#it was agonizing to try and process my feelings when our parents had spoken and everyone was so excited

[sawruhh]

Boy do I have updates

[flipping-voltron-imagines]

“Oh no, he’s hot” Part III

A/N: This is it! The final part! I hope you like it! 

Request: Yay, thank you!! So basically, I was wondering how Pidge would react to realizing that their close friend is having an “oh no he’s hot” moment when they meet Matt for the 1st time, which escalates to an ‘oh /no/ he’s hot and smART AND FUNNY AND /NICE OH NO/“ moment after talking to him. (friend isn’t experienced with crushes, and does a pretty good job of ignoring it until he leaves, and doesn’t want to admit that they’re 100% doomed/whipped). Whatever format you want! Thanks lovely!!

Summary: There’s a lovely reunion in this one. 

Part I

Part II

Word Count: 2077

“Y/N? Hello, are you paying attention?”

My eyes wandered lazily back to Pidge, where she stood, in her Paladin armor, waving her hands in front of my face. She took a step back and sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“You need to pay attention,” she told me. “You’re my command center, remember? I need you here, watching for any last minute sightings of Matt. Can you do that?”

I nodded, still not really paying attention, but agreeing with her. Watch for Matt. Keep an eye out for the man I love. A memory of us flashed through my mind:

The night before he was due to leave, we sat on his front porch. I had just turned 20, and it was almost Matt’s twenty-second birthday, and even after three years it was a rare moment that we got to be alone, without Pidge threatening to interrupt at any moment. She was doing homework and couldn’t come hang out. Not that either of us minded. It gave us a chance to be close without being teased. We talked casually, the sides of our bodies were pressed together. Matt was tracing patterns into the palm of my hand and fingers with light, feathery touches that made me want to squirm. Every few minutes he would bring my hand up and kiss my palm or fingers, and then he’d look at me like he wanted to kiss me.

I was well aware of his feelings for me. He’d never directly spoken them out loud, but he hinted at it often, and it was these small moments alone that I treasured because we got to express and act on our more intimate emotions.

Finally, I had enough of his fidgeting and took his restless hand and enclosed it in both of my own. I entwined our fingers, raised out hands to my lips, and kissed his knuckles softly. Then I turned, pressed my nose against the side of his neck, and pressed my body further against his. We sat there together like that for a long time. My eyes started to droop, but I refused to fall asleep. There was one last thing I needed to tell him before he left.

“Matt?” I finally said, breaking the silence.

He hummed and kissed my head, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

I lifted my head off of his shoulder and turned my head to look at him. It was weird seeing him without his glasses, but he still looked incredibly handsome. It was in these moments, when he looked at me so softly and lovingly, his eyes scanning my face and occasionally dropping to my lips, that I was aware he loved me.

I must have taken a while to speak and gone into a trance, because when he spoke my name, so gently and affectionately, my attention was focused on him once again.

“What is it?” he whispered. His breath was warm on my face.

“I’ll wait for you,” I told him. “As long as it takes for you to come back, I’ll wait.”

It was a huge commitment, but it was one I was willing to make. I loved him, and someday, I wanted to settle down and start a family with him.

Before I had a chance to process what was happening, we shared our first kiss. It was soft and a little awkward, and when we pulled away I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes. Matt’s nose pressed into my cheek, and he placed another kiss near the corner of my mouth. Then he kissed me again and this time, it was with a little more force. His hands were at the sides of my face: with one hand, he cupped the back of my head and his thumb pressed into the area behind my ear; on the other side, his fingers splayed across the corner of my jaw before that hand moved down and his arm found it’s way around my waist. One of my arms went around his waist, and the other around the back of his neck. He was warm and everything right, moving gently and slowly, as if moving through a haze.

Just when I began to want a little more, he pulled away slowly. I took a moment to open my eyes, and when I finally did, I found his molten eyes, dark with dilated pupils, staring desperately at me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I admitted.

Matt laughed breathlessly and leaned his forehead against mine. “I love you,” he said. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I pressed another kiss to his lips, this one more chaste, and whispered, “I love you too, Cutie.”

Matt laughed and ducked his head. “If I’m cute and you’re pretty, then together we’re pretty cute.”

He stood up. His warmth lingered on my body, and I protested as the colder air whisked to take the warmth away from me. He held his hand out, which I gladly accepted, and he walked me to my door.

“Good night, Matt.”

“Good night, Y/N. Don’t forget the code I taught you. It’s different from the one Pidge, Dad, and I use, so they won’t be able to read our messages.”

I stood on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I won’t, don’t worry.” A small step away from him and the opening of my door broke the little spell that had been laid on us, and I smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you. I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

I nodded and stepped inside. “Bye, Cutie.”

“Bye, Pretty.”

The memory faded as I closed the door, and Pidge, once again, tried to get my attention.

Pidge snapped in front of my face. Her expression was sad, yet her eyes were set in determination. “Come on. If we focus today and tomorrow, I think we’ll get him back.” She stood up straight and continued. “Actually, no. I know we’ll get him back. You know what to do. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back, but I won’t tell you if I have Matt or not. That’s a secret.”

I smiled. Matt would be back soon, I just knew it. I couldn’t wait to see him again. My heart yearned to see him again, to once again be in his warm embrace, to hear his voice, to just be in his calming presence again.

Waiting for Pidge to bring Matt back was even harder than I thought it was going to be. The anxiety felt even worse than the agonizing clenching of my heart as I watched, extremely early in the morning, Matt and his parents drive away, and later seeing just his mother come back. It was worse than when I was told he had died.

Shiro encouraged me to do things other than just sit in the command center by myself, staring at the dot that tracked Pidge’s location. I found that working out, harder than I ever had before, helped take my mind off of Matt’s fate.

Then, I got a call from Pidge.

She hissed as she sat down in her chair and looked at the camera with a small smile. “Hey, Y/N!”

“Did you find him, Pidge?”

Pidge shook her head, a frown appearing on her face. “No. I’m sorry. Turns out it was a dead end.”

“Oh.” Tears welled in my eyes. I turned my head so that Pidge didn’t see I was about to cry. After so many dead ends, I was getting frustrated. He couldn’t be dead, could he? We had footage of him running away from something, completely alive and well. Even if he wasn’t safe--an idea that chilled me to the core--he had to be alive.

Didn’t he?

I hated myself for doubting him.

Pidge flailed her arms around, trying to get my attention. “Hey, Y/N, I’ll be back in about an hour. We need to talk, okay?”

A tear spilled onto my cheek and I wiped it away before turning my attention back to Pidge. “Yeah, sure.” More tears, but this time I didn’t brush them away. “I’ll be in my room. Bye, Katie.” I shut the video feel off and ran to my room, sobbing.

I couldn’t stand the way I was reacting. Pidge had gone out before, looking for him! Why was this outing suddenly so different? Was he dead now? Maybe he wasn’t a few months ago, but was he now?

I fell asleep, crying. I didn’t sleep long enough to dream, thankfully. I was awoken by someone shaking my shoulder gently. Thinking it was Pidge, I groaned and turned onto my side to face the rest of the room, but kept my eyes shut. “Can we do this tomorrow? I’m emotionally unstable right now.”

“I don’t think I could wait another second to talk to you.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was it really…?

“Matt?” Scared of this being just a dream, I pinched my arm. N0, not a dream. I opened my eyes and found Pidge, standing near me with a hand on my shoulder, smiling.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she said gently. “There’s someone here to see you.” She gestured to my door, where light from outside was blocked by a body standing in the door frame.

Matt… he really was alive.

He waved. “Hey, Pretty. Long time no see.”

I leapt out of bed, bumping into Pidge, and ran into Matt’s outstretched arms. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, burying my face into the crook of his neck. He stumbled back a few steps and buried his nose into my hair, holding the back of his head with one hand and wrapping an arm around my waist.

“If I’m pretty and you’re cute, then together we’d be pretty cute,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by his skin.

Matt chuckled as I pulled away just far enough to look at his face. He had a long scar on his cheek now, but other than that, he didn’t look like he’d gotten hurt at all.

“How old am I now?” he asked. “Am I really old? Please don’t tell me I’m older than 25.”

I laughed and shook my head. Of course that’s the first thing he’d ask me. “You’re 24, and more handsome than ever.”

“W-wait, so… I was gone for two years? You-I-”

I stood on my toes and cut him off by kissing him. Geez, I loved him…

“You waited for two years?”

I nodded. “I told you I’d wait as long as it took, remember?”

Matt nodded, suddenly looking like a weight had been taken off of his shoulder. “I’ve felt guilty all this time because I didn’t to prevent you from being happy.” He shrugged and looked away for a second. “There were a lot of times where I wondered if I would ever see you again. I’m glad you two found me,” he glanced back at Pidge for a second and nodded before looking back at me, “and I’m so happy that I can see your beautiful face again.” His golden eyes had filled with tears. I, too, was about to cry, but I tried to hold it back. His voice suddenly became strangulated. “I love you so much.” Then we kissed again. It was long, and slow, and sweet, and I never wanted the moment to end.

Pidge cleared her throat awkwardly and we broke apart bashfully. “Y/N and I never stopped looking for you,” she said. “We always knew you were out there somewhere, we just needed to find you.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Who knew my little sister and my lover,” he cast me a wink, “were part of Voltron? That is seriously the coolest thing ever.”

“I’m not a Paladin. I’m more of emotional support.”

“You,” Pidge began as she began walking towards us, “are just as important as the rest of us. Now, should we give him a tour?”

“Yes! I can’t wait to show you everything, Matt!”

Matt grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of my head. He put an arm around my shoulder, and I did the same around his waist. Then, we followed Pidge outside.

Pidge did most of the talking. Occasionally, Matt would move away from me out of excitement, but he always came back.

Matt always came back. Always.

[mark-allender]

Why I Write Songs with Nonsense Syllables Originally posted 4 Oct 2009

I was raised on the mainstream fringe of a fringe movement.  Growing up, I was vaguely acquainted with the so-called "charismatic" movement of the Christian church.  For the uninitiated, Acts chapter 2 begins like this: "When the day of Pentecost came, [Jesus' former disciples] were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them." The Charismatic movement (represented these days primarily in the Assemblies Of God and Pentecostal denominations) believes that Christians still do this: speak in strange languages.  I'm not so familiar with the movement now, but at one point I seem to remember hearing in some circles that "you weren't a real Christian unless you DID speak in tongues." Now, I have never spoken in tongues in the religious sense, but not for a lack of trying.  It was experiential -- if I could be swept away with the frenzy that seemed to come over these people, it seemed to me to be proof positive that everything I had ever been taught was real.  But at the same time, I remained a bit of a pragmatist - even as a teenager;  I asked a friend, "Why does God want us to speak in tongues anyway?"  And the answer I received profoundly affected me as an artist. "How in the world are you supposed to pray for Mr. Adams?" Mr. Adams was my old next-door neighbor.  He was an old man when I was very young.  My siblings and I would go over and visit with he and his wife maybe once a week.  Mrs. Adams was very nice, very gracious, loved having us over, and ALWAYS gave us gumdrops when we left (my folks always thought we were going over there solely for the gumdrops).  But Mr. Adams was old old old.  Always sat in the same chair.  He stitched latch-hook rugs.  He created little dogs made of golf balls and golf tees.  He made toys for us out of buckeyes and string.  He taught us how to win at solitaire.  The man knew how to keep a seven-year-old enthralled.  He also smoked at least two packs of cigarettes a day and the trash can next to his chair was always full of beer bottles (Budweiser, fyi). Well, by the time I was a teenager, we had moved to the outskirts of town - but we still kept track of the Adams and how they were doing.  Mrs. Adams kept going - she was doing well, but Mr. Adams was fading away.  He refused to quit smoking even after he got lung cancer - and soon was on oxygen.  Soon after that he couldn't even summon the breath to talk. So how in the world is a good Christian supposed to pray for Mr. Adams?  I cared deeply for him, but I knew that he would not get better.  And I knew that he was suffering, but I didn't want him to die.  Which he was clearly going to.  So again, how the hell are you supposed to, as a good Christian, pray for a man like that?  And the answer of course, by the standards of the Charismatic community, was to express my sorrow for him to God while saying a bunch of nonsense syllables.  It's only logical, right? Like I said, I never actually was able to do it.  I've never really been into frenzies - or mobs - or even drugs for that matter.  But the answer I got has never left me, and the implications were clear: sometimes your deepest desires cannot be expressed in traditional language. This "speaking in tongues" is called "glossolalia" by linguists, and is usually associated with religious frenzy or ecstasy.  The Dadas from the mid 1910's famously explored glossolalia as an art form - notably with Hugo Ball's "Lautgedichte" (noise poems). His poem "Gadji Beri Bimba" is one of his most well known - it was later recorded by Talking Heads as the song "I Zimbra." Cut to early 2001.  I had since left Christianity, I had traveled to and from Korea, and was in the process of trying to build a career of some kind back here in the States with an English degree.  I also found myself in a difficult marriage with a baby on the way, and two (albeit wonderful) stepsons that I was struggling to have a relationship with.  And our lease was not being renewed -- the landlord wanted to put some family friends into our unit.  It was a high stress time not just as a family, but also for me personally since, as I said before, things with my then wife were not right.  Yet at the same time, I had moments of unexplained happiness and optimism.  I couldn't put a finger on why - it was like fifteen minutes of sun.  And I had to express it somehow.  Everything else going on (apart from the new baby of course) was pretty shitty.  To what do I owe this happiness - how do I attach any meaning to it? So I had a chorus.  "Checkle In Tow.  Ah, new medicine - Checkle in tow."  It just sounded phonetically cool.  Meant nothing.  But I couldn't get that little ditty out of my mind.  (NOTE for aspiring song writers - when you write something that you can't get out of your head, you are usually on to something).  So one day - at work - the words and music just flowed out of me.  Written to be sung around a campfire by a singer with a banjo - and it was called "Chekl Ento (Glossy Leilah)."  It's a happy little ditty.  I got to perform it with my old group The Brothel Brothers (sans banjo) as well as for a local benefit.   My wife and I split in January 2007.  I had no money, no steady job, and debt out the wazoo, so my parents thankfully took me in.  I may talk about this period in my life some other time, but suffice it to say, it was both agonizing and refreshing at the same time.  But then in April,  I got into a car accident.  My fault - luckily the no one was hurt and the other car did not sustain much damage.  But I had no collision coverage on my car, so it was a total loss and I had no insurance reimbursement to help pay for a new one.  Suddenly, all the dismal prospects of finding a new job to help get out of this rut were gone.  I sank into a deep depression and recorded several songs on my computer - among them "Glacitu," "Picture," "Psalm 23," and a drone piece that ended up being called "Drone 1."  I also recorded a take on Roger Miller's song "Hat" - which I called "Cat."  "Glacitu" in general was able to capture without intelligible words the sense of despair and hopelessness that I felt -- and if I had tried to express it in words, it would only have fallen short.  It was agitation with anxiety with a sense of impending menace. Cut again to March 2009.  A dizzying chain of events led to me having an actual breakdown on-site at work.  An attack of full-fledged paranoia.  After several hours I was able to get some hold on reality, but during that time I nearly went to the emergency room.  Some counseling began after that, followed by a small cocktail of medications.  But in the "ramping up" period for these medications to take effect, I was visited again by another rush of creativity, and a couple of my proudest moments came out of those sessions - "Demeda Seng Set," "Zinsata," and "Drone 2."  Again, I was overcome with a rush of emotion -- fear, anxiety, paranoia.  And thru the process of writing and recording, the feelings diffused, and I was left with what I feel are compelling expressions of what was going on in my head - all using the trick of praying for Mr. Adams and saying a bunch of nonsense syllables.  It's therapeutic for me and very satisfying creatively. I don't know how long I'll be in this business. Jackson Pollock was famously done with his celebrated "drip paintings" after three years, so we'll see.  At the moment, I am getting a lot out of exploring this in an acappella context. A full length recording of these will hopefull get finished soon and be available at online music distributors by spring of 2010.

[protectjugheadjonesiii]

Missed Opportunities

Anon requests: If ur still taking requests. Can you do one where the reader of best friends with Juggie but they told him how they feel, but Juggie doesn't listen and then in a football game Reggie makes a move and they accept b/c Juggie doesn't seem to acknowledge them that way and Juggie ends up jealous...

Request if you still take one. Reader and Jughead have been friends forever and they said stuff to each other about being together but Jughead been avoiding it. Reader wants something more, and in a football game Reggie asks them out and they say yes b/c they feel they need to love since Jughead is avoiding them about their feelings and Jughead gets jealous...

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: You missed a thousand opportunities to tell your best friend that you fell in love with him.  One night, you finally seize the chance.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,926

A/N: I’m so sorry for my inactivity, I hope this longer imagine makes up for it.  Enjoy!

You didn’t mean to fall in love with your best friend.  It was an accident.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened.  It wasn’t anything sudden; you didn’t wake up one morning and realize you were in love. It was a slow process.

Maybe it began when you two met at Pop’s.  He was sitting in his regular booth, brooding and mysterious.  He was the edgiest ten year old in Riverdale.  For the first time, you entered Pop’s all by yourself. Your parents had decided that double digits meant that you could be more independent.  Of course, your first action was to go to the best diner in Riverdale all on your own.  Once you arrived, you realized how scary being alone was.  Scanning the diner, you looked for a companion to sit with.  You spotted a boy who looked around the same age as you.

“Can I sit here?” you asked, approaching the table.  The boy stared at you suspiciously for a moment.

“Sure,” he nodded after a second of contemplation.  You smiled and sat down across from him.

“I’m (Y/N),” you greeted, sticking your hand out across the table.  The boy tentatively shook it.

“Jughead,” he introduced himself.

“That’s a weird name,” you crinkled your nose.  He shrugged.

“I know.”

Maybe it was that night at the drive-in: a cold October night, and you forgot your jacket.  Vertigo was on that night, and Jughead, knowing it was one of your favorite movies, notified you that it was playing.  You asked him, with a smirk, if he had anything to do with this movie being played; with an indignant scoff, he promised you that he had no part in the Twilight Drive-In playing your favorite movie.  The two of you sat together watching the movie, Jughead’s arm casually draped around your shoulders.  Bitter October night winds blew in, causing you to shiver.  Jughead noticed this, so he drew you closer to him.  It wasn’t the warmth Jughead provided you that caused the redness in you cheeks.

There was no way for you to pinpoint when exactly you fell in love with your best friend.  Every time you saw him, wearing that goddamned beanie and a wide grin, your heart skipped a beat.  Each time your hands brushed against each other, or your thighs rested right next to each other, you could feel your affection swell.

But as Newton’s third law states: every action has an equal opposite reaction.  Every time you fell a little more in love with Jughead, there was an agonizing pain in your heart because you could never be with him.  You knew you could never build up the courage to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.  All the risks threatening your friendship with Jughead were enough to keep your feelings bottled up.

Although you swore to yourself that you’d never reveal your secret affections for Jughead, you found that hiding things from your best friend was more difficult than you imagined.

“(Y/N),” Jughead interrupted your thoughts, causing your head to snap up.  Immediately, you plastered a smile on your face.

“Yeah, Jug?” you asked, slightly tilting your head.  He shook his head at you.

“What’s up with you lately?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes.  “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”

“I’m fine Jug,” you waved him off.  “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Jughead ignored your protests.  

“I promise you, Jug, if there’s something wrong I’ll tell you.”  Satisfied with your answer, he nodded at your response and turned back to his laptop.  The two of you sat in the diner booth, each doing your own thing.  After an hour of silence, you closed the book you were reading and set it down on the table.  Jughead noticed this, so he lowered his laptop lid.

“Something wrong?” he inquired.  You pursed your lips for a moment, contemplating what to say.

“Have you ever thought about us?” you asked.  He shot you a confused glance, so you elaborated.  “Have you ever thought about us, I don’t know… as not friends?  Like more?”  Jughead’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean… yeah,” he shrugged. You bit your lip.

“Do you think it could ever work?”

“I don’t know,” he responded.  “I’d just hate to ruin our great friendship, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nodded.  “I know exactly what you mean.”

The next day at school, Jughead completely avoided you.  Every time you attempted to approach him, he turned on his heel and walked in the other direction.  After practically confessing your feelings last night, you were devastated to see Jughead ignoring you.  This continued throughout the rest of the week; Jughead never talked to you, no matter how hard you tried to communicate with him.  On Friday, Archie approached you.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he greeted. You shot him a small smile.

“Hey, Archie.”

“I’m sorry about Jughead,” he frowned, looking at you with pity.  You shrugged and shook your head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you responded, causing his frown to deepen.  “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, actually, no,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I know it’s been a rough week for you, but I was wondering if you wanted to come to the game tonight.  It’s a big game, so I’d just really appreciate it if you were there.”  He offered a hesitant smile at you, and your fake smile widened into a real one.

“Sure, Archie,” you responded.  He thanked you and headed away, probably searching for other people to invite to the game.  You knew you hadn’t been in the best shape for the past week, but you figured this was the perfect opportunity to get your mind off of everything that had happened. It was an opportunity to forget about Jughead.

You arrived at the football stadium, and you wandered into the bleachers, looking for a place to sit. As you wandered around, you spotted Jughead.  Before he could turn his head to look at you, you dashed out of sight.  Finally, you found a seat at the top of the bleachers. You watched the entire game from there, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the crowd every time Riverdale High’s team scored.  Once the buzzer signaled the end of the game, and another victory for Riverdale, you ran down to the field to congratulate Archie.  Instead of finding Archie, you ran into Reggie.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaimed, his sweaty figure towering over you.  

“Hey, Reggie!” you smiled. He grinned.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” he noted.  You shrugged.

“Did you want to?”

“Well yeah,” he laughed. Oddly, you found yourself blushing. “We should catch up sometime, (Y/N). How about Tuesday?”  You blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Seriously?” you questioned. He nodded as if it was obvious.

“Of course.  Eight o’clock at Pop’s?”  You grinned and nodded.  He did the same and then walked off to celebrate the victory with his teammates. Turning on your heel, you suddenly came face-to-face with Jughead.

“Reggie?  Seriously (Y/N)?” he inquired, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

“At least he had the courage to ask me out,” you scoffed, stomping off and leaving a stunned Jughead behind.

Tuesday night arrived quickly, and, as promised, you met Reggie at Pop’s.  He sat waiting in a booth, and when you entered, his face illuminated with a grin.  The night went successfully, and you thoroughly enjoyed your time with Reggie. You didn’t even notice the dark figure watching you from a few booths away.

“I had a great time tonight, (Y/N),” Reggie said as he noticed the time.  It was nearly midnight.  “Can we do this again sometime?”

“Of course,” you nodded, smiling.  He grinned.

“And, just to be clear, these are dates, right?”  You hesitated at this, and for the first time you looked up and spotted Jughead. Realizing you were staring at him, he averted his gaze.  You turned back to Reggie and frowned.

“Reggie,” you started, twiddling with your fingers.  His face slowly fell as he anticipated what you were going to say.  “You’re a great guy.  Any girl would be lucky to have you, but… I like someone else.”  You smiled apologetically at him.  “I’m sorry.  I hope we can still be friends.”  The football star stood up, remaining in front of your table.  He offered you a small smile.

“I understand,” he sighed. “Of course we can be friends.  I’ll see you around, (Y/N).”  He strode away from your table and exited the diner. Once he was out of sight, you turned all of your attention to Jughead.  You stood up and rushed over to his table.

“What the hell, Jughead?” you seethed, sitting down across from him.  He refused to make eye contact with you.  “Were you spying on me?”

“We’re best friends, (Y/N), you should know by now that I’m always at Pop’s,” he spat in retaliation. You didn’t back down.

“Oh so we are best friends?” you cynically questioned.  “That’s funny, because I don’t think we’ve spoken in a week.”

“I had a lot on my mind, okay?” he defended himself, growing quieter.  You rolled your eyes and nodded.

“Uh huh,” you scoffed, “a lot on your mind.  Whatever, Jughead.”  You rose from your seat and prepared to exit, but Jughead grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, (Y/N),” he stopped you.  You raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry.”

“Wow thanks,” you smiled sarcastically.  “This makes everything better, Jughead.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he rolled his eyes, “but I can’t do anything else except apologize, (Y/N).”

“How about you talk to me?” you offered, narrowing your eyes as you settled back into your seat.  “Because I’ve had my feelings out there for a week now, Jughead, and you haven’t said anything about it.”

“What feelings?” he questioned.  “All you asked me is if I thought we should be a couple.”

“What do you think that was?” you practically screamed.  “Did you really just think that was just casual conversation, Jug?  Come on, you’re smarter than that!”

“Okay, so you confessed your feelings to me!” he exclaimed, frustratedly throwing his hands up.  “How do you think I felt, (Y/N)?  When I thought my best friend was thinking about the same possibility as me?  I was fucking terrified!”  This drew you aback.

“Terrified?” you echoed. “Why… why were you terrified?”

“Because I think about that too, (Y/N), all the time!” he didn’t yell, but his voice grew louder.  “I don’t know when it happened, but sometime between that first time you walked in through those diner doors,” he pointed at the entrance, “and right now, something changed.  I don’t know when, I don’t know how, and I certainly don’t know why.  All I know when I saw you laughing with good-looking, athletic Reggie the only thing I could think about is all the times I could’ve told you how I felt, and I didn’t.”  He was almost panting by the end of his tangent, and you were subdued by shock.  The two of you sat together in silence, staring at each other in astonishment.  

“Missed opportunities,” you finally murmured, breaking the silence.  “We both… we both missed so many opportunities.”  You bit your lip between your teeth, holding back a smile.

“But here we are,” Jughead replied, a smile creeping onto his face.  “We missed a thousand opportunities, but the universe gave us one more.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” you smiled.  He grinned.

“Neither do I,” he responded.  “But I do believe in us.”

[bmadtbh]

I have so many questions for you, and so many possible answers wandering through my brain. Do you remember? Do you remember every little moment? Everything little word spoken? Every glance? Every second of eye contact? I do. And it's hurts me. Like lightening striking repeatedly in the same spot, not having even a split second to run for cover. It all comes in waves. Waves so strong and powerful, sometimes I have to stop just to take breaths. Can I still go on? Remember the first time we spoke? You asked about a party I was planning on having at my house. I had seen you around at school, but never thought we'd become something so complicated yet so beautiful. We talked on and off for six months. Does that really mean nothing to you? Did you care? Did you actually want to know why I was angry that night in December where I had mentioned my pain on my story. Did you really care about all the times people hadn't cared enough? About how I hurt myself out of pure self hatred? What about my parents? How my mom left and took us with her? About how many times I was thrown in the middle, forced to choose sides at only the age of seven? I'm not sure you do. And that scares me. Because I opened up my deepest and darkest thoughts to you. What about when he died? Do you remember me texting you first and telling you details? Do you remember how I sobbed my heart out, missing our close friend and his life, as you held me in that church? Here's one. Did you feel the same way? Did you get excited everytime my name came up on your screen, like yours did to me. Did you smile when I said I missed you, like I felt myself falling even faster when you said you missed me? What about when we touched? Were those shivers only on my skin? Was it just your hands working magic I had never experienced before? Was it just your voice that made me want to do so many bad things to you? Did you look at me and think, "That's something I can't live without." I don't think so. It can't be. What about when you kissed me? What are your thoughts on that? I remember every single moment leading up to it, and every single feeling. Do you wish we could go back to you playing piano for me and watching my every move as your hands brought music into that small room, like I was a piece of art that would soon be sold to someone better and you'd never be able to see again? Do you miss leaning your head against my chest and feeling relaxed, not having to care about what people thought or whether we were being watched? What about my hands in your hair? I remember. You looked content. Like nothing could go wrong and in that moment, we were safe. Please, please tell me you didn't forget the feeling of my lips on yours. I remember I tried to walk away, but you were tired of waiting, so you pulled me in so fast I didn't even get time to think or process what was about to happen. We were one only for a few seconds, but it felt like eternity. We were in sync. And then I pulled away, happily, and you pulled me back in to hug me and hold me like no one had ever done before. Do you remember? You whispered 'I love you' and I sighed, hugging you tighter. That was when it was perfect. But do you remember the fights? How I'd text you angry and you'd just wait until I was done to throw the worst poison at my heart. You knew just what to say. You knew just how to break me and make sure I wouldn't leave you. What about when we'd pass each other in the hallway, trying to avoid eye contact but always running into each other one way or another. We hated each other, because we were the source of each other's pain and happiness. I want to know. I want to know why you couldn't trust me. I want to know why you shut me out. Why I'm going through this agonizing pain right now, and if you are too. Is it bad that I'm terrified that you might not be missing me as much as I miss you? I don't know. I don't know any of this, but I'm too afraid to talk to you again. I'm too afraid of being shut out again. I'm too afraid of you being the one thing I need the most, and me not even being a thought that has ever crossed your mind, and it just might end up killing me.

Me

[subtlytranslating]

humans on a journey

My father and I don’t have what I would call an ideal relationship. I feel that he has kind of departed from the family in a less than admirable way. But, we are only getting older, and as the phrase goes (that many seem to abhor), “it is what it is”. I cannot continue to age and keep this anger and resentment inside of me - and honestly, I’ve gotten rid of most of it. It’s for me yes, but it’s also for him. Sometimes forgiving just needs to happen, for the sanity of all involved. Even if one might not ever be able to see how it would be warranted. Sometimes you just have to forgive for the release and exhale.  So you can break down and cry and then just move on from it. 

You only have one life to live, why spend it building a great tragedy to look back and lament upon? I love my father. He probably will never know the extent of the hurt that has transpired, but deep down I know he does feel bad and wishes things were different. He just doesn’t know how to fix it in a way he would feel comfortable with. I don’t either. So I work on forgiveness. It is a journey that will take my entire life, but that’s ok. I will have set backs, and that’s ok too. 

Here we are, my mother, sisters and I, living in the east. Living, breathing, trudging along. Sometimes happily, sometimes with difficulty. We struggle and pain without him. We celebrate despite his absence, too. Does he wonder about these moments and quietly wish he had not given up the opportunity to be a part of them? I wonder, I wonder. He has relocated westward and remarried. She is not someone he talks to about with us - nor have we met or spoken to her. Is she still our step-mother, then? I’m not so sure. I can’t say that my family and I view her in the most positive light, given the circumstances that brought them together and took him away from us. And I feel bad about this. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just humans. Humans on a journey with stories. No one knows how to “do it right”. There are no trial-runs, no do-overs. So, how do I know enough about her to judge or hate her? Again, we’ve never even spoken, I don’t know her truth. I suppose I never will. 

While the majority of the responsibility to bridge this relationship lies in his hands, I’m sure on some other level, we’ve hindered the process with our judgement, anger and frustration. Everyone has a story. What is hers? What has she been told by my father of us? I’m sure he’s had to speak of us, right? There are always two sides to every story. It’s like those moments in a movie where the main character (who by now you’ve grown quite attached to) is in a stressful situation - being painted in a bad light and misunderstood. And you hold your breath and bite your nails and stretch your hands out at the screen in frustration because you don’t understand why they or someone can't just speak up and explain everything so that the horrible feelings can go away. It’s agonizing. This happens in life every day, I’m sure. 

My father texts me periodically. In all honesty, it’s usually nothing substantial. He doesn’t really ask how I am doing, what I’m up to, or if I need anything (not that I need him for anything anymore). He mostly gives me brief updates on himself and this wonderful, new, fabulous life he’s living. A show he’s attended or a place he has traveled to. Growing up not really doing anything but sit cooped up in your room - it’s hard for this not to grate on one’s nerves. I just always thought he didn’t like to do anything, go anywhere. Could it be that it just he just didn’t want to with us? There’s probably more to that story as well. But he truly doesn’t understand why this would bother us. He knows that it does bother us - my mother told him a while ago and he pretty much told her we needed to get over it, and that we should be happy for him and all the things he is able to do. And he continues. 

But the point of these ramblings is not to attack him. He texted me recently to let me know that an old friend of his passed away. He forwarded a text from one of her family members relaying the news. Her name was familiar, and I remembered meeting her briefly as a child. I saw her at a family holiday party or two while we were visiting in New York. I remember my mother saying “Oh, there’s your father’s old girlfriend, and she would be again if she had her way. She wants him back”, or something to that effect. I remember going into a room for the rest of the party where an adult had put on cartoons for the kids (Popeye, in black and white - how do I remember this?). I shut myself away and committed to not coming out. I did not want to see this woman who wanted to steal my dad away from his family. She came and said hi to me and I remember her being very kind and warm, but I would not allow myself to trust her. I didn’t entirely understand why, or even what girlfriends and boyfriends meant, but I sensed my mother felt threatened by her and so that was that. Looking back, regardless of the situation, my mother should have never said that to me, but I still remember it and the small panic it gave me. 

So, she has recently passed. My father messaged me and told me a little about her. From what I gather, they were high school sweethearts, who planned on marrying. My father went off to join the army and ended up marrying another, to whom he was married to for a little over two years. They eventually ended up separating, and during this time, he met my mother and she became pregnant with me. My parents decided to get married. My father had to break this news to his old flame, who had hoped when and if the first marriage ended, they could be married. 

I wonder why he told me this. I almost feel like she was a great love of his life and had he not had me, they would’ve been together. She was the one that got away and always loved him. Or he was her “one who got away”. It’s crazy, I’m not even mad about it.  The whole thing just really makes me sad, though. For him as a person, and for her. I hope she found happiness in her life and did not pine her time away. And she was only 60. It’s funny how certain ages don’t seem that old to you as you age. It doesn’t even seem like a distant, unrelatable number to me anymore.  Because again, we are all just humans on a journey - with stories. And while my father is my father - that is just a small component that makes up his humanity. He is other things and has other stories that have nothing to do with me. He is a man who has loved, lost, fallen, and tried to carry on. All of these things have contributed to making him the person he is - strengths and shortcomings. Sometimes we put so much judgement upon a person because of the one thing we identify them with (parent, occupation, etc.) - and when they fall short of matching the epitome of it’s ideal, we cannot deal with it and we go crazy. And the finger-pointing begins. But there are other chapters in these tales. We forget that. We forget it even though we know it to be true within ourselves. 

I’ve never wanted children. And only lately do I struggle with that and yearn to at least yearn. And what if something changed and I had children? I’ve already lived a good portion of my life and am in my 30s - without children. Does all of that get thrown out the window once I become a parent? Am I held to only that standard? Are my stories and past journeys to be put on a shelf to collect dust? Most likely. I can try to fight it but I will just come off as defiant and a less than stellar parent. I wouldn’t want that. I want to live in my truth as a woman, a girl, a sensitive artist...and whatever else I am that I don’t even know of yet. And I don’t want to be judged for embracing all of my dimensions. 

So this is a ramble to remind myself to be kind with my heart and my judgement. It’s too often that our need for closure or validation drives knee jerk treatments of others. We forget their humanity and all of the other tribulations that they have endured. And have yet to endure.