didn’t make good ones.”

“That is not for me to judge,” said Helena, “speaking of judgment. But I made none that were good. Obviously.”

“Are we making better ones now?” Myka wasn’t really asking, because the answer was obviously yes, but it was also—sometimes, and just as obviously—no. But differently. “Could we?” she tried, hoping for possibility.

Helena took her up on the offer. “Well, let’s see,” she said. She batted her eyelashes at Myka. “Choose to watch the movie with me.”

“I’d rather read my book,” Myka said, which was how the whole thing had started, but now she was smiling.

Helena was too. “All right. Choose to read your book but also sit beside me while I watch the movie, which has been deemed indispensable to my ability to engage appropriately with contemporary society.”

“That’ll make it very unlikely I can concentrate on my book.”

“Because of the movie’s indispensability?”

“Because of sitting beside you.”

In response to that, Myka received a much more sincere blink. “That is in fact indispensable. Choose to sit beside me and not read a book.”

“Only if you choose not to watch a movie.”

“Done,” Helena declared.

No book was read. No movie was watched. Extremely good choices were made. As they drowsed together later, entangled, Myka had said, surprising herself just a little, “I’d rather do this than read a book.”

“That is an inviolable rule I am happy to live by.”

*

Late on Christmas Eve—moments before the clock chimed Christmas—everyone had retired but Myka, Helena, and Leena. Helena, who had begun to yawn, started up the stairs, but Myka said, “I’ll be there in a minute. I want to help Leena with the last of the cleanup.”

After a small hesitation, Helena said, “All right.”

Not until Helena had stepped on the creaky second-to-last stair, thus putting her demonstrably out of earshot, did Leena say, “You don’t have to stay up on my account. I was going to leave the rest for tomorrow anyway. It’s mostly Pete’s mess; he can deal with his own consolation-prize cookie crumbs.” She said it with a smile, but it was an accurate description of the evening’s results: Myka had continued to let herself be distracted—though Steve had also been right about the behind-the-scenes problem—and Claudia had taken the Star Wars crown. After feting her, they’d pulled Pete out of a mope only by means of everyone participating in a ceremonious awarding of consolation cookies and Helena reminding him that Christmas was certainly a feast day.

Myka had been waiting for that stair-creak too. “Actually I wanted your help. With... I guess a different kind of cleanup.” Because Myka harbored some suspicions, and Leena was the one most likely to know whether they were justified. And to be willing to tell her if they were. “Let me ask you: Why’d the Messiah tap Pete on the shoulder?”

Leena shrugged. “You heard the theory. Claudia needed Caretaker practice.”

“I did hear that. So, really, why’d the Messiah tap Pete on the shoulder?”

Now Leena smiled. “Caretaker practice aside—though she did get some—I do think it had a different plan.”

“Okay. I’m probably going to regret not leaving it at Caretaker practice, or even at a get-to-know-Saint-Steve session, but seriously, what was the plan?”

“Well. Let me ask you: what’s an argument? Not mathematically. In the vernacular.”

“Fine, I’ll play. It’s a... vocal exchange of opposing views?”

“Right. Opposing. An insistence on separation—a placing of space. Between those views, between the voices articulating them, and also between the individuals holding them. Sound familiar?”

“I changed my mind about playing,” Myka said.

“Maybe, recently, that sort of placing of space had something to do with singing? Prior to your little tiff that we all witnessed, I mean. Of course I’m just guessing.”

“I doubt that.”

“And on the other hand, what’s Christmas caroling? Particularly with regard to voices articulating things.”

“Okay. I get it. It’s kind of what I suspected.”

Leena’s smile deepened. “One more step. What were the artifacts concerned about?”

Myka wanted to bang her head against a wall. “Their insta-relationship with Christmas.” She sighed. “Being defined by it.”

“Close enough.”

“You said the reason the Messiah does this is different every time.”

“The Messiah and the arguments it makes—they’re useful tools.”

“Tools,” Myka said. “Useful to the building, I take it.”

Leena nodded. “Tools. In your case, I think, useful for trying to show you that you don’t have to insist so hard on separation. You don’t need to worry about being put in any sort of Christmas aisle.”

“Why, seriously, does the building feel like it has to intervene?”

“It’s obviously invested in the two of you.” Leena said, but her expression turned quizzical. “The two of you together? It seems to think...” She searched, searched. “It seems to think your investment in each other changed something. Changed some circumstance for the better? I don’t know why, and I could be wrong.”

“That seems very unlike you.”

“I don’t read minds. I don’t read buildings, either, but I’ve been here a while. I do know that when it’s grateful, it likes to give gifts.”

“That is seasonal and lovely. And when I say ‘lovely,’ I mean disturbing.” Myka paused, because she didn’t know what should come next. “Will you tell Helena all this?” she asked.

“Will she need to hear it?” Leena countered.

Would she? Helena was obviously more tuned in to artifacts, to the Warehouse, than Myka would or could ever be. She’d stood in the building, among all its powerful objects, for nearly a century, with nothing to do but listen. “Probably not,” Myka finally said. “I think she heard more tonight than I did. Than I could have.” Throughout the entire caroling nonsense, Helena had indeed seemed more collected than Myka had felt, except when they’d both lost their singing-related composure so completely. “I doubt she could do what you just did, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Translate it into words I can understand.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, but if it helped, then consider it my gift to you. Nothing to do with Christmas.” Leena glanced at the clock on the living-room mantel. “But also, merry Christmas.”

“You know, my feeling about that—maybe my whole life—has mostly been ‘We’ll see.’ And I’ve been okay with that. But tonight? It’s ‘I hope so.’”

“You’ll get it right,” Leena said.

“Again I’ll go with ‘I hope so.’ You too, by the way. Merry Christmas, I mean; you don’t need me to tell you anything about getting things right.”

“We all try.”

Myka found her vision and her voice unacceptably watery as she said, “I’m constantly surprised by how beautiful that is.”

Leena flung her arms around Myka in a fervent hug, and Myka returned it—wholeheartedly, though her arms were rusty when it came to putting them around anyone but Helena. They’d been rusty, period, until three short months ago.

Three short months. On her way upstairs, Myka took each individual step with attention, partly because it had been an astonishingly long day and the movement required effort, but partly because she could not, most nights and especially not this night, keep from playing a magical-thinking game in which displaying eagerness by hurrying up the stairs would mean that Helena would not be in their bedroom, that their bedroom would not in fact be theirs. That Helena’s presence—the entire improbable unfolding of their lives since the thing—would turn out to have been a mirage.

The second-to-last stair creaked under her deliberate pressure, and she resisted the urge to skip the last one.

Opening the bedroom door, she was rewarded for following the nonexistent rules. Helena sat on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed. Waiting.

Myka’s body responded to that sight; her blood told her, murmuring as it moved, that love was a mystery: her blood moved, and she knew why but didn’t know why... a mystery, a tangle of clues that she would continue to try to unravel, but also a deeper, near-religious mystery. Myka’s own religious education was strictly comparative, but she knew that love was, indeed, a truth known only through revelation.

Helena herself was a mystery too, her revealed truth at once glorious and painful and incomprehensibly sitting on a bed in front of Myka...

“Happy Christmas,” Helena said.

...and saying, “Happy Christmas.” Glorious. Incomprehensible. “Here’s what’s funny,” Myka told Helena. “‘Silent Night’ was always my favorite Christmas carol.”

“My understanding of contemporary humor is on par with my tragically inadequate grasp of contemporary culture.”

“Well, I don’t mean funny.”

“Oh. Then yes. Entirely funny.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Myka asked.

“No.”

But she’d answered way too fast, so Myka tilted her head in a manner she knew Helena found difficult to dismiss. Before Helena, she hadn’t known she could say “please” quite so clearly, in quite so many contexts, without actually uttering the word.

Helena sighed. “I shouldn’t say. You’ll take it as an indication that tonight was my fault.”

“If it’s the Hallelujah chorus, I will tesla you.”

“It’s no longer my favorite, if that helps at all. So my ‘no’ was truthful. Technically.”

“Well,” Myka said. “Technically, tonight was our fault. And Leena’s pretty sure you already know that.”

“Know...” Helena said, as if she would need to work out this unfamiliar word’s derivation and usage in order to make any sort of definitive statement about whether she could possibly “know” anything.

It didn’t seem to leave Myka much space, not at all. “What are we even doing?” she asked.

“Uneven,” Helena said immediately.

“What?”

“Whatever it is we are doing, we are certainly uneven doing it.”

“Okay, that is funny,” Myka said, “or at least accurate. I did tell you I’d tell you later.”

“That makes no sense. What are you telling me?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re right.” She sat down next to Helena, taking care to preserve a distance between them: a significant few inches of bed. A placing of space. As in an argument. “There’s something I’d like you to tell me. If you would.”

“I can’t imagine I wouldn’t,” Helena said. She looked down at that inch, then back up at Myka. “Or perhaps I can imagine.” Myka wasn’t sure how to read that, but then Helena shifted her hips a few millimeters closer to Myka and asked, “What is it?”

The purposeful nature of that movement caused Myka’s ears to heat again, but she pressed on. “What it’s like to hear them. The artifacts. Can you always?”

Helena took a moment before answering. That prize of thought... no, tonight it was a gift. Happy Christmas. “It is like an awareness of presence that is slightly more intrusive than a head cold.” Myka didn’t feel herself make a face of incredulity, but Helena said, “I’m not being dismissive of your question; that is what it is like. For me. As for whether I can always? In the past, more so. Tonight was anomalous in that I was... included. Deliberately, if I’m not mistaken. Obviously the Warehouse and I have had—continue to have—a rather fraught relationship.”

“Leena says it’s grateful. The building. To us.”

“Why?”

Myka was glad to be able to infer, from that startled syllable, that such an idea was new to Helena too. “I don’t know. She says she doesn’t either. Something about changing some circumstance for the better?”

“For the better? I can certainly imagine it being grateful to you. I know that gratitude well.”

“Aren’t we past that?” Myka asked. Please let us be past that. But then again: three short months.

Helena waited, waited, waited. Thinking again, but this time not a gift. She at last said, “And if you change your mind?”

Myka, nonplussed, said an inadequate, “About what?”

“About my being here. It’s because you want me here. What if you change your mind?”

She wouldn’t even sit in a chair without your say-so, Pete had said. Myka hadn’t wanted that power then, and she didn’t want it now; yet she also yearned to be able to tell Helena something like “I couldn’t change my mind.” But that wasn’t true... or she couldn’t guarantee its truth, for if the Warehouse had taught her anything—other than “don’t let Pete out of your sight during inventory”—it was that the future was another of those undiscovered countries. Instead of making an inevitably faulty promise, she said, “That the building has feelings about us suggests that I shouldn’t. That neither of us should. That it wouldn’t take kindly to me, to you, to us, if we did.”

“That is a terrible reason,” Helena said. But she said it with a turn of her head toward Myka that was legible as comically rueful.

Myka turned her head too, more fully toward Helena. “How about we just don’t? How about the reason is, I don’t want to change my mind, and neither do you?”

“I don’t. Want to.”

“Okay. Me neither.” Myka made a millimeters-shift of her own, such that they now seemed separated by only an atmospheric wisp of molecular width. “Leena also says neither of us is being moved to the Christmas aisle.”

They were close enough to feel breath, to know air for the current it was, one on which they were poised to flow toward each other. “Good news,” Helena’s voice propagated through that current.

Myka let herself luxuriate in waiting, reveling in the difference between this waiting and other kinds. “I bet you knew that too.”

“My knowledge is not so vast as you seem to believe,” Helena said. But she put that weird I-don’t-know-this-word emphasis on “knowledge.”

She put it on “believe,” too, as if she had plucked the idea of belief from Myka’s thoughts. As Myka would have expected “her” to do, if “she” were not in fact here. Myka said, “Sometimes you sound like the voice in my head,” though she had intended never to bring up that bit of self-indulgence—her words had been completely involuntary, jumping of their own accord into whatever it was that flowed between them, and Myka was reminded that she had never volunteered for any of this.

Helena moved her head backward, a cartoon-ostrich retraction. “You can’t possibly mean your conscience.”

The movement, and the words, made Myka laugh. “You sound nothing like my conscience. No, I mean your voice. In my head. When you were... gone. You were still here”—and she would have pointed to her head, but it was her heart too, so she ended up just waving feebly in her own general direction—“even when you weren’t here.”

“I should apologize for my continued presence. You didn’t need that or deserve it.”

“Let’s really really not talk about needing or deserving.” Maybe that was where intimacy came from—knowing someone else’s needs and deserts—but talking about it? That would lead to the opposite of intimacy, Myka was sure. Or at the very least, to more separation, not less.

Helena said, “It isn’t as if you weren’t present for me. When I was allowed to be...” A troubled throat-clear. “Conscious? Rare that you weren’t there, of course. Physically. When I was. Wasn’t? But. You were. When you weren’t.”

That stammery rollout left Myka stranded, so she turned to self-deprecation: “I’m sure I’m just as judgy or rule-bound or whatever, even if I’m not physically around.” That got her nothing. She tried, “What did you imagine me saying?”

Helena didn’t really answer. “I admit I never envisioned—enheard?—your solving intractable riddles about hymns and cantatas.” She said that with a lightness, but she switched back to broody with, “How limited my imagination. Particularly with regard to... well, anything. But particularly anything sung.”

Playing to Helena’s vanity was the best way to improve her mood, so Myka said, “Limited? Your imagination?” She waited until Helena smiled, then said, “Maybe about singing. But singing aside, I love your voice, by the way.”

That got her an inhalation, one that she chose to read as positive. Helena said, on the exhale, “Yours is the sound I want to listen to, by the way. Am privileged to listen to.”

“Don’t think about privilege,” Myka told her, to try to forestall any martyr-ish self-abnegation. “You should have what you want.” Speaking of deserving, she didn’t add but could have.

“So should you.” So quiet.

“Okay then,” Myka said. “Notwithstanding the building’s thoughts on the matter, what I don’t actually want is to never fight with you.”

Helena’s shoulders, which had been slumping, snapped to—and not with the irritation that usually accompanied such a movement. “Thanks be,” she said, those shoulders now relaxing rather than dejectedly sagging. “I don’t want to be insipid, and I don’t believe you do either.”

“The insipid aisle isn’t our spiritual home,” Myka agreed. Hoping to move the current again, she said, as a slight provocation, “You still eat apples wrong.”

Helena caught the ball perfectly: “You still stole ‘God Save the Queen.’”

“It’s not like you were using it, though. Given that you can’t sing it.”

“You stole it to no purpose, however. Given that you can’t sing it either.”

I love your voice, by the way. “Maybe I was trying to get you to chase me. To try and get it back.”

The play continued, with Helena saying, “I wish I had. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You were a little preoccupied with staking out your position. Which was separate from mine. And also very far away from the insipid aisle.” Myka smiled. “Plus I was driving. There would’ve been an accident.”

Helena smiled too, but the molecular width between them remained.

Closing it effectively would take something more, so Myka said the most true thing she could find. “Things I didn’t think of: spending Christmas with you.”

“You are as of some moments ago in actual fact doing that.”

“But the idea of it.”

Judging from Helena’s response, that was not quite the right thing to have said. No closing up of space. “You see, however, for me,” Helena said, “the idea of Christmas. At all.”

“I see, but I don’t see. And maybe I need to ask. Are you being religious about it?”

Helena took yet another moment. “I was certainly inappropriately glib about what I was flaunting,” she at last said. “But the Warehouse will beat certain beliefs out of one. Or try to.”

Belief, belief, belief. “And beat new ones in,” Myka agreed, with some gloom.

“True,” Helena said. Her repentant grimace softened. “But sometimes not beliefs so much as realizations. Full ones. Not that I needed the fullness brought home, but even so.”

“Such as?”

“Among other things, that Steve is right.”

“About what? I mean, probably most things. But specifically?”

“About who is most likely to know all the unsaintly details. And in your case will never forget them. Not even strategically.”

“I’m not your ex. I’m never going to be your ex.” That was another involuntary utterance, so she added a painful-yet-voluntary, “Unless that isn’t what you want.”

“I have tried assiduously to stop wanting,” Helena said, “in circumstance after circumstance, for it’s always seemed the better part of valor. To spare everyone involved.” Myka hated that she agreed with that, but it was true that if Helena had stopped wanting much of what she had wanted, many people would have been spared many things, up to and including their lives. Then Helena said, with a small shrug, “And yet my appetites persist. Particularly the animal.”

The casual mention of animal appetites, the calm acceptance of them... Myka had never liked acknowledging those appetites, much less accepting them; she had tried mightily to resist being distracted by them, but her response to Helena made them undeniable.

Part of what had enraged Myka about Helena’s crazed apple-eating was that it made Myka want to knock the apple from her hand and lick her needlessly sticky fingers. She had resented Helena for her ability to reduce Myka so effortlessly to her body, but she was coming to understand—was trying to really, fundamentally grasp—that the right verb was not reduce but rather elevate.

Elevate. “My appetite is for you,” Myka said. So bald, that statement. It was true, but bald and thus risky. These things she didn’t say out loud. Shouldn’t say out loud?

“Don’t doubt that mine is for you as well,” Helena said, very much out loud.

“I don’t doubt that. I really don’t.” A nostalgic phrase leapt to her mind... if such a thing as nostalgia applied after only three short months... “I believed in you and I was right.”

“You do enjoy being right. But what if, even so, I prove you wrong?”

She didn’t need to add, And thus make you change your mind. Obviously they would not stop running up against this—but what mattered was that they were willing to not stop running up against it. They would probably keep running up against the fear of the insipid aisle, too—but what mattered was that they knew it. Could see it... well, and on the evidence of today and tonight, hear it. That had to help. “You really need to listen to me,” Myka said. “You need to hear it: I believe in you, and I am right.”

Hearing herself, she understood that, as it turned out, she was not quite as tired of belief as she had thought. The realization made belief itself no less exhausting... but it did make it a bit more easy to reconcile. “Peace isn’t only for normal people,” she said.

“Have I suggested it is?”

“We’ve both been acting like it is. Assuming it is?”

“We are certainly not normal people.”

“But some peace? I don’t think it’s a synonym for insipidity.”

“‘Insipidity’ is a terrible-sounding word, isn’t it? Whereas ‘peace’... no, you’re right. Some. Solely of the season? We did manage a temporary truce,” Helena said, as if she were having Myka’s exact thought about seeing it—hearing it—and what that might be able to help.

“You knew we needed one.”

“Apparently the Warehouse knew it before I did.” No questioning, now, of that previously baffling concept of knowledge. Myka felt the give-in—felt it in a melt of body beside her.

“The building might not be entirely wrong all the time,” Myka said.

“It will no doubt appreciate your concession.”

“What matters is, will you appreciate it?”

Helena moved her mouth: a teasing Will I? moue. She then said, dropping the tease, “I appreciate everything about you.”

“You do not appreciate my singing voice.”

But that was met with surprisingly sweet, open sincerity on Helena’s face. “I do. Today has taught me that. For it is recognizable as yours.”

Myka’s vision watered again. She said, with difficulty, “Even if I could sing, I couldn’t sing anyway.”

“Why?” Helena asked. Like she really didn’t know.

So Myka told her: “Because when you say things like that, you take my breath away.”

It was her own version of cheesy mistletoe, and the resistant-to-the-insipid-aisle core of her wished a very real wish that Helena would wave it off. Instead, Helena closed the molecular gap that remained between them, closed it with a decisive swing of body to straddle Myka’s legs, closed it further with a lean into Myka’s body that began at the torso and progressed to become a kiss, one into which Myka pushed up, up, and Helena pushed down, down. At last, no distance at all.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Myka asked when Helena lifted her mouth away.

“What?”

“About how many times you can stop my breath. In quick succession.”

“That kiss was not quick. But perhaps I will try to set a record, to mark the holiday.”

“You weren’t kidding about happy Christmas, were you.”

“I was not. Don’t doubt that.”

Don’t doubt. It did seem a more restful thing to do than engage in the affirmative act of belief.

Don’t doubt.

And that, Myka hoped, was what the building had been trying to convey... and it was something for which she did feel gratitude. She had not really expected that, so she said it out loud to Helena, and added, “Speaking of religion, is it sacrilegious to be surprised that the building got something right?”

Helena sat up straighter—just a bit, but “don’t go,” Myka was tempted to say, as molecules of air intruded between their upper bodies. “Well, gratitude,” Helena said, with a wave of her left hand, and “the Warehouse,” with a wave of her right. “It’s difficult to reconcile. And yet without the building, I wouldn’t be here, in this unevenness, with you.” She put her hands on Myka’s shoulders, both at once, with equal force: the gratitude hand, the Warehouse hand.

Myka’s own gratitude hand and Warehouse hand had been resting on Helena’s hips. She flexed her fingers, pressing into flesh, and Helena gave the tiniest arch to her back. Even that little spine-stretch was enough to remind Myka that they had lately spoken of appetites. “So what you’re saying is, it gets almost everything wrong, but I have it to thank for this unprecedented happiness? Sure, I can hold both of those in my head.”

“That sounds very like your feelings for me.”

“Ditto, and don’t bother denying it.”

Helena held very still. “What would you like me to bother to do?” she asked. She was still, but her body was warm against and near Myka’s, even across the torso-distance.

“Wasn’t there something about chasing me?”

“I seem to have caught you already.” Now she moved her hips in a hot push against Myka’s and said, “So unsaintly, these details.” Another hot push. “Perhaps Steve would prefer to be a saint, but I wouldn’t.” She moved yet again, stronger, and Myka was reminded of the animal nature of those unsaintly details. How such details brought them closer together, leaving no distance between their positions. Needs and deserts—saints didn’t have either of those. Or if they did, their sainthood most likely required them to deny the former and endure the latter. Myka wanted to satisfy the former and ignore the latter.

Wanted, wanted, wanted. “I’m not anybody’s version of a saint,” she told Helena. “So I don’t want you to be one either. I’d rather you be a thief.”

“I’d rather you be a thief.”

“What can I really steal from you.” Myka wrapped her arms around the body atop and against her: stealing nothing, holding everything.

“Beyond an anthem?” Helena dipped swift to kiss Myka, in the relaxed, open way she did at the best of times. The way that said I don’t doubt this at all. “My breath; my heart. But you have those already. Have had, you thief.”

“The only reason I have those is that you gave them to me.”

They were gifts. If the Warehouse had needed, and had seized on, Christmas as a way to remind them that argumentative separation had a downside—one that they knew about but needed to know about—Myka had, maybe, needed it to remind her that all of Helena was a gift. From potential world-ending to provocative apple-eating to domestic hand-holding: all of her.

“Which aisle do we belong in?” Myka asked. “Not Christmas, not insipid...”

“Apples?” Helena proposed, sly, and Myka took it as an invitation to put her mouth to Helena’s hand.

“Animal,” she said as she did so.

Helena laughed, even as she arched her back again. “A bit crowded there, I suspect. What about literary manuscripts, genre of your choosing?” she offered in response. “We’d at least have reading material to keep us occupied.”

“Too drafty,” Myka objected. “Besides, isn’t there an inviolable rule about doing this instead?”

“Literary manuscripts about this,” Helena counterproposed.

“Pornography? Seriously? Most of it’s so poorly written.”

“I meant our version of this, which would of course be excellently written, for did you not listen when I mentioned writing a novel with you as its focus? Certainly it would include this... though as I think on it, I may need to engage in more research...”

The night dissolved into beautiful, comical essays of possibility.

“Uneven,” Helena said, much later, after many aisles had been proposed... and many appetites satisfied.

“I doubt that’s an aisle.”

“What did I tell you about doubt? We can annex some other space, then, like Pete with his feast day. We might in fact fly an uneven flag over it.”

Myka sighed. “Unfortunately that means we’ll need an anthem.”

Helena’s smile at that was the most conspiratorial, the most intimate, that she had ever shown Myka. Ever. Prior to and during their three short months, Myka had never seen this smile. “I know just where we can steal one,” Helena said.

*

Myka awoke in the middle of the night—a simple move to consciousness, not from a nightmare, not in response to any troubling sound, not a voice in her head or a noise outside it. In the Christmas silence, she slid a hand across the bed, in the dark, and it met Helena’s breathing body.

In careful concert with that body, she inhaled, exhaled.

END

~

What I would say in a tag essay, if tumblr seemed at all amenable to those anymore, is something about this: the breath in concert is the anthem of any lovers’ country. I should also mention that Myka’s “Well, I don’t mean funny” line is borrowed from the 1940 movie Too Many Husbands (screenplay by Claude Binyon), and it’s spoken by Jean Arthur, on whose work I’ve spent a lot of time... her voice, in particular, matters a great deal to me, and I found that line, and her reading of it, important for reasons I won’t go into here. Given that this piece is about voices, though, I thought I’d deploy the words as a bit of affectionate homage.

[brieannakeogh]

Little Spoon

**REPOST**

I wrote a one shot!! I’m so proud of myself. Every story I start tends to be at least 10 chapters long lol.  Anyway enjoy smut.

Warnings- PWP, maybe a little bit of plot if you squint. Smut, lots of smut. 

Bucky x Reader (nothing to say plus size in particular but nothing to say not as well)

Little Spoon- You enjoy being the big spoon and want Bucky to see how nice it is to be the little spoon. 

Master List

You had been living at the Avengers tower for about six months now, ever since your powers started to show themselves and you were deemed “too dangerous for normal society”. Tony took you in, and now you had a pretty much normal life. There were still missions and training, but there was also takeout parties, tv watching, video game playing, and many other everyday things. It was 1000% times better than living on the street wondering where your next meal would come from.

There were a couple of super soldiers in the tower that you had gotten along with right away, especially Bucky. He was also deemed “too dangerous” and that fascinated you, how he could go from Winter Soldier to happy, simi-well adjusted Bucky in just a few years. Maybe there was hope for you too.

On non-mission days the routine was always the same. Get up, have breakfast, train in the gym, reading mission reports, then free time. Today however you were exhausted. You didn’t sleep well the night before and had decided to skip breakfast in favor of more sleep. The problem came when you didn’t get up to go to the gym either.

“Dammit, why do I always have to go wake her ass up. I’m not a babysitter.” Bucky grumbles to Steve.

“Because she will actually get up for you.” Steve reminds him. This wasn’t the first time this happened. Usually Bucky would just bang on the door and shout at you, before you came running out, listing a string of sorrys as you both go down to the gym. Bucky usually sneaking you a protein bar, to scarf on your way down. He still complained every time.

Bucky of course coincides with Steve and goes back up to the floor your on, walking the familiar halls to bang on your door. “Get the lead out! Come on sleeping beauty, don’t make me come in there and get you!” He banged one more time and stands there puzzled. At this point he should hear scrambling and shouting that it would be just a minute for you to get dressed. He tries again. Nothing. Ok now he’s concerned. Are you sick?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” He asks the hallway.

“Yes Sergeant Barnes.”

“She’s in her room right?”

“Yes she is.”

“Can you open the door for me?”

“That is a violation of her privacy.”

Bucky scrubs a hand down his face. “Just cut me some slack ok? I have to get her butt to the gym and she’s not answering. She could be sick.”

There is a pause in response. “Fine. If anyone asks this was entirely your bad idea Sargent.”

“Thank you!” He tells the AI when he hears the click of the lock. Opening the door he see you are still curled up in bed. A tank with little cotton shorts on. The funniest part is you are hugging a large body pillow. You are on your side, one leg and an arm thrown over it, but you are squeezing it to death. He chuckles at the drool coming from your mouth.

“Doll?” He calls at the side of your bed, your back to him. He reaches out to shake you on the shoulder. You just crawl into the pillow more and now have a death grip on the thing. If you really are sick he doesn’t want to startle you awake, so he goes over the the other side to face you and sits on the edge of the bed. He runs a hand over your sleeping forehead, moving the hair away and feeling for a fever. Not finding anything wrong he frowns, shifting back to irritated that you won’t wake up.

He grabs the body pillow and shakes it. “Wake up, or I’m going to take this thing and rip it to shreds.” That got you to open your eyes.

“Nooooooo…” You whine. “Just let me sleep Buck, I’m so tired.”

“You know you have to train, and if I come back empty handed, Steve will come in here and drag you out of bed.”

You smirk at him. “No he wouldn’t. I just have to tell him I’m dead tired and he will cave. That’s why he always sends you.”

Bucky grumbles knowing it had been an empty threat. “Fine then I can just pick you up and haul your ass down to the gym. How would you like that?”

“You wouldn’t!” A look of horror flashes on your face as you realize what you are wearing. Everything too tight on your soft thighs and tummy to be considered decent.

“You want to try me?” Bucky tugs harder on your body pillow and you cling more to it, letting out a high pitched squeal when he tugs it off the bed with you attached.

“Bucky! Oh my god! Put me down! You really are going to rip it.” He hovers you over the bed so you can let go safely. “You are insane!”

“You are the one that held on. I warned you several times what would happen if you didn’t get up. Besides why are you so clingy to this thing?”

Sitting up in bed with your legs crossed under you, you watch Bucky turn the pillow this way and that waiting on an answer.

“Because...it’s like having another person in bed.” You mumble quietly. Of course you knew that he would be able to hear you. What you didn’t expect was him bursting out laughing.

“Doll, if you had the grip like I saw when I came in, on an actual person, they would be dead in their sleep. You had the thing in a choke hold, strangling it. Look even the top is all limp from the stuffing having been pushed out.” Huffing you reach for your pillow. “Nu-uh. You don’t get it back until you are up and dressed. We gotta go.” He tells you. You get up and head to the closet to change. You can hear the bed squeak when he sits on it waiting for you. “If you wanted to cuddle so bad, why didn’t you say so? I would have been better than a pillow, then you could be the little spoon and I wouldn’t be strangled in my sleep.”

“I like being the big spoon!” You shout at him from the closet, poking your head out to make a face at him.

“What girl likes being the big spoon, you weirdo?”

“I have more range of movement, if I get too hot I can roll over at any time, and wide backs are made for cuddling. Most guys enjoy being the little spoon they just don’t want to admit it. I hadn’t heard a complaint yet.”

“They don’t complain because they want to fuck you again.” He chuckles.

You come out fully dressed in your work out gear. “Don’t be rude Bucky.”

“Hey, I’m just stating facts.” He holds his hands up in surrender, still having your pillow in one of them. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You hold out your palm and he hands you the pillow. “Bucky!” You whine. “Didn’t you bring me anything to eat?” Wiggling your eyebrows.

“You’re a spoiled little brat, anyone ever told you that?” He says as he hands you a bar, which you tear into immediately.

“Yeash.” You say chewing around the big bite. “You, pretty much everyday. Every time you spoil me. You would think you would learn your lesson.” You tell him after you swallow. The two of you start walking down the hall to the elevators.

He just shakes his head.

Training is tiring and after you go up to your room for a shower, you’ve got a bit of a break before lunch and decide to take a nap. You’ve changed into some athletic lounge wear, leggings and a cute top, forgoing a bra. Cuddling up with your body pillow, you fall right to sleep.

‘What is taking her so long?’ Bucky thinks as he is waiting for you in the kitchen. You were just going to go shower and then come back for lunch right? He had fixed you a sandwich while he fixed his own, but now he was starting to get annoyed. Leaving the lunch in the kitchen he goes back to your room. He knocks but no answer. He tries the door handle and apparently you had left it unlocked. The tower is safe, and no one here would do anything but you still shouldn’t leave the door unlocked while you shower! What were you thinking?

He steps in and sees you asleep, again. Same position as last time, squeezing the life out of the top of the pillow. “What are you doing? I made us lunch, get up!” He tells you, but your only response is to shift a little and produce a whine in the back of your throat, not even waking up.

Bucky decides he’s had enough and throws back the covers. If the shorts from this morning were bad, the leggings were worse. He always loved them on you and now seeing your leg wrapped around the pillow, making your ass look amazing, he just stopped and stared. You had told him this morning you liked being the big spoon so he was imagining that leg wrapped around him, and the arm thrown over his back and chest. Maybe instead of his back you would cling to, he could face you, burying his face in your tits and gripping that thigh that was over him.

He shakes his head trying to rid himself of the dirty thoughts before his simi turns into a full blown hard on. The two of you were just friends, nothing more. You were a spoiled little princess, and he always ended up feeding that bad behavior by doting on you, mostly because he knew the living conditions Tony pulled you from. He thought you deserved to be spoiled from time to time, but he didn’t know you would go full on brat on him. Give you an inch and you take a mile.

“You can’t sleep through lunch if you slept through breakfast.” He tugs on the pillow since that is what got you up this morning.

“Bucky, why can’t you let me sleep?! I was up most of the night with nightmares last night and didn’t fall asleep until 4 this morning.” You whine again at him and he stops pulling.

“Why didn’t you say something before now? I told you to wake me up if you have another nightmare.” He sits on the edge of the bed.

You hadn’t meant to tell him the reason for lack of sleep. When you got to the tower you had nightmares most nights. Sleep wasn’t easy to come by. Gradually they slowed down until it was a rare occurrence, but lately they were coming back. You would always talk to Bucky about your dreams, but he seemed so happy when you started to get better and could sleep through the night, you didn’t want to tell him they were coming back.

You huff, burying your face in the pillow before you relent and sit up facing him. “They’ve been back for about 2 weeks now. Almost every night. Usually I can get back to sleep but I couldn’t last night.” Hanging your head down, not wanting to look at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed that I relapsed. You did so much to make me feel better when I first got here that I didn’t want you to think all you’ve done is in vain.”

“Doll, we all have bad weeks. I am so far from the person I was when I got here but I still have relapses sometimes. Do you know what gets me through them?” You shake your head. “I talk to my friends. You can’t bottle it up, it’s not good for you. Now if I can only get that through Steve’s thick skull. You’re already a brat, I don’t need another Steve on my hands too.”

You giggle at him as he puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you to him. “Thanks Bucky, I’ll try to remember that.” He nods at you.

“You want to go back to sleep or eat lunch?” He asks.

“Think you can get me out of mission report summaries?” Looking up at him with wide pleading eyes.

“Fine but you owe me.” He sighs out as you hug him tightly.

“Ok lunch first and then nap. You said you had already fixed it?” You look around for the food.

“So you weren’t asleep yet when I came in? Also I didn’t bring it in here, you have to go out and eat at the table like a normal person.”

“Uggg but it’s so far!”

“Tough!” He tells you as he helps you off the bed.

You ate lunch with the other members and Bucky makes up an excuse for you to Steve to get you out of mission report reading. Steve seems to know what’s up by the disapproving dad face, but doesn’t argue.

“Thanks Buck!” You tell him, linking your arm through his as you walk down the hall to your room.

“Is there a particular thing you are thanking me for? Because I’ve done a lot today.”

“Ha. Ha.” You deadpan. “But seriously, thanks for everything.” You got somber and quiet.

“No problem Doll.” He pats your arm as you are in front of the door. “Have a good nap.”

“Hey Bucky?” You don’t let go of his arm when he tries to pull away. His eyebrows lift in a questioning glance. “Umm, did you mean what you said this morning?”

“What did I say?” His brows furrowed, thinking on what you talked about earlier.

“That you would make a better cuddle buddy then my pillow. It helps some, but if I have a nightmare or something…” You trail off.

“Of course, but only if I can be the big spoon.” He smirks.

“Nope, I told you I’m the big spoon.”

“I don’t think that would work out well.” He chuckles, but thinks back on what he imagined this morning, his face getting a little warm.

“Come on, I’ll prove it to you.” You drag him into your room and throw back the covers. “Strip to what you normally wear and get in.” He’s standing there in jeans and a tee shirt, but doesn’t move.

“Doll I don’t think you’ll want me to do that. I’ve got some sleep pants in my room I can go get.” He points a thumb behind him to the door.

“Why? What do you sleep naked?” You ask rolling your eyes. Then giving him a harder look when he doesn’t deny it. He shrugs his shoulders.

“Fine, boxers and tee shirt then?” Again no reply. “What the fuck do you go commando everywhere?!”

“Not on missions, usually. Underwear is just so restrictive.”

“So those loose gray sweatpants you love to wear around here, ya got nothing underneath?!” Another shrug. “Bucky! I’ve sat in your lap before when you wore those!”

“Yes and thank you very much for that.” He smirks as you hit him on the shoulder.

“Just go grab some underwear or whatever and come back. I’m determined to show you that guys can be the little spoon too.”

“Fine, fine.” He leaves and comes back a little later in a white tee with the same gray sweatpants that you were talking about. He closes the door and locks it. “You really should keep the door locked when you’re sleeping.” He scolds.

You sigh irritably and point to the bed where he gets in, and you follow behind.

“Ok, how do you normally sleep?” You ask him.

“I don’t know, it changes.”

“Pretend I’m not here and get comfortable.” He rolls over on his side facing you. “Not like that!”

“You said to get comfortable.” He grins at you.

“If you like to be on your side roll over.” He does facing the other way from you. The two of you were pretty close and cuddly anyway. Always laying on each other on the couch or you would sit in his lap a lot, and his head would rest in yours, but this seemed different as you scoot up to his back, pressing your chest against it. Your leg going over his hip and arm draping his chest. Your head was a couple of inches above his sharing the same pillow as you buried your face in his hair. “Mmmm see isn’t this nice?” Pressing closer to him so there isn’t an inch of space between you.

“It’s weird. I still have the urge to roll over and face you.”

“Ok, that’s fine. I can be the big spoon there too, it’s just a little more embarrassing that way.” You clear your throat a bit and lift your leg and arm up a couple of inches for him to roll over.

“What’s embarrassing?” He asks before he gets all the way in position. His face right at boob level. “Well it’s definitely more intimate.” He stutters.

You laugh and place a kiss on his forehead as you scoot down just a bit so his face is more at neck level. “This better?”

“I wasn’t complaining.” He grumbled.

You hook your leg over his a bit more and drape his arm over you side with your arm on top. The arm that is under your body you lift up to slide under the pillow and his neck, cradling his head, pressing his face to your neck, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m not sure I trust this position. I’ve seen that pillow, I know what your arm does when you are asleep.” He mumbles into your neck. His breath making a shiver run down your spine.

“Hush. You’re not a soft as a pillow you know.”

He hums and relaxes a bit more into you, placing a soft kiss to your neck. His fingers running down your spine. “This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Told ya.”

From this position he can hear your heart pounding faster with each touch he makes. “Are ok Doll? It sounds as if you’re going to have a heart attack.” He chuckles and kisses your neck again, hearing it speed up even more.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” Your breath coming out heavier. You didn’t want him to stop, but knew if he didn’t it could potentially change your friendship forever. While you’ve had a crush on him since pretty much day one, you also didn’t want to lose the person you were closest with in the tower.

He grabs you by the thigh that is hooked over his, pressing closer at the hips, kissing up your neck and under your jaw. “Just tell me to stop doll and I’ll do it.” He lifts his own leg to press his thigh at the apex of yours, rubbing it against you. You whimper and he lifts his head to growl and nip at your ear. Your hands still in his hair, tugging and fisting in it.

“Fuck…” His hand find its way under your shirt, splaying his fingers over your back to press you closer to him, thigh still rocking into your core. “Darlin’ I’ve wanted this for a long time, but if you don’t just...oh fuck…” You give a particularly harsh tug to his hair and press his face closer to your neck. He takes this as a hint to shut up about stopping and sucks a dark mark onto your neck as you moan above him.

You are desperate to feel his skin, but don’t want to pull away and untangle yourself from him. Taking your free hand, you push his shirt up, rubbing down his side and over his back as he keeps planting kisses and marks on your neck and shoulder. He hisses when your nails scrape down the edges of his abs. At this point you both are dry humping the other. You press yourself more into his thigh and can feel how hot, heavy and hard he’s become under his sweatpants.

The more you whimper the harder he presses his thigh into you. You need more of his skin so on the next pass down his side you keep going pushing his sweatpants down a few inches on his hips. He doesn’t remove his thigh from between yours so you can’t go far down, just enough to slip his cock out of his pants. You back away just a bit so you can work a hand between you, covering the velvety feeling shaft with your hand. Every time he rocks into you with his thigh he presses himself into your palm, both of you are panting, ragged gasps of air.

He’s marking a nice little spot behind your ear, when he pulls back. Lips leaving skin and his hand leaving your back. It finds itself on the nape of your neck twisting your head so he can push his lips to yours. The first real kiss and you moan into it. It’s everything you thought it would be and more. You ravage each other’s mouths until you have to pull back. He rests his forehead to you, lips barely touching, breathing each other in. Locking eyes with you, seeing your blissed out expression he asks, “You gonna cum for me baby doll?”

You bite your lip. “Mmmm...Buck...more…” He nods and kisses you again. He slips his hand down pulling on your leggings and panties, pushing them all the way off along with his sweats. Quickly he slots his thigh between yours, rocking harshly. You cry out from the direct contact, clinging on to him as best you can.

“Oh fuck, fuck….Bucky!” He presses harshly to you once more and he can feel the excess wetness as you cum. Rolling over he slots himself between your legs, arms propped hovering above you. You can feel his hot cock running through your slick as he give little minute thrusts.

With a last searing kiss, he pulls back. Pulling off his shirt, and pushing yours up as well to feel as much skin on skin as possible. “Ready for more?” He asks, a teasing tone in his voice. Nodding is the only response you can form as he, lifts your legs by the back of the knees and places one over his shoulder and the other around his hip. Easing into you, he can feel you tighten around him. Your walls already fluttering from the last orgasm.

You’re in agony at how slow he is going. You want to shout at him that you aren’t something made of glass that can break, but with his strength that could be true, not that you could find the words at this moment. The only words that leave you are “Please” and his name over and over.

The last few inches he thrust suddenly, fully enveloped in your warmth. He grins at your squeak of surprise and the way you tighten on his cock. Starting slow, he soon finds a rough pace. Snapping his hips, the sound of skin slapping skin can be heard loudly through the room.

He bends down to take a nipple in his mouth as he continues thrusting. He can tell you are close, the way your faces scrunches each time he thrust hard and how your eyes are screwed up tight. “Doll.” Voice like gravel, deep and tone full of command. “Look at me. I want to see you when you come.” His thumb moves to your clit when you lock eyes with him. Barely any blue left in them, pupils dilated, little more than a thin blue ring around the black.

You try your best to do as he says but it gets harder and harder the closer you get. All at once on a particularly hard thrust and flick of your clit, your orgasm slams into you. White creeping into the edges of your vision and it is impossible to keep your eyes on him as you scream his name. It doesn’t take him much longer to finish himself, your name like a prayer on his lips as he comes down from his high.

He doesn’t pull out as he rolls you to a similar position that you started in bed. Facing each other, your leg over his hip and his face in your chest. Both panting, regaining your senses.

“I guess you liked being the little spoon huh?” You tease him.

Bucky laughs, both gasping at the sensation it caused with him still inside you. “Yeah, you convinced me. Little spoon is good too.” He sighs contentedly. “We should get up and get cleaned up.” He mumbles into your neck.

Your arms and legs tighten around him. “Five more minutes.”

“Fine my spoiled princess. Five more minutes.”

You both were asleep in three.

**NO TAGS REPOSTED**

[akria23]

I’m watching One Spring Night and I cannot be the only one stuck constantly comparing it to Pretty Noona Buys Me Food/ Something In The Rain....

It’s obviously made by the same people and have a lot of the same actors - the last part is where I think they messed up. With the familiar imagery and writing style already there the actors on top of it def just pushes the memories of Something in Rain back to me. This would be fine...if I felt that One Spring Night lived up to his predecessor. I understand why they brought the actors back def Jung Hae In who is so golden for dramas like these but it’s deluded the separation process. My issues with One Spring Night stems from very specific placements:

* Chemistry

* Relationship building

* Empathy

Jung Hae In chemistry with Son Ye Jin from SITR was preferable for me. The want, the yearning was tangible. The newness the transition from friendship to relationship was awkward and raw but that’s what made it feel real. Both Hae In & Ye Jin are great facial actors and somehow have this ability to transition their facial work into an aura of emotion around the character they’re playing.

I think a part of the chemistry issue is the relationship building - when it came to Joon Hee & Jin Ah In SITR we went through a real transit of emotional sand relationship status. The newness of their relationship, the old was of their relationship (friendship) the elation/happiness/cloud nine aspect so when it came to the struggle and pain I understood why they put their feet in the dirt and fought back, they they couldn’t let go, why they worried about their circumstances. When it comes to OSN they don’t get that in the start. Instead of a lot of struggle to even just be around each other and because they realfuse to be ‘bad’ people and engage in cheating we as viewers are stuck watching them engage in this battle of I just wanna see you but I can’t without any good romantic moments to beef up that desire. In fact they’ve been stuck on this ride so long I’ve forgotten why they even decided they liked one another and why they’ve decided it’s too hard to let go of someone who lose basically a stranger. They’ve put themselves on selves that as a viewer I find myself annoyed with because they don’t in fact have to be there and this is where my lack of empathy comes in.

With SITR I could understand the the desire of hiding and down playing their relationship and not wanting to face the demon in front of them (her family and society as a whole) and while I also understand the wall and the hard place the leads in OSN have places themselves I also find their situation one they could easily walk out of. Jeong In claims she doesn’t want to be a cheater but then refuses to put her foot down and really end things with her boyfriend. Will he throw a tantrum, cause a scene, and be a a-hole? YES! But so what? You can’t stand him he don’t actually love you and yet she seems willing to stay in this baseless relationship until he’s done with her. And at this point the reason it seems like she’s wants her cake and to eat it to is because the man she really wants has cirmstances that’s not deemed acceptable by society measures - even while claiming she’s not bothered by those same circumstances.

I just find myself unable to sympathize with her situation when she welds all the power. She does not care about her boyfriend so her struggle to drag this situation out makes it worse because it won’t matter if she cheats physically by the time he finds out...I guess the the biggest issue I’m having here is that while it’s reminding me of SITR - I could understand the hardship of the lead where I find that lacking in OSN because one was stuck between two people she loved while the other is stuck between the known and the unknown. And I don’t get why she’s struggling so hard to maintain a known she hates - even as I understand the general message the writer is trying to get across as a viewer I feel like I’ve been stuck on this part of the ride so long I’m unsure I want to even make it to the next part....

[fataldestiny]

Blurred Lines

For someone who craves for 12 hours of sleep a day, here I am, awake at 4 bloody am and feeling troubled. Troubled by how grey areas could possibly jeopardize my aspirations to stay in this line of work for the rest of my career.

I think the first thing you’ll have to understand is this. My school generally caters to students in the range of moderate to severe autism. This means the likelihood that any random student you pick out would have some form of very challenging behavior, is pretty much 80%. It’s basically 100% in my case, given how there are very few guys in my school, and we are handed the most aggressive students. And when I say aggression, I’m talking bites punches kicks headbutts dig scratches etc etc. 

It therefore wouldn’t be difficult to mistake the classes I generally get assigned to, as MMA training facilities, only that I’m the punching bag and the students are on the other end. I have been knocked out by being kicked in the head, been kicked in the groin, been stunned by backward headbutts, and bitten so hard that I have open wounds in the most awkward of places. No, this is most definitely not for the faint of heart. But here I still am, because the heart I have for the students outweigh just about anything.

Recently, us teachers have been cast under some scrutiny because of some events that transpired. Our principal on one hand reminds us to always keep our students within sight and within reach, and on the other attempts to assure us that the welfare of the teachers matter to her as well. Herein lies the issue, because there are occasions where the 2 are mutually exclusive. You can’t stay within reach of the students when they are escalated to a point beyond control, and expect to be safe from any bodily harm to yourself. Likewise, you can stay within reach of the students, but put yourself at a disadvantage, simply due to the exact behaviors that the students exhibit. The latter would refer to the most recent example of why we are put under scrutiny. And to be honest I do not think it fair to discount a student behavior that, were it to happen anywhere else in society, could result in prosecution and severe follow-up consequences. In short, WE.CANT.WIN. There can be no such thing as teacher welfare/well-being in such situations.

I got reminded of this issue again, because of what happened in school yesterday. My most notorious student had a meltdown in the vicinity of a handful of parents, and he started hitting and kicking me repeatedly. Usually, I do employ a range of MAPA (Management of Actual or Potential Aggression) actions to defend myself, parry the attacks, and hopefully get him to de-escalate asap. My fellow teachers and superiors would be familiar with my intentions, but what if parents interpreted my actions differently? Would I be reported, investigated, and eventually be dismissed? What can I really do, that would be deemed acceptable to the discerning eyes monitoring me at that very moment? I was so tormented, and so confused, that I relented to the easier way out. I.let.him.hit.me. I didn’t even attempt lay a finger on him, I just kept trying to dodge and present as small a surface area as I could towards him, as I absorbed each and every blow that connected.

This time round, I was fortunate that my words got through to him eventually, and he actually stopped his flurry to listen. But what about the next time? the occasion after? There’s really no knowing, and I’m almost certain that I’ll still have no answer as to what is considered appropriate and what’s not in the eyes of the public. 

Where do we go from here? I can’t say I know. What I do know, is that this problem isn’t going away anytime soon, and we will just have to plough our way through for now. Trouble.

[bts-jimin16]

BTS - Maknae Line Reaction to walking in on their S/O doing exercises to loose weight

Jimin

“97,....98,......99,...........100″ you groaned out the last few numbers before your sore limp body collapsed to the very much welcoming floor. You breathed heavy, aches and pains ran through your body as you tried to steady your breath. Push-ups were the worst, the one exercise you absolutely hated, but you thought to yourself that you had to do it. You were determined to loose weight and you weren’t going to let a ‘few’ push-ups stop you from reaching your goal. Releasing one final deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for a round of sit-ups, you were interrupted by a very exhausted Jimin collapsing on the bed. He didn’t acknowledge your presence as you stayed there wide eyed, scared to move a muscle, not only from the excruciating pain that you were sure you would feel but afraid to make a sound and attract your boyfriend’s attention. You weren’t sure how he would react to your decision to loose weight. You had told him once that you weren’t happy with your body when you were in a very depressed state. You hadn’t intend on telling him, it just slipped out when you were in a very vulnerable mindset. But he disagreed with you, he comforted you and told you how much he loved your body and although you were more than grateful for him being so sweet and caring, you still felt quite insecure. 

The sound of Jimin calling out your name snapped you out of your consuming thoughts making you look in his direction. You hadn’t realize when he had sat up and was now sitting on the edge of the bed facing you, that was still on the floor.

“What are you doing down there babe?” he lazily asked, clearly still recovering from a very tiring day.

“Uhhhh I was -- I was just....?” you stumbled across your words trying not to give away what you were doing but you were failing pretty badly.

“Are you exercising y/n?” he finally realized what you were doing. His eyes narrowed in on your guilty face waiting for an answer. He sat up straighter and gave you a pointed look clearly becoming impatient with your tardiness to answer his question.

“I was just doing a few push-ups that’s all” you partially lied trying to save the situation from going south.

But just to your luck, it didn’t, he had picked up on your heavy breathing and tired and pained state as you tried not to move. 

“It more than just a few push-ups y/n, you look like you’re about to pass out!” He exclaimed as he came down to sit on the floor next to your sore body. He placed a gentle hand on your back trying not to cause you anymore pain and tried to help you to move. With very slow movements, he was able to help you move from the floor to the comforts of the bed. A contented sigh left your lips as the softness of the mattress relaxed your tensed muscles and the coolness of the sheets cooled your heated skin. Feeling extremely sleepy now laying on your soft bed, you felt next to you sinking in signaling Jimin had joined you. Your eyes were shut, you didn’t want to see his disappointed face that you sure would greet you if you looked at him. He sighed as he placed a comforting hand to the side of your face, then carefully moving your body so you were laying on him. He started to slowly massage your still tensed muscles and you couldn’t deny that the action felt like heaven right now. Smiling. still keeping your eyes shut, you just laid there enjoying his touch feeling sleepier and sleepier by the second.

“Y/n,....I know I told you this before, and I’m going to tell you this again. There is no need for you to loose weight. You’re the perfect size, you need to stop comparing yourself to others thinking that they have the ideal bodies and that you should look like that too. Babe, no one has the ideal body, it’s all just preference and how society makes it seem. Your body is perfect to me and I’ll love you no matter what, so please, don’t push yourself to look like what society deems fit when all you really need to be is yourself.”

Taehyung

You knew exactly how your boyfriend felt about the idea of you being unhappy with your body, he hated it. He always made sure to remind you every chance he got that you were perfect in his eyes and you should see yourself the same, and you tried, you really did, but all you saw was someone that could be a whole lot better. Your insecurities about your body was something you struggled with for a long time and you were sick of feeling like you weren’t up to the standard that’s seen as ‘beautiful’ or ‘the perfect body’. You always wore a smile whenever around your boyfriend, even though you were unhappy inside you didn’t want to worry him with your personal problems, knowing fully well how he would feel about it. 

So going behind your boyfriend’s back, you went to the gym everyday and spent hours upon hours exercising without break in between. Since he was mostly busy this time around you had a lot of free time away from him and this is exactly what you did. 

You were in your apartment getting your things together ready to leave for the gym when you heard someone downstairs. Immediately knowing it was your boyfriend Tae because he had the only other key you started to panic. You were dressed in your gym clothes with a huge gym bag over your shoulder. Maybe you could hide the bag but there was no way you could change out of your clothes so fast. His footsteps sounded throughout the house as he made his way up the stairs in the direction of your bedroom. Your heart rate increased as you moved swiftly to hide your gym bag under the bed but as much as you pushed, it wouldn’t go under all the way. Standing to your feet breathless, your shoulders slumped looking at the very obvious gym bag sticking out from under your bed. Before you had the chance to find a better hiding place Taehyung was already at your bedroom door.

“Hey babe, what are yo..”He started but when his eyes found your tense state a curious look grew on his face. 

Squinting his eyes at you, he then scanned the room trying to find the cause of your guilty expression, like a deer caught in headlights. His search came to a stop when he spotted the huge gym bag sticking out from under your bed. A confused look found it’s way to his features as he turned back to you, only to finally realise you were wearing gym clothes as well. 

“Where’re you going y/n?” he asked although he knew exactly what you were up to.

“Just out you know, no where special” you nervously chuckled completely failing at trying to sound convincing. He sighed and lowered his gaze making you feel a lot more guilty then you already were.

 “I know you’ve been going to the gym babe, some of my friends that go there told me and how much you push yourself.” he said with a sense of firmness in his voice making you almost want to run and hide but you knew he was doing this for the better.

“There is nothing wrong in exercising and trying to stay healthy but not to the extent where it’s just continuous without multiple breaks.” at that you lowered your head knowing fully well that you were pushing yourself over your limit. 

“It would be one thing if you were exercising just to maintain a healthy state but your not, I know you’re trying to loose weight babe and although I disagree with your intentions because I see nothing wrong with your body the way it is now, you can’t continue on like this because it’s not healthy.”

You were a little taken back by his words and it stroke a part of you, the part that wanted to loose wait so badly. ‘Why am I doing this to myself?’ you internally asked yourself. What you were doing was unhealthy and it didn’t make you physically feel good. Maybe you didn’t have the best body out there or the skinniest but you guess you could learn to accept the way you are. It wouldn’t be something you could accept over night but you knew you could grow to love yourself, especially if you had someone as supporting and loving as your boyfriend Tae to help you. 

“Okay” was all you could muster to say before you found yourself cradled in his arms. You hugged him back tightly smiling in content as he placed a loving kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you just the way you are babe, you don’t have to change a thing”

Jungkook

Setting out your mat on the floor getting ready to start your daily workout session to achieve your goal of loosing weight, you dreaded the moment you had to start. As much as you hated it you thought to yourself that you had to. Your boyfriend Jungkook was oblivious to what you were up to when he wasn’t around; not sure how he would react you decided to keep it to yourself. Laying flat on the mat, enjoying every moment you had before you started, you finally took a deep breath before doing the first pull-up grunting with the action.

It was late afternoon and you had a few hours until Jungkook came by after his practice is over to spend time with you like he usually would. Assuming that this was like any other day, you weren’t expecting him to get off practice earlier than usual. Being startled by the front door being opened and the very audible sound of someone removing their shoes, you stayed frozen on the floor nearly out of breath. If you weren’t so exhausted and sore you would of gotten up and tried to make the situation seem different but that was not the case. You were almost on the verge of passing out and couldn’t move a muscle.You looked up at your boyfriend standing above your fatigued form looking down at you looking worried but you stayed there not daring to move. Without hesitation he bent down to your level ready to help you in your helpless state. He helped you to sit up being extremely careless still unaware of why you were like this.

“Are you okay y/n?? You look like you were about to pass out.” he inquired pulling you closer into his soothing touch.

“Yeah I’m fine,..... just exercising” you said hesitantly trying to steady your breathing. You quickly calmed down due to Jungkook’s gentle rubs on your back.

“Why were you exercising y/n?” he looked at you with knitted eyebrows helping you from the floor to the couch being completely gentle. He was so sweet and you had no idea how you got to this lucky to have him.

“I’m trying to loose weight” you confessed seeing no reason not to tell him now. You watched his face not sure what to expect but to your surprise he was understanding.

“Oh” he started “If you want to loose weight then I’ll be glad to help you babe, although I don’t see why you need to but if it’s what you want then I’ll support you.” his bunny smile and supportive words made your uncertainty and guilt melt as you returned his smile.

[bookmarathon]

2. the handmaid’s tale

“There is more than one kind of freedom. Freedom to and freedom from.”

rating: 8.8/10 veils

quick summary: In the near/far future, extremist Christians have taken over and forced women into subjugation. They can be Wives, Econowives, Handmaids, Marthas, or worst of all, Unwomen, but in any case they are intended to be silent and exist for men. Our protagonist, who’s been named Offred (because her Commander’s name is Fred), is a Handmaid, which means her job is to get pregnant by whoever her the Commander of her house is. She remembers a past before she was brought from house to house as a Handmaid, and even before she was indoctrinated at the Center - she remembers a husband, a daughter, and her best friend Moira. Offred has a complicated life with the other men and women in her house. She wants to rebel, but isn’t sure who to trust or if she quite has the nerve for it. 

highs: 

relevant & important themes about women and freedom

The reason I wrote near/far future in the quick summary was because it really does feel like it could be either. I can’t believe that Atwood wrote this book in 1984 and it still feels so modern, which is a testament to her writing but also to deep flaws in our society, sigh (whaddya know, there are still a lot of people who think women should just focus on having kids and be generally more quiet and demand less equality). The idea about freedom in the quote above is an interesting one that readers are asked to consider: that the more free will people are allowed to have, the less free they are of certain dangers. It’s also a chilling look at how fear can be used to manipulate people, to change the way they think and act. An extremist knows how to take a reasonable fear, like disease and contamination leading to less chances of pregnancy/successful births, and somehow make people believe that an unreasonable solution, like making women’s sole purpose to conceive and not allowing them to be distracted by other things like jobs and reading, is the only justifiable course of action. When a person lives a passive life, when they are defined by another person (in this case, men), it’s hard for them to have much power. What will people do to feel like they have power? 

a thoughtful, sensitive, complex main character

The way Offred thinks is captivating. I love her habit of thinking in chains of random facts that she notes have no relation to each other. Her contemplations on whether she is in or out or even through time are also very memorable. The subjects that swim in and out of her thoughts constantly and the words she uses to think about them make her pain tangible. Additionally, I like that Offred wasn’t perfect. For example, the husband she reminisced on was the result of an affair. She also later (spoiler!) loses sight of her desire to escape when she starts to get attached to Nick. She’s not quite as bold or brave as her friend Moira, but she’s smart and endearing. She looks at situations and tries to think beyond her own perspective. She’s honest about her own emotions and doesn’t try to repress them even when they’re not quite so honorable. These kinds of main characters feel more real and more believable to me than selfless-hero types. 

no one antagonist, imo

This kind of reminds of how after the Holocaust, people at every level of the Nazi Party said that they were just following orders, and it was kind of confusing as to how many levels down we thought they were appeased of guilt. It’s hard to pinpoint one specific antagonist here. Serena, or the Wives? Well, we can see why they’re bitter about being deemed useless as women. The Commander? For the most part he keeps to himself; when he interacts with the women it’s pretty much always dictated by laws intended to raise the population. He also tries to break the rules a little bit. Aunt Lydia, or another Aunt? Even though they’re enforcing and teaching terrible rules, there’s also just a level of pity for a woman who so frequently degrades women for a living. Even sadder if she truly believes it. All the other possible people at fault, the mysterious guards or Angels or higher-ups or whoever, aren’t really given a face or role in The Handmaid’s Tale. They feel far away. It seems like the people around Offred, whether they’re supporting her or conspiring against her, are just acting the way they are because that’s the only way they can bear to live. They need to convince themselves that they’re in control, that they have some power in this life, by pretending they are superior, or that they’re acting from a moral place, or removing themselves from seeing any consequences of their actions. There’s at least one point for every character in the novel I didn’t like when it seemed like they recognized what they were doing wasn’t right, but just tried to cope with the position they’d been given. There are so many different roles needed to maintain the current system of oppression, and I can’t pin the blame on just one person, so it sort of becomes like...everyone’s responsibility? Even Offred, a little bit, for letting herself become passive and accustomed to this way of life. But can we blame her, or any of them, for what they do? Who deserves more blame? I don’t think I can answer, and I like that, because it presents a more complex view of how such a terrible government could rise and retain power. 

an ending that gives hope but not a definitive outcome

This is actually really embarrassing- I didn’t actually realize there was an epilogue to this book at first, so at first I actually docked a full point for the way it ended because I thought there was no resolution at all. I felt like the book would have been better if the van had either been to truly take her away and kill her, or if it had been part of the resistance. Like, I didn’t think it needed to go further than that, but I feel like the audience deserved to know that much - one choice would have sent a message maybe about the futility of resisting and importance of being careful, the other choice a message of hope for the future and peoples’s tendency to fight injustice. But when I found the epilogue that all changed! The epilogue is narrated by a keynote speaker at a convention about Gilead, past-tense. So this actually makes it okay that we don’t get to see what happens to Offred. That whether she did or didn’t get to be part of the resistance isn’t as important, because we know that somehow, some people did, because Gilead no longer exists. And her story is just one of many. I’m really satisfied with that ending. I don’t need books to tell me exactly what happens, but I like a sliver of resolution and I’m satisfied with this hope that people were able to break out of Gilead and make it something archaic, something to be studied. 

lows:

slightly little confusing worldbuilding

I see the value of slowly acclimating a reader to a new world, but I wish The Handmaid’s Tale had been a little quicker. Perhaps a solid chunk explaining the Marthas, Econowives, Salvaging, etc.? I didn’t find myself fully confident that I’d grasped some of those concepts until near the late middle of the book. At that point it wasn’t fun to try and piece together clues in my mind anymore, it was just frustrating because I had vague ideas but I couldn’t be 100% certain they were right. I get that Offred wouldn’t have been like the narrator of the epilogue, someone who studied Gilead and could explain the society in a scholarly way, but I feel that it wouldn’t have been hard for Atwood to make it a little easier for us without taking away from Offred’s narrative. 

tl;dr: This was a thought-provoking read. The power for me was more in the themes and ideas rather than any specific writing style. It was a little confusing at some points, but the message is strong and timely enough that it comes through even when you don’t understand all the details.