#it's a choice between loneliness and complete disintegration

[funnywormz]

im gonna be honest. if star trek was real i would probably go find my nearest borg cube and get assimilated lol. obv the borg suck bc they force assimilation without consent but still......... something abt the concept of being asssimilated is so oddly compelling to me it's like a siren song......... i kinda want to be borg............. i can't even begin to wonder what implications this has abt my psychological state LMAO 😐😐😐

[themanlykittenkayden]

One thing I’m really curious about is how the creators themselves view the story in light of certain people being removed from the series.

Warning: I’m going to talk about those-who-shall-not-be-named (Wilbur and Forever)

Because here’s the thing. The whole reason these people have been removed from the series is to reduce their reach to hurt both the collective audience and their peer creators, and with that comes a decision to cut them from the narrative completely so that they don’t gain even a little of that notoriety and power back through association.

And so if they choose to completely retcon them out- as a lot of the community has chosen to do- I totally get that. In a lot of ways it’s the right choice- story and history be damned. At the end of the day nothing in a silly Minecraft story is important as real people’s lives, and I think (hope) all of the creators and writers left on QSMP seem to agree with that.

But… I also recognize that they have- to differing degrees- been part of HUGE parts of the QSMP story, both overall and in different characters lives, and unless we all collectively erase like 60% of the series so far, they will continue to be there in the history.

Like, on the lesser impact side, you have Wilbur, one of the original train-riding islanders, an original member of the Death Family, originally the only father of Talullah. He may been so absent that it became a running joke on the server, but if you cut every mention of him completely, Tallulah’s story and growth over the past year disintegrate underneath her. Tallulah was very specifically an only child of a single father, dealing with the constant feeling of loneliness in his absence, growing disillusioned with the world as he broke his promises and never came back for her, but also growing closer to her family as she learned what constant care and nurturing actually looks like through Phil. I’m all for her being fully adopted by Death Family now and taking more and more traits from Phil and Missa, but that new identity as part of their family is the conclusion of her story, not the beginning. While Missa is away a lot of time, he’s not absent in a way that’s fair or fitting to impose her story on to him.

Really the only choice is to disregard everything from the beginning and basically retcon her story entirely, or take the story as it is and let Wilbur be there. Although now the story has still changed a little with his removal because now he’s a deadbeat who made empty promises and couldn’t bring himself to do more than play house for a couple weeks and be possessive and toxic when he came back one time when she was missing- which feels like a pretty honest interpretation given what we know now.

But then there’s Forever. One of the Favela Five, a major face in and winner of the long series election arc, the face and President of both the islanders and Federation, one of the main characters in the Happy Pills/Eggs Missing arc, and one of the original parents of Richarlyson. He isn’t just a part of the QSMP history, he’s heavily intertwined with most of the server story between the early days and the Purgatory arc. Even interpersonally, he was deeply involved with Badboyhalo, Cellbit, Pac and to an extent Philza, and that’s just who I remember off the top of my head.

Where as Wilbur is only able to be found in the details in the little house he built for his daughter and the memories of the family she built, Forever’s influence is everywhere you look in the old parts of the server- his face on the Federation building, his projects littered around the spawn and his base and the Favela, the Favela it self built next to a man-made ocean he carved out of the landscape (if I remember correctly). I don’t want to overstate this and imply that he’s the most important character of the server or something because he’s definitely not, but it is true that as president he was deeply involved in and invested in the stories happening around him and removing him completely from history takes a lot of that history with him.

And choosing whether or not to remove his character is even harder than Wilbur’s because his character on the server was genuinely a good person. He was caring, charismatic, ambitious and visionary, he was both a leader and friend to a lot of the characters (and creators really), and in the end his character simply died trying to do what was right for his family.

I don’t know, I don’t really want their stories to stay relevant to the QSMP. Maybe I’m overthinking their relevance. Maybe the creators will continue to just ignore it. Maybe when we get the writers back and they’re properly paid for their work they’ll have the creative energy needed to rework their histories in a satisfying way without them- that’s what I hope at least.

In a way this post is kind of just a little thought experiment- a little moment of reflection on history if you will, just a moment before we’re faced with the changing tides of this server again.

[knoxs2nd]

some thoughts on rules vs. choices

george and shannon's interactions have "rules" laid down, like george telling shannon they have to call each other george-san and sayo when they're alone, or george ordering her when he proposes. george thinks this rule-setting is cute and unique to them - but for shannon, it's another way she must navigate the world. disregarding the outsider pov on whether this constitutes a healthy relationship, from a yasu pov, it's not outright a "bad" thing.

yasu has had to navigate hierarchy and rules her entire life. she's had her own choices taken away from her forever, from her place in life (being taken to rokkenjima and made to be a servant), her friends, her fate after she learns about the truth. everyone's always made her choices for her. it's why it's such a huge revelation with battler when he asks her to make a choice: whether she wants to leave the island and be with him, and seems to want to respect her decision then.

george asks her to call him george-san, but that was him asking her to make a choice! but...the thing is, yasu is not used to making choices. she's uncomfortable. so then he orders her, instead, and, per the acting direction decisions in the ep2 stageplay, shannon seems really happy to be given a "rule".

yasu understands rules. she loves mystery novels and views the world through the lens of life-being-a-mystery-novel. mystery novels have rules, commandments, etc. that you have to follow, or else it's not "real" or "legitimate." there's no point in engaging in a mystery novel (or life) if there's not a common foundation, ruleset, and understanding that both writer and reader agree on. that's the basis of communication and building a relationship.

in her own witch worldbuilding, yasu lays down so many specific rules of how the magic system works. she navigated life in a way that had to adhere to real life rules, but also found enjoyment in working around them (by perpetrating the legend of the witch). a true witch/culprit!

as much as yasu craves freedom, a life without rules and complete freedom isn't worthwhile. all-powerful witches die of boredom and loneliness. they can only stave off the boredom with games, where they agree to follow a set of rules so they could interact with other people. you need rules (a common foundation) to interact with other people. so, george laying down rules for shannon, is, in one way, a very easy ask of yasu. if she follows all these rules, she can continue maintaining a relationship and interacting with george. it's comfortable.

going back to battler asking shannon to make a choice on whether she wants to leave the island.....in yasu's warped, instinctual pov of this whole scenario, she had made the choice that she wants to leave, but in the end, the choice didn't matter. the relationship disintegrated. that promise was supposed to be another rule that they had both agreed on. shannon would make up her mind, and battler would come take her away. but battler forgot. there was no common understanding between the two of them after all.....

however, this is not saying that "rules" are purely a good thing. as always in this series, it's complicated. they're necessary in interacting with other people and building mutually agreeable relationships, but also, they can get so restrictive that you lose yourself and give up.

this mutual set of rules that george and shannon had agreed on extended to their future. they both want to marry, to have their own family, etc. however, due to obvious reasons, this greatly distressed yasu! she can't follow these rules of being part of a cishet "ideal" family.

(of course, the entire idea of what socially acceptable happiness is and how much complex, complicated human beings trying to navigate fitting into these boxes and how it makes everyone suffer is its whole other thread.)

in the fantasy layer, the "rules" of life are given through the red text and, later, knox's commandments. what happens when characters are bombarded with so many they can't work with or think their way out of? they give up. just keel over, stop thinking, accept whatever, die. in ep2, battler gives up and becomes beatrice's "furniture." he accepts whatever happens to him then, no matter how humiliating it is. it's like he's no longer human. in ep5, the metaphor is even more pronounced. battler stops engaging and "dies". in ep6, the idea that when you yourself feel like you've outright violated the "rules", this becomes a logic error. the absolute worst, nightmareish thing that could happen to you! you're trapped within your own mind and can no longer interact with the outside world.

when there's too many rules, it's suffocating. you lose yourself as a person. but you need rules, because when it works out just right, when you can start engaging with the other person, throwing out your own blue text, communicating with them on a level that both of you understand. mutually trusting each other...

that's love, baby! and love's a choice!

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Αιώνια αγάπη (DT AU), pt. 13

13: Love is the death of duty

Summary: Three testimonies, two mistakes, one sentence. Find out the punishment Hermes faces as three most important women of his life take the stand.

Warnings: angst

Word count: 3.4k

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Special thanks to @godlydolans for being in the story as Yashi Singh!

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Αιώνια αγάπη (DT Modern Greek god/frat! AU) MASTERLIST    

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Overwhelmed, lost and very much prepared to do whatever it takes to protect her children, Y/N steps forth, pushing both her babies behind her as she breaks eye contact with the gods she knew and loved and looks wildly at the ones she didn't but could easily guess who they were.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Hecate chuckled, her laugh echoing as she fell back into a chair, not even bothering with courtesies. After all, why should she? She wasn't avenged for her death and pulling her soul out of the Underworld for the purposes of burying her ex husband was the only thing she cared about.

Hera didn't hesitate, walking toward Y/N as her eyes tried to take a better look at her grandchildren. It's been too long since she had a chance to see a youngling, let alone ones who are her own blood.

Y/N stepped back, each of her hands pressed against her kid's backs as she pushed them closer to her.

Like a lioness backed into a corner, Hera thought.

"I can tell why my sons fell in love with you now. You're absolutely ethereal. For a human, of course." The backhanded compliment forced Y/N to bare her teeth, faking a smile without the need to cover up the fake part, making it clear she doesn't appreciate the goddess coming any closer.

"I'd very much like if you'd stop walking, Your...heavenliness?" Y/N paused, unsure how to properly address the goddess without insulting her and putting her children in more danger than they already are. She couldn't afford to slip up now.

"Hera is fine, dear. However, I'm afraid you can't take the kids with you when you're on the stand. Someone's going to have to take care of them and as their grandmother I am willing to give you a blood oath that no harm shall befall either of your little ones." Hera spoke plainly, stating not only she cares but she would go as far as to make the unbreakable vow to protect them. The vow no god made in history thus far, one that conditions her death should she fail to uphold her promise.

"Like you protected Apollo and Hermes?" Y/N remarks, watching a flicker of hurt and surprise pass on Hera's face as Y/N's words aimed to hurt the goddess and it seemed as if she succeeded.

Glancing back at a helpless Hermes, Y/N gulped loudly as her heart ached for him.

What could have possessed him to do the crime he did? What crime did he commit at all? He spoke of vengeance, but never did she believe he'd go through with it. He's always been unpredictable and she can't deny she loved that about him, but right now, in this particular moment, she held it against him for his unpredictability put her children at risk.

Did he even know about the kids? Did either of them?

"I swear to you on my life, you can trust mother with them." Apollo speaks up, attracting Y/N's attention, feeling his own heart stop once her troubled eyes meet his with ease, the trust she has in him still shining through when she nods reluctantly, letting up on the four year olds holding onto her legs.

Hesitant still, Y/N watches as her mischievous babies waddled slowly over to their grandmother, looking up at her as if she's the most peculiar person they've ever seen.

And in a way she is. Her hair is molten gold, a leaf crown woven into the locks that broke sun-rays to rainbows. She did look like something out of a fairytale, inhuman even to the ones who don't know any better. And her kids didn't know any better.

"Shall we begin? While most of us are immortal, some don't have the commodity of waiting forever." Zeus huffed, glancing at Y/N and her offspring with underlying disgust he could hardly cover up.

"Wait! Don't I get a single moment with Apollo and Hermes first?" Y/N questions, the panic cracking her voice so blatantly no one could miss the desperation behind it.

"So they can temper with your true feelings? I think not. My sons have done enough damage to you as it is." Zeus states, showing Y/N that it's time to take her seat.

Eyes brimming with tears chained themselves to where the only two men she ever loved stood, each of them facing a horror of impending doom. Apollo wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Y/N and the kids, just for one moment. Hermes wished for Y/N and the kids to return to Earth and forget about all of this more than anything because if him being with her meant she'd die for his sins, he'd rather not even see her let alone touch her.

But all Y/N could see is how different they seem. They didn't have that light aura around them, rather a gloomy one. Each of them dressed in warrior clothes didn't lessen the weight on her heart either, adding onto the worry she couldn't shed.

What if she says something that ends up being their doom? What if she causes them to die? After everything that's happened, the years of loneliness she's suffered in as a single mother while the future she hoped for disintegrated, she still wanted them to be happy. The only comfort she found in the hell she's felt inside her soul is that both of her guys were alive and together. She didn't break their brotherly bond and they were back home with their loved ones.

She never thought they'd fuck up everything. At least not in her lifetime.

Reluctant and on edge, Y/N sits down right between Yashi and Hecate, each of them representing the past evils Hermes did and each of them more than willing to bury him should they wish so. Hecate most of all.

Hecate played with her long black locks, the purple ends flashing every once in a while as she leaned closer to Y/N and talked in hushed tones.

"You really had me fooled."

Y/N turned to her, giving her a sideways glance before her eyes returned to her children and Hera who crouched beside them, charming them with a little light show at the palm of her hand.

"I'm actually kind of proud of you. It's my blood that allowed you to do so."

"You left me no choice." Y/N responds harshly, sending a quick glare in her direction before turning her attention to Apollo and Hermes, each of them quiet and lost in thought as it seemed.

"You had a choice, you just made the wrong one. You think with your heart and not your head and I tried to show you that listening to your heart will only help you wind up dead. It killed me in the end - not Hermes, but you."

"I would like to call Yashi Singh to testify first." Zeus interrupts the small exchange between Hecate and Y/N, showing Yashi where to stand as she glided across the marble floor, her hair flowing freely at the back. It's a sort of visual joy of the heavens. It's confidence and strength, natural and pretty just as her stance.

"Now, my dear. Would you mind telling me Hermes' greatest crime against your heart?" Zeus tried to keep his voice light, purring at her as if manipulating the woman to speak the most rotten, horrific deeds she could think of.

Yashi lifts her chin up ever so slightly, her lips set in a firm line as her hands clasp together at her midsection.

"Hermes had no trouble lying to get close to me. He hadn't even bat an eye when he took my maidenhood under false pretenses. After all he had done, I was lucky enough to find someone else to cradle my broken heart. My story did have a happy ending, but Hermes showed no mercy toward my future. If he had his way, I'd have ended up alone and disgraced, disowned by my family. Thanks to Athena, I was lucky enough to have time to form a plan and get rid of him and his brother." Sparing Hermes a single glance, Yashi raised both eyebrows at the once so loved god before she smirked. Apollo looked toward Athena who shied away from his eyes, clearly ashamed she worked against him before. He wanted to know why she did it in the first place, but he already assumed why. Zeus forced her, told her it's her duty to do what she can to protect her loyal servants. She didn't have a bloodline like many others for she remained a virgin, but those who served her, worshiped her? Those were her loyal subjects and she protected them vigorously whenever she could.

"I think he committed the same crime hundreds if not thousands of times and that's just his crimes of breaking hearts and draining once hopeful souls. I'm certain he's done much worse in his time. I do believe he deserves the harshest punishment of all."

"Thank you, child. You make take your seat and Y/N can take your place now." Zeus states with a feigned smile, making Y/N's skin crawl as she realized it was her turn to stand and tell the truth. She had no choice. Not if she wanted her kids to remain alive because she was sure Zeus would harm them otherwise.

Passing by Hera, she finds the goddess wrap her fingers around her arm, stopping her for a single moment to utter a few wise words.

"You're pure of heart and your word means more than anything they say. Keep that in mind."

Gulping loudly, Y/N found herself tempted to run toward Hermes and Apollo, ask them to rise up and fight Zeus and end this torture, but Hera is right. She is pure of heart. She can use that against them.

"What is the greatest crime my son has committed?" Zeus smirks, knowing Hermes was completely off the rails the entire time he knew Y/N and he expected her to be the most significant nail in his son's coffin.

"He loved me." Plain and simple, Y/N turns sideways, her eyes finding his as if they've been dying for a single glance, for the love he could offer just by looking at her.

"Hermes is anything but perfect, but he's also done what is necessary. He's always done the right thing, even when the rest of us couldn't understand it just yet and even if it's the hardest possible thing he could have done in the world. Hermes' biggest crime against me is that he loved me just as much if not more than I love him." Emphasizing the present tense, proclaiming her love for the infamous god, she turned back to Zeus defiantly.

"He burned down the Kappa house and most of your belongings. He lied to you. He impregnated you -" Zeus began, each fact spoken louder and louder as he counted until Y/N interjected, stopping him from bashing Hermes any longer.

"With all due respect, both of your sons did that and I don't see Apollo tried for that. It's the most ridiculous medical miracle, but they both did and I don't hold them leaving against them. It is my heart that caused that and I alone am to blame for loving them both too much. The very heart that is pure, which means if I do not hold any hate for him, no reason exists for either of you to. Hermes is a good soul and you should release him." Out of breath, Y/N found herself on fire with her nerves sparking up as every moment passed she felt herself grow stronger, more sure of herself. Without waiting for Zeus to speak and send her on her way, Y/N crossed the short distance between the stand and where Hermes was held on his knees with his brother a step behind him.

She threw herself at the god, wrapping her arms around him so tightly if he were human his ribs would crack under the pressure. She longed for a touch of his skin, but all she found was a long black cape under her fingertips, and gold plates right under her arms instead of his shoulders.

"Return to your seat, Y/N Y/L/N." Zeus ordered sternly, but she rebelled long enough to stand and grip Apollo who came closer, hugging over Hermes who felt his soul tear itself up only to be made new again with the pounding of his heart being so deafening.

"Are they mine?" Apollo whispered in her ear, frantic at the possibility of having an answer.

"Valerie is." She managed to respond before one of the guards rudely grabbed her by the arm and ripped her away from Apollo with a ruthless tug, causing her to stifle a pained groan.

"DON'T FUCKING PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER!" Hermes jolted, his voice echoing the hall as he watched the guard drag her back to the stand and release her from his hold.

Apollo gritted his teeth, not only because he was so fucking confused about what she meant, but also because he wanted nothing more than to rip into the guard and take his life with his own two hands. He'd choke the life out of him, snap him like a twig before throwing him into the Underworld, allowing Hermes to decide on the best form of torture for him.

"I believe I asked you to return to your seat. If not, I'm more than happy to show you what happens when someone disobeys a god." Zeus quipped, his lips curling to the left as he formed a half smile and his forehead no longer creased as his wicked implications came to life and Y/N quickly nodded, doing as she's told. She knew the threat was against her children, you didn't have to be a mind reader to see that.

Crashing in her seat, she could hardly breathe as she heaved with a fury of untold confessions to her favorite gods and hateful words at Zeus and all those who liked to play with human lives.

"Maybe you should. There are two of those snot monsters." Poseidon speaks up, rubbing his chin devilishly as a wicked grin spread across his lips.

Y/N's eyes widen, her hands gripping the chair she's in as she lunged forward to jump and protest, but Hecate outstretched her arm instinctively in front of her, stopping Y/N from doing something rash that she couldn't take back.

"Or perhaps I could tell my story and you can stop being such an ass? Have your forgotten Hera made an unbreakable vow?" Hecate raised her left eyebrow, standing up with ease as she challenged one of the supreme gods no one dared to second guess before. She waltzed toward the stand, keeping her gaze set on Poseidon who looked to be seething already.

"Or you can just return to the Underworld where you're supposed to be rotting! Perhaps you could be taught a lesson or two as Sisyphus is?" Poseidon snickered, placing his hands on his hips.

"Perhaps spend a few nights pleasuring me and I'll forget about all of this?" He offered, finding Hecate more than irritated.

"Maybe I'll bring back Medusa and have her do it for me? I'm sure she'd like to look you in the eye at least once." Hecate remarks and Y/N finally realizes this is all just a distraction for them to let go of the idea of even looking at her kids.

Hecate is...protecting her?

"Either way, I have a few to say to Hermes." She glances over her shoulder at her once consort, narrowing her eyes at him.

"He cheated on me, lied to me, abandoned me and then some. After all, he tried to kill me too. He just couldn't do the job right. Makes me think he didn't really want me dead, rather a way to exercise his demons on someone. Whatever. I don't really care what happens to him anymore, but if it's up to me, let him live the rest of his mortal life on Earth. Take away Underworld and watch him suffer for it while he's living a mundane life with Y/N and the brats she bore."

Without realizing it, in her first attempt of kindness in centuries, Hecate made a mistake.

"He tried to kill you?" Poseidon interrupts, watching her closely.

"Zeus, my brother, where did you bring Hecate here from?" The question alone unsettles both Hermes and Apollo, who is already well prepared for disaster.

"What are you trying to say?" Zeus frowns, realizing he had more trouble bringing the goddess to Mount Olympus than Y/N from Earth.

"I think Hecate here is dead. Just a shadow of her former self." Poseidon looks back to the goddess who lifts her head up high, strolling toward him with all the confidence in the world.

"You had to reassemble her soul from Tartarus to have her shadow here, didn't you? Poseidon keeps prodding, now making Y/N nervous. She still didn't know for sure, but she was pretty certain Ethan...Hermes is on trial for Hades' death. He was the only one missing in the hall and that's the only despicable thing Hermes wanted to do once he returned home. If Poseidon gets a whiff of what happened to Hecate, then what would happen to her?

"Who killed you, Hecate?" Zeus grabbed her by the shoulders roughly, shaking her violently as a rag doll while his rage filled voice chilled everyone around him to the bone.

Thunder rolled in, electricity sparking around the hall in unpredictable spots and once Y/N saw Hera cover her kids with her body, she knew they were safe and it helped her lessen the burden of her soul.

"Y/N did." Poseidon concludes, chuckling so loudly, so maniacally that his beauty truly didn't matter anymore. His rotten soul shocked more than his good looks, forcing Y/N to remind herself to breathe because the way this is going, she's in deep shit and she knows it.

Hecate turns to Y/N helplessly shouting: "RUN", but where? How? She's a human with everyone she loves trapped there as well. There's no where to run, especially not when two guards form by her side out of thin air, dragging her forth and pushing her down on her knees besides Hermes.

"Mommy!" Two tiny, terrified voices rippled through a sudden onset of hushed voices and small fights that erupted between the other gods.

But Y/N could barely hear anything after her kids screamed. She watched them trash against Hera as they fought to get to her side. She sensed Hermes lean toward her and his breath tickle her neck.

She didn't hear him whisper a promise that he wouldn't let this happen.

She didn't see nor hear Apollo being restrained just behind her as five guards struggled to hold him down. Apollo felt like a caged beast, breaking through anyone who tried to stop him from protecting Y/N and Hermes. He couldn't bear what would happen if he didn't. His duty as a god of Mount Olympus is to protect the gods and do what he must in order to serve his father for an eternity.

What is eternity without Y/N's gentle touch? What is eternity compared to his brother's love? Nothing at all. The love he bears for Y/N, for Hermes...for that little girl Y/N told him is his and possibly the boy as well? That love is the death of duty he swore to ever since he became aware of his existence.

He tried to reach Y/N, but she seemed frozen in her spot, her eyes laid upon her children in the far right as Zeus came closer, all the way until he stopped in front of her and the son he could barely call his anymore.

The next thing Y/N heard was what sealed her fate.

"Taking a life is an unspeakable crime. To take a gods eternity? It. Is. Unforgivable. You are both sentenced to die."

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Tags: @mutuallynotmutual @lanadeldolans @xalayx @accalialionheart @gia-kerks @historyheart  @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @fallinginlove-16  @lanadeldolans @beautifulfound @thearachna-kid  @dinnerwiththedolans  @graydolan12 @justanotherfangurl272 @dxlansfxck  @godlydolans @flowery-dolan @dominatedolans @buckysjuicyplums @ethanhes @dolandolll @dolanstwintuesday

[winterisakillerwrites]

Brave Face - Part Three

Title: Brave Face

One Shot: 3/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: A wedding is one of the happiest days of one’s life. It is the beginning of the future and for Amelia Evans this was no different. Tom HIddleston stood watching her as she walked down the aisle while considering every choice that had brought him here. For better or worse, his life was fundamentally changed.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So full disclosure this story came about completely by accident. I had this vague idea in my head and it probably would have stayed that way had I not been talking to @redfoxwritesstuff and said “So I have this idea…”. This literally grew from a ‘huh, this should be straight forward’ to ‘holy fuck what have I gotten myself into?!’. All in all this is a 13,000+ word one shot that has been split into three parts to make for easier posting/reading. Hope you all enjoy.

Previous

Luke blinked at Tom in confusion before ushering him inside. Whatever it was had happened to bring Tom to his door in such a state and at this hour, Luke was certain it was definitely not a conversation for the front step. He closed the door and hurried to follow Tom into the living room. By the time Luke rounded the corner into his living room, Tom had collapsed onto the couch, legs spread and head resting in his opened hands as he rocked slowly back and forth.

He took a deep breath and came to stand before Tom’s hunched form. “Tell me exactly what’s happened.”  

Tom stuttered through his explanations, unable to look Luke in the face, his were eyes downcast and his hands wringing together before him; he’d been drinking and picked up a woman he didn’t know at a pub, they’d gone back to hers and had sex, and only after had he realized that they’d not used protection. The mortification burned as he admitted just how badly he’d fucked up. How could this have happened? How could he have been so fucking careless?

He felt Luke’s eyes burning into him as his publicist fired off questions and demanded clarifications of him in rapid succession. Exactly which pub? Whose idea was it to leave? Did he remember her address? Her name? What had she said when he’d realized? Where there any photographs taken; at the pub, on the street, in her flat? Did she know who he was?

Tom was visibly shaking once more as Luke’s questions continued to rain down on him; his stomach tying itself in knots, his mind racing, and god he was sure he was going to be violently ill. Tears welled in his eyes and he couldn’t seem to stop them. God. Oh god what had he done? How could he have been so fucking, fucking stupid? He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, trying to ground himself, trying to keep the world from splintering around him. He couldn’t breathe; his chest burned with the effort and he could hear the worst sort of wailing noise that he realized to his horror, was coming from his own lips. But he couldn’t make it stop.

Luke’s sudden grip on his shoulder, so tight he was sure it would leave fingermarks, was only thing Tom could focus on. He heard Luke’s voice in his ear but couldn’t focus on his words. It felt as if the world was closing in around him. Luke shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Tom, stop. It will be alright. We’ll fix it. Just breathe. We can fix it.”

Slowly Tom raised his head, his eyes wide and glassy with tears. “How? God, Luke, how are we going to fix this?” The words were jumbled together, almost incoherent. How could they possibly fix this mess? She would go to the press, she would ruin him. Everything he had worked so hard for would be gone. His mother would be so bitterly disappointed in him…What if she ended up pregnant? He couldn’t be someone’s father….Round and round the thoughts circled, bumping and colliding until they were all Tom could see.

“Tom! Stop! Look at me.” Fingers forcefully grabbed Tom under the chin and pulled his face upwards until his eyes locked with Luke’s. “I will worry about all of that. Me. That is my job. Just breathe for me. In and out. And in. And out. Good, just like that. In. And out. And in.” He could feel his racing heart start to slow. The tightness in his chest easing just a fraction. “We will figure all of this out.”

It took until well after sun up for Luke to get Tom calm enough to talk coherently. He plied Tom with tea as he went through the questions he needed answers for once again until they were both weary with exhaustion. Tom couldn’t remember the building number but was pretty certain he could recall the street name. He was able to give Luke the name of the pub and the woman’s first name, Anna. He also told him that she’d stated she was on birth control after he’d confronted her but that he had no idea if she was being truthful. She hadn’t seemed to recognize him, at least he didn’t think she had, and he couldn’t recall seeing any photographers around the pub or in her street.

“What I can’t understand is how this got so far out of hand, Tom? I know you’ve not been a saint since…” Luke’s voice trailed off for a brief moment, eyes darting to the side as he caught himself from uttering her name, before continuing. “But you’ve always been careful and discrete. This…Tom, what happened?”

A familiar burst of pain shot through Tom as his mind replayed the way she had smiled at the man who wasn’t him. At the way she’d seemed so happy. “Amy,” he whispered, the name sticking in his throat.

“Amy?” Luke repeated, dumbfounded. He’d known Tom’s change in personal behavior had stemmed from the disintegration of his relationship with Amy, but it had been well over a year since he’d last seen her. What could have possibly happened to trigger this, now? “What about Amy?”

Tom let loose a mirthless chuckle. “She was on a date…I knew sooner or later that she would…That she’d move on…But I just…I hadn’t thought that it would be so…” He couldn’t find the words, his thoughts a tangled mess. How could he even begin to put into words the kind of pain that had ripped through him when he’d realized what he was seeing? When it became clear she’d moved on. How could he put into words the numbing fear that overwhelmed him when he began to understand what he thought was his own closure was nothing more than a plaster to a broken bone. He’d been lying to himself for near on a year; he wasn’t over them. Wasn’t over her and the mess he had made of their once happy life.

Luke pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh god, Tom.”

He flinched, knowing just how horrible all of this sounded; just how badly he’d let himself come off the rails. He hadn’t been over it, not even slightly, no matter what he’d been telling himself. And just as apparent was the fact he’d been chasing away his own guilt and loneliness in the bodies of others. It was stupid and dangerous and only now did he start to see just how badly he could fuck up his career, his life. “I know, dammit. I know.”

Silence overwhelmed them, neither man speaking for several long moments. A sigh of resignation fell from Luke’s lips. “I need to make a few calls, you might as well head up to the guest room, Tom. You’re dead on your feet.”

Tom nodded and pushed himself to his feet and towards the stairs leading to the second floor and guest room. There was little point in fighting Luke on this, the man was nearly as stubborn as he was; though Tom wasn’t sure if sleep were even possible no matter how physically drained he might have been.

And despite everything, he’d fallen asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow.

The next several weeks were a blur of activity. Tom had thrown himself into rehearsals with a frenzy that caused quite the comment amongst his fellow actors and the production crew. He hadn’t paid it any mind. Working helped him cope with the uncertainty that had plagued his days. Along with whatever legal wrangling Luke had to orchestrate, he’d booked Tom in for testing a little over a week following his breakdown and arranged a meeting with a therapist; “Just because I think you need to really talk with someone. Please just give it a try. You owe yourself that much.”

Waiting for the results of his bloodwork had Tom on edge for days; torn between worrying just what he’d do if anything came back positive and not daring to let himself hope that he had dodged that particular bullet. He’d been short and ill-tempered which served his portrayal of Caius Martius well, but left him in ever growing knots. When the phone call came nearly a week later, Tom hadn’t been sure whether he’d wanted to laugh or to cry. Clean. All clean. The doctor cautioned him that he would be wise to be retested in six months’ time, just to be smart. He’d booked the appointment and called Luke straight after to make sure that he had the time cleared. He was lucky, far luckier than he’d deserved.

Rehearsals began to wind down as the December premiere date grew ever closer. Things were coming together, they were nearly ready. Tom was of two minds; both ecstatic to finally bring his character fully to life and terrified that once he had he would be torn to pieces. He was talented, he’d known that, but this was something so much bigger than himself. What if he had bitten off far more than he could possibly handle? He fought to shake off those feelings; working to recognize them for what they were, the jittery nerves he’d felt before the start of any project. Silly things he knew plagued even then best of the craft.

Opening night was upon him far sooner than he’d expected. The rush he’d felt as he walked onto the stage the first night nearly bowled him over. This was what he’d always wanted to do. And he owned it. Owned the stage. Owned his role. It was cathartic, stamping around on stage night after night; losing himself in someone else’s anger and frustration, letting his own shine through just a small amount.

He’d reluctantly agreed to see the therapist Luke had recommended. She was an older woman, in her well preserved fifties if he’d had to guess; no nonsense and seemingly unshakable. Their first few sessions were awkward; Tom having no idea how this sort of thing was actually supposed to work and dreading having to talk about his own failures with anymore let alone someone he honestly didn’t know. She’d been unfailingly patient with him, reminding him that these sessions were at his pace and therefore he could talk about any and everything he wanted or not. He’d asked her if she knew why he’d come and she’d answered by turning the question around on him.

Tom had stumbled far more than he’d walked in those early days and once he started talking he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. He’d talked mostly about that stupid, careless night and how he’d let himself get pissed enough to place not only his career but his life in jeopardy. He spoke about his fears of what the long standing consequences of his actions would be; what if there were a child? What if the tests were wrong and he ended up sick or worse dying? She had listened with a knowing presence, acknowledging that his fears were valid ones but that their likelihood diminished with each passing day. And if such things were to come to pass, then he would find a way to work through them.  

The end of his Coriolanus run in January found Tom physically exhausted but in good spirits. It hadn’t been an easy run but he was proud of the work they’d accomplished. Josie had been a delight to work with and he found himself hoping he’d be granted the opportunity to do so again in near future. He had a few short weeks to himself before he would have to gear up for the start of filming for his latest project in Toronto. And then it Belfast to start the process all over again before finally heading to Louisiana

When his mother had caught wind of just what the year looked to bring for Tom, she’d pulled him aside and asked if he was sure this was what he’d wanted. He offered her his best smile and told her he understood her concern and would take care to keep himself together. These were chances he couldn’t risk not taking. His career was steadily on the rise but that wouldn’t last forever and he intended to take in as much of it as he possibly could. Diana had merely pursed her lips and nodded, telling him that while he was a grown man he was still and would always be her child. Her worry was something that went hand in hand with that.

Tom had thrown himself into filming Crimson Peak with seemingly all he had. He was often one of the first of the principal cast on set and one of the last to leave. The hours were long and more frequently than not fell into bed at the end of his days but Tom was honestly enjoying every moment. Mia and Jessica were a delight to work with; both immensely talented and wickedly funny often making even their longest and most grueling days enjoyable. Thomas Sharpe was not so much a departure, character-wise, for him but a challenge nonetheless. He’d dived headlong into working to understand who this dark and brooding man was and how his life and choices had worked to shape him. He wasn’t an evil man nor was he a good one. And Tom found working within that grey area to be profoundly interesting. Guillermo was bursting with ideas and had gladly welcomed and encouraged Tom’s in turn.

The end of filming several weeks later found him settled on yet another plane heading towards another city and the skin of another yet character for him to inhabit. This time a physician who descended into madness within the chaos and destruction of the community in a high rise.  As the plane ascended, Tom found himself watching the landscape beneath him shrink. An unexpected pang of regret resounded within him. Toronto was a beautiful city and, in retrospect, he wished he had taken more time to explore it. But there was no time now.

Belfast came and went in what felt like a blink of an eye. He was grateful to be home, if only almost, and for a brief space of time. The days he’d spent on set were long ones and more often than not evenings found him all but crawling into his bed. He’d enjoyed the experience and the chance he’d had to work with actors he’d admired for years, but he could feel the pull of exhaustion threatening to drag him down. But there was little time to stop and rest. Once again before he’d been completely ready, he was on yet another plane and heading towards yet another city and yet another character; a real, living person and the stakes seemed insurmountably higher.

Louisiana was impossibly hot, especially for September, and he hadn’t expected the wave of heat that engulfed him as he disembarked the plane that first day. Tom found himself often thinking longingly of the cooler shores of his home that had never seemed more far away. Filming wasn’t set to start for weeks yet but Tom had jumped at the chance to get a head start on becoming the man that had been Hank Williams. Immersing himself in both music and dialect, he picked the brains of those around him; people, books, whatever he could get his hands on, in order to have a greater understanding of the man whose shoes he would embody. Hank Williams had been an interesting and incredibly flawed man; beneath his smiling veneer lay a deeply troubled and broken man and it had struck a chord in Tom that he hadn’t expected. Watching as this man’s life spiraled around him hit far, far too close to home.

It had been nearly ten months since that night and not a signal word had come from Anna. A profound sense of relief flooded through Tom at the realization that somehow he had managed to make it out of that disaster as unscathed as he had. The bloodwork he had redrawn several months back had also thankfully remained clean. God, he had been far, far luckier than he’d deserved. And as he found himself contemplating Hank and the demons the man had carried on his back, Tom had never been more grateful that he’d been given his own wakeup call that cold late December morning.

He’d flown home for a brief two weeks during a lull in filming, needing the comfort and familiarity of home. His mother had welcomed him with open arms, commenting on his noticeably leaner frame. “For the film,” he’d assured her, though that did little to lessen the creases that seemed to form whenever he came into her sight.

He’d been settled at the kitchen table one morning, when he’d stumbled across the announcement. Tom had been flipping through the pages, not paying overmuch attention as he chatted with his mother who had insisted on making him breakfast, despite his protests, when a familiar name caught his eye. The words faltered from his lips as his eyes settled more firmly on the name and the words surrounding it.

‘The engagement is announced between Edward, son of Dr. and Mrs. Gains of Watford, Hertfordshire, and Amelia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Evans of London.’

Tom felt his heart cease as the meaning behind the printed words sank in. Amy was engaged. She was going to marry a man that wasn’t him. Objectively, he’d known it was only a matter of time; she had always been the marrying type and one day some fool would recognize this and offer her his hand. But in the quietest recesses of his mind he’d always assumed that someday it would be his ring she’d wear, his last name she would take. That somehow, some way, they would find each other again. But now…

He shook off his mother’s concerns when she noted his abrupt change in behavior, her eye falling to the paper he’d carelessly folded beside him on the table, insisting he was fine. Wordlessly, she’d crossed the kitchen and plucked the paper from the table and scanned its pages. Her eyes darted from the paper to his face. “Oh Thomas…”

Luke’s call had come that afternoon; both concern and professional duty causing the man to reach out. He’d waived Luke off, reassuring him that yes he would be alright, doing his utmost best to avoid acknowledging the way his heart lay shattered in his chest. It was clear to Tom that Luke hadn’t believed a word he’d spoken, but he hadn’t pressured him to say it aloud and for that Tom was grateful. Two days later he was on a plane back to Shreveport.

He’d thrown himself once more into filming with a single minded focus which once more caused comment from co-stars and crew alike. His commitment and drive to make this performance his best, despite the uncertainties and the doubts cast about in the press, was something that had cause no little stir. And he found it almost cathartic, playing this broken man. Living through the choices that had lead Hank down the tragic path his life had become gave Tom a way to exercise his own demons. He had been there, losing himself in drink and in the arms of women, and he’d almost let it destroy him. This time, with his character, he could see just what his life could have been. Just how close he’d come to ruining it all. It was humbling and heartbreaking.

When filming wrapped in December, Tom found himself anxious to start his next project. The Night Manager wouldn’t begin filming until sometime in March and he’d taken the downtime before to work his way through both novel and script; throwing himself into table reads and meetings with the cast and directors. He would also take on the helm of producer and it was a daunting but exhilarating feeling. He’d found a sort of solace in his work that he hadn’t felt in a long while.

Christmas had been a quiet affair; he’d visited with his mother and sisters and had taken time to travel to see his father. He’d done his best to avoid the questions he could clearly see in their eyes, the concern, trying to smile and pretend, just for a moment, that everything was truly okay. He’d met with his therapist when he could, now that he was physically in London he could resume face to face meetings rather than the weekly phone calls he’d slowly grown used to. He’d opened up to her then about Amy; his cheating and its consequence and of finding the announcement and the concrete proof that he’d finally lost her for good. She’d been understanding and empathetic, letting him talk his own way through and offering support when he’d needed it.

February had him standing beside his dear friend, Ben, in a small church on the Isle of Wight as he married the women he’d known for years but had only in recent years been able to call his own. The ceremony had been absolutely stunning and it was clear to him just how much Ben loved his new bride. He’d worked hard to keep his own envy at bay and had wished both Ben and Sophie all of the best.

Spring through midsummer saw him traveling to Switzerland, Morocco, and Spain with a brief sojourn back to England in-between. He juggled his dual roles as best he could; always striving to learn as much as he could about the craft, the locations, and the people he worked with. It had been a learning experience and one he’d been grateful to have earned. Once production had wrapped, Tom could feel the exhaustion’s pull on him. But there were promotional tours that had come due; interviews and photo calls, and the constant sense of perpetual movement. So he had dutifully smiled and gave the world the bright and charming Tom Hiddleston they’d come to know and expect. He’d laughed and told antidotes from filming, signed posters and DVD cases and god knows how many other bits and bobs until his hands ached, posed for photograph after photograph, and never once complained. How could he? This was simply a part of what gave him the chance to do what he’d loved for a living. Yes he was tired, and god he missed his home, but he was able to do so much, see so much, and surely it was worth the price he’d paid in the end?

When he’d finally made it home, what felt like eons later, and finally been able to shut his front door and breathe, it was to an empty house and a terrifyingly large pile of mail; dutifully dropped off by one of his manager’s assistants. The silence after so many months of chaos and noise felt almost suffocating despite his overwhelming desire to simply be alone. He rifled through the various letters, bills, and magazines without much thought or care as he puttered around his bright kitchen making a simple dinner of fried eggs and toast.

He’d been so focused on making sure not to burn the eggs (he’d only managed it once and by god getting the smell out of the house had been a nightmare) that he’d missed it the first time through. It wasn’t until he’d settled at the dining room table, dinner in hand that he noticed the thick, off-white envelope. His name and address were written across the front in small, neat script. His eyes immediately flicked to the return address and felt his heart sink as recognition dawned.

Tom tore the envelope open as quickly and carefully as he could. The invitation was simple in its design but beautifully made. Thick cream colored cardstock with dark green text in a fine looping hand and tiny drawings of wildflowers decorated its edges. The words written in the looping hand stung far more than he’d expected. He’d known this was coming, thought he had come to terms with it, but seeing it before him, printed in no uncertain terms felt like an ice shard to the heart.

                      Mr. and Mrs. Henry Evans cordially invite you

                         To attend the marriage of their daughter

                      Amelia Grace Evans to Edward Michael Gains

                     Ceremony to take place 23rd April 2016 at 1500

                                      In the parish of St James

                                          Reception to follow

A sheath of paper behind the invitation gave the details of the reception and other needed information, but none of it made the slightest bit of sense to Tom. The only thing echoing in his mind was that he’d lost her; for good this time. He sat staring at the cardstock until his dinner had long since gone cold. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Wasn’t sure exactly what he felt.

With shaking hands he fumbled his mobile from his pocket and dialed without letting himself think on what he was doing. “You’ve seen it, then?” Emma’s voice was softer than he’d expected. They’d drifted in the last two years, something Tom had hated. She may be his annoying little sister, but he’d loved her fiercely and had felt her loss acutely.

“Yes,” he managed to breathe, his head falling into his opened palm. He fought to control his breathing, to keep himself in check. The last thing he had wanted was to fall to pieces, especially now. He didn’t have the right to do so; he’d forfeited it the second he’d made the decision to stray. This, all of this, was nothing less than what he’d deserved. “I just,” he started, the words catching in his throat, “I don’t understand. Why? Why did she send me this? Does she…Was it to hurt me because I hurt her?” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they weren’t true. It was a childish hope on his part; because if she had sought to hurt him with this then it would mean she still cared. And he desperately wanted her to do so. Nor could he believe she was callous enough to want to hurt him out of spite. But while Amy had never been a saint, she had never, ever, been vindictive nor cruel. And despite the intervening years, Tom doubted she’d have changed so drastically.

“Oh Tom,” Emma whispered, “You know she wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t hate you.” She paused, taking a deep breath. When she started again, he could hear the hesitation in her voice. “She wanted to, especially at first…And I can’t say I blame her. You hurt her badly…But she doesn’t hate you, Tom, I don’t think she ever really could.”  

A choked gasp escaped him at her words. He’d known he’d hurt Amy, and hurt her badly, but hearing it so bluntly put sent spasms of guilt and pain through him. All Amy had ever done was love him and he’d thrown it right back in her face. She should have hated him, would have been well within her rights to do so. And knowing that, despite everything, she didn’t felt so terribly unfair.  “Then why?”

“I don’t know…Maybe…Maybe to show you that she is actually okay. That she’s been able to move on. That the hurt didn’t break her…And maybe she hoped that if you understood that you could take comfort in it.” Her words were hesitant and Tom desperately wanted to believe them, but he knew it wasn’t something he felt he’d earned or in all honestly deserved.

“Tom?” Emma’s voice cut through the confusion in his mind. “Tom are you still there?”

He cleared his throat before speaking, “Yeah, Em, I’m still here…I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Staring at the invitation now, Tom wasn’t sure what to think or how to start to precede. He could clearly imagine just what Luke would say. ‘Just let it be, Tom. Mark yourself as not going, send a gift if you want. But for the love of god, man, let it be.’ And he had to admit that would be the smarter path. She had said her peace in her own way, the best thing for him to do with it was left it be. But there was a part of him, growing steadily louder and more insistent, which wondered if actually going would be the best way to finally, finally, put this in the past. If he could just see it with his own eyes; see Amy happy and settled, then he would be able to move on as well.

Tom had mailed the RSVP back (with a tick mark in the attending box) within the week, not letting himself think overmuch on it. He’d waited nearly another before mentioning he had done so to Luke, who as he’d expected, had nearly blown a gasket at the news. “Dammit Tom, what the FUCK were you thinking? Actually GOING to the wedding? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”

He’d let Luke rant, not knowing exactly what to say. A part of him knew that by actually going to this, he was playing with fire. A very real, very dangerous fire. He’d nearly ruined everything after simply seeing her in the street with another man (Edward he now assumed), why the fuck did he think he could handle seeing her married? Luke knew better than anyone just how bad an idea this actually was; in both a personal and potentially PR related manner.

“I can’t take it back now, Luke,” Tom finally cut in, his voice quiet and subdued. “I need to do this. I need to face this head on. I can’t keep burying my head in the sand. And maybe, just maybe, after it’s all said and done, I can try to let this go. I need to try.”

The months that followed were a blur of activity. Between the intense but profoundly enjoyable principal filming for Skull Island and various promotional and charity endeavors, Tom found himself staring down the 23rd of April far sooner than he’d been prepared for. He’d managed to forget, if only for a time, that the date had been growing ever closer and suddenly facing its imminent arrival made his knees buckle and his gut churn. But he had made his decision and he would not let himself back out of it, no matter what the cost.

And now, here he stood, watching as Amy promised to love, cherish, and honor someone else for the rest of her days and her groom promised to do the same in turn. Jealously and guilt burned brightly inside of him but Tom forced himself to smile and offer his support and congratulations as Amy and her new husband walked back down the aisle hand in hand.

He could see clearly the joy within Amy; she was radiant with it. And he was truly happy for her; happy that she had found someone to love and cherish her the way he hadn’t, happy to see the same joy radiating from the man by her side. But it did little to lessen to the sense of loss and agony of knowing that had he been a better man, had he truly appreciated what they had been, this could have been their wedding. Their happy ever after. But he hadn’t been and there was little he could do to change it now.

In the flurry of activity, Tom found his chance to slip away quietly. He’d known it was the height of rudeness to slip away before the reception but knew just as acutely that no matter how talented of an actor he was there wasn’t any way he could keep his façade going in any convincing manner for much longer. And the absolute last thing he wanted was to ruin this day for Amy. He’d taken enough.

She caught his eye as he made his way down the side stairs and he offered her what he’d hoped was a convincingly warm smile. She offered him one in return before her attention returned to the man at her side. She looked so unbelievably happy and it burned far more than he’d expected it to. The loneliness, the emptiness that he’d let his life become. Yes, he was successful and by any other standard his life seemed ideal, but it wasn’t until that moment Tom realized just how isolating it was. He had his family, his friends, his work, but somehow that didn’t seem enough anymore.

He fought the urge to tell the cabbie to take him to the nearest pub. It would be so easy to let himself drink and forget, to slip back into those hold and familiar habits. After all it was just one night. But he’d known far too well how destructive that path could be and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself fall down it again. Not now. Instead, he rattled off his address with a weary sigh before leaning his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

The house was dark and quiet on his return. He stumbled up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a collision with the suitcase he’d stashed by the landing that morning. Tom rushed his way through a shower before collapsing onto his bed. His flight to New York was set for midafternoon the next day, another reason Luke had been so deadest against his attending the wedding; the itinerary Tom had been forwarded the day before laying folded on top of the largest case. Another round of promotion and events; dinners and networking, smiling and playing the role he knew all too well. He found himself dreading this trip as much as looking forward to the opportunity it would offer him. Something would have to change though he couldn’t seem to put his finger on what or how; just that for his own sanity, it must.

[winterisakiller]

Brave Face - Part Three

Title: Brave Face

One Shot: 3/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: A wedding is one of the happiest days of one’s life. It is the beginning of the future and for Amelia Evans this was no different. Tom HIddleston stood watching her as she walked down the aisle while considering every choice that had brought him here. For better or worse, his life was fundamentally changed.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So full disclosure this story came about completely by accident. I had this vague idea in my head and it probably would have stayed that way had I not been talking to @redfoxwritesstuff and said “So I have this idea…”. This literally grew from a ‘huh, this should be straight forward’ to ‘holy fuck what have I gotten myself into?!’. All in all this is a 13,000+ word one shot that has been split into three parts to make for easier posting/reading. Hope you all enjoy.

So this is going up two days early as I’m trying to get myself back to posting on Thursdays. Enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @messy-insomniac-bookgirl

if you want to be tagged for any future works, let me know. 

Previous Part

Luke blinked at Tom in confusion before ushering him inside. Whatever it was had happened to bring Tom to his door in such a state and at this hour, Luke was certain it was definitely not a conversation for the front step. He closed the door and hurried to follow Tom into the living room. By the time Luke rounded the corner into his living room, Tom had collapsed onto the couch, legs spread and head resting in his opened hands as he rocked slowly back and forth.

 He took a deep breath and came to stand before Tom’s hunched form. “Tell me exactly what’s happened.”  

 Tom stuttered through his explanations, unable to look Luke in the face, his were eyes downcast and his hands wringing together before him; he’d been drinking and picked up a woman he didn’t know at a pub, they’d gone back to hers and had sex, and only after had he realized that they’d not used protection. The mortification burned as he admitted just how badly he’d fucked up. How could this have happened? How could he have been so fucking careless?

 He felt Luke’s eyes burning into him as his publicist fired off questions and demanded clarifications of him in rapid succession. Exactly which pub? Whose idea was it to leave? Did he remember her address? Her name? What had she said when he’d realized? Where there any photographs taken; at the pub, on the street, in her flat? Did she know who he was?

 Tom was visibly shaking once more as Luke’s questions continued to rain down on him; his stomach tying itself in knots, his mind racing, and god he was sure he was going to be violently ill. Tears welled in his eyes and he couldn’t seem to stop them. God. Oh god what had he done? How could he have been so fucking, fucking stupid? He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, trying to ground himself, trying to keep the world from splintering around him. He couldn’t breathe; his chest burned with the effort and he could hear the worst sort of wailing noise that he realized to his horror, was coming from his own lips. But he couldn’t make it stop.

 Luke’s sudden grip on his shoulder, so tight he was sure it would leave fingermarks, was only thing Tom could focus on. He heard Luke’s voice in his ear but couldn’t focus on his words. It felt as if the world was closing in around him. Luke shook him hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Tom, stop. It will be alright. We’ll fix it. Just breathe. We can fix it.”

 Slowly Tom raised his head, his eyes wide and glassy with tears. “How? God, Luke, how are we going to fix this?” The words were jumbled together, almost incoherent. How could they possibly fix this mess? She would go to the press, she would ruin him. Everything he had worked so hard for would be gone. His mother would be so bitterly disappointed in him…What if she ended up pregnant? He couldn’t be someone’s father....Round and round the thoughts circled, bumping and colliding until they were all Tom could see.

 “Tom! Stop! Look at me.” Fingers forcefully grabbed Tom under the chin and pulled his face upwards until his eyes locked with Luke’s. “I will worry about all of that. Me. That is my job. Just breathe for me. In and out. And in. And out. Good, just like that. In. And out. And in.” He could feel his racing heart start to slow. The tightness in his chest easing just a fraction. “We will figure all of this out.”

 It took until well after sun up for Luke to get Tom calm enough to talk coherently. He plied Tom with tea as he went through the questions he needed answers for once again until they were both weary with exhaustion. Tom couldn’t remember the building number but was pretty certain he could recall the street name. He was able to give Luke the name of the pub and the woman’s first name, Anna. He also told him that she’d stated she was on birth control after he’d confronted her but that he had no idea if she was being truthful. She hadn’t seemed to recognize him, at least he didn’t think she had, and he couldn’t recall seeing any photographers around the pub or in her street.

 “What I can’t understand is how this got so far out of hand, Tom? I know you’ve not been a saint since…” Luke’s voice trailed off for a brief moment, eyes darting to the side as he caught himself from uttering her name, before continuing. “But you’ve always been careful and discrete. This…Tom, what happened?”

 A familiar burst of pain shot through Tom as his mind replayed the way she had smiled at the man who wasn’t him. At the way she’d seemed so happy. “Amy,” he whispered, the name sticking in his throat.

 “Amy?” Luke repeated, dumbfounded. He’d known Tom’s change in personal behavior had stemmed from the disintegration of his relationship with Amy, but it had been well over a year since he’d last seen her. What could have possibly happened to trigger this, now? “What about Amy?”

 Tom let loose a mirthless chuckle. “She was on a date…I knew sooner or later that she would…That she’d move on…But I just…I hadn’t thought that it would be so…” He couldn’t find the words, his thoughts a tangled mess. How could he even begin to put into words the kind of pain that had ripped through him when he’d realized what he was seeing? When it became clear she’d moved on. How could he put into words the numbing fear that overwhelmed him when he began to understand what he thought was his own closure was nothing more than a plaster to a broken bone. He’d been lying to himself for near on a year; he wasn’t over them. Wasn’t over her and the mess he had made of their once happy life.

 Luke pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh god, Tom.”

 He flinched, knowing just how horrible all of this sounded; just how badly he’d let himself come off the rails. He hadn’t been over it, not even slightly, no matter what he’d been telling himself. And just as apparent was the fact he’d been chasing away his own guilt and loneliness in the bodies of others. It was stupid and dangerous and only now did he start to see just how badly he could fuck up his career, his life. “I know, dammit. I know.”

 Silence overwhelmed them, neither man speaking for several long moments. A sigh of resignation fell from Luke’s lips. “I need to make a few calls, you might as well head up to the guest room, Tom. You’re dead on your feet.”

 Tom nodded and pushed himself to his feet and towards the stairs leading to the second floor and guest room. There was little point in fighting Luke on this, the man was nearly as stubborn as he was; though Tom wasn’t sure if sleep were even possible no matter how physically drained he might have been.

 And despite everything, he’d fallen asleep almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow.

 The next several weeks were a blur of activity. Tom had thrown himself into rehearsals with a frenzy that caused quite the comment amongst his fellow actors and the production crew. He hadn’t paid it any mind. Working helped him cope with the uncertainty that had plagued his days. Along with whatever legal wrangling Luke had to orchestrate, he’d booked Tom in for testing a little over a week following his breakdown and arranged a meeting with a therapist; “Just because I think you need to really talk with someone. Please just give it a try. You owe yourself that much.”

 Waiting for the results of his bloodwork had Tom on edge for days; torn between worrying just what he’d do if anything came back positive and not daring to let himself hope that he had dodged that particular bullet. He’d been short and ill-tempered which served his portrayal of Caius Martius well, but left him in ever growing knots. When the phone call came nearly a week later, Tom hadn’t been sure whether he’d wanted to laugh or to cry. Clean. All clean. The doctor cautioned him that he would be wise to be retested in six months’ time, just to be smart. He’d booked the appointment and called Luke straight after to make sure that he had the time cleared. He was lucky, far luckier than he’d deserved.

 Rehearsals began to wind down as the December premiere date grew ever closer. Things were coming together, they were nearly ready. Tom was of two minds; both ecstatic to finally bring his character fully to life and terrified that once he had he would be torn to pieces. He was talented, he’d known that, but this was something so much bigger than himself. What if he had bitten off far more than he could possibly handle? He fought to shake off those feelings; working to recognize them for what they were, the jittery nerves he’d felt before the start of any project. Silly things he knew plagued even then best of the craft.

 Opening night was upon him far sooner than he’d expected. The rush he’d felt as he walked onto the stage the first night nearly bowled him over. This was what he’d always wanted to do. And he owned it. Owned the stage. Owned his role. It was cathartic, stamping around on stage night after night; losing himself in someone else’s anger and frustration, letting his own shine through just a small amount.

 He’d reluctantly agreed to see the therapist Luke had recommended. She was an older woman, in her well preserved fifties if he’d had to guess; no nonsense and seemingly unshakable. Their first few sessions were awkward; Tom having no idea how this sort of thing was actually supposed to work and dreading having to talk about his own failures with anymore let alone someone he honestly didn’t know. She’d been unfailingly patient with him, reminding him that these sessions were at his pace and therefore he could talk about any and everything he wanted or not. He’d asked her if she knew why he’d come and she’d answered by turning the question around on him.

 Tom had stumbled far more than he’d walked in those early days and once he started talking he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. He’d talked mostly about that stupid, careless night and how he’d let himself get pissed enough to place not only his career but his life in jeopardy. He spoke about his fears of what the long standing consequences of his actions would be; what if there were a child? What if the tests were wrong and he ended up sick or worse dying? She had listened with a knowing presence, acknowledging that his fears were valid ones but that their likelihood diminished with each passing day. And if such things were to come to pass, then he would find a way to work through them.  

 The end of his Coriolanus run in January found Tom physically exhausted but in good spirits. It hadn’t been an easy run but he was proud of the work they’d accomplished. Josie had been a delight to work with and he found himself hoping he’d be granted the opportunity to do so again in near future. He had a few short weeks to himself before he would have to gear up for the start of filming for his latest project in Toronto. And then it Belfast to start the process all over again before finally heading to Louisiana

 When his mother had caught wind of just what the year looked to bring for Tom, she’d pulled him aside and asked if he was sure this was what he’d wanted. He offered her his best smile and told her he understood her concern and would take care to keep himself together. These were chances he couldn’t risk not taking. His career was steadily on the rise but that wouldn’t last forever and he intended to take in as much of it as he possibly could. Diana had merely pursed her lips and nodded, telling him that while he was a grown man he was still and would always be her child. Her worry was something that went hand in hand with that.

 Tom had thrown himself into filming Crimson Peak with seemingly all he had. He was often one of the first of the principal cast on set and one of the last to leave. The hours were long and more frequently than not fell into bed at the end of his days but Tom was honestly enjoying every moment. Mia and Jessica were a delight to work with; both immensely talented and wickedly funny often making even their longest and most grueling days enjoyable. Thomas Sharpe was not so much a departure, character-wise, for him but a challenge nonetheless. He’d dived headlong into working to understand who this dark and brooding man was and how his life and choices had worked to shape him. He wasn’t an evil man nor was he a good one. And Tom found working within that grey area to be profoundly interesting. Guillermo was bursting with ideas and had gladly welcomed and encouraged Tom’s in turn.

 The end of filming several weeks later found him settled on yet another plane heading towards another city and the skin of another yet character for him to inhabit. This time a physician who descended into madness within the chaos and destruction of the community in a high rise.  As the plane ascended, Tom found himself watching the landscape beneath him shrink. An unexpected pang of regret resounded within him. Toronto was a beautiful city and, in retrospect, he wished he had taken more time to explore it. But there was no time now.

 Belfast came and went in what felt like a blink of an eye. He was grateful to be home, if only almost, and for a brief space of time. The days he’d spent on set were long ones and more often than not evenings found him all but crawling into his bed. He’d enjoyed the experience and the chance he’d had to work with actors he’d admired for years, but he could feel the pull of exhaustion threatening to drag him down. But there was little time to stop and rest. Once again before he’d been completely ready, he was on yet another plane and heading towards yet another city and yet another character; a real, living person and the stakes seemed insurmountably higher.

 Louisiana was impossibly hot, especially for September, and he hadn’t expected the wave of heat that engulfed him as he disembarked the plane that first day. Tom found himself often thinking longingly of the cooler shores of his home that had never seemed more far away. Filming wasn’t set to start for weeks yet but Tom had jumped at the chance to get a head start on becoming the man that had been Hank Williams. Immersing himself in both music and dialect, he picked the brains of those around him; people, books, whatever he could get his hands on, in order to have a greater understanding of the man whose shoes he would embody. Hank Williams had been an interesting and incredibly flawed man; beneath his smiling veneer lay a deeply troubled and broken man and it had struck a chord in Tom that he hadn’t expected. Watching as this man’s life spiraled around him hit far, far too close to home.

 It had been nearly ten months since that night and not a signal word had come from Anna. A profound sense of relief flooded through Tom at the realization that somehow he had managed to make it out of that disaster as unscathed as he had. The bloodwork he had redrawn several months back had also thankfully remained clean. God, he had been far, far luckier than he’d deserved. And as he found himself contemplating Hank and the demons the man had carried on his back, Tom had never been more grateful that he’d been given his own wakeup call that cold late December morning.

 He'd flown home for a brief two weeks during a lull in filming, needing the comfort and familiarity of home. His mother had welcomed him with open arms, commenting on his noticeably leaner frame. “For the film,” he’d assured her, though that did little to lessen the creases that seemed to form whenever he came into her sight.

 He’d been settled at the kitchen table one morning, when he’d stumbled across the announcement. Tom had been flipping through the pages, not paying overmuch attention as he chatted with his mother who had insisted on making him breakfast, despite his protests, when a familiar name caught his eye. The words faltered from his lips as his eyes settled more firmly on the name and the words surrounding it.

 ‘The engagement is announced between Edward, son of Dr. and Mrs. Gains of Watford, Hertfordshire, and Amelia, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Evans of London.’

 Tom felt his heart cease as the meaning behind the printed words sank in. Amy was engaged. She was going to marry a man that wasn’t him. Objectively, he’d known it was only a matter of time; she had always been the marrying type and one day some fool would recognize this and offer her his hand. But in the quietest recesses of his mind he’d always assumed that someday it would be his ring she’d wear, his last name she would take. That somehow, some way, they would find each other again. But now…

 He shook off his mother’s concerns when she noted his abrupt change in behavior, her eye falling to the paper he’d carelessly folded beside him on the table, insisting he was fine. Wordlessly, she’d crossed the kitchen and plucked the paper from the table and scanned its pages. Her eyes darted from the paper to his face. “Oh Thomas…”

 Luke’s call had come that afternoon; both concern and professional duty causing the man to reach out. He’d waived Luke off, reassuring him that yes he would be alright, doing his utmost best to avoid acknowledging the way his heart lay shattered in his chest. It was clear to Tom that Luke hadn’t believed a word he’d spoken, but he hadn’t pressured him to say it aloud and for that Tom was grateful. Two days later he was on a plane back to Shreveport.

 He’d thrown himself once more into filming with a single minded focus which once more caused comment from co-stars and crew alike. His commitment and drive to make this performance his best, despite the uncertainties and the doubts cast about in the press, was something that had cause no little stir. And he found it almost cathartic, playing this broken man. Living through the choices that had lead Hank down the tragic path his life had become gave Tom a way to exercise his own demons. He had been there, losing himself in drink and in the arms of women, and he’d almost let it destroy him. This time, with his character, he could see just what his life could have been. Just how close he’d come to ruining it all. It was humbling and heartbreaking.

 When filming wrapped in December, Tom found himself anxious to start his next project. The Night Manager wouldn’t begin filming until sometime in March and he’d taken the downtime before to work his way through both novel and script; throwing himself into table reads and meetings with the cast and directors. He would also take on the helm of producer and it was a daunting but exhilarating feeling. He’d found a sort of solace in his work that he hadn’t felt in a long while.

 Christmas had been a quiet affair; he’d visited with his mother and sisters and had taken time to travel to see his father. He’d done his best to avoid the questions he could clearly see in their eyes, the concern, trying to smile and pretend, just for a moment, that everything was truly okay. He’d met with his therapist when he could, now that he was physically in London he could resume face to face meetings rather than the weekly phone calls he’d slowly grown used to. He’d opened up to her then about Amy; his cheating and its consequence and of finding the announcement and the concrete proof that he’d finally lost her for good. She’d been understanding and empathetic, letting him talk his own way through and offering support when he’d needed it.

 February had him standing beside his dear friend, Ben, in a small church on the Isle of Wight as he married the women he’d known for years but had only in recent years been able to call his own. The ceremony had been absolutely stunning and it was clear to him just how much Ben loved his new bride. He’d worked hard to keep his own envy at bay and had wished both Ben and Sophie all of the best.

 Spring through midsummer saw him traveling to Switzerland, Morocco, and Spain with a brief sojourn back to England in-between. He juggled his dual roles as best he could; always striving to learn as much as he could about the craft, the locations, and the people he worked with. It had been a learning experience and one he’d been grateful to have earned. Once production had wrapped, Tom could feel the exhaustion’s pull on him. But there were promotional tours that had come due; interviews and photo calls, and the constant sense of perpetual movement. So he had dutifully smiled and gave the world the bright and charming Tom Hiddleston they’d come to know and expect. He’d laughed and told antidotes from filming, signed posters and DVD cases and god knows how many other bits and bobs until his hands ached, posed for photograph after photograph, and never once complained. How could he? This was simply a part of what gave him the chance to do what he’d loved for a living. Yes he was tired, and god he missed his home, but he was able to do so much, see so much, and surely it was worth the price he’d paid in the end?

 When he’d finally made it home, what felt like eons later, and finally been able to shut his front door and breathe, it was to an empty house and a terrifyingly large pile of mail; dutifully dropped off by one of his manager’s assistants. The silence after so many months of chaos and noise felt almost suffocating despite his overwhelming desire to simply be alone. He rifled through the various letters, bills, and magazines without much thought or care as he puttered around his bright kitchen making a simple dinner of fried eggs and toast.

 He’d been so focused on making sure not to burn the eggs (he’d only managed it once and by god getting the smell out of the house had been a nightmare) that he’d missed it the first time through. It wasn’t until he’d settled at the dining room table, dinner in hand that he noticed the thick, off-white envelope. His name and address were written across the front in small, neat script. His eyes immediately flicked to the return address and felt his heart sink as recognition dawned.

 Tom tore the envelope open as quickly and carefully as he could. The invitation was simple in its design but beautifully made. Thick cream colored cardstock with dark green text in a fine looping hand and tiny drawings of wildflowers decorated its edges. The words written in the looping hand stung far more than he’d expected. He’d known this was coming, thought he had come to terms with it, but seeing it before him, printed in no uncertain terms felt like an ice shard to the heart.

                        Mr. and Mrs. Henry Evans cordially invite you

                          To attend the marriage of their daughter

                       Amelia Grace Evans to Edward Michael Gains

                      Ceremony to take place 23rd April 2016 at 1500

                                       In the parish of St James

                                           Reception to follow

 A sheath of paper behind the invitation gave the details of the reception and other needed information, but none of it made the slightest bit of sense to Tom. The only thing echoing in his mind was that he’d lost her; for good this time. He sat staring at the cardstock until his dinner had long since gone cold. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. Wasn’t sure exactly what he felt.

 With shaking hands he fumbled his mobile from his pocket and dialed without letting himself think on what he was doing. “You’ve seen it, then?” Emma’s voice was softer than he’d expected. They’d drifted in the last two years, something Tom had hated. She may be his annoying little sister, but he’d loved her fiercely and had felt her loss acutely.

 “Yes,” he managed to breathe, his head falling into his opened palm. He fought to control his breathing, to keep himself in check. The last thing he had wanted was to fall to pieces, especially now. He didn’t have the right to do so; he’d forfeited it the second he’d made the decision to stray. This, all of this, was nothing less than what he’d deserved. “I just,” he started, the words catching in his throat, “I don’t understand. Why? Why did she send me this? Does she…Was it to hurt me because I hurt her?” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they weren’t true. It was a childish hope on his part; because if she had sought to hurt him with this then it would mean she still cared. And he desperately wanted her to do so. Nor could he believe she was callous enough to want to hurt him out of spite. But while Amy had never been a saint, she had never, ever, been vindictive nor cruel. And despite the intervening years, Tom doubted she’d have changed so drastically.

 “Oh Tom,” Emma whispered, “You know she wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t hate you.” She paused, taking a deep breath. When she started again, he could hear the hesitation in her voice. “She wanted to, especially at first…And I can’t say I blame her. You hurt her badly…But she doesn’t hate you, Tom, I don’t think she ever really could.”  

 A choked gasp escaped him at her words. He’d known he’d hurt Amy, and hurt her badly, but hearing it so bluntly put sent spasms of guilt and pain through him. All Amy had ever done was love him and he’d thrown it right back in her face. She should have hated him, would have been well within her rights to do so. And knowing that, despite everything, she didn’t felt so terribly unfair.  “Then why?”

 “I don’t know…Maybe…Maybe to show you that she is actually okay. That she’s been able to move on. That the hurt didn’t break her…And maybe she hoped that if you understood that you could take comfort in it.” Her words were hesitant and Tom desperately wanted to believe them, but he knew it wasn’t something he felt he’d earned or in all honestly deserved.

  “Tom?” Emma’s voice cut through the confusion in his mind. “Tom are you still there?”

 He cleared his throat before speaking, “Yeah, Em, I’m still here…I just…I don’t know what to do.”

 Staring at the invitation now, Tom wasn’t sure what to think or how to start to precede. He could clearly imagine just what Luke would say. ‘Just let it be, Tom. Mark yourself as not going, send a gift if you want. But for the love of god, man, let it be.’ And he had to admit that would be the smarter path. She had said her peace in her own way, the best thing for him to do with it was left it be. But there was a part of him, growing steadily louder and more insistent, which wondered if actually going would be the best way to finally, finally, put this in the past. If he could just see it with his own eyes; see Amy happy and settled, then he would be able to move on as well.

 Tom had mailed the RSVP back (with a tick mark in the attending box) within the week, not letting himself think overmuch on it. He’d waited nearly another before mentioning he had done so to Luke, who as he’d expected, had nearly blown a gasket at the news. “Dammit Tom, what the FUCK were you thinking? Actually GOING to the wedding? Have you taken complete leave of your senses?”

 He’d let Luke rant, not knowing exactly what to say. A part of him knew that by actually going to this, he was playing with fire. A very real, very dangerous fire. He’d nearly ruined everything after simply seeing her in the street with another man (Edward he now assumed), why the fuck did he think he could handle seeing her married? Luke knew better than anyone just how bad an idea this actually was; in both a personal and potentially PR related manner.

 “I can’t take it back now, Luke,” Tom finally cut in, his voice quiet and subdued. “I need to do this. I need to face this head on. I can’t keep burying my head in the sand. And maybe, just maybe, after it’s all said and done, I can try to let this go. I need to try.”

 The months that followed were a blur of activity. Between the intense but profoundly enjoyable principal filming for Skull Island and various promotional and charity endeavors, Tom found himself staring down the 23rd of April far sooner than he’d been prepared for. He’d managed to forget, if only for a time, that the date had been growing ever closer and suddenly facing its imminent arrival made his knees buckle and his gut churn. But he had made his decision and he would not let himself back out of it, no matter what the cost.

 And now, here he stood, watching as Amy promised to love, cherish, and honor someone else for the rest of her days and her groom promised to do the same in turn. Jealously and guilt burned brightly inside of him but Tom forced himself to smile and offer his support and congratulations as Amy and her new husband walked back down the aisle hand in hand.

 He could see clearly the joy within Amy; she was radiant with it. And he was truly happy for her; happy that she had found someone to love and cherish her the way he hadn’t, happy to see the same joy radiating from the man by her side. But it did little to lessen to the sense of loss and agony of knowing that had he been a better man, had he truly appreciated what they had been, this could have been their wedding. Their happy ever after. But he hadn’t been and there was little he could do to change it now.

 In the flurry of activity, Tom found his chance to slip away quietly. He’d known it was the height of rudeness to slip away before the reception but knew just as acutely that no matter how talented of an actor he was there wasn’t any way he could keep his façade going in any convincing manner for much longer. And the absolute last thing he wanted was to ruin this day for Amy. He’d taken enough.

 She caught his eye as he made his way down the side stairs and he offered her what he’d hoped was a convincingly warm smile. She offered him one in return before her attention returned to the man at her side. She looked so unbelievably happy and it burned far more than he’d expected it to. The loneliness, the emptiness that he’d let his life become. Yes, he was successful and by any other standard his life seemed ideal, but it wasn’t until that moment Tom realized just how isolating it was. He had his family, his friends, his work, but somehow that didn’t seem enough anymore.

 He fought the urge to tell the cabbie to take him to the nearest pub. It would be so easy to let himself drink and forget, to slip back into those hold and familiar habits. After all it was just one night. But he’d known far too well how destructive that path could be and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself fall down it again. Not now. Instead, he rattled off his address with a weary sigh before leaning his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

 The house was dark and quiet on his return. He stumbled up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a collision with the suitcase he’d stashed by the landing that morning. Tom rushed his way through a shower before collapsing onto his bed. His flight to New York was set for midafternoon the next day, another reason Luke had been so deadest against his attending the wedding; the itinerary Tom had been forwarded the day before laying folded on top of the largest case. Another round of promotion and events; dinners and networking, smiling and playing the role he knew all too well. He found himself dreading this trip as much as looking forward to the opportunity it would offer him. Something would have to change though he couldn’t seem to put his finger on what or how; just that for his own sanity, it must.

[trevorbailey61]

Moseley Folk Festival

Moseley Park, Birmingham

Friday 1st September 2017

There are few things that can engage me quite like making a list. I should perhaps qualify that by saying that the lists I compile serve no practical purpose whatsoever; at the supermarket I am a hunter gatherer, prowling the aisles until I catch a sighting of my prey with nothing as organised as a list to influence what ends up in the trolley. Whereas my wife will have sorted out what she needs for a holiday at least a week in advance, my packing consists of randomly throwing things into the bag just before we leave resulting in an abundance of old concert t-shirts but no toothbrush. No, the lists I carry around are on much more important matters, my top 5 Bowie albums, top Scorsese movies, top varieties of apple, top underground stations,… you get the drift. My interaction with Facebook rarely goes beyond wishing friends a happy birthday but when a list is required, then it will usually be in the process of being formed before I have finished reading the status. That is not to say it is easy; making “Low” a better album than “Hunky Dory” or “Good Fellas” a better film than “Raging Bull” is not a decision that can be made lightly and much soul searching is required before a commitment can be made. Buying a car takes less time than deciding that an Egremont Russet tastes a little better than a Worcester Pearman.

It was at university that being able to put things in order was most importance. I still remember the incredulity that greeted my suggestion that “Stranded” was almost as good a Roxy Music album as “For Your Pleasure” and probably better than the debut. My companions stared at me open mouthed, how could anyone think that what followed challenged the dominance of the Eno influenced start to their career; I was immediately ostracised until I had listened to “2HB” enough times to realise the error I had committed. About the same time, the student newspaper, “Bias" invited readers to select their favourite songs and inevitably the challenge was immediately accepted. In the end nothing was to come of this; either the number of students willing to spend hours compiling this list was very small, maybe even as limited as one, or the huge variety of responses made it difficult to draw any conclusions. Songs were added, crossed out, some discarded altogether, some to reappear later but eventually the list was completed and has been carried around in my head ever since. Thinking about it now, what strikes me is just how sad most of these songs are, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine”, “Tears of a Clown”, “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, “Ticket to Ride”, all songs that deal with the fragility of relationships, particularly those that are formed during adolescence. From the time that people started putting their feelings to music there have been break-up songs but as a distinctive youth culture emerged in the post-war era, so did the variety of ways in which the mourning of the end of a relationship could be expressed. The emotions are so much more intense when they are experienced for the first time, the thrill of first love and the wreckage when it breaks down adding beauty to the sadness. Everyone has experienced the pain of separation, the heartbreak of finding out that the intensity of your feelings are not reciprocated with music reflecting and shaping this emotional turmoil. With young people having greater access to music than ever before, the quickest way to their heart was by reminding them of what it was to feel like like to break it.

Songs have the power to tear us apart and put us back together again within the space of about two minutes, simultaneously making us weep and smile. Folk music carries more than its share of pain so a festival would appear to provide of plenty emotional disintegration and with a collective known as Cultural Dub Orchestra already on the stage when I arrive, this pain is brought into focus. A quartet, their songs use folk instrumentation, guitar and bass, along with Indian percussion to create a background for a melody of eastern intervals played on the violin. Introducing one of their instrumentals, the bass player informs us that its haunting melody was inspired by the end of a relationship, in this case with the violinist; their musical bond, apparently strong enough to withstand even their personal break up. For John Moreland, the pain is in loneliness; the line “I thought I was somebody nobody could love” from the song “On Julia” captures this painful self loathing. It seems a bit lazy to describe someone of Moreland’s physique as a “bear of a man” but it is also difficult to think of anything more apt. He is formidable, his size complemented by a huge beard and tattoos that mark the contours of his arms. Across his knuckles, the letters Oklahoma spell out the name of his home state, along the freeways of which he should be tearing along on his hog. He says little and his deep gravelly voice fits his appearance but the words to his songs show the sensitivity and insecurity behind this rampant display of masculinity.

More Americana follows in the form of Courtney Marie Andrews. Despite her elfin looks and tender years, she is 26 but looks younger, she has already spent over a decade on the road, both as a solo artist and as lead guitarist for Damien Jurado. Her sixth album, “Honest Life” was released earlier this year and this, together with the short European tour that brings her to Moseley, is starting to introduce her the wider audience her work deserves. Her clear voice caresses every word, adding the country inflexions that mean comparisons with Emmylou Harris do not flatter her. In keeping with her delivery, her songs tell stories of the everyday lives of those down on their luck and are full of longing and regret. The hollow emptiness of the first song, “How Quickly a Heart Mends”, is typical,“The jukebox is playin’ a sad country song; For all the ugly Americans; Now I feel like one of them.” whilst also hinting that redemption is offered through change. Ryan Adams has described Andrews as a “phenomenal songwriter” and this brilliant set, which also included a new song; “Long Road Back to You”, shows that she is also a compelling live performer. Two incredible acts already, and it is still only mid afternoon.

With Andrews still on the stage packing up her guitar, the man standing next to me turns to his companion and mutters, “it’s downhill from now on”. With a scowl on his face, he strides past the Lunar stage where John J Presley, don’t call him Elvis, he hates it, is starting his set. His deep hoarse voice and sparse thumping accompaniment was perfect for his remorse filled bluesy songs. It does, however, give a possible explanation for the flounce that had just occurred next to me. Moseley has a record of booking good American acts and with these occurring so early in the day, the rest of the evening starts to look very parochial. This Sceptred Isle, however, has its own stories to tell and in Seth Lakemen there is someone to tell them. Rather than painful introspection, the themes Lakeman explores are bigger. Driven along by a ferocious beat and accompanied by his fiery violin,  “The Hurlers” sets this out: “Come on make your choice; Where you stand”; the mixture of traditional folk songs and Lakeman’s own focus on the dehumanising exploitation of workers by the oppressive forces that control them. “The Colliers” is a harrowing account of the death of 140 miners resulting from negligence and a criminal disregard for the safety of those working underground. Lakeman largely ignores the ballads of his most recent album to present a lively set with the showmanship of the performance offering a stark contrast to the bleak themes he explores.

After sparse beauty of break-up songs Kiwi style with Nadia Reid, whose pain is particularly raw even compared to what we have already heard, the light pop of The Magic Numbers offered the promise of some relief. Starting with their best know song, “Love’s A Game”, everything is as it should be but as they move on to their new material, that they are using this slot as an opportunity to work through, the bright hooks are replaced by a dull loud grunge. There is no doubting the intensity they commit to this but as they finish with the easy charm of “Love Me Like You” you can’t help but feel that something has been lost. If hummable melodies and bright arrangements caused the moans earlier, then I’m guessing the man has not been looking forward to the headline. Amy Macdonald may not seem an obvious choice for a folk festival but for the organisers, her popularity brought in plenty of fans, many of whom were crowding around the stage long before her appearance. These fans seem to fit into two main groups; on the one hand girls in their early twenties are here to relive the music of their adolescence, for the group next to me made up for a night out and wearing smart leather jackets, this appeared to be their first experience of a festival and I wondered whether they had been there long enough to have the life changing experience of visiting the toilets. In introducing her, Janice Long mentions that she was one of the few acts that she worked with that her mother showed an interest in, drawn in by her voice. It is impossible to discuss Macdonald without commenting on her voice; clear and powerful, it accounts for her popularity amongst an older audience who wait alongside the younger fans.

Macdonald turned thirty about a week before the festival and this may, in part, explain her decision to perform here. In between songs, she often notes how the sparse arrangements and pared back show provide a change from the concert halls in which she normally performs. She is also at pains to remind us that with over 12 million sales of her work, she is enormously popular, betraying at a little insecurity through being well out of her comfort zone. This is, however, exactly what she wanted; she has been recording and performing music since she was a teenager and as an adult has known nothing else. With a potential career lasting many decades ahead of her, however, she could well be looking for a direction that involves more than just repeating the innocent songs she wrote in her youth and which may not mean that much to her now. This could well signify a change of direction that will help to shape her music in the years to come. She mostly pulls it off, the band create some wonderfully atmospheric textures for the songs to which Macdonald herself occasionally adds a second guitar and despite the absence of any percussion, many of the songs are driven by a lively rhythm, particularly the wonderfully exuberant “Dream On”. Her voice is strong, clear and shows the power she is renowned for although at times it does feel a little too strident above the sparse arrangements. Generally she gets away with this; many of her songs could be described as power ballads which often show a tendency to resort to motivational cliches; “Don't worry ‘bout the little things; Keep fighting; Keep trying” as she sings in the opener, “Under Stars”. Here her voice works perfectly but if she looking for that change in direction, you can’t help but feel that both her writing and singing need to become a little more nuanced. As an encore she does a beautiful cover of Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” that shows both the restraint and subtlety that she will need, the challenge will be to apply this to her own material.

It has been a glorious day but with the sun having long since departed and a cloudless sky above us, I am suddenly aware of how cold it has become; the shorts that earlier had seemed ideal now leaving the bottom of my legs exposed so it is a while before I am fully aware of what my feet are doing. The stumbling way in which I weave my way towards the exit draws disapproving looks from others no doubt feeling that at my age I should know my limits. A beautiful day of mostly sad songs then but we have always known that sad songs can also be so uplifting. This gives me such a warm glow that I manage to deal with the lad in a VW who cuts across the front of me at the roundabout at Halesowen without calling him a twat. By then, however, the list is being compiled, the acts are being put into rank order, the highlights confirmed. I may agree with my grumpy friend that these came early but that is not to say that the rest of the day was not thoroughly enjoyable. A great start to this great festival.

[lostinyestauray]

what am i fighting for

i find myself lost between action and inaction. wanting what i do not know i truly want. confusion and desperation and increasing loneliness around large crowds of people. i feel like a composer stuck between an endlessly looping rhythm of sounds that stir no inner dept and no outer reaction. like an off tuned piano i am sitting confusing the notes in my repertoire for eerie sounds and off tempo notes. my insides feel like they are rotting and my brain is refuses to comply with the decay within me. and for what? I am here in this same position ever so often that the taste it leaves in my mouth has grown so familiar that i order it on a silver platter. I pay extra. what is it i am longing for? the vast insecurities that trouble me grow layers and skins thicker than leather and pro-long my desire for change my desire for movement or action. it feels as though i could sink into the earth disappear within the roots of the trees and become one with the world around me. the house is empty. the only sounds around me are those of my heart beating and the typing of my fingers. I do not even long human companionship or any sort of affection. I long inner satisfaction i long something more than living than being alive in this half hearted existence. feeling this. this empty gaping hole inside of me. this complete and utter resistance and desperation is disgusting. it is bothersome and i despise myself for it. no i hate myself for it. i want to fall into a pattern of sleep and unawareness i want to forget what i am doing- forgive what i am saying- loose my body and its motions to decisions and choices. i want to be free of the of conscious mind. i want nothing more than to simply exist in a haze of freedom and colours and lights. more than ever before i feel so utterly lost that i know if i held a compass it would disintegrate as if it had lost all physical property and turned into a mere fragment of ashes and dust. my very existence- my very breathes and heartbeat feels nothing more than fragments of ashes and dust. i could disintegrate. I feel as though i have fought endless wars in my brain for them to simply come to a seize fire. And it all feels so pointless- and so i stand asking myself exactly what and who have i been fighting for what is it that i stand for? 

[homelesssandiego]

What is Buddhism?

The word comes from 'budhi', 'to awaken'. It has its origins about 2,500 years ago when Siddhartha Gotama, known as the Buddha, was himself awakened (enlightened) at the age of 35. The founder of Buddhism was Buddha Shakyamuni who lived and taught in India some two and a half thousand years ago. Since then millions of people around the world have followed the pure spiritual path he revealed. The Buddhist way of life of peace, loving kindness and wisdom is just as relevant today as it was in ancient India. Buddha explained that all our problems and suffering arise from confused and negative states of mind, and that all our happiness and good fortune arise from peaceful and positive states of mind. He taught methods for gradually overcoming our negative minds such as anger, jealousy and ignorance, and developing our positive minds such as love, compassion and wisdom. Through this we will come to experience lasting peace and happiness. These methods work for anyone, in any country, in any age. Once we have gained experience of them for ourselves we can pass them on to others so they too can enjoy the same benefits. Meditation is at the heart of the Buddhist way of life. It is basically a method for understanding and working on our own mind. We first learn to identify our different negative mental states known as ‘delusions’, and learn how to develop peaceful and positive mental states or ‘virtuous minds’. Buddhism BeliefsSince some background knowledge of rebirth and karma is useful for understanding Buddhism, there now follows a brief introduction to these topics taken from Geshe Kelsang’s book, Eight Steps to Happiness:

The mind is neither physical, nor a by-product of purely physical processes, but a formless continuum that is a separate entity from the body.

  The mind is neither physical, nor a by-product of purely physical processes, but a formless continuum that is a separate entity from the body. When the body disintegrates at death, the mind does not cease. Although our superficial conscious mind ceases, it does so by dissolving into a deeper level of consciousness, called ‘the very subtle mind’. The continuum of our very subtle mind has no beginning and no end, and it is this mind which, when completely purified, transforms into the omniscient mind of a Buddha. Every action we perform leaves an imprint, or potential, on our very subtle mind, and each karmic potential eventually gives rise to its own effect. Our mind is like a field, and performing actions is like sowing seeds in that field. Positive or virtuous actions sow the seeds of future happiness, and negative or non-virtuous actions sow the seeds of future suffering. This definite relationship between actions and their effects – virtue causing happiness and non-virtue causing suffering – is known as the ‘law of karma’. An understanding of the law of karma is the basis of Buddhist morality. After we die our very subtle mind leaves our body and enters the intermediate state, or ‘bardo’ in Tibetan. In this subtle dream-like state we experience many different visions that arise from the karmic potentials that were activated at the time of our death. These visions may be pleasant or terrifying depending on the karma that ripens. Once these karmic seeds have fully ripened they impel us to take rebirth without choice. It is important to understand that as ordinary samsaric beings we do not choose our rebirth but are reborn solely in accordance with our karma. If good karma ripens we are reborn in a fortunate state, either as a human or a god, but if negative karma ripens we are reborn in a lower state, as an animal, a hungry ghost, or a hell being. It is as if we are blown to our future lives by the winds of our karma, sometimes ending up in higher rebirths, sometimes in lower rebirths.

This uninterrupted cycle of death and rebirth without choice is called ‘cyclic existence’, or ‘samsara’ in Sanskrit.

This uninterrupted cycle of death and rebirth without choice is called ‘cyclic existence’, or ‘samsara’ in Sanskrit. Samsara is like a Ferris wheel, sometimes taking us up into the three fortunate realms, sometimes down into the three lower realms. The driving force of the wheel of samsara is our contaminated actions motivated by delusions, and the hub of the wheel is self-grasping  ignorance. For as long as we remain on this wheel we shall experience an unceasing cycle of suffering and dissatisfaction, and we shall have no opportunity to experience pure, lasting happiness. By practicing the Buddhist path to liberation and enlightenment, however, we can destroy self-grasping, thereby liberating ourselves from the cycle of uncontrolled rebirth and attaining a state of perfect peace and freedom. We shall then be in a position to help others to do the same. What did the Buddha Teach? The Buddha taught many things, but the basic concepts in Buddhism can be summed up by the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. • What is the First Noble Truth? The first truth is that life is suffering i.e., life includes pain, getting old, disease, and ultimately death. We also endure psychological suffering like loneliness frustration, fear, embarrassment, disappointment and anger. This is an irrefutable fact that cannot be denied. It is realistic rather than pessimistic because pessimism is expecting things to be bad. lnstead, Buddhism explains how suffering can be avoided and how we can be truly happy. • What is the Second Noble Truth? The second truth is that suffering is caused by craving and aversion. We will suffer if we expect other people to conform to our expectation, if we want others to like us, if we do not get something we want,etc. In other words, getting what you want does not guarantee happiness. Rather than constantly struggling to get what you want, try to modify your wanting. Wanting deprives us of contentment and happiness. A lifetime of wanting and craving and especially the craving to continue to exist, creates a powerful energy which causes the individual to be born. So craving  leads to physical suffering because it causes us to be reborn. • What is the Third Noble Truth? The third truth is that suffering can be overcome and happiness can be attained; that true happiness and contentment are possible. lf we give up useless craving and learn to live each day at a time (not dwelling in the past or the imagined future) then we can become happy and free. We then have more time and energy to help others. This is Nirvana. • What is the Fourth Noble Truth? The fourth truth is that the Noble 8-fold Path is the path which leads to the end of suffering. • What is the Noble 8-Fold Path? In summary, the Noble 8-fold Path is being moral (through what we say, do and our livelihood), focusing the mind on being fully aware of our thoughts and actions, and developing wisdom by understanding the Four Noble Truths and by developing compassion for others. • What are the 5 Precepts? The moral code within Buddhism is the precepts, of which the main five are: not to take the life of anything living, not to take anything not freely given, to abstain from sexual misconduct and sensual overindulgence, to refrain from untrue speech, and to avoid intoxication, that is, losing mindfulness. • What is Karma? Karma is the law that every cause has an effect, i.e., our actions have results. This simple law explains a number of things: inequality in the world, why some are born handicapped and some gifted, why some live only a short life. Karma underlines the importance of all individuals being responsible for their past and present actions. How can we test the karmic effect of our actions? The answer is summed up by looking at (1) the intention behind the action, (2) effects of the action on oneself, and (3) the effects on others.  • What is Wisdom? Buddhism teaches that wisdom should be developed with compassion. At one extreme, you could be a good hearted fool and at the other extreme, you could attain knowledge without any emotion. Buddhism uses the middle path to develop both. The highest wisdom is seeing that in reality, all phenomena are incomplete, impermanent and do not constitute a fixed entity. True wisdom is not simply believing what we are told but instead experiencing and understanding truth and reality. Wisdom requires an open, objective, unbigoted mind. The Buddhist path requires courage, patience, flexibility and intelligence. • What is Compassion? Compassion includes qualities of sharing, readiness to give comfort, sympathy, concern, caring. In Buddhism, we can really understand others, when we can really understand ourselves, through wisdom.  _____________________ Plan a visit to the Deer Park Monastery | 2499 Melru Lane | Escondido, CA 92026 | 760-291-1003

[thesocietyglobal-blog1]

Countering Abandonment and Separation Anxiety

Clinging and smothering behaviours are the unsavoury consequences of a deep-set existential, almost mortal fear of abandonment and separation. For the codependent to maintain a long-term, healthy relationship, she must first confront her anxieties head on. This can be done via psychotherapy: the therapeutic alliance is a contract between patient and therapist which provides for a safe environment, where abandonment is not an option and, thus, where the client can resume personal growth and form a modicum of self-autonomy. In extremis, a psychiatrist may wish to prescribe anti-anxiety medication.

Self-help is also an option, though; meditation, yoga, and the elimination of any and all addictions, such as workaholism, or binge eating. Feelings of emptiness and loneliness – at the core of abandonment anxiety and other dysfunctional attachment styles – can be countered with significant activities (mainly altruistic and charitable) and true, stable friends, who provide a safe haven and are unlikely to abandon her and, therefore, constitute a holding, supportive, and nourishing environment.

The codependent’s reflexive responses to her turmoil that is inner are and counterproductive. They often bring about the very outcomes she fears most. But these outcomes also tend to buttress her worldview (“the global world is hostile, i will be bound to get hurt”) and sustain her rut (“abuse and abandonment are familiar to me; at minimum i am aware the ropes and how to deal with them.”)

This is why she needs to exit this realm of mirrored fears and fearsome tumult that is mental. She should adopt avocations that are new hobbies, meet new people, engage is non-committal, dispensable relationships, and, in general, take life more lightly.

Some codependents develop a kind of “militant independence” as a defense against their own sorely felt vulnerability (their dependence.) But even these daring “rebels” tend to see their relationships in terms of “black and white” (an infantile psychological defense mechanism known as “splitting”.) They tend to regard their relationships as either doomed to failure or everlasting and their mates as both unique and indispensable (“soulmate”, “twin”) or completely interchangeable (objectified.)

These, of program, are misperceptions; cognitive deficits grounded in emotional immaturity and thwarted development that is personal. All relationships have a life expectancy, a “sell by”, “good before”, or expiry date. No one is irreplaceable or completely interchangeable. The codependent’s problems are rooted in a profound lack of self-love and an absence of object constancy (she regards herself as unloved and unlovable when she actually is all by by herself.)

Yet, clinging, codependent, and counterdependent (fiercely independent, defiant, and intimacy-retarding) behaviours can be modified. If you fear abandonment to the true point of a phobia, here’s my advice:

Compile a written, very&ldquo that is detailed statement” regarding all the aspects of your romantic relationships: how would you prefer them to appear like and how would you go about securing the best outcomes. Revisit and revise this “charter” regularly.

List your 3 most important mate choice criteria: what would you be looking for in a first date and without which there is going to be no date that is second. This list is your filter, your proverbial membrane that is selective. Revisit and revise it regularly as your taste and preferences change.

Conduct a thorough history check on your prospective partner that is intimate. Go online and Google his name; visit his social networking accounts; ask friends and family for information and an appraisal of his character, temperament, and personality. This preparatory research will put you in control and empower you. It will serve as an antidote to uncertainty and the anxiety attendant upon it.

http://clashofclanscheats.us/ Next use the “Volatility Threshold” and the “Threat Monitoring” tools.

The “Volatility Threshold” instrument is a compilation of 1-3 types of behaviours that you consider critically desirable (“deal-makers”) in your spouse. Observe him and add the number up of times he had acted inconsistently and, thus, reversed these crucial aspects of his behavior substantially and essentially. Decide in advance how&ldquo that is many; would constitute a “deal-breaker” and whenever he reaches this number – simply leave. Do not share with him either the existence or the content of this “test” lest it might affect his performance and cause him to playact and prevaricate.

As a codependent, you tend to jump to conclusions and then “jump the gun”: you greatly exaggerate the importance of even infractions that are minor disagreements and you are always unduly fatalistic and pessimistic about the survival chances of your relationships. The Monitoring&rdquo that is“Threat is comprised of an inventory of warning signs and red flags that, in your view and from your experience, herald and portend abandonment. The aim is to falsify this list: to prove to you that, more often than not, you might be wrong in predicting a breakup.

In general, try to act as you regard as transgressions and bad omens though you were a scientist: construct alternative hypotheses (interpretations of behaviours and events) to account for what. Test these hypotheses it all with a grand gesture, a dramatic exit, or a decisive finale before you decide to end. Preemptive abandonment is based more on your insecurities than on facts, so make sure to try your hypotheses – and your partner - in a number of settings before you prophesy doom and gloom before you call it a day and.

This “scientific” approach to your relationship that is intimate has added benefit of delaying the instant alleviation of your anxiety which consists of impulsive, ill-thought actions. It takes time to form hypotheses and test them. This lapse between reaction and trigger is all you need. By the time you have created your informed opinion, your anxiety will have abated and you may no longer feel the urge to “do something now, whatever it may be!”

Armed with these “weapons” you should feel a lot more confident as you enter a new liaison that is romantic. But, the secret of the longevity of long-term relationships lies in being who you are, in acting transparently, in externalizing your dialog that is internal and voices. Simply speaking: if you want your relationships to last, you should express your emotions and concerns on a regular basis. You should knowingly and willingly assume all the risks associated with doing so: of exposing the chinks in your armour; of your vulnerabilities and blind spots being abused, exploited, and leveraged; of being misunderstood, even mocked. But the rewards of being open with your partner (without being naive or gullible) are enormous and multifarious: stronger bonding often results in long-lasting relationships.

Early him of what, to you, constitutes a threat: what types of conduct he should avoid and what modes of communication he should eschew on you should confer with your intimate partner and inform. You should both agree on protocols of communication: fears, needs, triggers, wishes, boundaries, requests, priorities, and preferences should all be shared on a regular basis and in a structured and manner that is predictable. Keep in mind: structure, predictability, even formality are great antidotes to anxiety.

But there is only that much that your spouse can do to ameliorate your mental anguish. You can and should help him in this task that is oft-Herculean. You can start by using drama to desensitize yourself to your phobia. In your mind imagine and rehearse, in excruciating detail, both the worst-case and best-case scenarios (abandonment in the wake of adultery versus marriage that is blissful for instance.)

In these reveries, do not work as an observer: place your self securely at the scene of this action and prepare detailed responses within these plays that are impromptu. At first, this pseudo-theatre may prove agonizing, but the more you exercise your capacity for daydreaming the more you will end up immune to abandonment. You may also become laughing out loud during the more scenes that are egregious!

Similarly, prepare highly-detailed contingency plans of action for every eventuality, including the ways that are various which your relationship can disintegrate. Be prepared for anything and everything, thoroughly and well in advance. Planning equals control and control means lessened dread.

Read More Articles about Countering Abandonment and Separation Anxiety on my blog http://thesocietyglobal.tumblr.com/