#obviously my memory is like nonexistent of that period

[gazingatmydoom]

opening a fromsoft game and immediately seeing the words "at the end of the previous session. exit game (system menu) may not have been selected.

failure to end session with exit game may result in loss of progress" and i'm like ahhh so i rage quit. it's like a warning sign popping up like hey buddy whatever u were doing last time? it fucking sucked and u got mad be prepared

[pluralthey]

ahh thank you so much for the detailed response (and I’m so sorry you lost the first draft that’s awful😭) !! this makes me realize I only know like bits n pieces of felix’s system’s details like each alter’s role and how they came to be, would it be possible for you to give a similar small overview of his system as you did for izzi’s?

Okay this one I tried saving as a draft to prevent history repeating itself and now it crashes the editor when I try to edit it on desktop lmao. i also found old summaries of them in my writing notes channel.

felix's system is less integrated than izzi's, obviously, but, it was never really as "intermixed" as hers; there's a gatekeeper to keep fronts and memories quarantined, and an elevator to represent the private separation of the front from the inner world.

this is felix, the host. they've hosted for like 7 years i think. prior to this they were an inner peacekeeper and comforter of the system. they are an introject of a stuffed animal felix had when they were very young, which they would periodically mutilate and seek to repair.

not identical, but they bear obvious resemblance to the toy that anyone would notice.

they're also a split from brigitte, and the stutterer in the system. there was a pretty famous less-than-ethical study about stuttering that showed children who had no stutters but were told that they did developed permanent lifelong stutters simply from being told that their identity was a stutterer -- that's felix

they're a people-pleaser, doormat, empathetic to a fault, and strive to be someone kind, soft but masculine, open-minded, and, most importantly, beloved by everyone-

old notes:

felix (affectionately called cho or chō by alter #2): felix is a genderfluid alter and current host of the system. they have hosted for about 6 years as of catharsis. prior to hosting, felix's function was a hybridization of an inner self helper and a caretaker. they know about the other alters extensively, but not completely, and operate well as a host due to their ability to mediate and their tolerance of stress. their appearance is an introjection of one of the only toys felix had as a young child, which they would reenact violent experiences and healing fantasies onto. although inner self helpers and caretakers are frequently seen as rather emotionally calm, alters are individuals even if they fit archetypical roles, and tend to individuate more and more if exposed to real life experiences. felix themself is fairly histrionic in terms of personality, partially due to an intrinsic part of their disposition, and partially due to a strong reactivity to passive influence within the system -- empathy once needed to efficiently caretake.

this is #2. she's the cohost of the system. while izzi's cohost might front 10% of the time, #2 can front up to 70% of the time on bad months, but closer to 40% of the time.

she's a foil to felix in many regards; her emotions are flattened or nonexistent, she has no drive to be social and no aesthetic inclinations, and she only cares about her reputation insofar as it's functionally necessary to maintain for efficient exchanges. like felix, though, she is a people-pleaser in a different way; with the identity of a robot, she has few hobbies and doesn't feel enjoyment about pretty much anything. her goals and actions are informed by what others want. her self-awareness about this identity was up for voting as a side comic plot iirc, but ultimately didn't take.

as a split from deadname, her core purpose is to protect the body, moreso than accomplishing goals she's told to accomplish. #2 is built more for assessing, reducing, and enduring chronic stress, allowing deadname to largely recede into unconsciousness outside of explosive episodes of Protector Rage during acutely stressful and threatening situations. had the split not happened, deadname would become unmotivated to protect from a constant barrage of stress, causing all stressful stimuli to blur into noise instead of coherent threats. deadname retains a technical ability to feel emotions, while #2 is completely removed from them on a conscious level to preserve her morale.

she is ironically a little more aware than deadname of the importance of emotional health to physical health as a result of her more regular sustained exposure to physical symptoms of stress. she coordinates scheduling systems for alters to all have a piece of the front if they want it, and is generally receptive to requests from other alters, even if the desires make no sense to her, for confusion matters to her as little as any other emotion. she's also a lesbian somehow.

old notes:

#2 (affectionately called "hon" by felix): co-host of the system, and a tried and true Apparently Normal Part, if the label were to apply to any alter. internally, she assists with mediation with duties similar to that of a secretary's, such as scheduling time for alters and work, maintaining appointments, fielding complaints, and gently enforcing rules. externally, she often fronts to take care of less emotionally demanding tasks, such as chores, errands, work shifts, appointments, etc. #2 has no traumatic memories, and is extremely level-headed. despite an intrinsic numbing effect attached to her identity, she has a sophisticated self-awareness, and has developed thorough emotional literacy for dealing with others. she finds emotionally arousing scenarios unpleasant, as feeling emotions causes a strong cognitive dissonance with her robot identity, and will subtly avoid them or people who cause them. also, she is a lesbian.

since i brought them up so many times while describing #2... this is deadname. they are not a split from anyone and one of the oldest alters of the system. they used to be the host prior to felix, and looked almost identical to the body.

over time, the stress of the circumstances eroded their identity down to the core motivation for hosting in the first place: a desire to protect the other parts. deadname is a fairly standard protector, and generally comes off as hostile toward the company of other alters and to fronting in general without necessarily bearing malice toward either. their physical and emotional sensations are dulled by a literal numbness, but, unlike #2, deadname is capable of feeling these things voluntarily without detrimental cognitive dissonance; they weren't always like that, and remember having a more normal relationship to these senses. to be dead, they had to be alive at some point.

old notes:

deadname is an agender protector alter, and the previous host of the system. at one point, they looked very similar to the body of the system, and their personality was closer to that of a peppy big sister. over the course of hosting during hard times to protect the rest of the system from suffering, this personality eroded into a jaded, bitter, depressed one. they hate other people and other alters -- #2 and felix are the only two to receive good graces as they have relieved deadname of their position as host, but deadname will become protective over any alter. their most intense and primary protectiveness still resides over the safety of the body. while many alters have their traumatic memories removed to keep them functioning, deadname retains all of their traumatic memories. a few alters split from deadname over time to maintain necessary functions that deadname had once performed as these functions came to conflict with the function of a protector. these alters do not remember the splits, although deadname does. deadname's identity was too eroded over time to be considered worth trying to repair to nero and saga, and, more importantly, they could still adequately perform their role as protector with the burden of the memories. deadname is expected not to talk about the traumas they have endured to other alters, and they usually only allude to something horrible happening, or their previous status as the Owner Of The Body. they have a special hatred for saga and nero because of this. as one of the oldest alters of the system, deadname is aware of its inner workings, various alters' roles, and where they came from. they have a fair amount of life experience (for an alter), and technically CAN offer beads of wisdom or emotional maturity; they just frequently choose not to.

the rest will only be the old notes because... because.

nero is the gatekeeper and system manager. he enforces stability in the system and safety in their outer life. he has the ability to force alters out of the front, as well as influencing and directly controlling them. he can access any alter's memories at any time without restriction. he also has the ability to alter and completely remove memories from other alters. however, due to his specific function within the system, he cannot actually front. nero is extremely ritualistic and favors rules and routine strongly. although fairly emotionless, he has a penchant for extreme anger, necessary to strictly enforce rules. his anger is usually only roused by perceived threats to safety, but wraith seems to be able to torment him successfully. due to his function existing at a crossroads between memories and schedules, nero works in tandem with both saga and #2, who maintain good graces with him (in addition to felix, who gets good graces for hosting).

saga is a memory holder alter, also genderfluid (in a way). saga holds not only traumatic memories personally experienced by them, but memories that are instinctively too intense and catastrophic to stay in their alter's consciousness. they are very, very rarely present in the front, and are detached from reality in many ways. they view memories and the system as fairy tales or a game to adequately cope with harboring such memories. extensive interaction with real life can cause them severe distress. saga is fairly benevolent, but because their role is inherently related to maintaining a smokescreen around other alters, their presence is usually considered a bad omen. they may continuously accost an alter innocuously before actively attempting to inculcate them into relinquishing awareness of a memory or avoiding triggers that they are unaware of solely to make this function less obvious. this can lead some of their behavior to seem "random" or bizarre. the snake tail saga possesses is a fragment alter they harbor with several memories too intense for saga alone to tolerate in their conscious awareness while still maintaining their function. the pseudo-integration of the fragment allows the two to feed into each other's motivations and thoughts seamlessly as one identity without being able to recall the memories of each other. saga also has a secretive and cooperative dynamic with nero, the gatekeeper.

vincent is another Apparently Normal Part whose original function was to maintain grades and participate in school as an untraumatized student. over time, the function became obsolete, and vincent's identity suffered damage when felix did not continue to college. still, he remains fairly active in bursts. he is a split from deadname, and, in addition to fulfilling the role of a good student, he took a large part of deadname's curiosity and wonder for the world, instilling in him a sense of playfulness, open-mindedness, and optimism. because he is a split, he benefits from deadname's ambivalence rather than outright hostility; he misreads this as friendliness between them, which deadname tolerates. vincent enjoys using writing as an intellectual and creative outlet, and maintains a free online serial called Time and Time Again about a motley crew of heroes who endure and fight against timeline fuckery. before this, he wrote fanfiction. he also enjoys reading, but because it is so time-consuming, and his free time is not that of an adult fully conscious at all times, he frequently watches media now instead. vincent also identifies as a different "species" -- just a regular human, as opposed to a cat. he finds fronting for too long unpleasant, and can react negatively to being exposed to too much unbroken awareness of the body's sensory system. related to this, vincent carries a more pronounced desire to try to be connected to his heritage and japanese culture. vincent has no traumatic memories, and he is consequently relatively mature and even-headed among the system members.

wraith is a female persecutor alter oriented around eating food.

wraith is a female persecutor alter oriented around eating food. she has absorbed the message that eating certain foods or certain amounts of foods makes her an evil person and runs with it. she is acutely aware of the body's hunger as well as other physical senses even when she is not fronting. wraith perceives her own motivation for eating food to compensate for other alters undereating as eating out of boredom or out of hedonistic desires. she antagonizes other alters, and plays multiplayer online video games as an outlet for her innate boredom and anger. felix is the only alter with whom she is on good terms, as felix often capitulates to, and actively seeks to accommodate, wraiths wants and needs. her antagonism towards him is much closer to pestering than tormenting.

(i don't know how to delete that text it won't let me SEND HELP--)

brigitte is a female Sexual Alter who bears the burden of trauma related to sexual abuse as well as misogyny and compulsory heterosexuality. brigitte is about as old as deadname as an alter. she also has extensive fronting experience, and several alters split from her as well. unlike deadname, brigitte's memory about these splits has been removed from her, and the alters that split from her. because her identity is formed so foundationally in trauma, the memories of some traumatic events are not removed from her; however, traumatic events unrelated to her primary roles have been removed from her consciousness. whether she is aware that her memories have been altered is ambiguous, but because of how long she has been in the system, it can probably be presumed she is at least somewhat aware of the dynamic, and displays a lack of fear for danger from knowing about this. brigitte is "goal-oriented" and strong-headed, and, unlike the other alters, will influence her environment to accommodate her role and identity instead of waiting to react to it. if she does not have enough influence over her environment, she simply won't continue to front. she has gone through lengthy periods of dormancy followed by short relationships that she ruins herself. over time, as the body has been altered by felix's transition and wraith's eating habits, brigitte has naturally fronted less and less. still... love finds a way, i guess......

romeo is a male persecutor alter whose primary role is to contain dysphoria and anxieties about masculinity. he can frequently but heads with felix out of a dislike for felix's softer kind of masculinity and emotional openness. he fronts somewhat frequently -- probably 3rd place for frequency. he handles some work shifts, and maintains his own friend group separate from felix. he is quick to anger, and struggles to see in a mature, nuanced way, frequently simplifying things to "good" or "bad." romeo has a strong desire for approval to validate his identity. he is more aware of his appearance at any given time than felix is. he willingly interacts with felix's friends, and co-fronting from romeo during felix's social times is not uncommon; this is, unfortunately, part of what causes conflict between them, as romeo wants to be viewed very differently from how felix needs to be viewed to feel Seen. among his own friends, romeo has a small group that he regularly lifts weights with. felix attends this group when romeo is not fronting as frequently for him.

it's over it's finally over that's all of them i'm free--

[clatterbane]

Historical, Mythological & Social Origins of the Satanic Panic and How it Nearly Destroyed My Life

Starting in the early 1980’s the Satanic Panic ignited in the United States before spreading through the world. Here law enforcement, psychiatrists, social workers and occult ‘experts’ uncovered a vast satanic conspiracy which predated upon children at daycares, infiltrated heavy metal music, lured in teenagers through Dungeons and Dragons all organized by a grand network of satanic covens. These claims resulted in constant bullying for social non-conformists, hundreds of arrests, prosecutions, compromised guilty verdicts along with accusations which ruined lives and livelihoods for many more. The Satanic Panic is even more shocking when considering that no evidence has come to light in over 40 years to substantiate these claims. Feeding on centuries of demonological lore set into the social and economic degradation of the last quarter of the 20th century, the Satanic Panic continues to have a decisive social impact. Join me as I dive deep into the origins and development of the Satanic Panic and how it nearly destroyed my life.

Another unfortunately excellent video from Justin Sledge, which carries just about all the content warnings you might expect in this context. From medieval antisemitic violence, up through the 1980s ritual abuse craze--and, as he discusses some, more recently getting resurrected to some extent through the QAnon garbage. It's ugly history all the way down, y'all, though he treats it with the usual sensitivity here. (And more soberly than usual, with the multiple levels of obviously still uncomfortable personal relevance there.)

I was 12 when Geraldo Rivera's first mega-trainwreck special peddling this bullshit aired. So yeah, I remember this period a little too well--if thankfully more in the background, growing up in a non-religious family outside the Bible Belt. The White Evangelical Right hadn't made many inroads in our area (yet). I did know some other kids who ran into more trouble at home, with parents who were keeping an eye out for various supposed Satanic Influences. I did also hang out around some of the local Redneck Stoner Metalheads, so yeah. I'm still pretty cool with most of that crowd back home, and have no reason to think it's not mutual.

And I did run into some bullying with that shit used as an excuse--but surprisingly little in retrospect, as a neurodivergent weirdo with an interest in the occult myself, who was getting bullied within millimeters of my life already. Which whole experience honestly helped steer me harder into that punkmetalgoth freak glory, btw. Along with a lot of kids pushed well over onto the margins in those days.

(I also got much less directly caught up on the edges, through what was thankfully a much more straightforwardly secular version of the whole deeply pernicious "repressed memories of nonexistent abuse" fad. As I have talked about some before. Basically because I was obviously ND as hell, no doubt sending off some serious queer vibes, and dealing with plenty of then-ongoing trauma to boot. That whole mess was frankly traumatizing as fuck, but I feel like it at least didn't screw with my head in as bad a ways as, say, actually becoming convinced that you were indeed sadistically abused in Satanic rituals. They also never pulled out hypnosis on me, but stuck to insistent leading questions based on horrible assumptions in the face of my persistent "poor insight" and total lack of recall of any earlier childhood abuse of the sort ever happening. Don't know how well hypnosis would have worked either, tbh, but there was more than enough badness there even without finding out. And without the explicitly "Satanic" elements.)

It is difficult to stress hard enough just how many people did get harmed in some way by this particular load of conspiracy theory horseshit. And in some ways that were still echoing down, even before the QAnon revival. As he goes into some here.

Dr. Sledge, OTOH, is just enough younger that I wouldn't have thought he'd have been at as much risk. But yeah, he was also a similarly geeky weirdo growing up in Mississippi and getting involved in Judaism at the time--who was actually into D&D, some occult special interests, and at least now black metal. (Hard to tell which way any connection there might have run, of course, considering he doesn't mention the metal back when this shit was actively playing out.) And, of course, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At any rate, this video is indeed a pretty long deep dive, but I would really suggest checking it out.

[wonwoonlight]

tag game - writers edition <3

recommend 5 or more of your own works that you would rec to someone asking what they should read first & explain a little bit about the work. these can be the most popular, the ones you think are underrated, or your own favorites! then tag five other writers!

thank you holly for tagging me to this! this was honestly... such a journey to do bc i found out i would Not recommend people to read a lot of my stuff sjdhfbhsjdf but this brings me back in time and reminds me of the joy i found in writing so thank you @twogyuu 😘

not sure who to tag so i'll just tag mimi bc her writing is my favorite writing so perhaps you'll also wanna go down the memory lane hehe @ahundredtimesover Inevitable JK FTW

this is in no particular order bc we don't play favorites in this house (i'm just indecisive)

my daisy - CEO!kim mingyu x secretary!OC

↪ basically my first try in writing a series so it's very very very dear to me. notes wise, it is the most engaged work I have so far! it's about single dad, CEO Mingyu stumbling upon love in his new secretary by the help of his small daughter <3 their lives are more intertwined than they thought they were, and it's just a mature relationship that is patient but sure. it's not too dramatic and i feel like it's something you can read without getting too stressed if you want something soft but not childish (affectionate) 💕

hi wonwoo - jeon wonwoo x reader

↪ this was something i wrote during one of the lowest period in my life. it's about wonwoo who is skeptical about people and life in general, who met warm, soft spoken OC that never has any hidden agenda, about how kind and patient love will preserve, and a reminder that there is always always someone out there who will care for you no matter what. life is hard, it may be harder for you than it is for others, but you will be able to go through it and it will be okay💞 it's very slice of life-ish, slowburn, but dare i say not frustrating haha

falling flowers - close friend!Seokmin x reader x best friend!Hansol

↪ this was my first work that went pass 10k! a hanahaki au in which OC realized she fell for her own best friend who, not only doesn't reciprocate her feelings, has recently gotten into a relationship and is very happy about it. she hides it from him, obviously, but seokmin knows more than he lets on and silently helps in more ways than she could imagine. everybody deserves this seokmin really D:

stars - soonyoung x reader

↪ my first, only, and last attempt in writing heavy angst that i cried reading, editing, and proofreading it loooool (i'm just a crybaby like that) a lot of my readers don't know this story, i feel like, but it's okay bc i personally love it and i keep it close to my heart. it's set in a universe where you're born with marks that allow you to make three wishes and the universe will grant it to you; OC is born with an illness and a broken mark, she doesn't really go out just in case something happens and lives in her little bubble that is her family and her few friends her whole life, until her brother introduces her to his friend hoshi who only have one more wish to ask and lights up her world like the stars on her wrists.

my way to you - chaebol!au wonwoo x OC

↪ this was just me projecting my nonexistent love life loool. but in this chaebol!AU in which wonwoo & OC are best friends since as long as they can remember, wonwoo is so obviously in love with her even though she remains oblivious until she realizes what she feels towards him isn't exactly platonic either. this series was born from the courage i gained from my daisy hehe it's just very cliche, a little dramatic, and just enough angst without being too much 🙈 this is how i want to be loved 💙

[sunnysviolin]

Omotober Day Five- Photograph

“That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.” ― Hope Collier,

Aubrey was almost out the door when her mother dropped the bombshell on her. Usually her mom wasn’t even awake when she was leaving for school, she was still sleeping off whatever bender she had gone on the night before. She was up today, in a stained robe with unkempt hair, but she was up.

“We’re going to visit Flora for dinner tonight. Go home on Basil’s bus, I don’t want you trying to skip out on this,” Past Aubrey would have been elated. Not only was her mom up, but they were going to see her best friend for dinner. Now she growled in irritation and rolled her eyes.

“Mom-”

“Aubrey, don’t even think about starting up,” Her mother cut her off with a warning look. Aubrey shut her mouth but hot anger lit up in her veins. She bit her tongue to stop from screaming as her mother continued her lecturing, “That woman is old and her time is coming soon. Respect thy elders, it’s the godly thing to do,”

The hypocrisy of it filled Aubrey’s mouth with poison, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her mom loved to spout religious crap like this all the time, acting like saying scripture somehow equated to being a good person. Aubrey would have loved to ask her what part of her oh so precious book told her that getting drunk every night was godly, but if she started that fight again she would never make it to school on time.

“Whatever,” Aubrey muttered in lieu of her actual thoughts, pushing past her mother and out the front door. Her mother’s little lecture had taken long enough that the bus stop was completely empty, and that only made Aubrey’s mood even worse. She seized her scooter and whipped it around, putting all of her mental frustration into the physical act of riding to school and away from her house as fast as possible.

The ride did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s anger and a dark storm cloud hung around her through every period. Students gave her a wide berth and teachers looked at her with distrustful eyes. They were all expecting something to happen, and she hated them for it. They always expected the worst of her. Kel had tried approaching her during their shared study hall, and she ignored him till he left. He wasn’t a true friend, he didn’t really care about her. Aubrey had to remember that, or she would fall for his tricks again.

By the end of the day, Aubrey was exhausted. To the rest of the world, she seemed just as bitter and angry as she was when she got to school, but it was just an easy front that she put out to keep them all away. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, climb the stairs to her room, and curl up with her bunny (). She wanted to block out the world and all of the fake people in it, forget about false friends and the never ending loneliness that threatened to crush her at any point.

She couldn’t. She had to go to Basil’s.

She found Basil waiting outside, off in a corner. He was standing slightly hunched over, like he was trying to disappear right where he stood. Absolutely pathetic, but that was Basil. A weakling who had used Aubrey. Kel was with him, clearly talking at Basil and not to him. Basil wasn’t even paying attention, just staring off at the trees and playing with his fingers the way Aubrey hated. She walked over in long purposeful strides, putting herself in the middle between the two boys.

“Get lost,” Aubrey snapped, hoping that Kel would argue right back with her. It would be a good outlet, something that would get rid of the storm cloud. Basil was no fun to fight with, he just cried and apologized. At least Kel would do it properly.

But luck was not on her side. Kel didn’t fire back with a harsh retort or even give her a glare. He just sighed and rolled his eyes, something that instantly set alarm bells of resentment ringing in her head. She hated when he acted higher and mightier, rising above her like he was too good to fight with her. It was the same as her mother’s religious rambling, just another hypocrite who thought they were better than they were and judged Aubrey for not playing their game.

“I’ll see you later, Basil ,” Kel said, deliberately putting emphasis on ignoring that Aubrey even existed. The urge to kick out his legs and pound him into the dirt was overwhelming, but the sound of the buses starting to rumble cut off that train before it left the station. She growled and yanked Basil along with her by the wrist, walking over to his bus and climbing the high steps. Aubrey practically threw him into an open three seater and launched her bag in after, sitting as close to the aisle as she could and as far away from him as possible.

She didn’t want them, but as she sat on the bus with her former oldest friend, memories of all the times they had done this before came to her one by one. They had always chosen a two seater before, they hadn’t needed the room of three. They would cram close together and read the same book, or chat about all the things they could do when they got to his house. They had almost missed their stop multiple times because they were so lost in their conversation, and oftentimes they had to shout for the bus driver to hold on so they could get off. It was funny, sweet to the point of saccharine.

The thoughts made Aubrey sick now. She tried to pretend it was just the righteous fury she obviously should have felt at their betrayal, but there was something else in there. A thing with dark claws that dug into her chest and made itself known with pain. The word for it sat heavy in her mind, there but unspoken, pushed to some long forgotten corner that she never looked at and never wanted to. Aubrey had enough trouble grieving the dead, she had no need for grieving the living too. The bus reached their stop and she hopped off without looking back. Basil would follow or he wouldn’t, she didn’t care either way.

“Aubrey!” Flora tottered towards them down the sidewalk, her cane clutched firmly in her right hand. Her white hair was pulled up in her signature bun, and her dress was a pretty floral blue that matched her eyes.

She pulled Aubrey into a hug once the young girl was close enough, holding her in a tight squeeze. Aubrey put her hands around Flora, but she didn’t hug her back. Flora was fragile, her bones easily felt through paper dry skin. Aubrey hoped she never got old enough to feel this breakable, but the hug was still warm and comforting. Flora smelled like old lady soap and dried flowers and clean laundry, a smell that Aubrey loved for how safe it made her feel, and hated for how fleetingly often she got to experience it.

When Flora pulled back she kept her hands on Aubrey’s upper arms, looking the girl up and down. Aubrey resisted the urge to squirm, holding her breath as the old woman appraised her. She hadn’t seen Basil’s grandmother since the funeral almost two years ago, and she knew Flora hadn’t seen her shocking pink hair yet, or the new styles she liked to wear. Aubrey began to steel herself for a long winded speech about respecting her body like a temple, the kind her mom liked to preach after her second bottle of wine.

“You got taller,” Flora commented, turning around and leading the way back to the house, “Come inside, I made some snacks for you two,”

Aubrey slowly let out the breath she had been keeping, letting Basil walk in front of her and towards his house. Flora had never been a mean spirited woman or purposefully judgemental, but Aubrey’s threshold for trust was a lot lower than it used to be. Her anger began to bleed out and shame took its place. Aubrey usually thought the worst of people, and that didn’t bother her because she was usually proven right in the end, but there were exceptions. Flora had never done anything to earn her ire, even if her grandson had.

Aubrey followed them into their home, taking her shoes off at the entrance and looking around. Nothing had changed really, flowers and plants still hung in pots all around and the bookshelf was still packed to the brim. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and vegetables half cut on a board next to it. Flora gestured towards the table and slowly made her way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and two oranges. She made quick work of the fruits and was soon putting a platter of cut up pieces of fruit between the two children.

“You two can finish your homework here while I finish up the grub. Dinner is going to be in an hour and a half. I know five o’clock is a little early for you youngins, but I like to be in bed by six!” The old woman laughed at her own nonexistent joke, the sound creaky and roughened with age. She had to stop to cough halfway through, but she waved away Basil’s worried gaze and reaching arms, “Please dear I’m fine. Aubrey you have to teach my grandbaby here how to relax more and just enjoy life,”

Aubrey didn’t respond, using digging through her backpack as an excuse to not have to acknowledge what Basil’s grandmother had said. It was less of a hassle to pretend that she hadn’t heard then to lie and act like she cared if Basil was uptight or not. Basil also didn’t say anything, he just started his work in silence. Flora’s genial mood faltered ever so slightly, but she took their dampened mood in stride.

“Okay then, while you two mope, I’ll keep working on dinner,”

Flora went over to the kitchen proper and turned on the radio, listening to some talk show that Aubrey’s mom also liked. The girl settled into her seat and began to flip through her work, picking and choosing which assignments she would do and which ones she would blow off. There was no point to doing some of them, the teacher was going to fail her anyway, so why should she try? At least if she put all her efforts into one or two classes with cool teachers, she might pass. It was almost dinner time when her peace was broken without her permission

“Did you understand the earth science homework?”

Aubrey looked up, shooting Basil a derisive look for even bothering to speak. He flinched away from her, but held firm, waiting for an answer. She didn’t even want to bother, but she knew Flora was nearby and probably listening, and she would have questions if Aubrey ignored her grandson, or worse, told him to shut up.

“It was easy,” Aubrey tersely replied, putting her anger into her pen. Her words started to come out jagged and uneven, but she didn’t care. It felt good, “It’s just identifying minerals,”

“I don’t get it,” Basil murmured, more to himself than to her. He scratched something out on his worksheet and fisted a hand in his hair, “She explained this over and over, I don’t understand why I don’t get it,”

Aubrey watched the display of his anxiety for a few moments before letting out an exaggerated sigh, letting her head flop back against the chair. It wasn’t even fun to watch him get upset, it just made her feel bad, which only made her angrier. She pushed her chair away from the table, enjoying the loud screech it gave and how uncomfortable it made Basil. Then she stood and walked around the table, leaning over him and getting in his space.

“Which one are you confused on?” She demanded, and he pointed to the question with a shaking finger. She looked at the problem and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even one of the difficult ones. Their teacher had given them a table of potential minerals and then a series of questions with specific properties. They had to correctly pick which mineral went to which list of properties.

“Okay so you already got half of them, so you just have diamond, muscovite, talc, and gypsum left,” Aubrey stated, going over the options, “The mineral cleaves into thin sheets, has a white streak, and a pearly luster. Which out of those ones has those traits?”

Basil didn’t respond, still shaking from their proximity. He stammered out some unintelligible words, his hands clasping together around his middle. Before he could devolve into an entire anxiety attack, and more importantly before Flora noticed what was going on, Aubrey would have to deal with this

“Would you quit that? I’m not gonna bite,” She barked, and he flinched further away. Great. Aubrey forced herself to take a breath and count to ten, the thing that the annoying school counselor had showed her that almost never worked. Aubrey tried again.

“Okay instead of thinking about it that way. Let’s go with which ones don’t have those features. Does diamond have a streak?”

“No it’s harder than the streak plate,” Basil responded, which was what their teacher had said word for word. Aubrey had started off with a question she knew he would know the answer to, because Mrs. Tommen had made Basil repeat her when she thought he wasn’t paying attention earlier that day.

“So then obviously it can’t be diamond.” Aubrey said, unable to take all of the snottiness in her tone. It had to be good enough, besides he should know it was stupid that he needed help with this.

“The rest have a white streak though,” Basil said after a quick check of his notes, “It could be any of them,”

Aubrey briefly considered banging her head against the wall. Anything to get her away from rocks and this idiot. She walked around to her side of the table and went back to her own work, putting her head close to the paper.

“Look at the rest of the traits. They don’t all have the same traits. Just do it that way, and quit bugging me,” She hissed. Basil wilted, but he focused back on his work.

“Thanks for the help,” It came out quiet and timid, but it was there. Aubrey jerked her head in a nod, and the two of them lapsed back into silent solo work until Aubrey’s mother knocked on the door. She was dressed in a purple dress that had seen better days and came bearing store bought cookies that still had a sale sticker on them. Her hair was done, but flyaways surrounded her head like a dust cloud, and her smile was entirely fake.

Flora came over and greeted Aubrey’s mom with enthusiasm, thanking her for  her generosity and guiding her to the table. They made small talk as Basil and Aubrey gathered their things and Basil set the table. How her mom’s job was going, how was Flora’s health, all the usual things Aubrey couldn’t care less about.

The conversation only got more boring when dinner started. When they had done this in the past, Basil and Aubrey easily entertained one another with jokes and teasing jabs and barely noticed the time passing. Now each minute was an hour and Aubrey had achieved levels of boredom previously never reached. Aubrey caught Basil’s eye and nodded towards the doorway to the bedrooms, hoping he caught her hint.

“Um G-Granny?” Basil stuttered, grabbing her attention, “May Aubrey and I be excused?”

Flora looked at both of their plates and nodded, patting Basil on the arm. They gathered up their plates and put them in the sink. As she was about to finally escape, Aubrey’s mother crooked a finger in her direction. She walked to her mom and was pulled down roughly by the arm. It was nothing like the gentle pats that Flora gave Basil, but a clear warning.

“Behave,” Her mother said in a harsh whisper, and Aubrey gritted her teeth.

She hated that word. She hated her mother. She hated this whole stupid dinner. Aubrey didn’t bother to answer as she pulled away from her mom. Her mom didn’t want an answer, she wanted a doll for a daughter. A pretty perfect doll that made small talk and smiled at jokes that weren’t funny and did whatever she asked. Aubrey stole away from the kitchen table, walking into Basil’s room and shutting the door. She didn’t like spending time with him anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, but anything was better than being reminded just how much her own mother didn’t like her.

Basil’s room was also in a stasis, unchanged and unevolved from when she last saw it. The only difference was a blooming white orchid, the petals spread around the stem like angel wings. An orchid that was cared for meticulously, surrounded in the dying light of the day with a golden halo. An orchid that stopped Aubrey in her tracks when her eyes landed on it.

Aubrey had only seen orchids like this in one place. She had assumed that the Pastor did it, or some of the church ladies. She knew that the auxiliary had a circulating list of volunteers that went to tend to the graveyard. Aubrey had even considered that the strange man who always seemed to be in the cemetery might put them there next to her.

She knew Hero didn’t visit. He never went anywhere near the church, hadn’t in years. She didn’t know or care what Kel did, and Sunny didn’t even leave the house anymore. Aubrey had thought she was the only one that visited, the last person that even cared. For some reason her brain had completely blocked out the logical idea that Basil, who loved flowers more than anything, would be the one to carefully tend to a difficult to grow bloom.

“You put these by her?” Aubrey asked quietly, tracing a finger over the delicate petals. Neither of them needed Aubrey to say who “her” was, there was only one person left that connected them. Basil nodded, keeping his eyes down and away from his former friend. Aubrey continued to stare down at the flower, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.

“It’s a white egret,” Basil said, sitting on his bed near her and looking at the flower, “It means my thoughts will follow you into your dreams. I thought it was...I thought she might like it,”

She would have. Mari would have thought it was incredibly sweet, and she would have been able to tell Basil so. She wasn’t like Aubrey who spewed hate without a care in the world but who could never manage to say something kind without stuttering. She would have been able to bring them all together so effortlessly, there would have been no issue. None of this would have ever happened in the first place.

Aubrey was adrift, alone in a sea of confusion that sent wave after wave to try and drown her. She wanted to sit on the bed next to Basil, wanted to finally crack open and let everything out. She could trust him to listen, trust him to care. He was the only one besides her who still cared enough to visit. She should do that. That would be good. But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“Aubrey?” Basil said, hesitant but still reaching out. She pulled away from the orchid, stumbling back and looking around. A thick leather bound book in the middle of his bookshelf caught her eye, and she wandered over to it. She knew this book.

“Aubrey, don’t.” Basil ordered, his words meaning nothing to her. She could hear him say it, she could even be mildly shocked that he even dared to talk to her like that, when he had been so timid before, but none of it really reached her. Aubrey pulled his photo album out from the shelf, holding it in her hands and opening it.

Instead of the soft faded colors of their childhood, there was black. There was black over Sunny’s birthday, black over her pink raincoat. She could barely make out Hero and Kel arm wrestling, and she only knew which pictures were from the beach based on the small bits of yellow that peaked through the marker staining the memory.

He had scribbled over Mari’s picture.

Aubrey had never had an out of body experience like this. She was always solid, always grounded. Even when she had heard what Mari did, there was no part of her that was able to check out of the situation. Now she was high in the sky, somewhere distant and far where she could only watch as her heart was broken all over again.

A rough tug jerked her back into her body. Basil had snatched the album back from her, his eyes wild and blown wide open. She couldn’t even respond, she had no idea what to do first- steal the album back, or kill him.

“Get out!” Basil shrieked, holding the book against his chest and falling to his knees. She didn’t want to. She wanted to hit him, to feel his bones breaking under her fists and hear him crying out in pain. She could hurt him worse than he hurt her, make it so she wasn’t the only one suffering. He did this. He was the one who did this, and she wouldn’t be to blame for that. She wanted to wring his neck, to break down and start sobbing.

She wanted to run.

Aubrey shouted in rage, beyond words and beyond any outward expression of the emotions roiling within. She bodily threw the door open, running past the table and out the door. She heard her mother and Flora calling for her, but she ignored them, slamming the door and continuing to sprint away. She got back to her house in record time, not bothering to close the front door as she climbed up the ladder to her room as quickly as possible.

Aubrey locked the trap door to her room, finally letting out the scream that had been building up within her. No one was there to hear it but her bunny, and she was currently hiding in her hut from Aubrey’s meltdown. Aubrey flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillows, screaming again. She could hear her mother coming into the house now, screeching in rage at Aubrey’s dramatic exit, catapulting insults left and right about Aubrey. The girl wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. She would get that album back from Basil, whatever it took to do so, and she would never, never, trust him again.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (14)

  jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: it’s time they got down to business… or isn’t it 😳

words: 6.2k

  chapter fourteen

You spent nearly the whole Saturday on the phone with Inna – because she refused to let you hang up until you gave her a play-by-play of last night’s party (and all that happened after) – and, by the time you finally ended the phone call, you were half-deaf from all of her—supportive but rather alarming—screaming.

And then, before you were ready for it, you and Jungkook had another Sunday night dinner at his parents’ house.

Admittedly, you thought you’d feel uncomfortable seeing his parents again after having learnt that they gave the push that convinced Jungkook to cut his ties with you off, but this feeling only clouded your mind for about fifteen minutes – or, in other words, for the period of time that it took for Jungkook to arrive from his house to your dormitory.

By the time he got here, all that was left in your mind – and in the air around you as soon as you opened the door to let him in – was ease. Routine.

Like you were supposed to spend every Sunday night with his family, holding hands with him under the dinner table. Like this wasn’t somehow weird or unusual, or even awkward. Like this was how it’d always been – with no seven-year-long gaps – and how it was always supposed to be.

Even touching Jungkook after the last time you’d seen him was, most surprisingly, not at all different from touching him before your last conversation. It still caused lighting bolts to explode inside of your stomach, and you were used to the sensation by now.

The only difference was that now you knew.

And knowing allowed you to truly come back to the life you were once a part of.

It felt like the last time you’d been to his house, you only allowed yourself to set one foot in, holding yourself back in case this would all go wrong and hurt you, but now you were ready to try again. Now you were ready to go into it with your whole body – open chest and all.

Sure, the possibility of getting hurt was still there – even if it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook joked about how his mom was more excited to see you than him – but sometimes you had to believe—not just hope—that nothing bad was going to happen, in order to make it true.

And truly nothing bad seemed on the horizon as Jungkook – true to the promise he’d made earlier this week – took you to the ice cream shop near his home as soon as dinner was over so you could pick up some desserts for yourselves. You found the chocolate-chip cookie-flavored ice cream – the one he knew you loved – and all was bliss.

“What is it with you,” you asked him when the two of you walked out of the shop and Jungkook was happily licking two different flavors on his cone – strawberry and mint, “and these flavors?”

“They’re good together,” he defended, pushing his cone towards you. “Want to try?”

You scrunched your nose. “No. I’ll stick with my chocolate—”

“Boring.”

“Hey,” you gave him a look, unaware of the chocolate around the corners of your lips and how utterly irresistible it made you look to him, “you’ve been picking the sweetest flavors of ice cream ever since we were kids. Don’t call me boring if I choose to postpone my diabetes diagnosis.”

“Neither of us is getting diabetes,” he said, absentmindedly extending his hand to wipe the chocolate from your lips and then sucking his thumb into his mouth.

You forgot what you were talking about for a moment as you looked away from him, your face burning hot at the sight, but your hands freezing cold from the ice cream.

Jungkook didn’t notice and carried on. 

“Do you remember when we used to collect those wooden popsicle sticks for no reason when we were kids?” he asked.

“I—yeah, I remember,” you said, taking a distracted bite your ice cream and then wincing when your temples froze. “I-I’m pretty sure we had a reason, though. You said you wanted to build a Trojan horse.”

“Oh, that’s right!” his face lit up just like it did that day when you were eight and you told him you’d help him build it. “I never had enough patience for a project like that. Why did you get on board with it?”

“Because you were really excited for it,” you replied as nonchalantly as you could manage – even though you could see it in his eyes when you looked at him, he did not think this was nothing; it was important to him – and then hid your face in your ice cream again.

Jungkook watched you for another moment, his heart beating peacefully but his mind buzzing with memories. You always ate your ice cream the same way – nearly all of it at once – ever since you were a little kid. He’d always made fun of you for it – not cruelly, because seeing the exhilaration in your eyes and your ice-cream-covered face always made him feel inexplicably warm inside – but now he wanted to grab your hand, stop you, and clean your lips with his own.

“I still have the popsicle sticks in my room,” he said while his ice cream melted in the paper cup in his hand.

“You do?” you asked, turning to look at him and making his suffering so much worse when you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why did you keep them all this time?”

Jungkook was glad you’d reached the gate of his house because that meant he could turn his back to you as he fumbled with the lock – it wasn’t a complicated mechanism, he just needed to look at something else for a bit – and tried to get his lungs to function properly again.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally opening the gate. “I guess I was hoping to still build that horse one day.”

You scoffed at this – Jungkook gave you a dignified look in return – and lingered by the gate for a second before you realized that he’d stopped to let you enter first.

“I’m not mocking,” you explained in response to the look on his face. “It’s actually great that you kept it.”

His mouth dried up when he closed the gate and turned around to walk towards the house before noticing how warm your gaze was. Then, to avoid you reading through him and figuring out what he was feeling, he stuffed a mouthful of ice cream into his mouth.

“It is?” he asked with a slight lisp and then hissed as the freezing sensation went straight to his brain.

“Yeah,” you nodded, a more wary look in your eyes now that Jungkook was in pain from the self-inflicted brain-freeze. “It shows that you’re waiting until you’re mature enough to be able to invest your time into something that requires a lot of patience.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily – you assumed it was from the cold – and lead you past the impeccably-kept bushes in his front-yard, and towards the entrance into his house.

“Yeah, no,” he said, finishing his ice cream in a few large bites that must have very literally frozen his throat. He tried not to let it show as he said in a very breathy voice, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

You shrugged your shoulders, slowly finishing your own ice cream as you brought your free hand over the vines that ran alongside the front wall of his house. “Maybe you don’t realize it.”

“Or maybe I kept the sticks because they reminded me of you.”

You stopped in front of his porch steps, unsure if you heard him right.

Swallowing the final bite of the chocolate-filled waffle cone, you looked at him in confusion – that was easy to mistake for disbelief, “hmm?”

Jungkook climbed up the steps – two at a time because he was always too impatient but, this time, also because he felt like he’d spoken too soon and he needed to put more distance between himself and you – and did not turn around to look at you until he fished his keys out from the pocket of his jeans, and unlocked the door.

“Yeah,” he said then, only giving you a glance as he opened the door and nodded his head inside, waiting for you to walk in first. “I still have a framed picture of us from middle school on my dresser.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at him even though he was now obviously avoiding your eyes.

There was even more surprise in your voice and it stung – you shouldn’t have been surprised about the fact that he cared enough to keep pictures that immortalized your friendship; but you were, and that was his fault – making him feel more self-conscious than he already was.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said and, smiling nervously, he stretched his hand behind his neck to scratch a nonexistent itch. “You want to see it?”

“Oh,” you were still standing on his doorstep while he was inviting you to his room. “Sure, yeah.”

You’d been to his room before – many times, in fact – so you hated the way the hairs on your skin stood up in anticipation. This wasn’t supposed to be any different from any other time you’d been in his room – was it? – and yet, you couldn’t help but remember that this was what you’d told yourself the last time you’d been there, too.

You two weren’t even the only people in his room that day – to celebrate the end of middle school, he’d invited his whole class – but, in your memory, everyone else was blurred and so dim that, sometimes, when you thought back on that day, you weren’t sure anyone else was even there. Or anywhere, for that matter. It’d felt like it was just you and him.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook suddenly brought you back to the present – and helped you realize just how hot your body was in spite of the excited shivers that ran down your back when you remembered his invitation – and you blinked before staggering inside.

Unaware of the several trips down memory lane that you’d taken while simply standing by his door, Jungkook extended a hand for you to take – and you took it, the movement automatic, as though you were in a well-rehearsed dance – and lead you towards the staircase.

You walked into his father on your way up the stairs, but he was on the phone so he merely gave his son a nod – and a smile for you – and then went on his way.

“You know, usually,” Jungkook said, sneering at the dismissal from his father, “parents would tell their kids to keep the door of their room open.”

Shivering again – but acting like you were most certainly not affected by the feeling of his palm against yours – you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“They would,” you said, licking your lips in an unconscious attempt to conceal the effect his not-at-all-innocent observation had on you, “but you’re twenty-three years old.”

He peered at you over his shoulder as he lead you down the second-floor hallway – nearly tripping over his feet when he saw you lick your lips – and then turned towards his room.

“Yes,” he said, “thank you for the newsflash,” and, stopping outside of his bedroom, he explained, “I meant, my parents never said that sort of thing to me. Not once.”

“Oh,” you caught on and lowered your eyes. “So, you brought a lot of people over, then?”

Jungkook smirked – you didn’t see this at first, but, when you raised your head again a minute later, confused by his silence, the smirk was still there – obviously very pleased to hear the not particularly well concealed shades of jealousy in your voice.

“None, actually. You’re the only one of my friends who’s been here,” he said then. “And I’ve already told you, I’ve never dated before.”

You were still unsure if he was pulling your leg. “Well, you don’t have to be dating people to bring them over to your—”

He pulled you into his room by your hand, not letting you finish your question. He closed the door and, this time, you two were really the only people here.

“I’m not like that,” he told you then, “but I understand where you’re coming from.”

You weren’t sure what you were asking him when you spoke, “you do?”

“Yeah,” he said, putting the paper cup of ice cream – that was as empty as your mind when Jungkook kept on holding your hand even though, now that you were in his room, there was no reason for it – on his desk, and then leaning against it to look at you. “It’s a nice campus tale, me constantly having girls over. But the only times I did sleep with someone, I didn’t do it in a place I lived. Nothing against that, I’m just a private person in that way, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head once and turned away from him, choosing to watch the starved pigeons, which crept around his backyard, through the window. “That sure makes your reputation better.”

Jungkook snickered, reluctantly letting go of your hand – but only because you were unconsciously pulling away from him – and attempting to explain, “I don’t mean to say I have sex outside—”

“No, I-I…” you cut him off – your flustered state intrigued him further – as you walked over to the dresser that he’d mentioned before. “I get what you mean. It’s an interesting version of “don’t shit where you eat”, but—”

He laughed, the sound taking you by surprise and cutting you off.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he said, his eyes glistening with humor. “But the saying fits, I guess.”

He plopped down on his bed as he said this and the conversation about how many people he’d slept with had run out – which was good, since you hadn’t braced yourself for a discussion about your experiences in this particular area.

Instead, you took a minute to take the rest of his room in; it had changed so little since the last time you’d seen it. But it was the picture – that was right there where he said it was – that really took you back to the time when you spent nearly every afternoon in this room.

Jungkook smiled as he watched you reminisce, but not because he liked to see the way your features softened as you admired the picture from your childhood, but because you fit in this room far better than he did.

“Are you here a lot?” you asked as if having read his mind.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you told me you moved out a while ago…” you said, “and the room looks just as I remember it, so I just—”

“Oh. No, I’m—I’m not here a lot,” he admitted. “But I do come when I visit my parents.”

“Which is once a year?”

He acknowledged the jab by pursing his lips and retorting, “a lot more than that now that I have you with me.”

You hummed in response but your mind was already elsewhere as you pointed at the ceremoniously locked nightstand in the corner next to his bed, “what’s this?”

It looked so eccentric and out-of-place – not the stand itself, but the chain that ran along both sides of it, a trusty lock in the middle – that you couldn’t help but feel curious.

Jungkook, however, leaped on all fours and crawled over his bed to guard the nightstand with his hands – as if you were Cyclops and were about to burn through the stand with a laser beam from your eyes – a defensive look on his face.

“It’s nothing,” he said even though this was obviously the most interesting piece of furniture in his whole room, “just a decoration.”

“With chains—?” you tried to ask but Jungkook jumped back to his previous position and patted the spot on the bed next to himself.

“Come on,” he said. “Sit. Do you remember the last time you were here?”

He knew this was the only way to change the topic – and the defeated look on your face confirmed his expectations – but, when you remained standing across the room, he patted the bed again, more eagerly this time.

“We celebrated our graduation from middle school with the other kids,” he said because you didn’t show any other sign to let him know whether you remembered or not. Jungkook could feel that you did, but, regardless, he still continued, “we played Truth or Dare. Remember?”

It was ridiculous he even had to ask that. Some days – and even more frequently now that you were talking again – your middle school graduation was all you could think about, even all of these years later.

“Barely,” you replied but you both knew it was a lie. “It was a long time ago, lots have happened since—”

“Someone dared you to kiss me,” he said with an innocent expression on his face – because he was just refreshing your memory – but it was quickly replaced by an amused grin when your eyes widened in surprise – not because you were shocked he’d said it, but because saying it aloud conjured up a much clearer image of that day; probably because now you knew that the memory of that day was as fresh in his mind as it was in yours.

“Sure,” you said, laughing weakly to hide how warm your hands, your face, and your whole body was. “That was a thing that, uh… happened.”

“So,” Jungkook was grinning but it was only an attempt to conceal his own anxiety – if he stopped grinning, he was going to have to handle the rapid beating of his heart inside of his chest, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that just yet. “Truth or dare?”

The question sobered you up from the intoxicating memory and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“We’re not fourteen and in middle school anymore,” you said. “What are you doing?”

“Come on,” he urged you again, “truth or dare?”

You knew better than to insist he dropped this – there were barely any people more demanding and frustrating than him; you couldn’t even name one – so you didn’t waste your breath trying.

Groaning because you knew he wouldn’t be pleased with your answer – just like you weren’t pleased with him even suggesting this game – you said, “truth.”

Jungkook smiled knowingly because – just like you’d predicted – he was absolutely expecting this and had, therefore, prepared accordingly.

“Who was your first kiss?” he asked without wasting a second.

God, this was going to be a long night, you started to realize. Now you weren’t sure if the ice cream was even worth it – maybe you should have left after dinner.

Meeting his expectant gaze, you tried your hardest to convey all of your hatred for this game through your eyes – but Jungkook wasn’t watching them, he was watching your lips as he waited for your answer – and then you finally said, “you.”

You were almost expecting triumphant fanfares to go off somewhere outside of his house but, instead of that, Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, indicating that your answer had surprised him – even though it really shouldn’t have; you may not have been his first kiss, but you had never even wanted to kiss anyone who wasn’t him.

He was obviously going to inquire about this further – but what was there to ask, honestly? – but you were categorically not going to let him.

“Truth or dare?” you fired.

Jungkook closed his mouth, decided – begrudgingly – that this was a fair play, and then, true to himself, replied, “dare.”

“Show me your mysterious nightstand.”

He looked disappointed and more than ready to refuse – good, now he knew how you felt – but got up from the bed nevertheless.

He walked over to his desk first and got a singular key out from under the fake-bottom of the top drawer – courtesy of his Death Note phase – before slowly sliding it into the lock on the nightstand across the room. Turning it until you both heard a pleasant click, Jungkook took the chains off and huffed as he looked at you before doing anything else.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see inside so you couldn’t brace yourself for anything but, as Jungkook opened the door of the nightstand, you realized there was no possible way for you to prepare for this anyway.

There were piles of pictures inside – polaroids, of you and him at the lakehouse your families used to rent out every summer – old cut-outs from the school newspaper, showing you, as the president of the Student Council, and the principal of the school. There were the old dog tags you two had gotten together at a fair one spring – because he kept accidentally ripping every friendship bracelet you two ever had – and there were the remote-controlled cars that you’d gotten him for his tenth birthday – you’d been saving up for them that whole year.

Scanning the contents of the nightstand – while Jungkook watched you, biting his lip – you noticed that he had a copy of almost every single movie you’d ever shown him – the DVD of The Sixth Sense, of course, resting at the very front – and, more than that, he had post-it notes glued to all of them with notes ranging from as obscure as, “She said it’s good” to direct quotes from you, “She said I would like it because it’s violent enough to keep me at the edge of my seat but it also has meaning. She smiled a lot when she told me about it.”

And then, as if your heart wasn’t already beating fast enough, you saw the popsicle sticks on the very bottom of the nightstand. Most of them were just scattered there, long forgotten, but some were glued together in what was supposed to be the base of the Trojan horse you two had never gotten to build.

You pulled back, feeling like every time you inhaled, a new memory returned to you, each heavier than the one before. When you finally removed your eyes from the mementos of the past and looked at him, your chest was so full, it was weighing you down.

“You—” you started but the words got lost on their way out of your throat. You tried again, “you kept all of this—”

“Of course,” he said, closing the nightstand now that you weren’t looking at it anymore – he didn’t bother with the chain – and then returning to his previous spot on the bed. “I couldn’t bring it all with me when I left the house because I didn’t know where I was going to go. And I couldn’t leave it all hanging around my room because… well, because I didn’t want my parents to turn the room into a home gym and throw everything out.”

“B-but why—”

“Because it’s important to me,” he replied, knowing what you were going to say, “because these are the things that you and I did together. It’s us. You and me. I kept everything that reminded me of you.”

His words soothed the old wounds but it opened up new ones, too, because, in the seven years that you didn’t have any contact with him, you’d done everything you could to erase him from your life completely – throwing anything that reminded you of him out, until your room and your whole house was void of any connection to him – while he did the complete opposite and attempted to preserve as much of your past friendship as it was possible.

“My turn,” Jungkook said, his voice shakier than it’d been before. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t want to play anymore. You felt like you physically couldn’t play anymore.

“Jungkook—”

“Truth or dare?” he repeated, more persistent this time.

Sighing because this was hopeless, you replied, “truth.”

He shook his head. “You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

You should have seen it coming and yet you still felt a pang of annoyance that completely broke you out of the blissful state the contents of the nightstand had put you in before.

“Yes, I can,” you protested. “You just watched me do it.”

He didn’t give in. “That’s against the rules.”

“There are no rules in this game.”

“Yes, there are.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who made them?”

“Me,” Jungkook said, crossing his legs to find a more comfortable position. “My house, my rules. You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

“Fine, you dick,” you replied – he almost smiled at the name – and settled,  “dare, then.”

It was almost funny, really, how easily the words came to Jungkook as he dared you, “kiss me.”

If you’d have turned your head to the old clock on his wall by the desk, you would have noticed how the arrows had stopped – they stopped long before tonight but, in that moment only, they showed the right time. Almost as if Jungkook wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting to say this to you. Everything in his room had been waiting, too.

Jungkook thought you’d do it -- he thought you’d turn your head, look away. Look for an excuse to back out of this. 

That’s why he didn’t kiss you but gave you an opening to do it yourself, using the game as an excuse. And, in the quiet moment that passed, he waited for your eyes to leave his, refusing the opportunity. But they never did.

You didn’t think you could tear your eyes away from his yearning gaze – just like gravity prevented you from floating off into space, the force of his eyes prevented you from pulling away. Instead, they pulled you in. 

And so you kissed him again, seven years later.

It was just a touch first – you barely registered the feeling of his lips against yours – but, before a chance to pull away even presented itself, the touch melted, locking your lips together.

He tasted like the strawberry mint gum he kept in his car.

He tasted like the flavor of the ice cream he’d picked today.

And, although you’d refused to try it when he offered outside of the ice cream shop, you couldn’t deny it when you were kissing him – strawberry and mint went so incredibly well together.

He tasted like the best friend you’d day-dreamed of kissing before you went to sleep at night.

He tasted like everything you’d ever wanted.

And, belatedly, the triumphant fanfares did go off somewhere in the distance – although it could have just been the sound of your hearts, calling out to each other through your chests – but the only sound you could hear clearly was the sound of his mouth moving against yours as he deepened the kiss, standing up on his knees on the bed and gently pushing you forwards until you landed on your back and he was leaning on his elbows on either side of you.

There were many things you knew about Jungkook – your knowledge coming from all of the days you’d spend together as children – but there were also several things that you didn’t know.

For one thing, you didn’t know what his kisses felt like when there was no one watching.

And now you did as his tongue tenderly brushed against yours, growing more impatient by the second, until you had to hold onto his chest with one hand and wrap the other one around his neck to prevent yourself from completely melting under him.

Furthermore, you didn’t know how long he’s waited for this.

And now you did as his warm body pressed against yours, freezing cold and almost screaming in the parts where he couldn’t physically touch you.

Kissing him felt relieving because you’d waited for this, too, and uselessly tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need his arms around you as much as you did.

It felt freeing because now you could finally admit to yourself how much you’d wanted to kiss him and have him catch his breath against your neck before bringing his lips back to yours again.

But it also felt dangerous because you couldn’t stop – you didn’t want to stop – and, not being in control of your surroundings and, most importantly, of yourself, was something that you knew would have dire consequences. You needed to prepare for this beforehand, consider every possible outcome and—

But then Jungkook pushed one of his thighs between your legs, kissing you harder—deeper—and you no longer cared about being in control of the situation. 

Sighing into the kiss – until he nearly passed out because he’d imagined this before and, for half a moment, he was afraid this was all happening in his head again – you abandoned all of your inhibitions and held onto him tighter, kissing him back with matching intensity.

And that moment – the one moment when you gave in to him completely – was precisely when someone knocked on his door.

However, even though you had both heard it, neither of you reacted to it, your mouths not pausing for a moment and his fingers never leaving the spot under your shirt – right above your waist – where they’d come to rest.

A moment later, you thought you’d only imagined the knock – the sound was already so far away in the distance, it didn’t even feel like you’d really heard it.

In his case, precisely because this – kissing on his bed in his childhood room – was actually real and not just a figment of his imagination, Jungkook simply assumed that everything else had to be happening in some other world where he wasn’t kissing you. In a world that didn’t exist. In a world that didn’t matter.

And so, naturally, he didn’t pay attention to any foreign sounds, focusing on the feeling of your skin, your lips, your touch, you, instead.

But then the knock came again. Shameless, truly, because it had to be obvious what was happening inside; it was impossible not to hear someone knock on the door of a room that was as empty as Jungkook’s bedroom.

This time, you both paused. But Jungkook – who hadn’t lived with his parents in a long time and, therefore, couldn’t remember their habits – was curious if, perhaps, the knocking would go away if unanswered, and so he went back to kissing you a second later.

Much to his—and yours—irritation, however, it didn’t seem like the knocking was going to stop. If anything, it started to get more intense and your hand – the one that pulled him closer to you by his shirt – ended up having to push him away slightly.

“Jungkook?” his mother’s uncertain voice reached your ears, but when you saw his face when he pulled away from you, you felt like you may as well have imagined that sound, too, because the sight of his puffy lips and wide, blown-out pupils made you lean forward to connect your lips again, if only for just a moment.

Jungkook was convinced you hadn’t yet grasped the effect you had on him; he couldn’t just stop kissing you out of the blue like that. And so he leaned back in, pressing his lips to yours until he felt you kiss him back. And then you broke the spell by turning your face towards the door as you tried to speak.

“It’s your mom,” you said, completely out of breath. “You should open it.”

Growling with frustration, he pushed himself off of you and climbed off the bed, not giving you a second to get up and make your activities less obvious before he was throwing the door open a lot more aggressively than he’d intended.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you two were back yet,” his mother said, seemingly unfazed by her son’s obvious frustration. “I just got the pie out of the oven, so the dessert is ready. Your dad and I were waiting downstairs, are you two—”

“We got ice cream,” he reminded his mother in a surprisingly gentle tone – even if his body remained stoic – and then glanced over his shoulder at you. “Unless you’d like to grab a slice?”

“Uh, I—thank you,” you said, standing up from the bed and desperately attempting to fix your hair while still remaining polite, “but I still feel full from the ice cream. A-and your dinner was wonderful, too, of course.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” his mother smiled at you and then gave her son a nod. “If you feel like getting tea with us, we’ll be in the kitchen, okay? Sorry I barged in on you like that, you didn’t tell me when you came back home, so I didn’t—”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jungkook said, still in a hurry. “We ran into dad, though. He knew we were back.”

“He did?” this seemed to surprise her. “Huh. He didn’t tell me.”

Huh, indeed. Maybe his father had his own ways of making sure Jungkook kept the door of his bedroom open.

“Well, no matter,” his mother added. “I’ll leave now. Sorry again!”

She smiled at you once more before she walked back to the staircase. You couldn’t tell if her eyes had been glittering because of the few glasses of wine that she’d had with dinner, or because she was able to tell what had been going on in this room before she came in.

Or maybe she was just happy that you were both home, safe and sound, and hanging out in his room – just like back in the day.

“Well,” Jungkook said after closing the door of his room. He wasn’t trying to conceal his disappointment, “that was my mom and her perfect timing.”

You chuckled. “Ah, she could have come in later. That would have been worse.”

“Yeah?” he liked to hear that you’d been imagining what could have happened later, as he walked back to you. “What do you think we’d have been doing?”

“Anything,” you replied, ignoring the fratboy in him but allowing his arms to comfortably wrap themselves around your waist. You replied to his smile with one of your own but did not dare to close the distance between you, only choosing to carefully rest your hands on his shoulders. “Do you know what time it is?”

Jungkook groaned, knowing that you must have understood his mother’s arrival as a sign that it was time for you to go home. “No, don’t start with the time!”

“What?” you asked, surprised by his agitation. “Why not?”

“Because it’s always the time that interrupts us,” he said, knowing how pointless it was but still cursing the time, the place, and almost the entire universe. “The night always ends before I’m ready for it.”

“Are you ever ready for it?” you asked but, in all actuality, you were asking him something else.

“No,” he said, answering both of your questions. “I’m never ready to leave you. You could stay over, you know.”

He’d once called you the most ambitious person he’d ever known, and yet there was nothing you wanted more than to stay here. Stay for a night. For however many nights it was possible.

But there were too many things to think about, too many outcomes to consider. You’d barely grown used to your relationship as old-friends-who-were-fake-dating before you kissed – mostly unprovoked and largely because you wanted to, not because he’d dared you to – and opened up the door to a whole new world.

“I…” you spoke, swallowing slowly. You knew you were someone who had to learn how to maneuver the magical carpet first, before hopping on it and flying away. That was who you were. “Thank you. But I think it’d be best if I went home tonight.”

Jungkook nodded, knowing and fully expecting you to say this. He wasn’t going to object because you’d already taken a huge step—a leap, really—over your own self when you responded and kissed him, and he didn’t want to pressure you into giving in and making any similar decisions before you were ready, no matter how much he wanted you to make them. No matter how much he wanted you.

But he was still going to give you a hard time about this. Because that was who he was.

“Leaving me wanting more, yeah?” he teased.

“Not leaving you,” you said. “Just leaving.”

He loved the way this sounded like a promise – and he would keep replaying your words in his head until the next time he saw you – but he didn’t show it, taking you by the hand instead.

“Let me take you home then,” he said and then threatened, “you should know before we go, though – I am fully determined to make you feel bad for abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” you replied, making him smile in appreciation before leaning in to press a quick—almost chaste—kiss to your cheek.

He pulled away to open the door of his room and then walked outside, taking small steps and deep sighs, his theatrics always very sharp.

“Off I go,” Jungkook began, “starting my journey of loneliness—”

“Is that from a song?” you asked, interrupting his improvised monologue as you followed after him.

“It’s from my life,” he replied shortly. You tried to suppress your laughter and he continued, more dramatic now that he’d noticed he was entertaining you, “off I go, into the dark cavern of solitude. All by myself, all over again...”

Each one of your involuntary giggles only encouraged him, so Jungkook kept this up all the way to your dorm and then he found a way to keep going over text messages, spamming you with his Shakespearean delusions until you threatened to block his number if he didn’t stop.

And then, after testing you for another half an hour, he finally did stop and went to sleep – alone, but with the memory of you that was so strong, it was like you were there with him.

keep reading | masterlist

[generalexcuse]

Alright. I am beating a dead horse here but taking time off of this show and fandom did not work. This will be the last time I ever say something about it but it’s upsetting to me so I need to vent. And to everyone saying “You are an adult man and this is fiction, why are you so obsessed? Weirdo. Learn to differentiate between fiction and reality.” I am going to address these notions as well as other problems I am having here. But really, Inuyasha was one of my first Anime, I have many dear memories and especially Rin was one of my all time favourite characters. Seeing her being mistreated like this upsets me. Ofc it does because if you watch something in formative years it’s not just fiction like a boring sitcom you watch now. Shows and characters are important to people and to simply dismiss it like that even if they would have been equally upset if it wouldnt have become canon, is infuriating. Really this is just therapeutic for me because even after weeks it’s still so baffling to me. Also please excuse the grammar and spelling mistakes. I am not a native speaker.

So the problem is obviously Sessrin and how it’s done because while I absolutely dont agree with this pairing, it would have been fine if it wasnt like it is. 

In the original show, Rin is an 8 yo child and her entire character reflects just that. She behaves like a child and depends on others. She has also been traumatized, doesnt speak at the beginning of the show and dies twice. Both times she is saved by or because of Sesshomaru. In many ways, while she has survival skills on her own, she depends on his presence alone to keep danger away. He also leaves her with trustworthy humans at the end but stays in her life as a protector. Now I like the original dynamic. It’s sweet, innocent and both characters grow because of it. Rin can work through her traumatic experiences, learns to trust others and Sesshomaru becomes a better person.  What happens afterwards only happens offscreen right until Rin gives birth to his children at the crippling old age of 15. 15. My lil sis is 16 now and couldnt consent to something like that. And she is mature af. It’s ridiculous. My blood boils just typing that shit out. And if you give me the ‘it’s legal in Japan’ excuse. In Germany a 14 yo can be with a 20 yo sexually. Still not okay in societies eyes and on tv it’s never shown as something positive. It’s even explicitly forbidden for authority figures like teachers or protectors to be with their protégé before the age of 18 because the chances of even unintentional grooming are too high. 

Now lets take a quick break and discuss how this kind of relationship usually plays out in other fictional pieces. A minor with an adult is something that is being portrayed at times and I dont have a problem with that. The problem is how it’s being done in Yashahime. And I dont mean the nonexisting character development but the fact that even in adult fiction this type of relationship isnt depicted positively. And this show is for young adults and teens that will exist way after all the discourse as the official sequel to Inuyasha. A cult anime. Meaning that in the future young people will watch it. Just like many still watch Inuyasha to this day. It’s on Netflix for fucks sake. Just to preface what comes next.   Some people say, “But cant you differentiate between reality and fiction?!?!?!” Adults can but younger people havent developed this ability to the same extent.   What happened to Rin was statutory r*pe in the USA, illegal even in Germany and should have been depicted as such unless the showrunners and fandom are okay with watching it without criticism or deconstruction. At best it was done with the intention to please the fanbase but really it’s neglectful to anyother part of the present and future audience. Not even most Animes do that. And I get that Sessriners arent into that shit in real life and an adult show could have gone this route because the viewers understand and add the criticism in their heads. Not ideal but whatever to me. But a YA show to go this route is so wrong on so many levels. The younger viewer who will watch this show in the following years might subconsciously internalize that this is acceptable under certain conditions when it’s not criticized properly on the show. That lowers their alertness when an adult actually starts to groom them. How dense do you have to be to assume that the lack of criticism on this YA show is a good thing?? Not everyone who will ever watch this show is an adult or capable of the same reasoning.

But another thing: for the same reason r*pe isnt depicted in a positive light, these types of relationships arent either. Because it’s not a positive thing and most people and showrunners dont want to see or create it as positive. Even in adult fiction, even in other anime, the media critizes and deconstructs what it’s showing because normally the showmakers dont approve but show it for realisitc or dramatic reasons. the same sessrin storyline would fit a fucking horror or thriller series. Just change the music and show it all. No showmakers in their right mind would go “Aye we got a r*pe scene coming up, lets put romantic music and have a pink filter over it.” “But it’s a different time and culture!” People will say and I agree but to have the audacity to assume that back then it was okay or that in todays Japan it’s okay, is fucked up. Think about it for a second. That’s so fucked up to think. Even if the society back then or in Japan thinks it’s okay, does it make it okay? 15 yo girls werent able to consent to adults and bear their children back then. They had to. They were raised with the expectations and they simply grew up thinking that it was the normal thing. But that doesnt make it right. That’s just societal grooming which did not prepare them in any way or allowed them the human dignity that they would have deserved. To now act like it’s all cool to just show the “positive” aspects or to twist it into something positive is so fucked up. Child Brides are a fucked up concept and to portray it as anything else is fucked up and also undermines the experience many girls still have to make. period.

I heard people say that it’s okay to portray it in this way because “Sesshomaru is not human!!!1″ and that’s correct. He is not. BUT, it’s not about being human but about maturity, consens, and independency. Him being a yokai makes it worse imo because there is an obvious power discrepancy. But in this particular fiction a good relationship could have been established (Kagome and Inuyasha for example) on those foundations but they did not because I can only assume they wanted Sesshomaru to smash and the show to pick up at a point where the other characters arent too old to be cool.

“What’s with Sango and Miroku, Kagome and Inuyasha?? It’s the same!” No it’s not. Rin was 8 at the beginning of the show. Kagome was 15 and Sango was 16-17 when they met their significant others. If you now tell me that you think 8 to be comparable to 15-17, I must ask you to get a reality check. Kagome’s and Sango’s relationships were slowburns starting when they already were able to have sexual and romantical feelings. Rin was a child. And Kagome did not kiss Inuyasha until they knew each other for a long ass period of time and bonded as friends and maybe more. Sesshomaru and Rin never were friends in the same way that Kagome and Inuyasha were because the maturity levels are way off. No adult is friends with a little child in the same way they are friends with their adult friends. And normally you dont grow into such a friendship but in the rare case you do, it’s not when she is 15 but maybe 20 or 25. 

Last but not least, Rin is not a character to the audience the same way Kagome or Sango are. Why? Because she was never shown as an adult or 3 Dimensional character to the audience. We know her as a child who wants to be with her trusted group. She is naive, but tough and doesnt have any motivation or drive on her own outside her group. Like every child she clung to the adults around her and her world outside of this group was nonexisting. Kagome wanted to be successful in school, Sango was a demon hunter and wanted to find her brother. Those are motivations and traits that dont circle around the love interest. Rin never had those because she was not developed to that point. Because she was a child and her entire existence was to develop Sesshomaru and to perhaps give the viewer a character to simply adore. What we see is of her: Mistreated child, -> Dead child -> Child being looked after and healing, -> Child not being homeless anymore -> ????? -> Teenager getting knocked up, pumping out main characters and then getting yeeted into a tree. 

This is not the way you treat a beloved character. There is no dignity to her character. “But she is fictional!!1″ Yes she is. But please show me a show that treats its child characters like this without criticizing it. 

I would have loved to see her grow as her own person. Go on her own adventures or learning a craft or developing meaningful bonds with other characters her age. Forming ideas that dont revolve around Sesshomaru alone. You know her being 3 Dimentional and not just there to pump out main characters. And if she then with 20 or 25 met Sesshomaru again and thought he was the hottest shit, I would have been fine with it. Not happy but fine. But in the little time we saw her as ‘not a child’, she still behaved the way she did before. 

[luninosity]

*wanders by* Look what I worked on today...

Warnings for…NOT actual self-harm, but Jason spotting a scar on one of Colby’s hands, a scar he doesn’t know the story of, and briefly considering that possibility. (The actual story is much more of a cooking-related accident!) Plus general warnings for brief mention of Colby’s Awful Exes and family, & related emotional abuse.

#

“How’s this?” Jason waited, fingers resting over Colby’s hands in his. The hotel room wrapped comfort around them; it’d begun as nondescript, but had welcomed Colby’s rainbow cascade of scarves and Jason’s tidy unpacking. It was their home now, for these next two weeks of filming on location. “Helping?”

 “Very much helping, thank you.” Colby obediently didn’t move, holding both hands out. They were sitting on the bed, having changed into pajama pants and t-shirts—Colby’d borrowed one of Jason’s shirts, too large but in a cuddly flattering way—and the day had been long. They’d been filming into the evening, because Jill had wanted the specific light, dwindling away as Colby’s young and brilliant magician character got imprisoned and bound by iron and tortured, refusing to give up and lead the villains to Jason’s hero.

 The chains and cuffs had been fake, of course. Hollywood movie-making magic. A vast leap from real iron.

 But that didn’t mean they were soft or forgiving. They’d had hard edges, angled in spots, heavy, with no real padding. He’d had to struggle against them. He’d had to kneel while the villains shoved his hands to the floor and—cautiously, weight judged for performance—stepped upon them, pretending to shatter bones. The floor, and the impact, hadn’t been soft either.

 The bruises and scrapes and cuts were all too real. Colby winced as Jason spread healing salve across a tender spot. “Ow. Sorry, sorry, I know you’re being careful, I’m not complaining.”

 “Tell me if it’s hurting too much.” He tapped a finger over the back of Colby’s wrist. “And don’t apologize for it. Are you sure you don’t want me to get the medical people to check you out?”

 “They did, right after. I know you know; you were there. It’s fine, it’s not—ow—serious. It’ll heal.”

 “Might need some wrapping, though.” Jason eyed the bruises, the nicks. They shuffled purple and red across Colby’s skin, shame-faced. He didn’t like them existing, though he knew they weren’t anyone’s fault. “Just for tonight, to keep all this on. Not too tight.”

 “Whatever you think works best,” Colby agreed. “You’d know better than I would, as far as stunts and injuries. Ow, oh, drat, that one hurts a bit more.”

 That one was probably the worst, Jason judged: scraped raw, layers exposed, across Colby’s left wrist. The edge of that cuff had been both rough and sharp. And obviously his touch hadn’t been careful enough. “Shit. Sorry. Love you. Is the numbing part working, at all? It’s supposed to be helping.”

 “Oh yes,” Colby said, obligingly. “It’s already better. Thank you for doing this.”

 Jason sighed.

 “It’s true,” Colby protested. “I honestly do feel better. I’d tell you if not.” Hair tumbling to his shoulders in loose dark waves—not a wig, but extensions, left in for fantastical mystical effect—he was elfin and pretty and earnest, wearing Jason’s too-large shirt, eyes huge and blue and searching Jason’s face.

 “I know you would. But I also want to know if it’s not helping enough, okay?”

 “Yes,” Colby said meekly. “I’ll say so if it’s not working, I promise.”

 “Okay, then. Just checking.” He tried to make his touch as gentle as possible. He tried to be as soothing as he could: a protective bulk, not a threatening one. Hands offering care, not more harm. Weight and breadth positioned harmlessly on the bed, no demands.

 He knew Colby trusted him. He felt a small glow of pride that Colby did: enough to admit to being in pain, to wanting care. He loved Colby and would care for Colby with all his heart, all his strength, all his soul; not a question, not ever.

 He still hated seeing Colby in pain. Always had, always would.

 That’d be true for anyone he loved, of course. He’d had some discussions with their therapist about that, about grief and loss and Charlie and Jason’s own desperate need to save people, to be strong. He knew that about himself. But it was worse, it was the worst it could be, when the person in pain was Colby.

 Colby was the other half of his heart. The brightest piece of his life, the piece that’d dived in and reminded him how to swim and that he liked baking, the piece that’d made him laugh and drawn him into whimsical chattering conversations about wizards and dragons and romance and coffee. The piece that liked pink shirts with sequins on the sleeves, and anchovies on pizza, and history and stories and words that could steal an audience’s breath away.

 And Colby had been hurt before, so very badly, for so very long. Inside and out, physical and emotional bruises, day after day. Jason hadn’t been there then, hadn’t known him for the worst of it. But he knew now, at least as much as anyone could, after the fact.

 He’d seen Colby flinch from an unexpected touch, get wide-eyed at a large body hugging too tightly at a convention, and—the scariest of all—go silent and someplace else, someplace not present, at a drift of familiar cologne and a flash-flood of memory in the air. He knew what Colby had told him, which was enough to make Jason carefully store up a lot of emotions and then go down to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag for long enough to get his reactions under control.

 He knew about Colby’s family, too. The layers of those bruises—not physical, but emotional, a slow brutal evisceration of Colby’s sense of self and self-worth—went back decades. They were working on it; their therapist said that Jason being here, not leaving, not making Colby earn any crumb of affection, was the exact best thing he could do. Jason hoped so.

 He wished he could do more. He wished he could fight all of Colby’s demons. Like his character in this film, raising a sword. Lifting a shield. Fighting for a cause.

 He knew Colby’s hands pretty well, by now. He knew the way those slim graceful fingers felt in his, on his body—in his body, and oh that was always fun, Colby teasing him open and stroking him and pressing inside him. He knew Colby’s gestures on and off camera, the weight and shape of his palms, the backs of his hands, the old scars from period-piece swordfighting lessons and some small-scale stunt work, comedy pratfalls and in-role clumsiness. He knew about the short jagged line on the outside of Colby’s little finger on the right hand, from hopping a fence while filming a scene for that high-school coming-of-age comedy.

 He knew he didn’t know every smallest detail—he didn’t have a photographic memory—but he had a decent idea of Colby’s hands, he thought.

 Which was why his fingers slowed and came to a stop, as they felt something—as his gaze landed on something—that he didn’t recognize.

 Thin. White. Just above the heel of Colby’s left hand, across his palm. Long-healed—no texture at all, only noticeable if someone was paying extremely close attention, but enough to’ve left a line. Liam, Jason thought first, with a shock of anger like scarlet blood—but no, this was older than a handful of years, older than any injuries at Colby’s ex’s hands. Clearly so.

 Colby hadn’t seemed to notice—he’d been looking at Jason’s other hand, which had scooped up more salve—but he noticed the pause now. His eyes came up to find Jason’s, huge and flower-blue.

 Jason turned Colby’s hand more upward. Touched the line, very very lightly. His fingers shook.

 “Oh,” Colby said, soft with love, wry in the way of someone realizing, “no, it’s not what you’re thinking, and don’t say you weren’t thinking of at least two possibilities. It’s not either of those. I, er…well, I was about eleven years old and I’d been trying to prepare dinner for myself and I had absolutely nonexistent knife skills with regard to chopping carrots. And my father’s chef kept his knives very sharp.”

 “You were making dinner…for yourself?” He touched Colby’s palm again, traced the scar above the heel. It had plainly been a clean cut, straight, but deep enough to leave a mark once healed.

 Colby did that familiar nose-scrunch at him, the one that meant you won’t like this story. “You won’t like this story. But it wasn’t that bad.”

 “Tell me? If you want,” he amended. Not an order, not a demand. The freckle near Colby’s collarbone winked at him, playing peek-a-boo with the loose neck of Jason’s shirt.

 “Oh, of course. It’s hardly a secret.” Colby wiggled salve-smeared fingers at him. “So we were living in Paris then—Dad having been appointed as an ambassador and all, you know…”

 The storied instrument of his voice became, for an instant, more American than anything else, on the word Dad; Howard Kent personified the type of United States politician who embodied privilege, money, and self-interest above everything, including his marriage and his son.

 “…and my parents, being, er, my parents, did tend to do things like go on holiday without remembering that I existed, which meant the staff also generally forgot I existed, or took their cues from my parents, or assumed someone else had made some arrangements somewhere. So I was eleven and a bit, and I’d got used to making sandwiches and things, but I thought perhaps I’d try to cook, because I was trying to learn, you know, so I wouldn’t have to bother anyone.”

 Jason opened his mouth. Shut it.

 Colby lifted both eyebrows, inviting and amused. “Yes, go on, say it.”

 “You know everything I’m gonna say.”

 “I do. It’s all right; I’ve got you now.” Colby leaned against him, on the bed: easy contact, unremarkable, except for how it was remarkable, it was a marvel, given everything Jason knew.

 He wanted to cry for the boy Colby’d been, precocious and shy and so very alone.

 He held Colby’s hand. “I’m here. I’m always here. I’ll chop all your carrots if you need me to.”

 “You would, if I asked, wouldn’t you? Well, in any case, I managed to slice my hand open, as you might expect under the circumstances, and then I very nearly passed out from the sheer shock of it, and then after a few minutes I pulled myself together and found a first-aid kit and tried to patch it up, though it didn’t work terribly well because I was trying to do it one-handed.”

 “Jesus, Colby.” He could’ve demanded, why didn’t you call someone, a member of the security team, the household staff, a doctor, an emergency number, your parents? He didn’t.

 He knew why Colby wouldn’t. Not causing a fuss, not giving anyone a reason to disapprove or to not want him, not believing anyone would come or answer or care…

  His heart cracked open and bled more. Like younger Colby, huddled on a kitchen floor with a first-aid kit. “What happened?”

[writing-to-ms-eyre]

Magpie! Fae Boyfriend

A/N: Sorry this took long! Anyway, hope you guys had a nice holidays. Here’s to a new year. Hope you like this sweet birb, this is a bit more casual

word count: 1.4K

sfw.

— 

One for sorrow, two for joy...

Your hands are cracked and dry, and your knuckles sting as you clench your fist around the handle of your watering can, exposed to the morning air yet to be warmed by the sun. 

The gentle stream of water pools at the base of a lettuce plant, all bright and green. It darkens the soil and the smell, akin to rain hitting the fresh ground, brings a small smile to your face as the memory of the long dry period of mild winter echoes faintly behind your eyes.

Getting up early to tend to the garden is a routine you are still trying to get used to. Normally, your mother, who had the greener thumb between the two of you, looks after the extensive garden. It consisted of a greenhouse and the majority of the backyard, that once could have been mistaken for a typical suburban space if it wasn’t for the lack of proper enclosure, and the fact that it seamlessly connected itself to a glade and then the forest beyond. It certainly gave the illusion that your mother owned the biggest garden in the world.

Much to your chagrin your mother begged you to spend the entire spring and summer to house-sit for your former childhood home.

“Don’t blame me if your plants die, Ma.” 

Your mother waves her hand dismissively. “Just take out the small planters from the greenhouse every morning, water generously but—”

“Don’t flood it, if the soil is moist then don’t water it. Take it back to the greenhouse at the end of the day, but when it’s windy take it back early. Weed out some plants, if you’re not sure, leave it. Clean the garden beds, rake the front yard. Yep, I got it.” 

She pats your cheek as the both of you walk towards the taxi, her bag lugging behind her.

“See? You’ll be fine.”

“But you’ve got plants that have these weird, specific needs! What about that zucchini, that I need to manually pollinate?” You found yourself out of your element. Living the last decade in the city, a concrete jungle as opposed to your old home edging an actual woods, made you feel ill-suited for the job. 

“No need to worry about that. Think of it as practice!” 

“Practice for what?” Your mother is already in the taxi before rolling down the windows to yell out as it begins to drive away.

“For when you have children!” 

“Ma!” 

It wasn’t like you hated children. You just didn’t have the time for it. In fact, the longer you lived in the city, the more you felt that you didn’t have the time. Aside from work dominating your schedule, it was also the fact that you are painfully single. 

Having put off any thoughts of dating to pursue other things is not something you regret, however. You were determined and focused, prioritizing what you thought that needed to take precedence and it took all your attention. You were proud of your decision.

It’s just that by the time you wondered whether you should attend to your nonexistent dating life or not, you were already embroiled too deeply with work, potential flames have long since died out, and was too tired to drag yourself after work to even grab a drink and wind down.

Maybe this change of scenery would finally give you that opportunity to learn how to relax. But the primary problem still persists. 

“At least, you guys won’t yell at me for being too slow with the paperwork.” You murmur to a group of planters, all cloistered on a shallow, plastic tray. As you were about to exit the greenhouse, a squawk startles you. 

Just a few metres in front of you, a little bit to your left, a bird lands on a low pot of a lemon tree. 

A magpie. 

It is the same one that visits you everyday.

Every morning, when you take out a tray of seedlings from the greenhouse, a squawk calls for your attention. Initially, it kept a wide berth from you, so far that you didn't even realise it was observing your morning activities in the garden. The first time it decided to show itself, you treated it with a careful respect, wary of its beady eyes that never seemed to leave you.

Neither of you wanted to get close, nothing less than ten feet. But remembering how its species had the tendency to dive-bomb passerby’s during Spring, you decided to extend a token of friendship in the form of bread. At least, to let it know that you mean it no harm, just space for you to do your gardening in peace.

It took three days until it got close enough to accept your offerings. Now, you are both content to live and let live; you tended to your garden and the bird is comfortable enough to land on the ground to search for grubs. 

In fact, this has somewhat become some sort of a routine. You wake up every morning then you hear it cooing from a nearby branch before its feet patter gently on the slightly damp soil.

“Morning fella, slept well?” You greet. It caws back in reply. 

It tilted its neck as to observe how you gently raked the soil before laying on new seeds. It, he, hopped a little closer (you could now deduce it was in fact a ‘he’ judging by the white patch of feathers on his nape unlike the light gray of its female counterpart). It wasn’t long before its feet started scratching the soil before clumsily falling on his feathered back as it tried to mirror your action.

“Helping me are you? Thank you.” You laugh lightly. “I’ll bring out some mince meat as a special thanks.” 

He squawks again in reply.

On a particular hot afternoon, you spy a black and white ball of feathers dive into the shaded portion of your garden. You peer out to see your friend with his beak parted open, obviously affected by the scorching heat.

You hurriedly fill a bowl with chilled water and braced for the wave of heat as you exited your cool home.

“Here you go buddy.”

“Thank you.”

What?

A flurry of hot wind, leaves and feathers whip past your face. Instead of your feathered friend, in his place is a man you’ve never seen before. His beady eyes became pure black scleras, his hair a beautiful, glossy, albeit disheveled mixture of black and white that fall pass his waist. Black feathers receded from his chest but the ones on his back remained, greatly resembling a cape of midnight feathers. Sweat glistens on his skin as his black tongue snaked out to lick his dry lips.

It instantly occurred to you that a fae is currently dehydrating in your garden.

“Thank you.” He says at your shocked face. His clawed hands reach out meekly towards the plastic bowl.

“Wait!” He immediately retracts his hand.

“Uh. I… Will you come inside?” He parts his lips. You are both surprised by your invitation considering the general mistrust between humans and the fae. But there is something not right letting a fae drink out of an old, plastic ice cream tub. “It’s cooler inside… and I have mango juice?” 

And a proper drinking glass.

His feathers ruffle and he smiles. “Yes, I will.”

Instead of reaching for the plastic bowl, he gingerly takes hold of your hand. If you trust him, he trusts you. Your cheeks flush and you lead him inside.`

If he means you harm, he would have done so ages ago. If the goal was to enslave your mind, he could have easily done it after thanking him for helping you plant seeds.

And there was also the fact that he thanked you. And he had done so casually and easily.

Besides, it’s difficult to imagine him as the monster everyone paints his kind to be when his eyes are closed, gleefully sitting in front of the air conditioning, the cool air blasting a relieving reprieve from the punishing heatwave. In his hands, an empty glass of mango juice, and it seemed that he had no intent of letting go.

“Would you like some more?” His eyes lit open.

“May I?”

“Yeah of course.”

You refill his glass quietly and you feel his gaze bear down on you.

“May I come back again tomorrow?”

“Don’t you every morning?”

“...as this?”

He trusts you to show you his current form again.

“As long as you help me plant my sunflower seeds first.”

He beams and nod furiously.

You laugh. “Then I better make some biscuit too then.”

Plants are fine company but he’s not too bad either. And maybe, he’s even better.

One for sorrow, two for joy...

[moonvains]

How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!Reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but that’s up to you

Nagito x Fem! Reader - Hanahaki Disease

‘How would you feel about writing a Nagito x fem!reader where he has Hanahaki over her? I’d prefer angst with a happy ending but thats up to you’

Hello Anon !! I absolutely love this request, I feel like theres so much I can do with it y’know? I added my own twist that is very, very angsty, and made me cry once or twice. but hopefully, this happy ending will work in some ways - Mod Mikan

Italics = Flashbacks/Past

Standard = Present Tense

TW for accidental overdose scene and seizures

TW for emetophobia, goes without saying since I’m writing a hanahaki plot!

-----

It started with the hiccups, small breathy hitches in his chest, that felt like collapsed buildings and porcelain shards, it stung his throat. Nagito, most very naive, thought almost nothing of it at first. That changed, when he sat heaving and coughing over the fancy porcelain toilet at hopes peak.

As he sat there on his knees, sweat dripping from his head, a pain in his cheek and sticky palms wiped onto his dress pants, he cursed himself with his luck.

It could be worse, just a stomach bug, my luck has obviously changed..

That is what he thought, or maybe wanted to think. A thought deeply embedded into his frail mind every time there is a mild convenience burdening his way. Its just my luck.

Though, as he looked up, green eyes glossing over what would usually be a nasty sight of a quick snack.

Nagito saw flowers, ethereal, magenta roses, dainty petunias and elegant dandelions, floating in the water below him, almost as if they were dancing.

Once again, his breath hitched, though he wasn’t sure if it was from whatever this was. This wasn’t his luck, this wasn’t despair, this wasn’t hope. This was plain, lonely, one sided symptoms of something so delicate, something so sad.

Nagito met you on a summer day, a cool breeze blowing, his hair stuck to his lips like glue. Ultimate luck he guessed. The rest wasn’t important, it was forgotten, and it was irrelevant and it was stupid.

stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid

Nagito was stupid from the moment he ran into you, from the moment he brushed his lips against yours, and from the moment he looked into your eyes. he was stupid.

Stupid to think he, a disappointment, a burden, would ever be graced with something as angelic, gentle and kindhearted as you. He was right, he was really stupid.

It all made sense after you were taken away. The words still rang in his head, quite frequently

Nagito yawned, for a day where he had almost nothing to do, he was quite sleepy. He sat in class 1-A, it was Friday “study” period for class 77-B. Usually you would sit next to him or sleep on his shoulder, or maybe play video games with Chiaki. Though this time you were sick with a bad case of the flu, and he was bored shitless. He blew his hair off his face, only to watch it float back down, then he’d blow it up again.

This went on for about 15 minutes until he got a call, he wishes he didn’t get it, though knows if he didn’t pick up, it would’ve been worse.

“Nagito.. I think I messed up”, your words were slurred, hiccuping and teary.

He knew immediately something bad had happened, he would tell in the way his stomach dropped, and the uneasy anxiousness took over his body.

“Can you please come back to my house, its only me here, I need help”.

Nagito didn’t have to think twice, he ran to your house in a sprint. he didn’t know what was going on, nor what had taken place. Though with the urgency in your house, and the way you sounded off the edge of reality, he knew it was bad.

He didn’t think it would be this bad, he didn’t think it would be his fault, But it was, thats how luck works.

He walked into your house, door unlocked, the air smelt musty and there was silence apart from a dripping tap and muffled crying, it’s not hard to guess which one he went running too.

He ran into the living room to find you on the floor in a ball, your lips were blue, skin pale and eyes wider than they’d ever been before.

“Please just help me”, you sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do this”

Nagito clenched his fists while he sat, flashbacks of what happened circled through his mind. the bathroom floor was cold but his hands felt hot. He didn’t want to admit it, but this was a long time coming.

Hanahaki disease, one sided love huh? I guess it is one sided to love someone nonexistent. What hurt the most is that there was no recovering, the cure stems from the love being returned. There is no love from six feet underground, only worms, maggots and empty promises.

Eyes clenched shut, Nagito held your hair back as you expelled whatever was left in your stomach, he hated that you were in pain, there was yet to be an explanation of what was happening. Walking in only to find his lover sprawled out of the floor, crying slurred nothings before vomiting all over the carpet.

“I..I”

“Speak slowly my love, whats happened?’

“I took a handful of those herbal flu pills you left out on the counter this morning, I figured because they were plant based ”

Thats right, Nagito thought, he left his medication on the counter this morning after staying the night.

his medication on the counter

not herbal pills

a handful of Prozac 50mg capsules

he felt his heart stop

his mind searched for the side affect panel on the pamphlet when he first started taking them

strange dreams, dry mouth, decreased appetite

he remembered the second page

signs of overdose:

dilated pupils, seizures, nausea and vomiting, respiratory issues, fast heart rate and oh my god what the fuck have I done

Mind racing, hands trembling, Nagito held you close, there wasn’t time to explain, thats it, there wasn't time. His hands fumbled for his phone, holding sobs back listening to the operator instruct him to position your barely conscious body into a position seizure friendly.

Cries and mumbled words of “what have i done” escaped from his mouth as he laid you on your side, his school bag under your head and floor cleared from anything potentially dangerous. He sat there, on the floor, holding his chest sobbing, waiting for the ambulance

(Authors note ! DONT use this as a guide to help someone having a seizure or overdose, this is simply from some googling and own personal experiences, if you suspect someone you know is in danger, get a trsuted adult or medical professional)

Luck is a tricky thing, bad luck, good luck, there is a spectrum. Usually someone lives out their life on a scaled ratio of luck, some have unfortunate luck, some have spectacular luck. Though there are the unfortunate few that lie on the sidelines. Their luck a forceful rollercoaster of up and downs, tragedies and utter miracles.

The past couple of months in Nagitos life was a tragedy, who knew the dip of the rollercoaster could cost him so very much of what made him whole.  

As he sat there, the cold tile floor providing comfort for his aching palms, he remembered the paramedics, pathetically inserting a needle in your arm and calling it a day.

“We couldn’t save her, our deepest apologies”

He was angry, he knew you were gone from the moment your eyes rolled back and you lost control of your muscles, he could only sit there and scream.

But if they tried? At least do you decency? Not just act like you were another statistic is their salary, a teenager making a stupid decision.

Your parents were called, the room cleaned, and you were gone, that was it. The relationship you and Nagito held for two years crumbled. gone, as simple as that.

The white haired boy turned up to school the next day, face hollowed out with utter despair, eyes puffy and hair matted. He simply couldn’t deal with being alone, god knows what would’ve happened.

He reluctantly walked into homeroom, Miss Yukizome stationed at her desk with her almost programmed smile “Goodmorning Komaeda! I’m so glad youre joining us for another wonderful day!”

Another wonderful day? Another wonderful day watching the love of your life dying on her living room floor, loosing all control of her body and all you can do is sit there and tell her you love her, praying to all gods above she can hear it? Or Another wonderful day of crying and screaming yourself to sleep? ripping and smashing all the memories you have together in a pile because thats better than sleeping in a comfortable bed knowing she is on a plate of steel in the morgue?

Nagito kept his thoughts to himself, god knows he would probably get sent to a psychiatry institution if he spoke what was really on his mind.

With that, he sat down, eyes at the blank blackboard, fingers tapping at his desk, holding back tears that were already cried.

“Komaeda, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Teruteru exclaimed as he entered the classroom

“I wish I had”

He put his head on his desk, talking he couldn’t make out among his classmates filled his ears, he wanted quiet, ‘I wonder if she got quiet?’

Was there an afterlife? Or just a void of empty words and unfinished business. he wouldn’t know unless he experiences it himself, sooner or later.

“Okay class, try and get in some work today okay! I know you can do it” Miss Yukizome sung.

“Komaeda, can you get out of y/n’s seat, she should be coming in soon, hm?”

He didn’t even realise he was sitting in her seat, he was used to sitting at her desk with her, helping her with her work, playing with her hair and just enjoying the company of each other.

“No”, Nagito replied, fast and cold. It was strange for him to act this way, sure, he had a very valid excuse. Though it was unknown territory for the rest of the class.

“Oh no, has she still got that nasty flu? I hope you don’t catch it my dear boy”.

“No”, again, the same, the class had quieted down, he was usually so cheery, so full of hope and adoration for every single one of them.

“Well send my love to her, It’ll be great to see her again when I can” She smiled, completely oblivious.

“You can, the 18th, its an open casket’, Nagito grinned at her, a grin of something so far away from happiness, it reminded Yukizome of a clown, so creepy, yet so theoretically happy.

Everyones faces dropped

Nagito got up from the bathroom floor, this had happened weeks ago, but felt like minutes ago. He waited, and eventually, it stopped.

He walked back to class, the heels of his shoes tapping the hardwood floor of the hall leading up to his classroom. he entered solemnly, like he has every day since then.

Everyones faces dropped

Yet again.

Nagito knew what they were staring at, he didn’t want to address it, but he knew.

On his cheek grew a rose, sprouting at the top of his lip to the bottom of his cheekbone. For such a tragic disease, it was quite beautiful.

For such a tragic event, it felt so beautiful

God okay this was sad and a bit quick, I really did try to do a happy ending, though sometimes, for stories like this, I think it is a little to cliché, Stay safe everyone ! I hope you like this <3

[hawopro]

Thoughts of a rare soul who enjoyed DMBJ’s Time Raiders 2016 adaptation (1/2)

[SPOILERS]

So I got into DMBJ bc of Reboot Zhu Yilong’s Wu Xie, I’ve been comparing all the Wu Xie, and came to check out Luhan’s. I just didn’t expect to fall in love with Jing Boran’s ZQL/MYP and catch feels for Pingxie?? Once again falling into niche fandom life??

Apparently within the niche DMBJ fandom, there’s a tinier, almost nonexistent niche for Time Raiders, so I have to rant about it.

Incredibly long post, so here’s a summary:

Action, A-Ning’s insole blade

My favorite Wu Xie adaptation

MYP whump and his damned smiles

A-Ning & PangZi + Badass tomb-raiding crews

Questionables things, prop & plot

Pingxie + 2/2

Foremost, this is an action movie. The action sequences are very nice, even with the occasional flying/floating people/objects in cdrama. As an action movie nerd, I approved and gave it 6.5/10 (and my standard is The Old Guard okay.) There’s everything--swords, guns, grenades, A-Ning’s insole blade. I particularly enjoyed ZQL vs Da Kui & Pan Zi, and ZQL vs A-Ning cut.

Characters are pretty fleshed out for a movie, motives and development are clearly established. 

I really like this Wu Xie, personally I think he came closest to what I imagined to be novel’s WX. He is inexperienced, incredibly curious, and daring, but knowledgeable, he thinks outside the box and pulls his own weight, even aiding the crew. He’s BABY, naive, kind, and cheeky af. Refer to How to make friends--a guide by Wu Xie.

But by the end, you know that he matured, he’d seen deaths, hell, he broke his promise to take care of MYP, he grew up. STILL, he made me so protective over him, I finally understand how the entire Reboot casts feel about ZYL’s WX now.

Zhang Qiling/Men You Ping is still mysterious, indifferent; he’s very lost in life, has a goal but almost no will to live. Still OP af, but the WHUMP--so much ZQL whumps with bloody mouth, self-sacrificing tendency and everything. But he appreciates his experience more after knowing WX, like even without shipper eyes, you can tell he cares for WX--the first person who insisted to be his friend, who told him ‘I’d take care of you.’

I like drama MYP but, I completely fell in love with this angsty boy who needs some good sleep. Also probably bc of HIS DAMNED SMILES!! I’m a sucker for poker-face characters who can smile/laugh naturally. Bonus that he only did so with WX! Refer to ZQL smiling at Wu Xie.

I also dedicated an entire gifset on him because uhh I accidentally got attached?? LOOK AT HIM HE’S BEAUTIFUL

ANYWAY 

Here is our favorite forced-to-cooperate gang again. Sadly, the Iron Triangle dynamic isn’t developed in here at all. 

A-Ning has a bigger role than Pangzi, she’s still freaking competent, badass af, almost equal to ZQL. She is not so heartless at the end, obviously cares for her men, somewhat for WX. Seems to have a mild connection with ZQL over their fighting prowess LOL, and somehow bonds with PZ. 

Pangzi is still comedic relief, unfortunately, has little motives and developments. His interactions with WX are hilarious though. They’re dorks together. Although, I found an easter egg: PZ wearing pot on his head again.

I appreciate the side characters in this movie a lot (especially Pan Zi with his kickass martial art). I think they made very badass tomb-raiding crews, both San Shu’s and A-Ning’s; it's clear that (some of) these men know what they were doing, and they aren’t afraid to die. 

Also the props in here, holy cow, elaborated af. CGI is better than drama, but can always be improved... 

BUT the time period is confusing as hell? This looks like old-school vibes, but they had incredibly high tech, drones and holograms? Uhh okay. Xie Yu Hua’s people used drones in The Lost Tomb 2, but this is a whole new level of sci-fi blue-screen computer stuff. And it’s probably very historically inaccurate, bc what queen back in the day had steampunk technology installed in her tomb?? The coiled machinery-ness bothers me. Ignore it if you can. 

English is only better than The Lost Tomb 2’s English hahaha, but not so unbearable that I had to give up the movie. What hit me out of the left field is WX’s flute ability?? LMAO he pulled a Wei Wuxian bc what the heck? How does that even work? But I let it slide.

The plot is very basic: heroes go on quest, heroes face typical mastermind villain and powerful endgame monster. Featuring not-immoral-enough-to-destroy-humanity Hendrix, also known as, can’t-say-no-to-WX-baby-face Hendrix. And final boss: worms-queen with armors and tentacles and everything.

There are plot holes, but it’s an action movie, come on, nobody watches action movies for the plot.

But if you're a shipper, you should watch this movie for the SOFT AND WHOLESOME Pingxie content! 

I didn’t expect it. I honestly didn’t watch the movie for Pingxie because I didn’t even ship Pingxie prior to this. I knew it existed, I liked the idea of it and I would read fic of it, but I didn’t feel a lot for it until now. 

And then BAM, pokerface MYP with a very visible soft spot for WX? Hell yes. Worried and protective MYP who will catch WX when he falls? Also there.

MYP telling WX about his existential crisis of forgetting who he is? “If I totally lost myself one day, there’s still someone who would remember me.” WX insisting on being MYP's friends, and walking around recording memories for him with his little camera?“You won’t be lost.” YEP.

MYP and WX saving each other? “I said I’d take care of you.” Oh, for sure. Not to forget my standard for (b)romance: prolonged eye contact, smiles, so much smiles, and HANDS! They're all there!

Now, there are even more subtle things that told Pingxie’s story on a deeper level, which I talked about in continuation post 2/2 here.

Anyway, I know Time Raiders isn’t related to the main story aside from the characters and certain tropes. BUT as someone who just dipped their toes in DMBJ, out of everything I’ve seen--Lost Tomb 1, 2, Reboot, I’m in the middle of reading Book 3-- this installment is my favorite, barely beat out Lost Tomb 2 and only below the novel. 

[graffitibible]

how do churn out fics so quickly? i feel like every month there's a new 35k word chapter out, meanwhile i've written 3 words on an empty doc 🤣 do you spend like 5 hours per day writing or are you just super fast?

OKAY REAL ANSWER 

basically, writing is very baked into my everyday schedule at this point lol. it was admittedly way easier before all this quarantine business started - my work gives me an hour long lunch and it takes me like 5 minutes to eat it and with virtually nothing else to do i just started bringing my laptop to work and banging out words there. now that my work hours have been drastically reduced, it’s harder for me to stay on task - i can bang out 3k words one day and only edit a stray sentence on another with no consistency whatsoever. 

i’m BIG on routine, so working writing into my daily routine more or less “tricks” me into being hyper-productive on it. there are certain periods in the day when im more productive, like the aforementioned long-ass lunch hour, but also like, when im making dinner or something. ive got to sit near the stove for like 30 minutes while im cooking some shit up to eat so thats thirty minutes to do some plot outlining or dialogue threading or editing or plain old writing. its not a whole lot of time but like when im working in my lunch hour, it works for me because its this window where i can trick myself into a burst of productivity in a condensed time frame without browbeating myself for not fulfilling a nonexistent standard. the amount of stuff i get done in those timeframes will honestly vary - sometimes its a paragraph and sometimes its a page. 

it also helps me personally to keep all my writing in textedit instead of a document that has an accessible wordcount or page count, so that way im not stressing about the length of the thing. this is also how i end up with like. 70k words crammed in one chapter and my pacing is SHIT because of it so thats not a sure thing by any means.

some people do daily wordcounts, which is a trick i do to keep myself working on my original fiction (i make myself write 200 words of original fiction per day, minimum. 200 shitty words isnt very much, and even if its not great, its some progress that i can go back to later.) but i dont apply the same tactic to fic, in part because i dont want my daily wordcount to feel overwhelming. 200 words is a simple, accessible goal for me even on days when im feeling like shit, and if i fall behind a day or two, its not an insurmountable barrier to overcome. its a good trick to kinda spur your brain into productivity. the downside to this is that youre basically playing a long con with yourself and theres a big chance that youll burn out on the project if youre stuck too long on it - ive been doing “200 words a day” for years at this point and ive written A Lot Of Stuff but not a lot of it is very refined because its a lot of words i have to go back and edit down.

wrt fic, i basically have multiple word docs open at all times so that they’re there and i can always turn things over in my head. this can sometimes feel like a big fucking “YOURE NOT DOING ENOUGH YOURE NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE” sword of damocles so that can be a double-edged thing that aint always so great. it usually works for me because its a good way to kickstart spontaneous bursts of creativity. ill always have these windows open, idly click into one, and go “oh hey thats a good sentence that ties in with this sentence” and then im writing again before im doing much active thought about it. if i spend too much time hyping myself up about “god i gotta get this done i have to do this now” then i start to dread the task so i try to eliminate that window whenever i can. 

LONG ANSWER IM SORRY. it comes down to me knowing my habits and my brain quirks and figuring out how to work with them as best as i can. im a routine-based person, so i built writing into my routine. i have memory issues, so if i get ideas at an inconvenient time i write em down to go back to em later. when executive dysfunction makes just starting to write feel insurmountable, i go back to what i wrote earlier and do editing instead. when im grappling with self-esteem and self-worth and i feel like my writing is flagging, i circle back to works i enjoy, both fanfic and published fiction, and study the writing styles of writers i admire for inspiration.

this is stuff that works for me personally! obviously every person is different and what works for some people aint gonna work for everybody. motivation issues are no fucking joke. its super tempting to like compare your pace of productivity to other peoples but honestly thatll just get you down. especially given current global events like, im lucky ive managed to be relatively productive during a Fucking Pandemic but some people wont be and that is COMPLETELY UNDERSTANDABLE, GIVEN THINGS. even then im certainly no stephen king. though i am also no george rr martin. in fact i think we can all take comfort in the fact that we are not george rr martin.

[catflowerqueen]

Number 2 of your prompts, please!

I’ll assume that this was in response to the first set. If it wasn’t, just let me know and I can talk about #2 from the second set in another post.

2. Grovyle’s new family situation

This one is probably one of the more subject to change, since I’m still figuring out the logistics of things, and one that is going to require a fair amount of build-up.

One of the biggest issues facing the denizens of the changed future is the fact that what essentially happened is that the new reality and the old, alternate reality got smashed together and aren’t quite clicking the way they should. Dialga managed to do a lot in terms of physical rebuilding and fixing things, but due to the nature of the event and the fact that the “higher power/tier” that he alluded to during the special episode had never done something like this before and only really had a basic idea of how to actually accomplish what they were trying to, he couldn’t get everything. So part of what Grovyle and the others do as part of the New Planetary Investigation Squad is to go and… well, investigate, and help out where they can.

But as I said, that is just the physical aspect. And only a part of it.

Something that will eventually get brought up in story (hopefully) is how powerful Relatia really is, and the way she utilizes those powers. A large part of what she does is simply to make sure that time and space are flowing smoothly with no unresolved paradoxes or issues, which is something that was briefly touched upon in the epilogue, and sometimes this necessitates going back through time. As one could imagine, and given the very premise of why Dusknoir was trying to stop Grovyle from changing the future, making big changes in the past can and will often have extremely detrimental consequences on the future if one doesn’t know what they are doing. This is also a big factor in why the celebi species has to be so careful about what they do, and why they are biologically drawn to spend most of their time on a linear path, in the time period they actually come from originally.

It is entirely possible, and, indeed, has actually happened, that Relatia must go into the past and alter the future somehow. Typically the changes are small and people do not really notice, outside of feelings of deja vu. Sometimes this results in her splitting timelines apart and isolating some in special spacial pockets that cannot be interacted with. But when she can’t do that and the changes are too large… you get a situation like what would have happened to the denizens of the dark future had the being Dialga alluded to not intervened. In a case like this, Relatia would do her best to keep everything as similar as possible–engineer situations which would still allow peoples’ ancestors to meet so that they could still be born, working with fellow Pantheon members to ensure natural disasters and whatnot happen when they should so that certain things happen, etc., but that doesn’t mean that she can preserve everything, which is… kind of the point, really, since the entire idea was to change things. But she makes sure that no one remembers the alternate path so that they won’t feel any pain about alternate events which can never happen now. Also so they don’t get confused by all the things that are now different.

Unless, of course, she decides to isolate people from the time stream while she makes the changes before dropping them back in. In which case they would remember everything that happened in the other timeline and, typically, also have memories of the new one they’ve been added into. Which can lead to some confusing situations at times, since it means that they would basically have double memories. 

The thing is, Relatia generally only goes for this route when she gets so incensed at someone that she wants to punish them for something. She can get very, very wrathful at times, and if she wants to mess with the timeline and make it fray and break apart or take unnatural paths, she totally can. You were a ruler in the original timeline, who had everything you ever wanted at your fingertips? Too bad, Relatia is mad at you and now you are a penniless nobody with all the memories of things that you can now never have again because your situation has changed, and you’re the only one who knows it. Oh, and the love of your life who, tragically, died young in an accident? Well, they might be alive now because of the changed circumstances… but they now have no clue who you are, and your attempts to tell them the “truth” just make you come off as a crazy person. Oh, and somehow, in some unexplained way the children you had with the love of your life in the old timeline still exist, and, yes, those really are your kids, a DNA test could probably prove it, even though–again–you and the love of your life never met in this life… but they don’t know who you are either. You do have some vague memories now of donating your genetic material, however…

So you can see how something like this would be a devastating punishment.

But in a case like the Dark Future… would that still be the case? Yes, things would be a lot different than you remember… but wasn’t that the entire point of what the Planetary Investigation Team wanted to do? And you fully agreed to nonexistence in the hopes of fixing the problem, but now you get to live! And, sure, sometimes it gets a little confusing when you have memories both of growing up in a dark world and one filled with light… and the memories of the dark world often aren’t the nicest—in fact, some of them are downright cruel, and you were often a jerk, and yet… isn’t it good to have them both? They prove that you survived a terrible ordeal and still came out fine on the other side, and now you don’t have to be a jerk to survive any more. You can just… heal. And you aren’t alone in this either—everyone who was still alive at the time that the future was saved is in the exact same boat as you. And, hey, with all the skills you gained, you can totally help the ones around you who do not remember the ordeal you went through–because they were either dead at the time or circumstances made it so that they were never born in the first place—survive all these weird paradoxes and anomalies that have now cropped up. …As well as help them move the giant piles of rubble and crumbling buildings that Dialga couldn’t get to for whatever reason.

So that’s what essentially happened here—rather than everyone disappear into non-existence, those that were alive at the time of the future being saved were re-integrated into the new timeline in the same manner as how Relatia does it when exacting punishments. Of course, given how wonky that entire situation was, things get complicated when it comes to establishing ancestry. Some pokemon who got together in the dark future would not have in the fixed one, so not everyone would get doubled memories since they literally would not have existed in any form without the intervention. And some people are obviously going to have an easier time integrating those memories than others, not to mention that there a bunch of people who will only remember the fixed future, so there is definitely going to be an adjustment period for that, and some things/people might never get reconciled fully—luckily everyone pretty much knows what/why this all is happening, because the Partner (Paula) did as promised and spread the story around, so people are going to catch on pretty quick to what is going on when people start freaking out and shouting about how surprised they are to still be alive when seconds ago they were very calmly eating their lunch or whatever. (Don’t ask me exactly how many generations have passed. I don’t really know at this time, and am trying to be intentionally vague about it).

So then, getting back to your initial request… Grovyle’s problem is that he now has a living, biological family… that remembers nothing about the dark future, since his parents and grandparents both died when he was still a child—and an only child, at that. In this life his father is still dead—a tragic accident during a routine exploration/rescue mission years ago—but his mother had retired from that life so that she could raise him and his little sister—who did not exist in the dark future. This causes a lot of friction, since he now has trouble relating to them, and reconciling the mother he once had to the one he has now. Don’t get him wrong—he’s extremely grateful that they are alive, and that they exist, but… it’s hard, when the formative memories that resonate with him most strongly now are those from the dark future.

Luckily for him, according to his memories from the fixed future (which eventually catch up to him… probably the next day? Once the group on the Pinnacle descends and gets the chance to rest and re-group with the sableye gang) he had already more or less left home in order to follow in his father’s footsteps as… a member of the Planetary Investigation Team? Who work under Dialga? Huh. Well, okay then. So basically as far as that goes, he and the others just decide to continue on their way and just make the new base which I’ve already posted on my tumblr… uh… quite a while ago.

It was admittedly a shock for his family when they finally figured out that he wasn’t just a normal grovyle, but THE Grovyle from the famous Paula’s story, but they’re taking things in stride. And I’m still deciding whether or not one of his new-ish female family members is named Laura (for… reasons—which in this case are actually personal and related to the original Laura, and not just because of the way the name spiked in popularity after the story got told. Not that the spike was necessarily that large to begin with, mind you, given all the strange naming conventions that pokemon in this world can have—some do give their kids personal names, some just stick with species names).

The thing about the memories, though… for some reason there seems to be a strange omission when it comes to the fate of a certain human turned treecko… which does get resolved later, but for quite a while it is very unclear what actually happened to her, and most assume that she died at the time the future was saved. The whole situation is both sad and weird, and it will be quite a while before it gets cleared up to anyone in the future—Dialga included, oddly enough. Chalk another one up to the person performing this miracle being new to this and mostly winging it—a familiarization with the concept and minimal basics, if you will.

But it ends up not really being enough of a problem that Relatia will need to come and smooth things out once she finally regained access to the world, so at least there’s that.

And roughly a third of the issues probably come from other weird things that will happen in the past/present with Paula, Laura, and the others over the course of the World’s Treasure, so there’s that, too.

Wow, this ended up really long… why can’t it be this easy to write the essays that I have to do for school?

[kaylewiswrites]

Drunk WIP Week Day 3 - The Forgotten Grave Society

For those of you who haven’t heard me yelling about this for the past three days, I’m shrugging off the burden of trying to look like I know what I’m doing, and introducing my WIPs the way I do when I’m drunk and excited. 

If you like assholes, superpowers, camping, and people who almost get along, check out Day 1. 

If you like slow burn lesbian romances, political intrigue, ragtag groups who come to love each other, and deserts, try Day 2. 

If you like empowered middle school girls who start to see dead people, then congrats, you are, temporally, in the right place. 

The Forgotten Grave Society

Premise:

Today is easy. The world building is like, nothing. 

TFGS takes place in a small town in a small state, where life on the seaside brings in tourists, and also, sometimes, ghosts, apparently. (I am really liking excessive commas today, aren’t I?) The story begins in the small town on the mid-Atlantic on the first full day of summer vacation, in a graveyard that is commonly overlooked. 

Characters:

Marcy: Here’s a girl who looks average, not tall or short, tan or pale, large or small, and has not one single physical feature that makes her stand out. Bank robbery is Marcy’s backup career, since so many people overlook her. But her personality makes up for the middle ground that she exudes: All or nothing. 

She’s either trashing her room, or organizing everything by color. She cooks gourmet meals or rips cold rotisserie chicken straight from the fridge with her hand. To her coaches annoyance, she’s unable to figure out jogging. You can’t just sprint and walk, he tells her. But she doesn’t really get it. 

Marcy spends a lot of time in her own head, and it’s very, very easy for her to miss where the conversations around her are going, while she takes a side path down another road, and by the time she brings up something she founds there, everyone else is miles away. She got laughed at a lot because of this, and now rarely talks with all of her track friends. 

Talents include: running, jumping, getting A’s the three times a year she studies, cooking, and being brutally honest without meaning to be brutal. 

Ava: Ava was born the cutest child you had ever seen. Perfect brown ringlets in her hair, cherubic round face and rosy cheeks, innocent freckles underneath her big round eyes, everyone just adored Ava from the moment they saw her. And then she opened her mouth. 

Ava hates having high expectations held over her head, so she’s learned how to dash them as soon as possible. On the first day of first grade, the teacher called on Ava to introduce herself first, (since she would obviously become the teachers favorite, by the look of her). Ava stood up on her chair and gave a loud, scientific description of how babies were made. She’s been a class clown ever since. 

Known talents are: Causing a scene, making fart noises, disrupting the class. She hides the real ones: sculpting and casting, non-fiction reading, getting under Marcy’s skin (ok, maybe she doesn’t hide that last one)

Ronnie: Everyone knows Veronica is going to become some big engineer or bio-chemist or astrophysicist. Her grandmother was the first black professor at the Marine Biology Department that’s housed in their small town,  so she knows she’s got big shoes to fill. 

But the truth is, Ronnie doesn’t know what she wants to do. She hates that question. You know what she likes? Reading. She likes reading her text books and science theory books, and she likes reading cheesy romances, too. She likes conducting complicated experiments, sure, but she gets just as much pleasure out of the simple steps of her skin-care routine. She relishes in routine and anything she breaks down into small rituals she can. Making a sandwich. Programming a robot. All straightforward if do it one step at a time. 

Talents include: almost anything STEM related, designing inventions, choosing cute outfits, memorizing song lyrics, and coming up with really cool club names.

Plot

Its the first day of summer, and three very different girls from different classrooms and different friend groups somehow find themselves in the same graveyard. 

While there, they realize that a lot of these graves are like, really, really old. People aren’t putting flowers out for them like they do for the new ones. The girls decide to remember those graves for them, and thus the club is born. 

They spend the whole summer hanging out in a graveyard, cleaning stones and making bouquets of definitely-not-stolen-from-people’s-yards flowers. But when it’s time to go back to school, they feel themselves being torn apart by clubs, friends, and work. When they meet in the graveyard again to try to figure out what to do about this, they see a ghost. 

Of course ghost-seeing powers would kick in in September and not June, they think, but discovering the supernatural is real IS a good motivator for spending more time with each other. The Forgotten Grave Society decides to be both about sitting around graves eating snacks on warm summer mornings AND solving ghost problems so they can move onto the next life/afterlife/whatever you believe in (this book takes no assumptions into what happens after the ghosts leave). 

A short snippet is under the cut if you’d like to read! I’m always open to questions, comments, and critiques, so don’t be afraid to give your thoughts. I’m tagging @aomory for this post. If anyone would like to be tagged in more Forgotten Grave Society stuff, let me know! The WIP page is here. 

"Do you think they know?" Ava asks after two weeks of remembering. It's early July, hot and hazy, and humid enough at 9 in the morning that all three are planning on battling tourists to take a dip in the ocean later in the day. They remembered a woman that day, Elizabeth Holson, who died in 1931, and now they're eating lunch in front of her grave. The three girls sit with identical bags of salt and vinegar chips (on sale) and fruit cups filled with syrup. “What’s we’re doing, I mean.”

"You're asking if we believe in life after death," Ronnie responds.

"Well, I guess it's implied," Ava shrugs.

"No." Marcy shoves some chips in her mouth.

"Well, that’s decisive," Ava snorts.

"It seems like a natural, human response to death for me," Marcy states. "Think about it. You see someone die, you realize that one day you will too, and you panic. The idea of nonexistence terrifies people. So they say, no, when you die you go to somewhere better, where you're always young and your whole family is there, or all your stuff is there, or you come back to earth as something else. It's either that or admit that you and everything you know is temporary and unimportant to the world as a whole."

"That's logical, I guess," Ronnie admits. "But I like the idea that something comes next."

"Exactly my point."

"We learn about heaven in Sunday School. I'm going to go ahead and believe in that. It sounds the best."

"In science we learn that matter can't be created or destroyed, only changed. Maybe that happens when we die."

"What do you mean?" Marcy asks. "When, like, a flower dies, it's just gone right? It'll break down into nothing." She gestured at the dead flowers still sitting in front of their first grave. What remains of them are shriveled and dark.

"You're right about it breaking down, but not into nothing. It's releasing carbon dioxide into the air, bugs and larvae and fungi are eating it and turning it into energy the same way we do with food, releasing it as waste, which continues to break down further. All the different parts that made it a living flower are separating back into nature. Remember the Periodic Table? Everything in the universe is made up of those elements, and nothing can ever be added or subtracted."

"So a human body does the same thing. If it's not cremated, it breaks down into it's elements," Ava follows. "What does that have to do with an afterlife?"

"You're body breaks down, but your body isn't the thing that goes to heaven, right?"

"No, it's your soul."

"Exactly. So if nothing can be removed or added from the equation, I think we might be reincarnated."

Ava chews on the tiny plastic spoon that came with her fruit cup. "You're assuming that a soul is made of matter."

"Everything else is."

"But then wouldn't we be able to see it? Feel it?"

"The air around us has mass, but we can't see it, and can usually barely feel it."

"Wouldn't it have to be made of some of your elements?" Marcy asks. "Someone would probably have noticed it by now."

"There could be different molecular constructions that we don't have the technology to detect, a new isotope we haven't thought to look for-" She realizes she’s lost them. "Science is growing every day. Sometimes impossible things are just things that haven't been explained yet."

"You've been thinking about this for a while?" Marcy asks.

"No. Not until Ava just asked."

"This is what we get, making friends with the smart girl," Ava laughs. "So. What's your theory's answer to my question? Do you think these people know what we're doing?"

Ronnie thinks for a moment. "I doubt it. That would imply that they are somehow omniscient about anything that is connected to their past lives. Do you guys have any memories of your old graves?"

"That's a weird thought," Ava shudders. "And no."

Marcy shakes her head.

"Which means that people, or most people, disconnect from their old life when they start a new one. Or it means that my theory is wrong," she chuckles.

"So if you two don't think they know, why are you doing this?"

"I don't think it matters if they know or not," Ronnie says.

"It's like when you do someone a favor,” Marcy says before chugging the syrup from her fruit cup. “If it's important that you take credit for it, then you're not doing it for them. You're doing it for you."  

"Wow. Such kind words from the girl that split open Hannah Bover's lip over a boundary dispute."

"Her foot crossed the line, that shot shouldn't have counted-"

"So you elbowed her in the face?"

"I like doing it," Ronnie cuts in, knowing how long Ava could keep Marcy on this track. "It's peaceful, and it makes me happy. Do we need a reason?"

"Maybe we're subconsciously afraid of being forgotten, so we're trying to remember everyone else. I know I want people to say my name after I'm gone. Everyone deserves to continue existing,” Marcy says with a shrug.

"So Ronnie comes for herself. Marcy comes for them."

"Who do you come for?"

Ava wraps her arms around her legs, as if she were cold. "Neither of your theories allow for ghosts."

She avoids their eyes, and looks very un-Ava-like all of a sudden.

"Do you come for ghosts?" Ronnie asks in the most neutral voice she can manage.

"No," she says defensively. "I mean, I-I didn't. I like doing this, and- just- wouldn't it be cool? If they were watching us, from the shadows, appreciating it?"

Ava becomes more and more nervous as the silence stretches on. Finally, Marcy smiles.

"You're assuming that they're all nice."

[bucky-smiles]

Tightrope

A Spencer x Reader fic based off of Tightrope from the Greatest Showman soundtrack in which the reader and Spencer grew up together and have been together for well.. foreverish?? !!!! The basic context is that Spencer and the reader are reminiscing on their lives together so far (which has been since their childhood) This is set in season 10 :) 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Requested?: No Warnings: Mentions of Maeve’s death 

Who knew which date this was. There’d been so many and to pass the time, Y/N and Spencer would often count which one it was. The two of then stopped when they neared 1400 and that was nearly 15 years ago. The two of them, both aged 33, were laying on the roof of their shared apartment, pinkies interlaced as they stared at the sky. There was a gentle smile on both of their faces, the silence between the two of them comfortable. After a few moments, Spencer randomly spoke up, “Remember when we I asked you out when we were both 13?”

Y/N looked to him with a soft smile on her lips, tearing her eyes away from the sky to admire his beautiful face, “How could I forget? You wouldn’t stop talking and I had to stop you by pushing you into the pool.. And then you tugged me in, too and our.. third? kiss ended up being underwater.”

Some people long for a life that is simple and planned Tied with a ribbon Some people won't sail the sea 'cause they're safer on land To follow what's written But I'd follow you to the great unknown Off to a world we call our own

Spencer Reid and Y/N were anything but normal. 

They met for the first time when they were 5, Y/N new to town and Spencer, even at a young age, friendless. He was sitting at a chessboard in the park as Y/N came by, holding her mom’s hand. At the sight of another boy around her age, she let go of her mother’s hand to sit across from him, smiling brightly as she moved her king’s pawn up two squares. From there, a beautiful friendship was born. 

After that moment in the park, they’d never once left each other’s side unless absolutely necessary. As fate would have it, they were next door neighbors and the windows of their rooms were facing one another. It did nothing but add fuel to their friendship.. And then 8 years later, it did nothing but add to their romance. 

People would say that Y/N was the outgoing one, the girl obviously more socially competent than the boy she was joint at the hip with. However people, as Y/N would always say to reassure Spencer, were wrong. It was always Spencer finding crazy things to do around town, the two of them moving on their bikes from place to place with bright smiles and nothing but laughs and fun facts being swapped in between them. 

Their relationship was unconventional when platonic as well as romantic. Normally, places to hide from the world included forests and tiny shops. Not Spencer and Y/N.. They’d climb to the roofs of their houses where they knew no one would find them, simply laying and linking their pinkies before talking about whatever was wrong.. It was their own little world meant solely for the two of them. 

They were completely and utterly devoted to each other, one following the other just about everywhere they wanted to be together. Actually, even when they didn’t want to be together. Their fights only ever lasted for a max of 6 hours.. Eventually they’d go to their windows with apologetic smiles on their faces, exchanging paper airplanes that had apology notes on them. 

Y/N still has every single letter Spencer wrote her. From the apologies, random letters, and letters from whenever they were parted in one way or another. Spencer would never admit it, but he committed every single letter she wrote him to memory.. Even if his eidetic memory already did that Spencer still reread them, mouthing them word for word. 

Hand in my hand and we promised to never let go We're walking the tightrope High in the sky We can see the whole world down below We're walking the tightrope Never sure, never know how far we could fall But it's all an adventure That comes with a breathtaking view Walking the tightrope

One night, on their third anniversary together as a couple (when they were 16), Spencer had taken Y/N to the roof of a Cal-Tech building, the two of them having gotten accepted to the same college so early. He was holding her hand as they moved, Y/N completely confused until they reached the roof, her jaw dropping at the sight of how beautiful the sky was now that the two of them were one with it. At the roof, Spencer had already set up a picnic for the two of them, causing Y/N to smile sweetly as they both laid down on the blanket, never once letting go of each other’s hand as they stared at the sky. 

The view from the Cal-Tech building was simply.. Completely.. Breathtaking.. Neither could’ve asked for more than what they had together.. Their own little bubble bringing them up to cloud 9 as they looked down at the others who just didn’t understand. 

Mountains and valleys, and all that will come in between Desert and ocean You pulled me in and together we're lost in a dream Always in motion So I risk it all just to be with you And I risk it all for this life we choose

Y/N and Spencer had only ever parted from each other for long periods of times 3 times. The first time was when Y/N went off to do a semester abroad in Spain to expand on her knowledge in Spanish. She didn’t want to Spencer but he encouraged her to go pursue what she wanted to do. It was hell for both of them. Y/N was in Spain by herself and while she made friends, men kept trying to pursue her. By that knowledge Spencer became increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Is there no way you can get him to stop trying to get you to go to the bar with him, Y/N? You’re not even 21 yet..” Spencer was pacing his dorm room floor as he listened to Y/N’s voice on the other end of his phone. 

At Spencer’s words, Y/N sighed quietly before speaking, “The legal drinking age in Spain is 16... And I’ve tried just about everything, Spencer.. It’s just that he thinks us being 9000 miles from each other makes you nonexistent.” 

Spencer held back on correcting Y/N’s words. Spain was 9203 miles from California, not 900.. But that was aside the point, “I’m not letting go of you that easily, Y/N, I hope you know that.”

Y/N smiled softly at his words, laying back on the bed of the room she was sharing with the daughter of her host, “I’d never let you, Spencer.. I love you..” 

Spencer smiled sweetly at her words, making obnoxious kissing noises into the phone before speaking quietly, “I love you too, Y/N, stay safe..” 

The second time was simply them making the dumb decision that they needed some space from each other.. They barely lasted 3 weeks before finding their ways to each other once more, both holding each other tightly and promising to never let go. 

The third time was because of Spencer’s infatuation with the girl on the phone. Y/N found out and had given him time to figure out things for himself. That occurrence led to all of Y/N’s friends telling her to leave him completely. Y/N, however, decided it was something to do on her own without outside opinion. When she heard of Maeve’s death, she immediately went back to Spencer. Not as a girlfriend, but as the friend he’d met 26 years ago. She helped him get back on his feet and nearly a year later, they made their status as a couple official once more. 

It was everything that Y/N’s friends were against, telling her that it’s too risky to trust a cheater. Y/N dismissed them easily.. For Spencer, every risk was worth it.

Now, nearly 2 years later, Y/N and Spencer were together, reminiscing on where their lives have brought them. They knew that there was more to come, but their life together was like walking an endless tightrope. They were going slowly but surely with each other as support. There’d be trips and stumbles in between but that was okay. They were together and that’s all that mattered to them. 

~Taglist!!~ (Let me know if you want to be added!!!) @sweater-vest-reid @all-thats-been-broken @stellarwritings @criminal-anatomy @mentallydatingspencerreid @bitchinprentiss @spencerthepipecleaner @criminal-navy-writings @fl0werb0nes18 @thematthewgraygube @unwrittenheartbreak @dontshootmespence @stunudo @jazz91121 @nealcaffreyy @lookwhatyoumademequeue @bestillmystuckyheart @tippy06  @crimindsaspe @loverosetyler @ultrarebelheart @jodiewhittakers @playlist-reid

[flameontheotherside]

The Past Comes To Haunt

I started talking to and "ex" from 2010ish...after Erik died I didn't want to have serious relationships. But a friend introduced me to Jon and we hit it off for a very short period before returning back to the single game.

The reason this was difficult was because I don't have a good memory about things from early 2010 to 2012. I developed a dependency on hard drugs. No, not meth or heroin. It was spice because weed was illegal and spice wasn't. Its fake weed. It's actually worse than real weed because it's full of chemicals and very addictive. Psychologically addictive. On top of that I was on heavy doses of Depakote, Zoloft, and Trazadone. Also drank quite a bit.

So Jon began asking some alarming questions last night.

He wanted to know if I cheated, claimed I cheated, why I did this or that, and just strange questions. These things happened 10 or 12 years ago. Why is he asking me and acusing me of outlandish things? He even said I cheated with some guy called "the machine". I'm sorry WTF?! That was hilarious because I know I never cheated and I would never cheat with some r-tard which a nickname like that.

I don't remember what happened. I couldn't answer most of his questions because that time period is a blurr and I don't think it's fair to bring up old shit like that. Told him that I'm not the same person I was back then and it's kind of wrong especially now to asume I've not changed. Honestly I was a fucked up mess. Erik had recently died around that time and I was not in a position to be in a serious relationship. He's smart. He should have seen I wasn't in my right mind. Even though the psychic predicted his death, I put it far out of my mind. I didn't want to deal with that so I drank and partied. It got worse because I was starting to feel Erik.

So we chatted and I apologized.

He's obviously still hurt but I honest to God don't remember much about what happened. If he thinks I cheated on him and did all this stuff, it's on him. Not saying if I don't remember that it didn't happen, but it was also 12 years ago and I can't fully feel responsible for something I don't remember doing. Taking advantage of my memory by inserting his view in place of my nonexistent one isn't exactly fair either. Does that make sense? I'm sorry for the shit I do remember and that he's still hurt but I can't remark on stuff he remembers and I dont.

Jon requested that we talk one on one while I'm in town.

So we will hash it out. He said he thinks he knows why I don't remember the things he's acusing me of. I'm interested to know but he said he didn't want to text. Honestly I'm also a little scared. Like is he going to kill me? Jon is one of those quiet people if you know what I mean.

😘💕 Have a wonderful weekend!