#maybe first post shouldn’t be bittersweet angst but oh well go big or go home

[spiderium]

⤷ COMING SOON!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ THE WENDSᝰ.ᐟ

❝n. the frustration that you’re not enjoying an experience as much as you should, which prompts you to try plugging in various thought combinations to trigger anything more intense than roaring static, as if your heart had been inadvertently demagnetized by a surge of expectations.❞

From wend, to wander unpredictably along a predetermined path. Compare the bends, which occurs when a diver ascends too quickly and gas bubbles begin to form in their tissues, a condition that can be debilitating or fatal.

— Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.

OR, IN WHICH: Simon Riley’s never been good at grieving or bein’ sweet or anything in between, but with you… loving is not easy, but for the first time, it feels worth doing again.

VAGUE MENTIONS OF MW3 SPOILERS!

pottery + grief + simon = a horrible puffy eyed evening, thank you.

[nyxdelanuit]

Letters (Tanaka x Reader)

I listened to First Burn again and couldn’t resist writing something for it...

So angst ahead, enjoy~ @fallingintoimagination

You read each line, like it was poetry. The words didn’t seem to stick in your head, instead, fading to the interview you had watched earlier in the day. You always watched, for him, for your husband, the father to your two sweet children that were asleep in their bed, unaware of the turmoil you were facing.

 You were watching from the comfort of the home he had bought, his job so much more profitable than any you could manage—perks of being part of a professional volleyball team. Your youngest was perched on your hip, just old enough to recognize their daddy on the screen. It always warmed your heart, watching your husband’s team joke around with each other post-game, your husband was always last to know that the camera was focused on them for the post-game interviews. Tsukishima, ever the antagonist, was egging him on, a coy smile plastered on his face.

You were content to keep watching until you hear the timbre of your husband's voice cry out, "Well, it's my dick Kiyoko is riding every night, so fuck off." Pushing Tsukishima away from him. Oh. Oh… He had always told you how big of a crush he had on her in high school. It shouldn't have been this surprising, but you never expected it would hurt this much. The pain only worsened when you watched Tsukishima cast a guilty glance at the cameras, as if he was trying to apologize to you already. There was just enough time for you to watch the blood drain from Tanaka's face before you saw Noya, your sweet partner-in-crime, Tanaka's best friend, lunge toward Tanaka with murder in his eyes. The feed cut off abruptly, leaving you in awkward silence, the child that suddenly looked too much like his father tugging on your hair.

 Another letter fed to the fire. You understood when you married Tanaka that he'd be gone a lot. Away games were much more common than home games, after all. You had letters postmarked from the world round, and each were glanced over. Bittersweet memories clouded your mind, each piece of paper just another log on the pyre for your marriage. So lost in your thoughts, you hadn't heard someone moving through your house. You only caught a glimpse of his shadow in the corner of your eye before you spoke.

 “Stop. I don’t want you any closer.” You were proud that your voice didn’t shake as you glanced at him. Noya deserved one of his favorite dinners in exchange for the purple blooming across Tanaka’s face, a favor you would be sure to repay.

 “Baby, I-” You cut him off with a hand, throwing another letter to the fire.

 “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I should have expected it, really. Everyone sees how you look at her.” Your eyes scanned over another letter, the exclamations of love from your husband now turning your stomach like poison. Tanaka flinched as the flames licked the edges of the paper, as if he was burning along with it.

 Each moment he stood, defeated, only caused your anger to grow. In a moment of rage, you threw the remaining handfuls into the fire, not shying away from the jumping flames.

 "Did you bring her here?” You couldn’t keep the venom from your voice, “Did you sleep with her in our bed?” The flash of guilt on his face was answer enough. “So I was just a placeholder then? Some sort of sick consolation prize?” Your finger poked into his sternum, and you tried to forget how warm he really was. How cold the nights would be without him in your bed.

 Your bed. If you could, you'd burn that too. Looks like you're sleeping on the couch until you could order a replacement. Any hesitation you had felt before disappeared, and you pulled yourself back as he tried to reach for your arms.

 "I packed a bag for you. You should go." He was still reaching out for you, and you wondered if you'd be strong enough to leave his arms once they wrapped around you. You must, so you shrug away his touch, the threat of tears hanging heavily on your lashes. Still, he tried to get closer, and you reacted… badly. You threw your arms out, trying to push him away, a word yet to be said from your husband. He knew there was nothing he could say to make up for any of it anyways.

 You struggled against his hold and against the tears flooding your vision. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction.

 "I understand doing this to me, but how could you do this to your kids, Ryu?" You swallowed past the lump in your throat, willing away the hurt in your voice. "They're not going to understand why Daddy isn't coming home. How could you." You pushed even harder, trying to get away from him until a hand wrapped around his shoulder.

 Noya. You were never more relieved to see him than you were now. He cast you a sad glance before leading Tanaka out, out of your house, out of your life. With the final click of the door behind them, you finally let yourself fall apart. Your arms came up to wrap around you, trying to hold yourself together, to keep yourself somewhat contained. It would only hurt your kids if they woke to see you like this.

 You weren't sure how you'd do this alone. People were going to have questions, they would look at you with pity in their eyes—the single mother whose husband cheated on her and slept with his manager. The house never felt colder, more distant.

 Lithe arms wrapped around you when you were lost in your thoughts, startling you out of your head. They were leaner, more scarred, than the ones you were used to, but comforting all the same. He tucked your head under his chin, whispering soft, consoling words to you. Your sobs quieted as he rubbed circles into your back. You had thought Noya left with Tanaka, best friends even through this.

 But he was here. Maybe you weren’t as alone as you thought. 

[crimsonquiescence]

Rewind

In my memory, it used to be a button on the tape player that I pressed. I used to hear the wheels spin. It used to be not so long ago. Press stop. Spin. Stop. Spin. Repeat.

“When you think of your hometown, what do you think of?”

Snow, lots of it, even though, I know that’s not entirely true and I like the summers there better.

“What’s the year now?”

2020. Or I wonder, sometimes. I wish to suspect it isn’t. But sense stops me from it.

“What does this remind you of?” It reminds me of the notes we used to do that asked us innocuously phrased provocative questions.

“First love?”

I used to say, it was when I was four. Skating. Not surprisingly, it’s my longest relationship to date.

Rewind.

Stop.

“What year is it now?”

2010.

“First thing that comes to mind?”

The Olympics. And a boy. Oh, and bootcut jeans.

“Why do this?”

Because weaving a narrative would sound too weird.

“Who are you?”

I’d like to see myself as amorphous. Definitions get finicky.

“What do you miss?”

My hometown. Home. I used to write about it so much. Then I stopped because, validation does not help. I remember, once in grade 7, I wrote about missing home. The teacher read it to the class. It hurt to write it. But it didn’t hurt to read or listen.

“What was the year?”

I want to say, the year that Hollaback Girl came out, although that was grade 6. That was a great album.

“Grade 6″

Cherry blossoms outside our window, sitting beside a boy my best friend liked. Making art using dots from felt-pen markers. Left for home on June 2nd. Strange summer. Got yelled at and slapped. Drowned in self-pity. And woah, yeah, I had lots of testosterone then, on the ice. E-mails. Sitting in front of that computer.

“That computer”

Downloading songs online in the summer of grade 8. Oh, that summer, I fell in love. So bittersweet. Makes me wonder if true love is only unrequited love. Sucks to admit that I haven’t felt that way since. I fell in love online, with words first. It’s peculiar feeling, when words invoke something instantaneous. It’s empowering to express your true feelings without worrying about pronunciation--strange to admit.

“Home”

I am at home now. On the bed I’ve spent so many nights in. I also once said to him “take me home” and cried, on this bed. I no longer know what it was I craved.

“Forgetfulness?”

I used to remember a lot more. I wish for it back and don’t at the same time. It makes me too earnest, and in this era (whatever it’s called, since it’s not modern or post-modern), that’s never good. Everyone likes someone who pokes fun. Nobody likes to talk to a talking heart.

“Happiness”

Which reminds me, I used to get told that I’m an outgoing, happy person. I think I was in my pre-teens then. But usually not in English. In English, it’s usually shy. Meh, shows how far labels can go. But we all try to condense people into words. Then fall in love or something when they don’t fit words. Whatever happened to admiration...

“Admiration”

Something I felt when I was 13, that summer, when I downloaded a bunch of songs. A boy a few years younger liked my music because he said I had lots of fast and happy songs. I liked sad songs more for their depth. Now, I want to stand corrected: I like songs that are fast and happy too. It makes me feel like the best parts of being 15 and discovering myself (the best. Only the best).

“15″

Oh the pain of the longest relationship I had. You know, it feels like a lifetime ago. It gets tucked away in conversation, because relationships make you hyper-focused and less worldly.

In my case, all I knew was a sport I loved. If I waited a couple years later, I might be able to come up with some wise saying about how it’s helped me grow and all the invaluable lessons it’s taught.

I don’t have any such thing to say. Tonight, it’s a little hole in my chest. It’s muted, subdued. 

“Subdued”

I’d told him the word captures him. I know it’s not the best word in terms of what it means. But it’s a little elusive, like the middle of something, like motion, like water vapor that disappear into air. Something about it makes me want to take my hand and grab it (if you’re reading this, sorry, I couldn’t help but smile)

“Army”

Sorry, more laughs. Me on my knees and laughing into somewhere I shouldn’t be laughing into. He’d just entered from the front door. We were downstairs in my house.

“Front door”

Strange, but the only other front door I knew well was one that one. Midwest, suburbs. He let his dog out to pee a lot. He talked to his dog. When he asked me to tell the dog to do something, I looked at him and said “You’re telling me to talk to a dog?”

Talking to things I shouldn’t

I talked to him. Well, more like texted responses. Welp. Called his bluff. Screenshotted my response to someone who knew how to laugh at it.

Right, and I shouldn’t, because I blocked all the “toxic” people, as someone else instructed. To be honest, I’m not feeling the righteousness of that act anymore. It just doesn’t align with my values well after all. I’m too old to hold grudges.

Grudges

Last time I was thinking of holding one was today/yesterday (whatever this strange hour is), because I realized, someone made me feel undignified, which, you know, given the things that have been said to me, would be quite hard to do.

But I felt it over fucking 20 bucks (or 18, depending on who you ask). A part of me says “grow up.” Another part wants to say “screw them all, never again.” Wants to. Doesn’t help when all the angst melts into sadness, as I realized the two completely different meanings between “yesterday” and “today.” 

Yesterday: giggles. Living life to the fullest while lying on the ground, thinking to myself, this is how life should be.

Today: acknowledging that was yesterday.

Grudges against me

Two I can think of: one that hurt me a lot when I was 17. But since 2018, some realization came and then it made me think of it from a different perspective. I no longer feel guilty. It no longer hurts.

Detour: 17

Guilt. I pierced a second hole on my right ear, wanting to forget. And utter stupidity for putting up with someone that was crazy, thinking it was what I deserved.

Grudges against me

The other one irritates me. Whatever happened to friendship. I still have a gift to send. I get told “maybe next year.” Meanwhile, the hand-made notebook I received back in 2017 sits on my new bookshelf.

Whatever happened to all that fun playing in the graveyard. I even took all my clothes off on a dare and almost got caught. Then I fell on a gravestone as we ran to avoid the patrol.

Friendship

Big sigh. Do people just need friends as they grow older, so they get into relationships? I hope not. But I also don’t know where many lines should be drawn.

He probably didn’t know either, I tell myself. Then I wonder how bad someone has got to be for me to make excuses for them to myself in my own head. Pfft.

Knowing

Epistemology 2014 and 2017. I don’t enjoy it very much. But it went well with journalism and truth and knowledge.

Truth

Is constructed. Sometimes, fictional. Other times, just not accessible. It can only be seen in glimpses. Whole truths cannot be perceived.

... and at some point, I remember the tape playing out of tune, or like it’s been dampened or watered down. Crisp sounds mellow out. It’s not the same. I did it at least once or twice, when I didn’t wipe my skates dry and ice shavings got inside the case. And it won’t fix itself, no matter how many times I rewind, how many times I flip it to the other side to retry. I wish I didn’t throw it away, because on days like this, I want to press stop at a random place and play, and listen to how it sounds now.