#like maybe try being at least mediocre parents first

[slutforluna]

Can't believe my parents are constantly stressing about wanting grandkids as if I wasn't busy making sure they keep having a kid

[divine-donna]

burnt out passions

because i watched the red shoes and this idea just popped into my head.

tashi duncan they can never make me hate you. i am a tashi duncan defender until i die. (sorry art)

character: tashi duncan

context: stanford. 2007 - 2008.

you and tashi understood one thing: passion was everything.

your lives revolved around your passions. for her, it was the sport of tennis. and for you, it was the dance of ballet.

your step-father was quite rich, bringing you and your parental figure out of poverty. it was through him that you started going to tennis matches. and you were a fan of tashi duncan.

she was meant to be a star. she was meant to go far. she was meant to have that grand slam career title that most, if not all, tennis players envied.

you always admired her from afar. but when you walked into class on your first day of class in your freshman year, you were not expecting to see tashi duncan.

the class was your typical writing 101 class, the kind that was meant to prepare students on research and how to write. within the class were workshops. after all, part of making a good essay was to proofread and have everything peer reviewed.

"you have a great voice."

your paper was dumped in front of you. there were barely any corrections on it. just a lot of underlining and side notes. looking up, you saw the woman that was tashi duncan.

"thanks." you hand her paper over to her.

tashi flips through it. she sees a lot of doodles on her paper that express your annotations through speech and thought bubbles.

"i also thought your voice was great. your passion for tennis really comes through. although i think having seen you play enhanced the reading experience."

"so...you've seen me play?" she crosses her arms over her chest.

"my step-father loves tennis."

"fun. i learned some new things in your paper. you really like ballet?"

"ideally i'd like to be professional. but who knows how stable that is." in comparison to being a famous tennis player. "which is why i'm here. to get a degree in...something."

tashi glances down. you're wearing red shoes. "so...do you wear red because of the movie you mentioned?"

"maybe. it's been a thing since i was a kid."

a small smile begins to curl on her face. "you wanna get lunch?"

"so you do ballet? do your feet ever hurt?"

"all the time." your feet hurt just thinking about dancing again. "i can't imagine my life without ballet."

"i can relate to that." she lifts her cup up and you gently tap your own against hers.

"you should come to the show. we're having one near the end of the semester."

"so soon? we just got here."

"i need to train. keep my muscles flexible and ready."

"you should try tennis. you might actually be really good at it." ballet took a ton of control and coordination. tennis would be a perfect sport for you. or, at least, a decent fit.

"i tried. i'm terrible at hitting balls with a racket."

"who said you had to be good?"

"i would like to think that if i'm playing with tashi duncan...at least i should be mediocre."

you became one of tashi's favorite people to hang out with. and you were also her favorite gym partner. your schedules just lined up perfectly.

every time you guys went to work out, you would lead the stretches beforehand.

sometimes, you guys would visit the dance studio and you would teach her some basic moves. when your finger tips grazed her arm, she would shudder. you were careful when touching her and asked her all the time if you could hold her waist.

"you don't need to ask (y/n)! we're friends." tashi has that soft look in her eyes. she always looked at you with those eyes.

"still!" you say. "don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"you won't! you could never."

you took a deep breath when she said that, trying to ignore the heat beginning to swirl in your body. your body so close to hers. her smile. her smooth skin. her voice. and her smelled.

she always smelled divine.

tashi never knew ballet could be so intense.

she came with art to the show, holding a bouquet of flowers. you had been working hard and she wanted to make sure your efforts were acknowledged and received by her.

you moved with such precision and fluidity. she swore you turned into a blur.

your body was nimble. and that outfit...well, she could see your body. she had a boyfriend. but you were right there and a lot more present than patrick, who was currently on tour.

she has to push the thoughts aside, not noticing the fact that art sees the way she looks at you.

"you were fucking amazing!"

you were surprised when you feel just how hard she hugs you. she squeezes almost a little too tight.

and yet, you accept it. you lean into it and savor her touch.

"thanks for coming tashi. i saw you in the crowd."

finally, tashi lets you go. she takes the flowers from art. you could feel your face heat up. "t-tashi...you didn't have to."

"nonsense!" she playfully hits your arm. "you worked hard. remember that breakdown you had?" a small laugh leaves you when thinking about it.

it happened at the dance studio in the gym. you guys were stretching and all the emotions from midterms, finals projects, and your upcoming lead role came crashing down.

"you deserve it. you were amazing. if you're not hired when you get out of college..." she shakes her head. but she cannot stop grinning.

you bought flowers for tashi. it was the first game of the season. her and art have been training for this. and you were excited to see her play not as a spectator, but as her friend!

earlier during the week, you had convened with art to try to pick out which bought to get her and exactly how big.

when you got there though, it was just art. you were expecting to see another white boy. and you sit on art's right. "so...what happened to patrick?"

you wanted to see for yourself who tashi duncan's boyfriend was. who exactly managed to bag tashi duncan? you wanted to meet him. not that you were jealous...

but you were.

art leans back in the seat. "he's not coming. him and tashi had a fight."

you frown and continue holding the flowers. "...he sounds like an ass."

"tell me about it."

when tashi tore her acl on the court, you swore you could feel the pain in your own leg. a sort of phantom feeling.

you were frozen, trying to determine if what you saw truly happened.

art was quicker than you, rushing down and even jumping over the net.

you're walking to the infirmary room when you can hear the argument.

"out! out!"

"listen-" says the guy with messy dark hair. he looks disheveled. and like shit.

"patrick get the fuck out of here!"

you've never heard art yell. ever. he never even raised his voice.

patrick seems defeated and he abides by them, leaving. his eyes meet yours. "nice flowers." he notices the card attached to a string.

For the best tennis player I know: TASHI ♡

"have fun. now's your chance too. but you should know. art's restless."

you clench your jaw and walk past him. art was right. he was an ass.

tashi glances at the door when your head pops in. she doesn't say anything, but her shoulders slouch a little bit. you take it as a sign to come in and walk over to her side.

she looks at the flowers and at the card attached to the string. "i don't deserve those."

"if anyone deserves flowers...it's you." you could feel your eyes tearing up. you feel her pain. you understand her frustration. and most importantly, you feel her devastation.

tashi takes the flowers from your hands, her fingers touching your own. she takes a deep breath and inhales their scent. it was nice. you chose a good bouquet.

little did you know that it was the death of her career. and you had brought flowers to her funeral.

your next role was a challenging one. it had you straining your legs every day while you trained, trying to get your tempo right. nothing seemed to work though.

the stress of midterms also didn't help. you had a lot of work on your plate. many papers, almost too many exams. you didn't sleep much. you couldn't sleep.

tashi felt some guilt towards you helping her. you were taking time out of your own day to get her back into shape.

you were her cheerleader. you believed that she could heal and return to the court. you helped her with her exercises, woke up early to go to her room and help her stretch.

her frustration continued to boil over when she couldn't do the things she wanted to do.

not only was she a failure, but she was also letting you down.

"are you disappointed in me?"

you look at her as you stretch her leg for her. it was bent beneath you and you're careful when adding the pressure. she's staring up at the ceiling.

it was still dark outside.

"i could never be disappointed in you."

"don't bullshit me (y/n)."

"i mean it tashi. i could never be disappointed in you." she looks at you. there are tears threatening to spill.

"...i'm afraid my only skill is hitting a ball with a racket." and that without it, she was nothing. you didn't need her to voice it. you could see it in her eyes, in her posture, in her demeanor.

"no. it is not. you're tashi motherfucking duncan. you're smart, you're gorgeous, and you're ambitious. you can write! you're great at organizing! you give awesome advice! and most importantly, you get shit done. if anything tries to stop you, you find a way around it. and you see to it that you have a way to participate."

her heart skips a beat.

"you're kissing my ass." a smile cracks on her face.

you wanted to tell her that you loved her. it threatened to spill from your tongue.

"i would love to."

tashi laughs, covering her face with her hands. she takes the opportunity to wipe away her tears as you pull her leg back into a resting position.

"today's dress rehearsal, right?" she sits up as you stand and grab some of the bottles of gatorade you put in her fridge to keep cold.

"yeah. you don't have to come if you're not up for it."

tashi gently rubs her knee before looking up at you. "i could use the time to rest."

"is art coming?"

tashi purses her lips. "art and i...aren't really talking anymore..."

you frown. "i'm sorry to hear that." you decide not to ask or push it. but part of you felt elated that he was gone. it always felt like a crowd with you and tashi. and art.

while working out and practicing earlier, you decided to ignore the throbbing pain in your hip. when tashi asks if you want to come with her for a break, you tell her that you wanted to keep training. you were close to nailing it.

you were perhaps overconfident when it came time to dress rehearsal.

at the climax of the shower, the music surging, your heart beating, your costume flaring out, you hear a loud pop. and when you land, you hear another pop.

it seemed that fate decided to fuck with you that night.

the pain in your right side was nearly unbearable.

tashi recognized that cry of pain. she heard it when she went to bed, when she reflected upon her life at night. she rises out of her seat, getting over to the stage as fast as possible.

you overexerted yourself, tearing your achilles and your labrum. at the very least, it would take you out of your role currently. at the worst, it would inhibit your movements for the rest of your life.

tashi was with you the whole time. you could only stare blankly at the x-rays.

without knowing, you're leaning towards her. until your head is against her body. she puts an arm around you, keeping you close in silent understanding.

you heard a knock at your door. ever since your injury, you had barely come out of your room, only for class and to eat to spend your dining dollars.

you groan, sitting up and carefully getting off the bed. you use your crutches and open the door. "tashi...it's late..."

tashi holds a bag of snacks and drinks. "you look like shit."

"that's because i feel like shit."

you guys were kind of matching. her in her brace and you in your splint.

you move aside to let her in and she closes the door for you. "i bought all your favorites." she says, putting the drinks into the fridge to keep them cold. she sets the bag of snacks down on your desk.

tashi watches you go back to your bed and set your crutches aside. you try your best to get onto the bed using your upper body strength, but your arms were failing you.

she walks over and gently lifts you up at your thighs while you push yourself up with your arms. it works, and you're able to sit on the mattress topped by a mattress topper.

"can't even...get on my fucking bed!" you grit your teeth. and you didn't have the strength to adjust the height of your bed either.

tashi frowns. "there's no shame in needing help." you showed her that.

"i know. i just..." you lick your lips, looking at her. "i wish i took that break. i wouldn't be in this position if i did." you sniffle.

tashi's eyes glance down at your lips before going back up. "i spend too much time worrying about the what ifs."

"i shouldn't. it's...stupid."

there's a comfortable silence between the two of you. you look at tashi. the way her hair frames her face. her big brown eyes. her lips that you desperately wanted to taste. she was still gorgeous even dressed down in her stanford sweater and athletic shorts.

she leans forward, her kiss soft and gentle.

your hand goes to rest on her neck, kissing her back.

tashi kisses you harder, her mouth moving in hungry motions. you match her pace, kissing her with just as much hunger.

you let her push you down onto the mattress so she could be on top. her hands begin to trail down your body, finding the end of your sweater. she slides her hand beneath, feeling your cool skin.

you pull away, your breathing heavy. "are you sure?" you didn't understand why tashi duncan would want to kiss you of all people. even if you wanted to kiss her.

"i'm sure." she kisses you again and you moan against her lips, letting her tongue slide past your lips and dance with your tongue.

[fanfic-lover-girl]

Magical Education in Harry Potter

I have continued reading snippets of HP and I realized once again how...boring the magic is in HP. Besides Snape, Dumbledore and Voldemort I think, no one in HP really does anything exceptional or innovative with their magic. Well...there are the Marauders with their map and their animagus transformations. Plus the Weasley twins are super creative too with their products. But I think that's it really. I will be mega generous and throw in Draco fixing the cabinet and Hermione's DA coins too.

Not even Harry Potter, who is supposed to be the chosen one and hero of the story, does anything great. He's tragically mediocre and not in a good way. I do not consider summoning a patronus at 13 to be a marvel. Considering he had special lessons from Lupin and his performing the spell is not really a special/new/creative magical endeavour.

The muggle world has great technological innovations. But wizards are not innovating magic on the same level at all. And I think part of the problem is their magical education system.

First, starting to learn magic at 11 is total rubbish. Using Avatar: The Last Airbender as an example. Learning magic at 11 is comparable to someone learning they can bend at 5 but they don't start training until 11. Or someone in our world has prodigious abilities but they don't train until high school. Do you see how dumb this is?

So in the meantime, wizard kids have this power that they can't control properly. It's not that big of a deal if the kid has a magical family but what about mugglebornes like Hermione or kids who grew up in muggle families like Harry?? Harry was literally a hazard to the Dursleys in more ways than one and it's understandable, not excusable, that they hated him.

Plus Hermione's character is annoying due to her role as an exposition device. It's tiresome that a muggleborne girl is constantly showing up purebloods who literally grew up around magic. As the books go on, she takes over Ron's role in the trio as the magical common sense guy. In reality, mugglebornes should be at a major disadvantage. Let's say I am trying to learn Spanish. I have no Spanish-speaking family. And let's say I end up in a class of immigrant kids whose parents all speak Spanish. They may not be fluent themselves but they have a huge headstart on me. In time I will catch up to them, especially if I work hard like Hermione, but initially, I would perform worse than them. As first years, the pureblood and halfblood kids should be blowing Hermione out of the water. If not for the entire first year then at least the first semester/term.

So how would I fix this issue? Four ways:

Magical kindergarten/elementary school

Hogwarts should be a highschool/college level institution. Or maybe Hogwarts could have different school levels. Kids should learn the introductory concepts for Charms, Transfiguration, Potions etc in primary/elementary school or even from their freaking parents. Ron's intro scene with that make my rat yellow prank spell was just sad. And having Hermione call him out for the spell not being real was just more salt in my annoyance. As kids, they learn the basics like wand movement, magic theory and safety. And basic spells.

Advanced learning

When they go to Hogwarts they should focus more on application and higher levels of theory. For example: Magical Ethics (what are the moral boundaries of magic **cough**rapedrugs**cough**polyjuicepotion**cough**), Magical Research (do projects/experiments to learn more about the nature of magic, like how is elf magic different from wizard magic), Spellmaking (why is Snape the only dude in HP inventing spells!), Improvised Spells (like in Wizards of Waverly Place), Magic Economics (how does magic work with the concept of scarcity, what is scarcity in the wizarding world), Magical Defense (not just against the dark arts but basic defence like self-defence in our world and perhaps survival skills) etc. They should learn non-verbal and non-wand magic as well of course. Maybe this could be taught at the end of primary school or the beginning of Hogwarts. Instead of the very end of their Hogwarts education.

Accessible classes for mugglebornes

So what about mugglebornes, you say? Well, there are two options. You can provide after-school classes for muggleborne students to learn magic before they attend Hogwarts. Think of extra lessons or night classes in our world. Or you can send the mugglebornes to summer school(s) before Hogwarts which leads me to my next point.

Different Class Tracks

Put muggleborne kids in a different class track from the purebloods/halfbloods who went to magical primary. Like how we have advanced classes for students who are super bright or slower-paced classes for students who need extra help. Students like Hermione would gradually graduate to the advanced track while lazier students like Harry may stay in the slower track. Or maybe bright students like Hermione could do placement tests to get into the advanced track from the start. Some pureblood students could even be demoted to the slower track if they begin to goof off (maybe Ron) or need extra help (maybe Neville). And you can mix and match! So Neville would be in Class 1 Herbology but Class 2 Potions :). Maybe Harry would be in Class 1 DADA but Class 2 Potions etc.

If lack of teachers is an issue, then pureblood families would teach their own kids and the primary school would be exclusively for muggleborne kids and/or pureblood/halfblood kids whose parents can't provide tutoring.

Conclusion

So yeah, that's how I would revamp the school system. Hogwarts is a weird school. Like students leave as adults but leaving Hogwarts feels like leaving primary school. I never felt prepared for the world after highschool but at least we have college/university. Even if HP has trade schools/apprenticeships for jobs like healing and being an auror, I think their magical education is seriously lacking. And the spellwork in HP is honestly very lame. Wands just end up being like guns. More battles should be like the Voldy vs Dumbles fight in book 5.

Magic should be something kids learn from the cradle. Magic is not a subject like Math is. Magic is literally part of who they are. Learning magic should be treated like learning how to groom yourself, eat healthily or even speak. It's strange how Hogwarts and the ministry restrict students from learning magic outside of classes. Maybe it's a conspiracy??

[silver-itallics]

Last Light

Warnings: canon typical violence, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, you guys will be mad at me

a/n: I was thinking about when Leigh mentioned in the saw commentary that someone wrote a monologue from Lawrence's point of view after leaving the bathroom and I wanted to write one for Adam

"I'm a liar?"

"I wouldn't lie to you."

Liar, lies. Seems like either way, Adam is getting screwed over.

He sits in the dark, dingy bathroom, his eyes still struggling to adjust. His throat is raw and aching from all the screaming and crying. Not even the hardest sex could have done that to him.

God, he's really gonna die having fucked one person.

All of his relationships were mediocre, even the platonic ones. Scott treated him like shit, the guy probably hasn't even noticed that he's gone.

Has anyone?

Lawrence is someone that would be noticed, he's got a wife and kids for fucks sake.

"I've got a family too, Lawrence! I don't talk to them anymore, that's my mistake. A mistake I'd like to fix."

One of the last things he remembers at the apartment is scribbling "Call mom?" On a crumpled post it and sticking it to the wall. The paper has probably fallen down by now. Forgotten.

Are his parents even looking for him?

Probably not. They probably haven't noticed either.

Everything that Adam does ends up screwing him in the end, just like this. But he can't really blame anyone but himself, can he? Not even $200 was worth being stuck in this bathroom. Doesn't even soften the fact that he'll probably be here forever.

The money was meant to go for his food. Not a camera, not developing fluid, not even that shiny new pokemon game Adam wanted. Food.

A necessity he barely even had.

"Why? Call it my need to eat."

He remembers snapping at Lawrence like it was the most obvious answer. But food is a luxury even Adam can't afford. The guy lives off of ramen noodles and sodas from the gas station. Sometimes he even wonders why he never gained any weight since he ate such shit.

His mom was never the greatest cook, but he'd take soggy meatloaf and unseasoned mashed potatoes any day.

At the thought, Adam's stomach rumbles. His guts ache from hunger, but he's not a stranger to it. That's usually how his day goes.

He can't even blame Jigsaw for trapping him here. But in all honesty, Adam has done so much self sabotaging, that he's probably done worse to himself than the man that left him here.

He's felt worse betrayal than when the dead man stood up, peeled the fake skin off his skull and left him here.

"Game over!"

Dead man. Adam squints in the darkness, trying to make out Zep's corpse. He's not even sure why. The first time he saw a dead body, or what he thought was one, he puked his guts out into the tub. Couldn't even keep down his latest meal.

He'll probably starve even quicker now.

The room smells like blood, and his fingers are sticky from the same substance. Not only is he a voyeur, he's a killer. Maybe his last girlfriend was right: he's too angry.

Adam isn't very good at anatomy, at least the human side of it. But he knows he broke through layers of skin and bone when he'd crushed through the hospital orderly's skull.

"It's the rules!"

Knowing now, he feels guilty. Awful, even. Guy probably had a family too, even if he was a bit of a creep. Where do you draw the line of deserving a family? What's so bad that you no longer are worthy of someone related by blood? Adam's probably the worst person to ask that.

He'd stormed out on his parents after a petty argument, an excuse to leave. One that he'd been wanting to have since he was seventeen. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that they wouldn't accept him, even if they let him drop out of high school and didn't even call the cops when he left. But was that tolerance or pure disinterest?

Maybe he's not a total waste of time, since his mom had called not long before he got his power knocked out the same way he was.

"Adam, your father's not angry anymore."

Lawrence had a home, a family. A good one, too. The pictures he saw of Diana and Alison made him crack a smile. At least before the one with them tied up. He shivers, probably both from disgust and blood loss.

His shoulder aches, oozing blood all over his shitty thrift store clothes. Adam understands why Doctor Gordon left. He has some place to go, people to welcome him home with open arms. Most places Adam went, he wasn't even noticed.

He kicks with his right foot in anger, the chain rattling as he does. The metal bites into his skin and the amount of pain he's in is just frustrating at this point. Adam screams, but his voice is raw and broken.

As much as he hopes the doctor will come back for him, at least he has half the brain to know that Lawrence probably won't make it. The man that he's had the first physical touch from in months is probably bleeding out in the sewers, and there's nothing he can do about it.

He doesn't even have a choice to cut off his foot like the doctor did. Sure, the blood loss will probably kill him, but Adam is sick of waiting around for something to happen. A job to drop, a phone call.

But he can't even do that.

The hacksaw he found in the toilet had snapped in half. A result of his ever consuming anger. Seems like everything he does leads back to that.

"I see a strange mix of someone who's angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic."

If Adam isn't angry at the world, he's angry with himself. He feels like a waste of space on the good days and a tumor on the face of the earth on the bad ones. At least with photography he felt like he had a purpose, even if it was supplying creeps and weirdos with material. He wasn't really helping anyone, was he? Even Tapp ended up dead.

But Lawrence helps people. Even if he thought the guy was initially a jerk, Adam admires him. Misses the man's blood stained hands as he cupped his cheeks.

"I wanted to be a vet."

That way, he'd benefit the world somehow. Even if he was pulling tennis balls out of dogs' throats or cleaning up puke every day. He'd much rather smell vomit, as he's getting quite sick of the coppery scent of blood.

"That's nonsense. I've seen kids with brain cancer graduate high school from a hospital bed."

"They got further than I ever did."

Adam has been pretty able bodied his whole life. While he'd consider it a nuisance that his body doesn't match up with his own view of himself, that's not a disability.

Maybe his parents wouldn't even mind, maybe they'd help him with the cost of surgery and injections. But he hadn't even told them. His parents barely know who he is. Adam barely knows himself.

"What do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror?"

Nothing. The answer is nothing.

He's like a leech, sucking the energy and luck out of everyone around him.

Now he's left to sit in his own grave- metaphorically and literally. He probably won't even have the luxury of being buried or cremated.

Hopefully someone will come around and put him out of his misery. Like a calf with two heads or a dog with rabies.

But until then, he's left to wait.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello, mbti-notes! I will quit trying to be creative and will just thank you for this blog. I always come here when I need to somehow freshen up my thoughts. I like your approach and your wording.

I was going to ask you a question about a better way of socialising, but before that I wanted to explain my current mental state. It got long, sorry in advance.

So, lately I have been socialising my a** off. Like literally hopping on every opportunity to have a conversation with anybody. Even with people that I feel no sympathy for and initially despise. I tried to prove to myself a theory that I can have a nice conversation with any kind of person. For what?

Maybe, I am thinking, I was just trying to become a «better adult». I have always been told by my parents and elders that I am a sloppy, slow to react child, that is spending too much time in its head. And I felt uncomfortable with that. Though I doubt anyone would be comfortable with listening to such half-teasing accusations )). But I respect and love my elders, though can be bitter sometimes. Unconditional love is a thing, yeah. No one is perfect.

And I just tried to prove myself that I can be that easy-going, light, happy person. I tried and I succeeded. Because you think what you believe - in a lot of cases. And you can go a pretty long way with silencing that tiny voice in your head that keeps asking: «Is that the real you? Why are you trying to become the person that you despise the most? And why do you not feel anything?»

But because there is (Thank God!) such thing as one’s nature, I am entering my usual state currently. With constant cold showers of mild social anxiety, but having my own projects back on the forefront and exploring new interesting topics that fill me with knowledge (and thus providing comfort/sense of self).

But there is a doubt in my head that is always present: may it be that I am just «slacking off»? Not doing enough of my Extraverted Feeling exercises? Should I go back to caring about people around me even if it seems to be pointless, emptying all of my resources and making me feel miserable and hollow? Maybe it is true that «what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger» and I should continue this slightly destructive way of self-exploration?

Because of those constant intrusive (and self-deprecating) thoughts I feel the need to go back in time somehow. In a way, return to the foetus version of me and tell it to feel less guilty for not liking people around it, for not having answer for everything and being a little bit slow to grow up. And maybe take with me that precious naivety of my younger self, that openness which helped me overcome dark pessimistic thoughts with ease.

But I based my whole socialising experiment on trying to prove that the child me was wrong. That elders are right because they are more experienced and know the flow of things better. Simultaneously, though only a little bit, it helps with fear of dying a mediocre person. At least there is a possibility that you will gain «enlightenment» skill with age. It could have been worse, right?

And of course it is not my first experiment. I did a lot of it in my teens too. Now I am just being more conscious about the steps that I am taking.

And my sentences may be lacking structure, that’s why I will try to sum up everything I wrote in one question. If you would be so kind, please answer. I would really appreciate your feedback.

My question:

Is there some better way to stop feeling disgusted with yourself while trying to socialise, other than just straight-up ignoring your feelings and discomfort?

Example:

I am talking with a person. At some point I understand that I do not care about them. Then I feel hollow, because somewhere deep I start to feel that I sincerely do not care for anyone. I even question if I have any feelings at all. Maybe I am just a piece of egotistic shit and that is all to me. To avoid this dark thought I just throw it away. Stuff it in a metaphorical drawer. And maybe try to justify my lack of empathy by thinking that we are all the same and I am not the only one with a social mask. And maybe feel manipulated/tricked by society/media/literature/art for putting in our minds this concept of sincere empathy afterwards.

Thank you for finishing my long ask!

Hoping to receive a reply.

An INTP (early twenties, female)

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

I appreciate that you have a desire to improve yourself and I certainly wouldn't want to discourage you. However, I would never suggest anyone try your method. What can I say when people go against my advice? Your case is a textbook example of two mistakes I have repeatedly warned people about:

1) It is important to wait until one is psychologically mature enough to pursue inferior function development, otherwise, one could easily get trapped in inferior grip. You are not yet at the stage of ego development where healthy inferior function development is possible or desirable. The results of your "experiment" only confirm this.

2) It is important to approach type development with the right intention, armed with the right understanding of its grand purpose, otherwise, one is likely to exacerbate developmental issues or create even more. Your motivation for function development was suspect from the start. It is apparent in your admissions that you are driven by ego, childishness, and faulty reasoning (that keeps you trapped in your own world of distorted beliefs).

Why do people socialize? They need relationship. To be successful in interpersonal relationships, you have to: invest in strengthening relationship bonds over the long term; care about psychological well-being; open yourself up to being seen and loved. It doesn't sound like any of this was happening. How can a proper relationship form when your intention in socializing is merely to prove some imaginary point? Other people don't really exist for you except as objects to be used and discarded once the point is proven. There is no "social" in your socializing. There is no "Feeling" in your Extraverted Feeling actions.

As far as I can tell, one reason you've faltered is that you don't know what exact problem you're trying to solve. From your description, it seems the main problem is a lack of feeling and empathy. Forcing yourself into inappropriate socializing situations isn't going to solve this problem. If lack of feeling/empathy is indeed at the root, then you ought to focus primarily on it. Lack of feeling/empathy isn't a crime and doesn't automatically make you a bad person; it is a legitimate psychological issue that people experience for a variety of possible reasons. Take time to understand how and why you suffer from this issue. Perhaps consult some experts on the matter.

Putting yourself down or destroying yourself is unnecessary and counter-productive. Self-denial and self-hatred are major impediments to personal growth. If you truly want to grow as a person, the first thing you have to do is face facts and accept the truth of what you are, rather than live in a fantasy world where you believe that weaknesses and faults can be eliminated with the wave of a magic wand. Only by being seated firmly in reality will you have the right frame of mind to learn effective coping and adaptation strategies to make the best of what you have.

[surviveds]

okay. tommy posting! a masterpost of introductory hcs for my portrayal. i might expand on specific points in different posts because i have a lot of thoughts and feelings.

first and foremost: tommy is closer to 50 than 40. lou is 39 but it doesn't make sense with the canon they've provided in s7 for tommy to be the same age, because if he was, that'd mean he was ~19 in '05 during chim begins and that's just not possible with him also having served (he's clearly not a probie and it seems like he's been at the 118 for years at that point). i'm putting him at maybe 45 or 46.

i do take a lot of inspiration from what lou has had to say about him. he's an only child of shitty parents who didn't really want to be parents, and that had a profound impact on him.

his dad was a miserable man and mediocre cop who felt bad about being mediocre and took it out on his wife and son.

tommy actually did fairly well in school, hoping it'd help assist in his plan of Getting Out, but things really didn't go his way on the college front and he felt trapped, which is what led him to enlisting.

and for the most part, he operated fairly well in the military. it was good to have order. and he was already accustomed to being treated terribly - but it was a little different because at least it wasn't his dad. he did his job and kept to himself, at least for a while, until he started a 'relationship' with another soldier. it was toxic and pretty terrible, overshadowed by DADT, and it ended pretty brutally. tommy had already become pretty disillusioned to the army by the point it ended, but it was another major factor in him getting out the first chance he got.

when he was discharged, he didn't even bother going home. he went to LA, choosing it as his new city because it felt very safe due to its size. it felt like a place that'd be easy to disappear and be just another guy.

he didn't immediately jump to a career with the LAFD. he had a few months of trying to figure his shit out, contemplating if he should finally try to go to college - but it was scary to think about so he ended up dropping the idea. he went through some basic jobs before applying to LAPD impulsively. army to police felt like a natural transition, and he thought maybe it would be a way to actually 'serve' his country, because being overseas doing shitty things for people who wouldn't give him good reasons hardly felt like 'service.' and he did make it through training, got a beat - but he realized pretty quickly that being a cop also wasn't for him. he stuck with it for a few months, though, because he was terrified of feeling lost and at least it was something and he did get to help people, sometimes. because he realized he did like helping people - and when, on one shift, he assisted some firefighters in helping rescue some kids from a wrecked car, and suddenly, a lot of things clicked for him. he turned in his badge and applied to the fire department a week later.

being in the army and then a cop means he wasn't surprised by the culture at the 118. he knew how to blend in well by that point. he knew what part to play to survive. and he does feel really bad about it. he worked hard to make peace with hen and chimney, and they're two people who are incredibly important to him - hen, because she was formative in helping him understand that he can be himself, and chimney because of course he wouldn't be alive without him.

(i also want to point out that i believe he briefly had a crush on chimney. but with all of the repression going on he refused to really recognize it. it did slightly contribute to him not wanting to be around chimney at first, though.)

tommy first acknowledged to himself that he was gay just before he put in for a transfer. of course he understood he was attracted to men long before that point; he'd had secret flings - not just the one in the military - but he'd still tried to be with women. he wanted to believe he was bisexual for a long time and that he could just 'suppress one side of it', but it didn't work. when he accepted he was gay, he put in for a transfer because he felt it'd be easier to start over at a new house. it was a very tough decision, because hen and howie had become family, and he had started to form a relationship with bobby... but he knew this was what he needed to be himself. he didn't have some big announcement about his identity like hen did when he transferred, but he didn't make efforts to hide it, either.

buck is the first firefighter he's dated, though. his prior relationships post-coming out were all with civilians - a few of which, yes, originated from meeting on calls. after the third time, though, he really felt it was a bad idea to continue that pattern. for him, personally, it felt like almost like a power imbalance, and he hated constantly wondering if the guys he was seeing just felt indebted.

he kept up with the 118 even after leaving - mostly because it's hard not to, with how often they make the news, but also because he genuinely does care about a lot of the people there. he reached out to chim after the car accident and the stabbing, and to hen after her accident.

[augment-techs]

Question Game. Describe yourself with 3 singers. Favorite book? Words that best describe you? If your world hadn't went to hell in a hand basket, what do you think you'd be doing now? + Sentry Skull

There are so many different versions of all of these boy and all the rest of the kiddies, omg. Wouldn't it be nice if my divergent brain could maintain peace with all the AUs? Whatever; I can just use his baseline personality.

Describe yourself with 3 singers:

Tori Amos; bold and brilliant and with a voice not terribly different from the one in his head in certain circumstances. Does what she wants and doesn't give a damn about other people's opinion. Ed Kowalczyk, lead singer of the band LIVE. Though strictly for the Throwing Copper album of 1994. Bulk once caught him trying to perform on the acoustic guitar in his garage the song "Iris" and mentioned Skull sounded almost spot-on like the artist, "Just give it a couple years." Which was not untrue. David Bowie in his song "Heart's Filthy Lesson" played at the beginning and ending of the movie Se7en. Oh so very symbolic, in his opinion.

Favorite book?:

Gerald's Game, by Stephen King. Not one of his most favored works, not one of his classics, but the reading of it has helped get him out of quite a few more scrapes than he would have otherwise. It's informative and meditative.

Words that best describe you?:

Craft. Cunning. Thinness. Quietness. Mischief. Malaise. Patience. Secrets. Shadow. Allusion.

If your world hadn't went to hell in a hand basket, what do you think you'd be doing now?:

The first thing that comes to mind is having actually comfortable sex, since there is a fair bit of certainty that he would have kept his balls and wouldn't have allowed his prick to be inverted to keep his cover when he joined the wretched Red Sentries all because Drakkon thought it might be easier to keep other captains in line if there was a hole to relieve their stress readily available...

But apart from that...it is a rather difficult thing to imagine--the possibility of his being happy. His background can basically be summed up as "poor white trash with negligent/abusive parents and mental illness that required medication since puberty" when he's feeling generous. His grades in school were mediocre, he had self-esteem issues for days, depression, anxiety, the kind of migraines that could cause blindness; and while he was excellent at music, he would never let anyone actually see him perform...

Of course, hindsight is 20/20. Maybe he could have at least gone to college to major in the humanities, or found love, or had a child. He's seen plenty of other worlds in Drakkon's conquests; he's not unaware that some of his other selves seemed at least content.

[tuulikannel]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

So I already got this twice so I guess I should try to get an answer out ^^;; It's... really a tough task though, but here we go! I can’t really pick a clear favorite of them all, so they’re just in random order. (Or actually, I guess they're in the order in which they've last been updated/posted.)

1. Caught Between, my Hikaru no Go fic where Sai's a real kid with dreams of turning go pro, an intersex condition, and not... the greatest parents in the world, I guess. (His mom has grown on me though.) I've talked about this fic a lot before, so I'll just say that I'm so glad I finally started posting it and that I've managed to nearly reach the end - still need to wrap things up, but at Sai's finally where he wants to be in live, so in that regard, all's fine.

2. blind alley, Assassination Classroom fic which, as usual for me, is basically about Shuu's relationship with his dad. The summary is rather short: "One day, Gakushuu decides to end it all. Just, all does not end that easily." I've said it before, I don't even know why I like this fic so much. Maybe I'm just a sucker for sad things? I don't think I've ever said anything about the title, have I? Cause this is a rare case where I didn't have to struggle to come up with a title only to end up with something mediocre. I was originally going to name this Dead End, cause stupid puns & Shuu being in a sense stuck in one, but then realized that blind alley refers to the same thing, plus it has the word "blind" in it... and you could say Shuu is blind to the truth for a good while there. (why I decided not to capitalize it, I don't know. Sometimes things just look better like that to me.)

3. oneironautics, AssClass & The Sandman crossover (no knowledge of Sandman required.) Again, Shuu and his dad are in the spotlight. It's just that I like Gakushuu, I found Gakuhou simply... intriguing. What's going on his brain? How did he really go so crazy? I've never felt like Ikeda's death would have been quite enough for that. They hadn't even been in touch for years! So, yeah, I guess one goal for me in this fic was to create him one potential background where all the problems have their roots. Also, writing dreams is fun. ^^

4. Ok, those first three were clear, but now it's getting hard. I've two random Hikaru no Go fics in mind here... maybe I'll pick the one that showcases my fic-naming abilities, It’s the Zombie Apocalypse! XD Its birth was absolute randomness, once upon a time in the hikago community on Dreamwidth people were playing Let’s Five on Hikago Day. Someone asked who'd be the five characters who'd survive the zombie apocalypse, and reading the answers I was attacked by a rabid plotbunny. This fic... it was just so fun to write. And I like how it's got a true ending and a bad ending (the reader's choice determines which you get.) (And, dammit, I'll mention the other fic I was just considering too: Chika-go, the Hikago & Dresden Filess crossover. Another fic that was really fun to write. And it has my first ever battle scenes. XD Also, I like the title for various reasons. ^^)

5. Then, finally: The End of Silence (The All Paths Lead to God of Go Remix), yet one more Hikago fic. This is perhaps a bit surprising choice, but I can’t help it… there’s something about this little fic I really like. It’s a remix, as you see (tho in all honesty it’s more like a sequel than a real remix, I feel), of Flonnebonne’s drabble The Silent Path where Akari, not Hikaru, was the one to end up with Sai. I had always wanted to write about Akari more, but somehow never had any inspiration. This (though I'm sure it's not exactly what anyone expects XD) fixed that.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hii Jalebi! How are you doing? Diwali anon here!(idk you remember my last ask to recognise my but oh well!) So I'm on IPKKND re-watch sapere again cuz I'm trying to cope ever increasing anxiety of going to start college and moving to a new city and also living in a hostel for the first time ever

So this might be a long ask lol, but i feel so deprived of Arnav and Khushi actually being parents to Aarav yk? I feel like Khushi and Arnav reacting on completely opposite ends of spectrum during Diwali was a set up for a new track, which was scratched out? Also your take on how asr and Khushi would eventually have convo with Aarav about being orphans, and i personally think that if aarav had even a bit doubt about them accepting him or vice versa would be cleared from his mind. Also this could be headcanon or whatever down the line aarav would have taken some characteristics from Khushi (like he likes sweets like she does) maybe daily horoscope or finding a new best friend in Devi maiyya!? Also i imagine Aarav having to tell Arnav why Khushi is teary eyed because during her infamous morning vegetable shopping (where mother and son first met, this is their bonding time without any verbal confirmation about it) fellow shopper aunty comments on how aarav's nose is just like hers. Another one where aarav might be feeling down cuz he's done a bit bad on a test and he NEEDS to be best like his father but sabka Devi swooping in and telling him that being mediocre is okay, he doesn't need to be best for them to love him as much they do now and much much more.

Am i projecting my mommy and daddy issues in there? Maybe but who cares lol

This turned out longer than i expected, it's not a rant it's an essay, I'm so sorry. Fingers crossed i hope Tumblr doesn't eat my ask😭.

Please add your own headcanons and ideas I'd love to know (more like I'm desperate to know lol)

Thank you so much for bearing with me! I love your blog and podcasts!<333

Diwali Anon!!!

Do you know I too watch IPK to cope with anxiety - especially when I move into a new housing location? So giving you the biggest hugs cause watching our favorite show truly gives us the comfort we need during the hardest times *hugs*

How am I doing? Dying due to periods *cry*

Aarav and his role in the show was very undecided. They developed the relationship well between him and Arnav, but completely underdeveloped the relationship between him and Khushi. Of course it should've been complicated considering the little child was indirectly conditioned to think that it's this woman in his "dad's" life that results to him not having his dad...

The whole parenting thing also could've been an excellent track considering both Arnav and Khushi are orphans so they could connect with the child.

But it was very clear at that point that the writers really did not know where to take the story. And they were in this spot of not knowing how to write ArShi if they're not in conflict with each other. And they swore by the guideline of making Khushi childish. So what could've been a serious difference of opinion on how to parent and raise Aarav - led to the harebrained Mrs India.

Also they never setup Khushi as a maternal figure to Aarav. She overnight forgets to wear heels, forgets to wear makeup, forgets styling, forgets she has a child. They do remember to at least show Arnav helping Aarav with homework.

I don't think they could strike a balance between a childish Khushi and mother Khushi. Which, again shows where their 'priorities' were.

And yes, children do subconsciously absorb a lot of behavior from the adults around him. I absolutely agree he'd outwardly be a lot like Arnav cause it's tough to unlearn that he needs to not be like his father to get his approval. It will take some time and acknowledgement of the family to help Aarav find his own personality and identity that isn't influenced by Arnav's behavior.

I do think from Khushi he might learn distracting his stress by doing something that controls his impulses. For Khushi it's jalebi, for Aarav it could be something else.

I do think Khushi-Arnav would communicate with Aarav early on about being orphans considering their struggle to adjust as parents and Aarav's struggle to accept a new family. You must read @ridzmystique 's beautiful OS called Under the Starlight

I'd like to quote a head canon about Aarav from one of my previous posts;

#6 “Mom”

Never, in a million years, with all her twenty imaginary babies would Khushi have ever imagined to be called ‘mom’. In her fantasies of Laad Governor & Sanka Devi’s Shaadi Shuda Zindagi she thought she had imagined it all;

A hot, passionate but crazy marriage. Their brood of children would be half western, thanks to English Singh Raizada, and half traditional. Her son would probably take after his father in looks (which she would be grateful for) and in temperament (which she would curse Arnav for). Their daughter would be just like Khushi (which Arnav would be grateful for) and naively believe in all love and romance (which Arnav would curse Khushi for).  And then Arnav and Khushi would have another set of a son and daughter to have the roles switched.  Arnav would be positively traumatized upon being called “Babuji” and would drop all his business to make sure his brood calls him “Dad/Papa” and Khushi would leave all her jalebis and shop to make sure her little army of Raizada’s called her “Amma” instead of “Mom!”

That is until the day Aarav calls her mom. Suddenly, that is the sweetest word Khushi has ever heard and she does not want Aarav to call her anything else. Because it’s what Aarav calls her. 

Aarav, although shown to be identical to Arnav and immediately close to him because he believed all along that Arnav was his father - hence tried to impress him as much as he could - grows to become mamma’s boy. It’s Khushi’s childishness, sense of humor, joy for life, maturity and zest that brings out the boy’s childhood. 

I am sure one day Khushi sits and talks about being an orphan - and Aarav would be surprised at Khushi’s happiness despite her tragedy. I feel Khushi would actually play a key role in nurturing Aarav and making him a wholesome boy who can laugh, dance and enjoy life like his mother. 

In a nutshell, Aarav grows to become the perfect combination of his parents; slightly religious, loves sweets, plays pranks, is extremely sharp at mathematics, sarcastic, introvert, dry sense of humor, values relationships, values money and is temperamental enough to get people to obey him. 

Oh, and did you think Arnav was a terror if anyone insulted Khushi in front of him? That Arnav would slap and rip away the person from planet and protect his wife from all costs. 

Don’t even think of insulting Khushi with Aarav Singh Raizada around. 

Even Arnav can’t raise his voice on Khushi in front of Aarav. 

Aarav is obviously, protective about his father too - except he’s not too vocal about his. Arnav becomes a mentor, guide and a loving father for Aarav, while Khushi becomes Aarav’s best friend. 

--

The End,

Best,

Jalebi

[hatingmyself101]

I am the single most mediocre person I have ever met in my life. For starters not only am I a mediocre friend, but all of my friends have mediocre relationships with me. Not that this is a negative reflection on my friends because they have awesome relationships with each other, it's completely on me. My best friend doesn't actually know me no matter how much she thinks she does. I don't even know if she is my best friend anymore, she has so many other people to choose from and she hangs out with other people a lot more than me. She calls other friends her soulmates and her 4lifers, she doesn't do that with me. Maybe we're not best friends anymore? I don't know, but if she's not my best friend then I'm pretty sure I have no one which fucking sucks. Secondly, my relationship with my parents is mediocre. I obviously love them, they're my parents, but they don't understand a single thing about me. I feel like the only person who actually knows me is me. There are times when I feel like I genuinely hate my parents and I find it hard to feel guilty about that because I know they're feeling the same thing even if they don't admit it. Thirdly, I am a mediocre volleyball player. This doesn't hurt as much as the other ones, it's just a little annoying that I spent over half of my life with a sport I'm just 'okay' at. There is literally nothing interesting about me. Not a single thing. The only mildly interesting thing I can think of is that I love to read, but who fucking cares about that? No one. Fourthly, I am a mediocre student. Sure the teachers like me and most of the other students do, but in the way that I like a kind restaurant waiter. I smile and speak to them nicely, but I wouldn't try and form an actually meaningful relationship with them. It's not fucking worth it. Fifthly, I have mediocre mental health issues. Yeah, I've got a touch of depression and a bucket full of anxiety, but again who doesn't have those? The one above mediocre thing I have going in that department is that I used to cut myself and have a couple of scars from that, but I don't really count that as anything because no one knows about it. Sometimes (scratch that)... ALL the time I think about how I'd much rather be under average than just average. Being average sucks. When you're average you tend to make friends with above-average people and then that makes you feel a whole lot better about your life right? Wrong. All my friends are beautiful and charismatic and interesting and they've had their first kiss… I'm seventeen and I've never even held hands with a guy in a romantic way. How fucking pathetic is that. I guess I am also above average in the sin department if we're gonna get religious. I'm a woman and have a mild porn addiction, nothing crazy, I could easily, probably stop. Plus I like to masturbate which I guess isn't normal for teen girls. I also have a crazy god complex, sometimes I think my mind is so deep and endless that no one is ever going to realize how intellectual I really am, but I also have a huge self-hatred/self-loathing thing going on, which is probably good for me so my ego doesn't go unchecked. However, the self-hatred thing has now given me body dysmorphia which is really shitty… but again that's normal so who actually cares? I'm not suicidal or anything, but I sometimes wonder how great I would be if I were dead. Not in the way that I'm a bother to people and they would like me better, but in a way that people would actually know me. Or at least think they know me. If I died today they would talk about what an amazing friend I was, which is completely wrong, my parents would say how lovely of a daughter I was to them, again wrong, They would talk about the hopeful future I would have, nope, and probably 13 more pages filled with things I was above-average at. I'm not gonna kill myself or anything it's just an interesting thought.

[plantypotter]

I am in so much pain this past month. I ... cannot seem to enjoy anything without this constant feeling over shame and overwhelm. I am tossing labels out the window for the sake of this argument. no clinical diagnoses. rather, what is the problem?

one: artem. is he right? do i have low self esteem and my therapist isn't working? and it's ok my therapist isnt working? where does the pain and jealousy for those whom are able to observe and tell me that come from?

two: what do i need to be .... ok? like at peace day to day? with my relationships, with new ones, with ones i've invested in , with ones i've neglected in some way. why do i push people away the minute they stop validating me?

----

response

one: first thought is, who cares what he thinks? i know i do, but at the same time, in the same vein, i don't morally give a fuck. part of me thinks, strongly, if it's not serving me, who gives a fuck. which is true. no one's opinion of me is going to affect me at the end of the day, it's really my opinion of myself. and ... what is my opinion of myself? (god he's so fucking mean and critical. it makes me angry to think about. it puts me on this loop. do i empathize with these side attack feelings of being attacked, of being hurt, of being unsafe? do i remind myself that...i am safe, and someone saying something negative about me does not ... make me unsafe? do i deprogram?) my opinion of myself. i ... well, i don't think i'm ... independent. i also cannot handle criticism without shutting down for at least a little bit. it puts me into "play dead" or "flight" now, i think. "fight" if I'm familiar with the person, and they can empathize with the other two steps because we've been intimate emotionally, and i know they ... in some way, need or desire me emotionally/won't leave? which pushes them away. I'm aware. so. my opinion. is that, overall, 5/10. as a whole. pretty but so unorganized i don't take care of myself. intellectual and social interests but so overwhelmed everyone i do things with is left hanging eventually. has a societal vision of good communication and reliability, humor, pride, progress but does not execute --- will leave one trail for another halfway there, and never get to the end of level 1. my figs are rotting at the end of the tree and falling off. it is horrible and fills me with shame to watch, and everyone else gets to see it to.

and i don't know how to stop it. therapy? where do i get the money for that when i am constantly overwhelmed? do i stop trying to get anywhere in life, waste my late 20s just saving, doing mediocre jobs, going to therapy?

two: need to be ok? what is OK? the last time i felt OK.. maybe before my brother was born, and through my relationship with him, and my dad before i realized he was neglecting parenting my brother. when i was ok... i was... enamored with the world, every day, every thing around me. i had people who loved me, and i had places to push myself and learn new things. i had freedom, but i also had structure. i also had nannies around who... were supportive, not terribly stressed, pretty hot. i don't know why i was OK. i was also OK... when i was making enough to pay my bills and then some, seeing my therapist and had a place where i felt safe coming home to, could help my brother. i suppose i could do that here. the data analysis thing maybe delay until spring, and just.... try to save. finish my MA course thing. ugh. ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i groan because i want it to happen now, i don't want to lose the opportunity to. do this COOP data analyst training thing. it's my way in.

so to summarize, to be ok: income > basic needs. safe space to relax every day. therapy budget and session in weekly agenda. supporting my brother, and family in some way. financially preferred.

i don't like. venting without there being solution, out come, next step. next step: only apply to jobs that provide more than basic needs. buy ikea rug, air filer, vent for ceiling and top of door. set up therapy, and get therapy book. text nick if he still wants allowance. email 2-3 physical therapists at u-mich to see if he can shadow.

be compassionate with myself i suppose, and also hold myself to a standard. i know its hard, but i expect good things from myself because i want to believe i'm capable of them. life will keep going on without me, i can choose to go in circles here or move in the straight line

(subconscious dialogue: i am trying to love those emotions and let them come and go. i am trying to love the emotion right now telling me i should be ashamed. i am trying to love the programming right now telling me i am behind and i should feel shame. why? why should i feel shame? is that motivating me?

maybe a little. what i didn't feel shame about anything, and just did what served me? I trust my morals... mostly. if anything. if there's problem, my system wont work and i can adjust. no amount of worry or shame is going to help me improve.

and i know if i... keep doing this, loving the emotions that tell me i am in danger when i am in fact, not going to die from these things. FUCK. i am loving the fact that i don't know which emotions i want to feed and which i want to let come and go. shame? do i want to feed it? do i want to accept it? do i want to accept all of my emotions?)

income: difference between healthy self-doubt and crippling negativity

[gamerbearmira]

I read all your works and I love them (even on AO3). The evil Antonio was perfect. but EVIL Madrigals AU, all of them are evil except Mirabel since she didn’t get a gift and are extremely rude to her. But when the candle finally falls, none of them know what to do and Mirabel gets revenge by every single rude thing they said gets return tenfold, also the passive aggressiveness.

“Why didn’t you just get out of the way? All your are good for is just to sit there and look pretty” “What wrong? Are they talking behind your back? It doesn’t matter any more does it? All you were ever good for was being a gossip”

I call this AU ‘an eye for an eye’

Hello hello!

Before we get into it, I would like to say I'm SO HAPPY. That you love my works so much! I'm also glad you love my Evil Antonio AU! With that, let's get into it!

An Eye for an Eye

SO, Evil Madrigals. They might have been nice to the village and all, but to Mirabel? They were horrible.

Alma and Isabela were the worst. If they weren't completely acting like she didn't exist, they were coming for every single flaw she had, screaming about how useless she was. Pepa would purposefully rain on her and Felix wouldn't stop her. Julieta and Agustin kind of just dropped the ball and stopped caring about her or what was said to her, never defending her.

Dolores would talk bad about her everyday, never letting her catch a break. Camilo would change into her and make fun of her, taunting her about no gift. Luisa just straight up ignored her as well. Antonio was fine at first; but after his ceremony, he was what you would...a spoiled little brat.

For Bruno, she's on relatively good terms with him--she could see why he left and could see things from his pov.

After Casita falls, Mirabel kind of just snaps. She couldn't take it anymore. Even after trying to save that stupid miracle, they still treated her like trash.

She throws the insults right back. They don't care about her feelings, so she doesn't care about their feelings.

Mirabel went ham on them. Like full on petty mode, maybe even further than that. Here are some of the things she said to them:

Abuela: "Oh...I wonder how Abuelo Pedro would feel about the things you said? Oh wait, I forgot! He's gone..."

Julieta and Agustin: "I wonder how it feels to be such...mediocre parents. I couldn't relate of course, but on the other hand, you must know what it's like first hand!"

Pepa and Felix: "You should really consider getting your emotions under control...and you should control your wife better."

Isabela: "Why don’t you just get out of the way? I mean, after all---you were only ever good for sitting there and looking pretty anyway."

Dolores: "Awwww, what's wrong? Are they talking behind your back? It doesn’t matter any more does it? All you were ever good for was gossip.”

Luisa: "At least I know my worth and where it's at. Where's yours? Is it playing hide and seek?

Camilo: "I couldn't imagine not being able to figure out my own personality! Everyone thinks I'm so fun, unlike you, who is just such a bore."

Antonio: "Don't forget who raised you boy. You are just some spoiled little kid who can't even even take care of himself. DON’T test my patience. You wouldn't know real love if it was thrown in your face.”

They are HURT. She's observed them for the past 10 years, watching everything that happens. Waiting. They can throw insults at her all they want, but she's used to it. They use the same ones anyway. But they've never had Mirabel fight back. And since she knows exactly where to them, she knows exactly where to hit them.

The only ones who have some kind of redeeming qualities are Luisa and Antonio.

For Luisa she would be a target, not as much---but she and Mirabel do get into a screaming argument, where hateful words have been thrown and the two speak from the heart. Luisa would be the one to get herself together and learn to put herself first, and then she apologizes.

For Antonio, He would eventually ask Pepa if she really loved him and she would hesitate and he would start rethinking his choices and who he wanted to be. He only had his gift for a day, so the power hasn’t gone to his head much. But he also doesn’t know that conditional love ISN’T normal, and he would think all other families are like that. The only person who gave him unconditional love is Mirabel, so eventually he realizes his mistakes, does his best to fix them, and then apologizes.

The only way the Madrigals can talk to Mirabel is through Bruno--And even he's hesitant. After all, he knows what it's like---he's been talked about by both the village and his family. He literally heard his family make up a whole diss track about him, so he's not as easy to talk to either.

Mirabel is about to release her own anger on the Madrigals, and she's going to get an apology out of them, one way or another.

-------

I hope you like what I did here and I hope this answers your ask!

Feel free to ask more about Mamabel, Papatonio, Housebroken, Mermay or any other AU's you find on this blog!

I also take art suggestions for all aus on this blog, including Cocooned!

If you have an AU idea, send it in and I'll expand on it best I can!

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he’s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

**

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

**

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

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[brawltogethernow]

@mirrorfalls​ submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

~~

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

[creatingnikki]

What 2020 has taught me

1. Those things that seem like content for sci fi or pure fiction are actually things that can happen. To the entire world. Like a pandemic. And to you. Like a seizure.

2. Everyone is sad. Everyone is struggling. In different ways and in different measures. Makes no one special. But you still get to feel sad for yourself and be compassionate towards others. But it's also okay to draw boundaries because you're everyone too. Remember, not special? You're sad and trying to deal with it too.

3. Every job you have will not add value to your life. It will not teach you new things or give you people you'll want to stay in touch with. Sometimes some jobs will only be a season of your life. Even if the season lasts for over a year. It's okay.

4. You know how you thought picking a college and picking a major and picking your first job and picking a specific industry were all the career decisions you had to make? Yeah, no. It's never a one time thing. You could have a job as a marketing strategist for two years and then want nothing to do with it. And then you'll have to make another decision and work towards it. So I'd like to call it moves. It's like chess. You always have to make a move. And it always has to be strategic, yes. But the truth is in your 20s it probably won't. Even if you try. And as long as you're trying, you'll be fine.

5. You may have different sorts of friends like the one you only talk to about kdrama with or the one you met when you went book shopping alone and the friendship is all about books really. That's normal. But irrespective of why and how you became friends with them, if you consider them a friend then there has to be this basic sense of care, respect and empathy for each other. I don't care what people want to say. If you're faced with the worst trauma of your life, the least your friends can do is check up on you regularly. On text. And if they don't even do that then guess what? They aren't friends. They are acquaintances. Social media and quick promises make everyone seem like your friend. But they are not. They are just nice people who will be nice to you for specific periods and then wander away like you are a speck of dust floating in their journey.

6. You speak a lot and write and you express yourself and you’re emotionally mature but oh my god. You still hold in so much. You’ve known that at a subconscious level and over the last year people - experts - have told you that. You have also realized that you make your pain and sadness about pettier things because dealing with them, admitting about them, sharing that with your friends, is easier. You do that so that you don’t have to deal with the real stuff. Because it’s so damn painful. And you don’t know how to do it. Yet. Acknowledging is the first step anyway right? I know you’re confused about how exactly to let go of all this pain and sadness and feel lighter, and you know that talking to people really isn’t the solution, but I also know you’re smart enough to figure it out. 

7. Talking about being smart...you know you’re different than others. Better. Special. Smarter. None of these are the right words. And you never voiced this out until this year because you knew it would make you come across as narcissistic. Some would say it’s because you’re an INFJ. But my mother once said that this may be the first time we are consciously living life but our souls are old and so our instinct and the things we know but can’t explain are because this isn’t the first time for our souls. The connections we feel with certain people, the reason we are so different from our siblings who grew up in the exact same environment with the exact same opportunities, our sense of right and wrong...it’s all because our souls learn and grow with each time and that’s why we are who we are. I think that’s probably how I can explain what I have always felt. That I am living in a different universe than everybody but I have to pretend to be in this one and dumb my emotions and thoughts down. Maybe that’s because my soul has lived through thousands of years while most around me are living their 100th life. Or maybe I’m just narcissistic, who knows?

8. You shift between talking in first person and second person but that’s because that’s how you think in your head and talk to yourself and live your life. You ask yourself things and you accuse yourself of things and you apologize to yourself and you comfort yourself. I think that seeps into your writing and the changing of the voices. 

9. You always genuinely thought that you’d not be afraid of dying. And then what happened this October proved you shockingly wrong. I know it’s not so much being afraid of dying but the unbearable pain of knowing what that would mean to your family. So you have to be more prudent and less reckless with your life and the choices you make. 

10. Regret is not something that plagued you but this year the realisation and pain of giving away your favourite books from your own personal collection to people you care about as a show of affection and them turning out to be ass holes or losers has hit you so hard. So, yes. No more of that shit. I really fucking want my copy of The Perks Of Being A Wallflower back. UGH. With the childhood picture of me inside it! 

11. Sleeping at 5 am in the morning stops being fun or romanticised when you realise just how much harm it does to your body and mind. Literally every single disease and disorder can be traced back to a shitty fucking sleep schedule. It’s not just the hours you sleep but also the quality of sleep and the time you sleep at. So yes sleeping for 8 hours is healthy but not if that 8 hours is from 5 am to 12 pm. ‘Not a morning person’ is just another construct of capitalism and you don’t realise how many industries profit from having you believe that and staying up late or all night. Entertainment. Food. Alcohol. Pharma. Biologically and naturally you are a bloody morning person. And you don’t need 3 cups of coffee to begin your day or your phone notifications to get you to open your eyes and brain to wake up. 

12. Sometimes you really have to stop taking people so seriously. I know the idea of treating people as casual friends or entertainment makes you want to fight that concept but you know what? Some people like Pineapple are ever only going to be good for that. No matter how much they ‘grow and change’. So keep them in the background for whenever you want some entertainment or drama. But please don’t clear up your busy schedule to meet them or send them gifts on their birthday. 

13. If you don’t have the fruit juice or green juice within half an hour of making it then you are losing out on its most optimum health benefits. Or when you remove the white stringy stuff from oranges. That’s where all the actual nutrients are.

14. I am privileged and so are most of the people I interact with. The global pandemic has been hell for a lot of people around the world. Health wise. Financially. Losing people they care about. But I was blessed enough to be safe at home and have a job that I could smoothly do from home and not have a pay cut or 4-hour long Zoom meetings. So honestly when my friends tell me 2020 has been bad I have to stop and ask them why? Yes, the crippling uncertainty and anxiety is not something that can be undermined. But most people I know had very great positive life-changing milestones this year like moving away to another country for college or taking their first solo trip or getting married. So I have to ask them. Because I am not going to agree that everybody’s 2020 and pandemic narrative is the same. 

15. Money gets spent really quickly. When I left my job earlier this year because of personal issues, I thought I had enough savings to last me a year. Full disclosure - I mean to last my personal expenses because I live with my parents. But it didn’t even last me 3 months. And so to use money wisely and buy things that provide utility than instant gratification is something to follow. Also buying one pair of really expensive but quality shoes is better than buying 5 pairs of affordable but low quality shoes that will have a very short life and force you to buy more. I know that higher price doesn’t always mean better quality but sometimes it does. And as an adult now I want to do the whole quality > quantity thing even with things and not just people. 

16. Everyone in their 20s went through a crisis of what they should do with their lives and their careers and it’s not unique to the 21st century and the challenges of today. Whether it was Vincent Van Gogh in the 19th century or Sylvia Plath in the 20th, every single person, as brilliant as them went through the torture of making these decisions and living with their consequences. You may think I picked wrong examples for they both killed themselves but you know what? They were the people who really want to live more than anyone. They knew what life meant. And maybe if mental health help was more accessible back then their lives would be longer and more peaceful. 

17. Telling people everything is overrated. You don’t have to talk about every single thing that’s on your mind or that’s going on in your life. The good and the bad and the mediocre. You have to be mindful about how much of yourself you’re giving away. 

18. Re-watch Suits when people at work feel intimidating because the confidence + negotiation tactics that they show can actually work irl cos at the end of the day no matter in what position you’re dealing with people who have emotions and fears and insecurities and desires. You understand how to leverage that nobody can get the better of you. 

19. You belong to yourself. No matter how much you love someone or how much they have done for you or how much you owe them - you belong to yourself. You can’t live your life for someone else. Everyone belongs to themselves first. No relationship, no promise, no circumstance should make you feel like you have to give up your life and make it all about them. If and when the time comes to die for them, go ahead. Take a bullet. Donate that kidney. Write them in your will. But live your life for yourself. And let them live theirs. 

20. Twenty three was a challenging year. When it started you claimed the age 23 sounds boring and insignificant. Guess it proved you wrong. It hurt so much now. But that only means you’ll look back on it later and see how it added so much wisdom and resilience to your being. It doesn’t mean that it makes all the bad things that happened to you okay. Or that you should be grateful to them. Fuck no. It means that you should be kinder to yourself because at the end of the day, your mind and body find it in themselves to deal with whatever is thrown their way. They have your back. It’s time you learn to sit straight. 

[dingdonghyvck]

The Only Exception || Lee Haechan x Reader

Summary: You finally realize that Haechan’s the only exception to the one rule you gave yourself.

Genre: Angst and a little bit of Fluff  

Pairing/s: Drummer!Haechan x Lead Vocalist!Reader, Minor College Student!Mark x Reader

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, implications of sex, sex jokes, use of drugs, cigarettes and alcohol, verbal and physical abuse, divorce, and a few others I probably forgot to mention

Word Count: 5.4k words

So this is part two of the Drummer!Haechan AU I wrote: Still Into You

 Please do give feedback, it’s greatly appreciated! Thank you and enjoy :)

"When I was younger I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget”

It all started with hushed arguments, hidden whispers of disappointment behind closed doors, afraid of breaking the perfect image your family had, afraid of the neighbors to talk. From hushed arguments to daily endeavors of avoiding each other everyday, it was like a ticking bomb inside your home. A ticking bomb you had tip-toed over each morning past your parents' bedroom, hearing the muffled crying. You knew it was only a matter of time before the bomb would finally explode, imploding your house from inside-out.

You hoped and you prayed to any god willing to listen that the rumors were not true. The neighbors started talking and the news had somehow got out. And that was when everything started breaking down. The hushed arguments turned to wars of screaming and crying, sharp words that cut through you like a knife. That was when the walls of your home began to talk, they spoke to you too, they echoed the hatred your parents had for each other. They made you feel unwanted, unloved and useless, since of course the sole foundation of your life was crumbling. You were the scars, bruises, and pain they brought into the world, you were once proof of their love that turned into a ghost wandering the halls, desperately clawing against the wallpaper to make it all stop.

It didn't end with words, it seemed as if words weren't hurtful enough. You were caught in the crossfire, desperately trying to raise the white flag between the two, but you ended up becoming their stress ball. They would sometimes drown you, lock you up in the basement or straight up hit you. They kept squeezing you and throwing you around like a stress ball bound to burst, the people at school began noticing the bruises and cuts. In the end they left you alone, vacant and ignored since you began bringing your friends over your house.

And for the first time in a while you felt safe, you felt safe in Jeno's comforting smile when he tried to teach you guitar. You felt safe with Hendery's little pranks and teasing during practices. You felt safe in Donghyuck's presence whenever you two would head out after band practice, in his car with no particular destination in mind. The nights were long, but somehow it always ended too quickly for you. You wished you could stay for an eternity inside Donghyuck's car, it was a place where you didn't bother to be someone else except yourself.

It was a space where you weren't either the whore's daughter or the useless excuse of a student. You were just authentically you and Donghyuck openly accepted you, he didn't say it but you knew he did. He didn't talk whenever you didn't feel like it, he opened the car window when you wanted to watch the stoplights and streetlight wiz by. That's what made those nights perfect, it was Donghyuck's soft humming along the mediocre pop song on the radio. His weirdly specific defensive monologue whenever you brought up his tacky lavender car scent. Donghyuck's presence in general as he would sometimes just hold your hand while you thought to yourself.

One of those nights where you thought to yourself that life should always be like this, you didn't know how, but you knew that Donghyuck has to be apart of it. You decided that the world may go to shit, your parents may end up getting a divorce, you may end up living the rest of your life as a deadbeat. But you no longer cared as long as you had this place, in a worn out car seat next to him; well that was what you thought at least.

"And that was the day that I promised,

I'd never sing of love if it does not exist"

Donghyuck's sudden departure from the band shocked both Jeno and Hendery, they took it considerably well in all honesty. They still wanted to continue on with the band, partly because they needed the money from the gigs and mostly because they worried for you as a friend. You tried your best in trying to continue with your life and look for another drummer, for another Donghyuck in your life. As silly as it sounded since you were the one that pushed him away, you would think of him most days. You were only realizing how important Donghyuck was in your life.

He was always the one who took care of you, reminded you to eat and rest whenever you forgot. He would show up at your dorm to bring you breakfast or make you coffee, remind you that some of the books you borrowed from the library was due tomorrow, or even just chat you to check on how your day was going. Now that you had changed your number and avoided him like a plague you were starting to realize how much you lost.

And you had thought of calling him, or maybe reaching out to ask how his day was going, the same way he used to check on you. You were so tempted that you showed up at his place, a second away from buzzing his doorbell, but you remembered. You remembered how awful you were to him, you were reminded of the pain and misery you've caused him all through out your lives so far. You were being selfish yet again, so you stopped yourself. You immediately turned around that day and called up Hendery and Jeno to tell them that the band was over, you didn't have the guts to face them anymore.

The guilt was eating you alive, they had tried to convince you otherwise but you pushed them away too. The only person who you kept in your life was Mark. You still felt happy to be around him, although you didn't feel comfortable since you felt like you had to keep a facade around him. He seemed glad to see you more often, you'd cling onto him like a flee for days. But there came a time when he finally asked why you were so vacant these days, and where were your other friends; it was an argument caused by Mark's growing irritation for being required to see you everyday and almost having to babysit you like child, all the while trying to keep up with other activities going on his life. You had left him without a single word and returned the next day like nothing happened.

He genuinely did like you, he wished things were different but he couldn't handle the nonstop texts and calls that came from you every minute of the hour, he was beginning to get sick of it. And you immediately notice his distaste, the way he would dryly reply to your messages or not talk to you whenever he did have time to see you. You knew you were becoming a bit too much for him, desperate for company that you became too overbearing, a bit too possessive and selfish when it came to his time.

And for the first time, you felt it. You felt how your heart sunk everytime Mark chose to answer a call from a friend when you were talking to him, the way he would look anywhere else but you whenever you tried to start conversations. You were usually on the other end of the stick, careless of other people’s emotions and too busy living in your own world. You finally knew what it felt when Donghyuck dated you, and what horrible thoughts that came with it. In the end, you knew that Mark was too kind to end it with you, he obviously knew you were having issues in your personal life, but he couldn't be bothered anymore; he's tried talking to you about it, but you'd always change the topic.

So you told yourself that it was better if you would be alone for now, this is the tenfold of misery and hurt you've caused everyone around you, especially Donghyuck, your world was falling apart as more and more people left.  You eventually ended things with Mark, and he gave you a simple okay and left.  He didn't seem to notice you anymore, he continued to live his university life unscathed, it was as if you two never spoke in the first place.

He would sometimes smile at you or give you a small nod of his head whenever you saw each other around campus, but that was the most you've gotten from him. You didn't blame him, he didn't have time to waste with people like you. Being alone with your thoughts truly was eating you alive, you were beginning to go insane. Everytime you were about to reach out to anyone, either Jeno, Hendery, or Donghyuck, you'd always stop yourself to remind you that you deserved this.

You deserved to be alone, you cannot be loved. You were a heartless monster just as Donghyuck said and you lived most of your days alone while trying to survive with the little funds your new part time provided. You didn't know how, but you somehow lived as days went by. You watched the leaves and flowers bloom from the branches outside of your dorm till they wilted. It was now winter, and you freely wandered the streets. No other human could be seen outside, everyone was probably spending time with loved ones, since of course it was the holidays.

Days you should be spending with the people you cherish and loved the most, you could see the warm lights from within some of the homes, laughter resonates through the walls, probably the lovers and families enjoying their own company. Playing dumb board games and cuddled up by the fire, watching the grinch movies with eggnog and warm cups of hot choco. You never really understood the joys of the holidays, probably because the only other person you had spent it was with Donghyuck, and there you go thinking of him again.

As if thinking of him in everything you do wasn't enough, he began appearing in your dreams. You didn't know if it was pleasant to revisit old memories or did it hurt to reminisce what was lost between you two. And as much as it hurt you chose to remember him as someone you loved, perhaps not romantically, but he was someone you truly cherished. You thought that he'd comment on how cheesy you've become, so melodramatic that you'd give William Shakespear a run for his money when he's already in his grave.

You bitterly laugh at the thought, the cold makes your throat dry and eyes watery but you look up to the moon while standing next to a lamp post near the frozen river.  You could almost feel his presence, you truly were going insane that you started imagining things he'd say to you at times like this. The snarky comments and cute pet names he'd give you whenever you dragged him along for whatever adventure you had in mind. You remembered how he'd first complain about it to no end, but he always ends up coming with you. He always does, of course, he's Donghyuck, the person who stuck with you through thick and thin; the person you've hurt the most.

You begin humming a small tune, you didn't recognize it at first, but you ended up humming a paramore song. The song you both listened to during class the first day you two met, the same song that you sang here, with tears streaming down you cheeks. You didn't know you were crying until you felt the cold gust of wind brushing against your cheeks, a chill running down your spine as you sniffled.

"I hope you're happy now Hyuck, wherever you are," it felt weird to speak, you couldn't remember the last time you opened your mouth to say anything. it's been months since you've last said a word to anyone, you throat was dry and you could barely recognize your own voice, it was raspier than you last remembered.

"I'm happy enough to know we're looking at the same moon tonight at least." you laughed, your throat hurts like hell, the laugh came as a croak and you tried to gasp in air to try and stop yourself from breaking down.

It felt weird to listen to your own voice, everything felt unreal. These past few months were like a fever dream to you, you even wondered if you were dead and this was some cruel purgatory you served for the shit you pulled back then. You've thought about jumping into the frozen river, maybe the cold would at least wake you up if this was truly some cruel nightmare. If not it could also finally end all the suffering and pain you know you caused yourself, what hurt most was you cannot blame anyone else for what is happening now. You shakily let out a breath, hands gripping the metal railing. You were about to jump over it when the street's fairy lights were suddenly turned on and it reflected off the thin layer of ice of the lake.

You wake up from your daze, what the hell were you thinking? The pretty lights distracted you for a moment, you pace your breathing with the consistent flicker of the warm glow of the tiny lights, trying to calm down.

"And I've always lived like this,

keeping a comfortable distance"

senior year, prom.

You bit your lip while watching the fairy lights flicker, whose idea was it to have tiny light bulbs as decoration for the photo booth, and god you wanted to give them a kiss now. It was such a hazard that you couldn't stop thinking of the endless possible drama it could cause, the prom queen could end up stepping on it and light her dress on fire, that would at least make the night interesting. You blew the tiny patch of fake snow off the table while you grumpily waited for someone, anyone, to step on one of the fairy lights, but you were dragged out of your reverie when you hear Donghyuck's voice behind you.

"Hey ugly,"

"Hey stupid," you replied, eyes shifting away from the photo booth for a second to look at him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, he wasn't wearing a tuxedo like the rest, or even a tie to at least try and be formal. He was sporting his favorite leather jacket with a green untucked button up underneath, he looked underdressed, the only effort he made to his appearance was the way he styled his hair to showcase his forehead.

"That's not a nice way to speak to your boyfriend" Donghyuck faked a gasp, dragging a chair to sit down beside you, you raised an eyebrow at him. The stupid crease on his jacket annoyed you to no end, so you fixed it for him, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Boyfriend? I thought boyfriends put in extra efforts for prom? You know like in the movies, they give the girl a cute corsage and tell them how pretty they look and end up fucking in the bathroom or something?"

"You're beautiful." He says it blatantly, you stop to look him in the eyes, and it seemed genuine. You pursed your lips while trying to hide your smile, boyfriend Donghyuck was different from best friend Donghyuck, he was a lot... sweeter.

"Let's fuck in the bathroom later?" he added, to which you groaned and slapped his thigh. He only laughed at you while gently fitting his hand into yours, gently kissing your knuckles when you swore you were gonna bite his dick someday, just he wait.

Well you'll  give him credit, he at least made an effort to look nice for you. You didn't even bother to blow dry your hair today and you were wearing what you'd usually wear whenever you went out with him, just with a bit more grunge added, like black fishnet stockings. He wasn't complaining at all, he knew that whatever you were wearing tonight would end up ripped anyway, probably somewhere on his bedroom floor. And plus, you two didn't really attend prom, the only reason you bothered to this year was for the battle of the bands.

You were already done with the performance so you were all simply waiting for the announcement of the winner. You knew Jeno was probably out on the dance floor dancing with his date in a proper suit and tie like a gentleman, but you had no idea where Hendery went. One second he said he was going to get you a drink, the next he's disappeared before you into thin air. So you were left with Donghyuck, who was currently playing with your rings. As weird as it felt to have a label between you two, nothing's changed. You thought that you'd feel more awkward towards him, but the only thing that changed was the label, and you were happy in a way.

"Wanna dance?"

You perk up at his question, you finally realize that a slow song was playing. Everyone was paired off in front of you, even some of the teachers were dancing. You almost let out a laugh at the sight of some of couples who were trying their best to keep it in their pants. You thought he was joking until you looked over at him, he was shyly fiddling with his own hands now, not able to look you in the eyes. You would laugh if it weren't for the way he seemed so shy to ask, he looked like he was about to combust.

"I don't dance," you laughed, he looks up at you. You didn't know it was possible but he looked much more embarrassed now, it was cute it in a way.

"Let's get out of here?"

"Now that's more like it" you smirk, taking his hand to lead him outside of the gymnasium and to his car.  He didn't bother to fight it, he just simply let you drag him out to the parking lot.

He opens the car door for you and you played along, deciding to not tease him just this once since, of course, he was already red enough. He turns on the engine and you switch through different channels on the radio, finally settling on one when he pulls out of the driveway.

“And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk.”

The song on the radio hummed in the background as he drove as carefully as he could, the roads were iced and it wasn't very safe to drive right now. He was about to take the turn to his house but you stop him and told him to bring you to the center of town, he was unsure why the sudden request, but he follows your directions anyway. For the moment, you stared at his face. The way the streetlights lit up his skin, you rarely saw his forehead and it did make him look attractive. Well he was already attractive in the first place but you couldn’t help but observe the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the song’s beat, it looked instinctive and natural to him.

"So are you finally going to murder me and take my intestines to sell on the black market?" he spoke, and you laughed, throwing your head back; he was finally starting to look handsome to you, and he opens that damned mouth of his.

"Kidneys my darling! Your kidneys will be worth a fortune!" you giggled while leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek, he smiled at the sound of your laughter.

He takes you exactly where you asked him, the center of the town. The exact intersection that’s considered as the heart of your buzzing neighborhood. The exact intersection that usually had so many cars, always the cause of traffic and delay, was now completely empty. All the stores near the intersect were closed, no other person in sight but the stoplights continued to operate. The colors red, yellow, and green appearing in an ordered sequence, proportionally timed. Although there wasn't a single car in sight, Donghyuck stopped when the light turned red.

"What are you waiting for?" you asked in confusion, he shrugs.

"Can you tell me why we're here?"

You didn't bother to speak, you simply got out of the car and stood at the center of the intersection. You opened your arms up to him and he watched you curiously, you let out a boisterous laugh, spinning around your heel. You forgot that the road was slippery so you fell flat on your back, still laughing. Donghyuck runs out of his car to kneel beside you, he had a worried look to him but it immediately faded away when you looked at him with joy in your eyes.

He scoffed, not forgetting to comment on how stupid you looked before offering his hand to help you stand up. You take his hand but instead of sitting up, you pull him towards you and he slips, ending up toppled over you. His breathing was uneven as it brushed cooly against your cheek, you close your eyes at the feeling. He gently kissed your cheek after a minute, finally standing up to brush himself off. You were still lying down on the ground, flailing your arms around to try and form a snow angel.

"Are you dumb? Get up before we get run over" Donghyuck tried to sound angry, but he couldn't stop the lilt in his voice, a tiny chuckles escapes his mouth.

"Shut up already and just lie down! Why do you always ruin the moment?” you whined looking up at him, still spread eagle at the center of the intersect, he raised an eyebrow at you, it was becoming a habit to him.

“Don’t you feel it too? The world’s stopped, they’ve finally shut up! So enjoy it and come lie down with me.”

“And if we get run over?”

“Then so be it” You shrugged, Donghyuck lets out a heavy sigh before taking his seat beside you. He doesn’t lie down, so you sit up to lean against his shoulder.

And the world stops, like what you said. For a moment the only thing you two could hear was the sound of your breathing and the beating of your hearts, he held your hand in his while you both watched the stoplight change colors. It felt like you two were the only people on earth, and it was the best. There was nothing but the moon, your thoughts, the stoplight, and him. And as peaceful as it was you couldn’t stop the thought from spilling from your mouth.

“Someday I’ll burn this town to the ground” you comment, and he snorts.

“Gee, it sure sounds like a solid plan” he says it sarcastically, and you turn to look at him.

“I’m serious! You better not get in my way or anything or else I’ll have to set you on fire” you say it with the most serious tone that he’s taken aback, well that was one weird thought he thought.

His face makes you laugh and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh with you. He shook his head when he realized you were joking, probably. You felt content and happy that you decided to grant him one wish. He once again has the confused face he had earlier, just when he was finally settled you suddenly move. He tries to stand up to follow you, but you told him that you’ll be back.

He watched you open the driver’s side of the car, he thought you were about to drive away and leave him here but he was abruptly stopped mid-thought when the speakers of the radio of his car boomed throughout the empty streets. His eyes widened, he was worried that it might wake the whole street up. Then he remembered that the residential homes were located near the outskirts of town, so it was unlikely that anyone would hear. Most of this area had shops and stores, so the people are probably back at home, you both aren’t technically disturbing anyone hopefully. He relaxes back into his seat to watch you waltz back towards him.

“So?” you asked, the smile on your face was infectious.

“So?” he mimicked dumbly and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, was he always this dumb?

“May I have this dance?” you groaned, turning red yourself. You blamed it on the cold, but he couldn’t help but laugh at you. At first it sounded like he was mocking you, but when you met his eyes to smack him on the head you were only met with eyes filled with so much endearment and affection that you could only pull back your hand.

He takes your hand to stand up, you complain of course, he was heavy. But he hushed you when he placed his fingers to your chapped lips, he smiled so widely that it looked like it hurt. You pursed your lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and he securely holds your waist. Although the atmosphere was supposed to be romantic, your terrible sense of rhythm in dancing ruined it. You would think that you’d be good at following the rhythm when dancing being a couple of musicians, but you both always missed a beat by a second. And he could only laugh while you cursed, finally remembering why you never danced.

You were muttering something under you breath, but your voice hitched when he brushes his fingers against your hair. He placed a sweet kiss to your temple and you freeze, you felt your heart clench at the action. He begins whispering the lyrics to your ear, you swallow thickly. This was one of the rare times he’d sing to you, you tried to tell him countless times that his voice was beautiful, but he had always denied saying yours was better. But hearing him now, whispering softly against your ear while he nuzzled his nose to your neck affectionately made your heart throb. You take in a deep breath, this feeling in your chest, it was your heart clenching. You didn’t know if he was hurting you but you were so overwhelmed that you suddenly pushed him away.

“Did I do something wrong?” his eyes spoke, trying to reach out to you again but you take another step backward.

“This was a stupid idea” You were shocked to hear your voice crack, Donghyuck frowns at your comment.

“What do you mean?”

“Take me home.... now.”

He tried to take a step towards you but you run back towards his car, closing the door to wait for him. You lower the volume of the radio and try to gather your thoughts, what the fuck was that? You watched him walk back towards the car and swore to yourself, whatever the hell you felt earlier, whatever he did to you, he will never be able to do again. It was too much of a risk, and you swore to yourself to never let yourself be that vulnerable again.

He tries to talk to you on the way home, but your replies were dry. You were busy fiddling with your fingers while looking outside the window. He tried his best to make you tell him what he did wrong but he couldn’t get another word out from you the moment he pulled up in front of your house. You were about to leave but you decided to try and turn things around, you tried to get back to what you two were used to.

You kissed him, hauling yourself over the center console to sit on his lap. He tries to pull away but you continued to kiss, hastily lifting his shirt to try and remove it. In the end he was weak to your touch, he could never deny you of anything. He hoped that you two could talk it out in the morning but you were unavailable the next few weeks after that, busy fooling around with Johnny.

“I've got a tight grip on reality but I can't let go of what's in front of me here.

I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up, leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream”

Present day.

The next day you decided to visit your home town. Although you didn’t have any family left to visit, you had volunteered to play at an orphanage, it was the least you could do for the holidays. If you couldn’t be happy, you could at least make others feel it. Who knew that Jeno’s stupid guitar lessons would end up becoming an asset to you, you could at least spread a little joy to the children who didn’t have parents, you somehow understood how they felt, in a weird way.

It was a joy to finally sing with a purpose again, hearing them laugh and sing along with you made your heart sore. Well at least you didn’t feel as useless after playing with a few of the kids and chatting with the caretakers and other volunteers. It felt freeing, to finally do something right. You fucked up this year for the most of it but you felt a bit less burdened when the children asked you to braid their hair or took your hand to dance with them. After serving your purpose at the orphanage you find yourself at the intersection. You don’t know what you wanted to accomplish, but your feet ended up taking you here.

And as expected it was filled with bustling life, people going in and out of shops to buy late christmas presents, children building snowmen and riding the tiny slopes made by the snow. The traffic as usual was heavy, the cars were honking and the streets were so noisy that no one could bearly hear themselves think. You sat by a bench near the park, the intersect still in your sight. You were eating a bagel mindlessly when a little kid sat beside you, he was eyeing your guitar.

“You play?” the little kid asked and you nodded, giving him a small smile to not scare him away, you probably looked like a walking corpse; you can’t remember the last time you slept properly.

“A little bit, like five songs?” you smiled and he instantly asks you to play, there was this urgency in his voice that you couldn’t help but immediately do what he was asking.

You bite into the bagel while tuning your guitar, thinking of a song to play, well out of the five you knew how to play. You began strumming the guitar to Paramore’s The Only Exception, humming the tune as best as you could with the bagel in your mouth. You end your humming after the first chorus to be met with a grimace, the little kid laughed at you.

“You’re no good”

“Hey!” you take out the bagel from your mouth to yell jokingly at him, he scrunches his nose up when you ruffle his hair and you laugh at his annoyed face, he somehow looked familiar, was he one of the kids from the orphanage? Wait were they even allowed to leave the orphanage?

“So what’s your name?” You ask, putting the guitar back into its case. The voice that meets your ears wasn’t the little boy’s, it was a voice you haven’t heard in a long time, a voice you thought you’d never hear again.

“Dongsuk,”

This has to be a dream, it couldn’t be real. You blink a few times before pinching yourself, you were probably hallucinating. Because there is no way, not a chance the Lee Donghyuck was now standing in front of you. That shit only happens in movies, this can’t be real. But you could only rub your eyes so much, he looked real, like real enough that he was getting closer to you. And he finally speaks, and you finally realize it really is him in the flesh.

“Where have you been?” he speaks, you first thought that he was talking to you but he grabs the little boy’s arm. He glances at you and you try to speak and he simply turns his nose away from you, you feel your world crack in half.

To his defense you were the one who moved dorms, changed your number, and avoided him like a plague. So his reaction was expected, you don’t know why you were so surprised. He was about to walk away when you finally speak, he stops cold in his steps when he hears your voice.

“Donghyuck...” He turns to look at you, and his eyes were still the same. It still had the same hurt and sadness you’d usually see when he looked at you, but he looked much more angrier than you remembered.

“Let’s... talk”

“You are the only exception, oh and I'm on my way to believing.”