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omenapologist-moved · 3 years

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I believe negative social atttitudes towards different sexualities, genders, morality, paraphilias, and more are either the root cause of or contribute to some subsets of OCD.

This got longer than I expected. CW for talking about mental illness, detransitioning, and pedophilia. I don’t go into graphic detail about CSA, for what it’s worth, but I know some people will be upset regardless so I felt the need to add a disclaimer.

so, sexual orientation obsessive compulsive disorder or SO-OCD (formerly known as HOCD; homosexual obsessive compulsive disorder or just “gay ocd” but considering anyone of any sexuality can be affected by this SO-OCD makes more sense) in my opinion only exists as a product of a homophobic society. I do not think, for the most part, people would develop an obsessive fear about whether or not they are gay if it were accepted and a non-issue like how being straight is. as someone with OCD myself, it targets that which is important to us and doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

At the start of my transition, I began developing obsessive thoughts surrounding my gender identity. What if I’m not actually trans? What if I’m wrong and I need to detransition? What if I’m just a fucked up and confused girl? and so on, even though I have always experienced acute physical dysphoria, feel a lot better about myself when I’m referred to with masculine language, and transitioning in general has made me happier and more comfortable in my body than ever before. That’s the nature of the illness. It distorts our cognition and hyperfixates on the uncertainty of things. There is no set-in-stone way to well and truly know your gender or sexuality, because these things are extremely fluid and personal and influenced by your environment, as is the case with social constructs.

Now, why would I be so troubled by this? If I am wrong and I decide to detransition, sure, I’ll have more body hair and a deeper voice and, come november, a flat chest, but all of these things have solutions, too. It isn’t the end of the world, or my life, if I detransition, but I most likely won’t! But the reason I was developing these obsessions is honestly pretty simple. At the time, I placed my own gender and transition at very, very high importance, someone I had previously been close to began detransitioning, and the fucking Youtube algorithm of all things began recommending me the vlogs of several detransitioned FTMTF people. But most pertinently, the pervasive attitude in most circles that detransitioning is the worst possible thing ever and is life-ending and you’re going to be ruined forever if you’re wrong about your gender. All of this created a cocktail of self-doubt in me.

I’ve gotten a lot better, and fortunately those obsessions didn’t swing fully into a gender-focused OCD, but I know that isn’t the case for everyone, and I’m getting a little off topic here, anyway.

POCD, or pedophilia obsessive compulsive disorder, must be a living hell. POCD is the obsessive fear that you are or might become a pedophile. Here’s a pretty good source talking about POCD in better detail. I need to make it explicitly clear that people with POCD are not pedophiles.

I think in no small part those who struggle with this subset of OCD are made worse by society’s attitude towards pedophilia. That being, even if you never hurt a child ever, even if it remains only within the realm of your thoughts, a pedophile is the worst possible thing you can ever be, and if you even think about attraction to a minor you should be subject to an endless barrage of increasingly creative means of violence and execution.

But here’s the thing. You can’t control having a paraphilia. You don’t get to just opt out of it, as convenient as that may be. I don’t believe we should condemn an entire swath of people, notably those who have done no harm, because they have a paraphilia they did not choose to have. This attitude hurts these people directly and absolutely does not help cut down on sex crimes against minors. Because rather than being able to pursue help, they hide it, and keep it to themselves, and it festers and worsens like an infected blister until eventually it pops, and the aftermath causes suffering for all.

And not only does this attitude hurt people with this paraphilia, not only does it not help in “protecting the children”, it hurts people who do not have the paraphilia; those with POCD. I’ve been in OCD forums and I have seen people struggling so fucking hard with the complete and utter self-loathing brought about by POCD, and what hurts even more is that more often than not they cannot talk about it in fear of losing their jobs, their families, their friends, and their livelihoods. Which, coincidentally is the exact same issue this attitude inflicts on those who are pedophiles. Isn’t it shocking that stigma doesn’t incentivize people to ask for help, nor does it make anything better?

I am not saying we should ~normalize pedophilia~ or whatever, rather, we shouldn’t have this disgusting attitude towards them of “kill on sight!” and should instead try to figure out what helps these people without having minors hurt. All too often I see self-identified prison abolitionists and harm reductionists calling for the imprisonment or death of these people, and that shows me that you don’t actually want prisons to be abolished or to do the least amount of harm. You just want to be the wardens, the ones able to deal out the harm because you think yourself to be right and just. And that way of thinking simply is not in line with anarchism, and honestly, leftism in general.

#politics tag #paraphilia #pocd #ocd #MAP discourse #basically I cannot and will not be comfortable with calling for violence against swaths of people #especially when that violence is COMPLETELY avoidable if you just take the time to care about others and see them as human

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sugasugawarau · 3 years

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Synopsis: You knew that Kageyama Tobio was not your soulmate - and that was why you could not help but succumb to the waves that lulled you away from the shores of fate + semi inspired by Eyes Blue like the Atlantic by sistaprod ft. Subvrbs. Also part of @yacoka‘s collab <3 (2.4k words)

Warnings/notes: Some angst near the end, soulmate red string au, gender neutral reader. No beta we die like Rex Lapis so if I ever feel like it this may be edited at some point asdahdhj idk LMAO

— Prologue

There are as many reasons to fall in love with Kageyama Tobio as there are fractals made by the ocean’s breath as the world inhales and exhales, flourishes and wilts, conquers and surrenders. It would not even be a hyperbole to say that in number, they remain unrivalled to the plethora of stars that stain the waves with their reflection and run deeper than the scars of lightyears that paint lines from Cassiopeia to Aquila.

After all, he is the darkest hue of navy blue.

Determination that moves in an orchestra of thundering waves, brandishing on its crest an admirable recklessness, heeding not for the need to call upon courage or confidence; polished instinct that endued one with the same awestruck feeling when facing the beautifully suffocating obscurity of their life in this world, a mixture of raw fear and the need to impart a piece of their soul in everything they do despite how fragile the skin shielding their heart is.

But the best part of loving Kageyama was that you were not - or will ever become - destined to be.

— Shoreline

Red.

It was a word that was always thrown about in conversations, the fuel to the catastrophes that were high school gossip chains, and the colour that held the mangled passion of the string of fate. Garishly predestined and easily tangled by unnecessary complications of jealousy and confusion, it is needless to say that you hated red with more passion than the love it emptily promises with a title as shallow as soulmates.

That was not to say you despised love. There was nothing wrong with love itself, a fact which you had decided firmly since the spry age of four years old. What was wrong was its combination with soulmates: a rigid formula, nothing like the walks with your grandmother on the bright summer roads littered with flowers as her calloused palm gently guided you, or the laughter you shared with your friends after a long run in the rain, hugging each other goodbye at the end of the day despite the muddy battle scars covering your arms and legs from falling countless times.

Your mind could have kept you engaged in your internal debate for longer if you were left to your own devices, but an awkward cough and the sound of a desk shifting towards your right brought you out of your reverie, bringing your drifting thoughts back to the classroom surrounding you.

Perhaps your look of confusion came off as hostile, for the dark-haired boy now sitting next to you looked at you with a slight glare that felt forced, an automatic effort to defend himself.

His tone of voice only confirmed your unconsciously off-putting expression as he gruffly stated, “Group project.” to explain his sudden presence.

“Oh. What’s the topic on?”

An awkward silence had ensued while you tried to calmly collect yourself by gathering a handful of pens from your pencil case after being caught in your heinous crime of not paying attention to your English teacher.

“You don’t know?” Came his reply, causing you to occupy yourself by finding extreme interest in a lime green highlighter you did not have any recollection of ever buying.

“Well, I clearly wasn’t paying attention.”

“You… weren’t?” The slight intonation in his tone was a stark contrast to your initial impression of him and caused you to look up at him, almost letting out an amused snort at his befuddled frown to which he furrowed his brows and shot a challenging “What?” in return. Realizing that he was genuine in believing that you were deep in thought over the lesson, a burst of laughter blossomed past your lips, attracting a few odd looks from your nearby peers and an abashed glare from him.

You paused to take a breath, a repetition of sorries stumbling their way out to appease the onslaught of nagging you thought would follow shortly. Instead, all the boy muttered was a simple, “You’re weird.”

“Sure, but that’s beside the point - were you paying any attention?”

“No.”

Seeing your face contorted to stop yet another bout of laughter to roam its way into the world as a result of his bluntness, he shot out of his seat and announced that he would go ask the teacher, unable to hide his puzzlement as he walked away. He would come to regret this decision when the teacher began to lecture him, earning more heads to turn his way as she scolded him before sending him off dismissively with a sticky note that you assumed had your now long-awaited topic.

Before you could thank him for enduring what could only be one of the worst things to experience as a high school student, he wordlessly handed the piece of paper to you and sat down.

“Kageyama, right? With this project, you’ll have me to thank for the A we’ll get,” you promised confidently, to which he responded with a halfhearted “Good luck.”

If he had been a close friend, you would have taken the small textbook on his desk and gently hit his head at his evident lack of belief in his capabilities, but settled for a clipped sigh instead. After all, you did not want to further contribute to the premature wrinkles Kageyama was making himself prone to with all of the brow-furrowing he did.

This is going to be one long month.

— Largo

Like how the ocean reluctantly caresses the sleeping shore as it wakes from its slumber during low tide, your lives slowly flowed together.

During the first week of your group project with him, he would greet you curtly, and on a few occasions, you would have short conversations about the outline of your book review.

And this singular week was enough to show that there was some (okay, maybe a lot) of backing behind the teacher’s warning about Kageyama’s dismal grade.

While you flipped through A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you would catch the all-too-familiar confusion on his face - it was written on his features so blatantly that it was almost comical, as if taken straight out of a shonen manga.

“You know if you’re stuck you can ask me for help.”

A slight scowl greeted you over the hedge of pages he had been burying himself in, followed by a biting, “Who said I need help?”

You could only roll your eyes in return.

“Please drop the prideful act. You've been glazing over the same page for about twenty minutes now."

After a few seconds of grumbling did he finally comply, and with your explanations, his bookmark was now comfortably sandwiched between the double-digit page numbers right as the bell rang. You hummed in satisfaction before returning your desk to your original spot, expecting him to rush out along with everyone else - so to turn around and see him still standing there was a bit of a surprise.

“Did you still need help with the last few lines?” You settled on asking, not really wanting to plague your break with work but offering nonetheless. Thankfully, he shot a look of disdain at the play as he stuffed it away haphazardly in his bag.

“No, I just wanted to,” he trailed off a bit, the tinge of red on his ears an out-of-character detail you decided not to comment on, “to say thanks, I guess.”

You smiled softly at the unexpected gesture of appreciation before giving him a teasing nudge which he stiffened slightly at.

“Well, I can’t have you bringing down my mark now can I?”

“Nevermind, I take it back.”

“Too bad, I have those words of gratitude stored nicely in my hippocampus already.”

From there, tutoring sessions with Kageyama became the norm, with you sometimes asking about his volleyball team after he had let slip that you were a better teacher than Tsukishima (something you would be sure to smugly share if you ever met the infamous middle blocker).

By the end of the month, all of the hard work - and a couple of all-nighters due to procrastination - brought forth an A as you had promised.

Even your relentless teasing, varying between “I told you so!” to “You owe me at least three meat buns now” which were all met with an annoyed “Shut up”was not enough to dim the smile he tried to hide.

— High tide

With the force of nature, the tide rose without warning; from goodnight texts to confessing to the first “I love you” uttered shyly between shameless souls, neither of you was sure where things began, but found comfort in such liberating chaos.

In times where he needed to be held, you were there, and the insecurities you would hide, he would turn beautiful. And today happened to be a day for both as you stared absentmindedly at his bedroom ceiling.

“Hey Tobio, what’s your take on soulmates?”

“We’ve been together for almost a year now, what do you think?” he put his phone down and turned towards you, “I could care less about soulmates or whatever else is worrying you enough to make your overthinking go into overdrive.”

“Rude, have some respect, it’s my profession after all,” you shoved him playfully as he snorted in reply, “It’s just... If your string ever appeared, wouldn't you rather-”

“Listen Y/n, did you know that I’m scared of dying but I’m even more terrified of the thought of living without you? I could never and don’t ever want to replace you. People can talk all they want, if I could find a love like ours without something as stupid as a piece of string then I don’t need a soulmate.”

“Really?”

With a flick to your forehead, he huffed in fake exasperation. “Really.”

“Huh, who knew you could be so romantic.”

“It's not romantic, I'm just being honest, idiot.”

“You sure could make do with some more lessons on manners and social tact. It's too bad you can't pick up on those as well as volleyball drills.”

Before he could retaliate, you enveloped him in a familiar embrace, burrowing your face into the large hoodie he donned.

It was effortless, his company.

— Ebbing away

But it wasn’t all romantic.

You fiddled with your phone as you waited for any sign that Kageyama had seen your messages, the pack of meat buns you had bought on a whim no longer letting off their fragrant steam. You knew he had an important match coming up against Seijoh, that he had to prove himself, that he lives hungrily and foolishly like no other. But his missing presence went beyond volleyball practice, keeping his distance from you even when he was right by your side.

Why am I stuck reminiscing about the past when we still have each other?

Why does every step I take towards him feel as if I’m only drawing myself farther away from him?

A carousel of rhetorical questions spun around your head as you stopped your slow pace towards Karasuno. You were not blind; you knew the rumours and dirty looks from your classmates were not something anyone could be immune to, that he tried his best to spend less time around you at school. The only conclusion you could reach was that he was ashamed: either of you, or the fact that he had begun to see his red string and could not bring himself to face you.

Ignoring the urge to let yourself cry, you glanced down at your phone once more, 8:30PM flashed across your eyes, followed by your empty notifications. There was no way he’d still be practicing at the school now and even if he was, you doubted he would be happy to see you. Maybe - no, definitely - it would be better to head home, and maybe stop by the convenience store you had bought the now misshapen meat buns from to get some tea and call it a night.

If only fate did not reciprocate your hatred towards it.

Stepping into the small store, the first person you are greeted with is none other than Kageyama Tobio. The whole situation was like a fever dream, and you would do anything to be able to let out a laugh and have him call you weird all over again. But all you could bring yourself to do was blearily stare at him.

He turned around quickly, as if not wanting to be caught before ushering you outside. “Y/n? Why are you here?” he hissed, a stiffness that he had recently adopted to his body language that you were now all too familiar with.

“What? Am I not allowed to go into any and all convenience stores I please?” You challenged, a part of you waiting for him to care enough to see how tired you were, to actually look you in the eyes for the first time in weeks.

He did not, opting to turn his head towards the door again.

“It’s not that, it’s just-”

“Just what? Tobio, what is up with you lately?” A pause ensued, broken by a small hiccup as your eyes dampened - God, how much more pathetic could you get than crying in front of some dingy convenience store - “Do you even love me anymore?”

How odd. You thought that by finally uttering the final question that had been dancing around your mind free to the world, you would feel better. That he would reassure you, as he always had.

Not that he would at last meet your gaze, grabbing your hand to look at the red string wrapped around your ring finger.

The taste of tears and Kageyama’s eyes as blue as the Atlantic all felt miles away from you as an orange-haired boy stepped out of the store, his mouth dropping into an o-shape when he saw that his string led to you, a disheveled mess arguing with his teammate.

“Kageyama…You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to face the reality of it all. Because I was afraid of losing you.”

“But I wouldn’t leave you-”

“I know you wouldn’t but you should!” Kageyama’s furrowed brows, once a quirk of his that you were fond of, now elicited a sick turmoil in your stomach, “You have to. Please.”

You wanted to yell at him, let the blood pour out of any and all raw words of anger and hurt.

Who was he to decide what was good for you, to throw you at some boy you never met before, to give up?

Then again, you could never say you would not have done the same for him if you knew he had found his soulmate despite the sweet words he had told you so long ago.

So you let yourself go. For his sake.

#kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x you #haikyuu x reader

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katsukikitten · 3 years

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Couldn't stop thinking about your post about accidentally sending boobies pics to the guyd so I'll add this for funsies:

Another one of your long work shifts just ended. The life of a prohero was as they said, jampacked with action. You had seen it coming, knowing that even though the hero training at UA was tough, it was nothing compared to the line of herowork you chose. Being born with a powerful quirk both had it's advantages but also left high expectations of you.

The material of your hero outfit is rubbing uncomfortably against your skin as you make your way to your apartment. The lights turned one in a sequence after you rounded the corner and lit the hallway up enough so you could spot the small package left by your door. An ounce of excitement surge through you as you remember given yourself permission to treat yourself with a gift... or a few.

After closing the door and taking off your high tech boots and carefully placing them aside you make your way to the sofa. The package seemed in well condition, which is what you would expect of an expensive brand. You took out your phone and snapped the girls from high school a quick pic of the awaited box. They of course knew about it, as it was both their idea and they also helped you pick out what would fit you best.

Even though the excitement was eating up at you, you prepare yourself with a shower first. Stepping out of your work attire feels relieving and you spend a great amount of time letting the hot water pour over your sore muscles.

As you step out you decide to simply letting the towel stay tucked around your body. You come back to several snaps expressing the girls' need to see it on you asap and asking you to send pics.

To be honest, sharing revealing pics wasn't something you usually contributed to. Not that you felt weird about it. You always hype up the other girls. Something about taking pics in what could be considered lewd positions was embarrassing to say the least.

You open the neat box and underneath the layers of wrap is several bikinis and bathing suits all in bright neon colors. Thanks, Mina. You pick up one of the more decorative ones and try to find what's up and what's down.

You check out yourself through your camera and find the green swimming suit with holes on either side of your ribcage to be quite flattering for your physique.

You take a simple pic angled from above so the girls can see the whole attire while giving a teasing peak of your cleavage.

A few seconds go by and you get spammed with both texts in chat and pics of the girl making exaggerated faces to show their support. Messages of encouragement to show more of them also arrive to your phone and you can't help but giggle at their attitude.

After sending a few pics with simple poses to the gc and getting an overwhelming amount of compliments and praise you find it in you to play around with the skimpy bikinis, purposely not tying the straps and having the hang loose across your collarbone.

You open a snap that mina sent to the gc. She's showcasing a new homemade iced coffee with the text "having to quench my thirst after seeing y/n".

You tap to send back a pic of your untied bikini top that is hanging over the skin beneath your tits now. Your crane your neck to show off more of your bare skin and place heart emojis over your otherwise free nipples and hit send.

You sit back to enjoy their hopefully shocked reactions but you only get one single reply from Uraraka.

"how long can it take to put on a bikini?? 👀"

The response confused you. You remember hitting send but had it not gotten to her yet? You check the chat to see if it was still sending but... why wasn't it showing that you had sent a snap?

Your thoughts were interupted as a notification pop up saying "Local Plug⚡ replayed your snap again"

What....??

You go back to the chat page and watch as a new snap show up in another groupchat you have with your other hero associates and also former classmates. It's a group chat Mina and Denki started in your last year of high school cause they thought to bring their best friends together and it's been active ever since.

You think back to the last few minutes of confusion and fear the worst. You take a deep breath and click upon the unopened snap.

A picture of Denki's recognizable hair placed at the bottom of the screen and his headboard with his posters in the back pop up on your screen. You read the text above his head that says "WAUW 😍😍 and here I thought you couldn't get seexuer 🔥🔥🔥". That's... could it be? Did you accidentally sent it to the wrong-

Another snap comes from Mina in the same chat. "Sharing with the boys too I see". And another. "Remember I called dips first".

Not long after comes one from Sero. "Was about to ignore the sudden spam but wowie I'm glad I chose not to

Are you sending more or are we gonna have to admit this picture to memory?"

You are in shock to say the least. You sit still and stare ahead while imagining their reaction to getting a nude from you out of nowhere. But is it a nude? I mean, you covered your nipples.... You at least didn't bare yourself completely. Can you play it off?

All kinds of thoughts are jumbled in your head as you receive even more snaps, supposedly discussing you disappearing as quick as you showed up.

Oh god it's gonna be so awkward when you meet again. Well, Sero and Denki would occasionally discuss sexual topics between themselves, but what about Kiri and Bakugo? Oh nonono. Hopefully Bakugo didn't strive off from his usual bedtime at 8 pm otherwise you would not have a lot of time to come up with an excuse. But then there's Kirishima. Sweet and tender Kirishima. He's often teased for not persuing women the same way the others do. What a shock it must be for him to suddenly see you like that.

You open the new snaps and you can't help trying to rid yourself of those haunting thoughts. The suggestive comments didn't help the growing heat between your legs. "Leaving us just like that, princess?" "What a tease" "I bet she's busy playing with herself to us" "You guys should have seen how she fronted herself to the girls" "she's prob making a mess of her new bikini"

Your cheeks are heating up more and more by each message. You are sure that you no longer could send any pictures without giving your flustered self away. Not that you were going to! Something about these messages leave you wondering if they have had an interest in you before this incident. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't had instances where you would be thinking of them when you were playing with yourself. Is it the same case for them?

- I'm sorry I'm gonna be stopping it here 🤠 it got reaalllllyyyy long and this is such a bad place to leave on a cliffhanger oOF

Thinking bakugou 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 oops sorry bakugou

Didn't mean to send my massive milkers to you and Kirishima 😂

Omg Nonny this was great thank you so much!

#nonny novels #nonny talks

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dreaming-of-assclass · 3 years

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CURSED MINDS THINK ALIKE BAHDJSNSKS

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before!” Feat Okajima suddenly Discovering he likes Hayami because of her personality and not bcz of her appearance or whatever

While accepting she won’t like him back and... angst lmao? Or no angst you decide haha :eyes:

If anyone is confused, this came from both me and Nao thinking of a Valentine’s prompt for Hayami/Okajima 😂 aka the ship we love in a serious way and a crack way lmao.

This turned out be more of an introspective character study lol, but I hope I did it justice, bestie <3

Word Count: 1,694 words

In all fairness, Okajima mused to himself, it’s not like any part of this year went like planned.

Getting sent to Class E was a punch in the gut, for sure. There was no denying that, not after the laughter from his former classmates or the yelling he had to hear from his mom once he broke the news to her.

He’d been expecting a year of slacking, if he was going to be truly honest. He’d already reached rock bottom, no use in wasting his time and energy trying to get back into the main campus. Not when he was an average student, at best.

Fooling around during lessons, being labelled the class clown, hanging out with his friends, admiring his female classmates, overall having a good time. That was what he believed would await him in the dingy old building of 3-E.

Instead, their teacher was replaced by a giant yellow octopus who moved at Mach 20 and was gonna destroy the world, and it was up to him and his 25 classmates to save it.

Yeah. Big change of plans.

Okajima found himself actually being motivated to work, more and more everyday. He felt...excited to go to school everyday and feel better about himself, and his academic capabilities. He loved contributing to assassinations and proving himself a valuable member of the class.

But there was one part of him that didn’t quite go away for a while.

He sighed. His inexplicable love of female anatomy. That was the...polite way to put it. His classmates would phrase it as “his insufferable pervertedness.” Which was totally fair.

It was really shameful how he’d acted for a long time. His defining trait had been born from a life of being raised by his father, as well as the tiny voice in himself screaming for attention. To get noticed in some way, even if it earned him ire and scorn.

For a while, Okajima wasn’t sure how to interact with others beyond showing his perverted nature.

And looking back now, that was such a cowardly excuse he used. It had taken him way too long to realize that.

Okajima hated how he used to be, and his eyes were awakened after the girls in his class explained to him what was wrong. How his actions made them feel insulted and uncomfortable.

He painfully recalled the sharp sensation in his chest that formed to a lump in his throat at hearing their words.

It was never his intention to hurt them.

Okajima vowed to change that part of himself, and it was much easier than he thought it’d be. Looking back, it seemed like most of his problems in general came from overthinking.

The year was almost to an end now, and it was early February. Okajima had made a lot of progress, and he was happy to know how much he’s changed. How he had better, more honest relationships with his classmates now.

Well...there was still a bit of an issue...

Hayami.

The issue was Hayami.

Of course, not in a literal sense. Okajima could never think of her as that...not with the way she pushed back her bangs while reading, when he’d catch her watching cat videos in class, or the occasional times she’d laugh at his jokes...

He groaned to himself. I really do have it bad, don’t I?

As shocking as it sounded, he’d never had a crush before. Not on a girl, at least. Since there was that one boy in sixth grade who he-

Back to the topic, lusting after girls didn’t count as crushes, he realized belatedly. All of the objects of his admiration were solely for their looks, really.

But...somehow Hayami was different.

Like yeah, she had a banger body in his opinion, the perfect dancer build. But even before he’d had a change of character, that didn’t quite catch his attention as much as it usually would.

His favorite part of Hayami would always be the core of who she was. How she didn’t take bullshit from anyone. How she worked so hard, more diligent than anyone he’d ever known. How she kept a cool head all the time and was so reliable.

He just loved that she was tough and unapologetic for it.

The first time she’d responded to one of his stupid comments with a sharp, fierce glare, Okajima felt a thrill run through him. Partly out of fear, of course, but mostly out of...curiosity.

She was so different, so mysterious. He wanted to know more about her. And since they were seatmates for the year, that gave him some opportunities.

He was the first to know of her love for cats. He’d caught her looking wistfully at pictures of them on her phone, and he wisely kept that observation to himself. And a few days later, he gifted her with a cute cat-themed stationary set, claiming that his mom mistakenly bought it.

The way Hayami’s eyes lit up as her lips curved up in a small smile, a whisper of “thank you” falling off them was extraordinary and made Okajima’s heart leap.

Hayami’s other quirks soon added to his feelings towards her. He loved seeing her fidget with her pigtails absentmindedly. How she doodled pictures of cats on the side of her notebook. The way her feet created a small rhythm against the wooden floor, counting to a beat. How she looked like a complete badass during P.E class, loading her gun and shooting with it effortlessly.

Okajima sighed, his arms falling atop his face as he lay in bed. These new...romantic feelings were overwhelming, to say the least. He felt like voicing his thoughts, just so someone- anyone could give him advice. His dad and brother were absolutely out of the picture, though. So the most trusted people were...

He reached over and grabbed his phone, dialing a familiar number.

“Alright, dude. You said you were going through a crisis.” Mimura leaned back into his beanbag seat, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “What’s up?”

Okajima leaned down slightly, his forearms resting onto his knees. “Well...it’s not really a crisis. It’s just...something new that I’m not used to.”

Sugaya raised an eyebrow from his spot on his bed, glancing up from his pencil in his hand he’d been observing. “I swear, if this is puberty-related-”

“It’s not! It’s more like, my feelings towards something has changed and I’m not sure why.”

“Shoot.”

Okajima took a breath then released everything in one go.

“I have a crush on Hayami and it’s not just for her appearance. I really like her personality. I think she’s a total badass who can step on me and I’d love it. But I also think she’s adorable and I wish I could get closer to her. But I know there’s no way in hell she’d ever like me back, so I’m just accepting that and...yeah.”

His friends’ eyes widened simultaneously, as Sugaya dropped his pencil and Mimura paused, holding his candy mid-air. The look they exchanged was almost comical, so Okajima let out a shaky laugh. “Uh...guys?”

Mimura snapped back to reality. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just...surprised.”

The artist hummed. “Yeah...I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you’d fall in love or whatever someday. But your crush is what surprises me...”

“Yeah, why Hayami?” Mimura chimed in.

Okajima frowned slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean...she’s pretty scary,” Sugaya replied.

“And emotionally unavailable,” Mimura added.

“She’s super reserved.”

“Kind of...bitchy on her worst days-”

“Okay!” Okajima raised his voice, irritably. “Are you two done? Did you even hear what I said earlier?”

“No because you said it all really fast in one breath.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, smartass, there’s so much more to her that I really adore. And I don’t think it’s right to...when you like someone, you accept every part of who they are. You shouldn’t pick and choose what you like about them.”

His friends glanced at each other again. “I guess you have a point,” Sugaya admitted.

Okajima sat back with a sigh. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Like...all I wanna do is see her smile and be happy. I wanna make her laugh. Seeing her every morning is enough to make my day. I know it sounds dramatic but...”

Mimura frowned at him. “Would you ever confess? Maybe there’s a chance that she-”

The photographer cut him off. “There isn’t.”

“Dude, you don’t-”

“Even if she did, I wouldn’t want us to be together,” Okajima replied. He gave his friends a thin smile.

“She deserves so much better than someone like me.”

Okajima stopped in front of the door, his hand hovering above the knob. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the thundering sound of his own heartbeat.

It was just another typical day. Or, as typical as a day could be given the circumstances of their class.

And yet, voicing his ambivalent feelings last night gave way to a heaviness that settled deep into his chest. It weighed him down and brought a crushing sensation to his throat as well, like it was hard to breath.

“It’s just in my head,” he muttered to himself, finally turning the doorknob.

Stepping into the classroom almost felt like a dream. He stood briefly as if in a daze, holding his bag. A second passed and he moved mechanically towards his seat.

All around him, his classmates were getting ready for the day. Setting up their desks, gathering around to chat, some were eating a quick breakfast. It didn’t matter: everything just blurred around him anyways.

He set his bag down and began pulling out his supplies. The words fell from his lips in an excited greeting, a grin automatically forming on his lips.

“Good morning, Hayami!”

She turned in his direction, her hand resting elegantly under her chin. Her lips quirked up into a small smile as she returned his greeting. Her tone was casual yet genuine and it sent electricity through him.

“Morning, Okajima.”

Yeah. She deserved only the best.

And it wasn’t him.

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trassellynn · 4 years

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ABOUT THAT WRONG THING

Here’s the analysis I promised. *** CROOKED KINGDOM SPOILERS *** WHY WAS MATTHIAS HELVAR’S DEATH JUST WRONG? 1. THE WAY IT HAPPENED 1.1. The Hand of the Author “The Hand of the Author” is an expression that indicates how much we feel the presence of the author into the story, the moments in which they intervene to manipulate the events in a forced and unrealistic way instead of following the coherency of their own plots. Now, let’s think about the sequence of the scene: a) Matthias if left alone and unarmed at job done; b) the boy has been able to follow him despite the messy situation; c) Matthias decides not to defend himself and talks to him in a kind and totally reasonable manner; d) the boy shoots him anyway. This death is absolutely anti-climatic, forced and disrespectful for such a character and the scenes from chapter 38 to 40 seem to be completely disconnected from the rest of the story. It looks like the author (despite her statements) was going to finish the book and said : “Oh, no, I cannot end this story without killing at least one main character, let’s kill the one I think the readers like less!” Even though Matthias was the worst character to kill off, as I’m going to explain in Chapter 2, if the author desperately wanted to kill him, she could at least give him a more decent death, like, for example, making him sacrifice to save someone. 1.2. Confusing sequences Matthias is shot by the young drüskelle, but he is still able to run to Nina. What does this mean? Why does the boy let him go, after shooting him? I honestly doubt Matthias has killed him to escape. Maybe he has knocked him down, but that wouldn’t make more sense to the entire context. 1.3. Fjerdan mentality Matthias gives the young drüskelle valid reasons to put his gun down: he has no weapons and cannot go anywhere. Do Fjerdans, filled with hatred but also obsessed with honour and discipline, really teach their young soldiers to be blinded by anger and kill a wanted man (“Dead OR ALIVE”) who is unarmed and willing to cooperate? The boy could have become a Fjerdan hero, if he had brought Matthias as a prisoner to his companions, rather than shooting him for no reasons and then being also unable to prove he killed him. 1.4. Double standards An author cannot build an unrealistic plot armor to some characters (for example, Kaz, a limping boy, who defeats all the Dregs alone) and kill others in a totally “random” and anti-climatic way, at job done. As I say in my small guide “Five simple rules every author should know about characters’ deaths”, double standards compromise the logic and the coherency of the story. 2. THE WAY IT BREAKS BASIC NARRATIVE RULES 2. 1. Character development Matthias’ storyline is mainly focused on two topics: his relationship with Nina and his character development. He literally spends two books to work on himself, unlearning everything he was taught since he was a child and finding a new purpose based on his change of heart. When characters are made to evolve during the story, the most logical choice is to give them an opportunity to make their development useful and significant outside of their safe zone (for example, their group of friends). And, most important thing, an author should never kill their characters if they haven’t complete their development. And that’s why Matthias was the worst character to kill off at the end of Crooked Kingdom: first of all, he hadn’t fully complete his development (he was still very insecure during social interactions and was still fighting against crumbles of Fjerdan mentality); secondly, no one out of the Crows has seen his development, since the author made him fail during his first real attempt to demonstrate something. I think people would need practical demonstrations to make a change possible, it can’t really be enough for them to hear his story from Nina. It’s just not realistic. Killing Matthias in that way and in that moment, made the character uncompleted and his entire development vain. I’ll conclude the subchapter with a simple example: why do you think it was Jack to die in Titanic, instead of Rose? Because Jack was a complete character, while Rose was still completing her development and had to put it into practice. The criterion is the same. 2.2. Characters’ deaths and their impact on the story Authors owe respect to their characters and have to build their paths properly from the beginning to the end, to guarantee quality to the story. Unless they’re writing a story about random events of human life, they should kill characters only when their deaths make sense to the plot and can give a valuable contribute to other characters’ storylines. A story lacks of quality when characters (especially main characters) are killed just for shock value, to add unnecessary angst and suffering to other characters or because “I cannot give a happy ending to everyone, happy endings are for children”. Matthias’ death was anti-climatic, useless and has so little impact that, if a reader jumps chapters from 38 to 41, it almost seems nothing has changed. 2.3. The failure After everything Matthias did to change and evolve, the author made his first attempt to put in practice what he learnt a huge, undeserving failure. First of all, even though he is unarmed, Matthias is fully able to defeat the boy but he doesn’t do that, that means he chooses not to defend himself. He wants to give the boy a possibility, he wants to demonstrate that there’s still hope for Fjerda. And his faith is repaid with death. These kind of plot choices SOMETIMES (and not in this case) can make sense if written at the beginning or in the middle of a story, not at the ending, when everything seems to be resolved. What is the author trying to suggest us? Fjerdan people are hopeless? If Matthias hasn’t been able to persuade a young boy, who, despite his anger and hatred, should have a more “elastic” mind, how could it be possible to convince older people in Fjerda, who have lived with their beliefs for decades? Does the author really think it is realistic that Nina’s words will be heard by Fjerdans? I’m starting to think her and Matthias’ dream is just destined to fail… * SPOILER FROM NIKOLAI DUOLOGY * (Please, don’t mention me the Nikolai Duology, which I tried to read but I abandoned due to several reasons, one of them, I consider the Crows’ arc closed, after that ending, and I don't like the idea of using the group only as a "passage moment" for both a character and a major plot. And to be honest, I think it’s just not fair that the work Matthias started to change Fjerdans’ mentality would be finished by a character who is just similar to him (well, even too much similar) but hasn’t faced everything he went through with Nina. It sounds like Bardugo is trying to replace him and this is bad. 3. THE AUTHOR’S STATEMENTS And now, in the third and final part of my work, I’m going to report some statements the author said during interviews about this choice and explain why I cannot help but strongly disagree with her. 1. “Matthias didn’t deserve a happy ending because he spread too much hate, he had to pay.” Okay, first of all, Matthias didn’t just wake up one morning, deciding to spread hate for no reasons. Do we need to think about his background? 1. He had always been taught to fear Grishas and see them as monsters; 2. A group of those monsters killed his family and he has been taken by a man who took advantage of his trauma to turn him into a weapon. He received bad teachings (and not only from Jarl Brum, but also from Grisha people who burnt his family alive), he has also been able to unlearn those teaching and decide to do something to repair and make things better. About the “he had to pay” stuff, excuse me, but he has been tortured in Hellgate for a year, being forced to kill wolves, that were not only sacred to him, but also reminded him of his own pet wolf, and living with the belief that the girl he fell in love with had betrayed him. Wasn’t that enough? And, last but not less important, here we go again with double standards: Matthias, who understood his mistakes and was determined to fix them “didn’t deserve a happy ending,” but Kaz Brekker did? Kaz is a great character, but he also did terrible things and I’m sure he’ll never do anything to fix them because he’s too broken and rotten inside. That’s okay, not all the characters are made to have a great development, but statements like this, when we compare the two characters, just sound a bit incoherent. 2. “He has been killed by the younger version of himself” Does the author really think this is a great symbolism? Doesn’t she know that being killed by a younger version of yourself, especially after you went through a great redemption arc, just means “Regression”? She’s basically saying that it doesn’t matter if you worked hard to change and to fix your mistakes, you don’t deserve to be forgiven, you are your past and you’re destined to be destroyed by it (unless your name is Kaz Brekker). Past is a part of us, of course, we cannot change it and we can be hurt by it, but we cannot let it “kill” us. The message the author gave is just wrong and filled with extremist, unnecessary moralism. It definitely doesn’t fit the atmosphere of a Young Adult novel, which should promote progression, instead of regression. As I said, she also seems to be willing to demonstrate that Fjerdans are just evil and will never change. I wonder if Bardugo has ever seen “The Lion King”, because Rafiki would be very disappointed by all of this. 3. “I knew from the beginning I would have killed him off” Even though the way she killed him seems to demonstrate something different, Bardugo has always stated that she wanted to kill Matthias by the moment she created him. Okay, we can believe it, but I can still speak against this statement. How? I’m sure this thing has happened to many writers: we create characters and decidespecific endings for their storylines, but, while we’re writing, those characters “come to life” into our hands and they sometimes evolve out of our control and start to lead us to a different path. Since the story is made by our characters, we should follow the directions they take, for the sake of the plot: we shouldn’t listen to fanservice or to old plans, we should listen to our characters. That’s why it can happen we end up saving a character we were meant to kill of at the beginning, as well as killing a character we hadn’t plan to kill off. It is just wrong to stubbornly follow an old idea that doesn’t fit the story anymore, that’s why authors cannot use it as an excuse to justify their mistakes. (The finale of “How I Met Your Mother” is a great example to explain this concept). 4. CONCLUSIONS “Geez, what was that for?” - It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past. “Yeah, but it still hurts!” - Ah, yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or… learn from it. (“The Lion King”, 1994) Matthias wasn’t even running away from his past. He faced it. He wanted to do something about it. He was ready to rise from the ashes of his past and work for a better future. And those are all the reasons his death is just wrong from every kind of perspective: narrative, logic, symbolism. Matthias Helvar deserved better. Not only from his life, but also, and especially, from the author who created him. *** Hope you agree with me. Haters stay away, I won’t change my mind. Don’t make flame under my post. If you agree with me and like my work, feel free to share. Thanks for reading!

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jayxscripta · 3 years

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The Mahaigner - Chapter Nine

I'M BACK Y'ALL

I swear I'm trying to update regularly. There's a lot going on.

Someone had a lot to say this morning.

She blinked, lifting her head out of the pillow, and groaned. The headache, which she now knew was the flagship of her powers, had returned with a vengeance. And with it had come a voice echoing around in her head.

The feeling was similar to what she had heard and felt right before the incident at the compound, right before she had blacked out. But the voice was so muffled she couldn’t make out what it was saying.

She sat up, ran her hands down her face, and hugged her middle. It was too early for this. Her rest—in a downy bed, in a room bigger than some apartments she had lived in—had been blissful. She hadn’t slept that well in a long time. But now the only thing she could feel was panic. And frustration about being panicked. She didn’t want to lose control of her powers—she couldn’t go through that again. Not just the pain, or the fear, but the guilt.

She stumbled out of her room and down the hallway. This was the suite side of the palace, where guests stayed, so her chances of finding someone to help her depended entirely upon what time of the day it was.

Eventually, she passed Rogers, who was not who she had been hoping to find. But he directed her towards the training center, where he said both Ivanoff and Maximoff usually were this time of the day. So it worked out in the end.

As the training center’s elevator doors slid open noiselessly, Madeline debated her decision to come down here. She had no choice, really—but she also knew it would be awkward, and maybe even downright embarrassing if Ivanoff was still irritated.

The woman in question was, at that moment, beating at some sort of punching bag. It must have been a special, reinforced bag, because it was stretched and secured from the ceiling to the floor. Ivanoff looked like she was trying to destroy it, her wrapped hands aglow with some sort of energy charge.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Her voice startled Madeline back into some semblance of reality. “They’re flame retardant. They have been ever since my first incident here.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed, stepping closer slowly. She didn’t imagine T’Challa would be too thrilled with his training center being burned down.

Ivanoff stopped her barrage of punching to look at her expectantly. “Did you need something?”

“I’m having problems controlling my powers, I figured you and Maximoff could help.” It felt a little odd to address the Sokovian by her last name, as if they were teammates, but it would be stranger to call her “Wanda”.

Ivanoff eyed her uncertainly, before shrugging and nodding. “I can try. Do you want to try the new bracelets? Shuri brought them over this morning.”

After Madeline nodded, Ivanoff dug the bracelets out of her bag and handed them over. To her surprise, they were light—unlike Stark’s pair—and looked more like actual bracelets than handcuffs or a piece of technology. Silver, cool metal pressed gently against her skin as she slipped them on her wrist. But it wasn’t uncomfortable—she might even be able to forget she was wearing them, in time. “They’re not bad at all,” Madeline said honestly, unable to hide her surprise.

“You’ll find that Shuri’s tech almost always works well,” Ivanoff said, a little amused. “And often better than well. Do you want to try using them?”

“I am?” Madeline returned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Your powers, not the bracelets.”

Her eyes widened, and she nearly threw her neck out of place in her hurry to shake her head. “No.”

“Why not?” Madeline nearly jumped at Maximoff’s voice—she hadn’t even noticed her walking into the room.

She recovered after a few seconds. “Nothing good ever comes from using my powers.”

“Trust me,” Maximoff said, lips caught between a grimace and a smile. “We know all about that.”

“The cuffs aren’t meant to stop you from using them,” Ivanoff added. “They’re to help you manage them—channel and eventually learn to use them.”

“I—” her sentence never saw the light of day. Madeline’s shoulders dropped. “How do you do it?”

The look on the two ex-Avengers’ faces showed that they knew she was talking about more than just using her powers. “Having powers is hard,” Maximoff began. “Not only are you an anomaly in every sense of the word, but people always fear you for being stronger than them.”

“You have to prove yourself over and over again, and you’re still never good enough,” Ivanoff added. “It’s frustrating as hell.”

“Don’t they have a reason to fear us?” Madeline questioned, but it wasn’t one to be answered. Maximoff hesitated. Ivanoff’s lips tightened, looking as if she wanted to say something. But instead, she just nodded defeatedly. Which, unfortunately, is exactly how Madeline knew her own thought was right. “Does it ever… make you feel guilty?”

Maximoff turned away, hiding a flinch, and Madeline immediately regretted asking. She had no idea what Maximoff had been through, or what had really happened, but if she were going off what Wilson had said, it had hardly been fair or right.

“Of course, I’m not a stranger to having guilt,” Ivanoff answered, casting a concerned glance at her teammate. “Especially when it comes to my powers. But why should I feel guilty? Because I exist? Nobody deserves to be treated the way they treated us.” Her eyes met Madeline’s steadily. “The way they treated you.”

“Then how can you just sit back and watch them do the same thing to Banner and the Asgardians? When there’s a chance we could change it?”

Ivanoff leveled Madeline a pointed stare. She looked as if she had been expecting this topic to come up at some point. “I would love to help them. But I don’t know if anything I say will make a difference. It didn’t last time.”

Madeline could tell she didn’t just mean with the Accords. A lot of terrible things had happened between Ivanoff and her cousin, and there was a chance that the split was permanent. That their fighting had forever destroyed the Avengers—their family—and that there would be no real resolution to the division.

“From what I’ve heard, for what it’s worth, I can tell he misses you. He just looks like he has this burden that he can’t rid of.”

“I’m sure me dying is not the only contributing factor.”

“Probably not,” Madeline agreed. “But it’s also probably pretty high on the list.”

“I’d rather avoid that reckoning altogether, if I can.”

“So, you wouldn’t change your vote?” Maximoff asked, arms folded across her chest. She may have rejoined the conversation, but she was guarded now.

Ivanoff hesitated. “I don’t know. This isn’t just about me. I don’t know what they’ll do when we turn ourselves in. But I will not let the team split again.”

Madeline nodded her head slowly. Things like this were never easy, never just black or white. Rather, they were usually nestled comfortably in that wide, gray area nobody could ever navigate.

“I think we should start with power channeling,” Maximoff said. It came out rushed, as if she was eager to change the subject. Madeline couldn’t blame her.

And with that, her first lesson began.

Both Ivanoff and Maximoff were full of advice. Their desultory instructions ranged anywhere from meditation to which hand motions were best for drawing power. Somehow, Madeline didn’t think she was quite there yet, but their “cart-before-the-horse”enthusiasm was endearing in its own way.

She worked with the two Secret Avengers for close to an hour—at times observing how they channeled and honed their powers, and at other times trying to emulate what they were doing. It was draining, exhausting work, and worst of all, even with the bracelets she couldn’t produce so much as a whisper of magic. She tried animating several different barbell weights, but to no avail. When every attempt to move them failed, she even tried to use her other abilities on Ivanoff.

The Russian had insisted Madeline’s powers wouldn’t affect her as badly, even if the experiment did work. Madeline didn’t know how she could be so sure—they had no way of knowing how her powers had affected Dr. Strange. But she had no reason to worry, because her powers didn’t work that time, either.

No matter how hard she tried, how deeply she dug, she couldn’t force her powers to the surface. Something was there. She could feel it, but there was something covering it up. As if her mind was an abandoned house, and her powers the old grand piano shrouded with a yellowed sheet—except the sheet was tacked down with cinderblocks.

Ivanoff and Maximoff were just as mystified. They had helped to train other enhanced people, but Madeline’s powers were like nothing they had seen before. Or rather, her abilities were “stubborn”, as Ivanoff had put it.

She left the training room dissatisfied, and unsettled. Not necessarily just because she couldn’t use her powers, but because she didn’t feel any relief. She had thought that her powers not working would be like a weight lifted off her shoulders, that she should be happy to not have to worry about using them or causing a disaster. But now that she found she couldn’t use them, it felt like some part of her was incomplete.

Madeline got déjà vu as the Secret Avengers once again settled around the table in the meeting room. With any luck, they would come to a more favorable conclusion than they had the day before.

“So,” T’Challa began, folding his arms behind his back, “what have you decided?”

“I’m staying with my original vote,” Romanoff said firmly, and Maximoff nodded, raising a finger in agreement. Now Madeline knew what courage it took for the younger girl to make that decision.

Rogers stole a look at Ivanoff, who was on the opposite side of the room. “I’m sticking with my vote too,” he said.

“I think we all are,” Wilson said quietly. There was no objection from Barnes, either. Why should they want to leave? Wakanda was safe, especially for someone like the Winter Soldier. And Madeline and Loki.

Everyone turned to look at Ivanoff. “Victoria?” Barnes asked.

Ivanoff chewed her lip, her eyes sweeping the room. She must have looked at every person in the room, perhaps gauging their reaction. Her eyes lingered on Barnes for a bit, and when she looked at Madeline, her lips twitched into a sad smile. “I’ll change my vote. I vote that we go back.”

Wilson’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I know, Sam. Trust me, I thought about—”

“You were in here all fired up yesterday because of what Stark did—what they’re going to do to us again—and now you want to go back?”

“Guys, come on, let’s not lose our heads—” Rogers’ attempt at peacemaking was bulldozed by his teammates.

“You don’t think this doesn’t bother me? You think I want to face him?” Ivanoff shot back. Her face betrayed every bit of the confliction Madeline knew she felt. After talking with her earlier that morning, it was impossible to not see. “Nobody wins here. What else could I have done? Tied the vote? Where would that have gotten us?”

Barnes shifted away from her, almost imperceptibly. It was clear he was uncomfortable—maybe even feeling a bit betrayed. “What changed your mind?”

“I may have… pressed her on the topic,” Madeline confessed, in turn earning each of the ex-Avengers’ hard and incredulous stares. Except for Maximoff, naturally. She already knew. Rogers, however, looked particularly enlightened. She didn’t know what possessed her to say so, but it felt wrong to sit back and watch her be berated for her decision. “I mean, we talked. Then I understood why she didn’t want to go back. I guess she understood why I did.”

“And why, pray tell, would you do that?” Loki rebutted. “This isn’t our decision to make.”

Ivanoff snorted. “So now you’re an advocate for people having free will?”

Madeline turned to Loki. If he wanted an argument, he had picked a good day and a good opponent. “Don’t we owe it to the people who have helped us to help them?”

Loki shook his head. “You should have stayed out of it.”

“Why? Because you don’t want to go back?” Madeline snapped. “Because you’re too afraid to face the people you’ve wronged?”

His face fell a little, but he recovered immediately. As if she hadn’t said anything. “If that were the case then I’d never face anybody.”

“Well, you’re doing it right now.” Madeline glared, hoping he would remember her mother. Even just for a second. A mere spec on his rap sheet, a casualty in his war. “I’m going to go pack.”

“Boudreaux—” As she spun around, she didn’t see him reach out. But she did feel his hand as it wrapped around her wrist like an icy vine, tugging her backward into a black abyss. Are all Asgardians that cold? She wondered, and then slumped backwards unconscious, a roar in her ears and a bright, golden wave surging outward in her wake.

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

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Run To You - Chpt.7

Summary: Steve is reeling from Bucky’s departure and trying to make sense of what to do next. After an unexpected clue and a surprise offer of help, Steve does everything he can to make New York safe for Bucky to return. The only problem then becomes, what if that’s not what Bucky wants? Master list is HERE

Content Warning: None :)

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! The last chapter is here!! Thank you to everyone who has stuck around for this fic through all of it’s ups and downs. Please enjoy the last bit of the journey and the much awaited happily ever after. The epilogue goes up next, so keep an eye out right after this. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Seven

Steve

Three weeks. It has been three excruciating weeks of searching and hoping and ultimately losing hope. Steve feels like he’s living in a world of grey, nothing brings him joy quite the same way it used to. It’s startling to discover how quickly he’d grown to care for Bucky and how empty his life feels without the other man. After a few days of trying to give Bucky space, Steve had reached out only to find the brunette was gone. It was hard to believe, especially after Bucky had just promised not to run away when things got tough. Steve had been frantic at first, fearing the worst, until Tony had done some research and shown Steve the paper trail. Bucky had drained his bank account and bought one way tickets to Moscow for him and Becca. The trail went cold after that, he’d ditched his phone and stopped using cards, disappearing like a ghost in the night.

After four days of hiding in his bed mourning the loss of what was and what could have been, Steve went down to the mission debriefing Tony was hosting and dove head first back into work. It’s been non-stop missions from that point on. Days off are too lonely without having someone to text or call or visit. The nights are even worse. So Steve pours himself into the all consuming need to eliminate the threat that had sent Bucky running in the first place. Steve knows it’s not the healthiest reaction but a small part of him clings to the hope that if he can remove the threat, Bucky will be able to come home. A more rational part of him points out that even with Hydra gone there are other threats. And how would Bucky even know that Hydra had been defeated? Desperation and hope had never been rational things though.

The team worries about Steve the longer his non-stop working goes on. They each approach the subject differently but by the end of the third week they’ve all made their concerns clear.

A subtle “Why don’t you sit this one out, pal? We’ve got it covered.” from Bruce.

A less than subtle “You look like you could use another ice nap, Capiscle. The bags under your eyes have their own set of luggage.” from Tony.

Steve shakes off their comments lightly, assuring everyone he’s fine. Really, he’s fine. Steve is starting to hear the edge in his own tone but pointedly ignores it. He just needs to keep busy until the searing ache in his chest dulls enough for him to get through a day without feeling like he’s falling apart. He hasn’t felt this off kilter since waking up seventy years in the future and realizing he’d missed his chance at a life with Peggy. But he had moved on from the pain of that loss, and Steve knows he can do it again. He has to.

The first clue comes a week later when Tony is doing his monthly deep scrub of the security systems. He finds the normal clutter of attempted hacks and people trying to poke around just for the hell of it. Most of it doesn’t get past the first ring of protection and is pathetically amateur. Those people don’t even warrant a second glance before he wipes the records. It’s the people who get a little further that Tony takes note of. It’s a rare occurrence, maybe three or four times a year, that someone actually gets past Tony’s first set of barriers and those are the people who get a nice little visit from SHIELD. Tony had actually hired his newest intern that way. A sweet kid from Queens who had gotten pretty damn far, three out five barriers, on his first try. Peter Parker had been trying to spy on their intel so he could clean up the crime in Queens on his own. Setting out like a tiny little vigilante in spandex. Tony did a little spying of his own and had been more than impressed with the kid’s skills. Taking him under his wing, Peter was currently training with the team a few days a week. Tony refused to let the kid out on missions until after he turned eighteen, but for now he was at least getting prepared for when that day came.

The clue was more of a blip than a red flag, and Tony almost overlooked it, though he didn’t admit that to Steve when he was telling him the news. There was a small window of time, just barely twenty minutes, one night where the memory had been overwritten. It took Tony longer than he was willing to say to backtrack and restore the original record but once he did, his jaw dropped. Someone, identifiable only by a little black spider icon, had gone through the security feed and Jarvis’ surveillance inside the tower. Specifically tracking down Steve and his movements throughout the day. Tony’s first assumption was Hydra, but he’d seen how they worked before and it lacked this level of delicateness and finesse. The fact that nothing had come of it also led him to believe this wasn’t Hydra.

“So do you think it was Bucky?” Steve asks once Tony has finished explaining what he’d found.

Tony shakes his head, “No, not unless he’s a secret super hacker in his spare time. I think he was involved somehow though. Someone wanted to make sure they knew where you were while your boy toy made his grand exit. I tracked it as far as I could, but this little spider was good. Scary good. How much do you know about his friends? Anyone in security, or IT or something?”

Steve thinks for a minute, running through the conversations he’s had with Bucky about people in his life. It hits him over the head like a ton of bricks. “Natasha!” he practically shouts, “There’s a woman, Natasha Roma-something. They went to NYU together and she works in cyber security. She watches Becca while Bucky works overnights. He joked about her ‘spy skills’ once.”

“That sounds like a good start. I’ll start there but if you think of anyone else let me know.”

Three hours later Tony has a name, address, and a promise that he’s 99.99% sure Natasha Romanoff is their woman.

Steve insists on going to visit Natasha alone, praying she doesn’t run the second she sees him. He promises Tony he can go another time to “talk shop”. Natasha isn’t home when Steve arrives so he tugs the visor of his baseball cap lower and pulls out a worn paperback from his jacket pocket. Two chapters later, he spots a redhead eyeing him suspiciously as she approaches the stoop.

“Steven.” she says evenly once she’s a few steps away.

Steve recognizes it as tactical, she’s far enough away that she can still flee if he gives her any indication this isn’t a friendly visit. He stays seated, not wanting to scare her off unintentionally. “Natasha.” he replies.

“I don’t know where he is, he hasn’t contacted me.”

It’s impressive to Steve how well she lies. He’s never had that gift. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.” he says. Natasha’s lip quirks up, amused. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have had to spy on me while he was escaping.” he adds lightly.

Natasha’s lip curves into a full smirk at that. “I must be losing my touch.”

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t think that’s necessarily true either.”

Despite herself, Natasha actually chuckles at that. “Come on in, Steve. I’ll make tea.”

Steve spends the rest of his afternoon in Natasha’s little loft apartment. It’s cozy and filled with bright colors and vibrant patterns. It’s so different than he would have expected and he kind of loves it. They talk about Bucky a lot, but also about Steve, and Natasha too. Natasha is more reticent about sharing her story but Steve has a feeling he got more than most people do. She very carefully skirts around the topic of who she works for and what exactly she does, as well as anything involving where Bucky is.

All of her question dodging is frustrating and Steve’s patience finally snaps, “Look, I’m not going to go after him. I promise you, I’m not. Not until I know it’s safe for him to come back. I lo-” Steve clears his throat, unable to say the words aloud, “I care about him so damn much. I won’t risk his safety again. I’m going to take Hydra down for good this time, I know it. And once Hydra is gone, then I’d like to at least have the option of reaching out to him.”

Natasha watches Steve quietly for a moment. He feels like a bug under a microscope as she looks for some unimaginable tell. After a few seconds she finally nods, coming to a conclusion. “Okay,” she says, “I believe you. But if you’re going to do this right, you’re going to need me.”

“Need you?” Steve parrots back, confused.

“Oh yes, me. You need someone who can trace all of Hydra’s webs back to their source. Or sources, most likely. Find all of their locations and burn them to the ground. If we miss even one, there’s always going to be the chance for a resurgence. Let me help take them down and then we can talk about maybe you reaching out to Bucky.”

Tony almost swallows his tongue the first time he sees Natasha go to work on his computers. As much as he hates to admit someone is better than him, he’s in awe of Natasha’s skills. They spend all hours of the day and night working, often passing out from lack of sleep right on the computer desk. Steve brings them coffee and sandwiches but he really can’t contribute much to the discussion as they throw ideas around.

With Natasha’s help it only takes two weeks to track down every last Hydra base, safe house, lock box, and rendezvous point. Steve insists on looping in SHIELD after he and Natasha hammer out a strategy they can both agree upon. There’s too much exposure and a risk of missing Hydra members if they use only the Avengers. The strike needs to be tactical and synchronous. Thirty one locations and thirty one strike teams all attacking at the exact same time. No chance for locations to tip each other off or for people to run.

Agent Coluson is more than willing to lend the support the Avengers need and offers up all the man power he has. With teams in place, Steve isn’t willing to wait another day to end the decades old war. At 2:23am, eastern standard time, all thirty one teams move in on their locations. By 2:35am, Hydra has officially fallen.

It takes a few days for it to sink in that Hydra’s really gone. Steve worries incessantly that they missed something and it’s all going to be for nothing again. He’d rather spend another seventy years at the bottom of the ocean than risk bringing Bucky back to danger. SHIELD is kind enough to handle the processing of items and documents recovered from the raids, as well as incarcerating the few members who allowed themselves to be taken alive. Much to SHIELD’s embarrassment, the raids uncovered a few Hydra agents in their own ranks, but they were thankful to have the potential threats to their organization removed.

Steve doesn’t approach Natasha for Bucky’s whereabouts. He’s still too nervous and tentatively hopeful to ask. He doesn’t think his heart will be able to handle it if she says no again. It helps that she’s going to be around more now so he’ll have opportunities when he’s ready. After a little cajoling by Tony, Natasha had agreed to work with the Avengers on a loose, as needed, basis. Basically whenever she feels like it, but Steve’s pretty sure she’ll come to help if called. In the end, Natasha is the one who seeks out Steve. She finds him sitting in the common room, watching an old western by himself in the dark, and hands him a slip of paper.

Steve blinks blearily, caught off guard, and he tries to read the note in the dim, flickering TV light. It’s an address and a phone number printed in Natasha’s tiny neat penmanship. He knows what it is immediately but can’t figure out why she’s giving it to him now.

“It’s time.” she says simply, reading the question on his face. “If you decide to go, let me know and I’ll help with your disguise.”

Steve chafes a little at her offer, “What’s wrong with my normal disguise?”

“Steven, a baseball hat and a coat are not a disguise. If you’re going to him you’ll need to blend in. Even with those ridiculous shoulders of yours.”

“Fine, fine.” he grumbles without any heat. Part of him wants to jump on his bike and drive straight there until he can hold Bucky in his arms again. The other part of him is still terrified of rejection and that maybe their mission wasn’t a success like everyone thinks. His mind is warring with itself until Natasha flicks his ear, breaking him out of his thoughts to glare at her.

“Stop over thinking.” she commands. “We’ll go in the morning. Together. I’ve been apart from my malyshka for long enough.”

Steve looks at Natasha, gratitude pouring from his eyes while his mouth can’t find the words to thank her enough. She knows without him having to say a word. Patting him gently on the knee, Natasha gets up and silently exits the room leaving Steve to solitude once again.

xxXxx

Bucky

“Come on, bug, please.” Bucky begs, trying to coax Becca away from the glass walled cage of guinea pigs.

“But daddy, look at that one! She’s perfect! I could name her Angelina and she could live in my room.” Becca pleads pointing to a white, black, and tan colored pig in the back.

Bucky hesitates, almost willing to cave in, before finding his resolve again. “No, not right now. I’m not saying no forever, but let’s go home and do some research first. We want to make sure we can give her a good home before buying her, right?”

Becca looks up at him skeptically before admitting defeat. Her tiny shoulders slump but she nods. “Okay, we can do the research first.” Becca turns back to the cage, wiggling her finger at the tiny animal. “Bye Angelina. I’ll be back for you soon.”

Bucky herds Becca away from the cage and towards the check out. All they’d needed was a new filter for the fish tank Bucky had set up in the kitchen a few weeks back. It was hard to believe they’d had Elsa and Anna for a month now. Becca had won the pair of fish at the fall festival they went to their second week in town. Both Barnes’ had adapted to life in Cape Elizabeth quickly, loving the slower paced small town life. Bucky missed the city at times, the hustle and bustle, the nearness to everything, but mostly his friends. And Steve. He tried not to think about Steve as much as he could, but in the quiet moments his memories consumed him.

Back in their apartment, which now feels like home more than their apartment in Brooklyn ever had, Bucky replaces the fish tank filter and starts the oven preheating so he can get dinner cooking while he grabs a shower. He’s still in his scrubs, having picked Becca up after his shift at the urgent care center, and though it was a relatively easy day, he still wants his habitual post-shift shower so he can feel a little more human again.

Bucky pokes his head into Becca’s room and finds her already in her pajamas, sprawled out on the floor, coloring. He leaves her be, not wanting to disturb her, and heads towards his room. Bucky just gets his shirt over his head when the doorbell rings. He was so close to hot water and soap. Pulling his shirt back on with a groan, Bucky heads to the front door trying to keep a scowl off of his face. It’s probably just Anne with some new baked good, or maybe even Chris from work dropping something off he forgot there. Bucky throws the door open before looking out the window and regrets it when two strangers stand in front of him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his tone guarded. In a span of a heartbeat Bucky goes through the list of places he’s hidden knives and pepper spray. While he trusts Natasha’s skills, he never wants to risk not being able to defend himself and Becca. In the next heartbeat he recognizes the breadth of the man’s shoulders and the sharp glint of the woman’s eyes. “Oh my god.” he gasps, his knees buckling under him in shock.

Steve lunges forward, super soldier reflexes coming to the rescue, and he catches Bucky before the smaller man hits the ground.

Embarrassed, Bucky rights himself with assistance from Steve. He’s trembling, terrified what it means if they’re both there on his doorstep. “Come in then, I guess.” he says, shakily waving a hand towards the living room.

Bucky can’t help but stare at Natasha and Steve as they take their seats on the sofa. Natasha’s bright red hair is a muted brown, thick rimmed glasses frame her eyes, and she’s wearing heels that add four inches to her petite stature. Steve’s hair is colored black and spiked up in a way that makes Bucky want to laugh. The shapeless green army style jacket and brown contacts in his eyes make him almost unrecognizable.

Natasha, fearless as ever, is the first to speak. “Sorry for dropping in on you like this.”

“Why are you-” Bucky is cut off by a shriek and then a flurry of yellow pajamas as Becca comes flying into the room, throwing herself at Natasha. The little girl would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Auntie Nat!!!” she yells as she clings to Natasha for dear life. She’s crying, tears streaming down her pink cheeks, mumbling into her auntie’s shoulder, too quiet to understand.

“I know, malyshka,” Natasha croons, “I missed you too.”

Bucky feels tears of his own prickling the corners of his eyes.

Becca starts peppering Natasha with questions, still not recognizing Steve much to the former blonde’s amusement. Natasha gently cuts off the little girl’s questions. “Okay, kiddo. I need to talk to Bucky for a few minutes. Adult talk. Can you go play for a bit and when we’re done I’ll come hang out with you for as long as you want?”

Becca nods, giving Natasha another hug before heading down the hall without complaint.

Bucky shakes his head, “You know she’s never going to let you go now that you said that.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Natasha grins.

“So,” Bucky starts the dreaded conversation again, “Why are you here? Do we need to leave? Did something happen?”

Natasha glances over at Steve and begins when it’s clear he’s not ready to speak. “Well, we have some news. Good news, actually.” Natasha looks at Steve one last time, wanting to give him the chance to share the news but he remains silent. “Hydra is gone, permanently this time. We’re certain, I’m certain. I kind of teamed up with Steve and the guys to make sure of it. You’re safe to come home now.”

Bucky’s heart clenches at the word ‘home’. He is home. Trying to parse through the information Bucky gets stuck on, “Wait, you kind of teamed up with Steve? And the guys? What are you, an Avenger now?”

“I wouldn’t put a label on it. But I’m there to help them when I have time.”

Bucky huffs a laugh at the surrealness of it. He’d always thought Natasha was practically a superhero and now, here she is really being one. “Do you have a superhero name and everything?” He’s going to enjoy lording this over her head, whatever it is.

“Nope.” Natasha says at the same time Steve says “Black Widow.”

Bucky’s eyes bug out comically at both the name and the fact that Steve finally spoke. The rich timber of his voice rolls across the room to Bucky making him feel weak-kneed all over again. “Steve… I…” Bucky looks at Steve helplessly. He doesn’t know how to start with so many conflicting emotions whirling around inside.

Natasha watches the pair of men watch each other and decides it’s time for her exit. “I’m going to hang out with Becs. You two have a lot of catching up to do.” She pops up from the sofa and heads off leaving the two men to stare at each other in silence.

As much as it pains him, Steve finally speaks up. “If you don’t want me here I can go. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this, I’m sorry. I just… I thought… well, I’m not sure what I thought anymore.” He looks so lost and earnest it breaks Bucky’s heart a little more.

“Wine.” Bucky blurts out awkwardly. “I have wine. Let’s get some and we can go sit out on the porch and talk.”

“Okay, Buck. Whatever you want.”

Steve follows Bucky to the kitchen quietly. He waits as Bucky pours two mugs full of a dark red wine and hands him one of the mugs. He follows quietly again when Bucky leads him out to the porch and takes a seat on one of the adirondack chairs. Steve takes the chair next to Bucky, surprised by how comfortable the seat is. “This is nice.” he says, not specifying if he’s commenting on the wine, the chair, or the crisp, clear, autumn evening.

Bucky hums his agreement. “It is.” A soft silence falls on them again, but Bucky doesn’t let it linger this time. “So Hydra’s really gone?”

Steve nods immediately, finding his footing a little. “Yeah, for sure this time. You should have seen Natasha and Tony. They were amazing tracking everyone down. We even got SHIELD to lend us their forces to ensure our plan worked.”

“That had to feel really good after all these years.”

“Yeah, it did.”

“So, what’s the plan now? What will you do now that Hydra’s out of the picture?”

Steve thinks a moment before finally shrugging his ridiculously wide shoulders, “I really don’t know. Tony was making some jokes about me finally retiring but I don’t know what I’d do with my time if I wasn’t working.”

Bucky reaches over and places his hand on top of Steve’s where it rests on the arm of his chair. The movement is so natural and easy that he’s squeezing Steve’s hand comfortingly before he even realizes what he’s doing. “You’ll find something,” Bucky assures him. “Maybe you could volunteer. There’s veterans centers, and animal shelters, and old folks homes that could all use an extra set of capable hands. You’ll figure it out.”

Steve chuckles at the thought, “Yeah, maybe I’ll go volunteer at a retirement home. It would be nice to swap stories with people my own age about the good old days.”

Bucky huffs a laugh and shoves lightly at Steve’s arm. “I forget that you’re really a senior citizen under all that muscle.”

“Only chronologically. Physically, I’m still twenty-seven.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see the date on your driver's license, pal.” Bucky teases.

Steve laughs in earnest then, leaning a little closer to Bucky and the moment turns soft, intimate, as their laughter dies off.

There’s so many things Bucky wants to tell Steve, so many different ways the conversation could go. But he finally decides on, “Steve, I need you to understand that as much as I want to be with you, I don’t want to go back to New York. Becca and I created a life in this town and there is so much opportunity for her to have a happy, normal, childhood here. I can provide better for her here than I ever could in the city.”

“She comes first.” Steve says simply.

“She does, always. I loved New York for a long time but I think I forgot how different life could be outside the city. I have a job here that I love, it’s less stress and more money and I work normal hours for once in my life. Our expenses are like half of what they were in Brooklyn, which is still unreal. And Becca loves her new school and her friends. It’s not setting her up for Ivy League or anything but they have advanced classes she can take when she gets a little older. She’s happy here, we’re happy here. Hell, we have a yard, Steve. A real yard where she can run and play and just be a normal kid. This is the life I wanted for her.”

“I’m not asking you to give all that up, Buck.” Steve is quick to assure him, “I’m just asking if maybe you’d consider giving us another chance. I know we were only together for a few months but I… I fell in love with you. And I don’t expect you to feel the same way, I’m not trying to force you into something you’re not interested in, but if you’d be willing, I’d really like to give us another try.”

Bucky’s heart swells at the declaration. It was fast, but he’d fallen just as quickly and deeply as Steve. He doesn’t know how they’ll work out the distance, but in the spirit of putting their cards on the table, Bucky admits, “I fell in love with you too. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I had to protect Becca. I’m so sorry I ran. Again. It’s going to be one hell of a commute, but I’m willing to give us another try.”

Steve’s hands are trembling as he’s overwhelmed by emotion. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be too far. I’m sure there are things for a retired centenarian to do around here. If you’re serious about trying, I’ll go back to New York and hand in my resignation tomorrow. I could be back and ready to house hunt by the weekend. Just… promise me you won’t run again. Please. If things don't work out then it’ll suck, but okay. Just, don’t run before giving us a chance to talk it out.”

Pain blossoms in Bucky’s chest at Steve’s plea. He knew he’d hurt Steve twice now by running instead of talking. After this last time, Bucky knew he’d learned his lesson. “The only place I’ll be running from now on is back to you.” Hope and love shine brightly in Bucky’s eyes as he leans forward to capture Steve’s lips with his own. The kiss is a gentle, a promise for a future together. They’re unhurried, losing themselves in the moment as their bodies fall back into sync like no time has passed at all. After a little while the air is too chilly to stay outside and they head in to find Natasha and Becca coloring together as dinner cools on the stove top.

“I took it out when it beeped.” Natasha says pointing at the stove, “It smells amazing, I hope you don’t mind sharing.”

“Not at all.” Bucky grins, “We’d love for you guys to stay for dinner. And if you don’t have to be back right away, you’re welcome to crash here for the night too.”

A faint blush spreads across Steve’s cheeks at the idea of spending the night, hopefully in Bucky’s bed. He returns Bucky’s grin readily. “No place I’d rather be.”

#stucky #stucky fanfic #non winter soldier bucky barnes #nurse!bucky #parent!bucky #becca barnes #kid!becca barnes #adopted child #captain america steve rogers #shrunkyclunks #marvel #marvel fanfic

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milkttea · 4 years

Text

Sunny Days

Jungkook x Reader, GN!Reader: one shot

:: fluff, ex-friends to slow lovers

:: warnings: none

Edited: 1/2/20

"Look at the bright side of life and the bright side will look at you. The reflections we send out always return." — Ron Baratono

For the Sunny Days, which bring you joy.

Sunny days were your favorite, they reminded you of your childhood. Now, by all means, your childhood wasn't the best, it had its ups and downs as life does, so it wasn't too bad, nor was it wonderful and like how Disney movies portray life.

However, there was one person in your childhood that made your life so much more amazing. You haven't seen him in years, not since his family moved away. It saddened you because you were best friends, platonic soul mates, you did everything together.

Jeon Jungkook, your best friend since diapers and the boy who you loved since middle school. He also is the boy who left you behind and didn't talk to you at all since he moved away. Kind of makes you bitter, but it has been roughly nine years so you kind of let it go. The feelings never really left though, even after one boyfriend and one girlfriend, who are now your closest friends.

People assume it's weird to be friends with your exes, best friends even weirder, but you believe it's only weird if you let it be. You three constantly joke about it, you were young and we're looking for companionship and tried to find that in relationships, but you found it better this way.

This is where you found yourself in your dorm with said best friends.

"I'm just saying, mixing a bunch of bread dough and then baking it would be amazing!"

"Jimin, do you ever sleep?"

"My eyes close when I sneeze, does that count?"

Seulgi deadpans and contemplates her mortality as she looks at Jimin as he continues on his rant about bread. You walk in at this moment as he has both his feet on the wall, upside down, and Seulgi is about to throw her water bottle at him.

"I leave for two minutes to get ice and Seulgi almost murders you Jimin, are you going on your bread rant again?"

Jimin jumps and hugs you, tackle really, onto the floor as he complains how you took too long, he was pretty clingy, but it's cute on him. The ice you went to get rattles violently in the container, thankfully nothing falls out since you closed it tight because you anticipated this. He finally lets you up after Seulgi flicks his ear telling him how you're being suffocated and that ice will melt. She was right, you were laughing so hard it was getting hard to breathe and you hadn't had asthma, even after doing cross country for three years in high school, and you sure as hell were not trying to get it now.

"Sorry about that, oh you'll never guess who I saw when I was going into class," he brushes you off as a little bit of dust was in your hair, mentally making a note to vacuum later. You raise an eyebrow at this, you really couldn't guess, you knew quite a bit of people even if they weren't close friends.

Jimin, realizing you weren't gonna answer, suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

"Does the name Jungkook ring a bell?"

You screamed.

Seulgi and Jimin both laugh at your panicked expression. Meanwhile, you were having a minor panic session, you didn't want to see him again, even if you missed him! It's been 9 years, he probably doesn't even remember you and that would be even worse. Guess it's time for you to live out your life long dream of being a hermit, oh how the tables have turned in your favor.

"Yes, the name rings a bell," you hissed, "why do I get the feeling you're going to force an interaction between us?"

He smiles innocently, but you know it's anything but that as you hear three knocks on the door. Your eyes widen so much, Seulgi fears they may burst out of their sockets.

"Jimin you didn't."

"Oh didn't I?"

He opens the door, "Jungkook!"

You run away into your room and lock the door, meanwhile, Jungkook looks at where your form used to be in concern and surprise. That doesn't happen often to him, even if he is pretty shy around girls they mainly run towards him not away. Now if you're wondering, is there a possibility that your first love and ex-girlfriend will get together? Seulgi is a raging lesbian and she has a girlfriend, happily together for 4 years. There was no concern there, besides she was about the spring the big question on her and you couldn't wait because their families were both so supportive.

Anyways, you were hiding under your covers as Jimin and Jungkook moved past that brief moment and start talking about whatever it is they started talking about earlier in the day, probably classes. Seulgi, ever the loving friend, opens the door to your room with the key on top of the door frame and drags your ass out of bed, literally dragging you out and bringing you by hand to the living room where both boys were talking about how the homophobes were at their worst again.

"Those sleazy rats are working hard, but I work harder!"

Jungkook laughs at Jimin's declaration, oh how you've missed his laugh. Deciding to be the bigger person, you flick Jimins forehead, gaining Jungkook's attention as you begin apologizing for running away like that, meanwhile, Jimin tries to get up and tackle you but you have your knee on his groin and stomach. It does a pretty good job of preventing him from doing anything.

Jungkook, internally, is screaming because you have aged so finely he is convinced you aren't real. You're very different from the sixth grade you who was too shy to even talk to boys aside from him and looking at you now he would have never guessed this would happen. You stop talking once you realize that he's just staring at you with his mouth slightly open, your face flushes a bit at his stare so you boldly flick his forehead and tell him to shut his mouth before a fly goes in.

"You haven't that much (n/n), still flicking people on the forehead," he rubs his forehead after stating that. You, on the other hand, are the one now with your mouth open, he remembers you? Your shock, however, is quickly replaced with annoyance and anger because he remembers you. All those years and he didn't once try to get into contact with you? What happened to being friends forever, always being there for each other even if you were far away, you weren't mad, no you were livid. That was quickly noticed by him as your expression went from shock to anger and then blank.

Any emotion you felt was immediately muted as you went to the kitchen to get yourself and Seulgi some food, the aforementioned person going with you and you both talking normally. She knows when to not ask about certain things and let you handle your problems and this was one of those times. Jungkook, on the other hand, was very confused as to what he did wrong. He'd never been on the receiving end of your anger and if he remembers you at all, whenever you get that blank look you are pissed beyond recovery. The room began to feel tense after that so he decided to head out and finish his college work, he thanked Jimin who has been silent the entire time that this exchange happened, and left closing the door silently.

You didn't even glance at the door, everything continued as normal after telling off Jimin a little bit, he understood and apologized immediately and the three of you ate ice cream and had a day in for the rest of the day. You all thankfully had a day off from work and had finished your classes already.

Days after the events that unfolded in your dorm, you walked through the hallways of your college in search of another close friend of yours since you'd made plans with him to go out for coffee and study for your shared classes. You walked into his class right as he finished packing and was conversing with another student, their back to you when he noticed you and waved you over.

"(N/n)! Over here!"

The student he was talking to flinched when he heard your nickname, you paid no mind to it though. You instead, chalked it up to Taehyungs loud voice when he yelled you over, the poor person was right in front of him and his booming voice. Once you neared where they both were, Taehyung decided to ask you about his friend.

"Heeyyy," at this you blanked at him, already knowing he would ask you something, "do you think that it'd be alright to bring along my friend and roommate," he gestures to the person in front of him," with us for coffee? He doesn't get the subject very well- ow!"

His friend smacks his arm, you begin laughing at this exchange when you noticed who it is, however, you immediately stopped laughing.

"Come on Kook! Don't just stand there we gotta get going before the lunch rush starts!"

On the walkout, Taehyung and Jungkook conversed about random topics with you walking silently beside them. However, you decided you were being harsh and pretty rude if you were being honest with yourself and that you couldn't hate Jungkook forever. So you decided to begin talking with them both not him directly, but at least contribute and let him know that you didn't completely hate him. You still didn't forgive him though.

Jungkook was ecstatic! Finally, you started talking to him again! Even if it wasn't directed at him, but he would take what he could get. You were his first love, after all, he never had a girlfriend or boyfriend in those nine years that he had been apart from you. He couldn't get over you. It hurt him deeply to not be able to get in contact with you, but he didn't have a phone in sixth grade after he moved and after time he forgot he forgot what your phone number was, or really what your parent's phone number was. Both of your parents were friends, but with the distance that grew between them they weren't as close as before and they weren't able to get together since their schedules made it nearly impossible. It was because of that, that you and Jungkook weren't able to see each other, especially since you were busy and focused solely on your school work and weren't able to spend time with your friends.

Jungkook was so glad he was able to finally move back to your shared hometown, he never forgot about you even after all these years. To be at the receiving end of your anger though? It broke his heart, and if he were honest after the days of not seeing you since being invited by Jimin to your dorm the only thing that he found that could have angered you was him not speaking to you for nine years. What an idiot he was for thinking that you could just be friends again after all this time and that you wouldn't be mad at him, he knows he would have! Once he came to this conclusion he smacked himself in the face, scaring his roommate Taehyung, until he explained why he did so.

That's the reason why the three of you currently sat in your favorite cafe. You drank your (f/d) as Taehyung mumbled about and you quote: "woes of painting with acrylics."

If he were a dog, you could picture his ears drooping as he whined out, "it dries so fast! Not to even get into the fact that it's so hard to blend!"

His pouting, you had to admit, was pretty adorable and you let out a giggle hiding your mouth. Jungkook noticed this and his cheeks flushed so much you would have thought that his face would have exploded. Upon noticing this, you could feel his stare, your face flushed even more than his and you tried to hide it by taking a sip of your drink, failing to hide it you might add.

Taehyung, for as silly as he seemed, was very observant and he remembered his friend and roommate's dilemma, so he stood up, gathered his things, left $10 for the waiter for his food and drink, then came up with an excuse to rush out.

"Loved hanging with you both! But forgot about an appointment I had to water my plants! So gotta do this again but gotta go don't wanna disappoint the plants y' know? Ok bye!"

With that he rushed out so fast you would think he was being chased by a rabid dog. You and Jungkook both just sat there, mouths open because you've never seen Taehyung move that fast before in the four years you've known him. Jungkook awkwardly clears his throat, getting your attention immediately and he nervously smiles as you just stare at him, waiting for him to say something. What you weren't expecting though was:

"I'm sorry."

You were blown back a little from surprise and your eyebrows went up.

"I- what?"

He nervously bit his lip and looked down, took a deep breath, then looked you in the eyes with such raw emotion on his face.

"I'm sorry for not getting in touch with you after I moved or during the years where we didn't see each other. I regret not trying harder to get in touch and not visiting sooner or trying to get my parents to visit. I hate myself for not trying harder to be your friend, your best friend. I meant it when I first met you when I said that we always be friends. I've never forgotten about you, I never will forget about you and I understand you're angry, sad, annoyed at me and that's valid. I would feel like the luckiest guy in the world if you would give me the honor of being your friend."

After his little speech, he was breathing hard having done it in one breath and you were just sitting there shocked with tears in your eyes because this is all you wanted. Of course, you were mad at him, you were sad and annoyed, but the sadness is what stayed all these years and to hear the man you love- you're best friend apologizes for his mistake really melted your heart and you almost forgave him on the spot, but you had something to say too.

"I'm sorry too, Jungkook. But… do you know how hard it was to not have my best friend there at all to help me when I needed you the most? It hurt so damn much, I'm glad that I had Seulgi, Jimin, and Taehyung there when you weren't. Even so, I should have tried harder to get in touch too and there is no way that I could say sorry for not trying and I hope you would find it in your heart to forgive me. I forgive you and I would also love to have the honor of being your friend again. Your best friend, again."

With both your confessions and apologies out in the open, there was a moment of silence as you both realized you could never really be mad at each other. Both of you paid for your meals, gathered your belongings and left the cafe into the sunny outside. You spent the rest of the day catching up on what had happened in each of your lives for the past nine years.

"No way! There's is no way you broke Namjoon's nose while playing Wii sports!"

Jungkook laughs at your flabbergasted face and laughs such a boisterous laugh that his head tilts back and he lets out such a beautiful laugh you could live in it forever and grins so wide his face might split.

"I swear on my mom's cooking! I'm surprised he didn't kick me out if the house! He said that it was karma for him breaking my phone in my sophomore year in high school!"

As you both continued walking, his hand slipped into yours which caught you by surprise. All you did though was entwine your fingers with his and continue walking back to the dorms.

The sun shined a little brighter that day and as you both went your respective ways to your dorms after a long day, there was only one thought in both of your heads as you went to bed.

'I love Sunny Days.'

#bangtan #bts fic #jungkook #jungkook x reader #fan fiction #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts

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dxmedstudent · 5 years

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The dilemma I’m 34 and have been in a close friendship group with four other women since university. Our relationship has been a constant comfort, but during the past year I’ve found it incredibly difficult to connect with them as all four have had babies. Suddenly our WhatsApp group looks more like Mumsnet – and I just can’t relate. I don’t know if I want kids or not. My husband puts no pressure on me, but this is bringing out the worst in me. I feel left behind, confused and judgmental as these friends enter motherhood. I feel isolated and incapable of contributing, and when I do I feel disingenuous. I try to widen the conversation, but it always reverts back to babies. I don’t want to lose these people, but I feel marginalised, as if I’m fundamentally missing out on some intensely female purpose. How do I step back without being overly dramatic?

I think this is an interesting topic, and it goes way beyond just kids. This, and other variations of this, will affect your 20s, 30s and beyond. We all experience life milestones differently the older we get, as our lives all go separate ways and we make different choices. You might start off imagining that you and your friends will always be going out all the time, forever, but these things tend to become more difficult with time. And that’s OK. I like the suggestions given in the comments section that the letter writer should see their friends alone, so that the conversation doesn’t default to babies; that’s very practical, and it’s much easier to plan meetups with less people. I also think it’s rpagmatic to accept that these conversations will dominate things sometimes, but that they can also perhaps tell their friends they’d like to change the topic sometimes. I’m quite saddened by people who write that their friends stopped caring aobut them after they had kids, or that they just got new friends when their old ones had kids, because I really can’t see friends as disposable. This person feels left behind, but I hope it’s true, as many people have said, that their new-parent friends will reconnect when they’ve gotten over that initial new baby all-encompassing panic.

I wonder how much of it stems from the letter writer’s own struggles to understand and articulate their feelings about whether they want to have children. It’s OK to be conflicted. In some ways, it reminds me of how some of my friends struggle to process their feelings when confronted with their seemingly happily married friends with kids. They really want to be happy like that, too, and their feelings of envy are human. Deep down, they fear they will never find that kind of happiness, and it makes it hard to be around others.

I find it sad that a lot of the comments advise her to give up on her friends. I think it’s always sensible to make more friends; you’ll gain something different from socialising with people from different stages of your life. And life brings surprises; you never know who you will drift from, and who you will be really close to; I certainly couldn’t have predicted it. But that shouldn’t have to mean ‘giving up’ old friends; there’s no reason they can’t still be a part of their friends lives. Having different interests or priorities doesn’t mean you have to give up entirely, even if it does mean you won’t always be quite as close. But friendships often subtly drift apart for lots of reasons, and ultimately, it’s part of human relationships we need to accept. We won’t be as close to any set of friends as we were when we occupied a classroom, or a dorm, or a workspace etc. As we move on, and spend time with other people, things change. I don’t have a lot of friends who have kids, even though I’m in my 30s; even though I know a lot of women. It’s probably because I came from a school of overachievers and then went on to medicine. Medical women seem to settle down later. So I haven’t had this situation happen to me; I’m not sure I mind because I’ve done my time in paeds and I find kids pretty entertaining. I love when colleagues talk about their kids. Some of my single, childfree friends report that their friends with kids have disappeared, and that it can be hard to socialise with them because their lives are dictated by their children. I think that’s understandable, but I think we can still all work on maintaining a life.The guy I’m seeing has quite a few friends with kids, and they maintain an active social life as a friendship group, even though not all of them have kids, which is lovely. I find that pretty inspiring because they get to have a family but also still enjoy their hobbies and hanging out with their friends; that’s always been a life goal. They all still go on holiday as a group, toddlers in tow! He does point out, though, that socialising has changed a lot in subtle ways now that half his friends have other important priorities. I think that’s understandable, but it’s definitely better than when commenters suggest you abandon your friends who have kids because they can’t do the same stuff you all did 10 years ago. I just feel incredibly sad at the thought of irreperably losing friends. Even when things fade, it’s still worth catching up when you can, and reminiscing about old times. But I don’t think this is all about having children. The truth is, friends can drift a little bit for all sorts of reasons, not just children. Our lives evolve as we go through different experiences, and that changes us and how we interact. For example, My conversations aren’t the same as they were when I was at school; I’ll never be quite as silly as I was as a teen (though my gaming group would probably contest that!). When you’re in uni, a lot revolves around the fun (and trials) of uni. When we graduated, our conversation became focused on work. Medicine is pretty all-consuming. That doesn’t stop us from talking about books and games and the state of the world etc, but it’s definitely true that what we talk about evolves. Only a few of my friends have kids, but if it was more of them, I’m sure that would change, too. I think it’s no different than when you have to deal with a friend gushing about a new love of her life, who can’t help disappearing a little bit because they can’t keep their hands off each other. You can understand why they need to prioritise that time to get to know someone special. Or when a friend has relationship problems and every conversation is about the struggling or dying relationship. Commenters have pointed out that having a baby is a huge life event, no less preoccupying and emotionally massive than divorce or bereavement. When people have their first child, they have to come to terms with having someone’s life in their hands, and it is terrifying and all-consuming.

I’m friends with people from different stages of my life; I still talk to my bestie from primary school regularly. I Talk to school friends. I have friends from both degrees; my gaming group fit in this pile. I have friends from my foundation years. And friends that don’t fit in any of these categories. But that hasn’t been without breakups, and without people just drifting away from all stages of life. I still remember what it was like when my friends all went off to uni, and I was stuck on a gap year I hadn’t wanted; I felt left behind. Add to that geography; everyone went their own way, enjoying exciting new unis and making lots of new friends. Given that a lot of them also moved town, we didn’t always see each other often, but we kept in touch, and our friendships remained string through university. Most recently, some of my school friends have drifted a little since they got married and had to split their time between two sets of friends, but also that also became when they needed to play a bigger part in family and cultural/spiritual life in their communities. And whilst I love them, I understand that this is a part of their life I will never be able to share, and that their priorities may now be a bit different; though we still care for each other and see each other sometimes. Some of my uni friends drifted after some of us got into medicine and some didn’t, and I can see why it was a bit awkward after that, and not helped by us all moving around to different places. I wish I’d made mroe of an effort to keep up with some of my friends, but when you multiply that over several sets of friends, it’s just hard to keep in touch. A lot of the time, geographical distance also makes a difference; it’s common for friends to spread out, particularly if they settle down with a partner. My school friends have done that, and so have my university friends. My friends and I would love to meet more often, if we weren’t scattered around the outskirts of London. I have friends who live in Scotland, and friends who live even further away; in Australia. I check-in with my distant friends pretty often; some of my closest friends are ones I might not even see that often physically. I’m pretty envious of the guy I’m seeing because his friends mostly live fairly locally, I’d kill to be able to see my friends as often as he sees his. But I’m at peace with how things are; we do the best we can, and I value the time we can spend together, even though it does mean all of us playing life-tetris. I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about this more, as the long-term marrieds start to get more serious about having kids, and the single people I know have gotten more serious about dating. No doubt, things will change. If more of us have kids, I don’t even know what it’s going to be like. But life finds a way.

#relationships #life and style #parents and parenting #friendship #family #dxdates #dx dates #this isnt even dating but i dont really have a tag fro friendship #babies #friends #long post

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valeriianz · 5 years

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Coliver prompt!! Connor bullies (not like violent just teasing and making fun of) Oliver because he likes him and doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings. Oliver accepts it because he feels the same way (based off Adam and Eric in sex education)

Why am I becoming addicted to HS AUs? (btw, this isn’t “aw he’s mean to you because he likes you” thats gross) But I tried my best with the trope and had a lot of fun writing this!

“Hey, nerd!”

Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut as he felt his body shoved against the lockers with a loud bang that he was sure no one cared to listen to.

“Hello, Connor.” Oliver opened his eyes to see his tormentor, the same classmate who’d been picking on him since Oliver moved here last year.

Connor stood aggressively close, the only thing between their bodies was Oliver’s backpack, clutched protectively to his chest.

“What’s in the bag?”

Oliver sighed, resigned to his fate as Connor took a step back so Oliver could open his backpack and let Connor peruse it, as usual, lest he be put into the ground.

Connor pulled the bag open wider, grabbing Oliver’s prepacked lunch that his mom had lovingly sent him off with, and then Connor saw something else, hesitating before reaching down in the depths and procuring a chocolate bar.

“Is this Godiva?” Connor had on that horrible smirk.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. “Please, Connor. I’m saving that, my mom—“

Connor’s hand covered Oliver’s mouth harshly, pushing his glasses up his face awkwardly. Connor leaned in real close.

“You got this for me?” Connor asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

Oliver squirmed as Connor’s hand tightened around his jaw, forcing him to nod.

That devilish smirk sharpened, entirely too close to Oliver’s face.

“So sweet of you.”

He released Oliver’s mouth but still remained close as he ripped open the wrapping and slowly slipped the entire piece into this mouth.

Oliver hadn’t realized he’d been watching with his jaw slack until the chocolate was gone, followed by an indecent moan of approval from Connor.

“Y-you’re supposed to savor that.”

Connor’s hand came back up, causing Oliver to flinch but the hand just rested over the side of Oliver’s face, giving him a shake and gently slapping him twice.

“Thanks, freak.”

Connor gave one last shove before sauntering away, not sparing a glance back at his victim.

Oliver sighed in relief, his body relaxing as the shame and frustration washed over him. He looked down into his backpack before zipping it up again and then… leaned back against the lockers while lowering his bag just a few inches.

He was hard.

“I don’t know why you let him get to you like that, Oliver.”

Oliver pushed the mush that was school lunch around on his tray, eyes going sideways to sneak a peek at the topic of their discussion. Connor was sitting on a table surrounded by his friends, other jocks and some cheerleaders giving them too much attention.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Oliver looked back over at Wes. “Whenever I try fighting back I just look like an idiot.”

Oliver straightened up, looking at his friend matter-of-factly. “I know where my place is in this hell hole. I don’t need the extra attention, and I’ll quietly play my part.”

Wes leveled Oliver with an annoyed look.

“You’ll just continue letting him take your lunch and your homework?”

Oliver shrugged. The homework was never an issue, he always made another copy for himself, just in case.

Wes’ hand fell on Oliver’s arm. “You need to stand up for yourself. Do you want to go to college with that mentality?”

Oliver sighed. “Of course not, college will be different. More maturity and other out people.”

Oliver was one of the few kids in his school that was openly gay, though he didn’t flaunt it. And Oliver was pretty positive Connor didn’t pick on him because of that fact, the asshole certainly never called him something derogatory or… slapped his ass in the communal shower.

Wes leaned in close. “But Connor has never actually hit you, right?”

Oliver shook his head. “But his promises are pretty convincing.”

“But also empty.” Wes supplied, poking Oliver’s arm. “Next time he bothers you, just don’t give in. I’m not asking you to punch him,” Wes said quickly when Oliver rolled his eyes. “But just, don’t do anything. See what happens.”

It was a pretty terrifying idea. Not that Oliver was scared of Connor… not really. He more so found him annoying, a thorn in his side. But there was a twinge of fear, not for his physical being but as a junior with one more year left of high school and the labels, jeers, and taunts that Oliver would have to endure until graduation. If he tried standing up to his bully and failed, that would give the student body cause to mock him for the rest of the year and possibly beyond.

Oliver didn’t want that. He liked being the quiet kid, the one no one looked twice at, the one forgotten about in gym class while choosing teams. He didn’t mind that sometimes classmates would forget his name, Oliver liked being invisible. He was actually lucky he only had one bully, and the worst Connor had done was petty thievery and shoving.

Maybe Wes was on to something…

It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, Connor physically imposing himself upon Oliver. Usually Oliver would go days without being pestered, verbal jabs were more common, especially if Connor’s douche friends were around. So it wasn’t until a week had passed that Connor cornered Oliver again, this time outside, while Oliver was making his way to class.

“Hey, glasses!”

Oliver stiffened, but didn’t stop walking, keeping his eyes forward.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Oliver swallowed as Connor’s voice came closer, he could hear his classmate jogging up to him.

A hand fell upon Oliver’s shoulder and forced him to turn around, coming face-to-face with Connor.

Oliver brought his lips in, forcing himself to stare into Connor’s eyes.

“You ignoring me?”

Oliver’s lips parted to answer, but shut them again, keeping quiet.

Connor’s brows furled. “What?”

Oliver continued staring. This probably wasn’t what Wes had in mind by “do nothing,” but fight or flight was failing him, so Oliver could only stand still and wait.

Connor made an agitated sound, looking around and back to Oliver.

“Say something!”

Oliver jumped, startled, and looked down at their shoes. Connor stood maybe a foot away, always so close.

“You… called out to me.” Oliver said, looking back up. As if Connor was the one who needed to explain himself.

Connor’s brows furled. His usual look of cocky arrogance replaced momentarily by something resembling confusion.

“Yeah, so?”

Oliver felt the corner of his mouth lift into a smile. He bit down to keep it from growing and noticed, with an involuntary thrill, how Connor’s eyes flicked down to catch the movement.

Heart pounding in his ears, Oliver pulled his shoulders back, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

“Did you want my attention?”

The late bell rang then. A corner or Oliver’s mind was annoyed that he was now late for class, but the pressing issue was memorizing the utterly baffled look Connor was sporting right now.

Connor made a sound that could have been a scoff. He shoved Oliver sideways and marched passed him.

“Whatever.”

Oliver let out an audible sigh, a nervous breath he had been holding in for faux confidence.

Well, that was interesting… Oliver turned to watch Connor’s retreating figure.

It was probably weird, not to mention pathetic, to have a crush on your bully.

But Oliver had eyes.

Connor was devastatingly gorgeous, lean and toned body of a soccer player, thick dark brown hair that naturally fell into place to always look luscious. And God, his smirk. Connor had never thrown it at Oliver, the sexy one he made at girls in the hall, making them swoon, or teachers to curve his grades. And thank goodness for that cos if the full force of that look was ever directed at Oliver, he’d probably cream his pants.

Was Connor straight? Oliver wasn’t sure. The soccer jock could be seen flirting with girls but had never been seen with one. He seemed comfortable around his male classmates and team mates, never afraid to stand close and give hugs… or maybe Connor was just secure in his sexuality.

Not that Oliver would ever find out, he was sure Connor just liked picking on him for his own amusement.

Though fate had presented Oliver with an opportunity to find out in the form of a class assignment. Oliver had been late to English, one of the few classes he shared with Connor, and so had automatically been assigned to team up with him, as no one else had volunteered.

Oliver was terrified Connor would be one of those slackers who lazed about while their partner did all the work. But after the initial groaning and grumbling from Connor, Oliver was surprised to see the teen starting to contribute.

“You actually read the book?”

Connor aimed a sarcastic look toward Oliver as they studied in the library.

“Of course I did. Did you?”

Oliver rolled his eyes and continued taking notes on his laptop. He felt Connor’s gaze lingering on him, across the table and tried to ignore it, flipping through a few pages in his book.

An awkward silence had fallen, and Oliver could still sense Connor taking periodic looks at him and finally sighed, tilting his head up to address Connor.

“What?”

Connor looked back down at his own copy of the book, speaking quietly.

“Your glasses are about to fall off your nose, idiot.”

Oliver scrutinized Connor, who continued reading, before defiantly pushing his glasses back up his nose.

The bell for class rang and the boys silently gathered their things.

“I can’t keep coming to the library before class,” Connor started, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m so tired the words are blurring together.”

Oliver bit his lip, deliberating and hating what he was about to ask.

“Wanna come over to my place after school?”

He peeked up and saw Connor giving him a dubious expression.

“Your house?”

Oliver sighed, zipping his bag and hefting it from the table.

“Look, I know you hate me,” Oliver paused as Connor’s head ducked and his eyes swiped to the side. “But an hour every other day isn’t enough time to get this finished. Just, don’t be mean to my mom.”

Connor turned to head out the library, Oliver right next to him.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll give you my number and we—“

“I don’t need your fucking number. Just write down your address and I’ll be there whenever.” Connor snapped, turning the corner as soon as they exited the library and stalking off.

What the hell is his deal?

Around five Oliver heard the doorbell ring and raced to the living room before his mom could answer it. He had warned her in advanced that he had a “friend” coming over, though using such an endearing term to describe Connor Walsh left a sour taste in his mouth.

Swinging to door open, Oliver felt an involuntary jolt of pleasure, seeing Connor walk through the threshold of his home.

“Uh, shoes off, please.”

Connor complied without a word, without even looking at Oliver.

“Where’s the shindig?”

“Um…” Oliver led Connor into the living room. “My room? Mom’s making dinner right now and she will distract us if we stay here.” Oliver gestured to the sofa and tried not to feel insulted as Connor tensed up at the Oliver offering his bedroom.

“Oliver!” A small Filipino woman came from the kitchen, looking up at Connor. “This is your friend?”

Before Oliver could open his mouth, Connor gave a small wave and extended his hand. “Connor. You have a really nice home.”

“Oh!” She took Connor’s hand and shook it aggressively, making a grin crack open on Connor’s face and leaving Oliver stunned speechless.

“I hope you stay for dinner. I’m making chicken alfredo.”

“Sounds good.” Connor said, the picture of politeness.

“Mom we’re, uh, going to my room.”

“Okay, have fun you two!”

Oliver brought his lips in, horrified at the implication, and looked forward as he made his way up the stairs, not sparing a glance back to make sure Connor was following.

“Your mom seems nice.” Connor tried, standing awkwardly as Oliver closed the door behind them and sat heavily onto his bed.

So do you, Oliver thought, suspicious.

Instead Oliver gestured for Connor to sit on his computer chair and brought his own legs up to cross them on his bed, opening his backpack.

“So, I have a few ideas for our presentation…”

They worked diligently for a while, Oliver continued to keep a skeptical eye on Connor, who hadn’t insulted him once since entering his house, and even seemed… nicer. He was going along with whatever Oliver said, actually responded and spoke up himself and generally looked more like an approachable human being. It made Oliver very concerned.

He wanted to bring up why Connor was acting like a completely different person, but was too afraid to break whatever spell this was.

Until Connor spoke up first.

“So, where’s your dad?”

Oliver looked over, meeting Connor’s eyes.

“It’s just me and mom. He left us when I was little.” Oliver continued cutting out paper shapes for their poster board. They had moved to the floor and sat across from each other, pieces of their project surrounding them.

“That sucks, sorry.”

Oliver shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work.

He saw Connor tapping a glue stick against his thigh.

“My mom died a couple years ago.”

Oliver’s head snapped up, catching Connor’s eyes flick to the floor.

“Dad’s still not over it.”

Oliver didn’t know what to say. A primal, instinctive urge to protect himself held him back from opening up to Connor and show emotion. Why was Connor asking about his family and suddenly dropping his own tragedy as if they shared personal stories all the time? They weren’t friends. They were barely classmates. Connor had such a vendetta against Oliver for no reason, he’d never even noticed Connor bullying anyone else in school. Sure he was rude to some kids and acted like a complete jerk when his dumb friends were around, but Oliver was convinced Connor only physically came after him. Why all this chit chat?

“Why are you talking to me?”

Connor looked over, brows furled. Oliver swallowed, sure he’d unleashed the beast now.

“What?”

“Like, why are you telling me this? We’re not friends.”

Connor looked down again, fiddling with the glue stick.

He scoffed. “Guess not.”

Connor went quiet again, getting back to work. Oliver sat silent, watching him.

What the fuck?

“Boys! Dinner’s ready!” Oliver’s mom announced through the floorboards.

Again, Connor was the prime example of politeness at dinner. He answered all of Oliver’s mom’s questions, provided conversation of his own, and Oliver felt like his brain was going to explode from the confusion.

Oliver told Connor to leave after that. He couldn’t take the madness anymore.

“Hey,” Connor turned to face Oliver in the doorway, arm resting on the frame. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you at school, I won’t do it anymore.”

Oliver cocked an eyebrow. He checked behind him and stepped forward, causing Connor to walk backwards onto the porch as Oliver closed the door behind them.

“If this is a trick—“

“It’s not.” Connor insisted, hands out. “I’m just… a little lost right now, and I had been taking it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Oliver studied Connor’s eyes: wide, innocent, hopeful. It’s a look Oliver had never seen the other boy give.

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, crossing his arms. He hated being empathetic. But if Connor was telling the truth that would explain his behavior today. Maybe he was just different at school to uphold an image or to protect himself… Oliver hated giving excuses for people.

Connor shrugged, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

“I…” His eyes flicked up to Oliver’s and down to his shoes, shuffling a bit.

“You’re really cute.”

Oliver’s eyes blew wide. Connor’s hand flew up to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly.

“Bye.” He turned and stumbled down the stairs towards his car.

Oliver stayed rooted to the spot, even after Connor had driven away.

“He said what?” Wes demanded as they walked to class together.

“I’m just as surprised as you.”

Truthfully, Oliver hadn’t slept much that night, repeating Connor’s words over and over again in his brain until he felt like stabbing himself.

“Have you seen him yet?”

Oliver shook his head. But it was only second period, anything could happen.

“You think it’s a prank?” Wes continued grilling Oliver.

“Eh…” Oliver thought back to how honest and vulnerable Connor had seen. It was such a stark contrast to how the teen normally behaved that it led Oliver to believe, after stewing on it all night, that Connor was being truthful.

But Oliver also didn’t want to delude himself into thinking someone who looked like Connor could ever believe he was “cute.”

“Oh shit, there he is.”

Oliver looked up to see the subject of their gossiping approach, alone and without the usual mischievous look on his face.

They stopped as Connor advanced on them, though it didn’t feel threatening.

“Hey Oliver,” he looked over to Wes and so missed the flabbergasted expression that nearly floored Oliver at the teen using his actual name.

“And, Wes, right?”

It was almost comedic how Oliver and Wes looked at each other and back to Connor.

“Yes…” Wes hedged, shifting to stand closer to Oliver.

“Um,” Connor’s eyes darted between the two of them before landing on Oliver.

“Can I talk to you, after school?”

Oliver took in Connor’s seemingly insecure stance and his pleading eyes, opening his mouth to answer, but was interrupted.

“Yo, Walsh!”

They all turned to see a group of jocks, Connor’s friends, come out from the building and approach them.

“Shit,” Connor mumbled, shuffling nervously. “After school, under the bleachers, please?”

And he left, dodging the team’s direction away from the pair of confused boys.

After a moment, Oliver and Wes continued to class, the latter’s jaw nearly hitting the ground.

“You going?”

Oliver clutched his books close to his chest. His mind was racing and honestly whatever this was it was happening too fast.

“Probably.”

“Want me to come with?”

Oliver only thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”

After waiting ten minutes after the final bell, Oliver was beginning to think he’d been duped. Connor hadn’t changed and this was all an elaborate prank. He kicked around the dirt and sighed, jumping up to a pole and swinging distractedly back and forth.

Did Oliver even want to try anything with Connor if the teen was telling the truth? Sure Oliver thought Connor was annoyingly beautiful, but his attitude and the way he treated Oliver obviously stunted whatever other feelings could have grown. Did that stop Oliver from the occasional sex dream and fantasy that played out behind his eye lids after dark? Of course not.

It was curious, now that Oliver thought about it, how close Connor always got to Oliver when he was picking on him. It was probably meant to elicit intimidation but if Oliver- or anyone- took away the name calling and threatening position, Connor’s scare tactics looked a lot like… flirting.

Oliver blanched at the thought, but a pleasant tingle warmed his stomach at the idea of Connor’s hands on Oliver, his mouth close enough to taste, and his body against him producing heat between them.

It certainly wasn’t like the bullying Oliver got at his old school, nor did it resemble anything he’d ever seen the other jocks partake in… did that excuse Connor’s actions? Obviously not, but after yesterday and Connor’s confession, Oliver had to wonder…

“Oliver?”

Gasping loud enough to be a shriek, Oliver released the pole he was swinging from and fell to the ground, surprised and now mortified as Connor came over to help, dusting him off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He was smiling and Oliver felt his knees wobble.

“I wasn’t—“ Oliver started, fixing his glasses, and stopped, looking down at his hands and popping his knuckles. “What do you want?”

Connor rubbed the back of his neck again, leaving his hand there as he spoke.

“I meant what I said, yesterday.”

They looked at each other, Oliver’s mind racing again.

“Your words and your actions are very contradicting.”

“I know,” Connor brought his hand down to stuff both into his pockets. “I’ve never liked a boy before though… I’ve never liked anyone before.” He shrugged and Oliver ignored the sharp jab to his chest at Connor admitting he liked him.

“I was confused, I guess. I knew I wanted to talk to you or, anything… but every time I looked at you, I got so nervous. The guys just flirt with girls and I couldn’t do that, I don’t know why…” Connor babbled, an arm coming out wide with a frustrating flourish.

Oliver stood silent, watching, listening.

“It’s stupid to explain myself, I guess. I have no excuse… I kind of fail at human emotions.”

Oliver wet his lips.

“If you liked me, why did you keep picking on me?”

“I don’t know… my dad calls it ‘tough love’ which I know is stupid. And the guys—we all push each other around and wrestle—not that I’d ever wrestle you…”

A silence passed between them, both occasionally meeting each other’s eyes but mostly looking around instead.

“So… now what?” Oliver asked softly, anxious.

Connor took a deep breath. “Now…” He studied Oliver’s face.

“I’d like to start over. As friends, if you’d like.”

A grin broke out on Oliver’s face. “Friends?”

Connor matched the grin, his more of a smirk. “Well, I’d like more than that but I don’t wanna push anything.”

Oliver didn’t say anything, just took a slow inhale as Connor took a hesitant step forward, reaching a hand out and carefully touching Oliver’s arm.

“I don’t mind a little pushing.” Oliver said, smiling goofily at the responding snort from Connor.

“Yeah?” And Connor’s hands became sure around Oliver’s wrist, grabbing forcefully and pulling Oliver to press flush against his front, arms a snare around Oliver’s middle.

Gasping sharply, Oliver’s arms immediately wound themselves around Connor’s shoulders.

“I’m worried what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Connor smirked wickedly, that old confident swagger reappearing but directed in a more sensual way, making Oliver’s heart perform numerous back flips.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be real good.”

#coliver #connor walsh #oliver hampton #htgawm #WOW THIS IS LONG #also im now on episode 4 of Sex Ed and its amazing #i definitely recommend it #thanks anon!#hope you like it!#Anonymous

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dragonleesupporter · 5 years

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My First Story Ever! (First of the Paradigm Series): The Meet {WARNING: TRIGGERS}

Paradigm is a world of anthropomorphic wolfish creatures called greckens that live in a medieval-styled era where females are dominant and males are generally enslaved and treated as inferior.

This whole world was created and published here with a little inspiration from thetickleraven’s He Came From the Woods AU, so go check them out! This would not exist without them!

Critique is appreciated as this is my first story ever on this social media! If you have suggestions or requests, feel free to tell or ask me!

{TRIGGER WARNINGS: This series will cover some adult, hard-to-swallow topics and includes some cursing, but some stories will be entirely cute, fluffy stuff. Just watch for the warnings! This first one starts with some traumatic flasbacks, so I’ll give this one a warning for those sensitive to that kind of thing.}

The purple Grecken stood, hunched over and held in place by his binds as his heart raced. He could hear footsteps behind him as he desperately yanked on his confinements. More footsteps… He pleaded to deaf ears as he could hear the sound of metal on metal rise over the murmurs of disapproval.

The dark basement that surrounded him was filled with the blood of past victims, yellow filling his eyes and a dreadful stench filling his nose. Through the cracks in the wall, he could see a million tiny white eyes gazing hungrily as a hoard of flesh-eating insects cleaned their mandibles in anticipation.

“P-please! Don’t cut them! I’ll be a good boy! PLEASE! I’LL BE GOOD!” He shrieked, eyes popping out his skull as he saw the glint of a blade approaching from the shadows.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re good or not. I want you here and now, and you must be in an acceptable form for the alchemists.” A deep, loathing voice sounded from behind him. Ritah’s voice. “Give me and my girlfriends a good laugh, and quit squirming!!”

“NO! PLE-”

The blade came down.

“AH!” Alo woke with a start, nearly falling out of the tree he was in.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the remainder of the screams echoing in his mind. His dreams always consisted of small reminders. Like why he can’t be seen, why he can’t go back, … and why he can’t fly… That had been the second worst day of his life. The first worst day in question was the day he escaped…

Another flaskback.

Working out on the field with alchemists bound to come for him any day to study his “unnaturality.” Handling back-breaking work alongside his father and other males Ritah had bought. Farming, cleaning, organizing, and pampering Ritah and her girlfriends… he was just a child at the time.

The day following the removal of his wings, he was sent back out to the field. His father saw what had happened to him and pulled him aside when the girls weren’t looking.

“Look here.” He said, placing his bruised hands together. “When I had my wings cut, the day after, I got a short spurt of energy due to the traumatic event. It’s biological… Sadly, I didn’t use it, and here I am. When your spurt comes, RUN. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing or where you are. Take advantage of that adrenaline! This energy comes very rarely. If you’re going to escape, it’s got to be today. You’ll be able to outrun them.”

“B-but what if they catch me?!” The purple child quivered and squeaked, the very thought of trying to run away made him shake with fear.

“They won’t. Now get out there before they realize you’re gone.” His father ushered him out of the bush quickly and got back to hoeing the new garden.

Several hours later, when Alo’s burst of energy came while he was moving bales of hay in the barn, he hesitated. It felt as though all of his insides were vibrating as he sat there, shivering and twitching. Then, with a breath, he sprinted. He ran as fast as his beaten legs would carry him out the barn door, his feet slamming the hard ground and his breath sporadic.

“HEY! GET THAT BRAT!” He heard Ritah howl infuriatedly behind him from the fields, the fire in her chest audible in her wild screeches.

“No! You leave him be!” His fathers voice echoed before an ear-piercing shriek cut through the air sharper than an axe, making Alo run even faster.

“Keep going Alo! Don’t look back! DON’T LOOK BACK!” His father’s voice faded into nothing but incoherent wailing as the poor child dove through a small gap in the barbed fence. It ripped the skin on his shoulders and face, but he didn’t care. His whole body was strangely numb as he forced himself deeper into the woods, all the screaming and yelling slowly disappearing behind him.

That had been the worst... and also technically best day of Alo’s life. The day that had granted him freedom, but also the day he lost his father. He knew his dad didn’t live a day after that, since his contributions to his escape was the equivalent to a death penalty. Alo only knew that because of what happened to his uncle, but that was the third worst day of his life, and the purple Grecken had done enough self-reflecting for the morning. He was hungry!

…

“One lame apple, two slices of filthy bread, and a swig from the river. Perfectly healthy breakfast.” The thief murmured sarcastically under his breath while he ate what was really a brunch.

He found himself walking along the river several hours later as his mind wandered. Of course, he was always aware of his surroundings, looking around frantically in case anybody saw him and his “unnaturality,” but it was good to just let himself think for a while before he had to find his next meal. Every day he would travel toward the rising sun, away from where he came from. The thief didn’t know for how long he had traveled since his escape, all he knew was that he couldn’t stop. Not until he knew he was truly safe from Ritah… his mother…

He sighed peacefully as he made his way under a bridge, the shade cooling the boiling hot sun that had eaten at him for past hour. With Alo unable to go into the water next to him, he was certainly grateful. In fact, he was so grateful that he didn’t realize the gold tracing the bricks in the construction.

“Hey! What are you doing down there?!” A deep voice shouted from the bridge he had just wandered under as he passed through to the other side. “You’re on royal ground, peasant!”

Alo looked up, surprised that his lack of focus had landed him in the sights of a castle guard. He always hated guards, they were so snotty and stuck-up and whenever they saw him, they’d chase him. One of the main nuisances that Alo had to deal with on a weekly of not daily basis.

“Oh no! I’m breathing royal air?! Fuck you!” Alo shouted back and was about to run before he realized…

“Wait… a male guard?? That NEVER happens! What kingdom am I in?!” He thought as the guard fumed red.

“I’ll have you know such things are not tolerated in Dujokah!” The, now red, grecken flung himself off the bridge and into the forest to chase after Alo who had already started sprinting to the next bridge to cross over.

“Well, I guess that’s one question answered.” Alo thought as he dashed across the bridge and into thick brush where he couldn’t be seen.

After breaking through to the other side of the bushes, the thief jumped a couple brick walls for good measure. He silenced his panting and waited, until he was certain that he wasn’t followed. Aware he could very well be surrounded by guards unbeknownst to him, the purple grecken made a beeline for the castle before him, knowing that if the guard behind him couldn’t clear the walls he just jumped, no one would be able to reach him on top of the castle.

The castle was easy to climb for the escape artist, but he realized a small flaw in his plan. Castles weren’t like huts or bars. They had sharp roofs that the thief couldn’t sit on and would likely either slide off of or pierce himself on the pointy tops. Luckily, there was a balcony just above him. After a cautious glance over the edge and realizing no one was inside the room that led out the balcony, the thief made his way onto the upper tier, just to see a dresser covered in makeup and jewels, as well as a royal bed and a whole-body mirror in the room connected to ledge.

“Shit!” He thought. “This must be a princess room! I’m so dead!”

He turned to leave but part of him whispered.

“No… get a jewel first.”

“Nah… I don’t need it.”

“Neither does the bitch who has it.”

“It’s not mine to take! I don’t take what I don’t need!”

“Come on… you know you want it.”

“No!”

“Aaaaargh.” Alo growled and simply sat on the balcony armrest, looking down at the confused guards as they searched around for him several stories below… almost ALL of them male…

“What a strange place...” He murmered.

Alo decided to look up and felt his heart skip a beat. The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, casting an array of reds and oranges onto the valleys just below it, and a wide selection of purples that stretched across the sky, the smallest specks of stars just coming into view…

“Hello?” Suddenly came a voice, making the thief nearly fall of the ledge.

Alo spun around and saw what he thought was a princess until he took a closer look.

“WHY ARE YOUR EYES GREY?!”

“WHY ARE YOU A GUY?!”

Both shrieked at the same time and pointed at each other fearfully...

“A prince??” Alo thought as the other Grecken cautiously stepped forward.

Yes… a very… attractive… prince. The grecken had golden fur with light blue eyes and white fur in the hollows of his ears. He wore a white, golden-laced, jeweled suit accompanied by light blue tights and sashes to match his eyes, golden shoulder plates, white shoes, a golden-laced dark teal cape, and of course, his crown.

The prince looked at the stranger for a moment. Alo was a dark purple grecken with grey fur at the hollows of his ears as well as strange grey eyes. All he wore was a patchy dark blue hoodie and slightly loose jeans with bare feet gripping the railing.

“What in Seah’s name are you doing on my balcony?” He huffed after returning to the present moment.

“Okay… we got two options…” Alo thought to himself. “Tell him the truth, or fuck with him… hmmm. Let’s confuse the hell out of this bastard.”

The purple grecken suddenly grew a sly smile.

“Oh, you know. Just enjoying the view. But now I guess it’s been ruined with a royal pain giving me THAT look.” Alo pointed at the prince’s face, who seemed surprised at his sudden change in attitude. “But if you want me to leave, that’s fine.” Alo shrugged nonchalantly and jumped off the upper tier.

Unknown to the startled prince, Alo had just latched himself onto the wall below the balcony to see what he would do.

“Oh Seah!” He heard a frantic cry and footsteps rush to the edge as the strange golden grecken peeked his head over the ledge and blicked multiple times in disbelief, his mouth hanging wide open. “H-how are you doing that?” The prince raised an eyebrow, looking down at the, now smirking, hooded grecken.

“I’m just holding onto a wall! But if you think THAT’S impressive…” Alo continued to spin and flip and launch himself all over the wall, never slipping an inch. All the years of him climbing walls while dodging guard’s arrows sure had become a skill of his.

When he looked back up, he was surprised at the awe-stricken gaze he received.

“That was amazing!” The golden Grecken started to hop up and down as the boards supporting the balcony creaked slightly and dust fell from the bottom.

“Woah, there. Careful. That balcony isn’t necessarily ‘new.’” The thief slid out from underneath the structure.

“That WAS an amazing show, but I will not take orders from a peasant! You still owe me at LEAST an apology for breaking into my room, considering if you haven’t stolen anything! Even though I doubt you would, you NEED to apologize!” The prince suddenly got sassy and slightly childish, choosing to stamp his foot repeatedly to prove his point.

SNAP.

The prince opened his eyes to see a purple face looking at him with worry, but as soon as their eyes met, the stranger’s expression morphed into a cocky smile.

“Now you owe me a thank you.” He hoisted the golden one back onto what was left of the balcony.

“W-Well… I-I-I-I guess we’re even…” The prince, flustered, crossing his arms.

“I suppose I should be more thankful to meet a PRINCE instead of princess. I’d be long dead by now if I were caught in a princess’s room.” Alo shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s me. Shasta the Prince… the only prince.” The golden grecken looked down slightly with what looked like… sadness? But then it was wiped off as he turned back to the stranger, excitement taking it’s place.

“Shasta, huh?” Alo raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Shasta the PRINCE. The HEIR, if you will. Who may you be?” Shasta tried to act mad or professional, but couldn’t help his tail wagging slightly at the thought that he was actually meeting someone outside his castle walls.

“Alo the Unwanted.” The hooded figure chuckled slightly at his own self-deprecating joke just to receive a sharp gasp from Prince Shasta.

“You aren’t unwanted! There’s got to be someone who wants you with them!” Shasta’s eyes started to look sad again. “Say… I think you’re quite cool! ... If not a little rude...”

“Really?” Alo tried to hold back a hopeful smile that was fighting its way onto his face.

“Yes!”

“Well, that’s nice to hear.” Alo suddenly realized that he had just had a full conversation with a royal heir and had given him his NAME. He was supposed to be invisible! He couldn’t go around giving his identity out to handso- STUBBORN royal blood! He had to get out of there!

“I got to get going now.” Alo, tried to hide his face as he started to climb back down the wall, afraid his newfound acquaintance would definitely give his location away to others who wanted to study or imprison him.

“Wait! A-Alo, right? Will I see you again?” The prince called out hopefully.

“N-no… I don’t think so.” Alo kept his face hidden and continued to climb down.

“Pleeeeaaase? I’ll be here tomorrow at this time!” Alo paused for a moment. Had a prince really just… pleaded for him not to leave?

“Nah. You’re not worth my time. Next time you’ll see me I’ll most likely be in shackles… farewell… Prince Shasta.”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving a whimpering prince to morn his empty space.

“H-he’ll come back.” Shasta forced on a smile and looked into the sky that was being filled with more and more stars. The same sky he had stared at his whole life. “He’s got to come back… a-and he will. I can feel it.” He could feel doubt rising inside him like a bubble of uncertainty, but tried to ignore it as he forced back tears to smile at the beautiful sky.

“I’m not going back.” Alo repeated to himself over and over as he snuck into a closed food market, slipping his hands into small cubbies and becoming a rock whenever someone walked by, tucking into his hoodie and rolling into a ball. “I’m not going back… I’m not going back.”

Alo climbed a tree and settled into a branch and sighed to himself, frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t seem to get the prince out of his head.

“I’m going back, aren’t I?”

#ParadigmSeries

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justmenoworries · 5 years

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Ho boy, that sure was....something. Look, I’ll be honest: Chapter 5 of Bendy and the Ink Machine kinda disappointed me. There were just...so many loose ends and things that flat-out didn’t make any sense?

Also, I know it’s been literal months since the release, but I really needed to get this off my chest.

(Just a heads-up: since I don’t own chapter 5 myself yet, I’m using screenshots from Jacksepticeye’s playthrough of it. You can watch the original video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5KnheYXreE)

1. Allison and Tom, a.k.a. “Can I have Wally!Boris back, please?”

Chapter 4 left us on a major cliffhanger with it’s final shot of another Alice (who’s name, dataminers found out, was Allison) and another Boris with a metal arm rescuing Henry from Susie!Alice. Seeing that there were good versions of the cartoon characters, like many theorists suspected, definitely hyped us up for more.

And then the Chapter 5 - trailer came up and solidified that hype by showing Henry seemingly fighting side by side with Allison!Alice. It very much looked like we were getting not one, but two new companions. The short scene of Allison fighting the Lost Ones also followed a brief interaction between Allison and Henry that got fans to bring out the tinfoil-hats:

Allison: “Henry....why are you here?” Henry: “The Ink Demon has something we need. I’m going after him.

It sounded like we were in for an adventure of epic proportions in Chapter 5 with two new allies having our back. Definitely a welcome mix-up of the previous rather lonely chapters. What we got, however was....not that..

Chapter 5 begins with Henry being held prisoner by Allison and Tom. Since before the original release there were a bunch of tape-videos on the Meatley’s youtube-channel that implied as much, with Henry referring to Allison and Tom as his captors. So this wasn’t really a surprise. What was, however, was Allison’s and Tom’s actual roles in the overall story. Which is to say: Almost none. Allison and Tom leave Henry to be killed by an approaching Ink Demon, only to miraculously show up out of nowhere at the end of the Sammy Mini-boss fight and the start of the Searcher/Lost Ones battle. These battles are another can of worms in and of themselves, but I’ll talk about each of them later.

Apart from the battle against the Ink Creatures and one minor obstacle later on, Allison and Tom have no real purpose in this chapter. Allison merely serves as an exposition dump for things a lot of fans had figured out already (Sammy being in charge of the Lost Ones, Ink creatures who die going back to the puddles, the writing on the walls coming from the Searchers) and Tom....Tom was kind of the worst.

For reasons that are neither implied nor explained later Tom greatly distrusts Henry at the start of the chapter. He threatens him physically whenever they so much as see each other,

denies him food behind Allison’s back

and even goes so far as to convince Allison to leave Henry to die.

This is sort of addressed by Allison’s small speech at the start in which she explains that down in the studio, strangers aren’t really “good things” and that Tom thinks that Henry is “dangerous”.

Henry: “Are you gunna let me out of here?” Allison: “Down here, strangers aren’t good things. How can we trust you?”

Henry: “Alice... please let me out of here.” Allison: “Tom thinks you’re dangerous.”

However upon further scrutiny that argument really doesn’t hold any water. When Allison and Tom first meet Henry, he has just narrowly escaped being murdered by Susie!Alice. He also makes no move to attack them or even defend himself. So what reason would they (or rather: Tom) have to think that he was dangerous? Henry isn’t an Ink creature and is obviously lucid. And furthermore, if they really distrust him that much, why save him from Susie!Alice in the first place? Why not just let her kill him and go on their way? They clearly don’t even care for him enough to at least give him a chance to escape his prison before they save their own sorry butts.

Yet for whatever reason their opinion of him does a sudden 180° right after the Sammy-fight. Tom is now somehow convinced that Henry won’t hurt them, enough to save him from Sammy

and hand him a weapon,

and Allison seems to have completely forgotten that she and Tom literally left this man for dead mere hours ago. She approaches him so nonchalantly, it’s honestly kind of insulting.

Say what you want about Wally!Boris, but even though he may have been a bit of a coward, he at least still stayed behind to help an injured Henry when the elevator collapsed - at the cost of his own life, might I add. And his presence in the story was of great importance. Thanks to him we found out a lot about how the Ink Machine works and the puddles and Ink-creatures themselves.

So companion-wise, Allison and Tom really were a bit of a downgrade.

And story-wise?

Like I said, Allison and Tom don’t actually add much to the overall story of Bendy and the Ink Machine beyond exposition. Their personalities are rather stale compared to the other characters we have met along the way. Which really is a pity, since the trailer hyped them up so much.

2. Sammy’s return a.k.a “What, that’s it?”

Sammy Lawrence has become a real fan-favorite since his debut in Chapter 2. A fact theMeatley was clearly aware of. Sammy, much like Allison and Tom, was hyped up a lot prior to chapter 5. There was whole special event involving him at the Hot Topic’s Twitter, where he answered questions while simultaneously leaving cryptic hints and implications about what was really going on. Chapter 3 had an easter-egg where you could hear his voice by playing a couple of instruments in just the right order. Due to all the fuzz made around the character, a lot of people had speculated that he might come back in a later chapter.

They would be proven right, but...well...

When Sammy did show up again he was....different. For once he had clearly undergone a voice actor-change and moved up a few nudges on the crazy scale, screeching about how the Ink Demon betrayed and abandoned him, even though he “gave him everything”.

And after a brief scuffle with Henry he just...dies again.

After all the foreshadowing, all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge done by the creators this was a really disappointing way to make Sammy come back. Much like our new “companions” Sammy doesn’t really contribute anything to the story. Not even additional lore. He shows up quite literally out of nowhere and into nowhere he also seems to vanish again. Neither Henry nor Allison refer to him or at least mention him after the fight. With as big of a role as he played in Chapter 2, you’d think Henry would make a bit more of a fuzz about the guy coming back. But he just...stays silent during the whole fight, saying nothing about Sammy’s miraculous revival or even trying to deny the accusations Sammy throws at him throughout the battle. The battle itself is incredibly confusing from a story standpoint. Sammy attacking Henry while simultaneously declaring his hatred of the Ink Demon who abandoned him comes off as more than a bit nonsensical.

If Sammy’s rage is directed at Inky!Bendy, why would he want to hurt Henry?

Does he think Henry is Bendy?

Why?

He didn’t seem to have any trouble recognizing Henry as an outsider the first time they met.

It’s even implied he remembers him to a certain extent.

Sammy: “Wait! You look familiar to me. That face...”

Perhaps the most frustrating part about this encounter, is a line of Allison’s that comes right before the group is attacked by the citizens of the Lost One’s village:

Allison: “The searchers and the Lost Ones built this place. Sammy must have been keeping them at bay. Now that he’s gone-”

This is genuinely interesting.

Not only does this confirm that Sammy was, indeed, the leader of the Lost Ones, but that their passive behavior was due to him. For whatever reason the Lost Ones and the Searchers trusted and obeyed him enough to follow his orders and under his guidance apparently even managed to built a small, safe haven for themselves.

Now that Henry and Tom killed off the person who was most likely the only slight glimmer of hope they had, they’re understandingly pretty pissed.

But just like so many other interesting plot points throughout the game, this idea just gets pushed aside.

After the team leaves the village, they never encounter either the Lost Ones or the Searchers ever again.

How much more engaging would it have been if we had actually delved into this a bit?

If we’d actually learned more about who Sammy was, how he came to be what he is by the time we find him first in chapter 2 and how and why the Lost Ones and the Searchers trusted him so much?

If we’d gotten a bit of backstory on the village and maybe the Lost Ones opinion of Sammy and what he did for them?

But alas, it was not meant to be.

Speaking of which...

3. The Lost Ones and the Searchers a.k.a ” We’ve had an axe-fight in every chapter so far and by Golly, we will have one in this chapter too!”

Yeaaah, I did not care for the battle against those guys...

I mean, the fact that Henry would end up fighting them (together with Allison) was already set in stone since the trailer showed a brief glimpse of the battle.

But the way in which it was executed....

A lot of theorists speculated that the reason the Lost Ones would attack would be because of either:

Allison being another Alice Angel. Chapter four had already established that the Lost Ones feared and probably even despised Susie!Alice and for good reason. Susie!Alice was a homicidal maniac obsessed with beauty who had canonically murdered other Ink creatures in order to repair herself. Why wouldn’t the Lost Ones try to stay as far away from her as possible? And why wouldn’t they assume that this new Alice wouldn’t be any better in terms of personality?

The Lost Ones being part of the Bendy-cult. Also a pretty reasonable explanation, since their lair Henry finds in chapter four has the words “He will set us free” scrawled on the walls. The very same mantra Sammy Lawrence, the self proclaimed prophet of Bendy used quite frequently. As such, they’d obviously try and gain the attention of the creature they believed would save them by taking care of its enemies.

But the real reason was....a lot more tragic and disappointing.

Remember this line?

Allison: “Sammy must have been keeping them at bay. Now that he’s gone-”

This line being said right before you murder a bunch of Lost Ones and Searchers carries two incredibly problematic implications.

The first one being that Allison and Tom knew (or suspected anyway) that Sammy was the reason the Lost Ones weren’t hostile at first, yet Tom proceeded to kill him anyway instead of just knocking him out or holding him hostage.

Why would he do that if he knew him, Allison and Henry would be attacked the second Sammy dies? Is Tom just so bloodthirsty and violent that he doesn’t care about even Allison’s safety? Though considering what we’ve seen of him so far, that wouldn’t really be a surprise.

And secondly, that the Lost Ones are (or were) violent beasts that need Sammy to keep them in check and whom it’s totally okay to mercilessly slaughter. That’s... quite a bit of a contradiction to previous plot points and implications.

Let’s start with the Searchers, or rather one Searcher: Jack Fain. Jack Fain is the only non-aggressive Searcher you ever come across in the entire game. The most he ever does is steal a piece of machinery that Henry needs. And even that’s not out of malicious intent, but rather a childish way to get Henry’s attention. The way you deal with Jack is rather brutal: Since he’s too fast for Henry to catch, you lure him underneath a large crate and then crush him with it. Even Henry doesn’t feel comfortable doing this.

Henry: “Sorry I had to do that. Nice hat though.”

The tragic implication here, is that Searchers don’t necessarily have to be violent monsters. They can be self-aware enough to keep parts of their old personality. Jack only steals the gear because he wants Henry to sing with him. Why? Because Jack used to be a lyricist and singing was a thing he really loved. The most important part to remember here is that Jack did all of this himself. By the time you go after him, Sammy is nowhere in sight. And even if he was nearby, it’s highly unlikely he would order Jack to involve Henry in a pointless game of tag, since Henry is supposed to be a sacrifice to the Ink Demon. Then there’s the matter of the Lost Ones. It’s never really explained in-universe what they are and why they’re so different from the Searchers in that they have somewhat stable bodies, can talk and hide together instead of drifting aimlessly through the ink. However the game heavily implies that the Lost Ones are former workers who had the misfortune of being swept up in Joey Drew’s machinations and ending up as abominations as a result. Or put simply: they were bystanders who got transformed into monsters through no fault of their own.

When Henry encounters them in Chapter 4 they don’t....really do anything. They just stand and sit around in their hide-out, whimper and let him pass.

But come Chapter 5 they seem to have undergone a personality-change and are now just as violent as the more monstrous Searchers, even though the existence of the town and the haven clearly implies some form of intelligence beyond instinct.

The most plausible explanation for that would be rage and a desire for revenge due to Sammy’s murder but if they really cared so much for him, why didn’t they help him in his fight with Henry? Did he tell them not to? If so, why? Were they simply too scared to intervene? But they don’t seem to have any problems with fighting Allison, Tom!Boris and Henry. Wouldn’t it have made more sense if they’d ganged up on Henry when he was alone, but gotten more hesitant when Allison and Tom arrived to help him?

The point I’m trying to make is, the fight against the Searchers and the Lost Ones is incredibly out of sync with what we’ve been shown about them so far and opens up a ton of plot-holes and unfortunate implications and I really wish theMeatley had integrated it better.

4. The Ending a. k. a. “Ummm, what???”

Look, I get it: Ending a horror-game on an ambiguous, slightly ominous note is basically tradition by this point.

But come on!

Absolutely nothing about the ending in BatIm makes any sense whatsoever and it reeks of putting in a Gainax ending just for the sake of it. Apparently the whole adventure was a dream/hallucination/metaphor about how things slowly but surely went downhill in Joey Drew Studios after Henry left, but also not really, because the final scene before the credits is Henry re-entering the studio through a side door in Joey’s kitchen, seemingly having no memory of what happened before that point.

This ending was unsatisfying as hell (pun not intended).

It left the majority of the games’ mysteries unsolved, lazily slapped a Dorothy angle on the whole thing and then ended by implying the cliché of clichés: time travel. The face reveal with Joey also comes right out of nowhere. Joey is just...there.He goes on a bit about how Henry was always the one who kept him from doing stupid shit (like sacrificing people) and running the company into the ground, laments how unkind time has been to him and ends his tangent with an enigmatic remark about how Henry “should have pushed a little harder” and that he should “visit the old workshop”. Cue the above described time-travel implication.

And then there’s an after-credit scene where we learn that

1. Henrys’ last name is ‘Stein’ (haha, get it?)

2. Additionally to being a dream/hallucination/metaphor BatIm’s plot is also apparently a bedtime story that Joey’s telling a little girl who calls him “Uncle Joey”

3. There is a second Ink Machine in Joey’s real-life home for....whatever reason.

This all kinda looks like pure sequel hook. Which is incredibly fishy and disappointing.

Overall, I loved Bendy and the Ink Machine as a game. The story was engaging (at least in chapters 1-4) and the characters apart from maybe a few were entertaining.

But chapter 5 just...doesn’t sit well with me.

#batim #batim spoilers #bendy and the ink machine #allison pendle #boris the wolf #batim henry #batim chapter 5 #batim chapter five #tom boris #alice angel #joey drew #bendy the dancing demon #batim ending #batim screenshots #ink demon

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20thcentutygeek · 3 years

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How 'Ted Lasso' helped me take a look at myself

Heads up there are a few spoilers for Ted Lasso season two in this blog.

The TV show Ted Lasso is an oddity. The concept isn’t something I should be interested in, and on paper it shouldn’t work. I’m not a fan of football in the slightest, and it being based on a series of comedy commercials, history tells us it should have become a series of shallow jokes about a fish out of water. It should have failed with the first season. However, it has become a phenomenon, and rightfully so. In a world divided, confused, and scared for the future comes a show that is willing to wear its heart on its sleeve and be a positive force.

That’s not to say it’s devoid of conflict or that its saccharine in its chirpy happiness. What makes Ted Lasso special is its honesty. Often when that term is used for a TV show, it’s a hard hitting drama about the worst life has to offer. While I appreciate those shows are important, showing a glimpse of how some people are forced to live, I do believe the incessant grimness has been a contributing factor in the global emotional and psychological decline. Oddly contributing to further despair, without providing suggestions for a solution.

I will acknowledge that Ted Lasso is about a football club and people that earn millions of pounds. However, it doesn’t dwell on rich people problems, or diminish the people that aren’t in the same tax bracket. The football and the money are barely a consideration or a factor in the show. Yes, they inform elements and the framing but at its heart its about people from very different backgrounds working together to raise each other up, and every week it raises me up to.

The show has covered a number of topics and themes, and I think there are great articles to be written about the portrayal of women in business, the complexity of relationships, grieving and creating a positive working environment. What I want to focus on is how it has broken down and helped me address my own toxic masculinity.

As I reach 40, I have taken a look back at my life and, like everyone else, there are things I know I could have done better at or dealt with differently. One of those things is my own relationship with my emotions and mental health. I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s and my fictional role models were action stars and superheroes who dealt in actions rather words. Greif was an opportunity for revenge and lashing out. If a wrong was identified in the world it was an opportunity to blow stuff up. There was no room for emotions. John Rambo starts by exploring his PTSD and trauma to then being dropped back into war for entertainment. Not great therapy, and the way to work through those pesky trauma nightmares was to kill more baddies.

In the 90s, during my teen years, I was swamped by Lad Culture. Get drunk and be loud, with a side of obnoxious. It was an extension of the 80s yuppie culture, work hard, play harder. I was pretty good at that. Over the years I became more worldly, and I like to think more balanced. I have had some hard lessons about how to manage and work with people. I have tried to be better and be a positive influence on people I know and work with.

I grew up with prejudices that I have addressed, and I’m embarrassed I ever held them, but somethings are harder to work on than others. My understanding and acceptance of the wider world, and the wonderful array of people that live In it, has always been tempered by how I have perceived myself and what I feel.

I have trouble with my weight and will often work ridiculous hours to get work done. I take on too much and when I get frustrated, I let it build up into anger. Then when things don’t work out, or I have too many plates spinning I get annoyed at myself for not being able to keep everything moving. This then results in the behaviour that contributes to my weight issues. It becomes a cycle. I know this, and have done for years, but to admit it, to let others know that I know this, would be the biggest failure. To admit that I can’t do any more, or that I have hit my limit when I know that others are under pressure as well is, as far as I have seen it, a sign of weakness, and so I carry on. Not wanting people to think less of me. I’m a man and I should be able to shoulder this burden. Just grab another snickers and knuckle down harder. During the pandemic this behaviour has been worse than ever.

But that may all be in the past.

Ted Lasso season two has made me stop and take a step back. Football clubs are often portrayed as hives of competition and alpha males. Ted Lasso has taken a different tact and shown how this team supports each other. In this season three elements have made me take stock.

Jamie Tart dealing with the pressure to succeed from his Father and supporters has been fascinating to watch. The internalisation of the fear of failure and the constant push for you to the be the sole winner of a team game struck home. The moment he punched out his Dad was stunning. A full stop moment. Yes, it was frustration spilling out, but it was not for him, it was for him as part of the team. A moment to say, ‘no more’ and I am part of this team, and they are there for me. The fact the punch was followed by a hug from Roy Kent was perfect. We often work as a team, in life and in work. within in that team we have responsibilities, but we are not responsible for the whole team. Be good at what you are good at and help the others to do the same and positive results are a lot more likely.

Let’s talk about Roy Kent. He should be the worst offender, but they have under-cut this perfectly and created a new modern role model. The curmudgeonly Roy has a life and reputation built on aggression and machismo. However, his arc has led him to become a great example of the ability and need to adapt and try new things, especially as we move from one stage of life to the next. His desire to change, adapt and learn for the people he loves is an inspiration. They are the people we need to be better for the most. I now stop an ask WWRFD: What Would Roy Fucking Do?

The most important is Ted and his anxiety attacks. His relationship with Dr Fieldstone has also made me question some of my own habits and what may have caused them. I’m not going to delve into my life story here (you can wait for the book J), but Ted discussing how the suicide of his father has shaped his approach to life and the emotional impact this has had, when he is forced to have to give up on things, stopped me in my tracks. The question I asked was, who am I trying to impress? What am I getting from the hours given up and why am I doing this? The waking up at 4am with anxiety isn’t a sign I care about my work, it’s a sign my work is damaging me. This isn’t something that I am going to address overnight, but these questions have started a chain reaction that has allowed me to stop and say, ‘Yes, I am struggling, and I need to take a breath’. What comes next I still need to figure out, but I know that I do need to figure it out.

Everyone behind Ted Lasso should be proud. Not only are they creating a funny show with heart, but they are also creating role models that show young (and some not so young) men, that being a man isn’t about being stoic, bearing the burden and keeping going. It’s not macho to just keep going and wash down the negativity. Being a man is about being a part of the world, being who you are, but knowing that we can all be better and being willing to explore ways of achieving that. It doesn’t mean the world and life will be easier, but it does mean that we don’t have to do it alone.

I’m heading into middle age, and I am scared of it. I am scared I won’t be able to keep up. I am scared that things are getting on top of me. I am scared that I won’t be relevant anymore. Ted Lasso came at the right time and has helped put some things in perspective for me. It’s fine to be sacred of these things, the world can be fucking scary, but its not helpful to keep those fears to myself. WWRFD? he’d begrudgingly talk to Keely, and they would work it out together, whether it’s easy or hard.

I’m about to be 40 and its time to make some changes.

#Pop Culture #comedy #tv #Reviews

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howveryheather · 3 years

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pandemic songs + self discovery

My Spotify Unwrapped for 2020 looked remarkably similar to every other year of my life recorded on the platform. The number one song, for what has to be at least four years running, is an ambient track from a video game that I listen to while I’m working. Most of my top musicians are a mix of film and television composers and Enya. This is true even in a pandemic. So many of my existing musical influences are still here to weather the many storms of life that are ahead — whether I am ready for them or not.

In every moment where I was not working, I was listening to a lot of music. Pouring over my Spotify, I’m able to see so many different moods and feelings. I have always kept one enormous playlist that lets me go back and know exactly what music I was listening at various moments in my life. Moments in time where the world felt like it had lost its balance, but music kept me grounded. Kept me thinking about the past, present, and future. The way I see it, the best is still yet to come for everyone. Better times are on their way. People I don’t yet know are coming into my life. Places I haven’t lived in yet will be here soon. And there will be even more songs that will define those moments in time for me.

I didn’t know the songs I’d be listening to during the pandemic and yet, here we are... with the music that defined this uncertain time in my corner of the world.

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“Say So” — Doja Cat

In the aftermath of getting knocked out with one of the worst flus of my life for a week this year, I spent the remainder of February desperately trying to regain my strength and sense of self. Little did I know that in March the entire world would change because of the coronavirus. This song feels like the last music video of our “normal” time. Nostalgic for roller skating rinks and hanging out with friends.

“Geyser” — Mitski

Have you ever heard a song that emotionally rocked you to the core so badly that you had to get into the fetal position and think afterwards? This one did it. Screaming while crawling and rolling around in the dirt is a real 2020 mood.

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“Too Late” — The Weeknd

The entire After Hours album, and the red suit character, is a real quarantine/lockdown mood if there ever was one. Abel can’t miss.

“The Chain” — Fleetwood Mac

Everyone else might have been on a Dreams kick, courtesy of the Ocean Spray skateboarder but I was all about The Chain.

“Me And You” — NERO

In the movie montage of your life, this is the song that plays to emphasize you’re a boss who can do anything. I stopped drinking for the better part of this year, which is pretty cool. Then I attempted the keto diet. That lasted for... less than 48 hours. The message is simple: I will just exercise instead of giving up carbs!

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“Ocean of Mine” — Kennedy One

Before I started paying for Spotify Premium, I was trapped in a world of endless commercials. Once in a great while, the streaming service would recommend music that I might like. Kennedy One’s Ocean of Mine was one of those recommendations. I listened to this while I had my first crown put on at the dentist. You know I love anything that sounds like the wind, the water, and the promise of the shore.

“Joan of Arc on the Dance Floor” — Aly & AJ

These sisters came through so many times in 2020! The Up All Night event on YouTube and the Viper Room streaming show made it feel like concerts had, in a slow but sure way, been able to make a return. Just in time to kiss 2020 goodbye we have an explicit version of Potential Breakup Song... MVPs!

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“Moscow Invitational 1968″ — Carlos Rafael Rivera

Many hours spent writing require a specific kind of soundtrack for staying in the zone. The moment I heard this score play during The Queen’s Gambit, I knew it was going to be part of my background noise whenever I’m working from this moment moving forward. It’s inspiring to listen to and helps me stay even more concentrated on the task at hand. Whatever challenges are ahead, I know I can reach them and keep leaping onward to the next hurdle and beyond.

“forget me too” — Machine Gun Kelly feat. Halsey

This is why we need concerts again: recreating a mosh pit feeling alone in your bedroom is simply not possible.

“Shine Ibiza Anthem 2019” — Paul van Dyk, Alex M.O.R.P.H.

In a pre-COVID world, I had plans to see Ultra 2020 in Miami. In a post-COVID, vaccinated world, I still have these plans for the future! I so look forward to the return of music festivals again, particularly those of the eat, sleep, rave, repeat variety.

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“Violence” — Grimes & i_o

This is my December song that will carry into January and beyond. I love, love, love it! (RIP Garrett Lockhart.)

As 2020 comes to a close, I have discovered some things about myself.

There were three times I cried, and I mean sobbed my eyes out, during this pandemic. The first was during the news of the initial lockdown. That was pure fear and confusion and chaos. The second was when I started to see news footage of miles-long lines of people waiting for food to feed their families. That was an aching sadness that I felt deep in my bones because a lot of people lost their jobs and had nowhere else to turn for food. And the third was when I heard Governor Newsom ordered 5,000 body bags for California. Hearing news like that makes it impossible to never un-hear it again. It’s the reality of how badly this virus has rampaged our country.

It really bothers me when I see people saying that they want normal again. I get the root of the desire which is that you’d like to enjoy a drink at the bar or have a dinner out or spend time with friends, etc. But there were a lot of problems with our normal world. Too many. To me, it feels like signaling that you’re okay with continuing to live in a society where so many people have to work multiple jobs to survive, the healthcare infrastructure is buckling, and the education system is completely fractured (among many other issues!).

What it seems, at least to me, is that people only want the aspects of normal that they were fortunate enough to receive but come at the expense of others. I suppose the best analogy is to consider the super rich. Once they exit their bunkers, they will want someone, likely paid on barely liveable wages, to make and serve them brunch. One can only hope this time has changed enough people to do and be better, but human nature is a fairly predictable beast. A number of people failed what I consider to be a basic human experiment and revealed seriously selfish true colors. I could rant about this topic for awhile — and believe me, I have THOUGHTS — but it’s too easy to dwell on bad news and opinions.

There was a lot of good, just news in the mix. Some of it made the news, some went under the radar, but it was still there and it’s still happening. Here’s a few links:

There has been an animal discovered by scientists (a jellyfish-like parasite) that does not need oxygen to survive.

CRISPR was injected into a live patient’s eyeball this year, to treat genetically-caused blindness.

PG&E plead guilty to 85 counts in the 2018 Camp Fire, the same fire that wiped out Paradise, California.

A Michigan jeweler named Johnny Perri buried $1 million of gold, silver, and diamonds for a real-life treasure hunt this summer.

Princess Beatrice and Edo Mapelli Mozzi had one of the prettiest, socially distanced weddings I’ve ever seen.

American Girl launched a new doll, Courtney, born in 1986. (They’re catching up to my age now!)

And the 2021 Super Bowl is inviting healthcare workers to attend the big game.

In the post-coronavirus “new normal” when I have been vaccinated, I know some aspects of my life will go back to their bubble. A lot will change though.

What I really want is to do is get involved, hands on, in the community again. I want to volunteer at local food banks, soup kitchens, and/or churches for a few hours each week, when possible. (I also have a thought surrounding the idea of making a whole bunch of travel-size feminine product care kits for women in need if this isn’t already happening...) And if I can’t physically be there, then I want to donate and offer support in other ways. I am not helpless. I am a helper, as Mr. Rogers would say, and I would like to be able to help out more and contribute to the well-being of others once it is safe to do so.

I hope people will find it inside of them to want to work together again and come together as a community. It means a lot of hard work and energy and time, but it’s gonna make our world a lot better — far beyond the normal one we left behind.

#personal #2020 #2021

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pope-francis-quotes · 5 years

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26th January >> (@VaticanNews) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis’ Full Homily during celebration of Holy Mass in #Panama's Cathedral on Saturday, reconsecrating the altar following a lengthy renovation. #WYD2019

Pope Francis’ homily at Mass in Panama's Cathedral: Full textPope Francis celebrated Mass in Panama City's Cathedral of Santa Maria La Antigua on Saturday, reconsecrating the altar following a lengthy renovation. The full text of the Pope's homily is below:

Homily at Holy Mass and the Consecration of an Altar Cathedral of Santa Maria La Antigua 26 January 2019

“Jacob’s well was there, and so Jesus, wearied as he was with his journey, sat down beside the well. It was about the sixth hour. There came a woman of Samaria to draw water. Jesus said to her, ‘Give me a drink’” (Jn 4:6-7).

The Gospel we have heard does not shrink from showing us Jesus, wearied from his journey. At midday, when the sun makes all its strength and power felt, we encounter him beside the well. He needed to relieve and quench his thirst, to refresh his steps, to recover his strength in order to continue his mission.

The disciples personally experienced the extent of the Lord’s commitment and readiness to bring the Good News to the poor, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to captives and freedom to prisoners, to comfort those who mourn and to proclaim a year of favour to all (cf. Is 61:1-3). These are all situations that consume life and energy; yet they show us many important moments in the life of the Master, moments in which our humanity, too, can find a word of Life.

Weary from the journey

It is relatively easy for us, compulsively busy as we are, to imagine and enter into communion with the Lord’s activity. Yet we do not always know how to contemplate and accompany his “weariness”; it seems this is not something proper to God. The Lord knew what it was to be tired, and in his weariness so many struggles of our nations and peoples, our communities and all who are weary and heavily burdened (cf. Mt 11:28) can find a place.

There a many reasons for weariness on our journey as priests, consecrated men and women, and members of lay movements: from long hours of work, which leave little time to eat, rest and be with family, to “toxic” working conditions and relationships that lead to exhaustion and disappointment. From simple daily commitments to the burdensome routine of those who do not find the relaxation, appreciation or support needed to move from one day to the next. From the usual and predictable little problems to lengthy and stressful periods of pressure. A whole array of burdens to bear.

It would be impossible to try to cope with all these situations that assail the lives of consecrated persons, but in all of them we feel the urgent need to find a well to quench our thirst and relieve our weariness from the journey. All these situations demand, like a silent plea, a well from which we can set out once more.

For some time now, a subtle weariness seems to have found a place in our communities, a weariness that has nothing to do with the Lord’s weariness. It is a temptation that we might call the weariness of hope. This weariness is felt when – as in the Gospel – the sun beats down mercilessly and with such intensity that it becomes impossible to keep walking or even to look ahead. Everything becomes confused. I am not referring to that “particular heaviness of heart” (cf. Redemptoris Mater, 17; Evangelii Gaudium, 287) felt by those who feel “shattered” at the end of the day, yet manage a serene and grateful smile. I am speaking of that other weariness, which comes from looking ahead once reality “hits” and calls into question the energy, resources and viability of our mission in this changing and challenging world.

It is a weariness that paralyzes. It comes from looking ahead and not knowing how to react to the intense and confusing changes that we as a society are experiencing. These changes seem to call into question not only our ways of speaking and engaging, our attitudes and habits in dealing with reality, but in many cases they call into doubt the very viability of religious life in today’s world. And the very speed of these changes can paralyze our options and opinions, while what was meaningful and important in the past can now no longer seem valid.

The weariness of hope comes from seeing a Church wounded by sin, which so often failed to hear all those cries that echoed the cry of the Master: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 27:46).

We can get used to living with a weariness of hope before an uncertain and unknown future, and this can pave the way for a grey pragmatism to lodge in the heart of our communities. Everything apparently goes on as usual, but in reality, faith is crumbling and failing. Disappointed by a reality that we do not understand or that we think has no room for our message, we can open the door to one of the worst heresies possible in our time: the notion that the Lord and our communities have nothing to say or contribute in the new world now being born (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 83). What once arose to be the salt and light for the world ends up stale and worn.

Give me a drink

Weariness from the journey can happen; it can make itself felt. Like it or not, we do well to have the same courage as the Master, and to say, “Give me a drink”. As was the case with the Samaritan woman and perhaps with each one of us, we want to quench our thirst not with any water but with the “spring of water welling up to eternal life” (Jn 4:14). Like the Samaritan woman who for years had been carrying the empty pitchers of failed loves, we know that not just any word can help us regain energy and prophecy in our mission. Not just any novelty, however alluring it may seem, can quench our thirst. We know, as she did, that neither knowledge of religion nor upholding options and traditions past or present, always makes us fruitful and passionate “worshipers in spirit and truth” (Jn 4:23).

The Lord says, “Give me a drink”, he asks us to say those same words. To say them, let us open the door and let our wearied hope return without fear to the deep well of our first love, when Jesus passed our way, gazed at us with mercy and asked us to follow him. To say those words, let us revive the memory of that moment when his eyes met ours, the moment when he made us realize that he loved us, not only personally but also as a community (cf. Homily at the Easter Vigil, 19 April 2014). It means retracing our steps and, in creative fidelity, listening to how the Spirit inspired no specific works, pastoral plans or structures, but instead, through any number of “saints next door” – including the founders of your institutes and the bishops and priests who laid the bases for your communities – he gave life and fresh breath to a particular moment of history when all hope and dignity seemed to be stifled and crushed.

“Give me a drink” means finding the courage to be purified and to recapture the most authentic part of our founding charisms – which are not only for religious life but for the life of Church as a whole – and to see how they can find expression today. This means not only looking back on the past with gratitude, but seeking the roots of their inspiration and letting them resound forcefully once again in our midst (cf. Pope Francis-Fernando Prado, The Strength of a Vocation, 42).

“Give me a drink” means recognizing that we need the Spirit to make us men and women mindful of a passage, the salvific passage of God. And trusting that, as he did yesterday, he will still do tomorrow: “Going to the roots helps us without a doubt to live in the present without fear. We need to live without fear, responding to life with the passion of being engaged with history, immersed in things. With the passion of lovers” (cf. ibid., 44).

A wearied hope will be healed and will enjoy that “particular tiredness of heart” when it is unafraid to return to the place of its first love and to find, in the peripheries and challenges before us today, the same song, the same gaze that inspired the song and the gaze of those who have gone before us. In this way, we will avoid the danger of starting with ourselves; we will abandon a wearisome self-pity in order to meet Christ’s gaze as he continues today to seek us, to call us and to invite us to the mission.

* * *

For me it is no small thing that this cathedral now reopens its doors after a lengthy renovation. It has experienced the passage of the years as a faithful witness of the history of this people, and now with the help and work of many it wants once more to show us its beauty. More than a formal restoration, which always attempts to reproduce the original appearance, this restoration has sought to preserve the beauty of the past while making room for all the newness of the present. A Spanish, Indian and Afro-American cathedral thus becomes a Panamanian cathedral, belonging both to past generations and to those of today who made it possible. It no longer belongs only to the past, but it is a thing of beauty for the present.

Today it is once more a place of peace, that encourages us to renew and nurture our hope, to discover how yesterday’s beauty becomes a basis for creating the beauty of tomorrow.

That is how the Lord works.

Brothers and sisters, may we not allow ourselves to be robbed of the beauty we have inherited from our ancestors. May it be a living and fruitful root that will help us continue to make beautiful and prophetic the history of salvation in these lands.

Topics

POPE FRANCIS

APOSTOLIC VISIT

MASS

HOMILY

#WYDPANAMA

WYD

26th January 2019, 16:04

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