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jemelle · 3 years

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these are ties that bind (7/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,671

story masterlist / all writing

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

a/n: just the epilogue after this!

seven.

The state of Virginia gave them two day’s notice for the first home visit. Emily cleaned the house from top to bottom the day before, not wanting a single thing to seem out of place. Aaron caught her in the hallway, making sure all the picture frames were hung perfectly straight.

“Emily, we live here.” She stopped fiddling with the frame long enough to look at him. His expression was mostly one of concern, though she could see the occasional flash of amusement.

“I know.” She also knew what he was implying, but the Elizabeth Prentiss-like voice in her head was strong. He was going to have to say it outright.

Aaron, as always, delivered. “They’re not going to expect the house to be perfect.” But my mother always does, she didn’t say. Truthfully, she didn’t think she had to.

He sat down on a stair, motioning her to join. Emily obliged, leaning absentmindedly towards him once she was settled.

“What’s important to them is that Carrie is healthy and happy. And trust me—“ he said, looking meaningfully in the direction of Carrie’s bedroom. “If she weren’t, she would tell us.”

And wasn’t that the truth. Carrie’s frankness was one of the things that Emily loved most about her. Emily had always been like that, except that only a few had ever cared about what she had to say.

“Okay?” Aaron asked, letting his hand drift over to rest lightly on hers. Emily took a deep breath, silencing the thought that they would be judged for anything less than perfection. The social worker wasn't her mother, and neither, for that matter, was Emily. She had to stop trying to live up to impossible standards.

“Okay.”

Jack came up to the two of them, then, asking for someone to admire his Play-doh creations. Aaron agreed, standing up and glancing at Emily over his shoulder as he was led away, Jack’s small hand clasped in his. Emily sat on the steps for a moment longer, caught in the memories of every time her mother had deemed her lacking. When she rose, it was with the determination that it would never happen again.

(If she caught Aaron meticulously fluffing the couch cushions some hours later, she didn’t say anything.)

The social worker’s name was Meghan. She was young, mid-twenties, with honey colored hair and a periwinkle scarf that matched her winter coat. She sat in Emily’s favorite armchair, clutching a mug of tea. Emily had laid out cookies as well, though nobody but Jack had touched them. She might have let go of perfection, but that didn’t erase the need to be polite.

“Can I show you around?” Aaron asked, breaking the silence. Emily knew the whole visit was a formality unless Meghan found something damning, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. The smallest thing could give them away, and the state would not be as forgiving as Carrie had been.

“I'll do it,” she found herself saying. She flashed her winningest smile as both Aaron and Meghan turned to look at her. “You stay here and look after Jack and Carrie, honey.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled slightly at the pet name, which was practically a full-on laugh from him. She smiled openly at him, standing up from the couch and motioning Meghan out of the room with her.

Meghan paused on the stairs, looking at the photos Emily and Aaron had hung there one Sunday. Emily was suddenly painfully aware of the lack of family photos. There were plenty of Jack, of course, and Carrie had allowed some of the photos from her scrapbook to be framed, showing her progression from giggly child to sullen teenager. There was even a photo of Haley holding a baby Jack, but none of the four of them together.

As much as she wanted to offer some excuse about busy schedules and photo-shyness, Emily forced herself to stay quiet. It was the kind of detail a non-profiler wouldn’t necessarily notice, and bringing attention to it might even raise suspicion.

Indeed, Meghan simply resumed climbing the stairs, allowing Emily to take the lead as they toured the second floor.

“When did you and Aaron meet?” she asked as they exited Carrie's bedroom.

“Aaron and I work together… well, he’s my boss technically,” Emily amended, watching Meghan’s face carefully for any signs that this would count as improper behavior. Seeing none, she went on. We didn’t get along at first, but once we sorted that out the rest was history.”

In reality, Emily wouldn’t describe their problems as history. The two of them were still working on their relationship every day, but that only made it stronger.

As Emily led her around the house, Meghan kept up a steady stream of questions, mostly about Carrie and how she was adjusting. Emily responded as succinctly as possible, though she couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice when describing how they truly had become a family. Eventually, they ended up back in the living room, Emily’s heart melting at the sight of Carrie and Aaron playing with Jack on the floor.

Meghan sat back down in the armchair, refusing Aaron’s offer to bring her another cup of tea. They chatted for a little while longer, Emily suppressing a smile every time Aaron’s answers to Meghan’s questions lined up exactly with hers. Who would have imagined that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner would one day have a bond like this? Not Emily, that was for sure.

For once, Emily felt secure. They would pass this test, not because they had cheated, but because they really were the best place for Carrie to be. She let herself tune out of the conversation, mind wandering until Meghan leaned slightly out of the chair and said something that snapped her back to reality.

“I hate to ask, but where are your wedding rings?” Shit. Perhaps she was more observant than Emily had given her credit for.

Aaron stepped in before Emily, mind racing, could come up with an explanation. “We’re both federal agents who deal with highly dangerous criminals. Wedding rings would make us an immediate target.” Like any good lie, it was grounded in the truth. Though he had worn a ring when he and Haley were married, it was quite another thing to be married to another agent. A canny unsub who figured out their relationship could put the whole team in jeopardy.

Meghan nodded sympathetically, though Emily wasn’t sure she was totally convinced. “That must be difficult, having to hide your relationship.”

Emily found her voice: “We have Jack and Carrie and each other, and that’s what really matters.”

It was terribly sappy, but also the truth.

If she didn’t believe them, Meghan was smart enough not to say anything, simply nodding before moving to the next topic. “I just need to speak to Carrie alone in the hallway, and then we’ll be finished!” she chirped, and the two of them exited the room, Carrie holding the door on the way out.

The moment they were gone, Emily turned to Aaron. No wedding pictures and no rings. If one slipup was dangerous, two seemed to guarantee failure. Still, Meghan was looking for abuse, not marital fraud. They could still pull this off. They just needed to take the final step.

In an almost laughably perfect demonstration of their connection, Aaron, without prompting, voiced her thoughts exactly: “We need to get married.”

The wedding day dawned bright and cold, a light dusting of snow covering the ground. For once, Emily was the first one awake, though she was content to lie in bed, Aaron’s solid warmth next to her. When he began to stir, opening and closing his bleary eyes, she slipped out from the under the covers, heading for the kitchen.

Carrie was already there, eating cereal and reading the Sunday comics. Emily bustled around the kitchen, making conversation and coffee and trying to ignore the small knot in her stomach. Getting married was just a formality, a legal recognition of what they already had.

Coffee ready, Emily poured mugs for her and Aaron and sat down at the kitchen table across from Carrie, taking slow sips while she waited for it to cool. Eventually, Aaron and Jack joined them, and the four of them sat together, enjoying the silence before splitting up to get dressed.

Emily had already picked out her outfit, pulling an unworn sky-blue dress from deep within her closet. She thought wearing white might have been a little too on the nose with regards to the sanctity of their marriage. Aaron, in contrast, was wearing a tuxedo that Emily strongly suspected was the same one he had worn to his first wedding.

Jack and Carrie were dressed in complementary outfits they had bought on a recent trip to the mall, the navy blue polka dots of Jack’s socks and bow tie matching the pattern of Carrie’s dress.

“Do a spin?” Emily asked when they had reassembled in the living room, and Carrie obliged, her skirt flaring out as she laughed.

JJ met them at the courthouse doors, passing a wrapped present over to Emily before she could protest. Though they didn’t technically need a witness, JJ had been invited nonetheless. She was still the only one who knew the true circumstances of their situation, though Emily supposed it was only a matter of time before someone else (probably Penelope) figured it out.

Even if the team had known, Emily wasn’t sure she would have wanted to invite the entire team. They were family, more than her own had ever been, but it would inevitably transform the wedding into an event of epic proportions. Neither her nor Aaron were much for parties; the current plan was to be in and out as fast as possible, hopefully early enough to have lunch somewhere in Arlington.

When their names were called, they entered a small courtroom. JJ and Carrie and Jack sat down on the first row of benches as Emily and Aaron approached the magistrate. Emily reached out and wrapped her hand lightly around Aaron’s. His answering squeeze grounded her, a reminder of why they were there.

The magistrate began speaking. “Ladies... and gentleman,” he said, inclining his head towards Jack, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining of Emily Elizabeth Prentiss and Aaron Arthur Hotchner in the bonds of matrimony.”

Arthur as in ‘Arthur Sullivan of Gilbert and Sullivan’, he had admitted when she’d asked while filling out the wedding forms. Haley and I picked it out when I changed my name after college.

Elizabeth as in ‘I carry the weight of my mother with me wherever I go,’ she had responded, only half joking.

“Marriage is a matter that should not be entered into lightly,” the magistrate continued, looking at each of them in turn. “I trust the two of you have thought about what marriage means to you, and that you stand now, ready to offer a life-long commitment based on love, trust and respect.”

Emily glanced back. Jack was focused on swinging his legs against the bench, but Carrie met her gaze and smiled softly. Emily returned the smile. She knew for the first time in her life what commitment really meant to her, the promise to be there for the good days and the bad.

“I would ask you to please join hands, but I can see that you’ve jumped the gun a little with that one.” He chuckled slightly at his own joke, pausing briefly before beginning again. “Do you, Emily, take Aaron to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

As he spoke, Emily saw first Hotch and then Aaron in her mind’s eye. She saw the man who rarely cracked a smile and the one who would do anything for Jack and Carrie. The one who would never admit to weakness, and the one she had found passed out on the bathroom floor. They seemed to have nothing in common, and yet they both cared so deeply, so selflessly, even to the point where it began to hurt them. Even when she was in the wrong, he cared, expecting nothing in return except a promise to try and do better next time.

When Emily said “I do,” it was a vow to Aaron Hotchner, the sum of all his parts and nothing less.

The magistrate repeated the vows, looking expectantly at Aaron when he finished. Emily had a brief vision of Aaron refusing to say the words, deciding that he was finished, that enough was enough, but she pushed it away almost as soon as it appeared. He had earned her trust, proven time and time again that he would be there.

“I do,” Aaron said, turning to look at her with that signature Hotch intensity, the sternness all but replaced with warmth.

“The rings?”

Aaron produced the velvet box from his jacket pocket, opening it to retrieve the rings. They were a matching set, plain silver bands that they had picked out together. No rings in the field, of course, but Emily had wanted one nonetheless, something to remind her of their partnership even while separated. Aaron had agreed, and though Emily had watched him carefully for signs that he was simply conceding to make her happy, she had found none.

The bands were inscribed, the one sentimentality they had settled for. As well as being a fitting quote, it also came from one of Emily’s favorite movies, one she had watched over and over. Almost cloyingly sentimental, it still never failed to move her deeply to hear the words come out of Robin Williams’s mouth: “But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever.”

a family in your heart, forever. That was the etching on the rings, and those were words Emily hoped would always ring true.

Aaron slipped the ring on her finger. It was cool against her skin, the feel of it making her unexpectedly emotional. Blinking away tears, Emily slid his ring on in turn, looking down briefly at his hands before returning her gaze to his face.

“With this ring I marry you and pledge my love, honor and devotion,” the magistrate prompted. They repeated the words dutifully, knowing that all those things had been promised long before this ceremony.

“By the authority vested in me by the laws of the State of Virginia, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Once upon a time, Emily would have recoiled, but she let Aaron pull her close, knowing he wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. Sure enough, he simply pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“You did it,” he whispered. Emily leaned back so she could see his face fully, his smile filling her with warmth.

“We did it,” she said. This time, she didn’t try to hide her tears.

JJ snapped a picture of them on the courthouse steps. Emily held Jack in her arms, letting him pull at her dress, while Aaron stood next to her, arm around a beaming Carrie. The snow began to fall again as they stood there, a picture-perfect wonder.

Years later, Emily was trying to find a file that she was sure had been on JJ’s desk when her elbow caught one of the framed family photos. When she propped it back up, Emily realized it was the wedding photo, tucked in between a picture of Henry on his first day of school and a photo the whole team had taken on Halloween. She was touched by the fact that JJ thought it had been a moment worth remembering in and of itself; Emily had always loved the photo because she knew what it had taken to get there.

taglist: @robins-gf @catgrantknows

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #queerminal minds #*mine #*fic #these are ties that bind

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wongxiexie · 5 years

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False pretenses

Pairing: Kim Jongdae (Chen) x Reader ft. Kim Minseok Genre: Angst, Historical!AU Word Count: 8.372 words Warnings: Death, Violence Note: The photo’s from Chen’s website. I deleted the chapters I uploaded here and decided to stick everything into a finished one shot instead. HAHA Idk why but this fic has caused me great stress because of how unorganized I was and how loose I think everything is hahaha. Tried my best to fix it tho, hope you enjoy! 🌸🌸

A rough hand holds your chin and tilts your face to the side, exposing the blooming dark bruise on your left cheek and causing it to sting.

“Your insolence will be your downfall,” Minseok says as he clicks his tongue, blatantly expressing his disapproval towards your misdemeanor.

“Your Majesty,” you stare at him as you remove his hand lightly, “if you may.”

He releases your face but his sharp eyes stay rooted to yours. “See? Insolent.”

The warm golden light from outside shines through the open window and Minseok turns to soak in it, his face blank as he loops his arms behind him.

To an outsider, the scene might look like a peaceful one but that can’t be further from the truth. The tension is palpable as everyone inside the quarters await for his next words and after what felt like hours, Minseok waves his right arm to dismiss all the servants present.

Soft steps quickly pad towards the doorway as the sock-clad hand-maids rush to flee the room.

“If I may ask,” you start as you move to stand beside him. “Did something unfortunate happen before I moved here?”

You relish the soft touch of the wind on your face and continue, “I have only been here for a few months, but I have noticed how terrified and on edge the people seem to be.”

Glancing at him, you think you see a slight crease form between his brows, but it’s gone before you can dwell on it.

In response, he angles his face to you and lets a smirk fall on his lips. “I think you are missing the point here...”

“You have only been here for a few months, but your impudence is unlike any other I have witnessed before.” He shifts slightly towards you and raises a brow, “it is rather unbecoming, Princess.”

Heat crawls up your neck upon embarrassment from his words and you look down to break eye contact. Subconsciously, your hand goes up to touch the bruise on your face.

It wasn’t an easy task for you to get your bearings in Silla. Having grown from an entirely different kingdom, there were customs and practices you’ve grown habitual to that were not, in any way, acceptable in your new home.

With the recent happenings in Baekje the year prior because of the invasion, you were forced to go to Silla to negotiate and appeal for the monarchy to protect your people. So many were killed when your kingdom was attacked, but you know you had to protect those that were left. That meant setting aside any of your dreams, wants and needs.

For a princess like you, you know your personal desires do not matter. Nothing matters except for the safety of the remaining people of your kingdom. It was your ultimate duty to protect your people, after all, first and foremost.

That meant hours of working to know the practices and culture of your new home, and appealing to the royal family.

Back in your hometown, you were allowed to mingle with the commoners. In fact, those of royal descent were encouraged to do so to be able to foster strong and genuine unity among the residents under your jurisdiction.

That way, it was easier to implement laws and prevent crimes. In your opinion, it was also delightful to live in harmonious relationship with the people, not just for yourself, but for political reasons as well.

With that system in place in Baekje, there were never any successful attempts at overthrowing the royal family because the people were with the heads of the kingdom.

Which was why you were caught off-guard when the King himself rose from his throne and struck your face when you softly suggested asking the residents of Silla about their living conditions under the current monarchy.

The King and his magistrates were all in shock of your apparently preposterous proposal that there came a chorus of audible gasps around the hall as soon as you uttered those words.

Next thing you know, you were down on the ground, with your left cheek throbbing in pain.

You didn’t know how to react to what happened. You couldn’t understand the murmurs around you, and just barely registered your lady in waiting assisting you by the arm and leading you towards the Prince’s chambers.

You’ve only somewhat processed what happened when you arrived in Minseok’s room and he grabbed your chin.

“I sincerely apologize for what I propositioned in the congregation earlier,” you say, looking abashed, “I honestly had no idea that it was frowned upon here in Silla.”

“Well, I am sure by now you understand that we royals do not wish to stain our hands in dealing with commoners,” the Prince comments in obvious fashion.

Your head snap towards his direction, the disbelief apparent on your face as you never knew Silla to be as disconnected to their people as they are showing right now.

“But, Your Highness, they are your people!” comes your abrupt and almost offended response.

The next second, all you can see is Minseok’s palm near your face.

You are too stunned about the sudden movement that you only start breathing again after realizing he didn’t hit you.

“You see, Princess,” Minseok says your title so condescendingly that it makes goosebumps erupt on your skin. The hand that once posed to hit you move to caress your cheek in a false comforting manner instead.

“May I remind you that even if you were of high stature in Baekje, you are nobody here if not for my family’s deal with your remaining kin.”

He grabs your shoulders and briskly turns you to look outside, “You see those people?” he says as he guides you to look at passing citizens. “They know nothing about you except for the fact that you failed to protect your kingdom.”

A shiver runs down your spine at Minseok’s proximity and you can feel his breath on your neck with how he is standing behind you. But more than anything, the harsh reminder of the reality of your failure causes pain to bloom in your chest.

Steeling yourself to not let the Prince see your watery eyes, you try to excuse yourself from his presence.

You open your mouth but fail to produce any sound as images of your people being killed flash through your mind. Tears start to form on your eyes, but you bite your lower lip to prevent any sobs from escaping.

Minseok immediately picks up on the shudder in your breath and turns you gently to face him.

“Do not worry, my future Queen,” he says mockingly as he wipes the few stray tears on your cheeks.

He kisses your forehead and looks at you, “I will make sure you will be happy here.”

You swear you have never seen eyes more blank than Minseok has when he smiles at you.

...

Outside, hiding in the shadows, stands a young man with gentle features bearing witness to the exchange. He balls his hands into fists and descends down the alley away from the palace.

——

The day was a serene one, what with the wind gently rustling the leaves in the landscape that surround you. A vibrant blue hovers over you, littered with enough scattered clouds that allow just the right amount of sunlight to grace your skin.

‘What a pleasant day,’ you note… if not for the boisterous laughter coming from the men standing in the archery range.

If there is one thing you are thankful for the etiquette classes you’ve attended since you can remember, it would be the skill you acquired in schooling your features into a neutral look to prevent unsightly expressions from overtaking your face.

You want to frown so bad at the things happening around you.

Sitting as still as a rock, you keep your blank face pointed straight towards the loud men supposed to be of some of the highest blood lines.

Inside, you’re wondering how those men were treated growing up.

Tinkling giggles snap you out of your momentary stupor and you realize you have just unknowingly spaced out. You turn towards the noblewomen watching and follow their gazes fixated on the practicing men.

Years of strict etiquette classes couldn’t have prevented the frown that immediately settles on your face upon seeing the ruckus on the field.

A servant is down on the floor clutching his stomach. The noblemen are obviously ganging up on the smaller man and you grimace when you see the tallest one, Lord Chanyeol from House Park, land a rather strong kick towards the man’s side.

You whip your head to look at the Prince beside you, awaiting any orders you’re sure he would bark out to stop the servant from getting beaten up, but the air is almost knocked out from your lungs when you see him sitting at ease, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

Indignation rises from within you and you walk determinedly towards the men.

When you are within earshot, you stop and clear your throat. Keeping your chin up, you look at the three as they stop their assault.

“My lords,” you say with a surprisingly stable voice.

The youngest was the first to turn to you. Lord Sehun from House Oh. How can you forget when his family is easily one of the most powerful and most ruthless in Silla?

He stands up straight and stares you down, his height serving as an intimidation on its own as he lets an inscrutable expression fall on his face. After a few seconds of looking at you, he bows and offers his hand. Placing yours on his, you have to suppress the shiver that goes down your spine the moment his warm lips touch the back of your hand.

As if possible, he towers even more over you as he straightens back up.

“Princess [Y/N],” you look at the voice that addressed you and you try to smile at him -- Lord Jongin, one of the Prince’s closest cousins. You have met him once when you just arrived in Silla. He seemed kind back then, which made you realize first impressions really were often incorrect since you can never erase from your mind the image of him beheading one of his poor servants who tried to steal bread for his famished daughter.

He greets you as Sehun did, and Chanyeol follows after.

The three stand tall in front of you, shoulders squared and backs straight in what is supposed to be a posture of giving proper respect to those of royal blood, but it only serves to remind you of how low they actually think of you behind the formalities they impose when you face them.

The action rather intimidates you, but you have to steel your nerves for the servant on the ground who is already coughing up blood.

“I was watching you,” you clear your throat, “and I couldn’t help but be curious.”

“Pray tell, may you, what did the lowly servant do to warrant the punishment you have just given him?” you almost blanch at the horrible thing that left your mouth, but you know you have to appeal to their good side.

A glimmer of approval seems to appear in the eyes of Chanyeol and Sehun, but Jongin outright smirks at your agreeable countenance.

Chanyeol toes the head of the servant and angles it towards you. “This dimwitted lowlife thought he could waste our time with his slow services.”

“And as if that is not foolish enough, he even stepped on my foot,” Sehun spat.

Your hands involuntarily ball into fists at their shallow reasons and you almost hit Chanyeol’s face if only it doesn’t spell death for you if you actually pushed through. Good thing your hands are hidden under the sleeves of your hanbok.

“I see,” you glance at the beaten man on the floor. “Let’s not waste our energy on a servant. Please continue on with your training, we’ll see to it that he gets what he deserves.”

You wave two of your personal guards over and instruct them to take the servant away. As discreetly as you can, you whisper to the one closest to you to take care of the beaten man.

When the servant is dragged away, you turn towards the noblemen and bid them luck and safety with their archery.

Going back to your place beside Minseok, you lock eyes with him and you almost stop. He is looking at you as if he knows exactly what you did, a cold and calculating glimmer present in his eyes.

“Fraternizing with the royalty, aren’t you?” he follows you with his gaze until you settle on your seat. “Make sure you do not get caught when you do something foolish.”

You breathe deeply to calm your racing heart, but it almost immediately picks up speed with what he says next. “You would not want your people to suffer because of your idiocy, would you?”

He fixes you with another piercing stare and all you can do is look at him and nod.

In a rare burst of confidence, you place your right hand above his left, “I would not do anything against your will, or the will of Silla, my Prince.”

His expression remains unreadable as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“I have grown quite fond of you, Princess,” Minseok is already looking straight ahead as he speaks. It would be an understatement to say you are surprised by his words, but you know better than to relax around him. You almost want to, but he continues speaking.

“…and I would not want you to find out what happens to those who go behind my back.”

——

That night, you sneak out of your room, disguised as a commoner and wearing your lady-in-waiting’s clothes. You perfectly know you cannot trust anyone in Silla, but if you are to name exceptions, they would be your two personal guards and your personal servant.

Yerim is a young woman assigned to you when you arrived at the palace. She just recently became an adult but already has the sense of responsibility and discipline as that of the older servants. She helps you dress in her clothes and walks with you to the stables where you were informed you could find the man from earlier that day.

A gasp fights its way out of your mouth when you see the state he is in.

Seated on the ground with a mere thin stack of hay acting as a cushion for him, you can see his face bloodied and bruised badly to the point where he seems like he just got out of a fight.

You kneel in front of him and grasp his face gently. Slowly bringing your right hand to his face, it feels like cold water was doused over you when he flinches from your touch.

He thought you were going to hit him…

A grim realization washes over you. You claim to abhor the apathy of the royal family, but in the end, are you any different than them? It has almost been a year since you arrived, but have you done anything for the people there?

All you are thinking about is Baekje, and you feel shame over the harsh reality that you have been turning a blind eye to the struggles of the people of Silla.

You place your hand gently on his cheek, bringing him to face you. It is dark inside the stables with only a few torches lit, but you can see with the faint light that his eyes still hold traces of tears.

“I am so sorry for what they did to you,” you say in a quiet, ashamed voice.

The man raises his eyes to meet yours, albeit shyly and a little scared.

“There is nothing for you to apologize about, My Lady,” he speaks in an equally hushed tone.

You bring your gaze down, not being able to look at him anymore because of how you failed to protect someone yet again, but still, you try to face him.

“May I know your name?”

Mild shock paints his features at your request, but he answers nonetheless. “Chen, Your Majesty. My name is Chen.”

You will yourself to smile, conveying at least a bit of comfort for his pain-riddled body as you bring out the small bag of coins you took with you to give to him.

“Please use this to buy supplies so you can have your bruises and wounds properly treated.” He seems to want to give it back but you enclose his hand with both of yours and push it gently towards him.

“I am sorry if this is all the help I can give for now,” you apologize earnestly. “But I swear I will take care of the people of Silla. I will help all those who need help.”

You gaze at him but this time, he diverts his eyes from you and stays quiet, not at all saying anything back. With his quietness, you guess you have overstayed your welcome so you stand up to leave.

As you are about to exit the stables, you hear him speak faintly. “Thank you,” he says so quietly, you almost don’t hear him.

You turn around and let out a tender smile. “You’re always welcome,” you say truthfully.

——

The coldness of the night makes its presence known, sending goosebumps to erupt on your arms and legs even with the thick clothing wrapped around your body.

Black paints the night sky and is littered with a few stars here and there, twinkling as if the light they have can’t be contained just within their vessels. As if there was so much light in them that they have to share it with the world.

That thought puts a small smile on your face.

Glancing upwards, you gaze at the stars in the sky and you thank whatever gods are alive that at least someone or something, from somewhere in the world still want to share their light with you.

The smile falls fast from your lips, however, and your eyes divert from above towards the lands in full view from your place atop one of the upper floors of the castle.

Standing on the balcony connected to your chambers, you admire the few people going about and preparing for the night. There isn’t much to see, honestly, since the citizens of the capital tend to keep to themselves, as you have noticed.

Most of the nobles do not like you anyway, so you guess there aren’t any problems not seeing them more often. Well, the people don’t like you, noble or not.

Longing and frustration can only begin to describe what you have been feeling as of late.

Your heart yearns to be back in Baekje where your friends and family are, where your people are. You perfectly understand why you have to be in Silla and of course, you aren’t going to just up and leave to run back to those who care about you.

But you just can’t fight the loneliness you always feel.

In all your time in your new home, you have seen nothing but cruelty and felt nothing but negative emotions. You always have to be strong in front of the others so the wolves they call nobles won’t tear you to pieces.

It feels like everyone is just waiting for you to snap and give up, to be the downfall of your own kingdom. You feel like they’re predators just waiting for you, the weak little prey, to make the mistake of getting out of your protective shell and into their domain.

The pressure is always so intense and ever-present, especially when you’re with the Crown Prince. You will be wed to him, tied to him for the rest of your life, all for the protection that Silla can provide for your people. You need to marry him and your feelings do not at all matter, especially in the grand scheme of things.

You know that… but sometimes he can be so, so cruel.

Members of Minseok’s royal guard discovered spies disguised as servants and they didn’t hesitate to make them known to the public. They chained them to poles on the capital grounds and burned them to death.

You sat beside the Crown Prince throughout the whole ordeal and while you couldn’t even get yourself to spare a glance at the suspects out of sheer horror of what’s happening, you found that the situation wasn’t the same with him. The smile that he wore was so cold, so unaffected and so self-assured.

He was amused by the spectacle in front of him.

Later that day, you accompanied the prince to honor Lord Chanyeol and Lord Sehun, the highest-ranking elite nobles from the royal guard. They discovered the spies and proposed the punishment they thought fit for those who committed treason.

You weren’t keen on seeing them again after you’ve just witnessed them terrorize an innocent servant a couple of weeks back, but there you were beside Minseok, fake-smiling and bestowing honor to them for successfully protecting the kingdom from perpetrators.

The enthusiasm was proper, and you agreed. After all, the kingdom was saved from what could have possibly been a catastrophic event. However, you didn’t concur with the way they treated the men. They were the enemy, but that did not mean that they should die a horrible death. However, it seemed like the people of the kingdom were all too happy to assert their dominance over their enemies.

Especially the Prince.

The same one you were supposed to entrust your life to.

A choked sob makes its way up your throat and you don’t even try to fight it.

Nobody will hear you because you are alone anyway, always have been since you moved to Silla. Usually, your lady-in-waiting is there with you, but you sent her free for the night. Even though it is her duty to attend to you, deep inside you feel that she wouldn’t want to if she was given the option.

You heave a deep sigh and walk towards the hallway, wanting to get out and take a walk. Sliding the door open as you wipe your tears, you are surprised to find an equally startled man standing outside your chambers, eyes wide and mouth a bit open.

He quickly falls to his knees and pushes his head to the ground in a low bow. In your shock, you bend down and grasp his arms to pull him up from his kneeling position.

“Chen?” you call his name when you get a good look at his face, recognizing the servant you helped a few weeks ago.

“Princess…” he says in a quiet, unsure voice. He looks visibly flustered because of the proximity so you quickly let go of your hold on him.

Clearing your throat, you begin to ask him. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitates for a moment and averts his eyes from you before meeting your stare again with his own meek one. “I was passing through the corridors for my final duties of the night…”

“I heard somebody crying and looked for the source. I wanted to see if I could be of some help.”

Your heart skips a beat and a tear runs down your cheek.

Is this how deprived you are of kindness? That one act like that almost sends you bawling with relief in the discovery that there is, in fact, at least one kind person in Silla?

All rational thoughts escape your mind and you hold his cheeks with your palms. In an instant, your lips are on his, your eyes closed while his are wide open.

Just as fast as you held him, you immediately release him upon the realization of what you’ve done.

Air escapes your lungs when you fall on the floor in your haste to back away from him and your shocked and pained expression is enough to spur Chen to set aside his own surprise in favor of helping you stand from the floor instead.

Reason seems to have found its way back to your head and you frantically look at both ends of the corridor to see if anyone saw what just transpired.

Suddenly, Chen bows straight in front of you as he almost shouts out an apology.

“Forgive me, my Lady!” you’re stunned by him, his voice shaking and he looks as frightened as a hare corned by wolves.

“What… why…” guilt starts to eat at you from the inside. “Don’t… why are you the one apologizing?” You ask him in a shaky voice.

He stands up from his bow and is surprised to see you looking at him like he just did something wrong.

“Why are you apologizing when clearly I’m the one who just– just attacked you like that out of nowhere?” It is clear that you are getting frantic, guilt and anger brewing an unpleasant mix from within you.

“Had anyone witnessed what I did, you would be sentenced to death, no questions asked!”

Chen’s panic is rising with every word that comes out of your mouth and he whips his head around to see if anyone is passing by.

“Or maybe…” you look at your shaking hands, your breath shallow. The next words that come out of your mouth are said so quietly, it almost looks like the words are for you, and only you.

“Maybe you should tell the Prince that I forced you so he could gladly sentence me to death… after all I deserve such punishment for putting your life on the line--”

The arms that immediately engulf you are warm and you belatedly realize that Chen is already holding you close to his chest. You can’t fight it anymore, the pent up emotions all come rushing out like water from a broken dam.

The anger, the loneliness, the frustration, the sadness.

Everything just breaks free from you the moment you start crying.

It doesn’t even occur to you that you’re already sobbing until you hear Chen whisper words of comfort in your ears, telling you that it’s difficult but it’s all going to be okay and that he understands... That he understands very well.

When your crying has subsided, Chen leads you inside your room again and guides you to lie down. Grabbing the quilt, he drapes it over you until up to your chest, wishing you a peaceful sleep for the night.

He stands up, prepared to leave your chambers, but you grab his hand to stop him.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

He looks at your face for a few seconds, causing you to almost take back what you said. You are about to apologize when Chen lifts the quilt and lays beside you.

There’s a significant space between the two of you but you’re just glad he’s there to be with you. Even with the distance between your bodies, it’s the first time in a long time that you feel you’re not alone and just that is enough reason for you to be deeply grateful.

“Thank you,” you say with a low voice. Laying there side by side, sleep almost claims you fast with how much you’ve cried that night alone. You’re so tired of crying, so tired of feeling helpless and even more of being powerless to stop it.

With your eyes closed and your consciousness already dripping by the edge, rest is being yearned by your body and you almost succumb to the lull of darkness but not before you feel him hold your hand.

Just before you fall asleep, you hear Chen whisper.

“I understand.”

——

At first you thought the days that would follow the incident would be miserable, but now sitting beside Chen, hands intertwined and with only the moon and the stars as your witnesses, you couldn’t be happier.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think what you’re doing is dangerous, and you know it is, but the experience of comfort and companionship veils you from the real risks at hand.

The feeling of Chen rubbing soothing circles on your hand brings you out of the momentary daze you are in. Turning towards him, you meet his stare, loving how his gentle features bring you ease no matter the circumstances.

In your calmness, you fail to notice the slight crease between his eyebrows.

——

Darkness covers the skies, preventing any semblance of light from shining through as if the heavy clouds in your heart aren’t enough on its own.

Struggling to keep your panic inside, you breathe slowly as you try your best to ignore the way the Crown Prince’s hand on yours seems to burn your skin. Your hand shakes a little and it does not go unnoticed by him judging by how he spares a quick side glance your way.

The gathering seems to go on longer, each passing moment increasing the dread you are feeling. You do not pay attention to the people speaking, choosing to ignore for as long as you can the reality they are bringing to life with their words.

Despite the widespread dislike for you, the important people in the hall cannot contain their eagerness for the wedding, excited for once about the prospect of formally accepting you into the kingdom because it would mean Silla’s official subjugation of Baekje.

After some time, the nobles and the royals file out of the throne room, leaving only you and Minseok alone.

He turns towards you and takes you in his cold embrace, pulling your body impossibly snug against his.

“I cannot wait for tomorrow,” he says lowly in your ear. “The ceremony, and especially for what happens after… how I can finally claim you as mine.”

The Prince shifts his hold to your waist and moves so he can look directly into your eyes. “Tomorrow, I can have your all at last. Mind…” he leans closer as his hands travel higher.

“Body.” A kiss on the edge of your lips.

“Soul.”

He finishes as he plants a full kiss on your lips.

You tense upon the contact but Minseok doesn’t seem to care. He slowly pulls away and you almost recoil when you see nothing but amusement and anticipation dancing in his eyes. Licking his bottom lip, he lets you go and orders your lady in waiting to take you back to your private quarters.

With a bowed head, Yerim rushes to you and you all but run from the hall once Minseok dismisses you.

You can’t think straight so you let your feet take you to wherever, the young servant right on your heels worriedly urging you to go back to where the Prince ordered you to.

“Your Highness, we should go back,” Yerim says pleadingly but almost admonishingly, no doubt scared of the consequences, but you don’t listen to her. Turning towards another corridor, you’re surprised to find yourself face to face with Chen, his brows furrowed in concern upon seeing you in tears-- tears you don’t even notice.

“[Y/N],” he rushes towards you and he wipes the tears on your cheeks with his thumbs. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

A gasp sounds from behind you and when you turn around, you meet Yerim’s shocked face. She just saw Chen holding you with familiarity and speaking your name as if he is of same standing.

His eyes widen as he registers the presence of another person, not at all prepared for such an encounter.

Your servant hurries away and Chen turns to run after her, but you stop him with a hand on his arm. He looks at you and decides that your well-being is more important at the moment.

Taking your hand in his, he guides you along the corridors to your room, preferring to console you in private and away from prying eyes.

The moment the doors slide close, you loop your arms around his torso and sob on his chest.

It was unfair.

Why is the world just so unfair?

The past few weeks you spent with Chen have been the best you’ve had since you moved to the new kingdom. You were so caught up in the safety net that is him that you almost forgot the reason why you were in Silla in the first place. So good were you in pushing your worries to the back of your mind that you did start to forget your true purpose.

With only a day away from your marriage to the Crown Prince, all your worries rush back to your mind, overwhelming you and drowning you in their torrential waves.

Along with the reality that you will be tied to Minseok starting the next day, you cry harder upon the realization that you will have to stop meeting with Chen after the ceremony. Not only will it be dangerous not just for him, but for you as well, but it will also be unfair for Chen.

He is nothing but a kind soul and you know you can never be unfair to him.

You will not do that, no, and he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. With all the courage you can muster, you detach yourself from his hold, still tearful and sniffling.

“Chen…” you look into his eyes, certain that it might be the last time you can openly do so.

He calls your name in a quiet voice and you can do nothing but let your body do what it yearns to do.

Your lips are on his before you can register it and your hands raise to caress his soft cheeks. He holds your jaw with one hand while the other finds purchase on your waist. All you can do is feel Chen and relish the time you can spend with him like this.

It doesn’t matter if you want him. Your choices never matter after all, but this time, you really feel the hurt from not having your emotions be put into consideration.

Even if you don’t want to, you know you will have to stop seeking comfort from the one and only person you consider your home away from your real home. You will have to part, and never will you be able to hold him like this again.

For reasons you cannot fully accept, you resign yourself to your fate and let yourself cry harder.

Chen feels your body shake from your sobs and he tries his best to convey comfort through the arms that hold you tight. You both know there’s no going around the destiny that awaits you so he simply guides you to lie down on your bed, engulfs you in his warm embrace and lets you cry your heart out.

——

You wake up with a start, disoriented and with eyes still heavy from crying as well as your abrupt awakening.

However, sleep is instantly wiped from you when you see Chen hovering over you, a knife in his hand, poised and ready to be brought down on you.

The moment you lock eyes with him, his own widen and his hand starts to shake.

An interruption from your door startles the both of you and you turn to see the Crown Prince himself entering the room, a cold and almost blank look on his face but a small satisfied smirk on his lips.

Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, your personal guards, immediately enter the room and tackle Chen, holding him flat on the ground. His struggling does nothing to deter the two men holding him down, taking the knife from him and throwing it somewhere unreachable.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, Minseok speaks.

“This went on even better than I expected,” he says as he looks at Chen. “Back then, I knew I recognized you from somewhere and I wasn’t wrong.”

Glancing around the room, you still don’t know what is happening and it causes the frustration to seep from you. The Prince diverts his attention to you and your heart stops at the sight of his disapproving but all too amused stare.

“I thought I had warned you well not to let me find out about your foolishness, Princess,” he sees the confusion on your face and lets his smirk widen. As if on cue, Yerim emerges from behind him, wearing an expression you can only describe as a look of satisfaction.

You don’t understand!

You thought Yerim was on your side-- that she would at least be willing to give you a chance to explain what she saw earlier but it seems you’re wrong and now it’s too late.

“--what… --I do not..,” you try to speak but find that you can’t form your thoughts into sentences. You move your gaze back and forth from Minseok to Chen, fear gripping your heart from what grim consequences are sure to await you and him upon being discovered by Minseok, but the Prince seems to know more than he lets on.

“Oh,” he chuckles as he raises a brow. “The Princess is worried about you, Kim Jongdae. Do you mean to tell me she does not know of your true identity?”

You frown at the unfamiliar name and snap your head towards Chen, seeing a semblance of guilt fall on his face. He averts his gaze from you and looks at Minseok instead, his lips curl into a snarl, daring the Prince to continue speaking.

Minseok isn’t deterred one bit. He bellows out a loud, harsh laugh and sweeps his hands in a grand gesture. “Imagine, you try to kill the next Queen of this kingdom and she does not even know who you are and what you were planning to do to her all along.”

Not caring about formalities, you grasp for clarity. “Chen!” you shout desperately. “What is he saying!”

The Prince walks towards you and pulls you up with a tight grip on your arm, making you cry out in pain. He brings you closer to him, holding your back flat against his chest with an arm around your waist while his other hand goes to hold your chin to force you to look at Chen… --at Jongdae.

“You see, Princess, Jongdae wanted to kill you,” he says, mirth obvious in his voice. “But you know I will not let that happen.”

“But do not tell me there is no recognition in you at all when you look at his face?” he mocks. “No recollection of any Kim Jongdae? Perhaps from your younger years?”

“Or maybe you do not know him… but you know of someone, a rather beautiful woman if I may say so, who for some reason is related to this scum who tried to end your life?”

You flinch at the reminder, not at all ready to wrap your head around the truth of Jongdae’s attempt on your life, but as you blink and stare at the man before you…

A sharp inhale is all you can muster at the moment. “That’s… that’s why you looked familiar… because I have seen you before,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “--you’re Taeyeon’s younger brother…”

Jongdae lunges forward at the mention of his sister’s name. “You do no’t get to talk about her as if you ever cared about her!” he shouts, voice riddled with pure unadulterated anger and pain. He almost successfully breaks free from the guards’ hold on him but they pull him back, hitting his body and forcing him to kneel in front of you and the Prince.

Minseok releases his hold on you and pushes you forward, causing you to fall on directly in front of Jongdae. “Go on, tell her the truth, you mongrel.”

“Chen… Jongdae,” gulping, you lift your head to look at him. “Please look at me.” You raise your hand to his cheek, willing him to tell you the truth but he avoids your touch altogether. He looks off to the side, choosing to fume silently in anger.

“Oh, you do not wish to speak?” the Prince says with a chuckle. “Let me do the honor then.”

He walks closer to Jongdae and lands a firm kick on his stomach, causing him to double over in pain.

“No! Stop!” you scramble to stop the Prince but he hits your face with the back of his hand, causing you to fall back curled on a heap on the floor.

“You do not know the truth yet, so stop trying to protect him, you fool,” Minseok says in a growl. “He wanted to end your life so he can prevent me from getting what I wanted - which is to rule over your kingdom. With you gone, Baekje can easily back off from their plea,” he clicks his tongue.

“No problem there but I would rather save the resources we will need to mobilize if we try to take your kingdom by force,” he looks at you then, reading the confusion clear on your face. “But why does he abhor me, you ask? Well, because I killed the pathetic little spy he calls his precious sister.”

Jongdae struggles again, wanting nothing more than to strangle the Prince with his bare hands, but the guards hold him down.

“So you did not care about me the whole time…?” you try to say, your breath seemingly getting more shallow the longer you stay in the room.

Minseok picks up the discarded knife and presses the pointed tip on Jongdae’s neck. “Tell her, servant,” he urges, drawing a little amount of blood from Jongdae. “Tell her you do not care, even now. Tell her that the only intent you had when you showed her kindness was to create a ploy to take something important from me - to take revenge on me the only way you know how because you know you will never get the opportunity to kill me.”

“Well, you failed. Miserably. Just like your incompetent sibling.”

You sit helpless on the floor, eyes locked with Jongdae’s and you almost cry from the emotions that flit on his beautiful face.

Anger. Resentment. Betrayal.

But among them, you also see something else.

Worry. Guilt.

Regret.

Remorse.

... Love.

Memories from years back flood your mind and you remember personally selecting Taeyeon to be part of the emissaries to be sent to Silla for a special mission.

She was one of your personal guards, one of the best in the whole army, and you proudly endorsed her for it, not knowing that the task entailed spying on Silla.

After some time, you got word of her unexpected and unfortunate death, but you didn’t know it was because of the mission.

The first tear drop falls from your eyes… followed by another, and another. And you find your vision blurring from the onslaught of tears.

Jongdae’s breathing is also picking up, unfiltered negative feelings about his sister’s demise taking over his entire person. He doesn’t even attempt to stop it and just lets them cascade down his cheeks.

“Please don’t-- just…-- don’t pretend to care about her when you were the one who sent her to her death,” he chokes out, voice thick with sorrow.

You shake your head vehemently, “You don’t understand-- Jongdae, I did not know,” you sob. “I did not… if I knew then I would not have-- no…” you cover your face with your hands, desperate to get rid of the guilt and the blame for something you did not know. “She was my friend.”

“This brings me such great amusement,” Minseok laughs in glee. “Now that we have those misunderstandings out of the way, I want you fools to reflect on what happened so you can both feel more miserable. I should end your lives for treason and infidelity, no?”

He draws his own sword and points it at you. “Should I kill you first, Princess?”

Jongdae surprises everyone in the room with how he breaks free from the guards and tackles Minseok to the ground. He lands a solid blow to the Prince’s jaw before the panicked men drag him away, beating him up to make him stop.

“Do not lay your hands on her!” he growls out while struggling. “I will kill you if you so much as touch her!”

You stay still in shock and you feel yourself tense even more when Minseok lets out a full-blown laugh. “You dare threaten to kill me if I endanger her life when moments ago, she would have died by your own hands had I not interrupted?”

Jongdae lets shame wash over his face, draining the fight from him and preventing him from so much as glancing at you.

The Prince stands up from his place on the floor, laughing and clutching his stomach for reasons incomprehensible to you and Jongdae. “Will you look at that?” he says in between bouts of laughter.

Shaking his head, he straightens his posture and picks up his discarded sword. To your shock, he sheathes it back and looks at you. “So he does feel even a little for you even though you are foremost the reason why his beloved sibling is dead.”

“I will not kill you. Instead, I will make your lives miserable.” With the smirk still on his face, he walks towards the door, stopping just before he fully exits.

“And I will see to it that you see each other suffer throughout that misery, left wondering each passing day how much hurt you caused one another.”

——

Baekje was always pleasant.

Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was your home - a true home. It was one where you had a personal servant whom you treated like a sibling, and who treated you the same way.

You guess Yerim’s loyalty was never yours to claim in the first place.

Back where you came from, you grew up with with your people including the royal guards, the maids, the citizens. You knew just about everyone, but more so your personal guards Junmyeon and Yixing. You know they’d protect you and anyone you loved from any harm that came your way, and not even because of their sworn duty, but more from how they sincerely care about your wellbeing.

You guess it was foolish of you to mistake Kyungsoo and Baekhyun’s kindness to mean they will come to your aid no matter the circumstance. After all, who are you compared the the Prince -- the future King of their own kingdom.

As wishful as it is, you used to think you will be wed to the love of your life - someone you haven’t met back then yet, but who your father and mother assured you that you will get to marry. It was peaceful back then, so peaceful that the royal heads of the kingdom did not see the need to send you to marry a man you did not even know.

You guess you should not question the Prince’s intentions, for after all, isn’t it him who is granting you a wish when he agreed to marry you? Isn’t it him who will provide the safety you so prayed for your kingdom? Does his cruelty really matter? Should you not be thankful?

As much you loved your own kingdom, you had to leave it, for it was that exact love that pushed you to get the help your people needed. It was not an easy task, not in any way, but you thank the gods for blessing you with a person who serves as a beacon of light in a place filled with nothing but darkness. A person who serves as your warmth where there only was coldness. A home away from home, and a home you are eternally grateful for.

You guess you should have questioned it, but when you think deeply about what happened, you believe in the depths of your heart that you got to meet the real Chen -- the real Kim Jongdae. That despite him having a plan against you, you know he understands your plight. You know he did things out of love for his sister. You know that despite claiming to have just pretended to gain your trust, in the end, Kim Jongdae started caring for you… started loving you.

You saw it in the way he wasn’t able to bring the knife down.

You saw it in the way he protected you even in the face of a ruthless prince who can easily end both of your lives.

You saw it in the way he cared for you -- still cares for you.

And now, you see it in the way he looks into your eyes.

As you enter the hall to meet the Crown Prince, you steel yourself and your heart, finally accepting with grim resignation the fate that you tried so hard to evade.

Never will you trust anyone in the kingdom ever again.

Never will you put your faith on any of the people.

Never will you disobey the Prince lest you compromise the safety of your people.

And perhaps most important of all…

Never will you put Kim Jongdae’s life in danger ever again.

How will you be able to suppress your conflicting feelings for him when the Prince had so mercilessly ordered Jongdae to personally attend to you for the rest of your life?

To be forced to spend every waking moment with you when you had both been crushed by the unfortunate circumstances you’ve been tangled in?

What you had was truth founded on lies. You had come to love him and you know he had come to love you too, only to meet a destiny more painful than rejection. And as you engrave into your heart all of these promises you made, you wonder, how will your broken and crushed heart be able to handle Jongdae being by your side in the coming days?

Maybe-- maybe in another life, you can meet each other again.

And maybe in another life you can love without the pain, the anger and the sorrow that fill your current ill-fated lives.

#exo #exowritersnet #exosnet #chen #kim jongdae #exo angst #chen angst #kim jongdae angst #exo x reader #exo x reader angst #chen x reader #chen x reader angst #kim jongdae x reader #kim jongdae x reader angst #exo historical!AU

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theculturedmarxist · 4 years

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The New York Times is literally a propaganda outlet and Timothy Egan is a deceitful chode. His every word drips with the anxious desperation of the Democrats who know their goose is cooked.

Watching “Succession,” the HBO show about the most despicable plutocrats to seize the public imagination since the Trumps were forced on us, made me want to tax the ultrarich into a homeless shelter. And it almost made a Bernie Bro of me.

That’s the thing about class loathing: It feels good, a moral high with its own endorphins, but is ultimately self-defeating. A Bernie Sanders rally is a hit from the same pipe: Screw those greedy billionaire bastards!

Sanders has passion going for him. He has authenticity. He certainly has consistency: His bumper-sticker sloganeering hasn’t changed for half a century. He was, “even as a young man, an old man,” as Time magazine said.

But he cannot beat Donald Trump, for the same reason people do not translate their hatred of the odious rich into pitchfork brigades against walled estates.

Because powerful oligarchs that own their government murder them with impunity when they do.

>March 7 was a bitterly cold day in Detroit, and a crowd estimated at between 3,000 and 5,000 gathered near the Dearborn city limits, about a mile from the Ford plant. The Detroit Times called it "one of the coldest days of the winter, with a frigid gale whooping out of the northwest". Marchers carried banners reading "Give Us Work, "We Want Bread Not Crumbs", and "Tax the Rich and Feed the Poor". Albert Goetz gave a speech, asking that the marchers avoid violence. The march proceeded peacefully along the streets of Detroit until it reached the Dearborn city limits.

>There, the Dearborn police attempted to stop the march by firing tear gas into the crowd and began hitting marchers with clubs. One officer fired a gun at the marchers. The unarmed crowd scattered into a field covered with stones, picked them up, and began throwing stones at the police. The angry marchers regrouped and advanced nearly a mile toward the plant. There, two fire engines began spraying cold water onto the marchers from an overpass. The police were joined by Ford security guards and began shooting into the crowd. Marchers Joe York, Coleman Leny and Joe DeBlasio were killed, and at least 22 others were wounded by gunfire.

>The leaders decided to call off the march at that point and began an orderly retreat. Harry Bennett, head of Ford security, drove up in a car, opened a window, and fired a pistol into the crowd. Immediately, the car was pelted with rocks, and Bennett was injured. He got out of the car and continued firing at the retreating marchers. Dearborn police and Ford security men opened fire with machine guns on the retreating marchers. Joe Bussell, 16 years old, was killed, and dozens more men were wounded. Bennett was hospitalized for his injury.

> All of the seriously wounded marchers were arrested, and the police chained many to their hospital beds after they were admitted for treatment. A nationwide search was conducted for William Z. Foster, but he was not arrested. No law enforcement or Ford security officer was arrested, although all reliable reports showed that they had engaged in all the gunfire, resulting in deaths, injuries and property damage. The New York Times reported that "Dearborn streets were stained with blood, streets were littered with broken glass and the wreckage of bullet-riddled automobiles, and nearly every window in the Ford plant's employment building had been broken".

The United States has never been a socialist country, even when it most likely should have been one, during the robber baron tyranny of the Gilded Age or the desperation of the Great Depression, and it never will be. Which isn’t to say that American capitalism is working; it needs Teddy Roosevelt-style trustbusting and restructuring. We’re coming for you, Facebook.

Yeah, just look how well that’s worked out, you fucking idiot.

The next month presents the last chance for serious scrutiny of Sanders, who is leading in both Iowa and New Hampshire. After that, Republicans will rip the bark off him. When they’re done, you will not recognize the aging, mouth-frothing, business-destroying commie from Ben and Jerry’s dystopian dairy. Demagogy is what Republicans do best. And Sanders is ripe for caricature.

The same Republicans that got their breakfast ate by the dottering windbag cheetoman? The same Republicans that are unpopular with over half the fucking country? The same Republicans which have shown majority support for Sanders’s policies in the past? Those are the Republicans you’re talking about, right, Timothy, you fucking asshole?

I’m not worried about the Russian stuff — Bernie’s self-described “very strange honeymoon” to the totalitarian hell of the Soviet Union in 1988, and his kind words for similar regimes. Compared with a president who is a willing stooge for the Russian strongman Vladimir Putin, a little vodka-induced dancing with the red bear is peanuts.

Nor am I worried about the legitimate questions concerning the candidate’s wife, Jane Sanders, who ran a Vermont college into the ground. Again, Trump’s family of grifters — from Ivanka securing her patents from China while Daddy made other promises to Beijing, to Don Jr.’s using the White House to leverage the family brand — give Democrats more than enough ammunition to return the fire.

This is fun. Due to a complete lack of incriminating conduct, little Timmy has to invent wrongdoing to libel Jane Sanders. I suppose he’s relying on his readers being too stupid to read the article that he himself links, another NYT hitpiece that desperately tries to paint Ms Sanders as a shady character without anything in the way of tangible proof.

>Federal prosecutors have not spoken publicly about their investigation, though late last year, Ms. Sanders’s lead lawyer said he had been told it had been closed. And while doubts remain about the contribution pledges claimed by the college, the lawyer has said that neither Ms. Sanders nor her husband was even questioned by investigators, indicating a lack of significant evidence of a crime.

>After Ms. Sanders’s ouster, the college’s troubles worsened. It abandoned a promising effort she had undertaken to sell some of its new land to improve its finances, interviews show. A few years later, when it did begin selling, it was to a consortium that secretly included at least one member of its board, raising conflict-of-interest questions.

>There is little question that the college’s 2016 demise can be traced to Ms. Sanders’s decision to champion an aggressive — critics say reckless — plan to buy the land. But with potential students put off by the lack of a campus, and with many such colleges struggling at the time, her move was the academic equivalent of a Hail Mary. Her allies said she never had a chance to fulfill her vision.

>“Jane made an audacious gambit to save the college,” said Genevieve Jacobs, a former faculty member. “It seemed to be a moment of ‘change or die.’”

>In interviews and emails, Ms. Sanders expressed frustration at her dismissal and the college’s failure to continue her rescue plan.

>“They went a completely different direction in every way than what we had proposed and decided upon as a board — with the bank, with the diocese, the bonding agency,” she said. “They didn’t carry out any of the plan. It was very confusing and upsetting at the time.”

The TL;DR seems to be: Jane Sanders tried to save a struggling school with an audacious but risky plan that ended up being aborted when she was let go by by a board, some of the members of which may have had a stake in seeing it fail. At the very least, a much more complex situation than the aspersion of “running it into the ground.”

Trump bragged about sexual assault, paid off a porn star and ran a fraudulent university. He sucks up to dictators and tells a half-dozen lies before he puts his socks on in the morning. A weird column about a rape fantasy from 1972 is not going to sink Bernie when Trump has debased all public discourse.

No, what will get the Trump demagogue factory working at full throttle is the central message of the Sanders campaign: that the United States needs a political revolution. It may very well need one. But most people don’t think so, as Barack Obama has argued. And getting two million new progressive votes in the usual area codes is not going to change that.

“Ah jeez, ah fuck, he has no sexual indiscretions that I can dredge up and his Feminist polemic against pornography and the rape culture that it engenders is old news, and if I actually reported on it honestly people might actually read it and support his ideas. Oh, well, you see, despite the incredible groundswell of support for just such a thing, Barack Obama, the man that gave the banks trillions of dollars and then allowed the state apparatus to function as their gestapo-cum-storm troopers, says we don’t need one!”

Timothy Egan wants to dismiss “two million new progressive votes” after doing a little gaslighting. His Democrat masters don’t want people to remember that it was Obama’s promises of Hope and Change after 8 years of Republican tyranny that generated a record breaking voter turnout. They would also like you to forget that 2016 was a 20-year low in voter turnout. Do you think those things are related, Mr Egan? Do you think that there might be some connection between Obama taking advantage of the desperation of millions of people, betraying them, and then those people not fucking showing up next time, causing your party to lose to the dimwit that they themselves boosted to the position?

Give Sanders credit for moving public opinion along on a living wage, higher taxes on the rich and the need for immediate action to stem the immolation of the planet. Most great ideas start on the fringe and move to the middle.

But some of his other ideas are stillborn, or never get beyond the fringe. Socialism, despite its flavor-of-the-month appeal to young people, is not popular with the general public. Just 39 percent of Americans view socialism positively, a bare uptick from 2010, compared with 87 percent who have a positive view of free enterprise, Gallup found last fall.

“Just” 39 percent of Americans, up 4% from 2016. This is ignoring for the moment that due to Americans’ piss-poor education system they have no idea what “Socialism” means aside from “more government.” Looking at the breakdown of results, it seems as though they just asked people off the top of their head what they thought about X, no definition or elaboration given. Unsurprisingly, when you look at the actual numbers on specific issues, you can see exactly why Egan has to play this deceptive bullshit: of respondents 18-34, 52% have a favorable view of “Socialism,” as opposed to 47% supporting “Capitalism.” This is in sharp contrast to the 35-54 and 55+ cohorts. 65% of Democrats have a favorable view of “Socialism.” Those with a “Liberal” ideology are even more in favor at 74%, Timothy Egan, you massive shithead.

What’s more, American confidence in the economy is now at the highest level in nearly two decades. That’s hardly the best condition for overthrowing the system.

"The highest level in nearly two decades.” That’s faint fucking praise right there.

You can see the tremendous fucking crater caused by the crash in 2007/8, a reversal of a whopping -81 points from the previous year. With many economists forecasting recession beginning either this year or the next, we’ll see how long the confidence lasts.

So-called Medicare for all, once people understand that it involves eliminating all private insurance, polls at barely above 40 percent in some surveys, versus the 70 percent who favor the option of Medicare for all who want it. Other polls show majority support. But cost is a huge concern. And even Sanders cannot give a price tag for nationalizing more than one-sixth of the economy.

A ban on fracking is a poison pill in a must-win state like Pennsylvania, which Democrats lost by just over 44,000 votes in 2016. Eliminating Immigration and Customs Enforcement, another Sanders plan, is hugely unpopular with the general public.

“Medicare for all is really unpopular, except when it isn’t.”

Hmm, you know? Hmmm.

As for fracking, from his own link:

>A November poll conducted by the Kaiser Family Foundation and the Cook Political Report found that only 39 percent of Pennsylvania swing voters saw a fracking ban as a good idea, even as nearly 7 in 10 of those same voters said they supported the idea of a “Green New Deal” for the environment.

Democrats are whinging on the jobs “lost” to a fracking ban as though it exists in isolation. 39% might support a fracking ban, but 70% support the GND, which could potentially offset the “job loss” with industry that has the potential not to leave their state as a fucking environmentally ruined horror show. I haven’t run the numbers on this, but not living in a cesspool of polluted air and water tends to be pretty popular, Timbo.

More shellgames from Mr Egan regarding abolishing ICE.

> Only 1 in 4 voters in the poll, 25 percent, believe the federal government should get rid of ICE. The majority, 54 percent, think the government should keep ICE. Twenty-one percent of voters are undecided.

That sounds bad. Maybe it’s not such a good ide

>But a plurality of Democratic voters do support abolishing ICE, the poll shows. Among Democrats, 43 percent say the government should get rid of ICE, while only 34 percent say it should keep ICE.

Oh.

Sanders is a rigid man, and he projects grumpy-old-man rigidity, with his policy prescriptions frozen in failed Marxist pipe dreams. He’s unlikely to change. I sort of like that about his character, in the same way I like that he didn’t cave to the politically correct bullies who went after him for accepting the support of the influential podcaster Joe Rogan.

Democrats win with broad-vision optimists who still shake up the system — Franklin Roosevelt, of course, but also Obama. The D’s flipped 40 House seats in 2018 without using any of Sanders’s stringent medicine. If they stick to that elixir they’ll oust Trump, the goal of a majority of Americans.

Democrats lose with fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists. Three times, the party nominated William Jennings Bryan, the quirky progressive with great oratorical pipes, and three times they were trounced. Look him up, kids. Your grandchildren will do a similar search for Bernie Sanders when they wonder how Donald Trump won a second term.

“Failed Marxist pipe dreams.” Aaaaay lmao. You should also have an inkling something is wrong when you have to go all the way back to FDR to find someone that supports your point. Talk about “poison pills,” Obama proved himself to be as much of a snake as the rest, and the effects of that resonated in 2016 when the Dems ran on a platform of “that’s a nice country you have there, you wouldn’t want Trump to get elected, would you?” How did that work out? You ran one of the most unpopular politicians in the country—after very blatantly rigging the primaries against Sanders to do so—against one of the most unpopular capitalists in the country, and lost, dipshit!

Ironically, I think Timbob’s closing statement will prove true, though not in the way his clown ass intends. Shills like Egan are doing everything they can to try and poison public perception against Sanders and his policies, who only proves increasingly popular as time goes on, so much so in fact that the DNC is already biting its nails and muttering to itself about ways it can try and cheat his supporters again.

In conversations on the sidelines of a DNC executive committee meeting and in telephone calls and texts in recent days, about a half-dozen members have discussed the possibility of a policy reversal to ensure that so-called superdelegates can vote on the first ballot at the party’s national convention. Such a move would increase the influence of DNC members, members of Congress and other top party officials, who now must wait until the second ballot to have their say if the convention is contested.

They deny it in the article, claim that changing the rules would be “bad sportsmanship,” but one would be a fool to believe them. If anything, their ambivalence towards relying on Superdelegates would make me even more nervous at this stage. Politico wants it to seem like the DNC is bent on playing fair, but more likely than not they have no intention of changing the convention rules because they believe there’s no need. With Warren’s flagging support and the luke-warm response to Biden, I doubt they’re overcome with optimism of beating Sanders in an honest primary. With all the shenanigans from last time’s primaries in mind, it’s likely that the machinery to rig the results their way is already in place—the primary could already be over before it even begins.

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limitless-muse · 4 years

Text

Orion Drasen

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

Risa Turner - adopted sister

Orion was adopted into her household when Risa’s parents wanted another child but couldn’t have another of their own. When they finally did, they threw him back into foster care.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

It wouldn’t be obvious, but Orion was a momma’s boy. When she wasn’t killing people with her husband, she doted on Orion. She is where his passion for cooking and baking comes from. Sadly, that was the only thing she taught him. Otherwise, she would buy him all the picture books and toys he wanted and leave him be as she and her husband were engrossed in torturing and killing people. Once Orion found out about their hobby, that all changed.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

They didn’t really have a relationship until Orion found out about their hobby. When he did and had no... real reaction like revulsion towards it, his father tried to teach him to like the torturing, maiming, and killing. That all backfired as Orion took those lessons and turned them around to put the bodies back together with what little resources he had.

This resulted in both his mother and father abandoning him as a failure. They ignored him and anything he did, getting more and more obsessed with their hobby until they were caught by the police.

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

First off, Orion wasn’t really raised. He was given picture books and toys to occupy himself when his parent’s ignored him, otherwise he was taught to cook and bake. All recipes were word of mouth.

Orion caught his parent’s maiming and destroying bodies in their basement. Blood was everywhere, not to mention the smell.

Because of his lack of a real upbringing, he didn’t react as most would - plus the easy molding of a child and the easy adaptation of a child to situations - which would be in revulsion and horror. He was just confused, though he was revulsed by the smell of rotting flesh.

He was then allowed to play with the bodies and body parts and his whole body would be regularly covered in blood from head to toe afterwards.

This leads to his PTSD actions of wanting to take showers or wash his hands at least to get the blood off, but it’s EVERYWHERE and takes forever to come off, just like it took forever to come off when he was little.

He tried to put bodies back together, the opposite of what his parents did, which made them start to hate him or feel disgust and it showed.

Next would be seeing his parents escorted away in handcuffs as they shouted that he should be locked up too. Even during the trial they tried to speak up about how he played with the bodies and tried to put them back together, so he should be locked up too. They felt that his actions were worse than their own and if they were going down he should too.

After that, what would affect him is how he was treated by other adults be they foster parents, psychologists, psychiatrists, or orphanage runners.

He was steadily abandoned, treated like a freak, claimed to be disturbed, forced to take medication, forced to undergo treatments and therapy, abused, and more.

The only adult that was an exception was a Priest who taught him to read and write with the Bible.

This would all lead to his saving grace: Risa Turner. His sister one family he was adopted into.

She loved him. Treated him kindly. Learned from him. Taught him. And she didn’t leave him.

They did their best to keep in contact over the years after her parent’s forced him back into the foster system, but they lost contact several times until they ran into each other in London when they were adults.

Since then, they refused to let each other go again.

As for who knows about this...

Risa does know it. The only thing she doesn’t know is exactly how bad some of the foster/orphanage situations were and how deeply involved with his parents murdering ways he was.

In the AU with Sherlock and Jim, they slowly learn this as time goes along and things crop up.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

His phone, wallet, keys, handkerchief, occasionally some change, and chapstick.

Occasionally gloves depending on occasion or season.

Pocket watch occasionally. He adores it too much to wear it too often, but special occasions he certainly will.

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

Many.

Most are about his childhood, mainly the blood and the bodies in pieces.

Others are about the abuse he received in the system.

The nights he likes the most are the ones where he doesn’t dream at all.

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

His dreams are his nightmares. He doesn’t ever get a normal dream of Unicorns farting rainbows or whatever it is that normal people dream.

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

He does know how to use one, but he doesn’t like to.

Some kids in one orphanage had stolen a gun and were shooting at trees and such. They were scared off by an adult and Orion found the gun and tried it out on some cans.

He decided he didn’t like it and disposed of it in some acid to see what would happen to the gun casing. He did know to take the leftover bullets out first.

Later on in life, he would get proper teachings on how to use a gun and has one in his shop just in case. Yes, he has a proper permit for it.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

He has had several socioeconomic statuses over the course of his life.

He was born into an upper-middle class household. His father worked a normal 8-5 job and his mother was a housewife.

For the most part after that he was just an orphan.

He was adopted into...

Another upper-middle class household

Two different low-middle class household

A high class household

The house of an Earl

It was in this household that Orion was given the name (and titled once the foster parents passed): Orion Williamsford the Second, Earl of Wiltonshire

They never got a chance to remove him from the family lineage and records as well as wills before their deaths.

This would be the household he found out his calling as an Undertaker, which is why they wished to disown him.

After he left the Earl house, he would get the class of academic or apprentice as he went around studying to become an Undertaker.

Once he had the training and license, wherever he moved to, he kept the status of middle class because it was the most convenient.

He doesn’t care for his title of Earl or what it gains him like stalkers in the form of Jeffrey Walsh (Son of Sir Henry Walsh) and Stephanie Walsh (Jeffrey’s sister).

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

He will ALWAYS feel more comfortable with more clothing.

Orion typically wears...

Undershirt and boxers

Button-up shirt

Vest

Suit jacket and pants

Belt or cummerbund

Socks and shoes

Tie, bowtie, cavat, or other necktie accessory

Depending, he may have gloves on or at least in his pocket

Then a jacket as well if needed

In the AU of Sherlock and Jim, he starts to feel okay with less clothing because they help him with his self-esteem issues and body shame.

The reason he feels this way is because of the scars he has on his back from one foster father and one foster mother.

The foster father used his back as an ashtray. Only twice hitting him on the back with his belt buckle.

The foster mother dug her heels into his back hard enough for them to puncture skin. She even took a kitchen knife to his back and got a few slashes in before she was stopped by her husband who had just came home.

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

Before he was 18, he was most afraid with the abusive foster parents.

After that, he was most afraid of the bullies who didn’t care for an Undertaker.

It had gotten so bad that he moved and is why he decided to move every few years until he settled in London indefinitely because of Risa.

They are also the reason he cannot eat in a restaurant. He got severely beaten once and almost died when he was caught in a restaurant by a gang of bullies. Also, most restaurants would deny him business with the occasional exception of take-away.

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

That would be anytime he is in his workshop or his kitchen, but mainly when he doesn’t have to deal with people.

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Refer to above.

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Both, but generally faces. It’s easier to spot a face that has been controted in hatred, rage, and/or disgust than a name.

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Depends. Generally neither.

As an Earl, he has plenty of money. Especially when you add on that the only person he pays to work is himself and suppliers.

Most items he would deem worthless, except a few...

The Bible the Father helped him practice reading and writing with.

His pocket watch that he generally leaves at his bedside.

Letters from Risa.

The now written recipes from his mother

His personal coffin/casket

His piano

His sheet music

AU with Sherlock and Jim... anything from them really. ANYTHING.

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

Well considering most of the time he doesn’t even believe in happiness... Success.

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

His building blocks

Books - especially his Bible from the Father

Putting the dead bodies back together - which was generally more frustrating than anything because he couldn’t do it properly.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

Depends on the situation.

However I would say wisdom generally.

Ambition only in regards to doing what you truly want to do, like he did.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

Hahahahahaha

Trick question because he believes all of his traits are a flaw.

Truthfully, his biggest flaws are...

His walled off state that doesn’t trust others easily

His lack of emotional understanding

His lack of understanding/knowing about relationships

He’s never had a relationship before because most people are turned off by him being an Undertaker.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

He compares himself in self-criticism, except when it comes to knowledge.

He is well read and is intelligent. And it is easy for him to pick out those who aren’t and be repulsed by it at times depending on how horrible they are. It also gives him another reason to avoid people.

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

Depends on what it is.

For many things, he believes it is his fault.

In the AU with Sherlock and Jim, if something goes wrong with one of them or the relationship he’ll believe it is his fault first.

He rarely blames others unless it is a true fact.

What does your character like in other people?

Intelligence

Understanding of his occupation

Musical ear

Helpers

What does your character dislike in other people?

Stupidity

Bullying nature

Sloppy

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

Not likely at all

Exceptions: Sherlock and Jim

the fact that they have out of the box professions that normal people don’t like

their intelligence

their understanding

being well-dressed

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

Always his first thought about anyone

If he gets close to someone, he is less likely to suspect them

Exceptions: Sherlock and Jim

If something happen, they were either there or had a hand in it

How does your character behave around children?

He doesn’t. He avoids them.

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

Depends on the confrontation

It may not seem like it, but he can hold his own.

If it’s with Sherlock or Jim... he’ll probably cry

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

He likes to leave it for last resort, but will if necessary

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

He never knew. He just knew what he liked.

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

Maimed or rotted bodies

Horrible food

“simple” food like what he had in the orphanages

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

In his workshop, making a customer beautiful.

Cooking or baking in the kitchen for someone - generally Risa.

Dancing or playing music on the violin or piano

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

Anything involving another person that isn’t Risa.

Restaurants

Crowds

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Depends

If it is a bully, defensive.

If it someone he loves and trusts it could waver between self-depreciating or willing to improve.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

He’ll try it once, maybe twice, more because he thinks like a scientist. You can’t make an experiment with only one trial per part.

Otherwise, he’ll generally try something else after the first time failed.

How does your character behave around people they like?

He’s generally an introvert with his emotions walled up, so if he likes them and trusts them, he can become more... energetic and bubbly but he’d also let his emotions show more.

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Like a stone cold wall who kills with eloquence.

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Uh... neither really

If Orion has someone besmirching his business then he will be defensive about it and scour for proof then shove it down their throats.

But otherwise... neither.

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

Remove himself if possible to get away or if it’s not at his shop or home.

If it’s at his shop or home, he’d remove them.

If he’s unable to run away, he’d remove them.

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

No. He generally prefers indoors with some exceptions.

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

As kindly as someone who doesn’t show emotions can.

He just makes sure he is always polite.

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Not in the least. He has to earn it but... he never feels like anything he does is enough to earn it.

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Refer to above.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Does Risa count?

Do sleep deprived and hungry Sherlock or Jim count?

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

Difficult especially since in the beginning he never knew what that meant or truly believed in it.

He has his own way of saying it: “You give me cardiac arrest” or “You give me a heart attack”

With Risa, it’s all in his actions.

With whoever he loves, the best way to see it is through his actions not his words.

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

He will become a body for an Undertaker or mortician, then go in the ground.

No not really.

#oriondrasen #headcanon #orion headcanon #character development: hard #real-scienceofdeduction #villain-to-sherlocks-fairytale #orimmiesher #risaturner #TW: Abuse

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taehyungiejiminie95 · 5 years

Text

The Necklace

Confused - Yoongi

Warning: Internalised homophobia, strong language

It is written in law that on a child’s 15th birthday, they will be presented with a necklace that will guide them to another necklace, belonging to whom their heart will. These necklaces are forged in the depths of an deep sea facility, and must be requested between the birth of the child and the child’s 1st birthday in order to be fashioned correctly. One must include a small vial of the child’s blood, a lock of their hair, and also sufficient DNA from both biological and (where appropriate) adoptive, fostered or guardians of the child. Failure to comply will result in the disobedient parties being punished accordingly, and the child will need to be taken under the observation of the facility. No child is permitted to surpass their 15th birthday without receiving this gift. Should this – for any reason – happen, the child should report this to their local authorities quickly so that this may be rectified.

You could swear that you know the cute pizza delivery guy. Something about that gummy smile and awkward attitude. It turns out that you do, and it gets much worse when you realise you have the same necklace. There’s just one problem with that - he swears he isn’t gay.

You sigh to yourself as you check your phone, wondering where in the hell your pizza is. It’s only been 20 minutes since you ordered, but you’re hungry, and that means you’re grumpy. Peeking out the curtains, you see a motorbike pull up across the road, and you jump in excitement, rolling over your bed to find a shirt as quickly as possible. You find some old band t-shirt from your emo days and tug it on quickly, before patting your hair down. Then the door knocks in a slightly peculiar way - two quick knocks, a pause, and then another. You think it’s kind of cute,

“Coming!” You shout, running through your apartment, trying not to fall over in your haste. In the back of your mind, you register the need to stop just wearing socks through the house, and either invest in some grippy ones, or just wear shoes. You know full well that you’ll end up hurting yourself at some point.

When you swing the door open, your jaw nearly drops. The man in front of you is absolutely stunning, and you nearly drool all over yourself as you look at him. His motorcycle helmet is matte black, and contrasts amazingly with the mint green fringe poking out of it. The man in a little shorter than you, and quite pale, save for the flustered blush painting his cheeks. You smile a little lopsidedly, leaning against the door frame. You definitely recognise him from somewhere,

“I have your pizza?” The man asks a little nervously, and a name comes to your mind - Yoongo, or something. Yoongi? Yongpo? You can’t remember exactly, but you have a distinct memory of him and some guy hooking up at a college party a few years back. Your smile pulls into a smirk, thinking that he’s game. You’ve always tried to be respectful when flirting with a guy, since a lot of people can be off about that kind of thing, but you definitely have some blurry memory of Yoongo/Yoongi/Yongpo being with your old friend Marcus at some point,

“I mean, I have money to pay you with, but I could umm… Pay in another way if you’d rather?” You say, dropping your voice an octave, and looking down at Yoongi as you bite your lip seductively. Maybe it’s not your best pick up line, and sure it is a little crude, but you’re finding it hard to restrain yourself around this man. It feels like something in your chest is drawing you to him, and your mind is a little foggy. Then the man replies, and the fog clears pretty quickly,

“No, money is perfectly fine. I’m not into that… stuff,” The man spits, his lips curling a little in disgust. In an instant, his face transforms from a perfectly sculpted angel to a snarling dog, looking at you with little more than utter hatred. You back away in shock, just knowing that your cheeks are bright red and there are tears in your eyes. It’s been a while since you’ve faced hate that blatant for being gay, but maybe that’s because you waited to finish college before you came out. You’d been scared that you’d get looked at exactly like this,

“Oh I’m sorry… I thought that… Never mind, here, keep the change, I’m so sorry,” You stutter nervously, trying not to let the tears slip as you snatch your pizza from him, barely registering that you just handed him a £50 note for a £15 order as you shut the door. With the barrier between the two of you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. You take a few deep breaths and screw your eyes shut tightly. For a minute or so, you just wait there, eyes shut. But the longer you think, the more you convince yourself that you were just seeing things. This is the 21st century. Nobody is that homophobic anymore, right?

As the night continues, you find yourself laughing at what had happened. You’re almost certain you’d just overreacted. You absolutely remember him at that party, with Marcus! He was sure as hell gay then, and you’d bet your pizza that it hasn’t changed. You can usually tell if someone isn’t gay, and you really weren’t getting those kinds of vibes from him. Maybe he just had a problem with the band t-shirt. You glance down at it and cringe at it yourself. Yeah, that’s probably it.

It gets to about 11pm and your brain is itching about his name. You’re sure it started with a ‘Y’ but you’re struggling to remember what came after that. With a sigh, you reach for your phone, reducing yourself to actually having to come into contact with people. Socialising is awful, but so is having someone’s name on the tip of your tongue all night. You pull up a random person you knew went to all the parties held during college and send a quick text, hating yourself for even caring enough to send a stupid text:

Me [11:07pm] Hey, I know it’s late but I think I saw someone from college and I can’t remember their name

Jamie [11:08pm] Woah bro, that sucks! Need a hand?

You roll your eyes at the prompt response. Nobody from college really has a life, so you’re hardly surprised. You also inwardly and outwardly cringe at the response of your old ‘friend’. He still talks like he’s in college, and he’s so painfully stupid that you want to bang your head against a wall. Of course you need help! Like you’d ever call for just a catch up!

Me [11:10pm] Please. I think his name begins with a ‘Y’. He delivers pizza now and he’s got green hair. Also, he’s probably got something against emo bands. Ring any bells?

Just as you hit send, you realise how stupid it sounds. You were just ridiculing your own peers for texting ridiculously, and yet here you are at a ludicrous hour thinking about some guy who clearly isn’t into you. And yeah, deep down you know that’s why you’re doing this. It’s because Whatever His Name Is was so incredibly attractive and it hurt your heart to actually look at something so amazing. You sigh and let your head hit the back of the couch, not giving your phone a second glance until quite a while after it buzzes:

Jamie [11:13pm] Yeah I know who you mean! Marcus dated him for a bit. Min Yoongi. Am I right?

Me [12:01am] That’s him. Thanks. And you say he was with Marcus? What happened?

You text back with a slight frown, wishing you’d replied sooner. What if Jamie was already asleep? You can feel your hands shaking with anticipation, but luckily your phone signals a reply quite promptly:

Jamie [12:04am] I’m not sure. Marcus wouldn’t tell me. I can find out for your bro, I’ll call you next week!

You groan aloud at the prospect of having a genuine phone conversation with him. Sure, he’s been helpful, but he’s annoying and he was loud in college, and he’s probably still loud now. But at least you’ll get answers soon. Your breath seems to even out a little, and you find yourself laughing at yourself once again. What is it about this Yoongi that’s got you so hooked? You ponder that question as you pull on your sweatpants for bed. You think it over as you brush your teeth. You coin the possibilities as you get dressed the following day. The questions stays stuck in your head all week.

Then it’s suddenly Saturday night again, and you find yourself ordering a pizza at the same time as last week. You scoff at the thought that it could be because you’re hoping Yoongi will deliver it to you, and you’ll get the chance to talk to him. You know full well that it’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter does it? You’re wearing a totally non-offensive plain blue t-shirt this week, but you still find yourself nervous. Why won’t your hands stop shaking? Why is your breath uneven? You just like his face. It’s not like you share the same necklace or anything.

His motorcycle pulls up over the road again, and you wait as calmly as you can in your living room, sat on your hands as you wait for the door to knock. You smile when you hear that it’s the same as last week - two quick taps, a pause, then another. This time, you stand up slowly, smoothing your clothes down as you focus on making your way to the door calmly this time. Your hands are still shaking, but at least your breathing is mostly even. You open the door slowly, giving Yoongi your sweetest smile,

“I have your pizza,” He says, a little deeper and less nervous than last week. It’s kind of sweet, really. His cheeks aren’t as flushed, but he still looks slightly dishevelled and yet still as soft as he originally did when you saw him last week. You thank him graciously and take the pizza from his slightly shaking hands - probably numb from the cold - with ease. You’re more than pleased to see that yours aren’t shaking, so you can reach for your wallet without worrying about dropping the pizza,

“Look, I’m sorry about last week, Yoongi - it is Yoongi, right? Min Yoongi?” You ask, slightly panic stricken when Yoongi’s head snaps up, looking at you incredulously. For a moment, you think you could’ve got in wrong, but then he nods and your face melts into a smile again. You hardly even notice the way Yoongi leans forward a little, his pupils dilating slightly, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I was a bit forward, and I didn’t mean to upset you. I was wondering if I could maybe take your number, and see if we could take things at a better pace?” You continue hopefully. But at the mention of his number, Yoongi leaps back like he was shocked,

“I’m not gay. Stop trying to get on me. I don’t even know you,” Yoongi tells you, slinging the bag for pizzas over his back as his cheeks burn red with embarrassment. You can’t help but smile at the sight before you, suddenly unable to fathom why you’d question the reason he was on your mind all week. It’s because he’s beautiful! But the words coming out of his mouth cause you to frown slightly, and you tilt your head as you probe his confession further,

“We went to college together. And I could swear you dated Marcu-” You start, but Yoongi’s face snaps into an awful expression of fiery defensiveness,

“You must have the wrong Min Yoongi. I don’t like guys. Now just give me the money for the pizza,” Yoongi rushes, and you find yourself reeling from the speed of his words. Shocked, you just go into your wallet and get out another £50 note, knowing he’ll probably appreciate the tip. ‘Maybe it wasn’t the shirt he had a problem with’ you think to yourself as he storms away. You sigh as you watch him tear away on his motorcycle, much faster than you believe is strictly necessary. He didn’t even strap his helmet back on properly.

The pizza tastes like cardboard in your mouth as you chew it, and you just don’t understand why you could possibly be so hung up on Yoongi. He can’t really be that special. You’re only on your third slice of pizza when your phone goes off, and you nearly choke on it in your haste. Despite your new resolution to not care about Yoongi, you’ve been anticipating Jamie’s call all week, and there’s no way in hell that you’re missing it - even if Yoongi truly is as rude as he seems,

“Hey! Hey, Jamie, you okay?” You stutter quickly. You’re worried that you’ll come across as too eager and Jamie will get the wrong idea, or think you want to actually talk to him. You shiver at the thought of politely sitting through a catch up with him. Especially if you’re sober. Maybe if you had several shots of vodka first, you’d manage it. But sober? Oh no, you barely even managed it in college when you genuinely wanted a social life. But not now. His voice is enough to make you regret even asking,

“Hey bro! Yeah, I’m just finishing my pre-game for a frat party, so I’m out of it. Just thought I should call before I forget! You good?” Jamie slurs into his end of the call, and you actually physically shiver at the sound of it. You’re in your twenties, and he’s still going to frat parties? You could swear people your age are meant to go clubbing, and not to frat houses. You’re sure there must be something horribly illegal in that confession. You swallow and close your eyes, trying to keep the growing irritation out of your voice,

“Yeah I’m okay, thanks. Just wondering about this whole thing with Marcus and Yoongi. He seems really weirded out about it,” You press, knowing the irritation would have been obvious to someone less drunk and more intelligent. Luckily, Jamie is absolutely pissed and as dense as a brick, so you’re fine. You never were great at hiding emotions, so you’re not sure why you thought this instance would be any different. But yes, luck seems to be on your side briefly, because Jamie definitely didn’t pick up on it,

“Marcus was weird about it too. He says they were together for a while, but then Yoongi got beaten up badly and stopped talking to him. Sounds harsh, doesn’t it? To just ghost your boyfriend,” Jamie voice sounds a little more sober, and you’re thankful. It meant you didn’t miss a word. You can practically feel the cogs whirring away in your head, so you know what you really need is some time alone to think it all over. You end the call as quickly as possible, wishing Jamie the best of times at his frat parties, and not waiting for his reply before turning your phone off. He probably won’t remember the conversation in the morning anyway.

You sit with your pizza as you think. Yoongi was beaten up badly and then just stopped talking to his boyfriend? It seems odd, but the two events are clearly linked, if one led to the other. At first, you assume that the beating led to the break up, but it doesn’t quite make sense. Why would getting hit lead to dumping your boyfriend? But then you think - what if the boyfriend lead to the beating, which led to the break up? That makes more sense. Yoongi got beaten up because he was with Marcus. You sit with that idea for a moment, and everything seems to make a bit more sense. Being gay got Yoongi hurt, so he has a problem with gay people now - or maybe just with his own desires? It seems entirely possible in your head that Yoongi is trying to act straight just because of that event.

Suddenly, you feel bad for hitting on him.

The following week, you find yourself sat in your basketball shorts and vest, wondering why you even bothered to order the pizza. You’ve made clear that you’re going to leave Yoongi alone. The pull you feel doesn’t really matter. You’ll get over it when you meet the person with your necklace, so it’s clear that it’s only temporary. However, your heart still jumps a little when the door knocks.

You know it’s definitely Yoongi, because you can feel that pull strengthening, and he really does seem to have a particular knock. Two quick taps, a pause, then another. You try to slow your footsteps as you approach the door, wanting to keep everything as calm and as innocent as possible. It’s not fair to push him when he’s probably suffering some pretty bad trauma from what happened back in college.

You resolve cracks a little when you see his pale skin, once again marred by a flustered blush. He really is stunning. You try not to smile in the way you had last week, but you still want to try and look friendly. You settle for a slight smile, that you’re sure he’ll be able to tell is forced. He seems like the intelligent type. If he does notice, though, he doesn’t say. He just hands you your pizza. You thank him with a nod of your head as you reach for your wallet, but stop short when you hear Yoongi splutter and cough,

“Are you okay?” You ask, before you can stop the words coming out of your mouth. You mentally scold yourself - you didn’t want to talk and have him get the wrong idea of why you’re asking. You meant for this to just be a normal pizza delivery, but he had to go and choke on air,

“Where did you get that?” Yoongi asks through the coughs, resting a hand on your doorframe to steady himself, and pointing the other at your necklace. You frown and look down at it, briefly examining the bronze plate, about 3cm in diameter, and the various colours set across it, like they’d been thrown from a paintbrush. You then look back up at Yoongi, who’s eyes bore into yours with an emotion that looks almost like rage swirling in it,

“It’s my necklace. You know, the Necklace everyone gets on their 15th birthday?” You stutter, feeling your calmness slowly seep out of your body at Yoongi’s expression. It only darkens further at your response, and you back up a little, slightly scared,

“Impossible,” He mutters, and you frown quickly, trying to decipher what he means. But your mind only runs in circles as you try to figure it out, trying to come up with anything appropriate to shoot back. You come up short in terms of anything even remotely intelligent or snarky, instead having to settle for a simple syllable,

“Why?” You ask. But, of course, ever the enigma, Yoongi doesn’t answer. He just turns around and sprints down to his motorcycle. You can’t do anything but stare at the open door, watching him fix his helmet on properly. It’s only then that you realise you didn’t pay him,

“Hey! Yoongi! You forgot the money!” You shout, stepping out of your house to wave your wallet at him, hoping he’ll pull over and at least let you pay for your pizza and maybe even talk to you. Then the sound of his motorcycle starts up, and your hand falls to your side as you sigh in exasperation. If he wouldn’t stop for money, nothing’ll do it. All you can do is watch as he tears off down the street at top speed, more than definitely outside of the speed limit.

You’re sure that’s it, and you’ll never see him again. You don’t bother to order pizza from that place again, knowing similar things will keep happening. You think that if you don’t put yourself in his path, he’ll vanish from your mind. But that is exactly where you’re wrong. It’s late on Friday night, four weeks after when your door knocks. Two quick taps. A pause. Then another.

Your head’s spinning as you stumble to the door, and you feel kinda fuzzy. Yeah, fuzzy is probably the best way to describe it. You know it’s not very eloquent but that’s the only word you have for the stuff going on inside of you right now. You fumble clumsily to unlock the door and wrench it open just a little too fast for it to be normal, and your breath catches in your throat at the very sight of the flustered blush dusted across the pale cheeks of one Min Yoongi.

The said man doesn’t give you a chance to speak before he’s shoving past you (with quite an intimidating aura for someone half your size) and into your home, not hearing you shout after him asking what the hell he’s doing. He can’t run away from you last month and now barge into your home! You don’t even know the guy,

“Where did you get that necklace?” Yoongi finally barks after a few moments of shocked silence pass when he flat-out ignores your demands to know why he’s here. The thing is that you probably would’ve let him in if he’d asked. Baffled by his tone, you stutter out a response,

“Like I told you last time, it’s the one I was given for my 15th birthday. Now could you please just tell me what-“ You start, hoping Yoongi will be more open to reasonable questioning now that he’s started talking in general. However, your hopes are squashed when Yoongi’s eyes snap up to yours, dark and dangerous as he strides towards you, height difference be damned, and stands just inches away from you, glaring unashamedly with murder in his eyes,

“Don’t bullshit me, that isn’t possible! Just tell me where you got the damn thing,” Yoongi growls, and you flinch back as you stare down at him incredulously,

“Look, you need to stop. I’m sorry that my answer upset you but seriously, I won’t have you force your way into my home and then start making demands,” You tell him firmly, trying to keep your voice calm. You didn’t even know you had this much patience in you, but you have enough to hold you still until Yoongi’s shoulders finally sag, and he looks around with a slightly lost expression on his face, like all the fight was drained out of him,

“I’m sorry it’s just.. I don’t know, there’s obviously no excuse for this but… fuck, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have come, I’ll just go,” He amends, unable to meet your gaze as he heads for the door again, shaking his head at himself. You’re fine to watch him leave, absolutely speechless, but as if some reflex in your body is controlling your movements, you step in front of him. You had no more choice over it than you do jerking away from boiling water,

“Do you want to talk about it?” You blurt, not thinking it through at all. This could be a seriously bad idea and you know it, but for some reason you just don’t care. You could quite literally get killed since you don’t really know anything about Yoongi other than he’s clearly a very angry man who you used to go to college with. He might be a serial killer for all you know, but here you are offering to talk to him about issues that don’t even affect you!

But then you look at the hurt look in his eyes and the way his shoulders curl in slightly and realise that you could never turn this man away. For all the anger and spite buried in him that he just took out on you, he’s soft and small and obviously hurting. You remember when that was you. How could you turn a blind eye to it?

“No strings or catches, I swear. I’ll just put the kettle on and we can talk as two normal people about why one of them suddenly burst into the other one’s home and started shouting,” You say, some of your teasing personality leaking into your tone when you see Yoongi’s sheepish half-smile. You can tell that he’s embarrassed, and it tugs on your heartstrings a little. He nods without saying another word, not wanting his harsh voice to ruin the kindness you’re offering him. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he takes it anyway. After a few seconds of standing with an awkward silence hanging around, you remember you offered to make a hot drink. You jump into action and lope into the kitchen, calling over your shoulder to ask Yoongi what his fix is,

“Do you have any coffee?” Yoongi asks, trying his best to keep his voice calm and as velvety as yours was. He’s not sure if it works or not, “I’m not much of a tea drinker,” He admits, and you smile knowingly to yourself at the dark circles under his eyes that provide evidence for his preference,

“I have some, but honestly I don’t drink it myself. It’s mainly for hosting purposes, really,” You joke, getting down the seldom-used instant coffee powder from the back of the cupboard and finding your hot chocolate mix too. Yoongi snorts at the sight of it when you set it down next to the kettle,

“How did I just know you’d be a hot chocolate kind of guy? I bet you have whipped cream, chocolate shavings and marshmallows too,” He jokes in an unusually casual tone for him, and you quickly shove the marshmallows back into the cupboard, hoping desperately that Yoongi didn’t see. He did, but just rolls his eyes in lieu of teasing you further. He leans back against the counter opposite from where you’re making the drinks, trying to act as if he doesn’t feel quite so out of place while you busy yourself, wondering what the hell you’re even doing at this point.

You hand Yoongi his coffee first, and he smiles at you in thanks. It’s not necessarily a kind or warm smile, but it’s got a tinge of appreciation in it and that’s more than he’s been able to give you before. He swallows hard when he sees that you’ve put some milk in it. Most people assume he likes it black, but he’s partial to a little milk. The thing is, Yoongi knows that is such a stupid thing to be happy about! He’s really getting just a bit excited that you can read his mind better than other people and that doesn’t even make sense. But to Yoongi, it means something. He just doesn’t know exactly what.

He takes a moment to survey you as he sips his too-hot drink, the heat burning his lips but he finds himself unable to care as he thinks things over. So, you have the same necklace. That much is clear since Yoongi would know that design anywhere. The only problem is that Yoongi had been hoping he’d find it attached to a pretty woman who he could get along with without these feelings that he’s disgusting, or wrong…

Yoongi shivers at the thought that this is the life he’s resigned to. The kind of life he can’t have, the kind of life that he doesn’t want. He can’t bear to think of his parents right now.

You turn around with you hands wrapped around your hot chocolate, and lean opposite Yoongi. You try not to internally coo over how small he looks, and the red flush on his face from the steamy drink he’s holding. You fail,

“So, first things first. Why are you here?” You ask gently as you would when around a baby deer that you’re afraid to scare off. Yoongi scowls at your words and you barely stifle a groan, wondering if you will ever get the answers you want. You distract yourself petulantly with your hot chocolate while Yoongi deliberates his answer. The confusion on his face makes you wonder for a second if he genuinely doesn’t know. He’s clearly acting irrationally and is in no way comfortable here. You have to acknowledge the possibility that Yoongi may have turned up solely on curiosity, anger, confusion or whatever cocktail of emotions that were governing him.

Eventually, he kind of just sighs and puts his coffee down beside him, and promises himself that he will kick your ass - size difference or not - if you try and make any kind of advance on him for this. You watch on in confusion as his pale hands disappear down the collar of his hoodie, finding the chain of the necklace and dragging the pendant up into view, eyes looking anywhere but yours as you zero in on it.

You choke on your drink and quickly whirl around to place your hands on the counter, trying to keep yourself standing. Your fingers fumble clumsily to place your mug down and you try in vain to stop yourself from coughing up a lung. Your mind clouds over, though, and you find yourself unable to focus on breathing properly when you know that Yoongi has your necklace on.

Yoongi sighs to himself and rests his head back on the cupboard, and he tries to figure out what kind of silver lining could be found in this kind of situation, realistically speaking. Of course, he comes up completely blank, which really sucks and makes everything just seem that much worse. Luckily, before Yoongi can think up too much existential dread, the sound of heavy breathing stops, and Yoongi forces himself to look at your back as you flex your shoulders carefully before turning around to meet his hardened eyes.

You can’t help but think that this whole situation is reminiscent of some bad movie, and you kind of hate it. But then again, this cute guy is in your kitchen, and whether or not he’s going to fall in love with you doesn’t even matter because either way you’re going to be okay with it. Some people have platonic soulmates, and maybe that’s all that this is meant to be. You think you’ll be okay with that as long as you’ll get to cuddle him every now and again, because he’s such a squishy boy and you can just tell he’s secretly the cuddliest person in the world. But obviously you’re not going to outright say that to him. Maybe with time you’ll get comfortable enough with each other to do that,

“So, we’re soulmates,” You say, not smirking or joking or trying to imply anything. You keep your tone as neutral as possible because Yoongi obviously has his issues with this (if his reactions are anything to go by) and you don’t want to make this any harder for him that it already is. In response to your calmness, Yoongi mirrors it. He nods robotically and reaches for his coffee again. It doesn’t burn his lips as he sips it this time,

“I guess so,” He sighs, “But don’t expect anything from me. I’m serious when I say that I’m not-“

“You’re not gay, I know,” You interrupt, eager to get your point across before Yoongi has too much of a chance to form any lasting judgments about your character, “It’s okay, I’m not going to make you suck my dick or anything,” You scoff, allowing some humour to creep into your tone. You smile just a little bit at the flush that makes it’s way onto Yoongi’s already-red cheeks,

“Yeah, thanks for that,” He replies drily, “At least you make a good cup of coffee. But yeah, I guess we should talk about this. You came onto me like a moth to a flame, so you clearly are gay. What do you want from me and this whole soulmate thing?” You can hear the caution in Yoongi’s tone. He’s talking so bluntly, like this is some business transaction. Maybe that’s his way of dealing with it, but it doesn’t sit right with you. There’s some deep emotional connection that’s supposed to bloom between the two of you and it seems that Yoongi isn’t quite playing ball yet,

“Well, I’m kind of bummed that I got all necklaced up with someone I can’t fall in love with, but it doesn’t matter all that much. I guess I was only built for the strictly platonic kind of love,” You admit with a shrug of your shoulders, trying not to show how badly this is actually hurting you. You can curl up and cry about that loss later, but for now your soulmate needs to believe that you’re already okay with it, not that you’ll grow to be. Yeah, you were really hoping for the twink version of Prince Charming to come along ready for you to whisk him away, but that’s just not in the cards for you. You’ll have to resign yourself to a life of one night stands and a painfully straight best friend,

“Platonic?” Yoongi repeats, a confused look slowly etching itself onto his face. He thought it would be much more difficult to sort this whole thing out than you just dismissing your past advances like that. Maybe being your ‘soulmate’ won’t be as difficult as Yoongi assumed it would be,

“I know I can’t make you be gay, Yoongi. That’s not how sexuality works. If you say that you’re not, then you’re not. Sure, my best friend is gonna be pissed that I’ll end up demoting him at some point, but he’ll get over it,” You elaborate, and that finally makes Yoongi crack a smile - a real one! It’s cute and gummy and it makes you sigh so hard internally that you realise you’ll be pining for life. Maybe it would be worth it to see that smile one more time, though,

“I though that would be a lot harder. I thought I was going to have to fight you off and just go without a soulmate for the rest of my life,” Yoongi admits, setting his now-empty mug down beside him. You snort unattractively and roll your eyes,

“Don’t think so little of me, Yoongi. I have been known to abide by the rules of consent form time to time,” You drawl sarcastically, and you fix Yoongi with a look that makes him smile yet again, setting those butterflies off again. You try your best to digest them and Yoongi looks at you for just a few moments too long. An awkward kind of silence is left between you as his mind wanders off and he realises that he won’t ever be paired up with a nice woman to start a family with - well, not a woman that could really make him happy, anyway. Not that anyone would pair up with him at all with these stupid necklaces. That hope is gone now,

“Okay, well,” Yoongi interrupts himself, promising silently to that side of him that he can start this existential crisis later on, “I need to go. Thanks for the coffee, it was good. I’ll leave you with my number so we can go out and get to know each other or whatever. Barging my way into your home won’t work every time,” He jokes slightly, but his tone is too matter-of-fact to achieve the effect he was going for. Yoongi’s too caught up in going through the motions to even notice, moving his mug to the sink and writing his number down on the notepad and pen your hands miraculously find as you watch him, absolutely bewildered.

Did he just switch off his emotions? You could have sworn that you saw something brewing behind the hard front he so stubbornly upholds, but then suddenly it was like a door was slammed shut and locked up whatever that was behind it. You barely keep your frown hidden as Yoongi says goodbye, not lingering at all as he leaves the paper on the side for you. It’s not until Yoongi has climbed onto his motorcycle and kicked it to life, his visor snapped down tight, that you allow the frown to finally settle on your face.

There is most definitely more to Min Yoongi than he’d like for anyone else to think.

A few days later, the two of you are meeting up for a coffee - yeah, it’s just so original, but you didn’t want Yoongi to get the wrong idea if you’d invited him to dinner or something more fun. You can’t go out and do things without risking it seeming like a date until you’ve grown a bit closer. But still. Coffee. That’s what came out of your mouth.

Regardless of the setting though, you’re quite excited to get to know Yoongi. Especially with that mystery he’s given you to think on when you saw him last. Although, if you’re being honest, you’re trying not to think of him at all. The more you try to understand Yoongi, the less you actually do. Then you start asking questions to yourself like ‘why was he so angry about the necklaces?’, ‘was Marcus just a college experiment?’ and (the worst of all) ‘how are you supposed to act like you’re happy with a platonic relationship when you’re already harbouring a massive crush on the guy?’,

“Hey, over here!” Yoongi calls just a little bit more enthusiastic than he meant to. You’d wandered into the coffee shop slowly - you’ve never been one for coffee shops, really, so it’s a little disorientating - and Yoongi had saved you the embarrassment of standing awkwardly in the way while trying to find him.

Not that you could have possibly missed him, you realise when your eyes settle on him. If his mint green hair didn’t give it away, then his clothes would,

“Yoongi, you know it’s below freezing outside, right?” You ask sceptically as you sit down in the chair across from him. You’re silently glad he picked a table in the middle of the floor rather than one of the snug booths around the corner. You never know what’s going to happen when it’s with Yoongi, or so you’ve come to accept,

“I have a jacket,” He replies coolly, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course Yoongi is the type of guy to do this! He’s wearing ripped jeans and a white t-shirt. Yes, it does look good the way he’s tucked it in, but that’s not the point. He’ll freeze, and you know it. As if he doesn’t notice your internal turmoil at how good he looks when you’d promised to control and stifle all of your favourable thoughts for the man, he shoots you a half smile as he nudges your drink towards you, “I got you some hot chocolate. They didn’t have marshmallows but they did have whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” He mutters, not quite meeting your eye as you smile down at your favourite drink,

“We should get past this tsundere act, you know,” You tease lightly, “Or are you going to demand payment for your efforts?” You continue and Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you, and you think you might have heard him scoff that he should do under his breath. Either way, he smiles up at you afterwards - not that gummy smile he gave you last time, but this one is good, too. It’s genuine, and that’s what matters,

“So… this actually isn’t the most awkward moment of my life, I have to admit,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly after a few moments pass of the two of you just glancing around, trying to think of something to say and yet coming up blank. You latch onto the morsel of conversation that Yoongi’s thrown at you with excitement,

“Well, now you’ve mentioned it, you have to tell me. What’s the most awkward moment of your life so far?” You probe and Yoongi gives you a look of complete horror at the prospect of having to relive it, and you can’t help the deep laugh that forces it’s way up and out of your chest. You haven’t seen his face so expressive before, and it’s adorably comical, to say the least!

“I have this older brother… before we both moved out we used to share a room. Now, there’s 7 years between us, okay? We weren’t that close, but because of the whole sharing a room thing we had to get along,” Yoongi starts, and you lean forward in interest, taking a sip of your hot chocolate as you go, “The age difference was a bit difficult though. He was still in school at 19 because he got held back a year, and obviously couldn’t move out when he was still a student. Basically he used to bring dates back to the house… yeah, exactly!” Yoongi shouts, gesturing to the shocked look on your face before he continues, “One night, I went to bed early because obviously school was too much stress for little 12 year old me. But then, I wake up at gone midnight and I hear some noise downstairs. Sometimes my brother came in drunk and messed around downstairs but…” Yoongi trails off, already holding back laughter, “Right, I’ll cut to the chase. He sent his girl upstairs to bed, while he tried to find his keys, but they were both so drunk that his girl ended up thinking I was him and trying to get into bed with me,” You splutter in shock but Yoongi keeps going, “And she’s laying there next to me saying how much she loves him, trying to kiss me, thinking that I am him! Now don’t tell me that’s not awkward, especially when your brother walks in and sees it!” He complains, and you shake your head in disapproval,

“Min Yoongi, I’ll admit that’s quite bad. However, I would argue that’s more traumatising than awkward. Buckle up while I tell you the most awkward story in the world - my life,” You explain dramatically, Yoongi over-acting that he’s hanging onto your every word as you launch into the top 3 worst things that have ever happened to you.

You pass at least a few hours just like that, just talking about your best and worst memories and laughing and trying to one-up each other. It’s easier to talk to Yoongi than you would’ve thought, and you find yourself opening up about what your dream job was, and how you’re not really happy about where you are in the world right now,

“Me neither, to be honest. I don’t want to be delivering pizza all of my life. It was only supposed to be a job to make ends meet while I pursued my passions, but here I am three years later doing the same thing,” Yoongi tells you, and you think you see just a spark of vulnerability in his eyes. You probe gently at the passions he mentioned, and Yoongi seems happy to talk about them. It strikes your heart with a pang that it’s probably been a while since anyone’s let him talk about them so freely, “I love music. I have some tracks of my own but it never really took off as a career. I have a Soundcloud following and that, but nothing ever really came of it. That and basketball. I nearly won a scholarship to some sports university, and if I’d taken it I’d be the Asian Michael Jordan,” Yoongi jokes ironically, and you smile sadly at that,

“Why didn’t you take it?” You ask, deciding not to make the comment about Yoongi not looking much like a basketball player, and surprisingly Yoongi doesn’t dodge this question either. He just shakes his head and takes a moment to have a sip of his third coffee of the day,

“My parents. They never really supported any of that. They turned it down for me and got me enrolled in what they called a ‘practical degree’. Engineering! I have a fucking Engineering degree and I hate it. The dumb thing is, I tried to find a job in that field and just make the most of it, but they weren’t hiring. How ridiculous is that? I should’ve done Media and pursued music more seriously, or taken that sports scholarship,” He sighs, and you can visibly witness his mood drop this time,

“Is it too late to change it now? I know you can’t go back in time and take your sports scholarship or study for a Media degree, but you’re not stuck being a pizza delivery man. If you wanted, you could quit your job tomorrow and start working your way up to what you want to do. You could start your own music label if you really wanted! But you’re not stuck. People like you don’t get stuck,” You tell him, the inspirational words flowing out of your mouth before you can even stop it. Silence descends between the two of you, and over the whole coffee shop since it’s getting late now and most people are going home. You think you’d overstepped the mark for a second before Yoongi finally replies,

“I’m not one for getting motivated, but you had me there. I’m not going to quit my job tomorrow, because I quite like being able to pay my rent, but doing something about my passions sounds like a good thing. Maybe… never mind,” Yoongi starts, but cuts himself off before he gets too far. You nearly whine in protest, knowing that if you let Yoongi start shutting out some things he’ll probably shut everything down. You push him to tell you, and with a sheepish smile he eventually does, “We should go to a basketball game. I haven’t gone to one in ages and if we’re going to be friends then you need to know some things about the best sport in the world,” Yoongi tells you, and you brighten up at the prospect of Yoongi suggesting something to do together,

“That sounds like a great idea! I’ll search it up when I get home, and see if any of the big games are happening near by,” You suggest, and Yoongi nearly glows as he smile, nodding and agreeing that it’s a great idea. Even if no big teams are playing, Yoongi mentions to you that even college games are pretty fast-paced, and could be worth a watch. You quietly wonder if you’ll maybe get him to go to a game at the college you used to go to, but you don’t say it out loud. Given what you learned all those weeks ago (no matter how hard you try not to think about it) you get the feeling that maybe college wasn’t the best time in Yoongi’s life,

“Hey, uh… you guys kinda need to leave. We’re closing soon and we need to wipe down your table,” A spotty-faced teenage boy tells you nervously, and you nod quickly. You know what some customers can be like, flying off the handle for nothing, so you know the last thing he needs is the last two customers giving him any shit. You smile encouragingly and apologise, downing the last of your drink as Yoongi does the same. You pretend not to notice the small tip Yoongi hands him for being so patient. Damn tsundere, he’d probably deny it and get mad at you for bringing it up.

Neither of you linger as you part ways, waving goodbye in a perfectly acceptable way as Yoongi mounts his motorcycle and you head off in your own direction. It’s not far, and you don’t really want to get on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle, anyway. You still have that fluttery crush feeling, but it’s okay. This friendship is okay. It’s enough.

It occurs to you as you lock your front door behind you that if either you or Yoongi had ever pursued your dreams the way you wanted to, you may never have met. It’s funny how life works.

You do end up going to that basketball game. It’s been about 3 weeks since Yoongi brought it up, but you’re still just as excited as that moment. Yoongi seems hyped for it too - in his own way, of course - and you can’t stop talking as you get onto the train, trying to get all of the rules down before you get there. You were always more of a football kind of guy - well, you watch the World Cup when it’s on, if that counts.

It’s not too far to get there, but far enough that you can’t get a taxi and since you’ll probably drink a bit when you’re there, you can’t go on Yoongi’s motorcycle. Luckily enough, it doesn’t take long and then the college stadium is basically on top of the train station.

At periods throughout the game you wonder if you’re annoying Yoongi a bit, because you do have to ask for clarification every now and again. He hadn’t exaggerated when he said it was a fast game! But then you go to grab the both of you another drink and the happy look on Yoongi’s face as his eyes wander over the court astounds you. He looks so peaceful you almost feel bad for interrupting him to hand him the drink.

You also try to ignore how date-like it feels. This wouldn’t be the case if it was a group of you, but since Yoongi hasn’t mentioned any friends and none of yours would be interested in basketball (or able to keep their hands off Yoongi in the way that you’ve learned to) it’s a private kind of night. Well, not private. There’s a huge crowd and two teams of very tall men running around, but it just feels a little intimate. But you push the thought to the back of your mind with the help of more alcohol, and soon you don’t even care. This is your night with your soulmate, platonic or not.

It’s a fun night until you get on the train back home.

There’s barely any seats left when you and Yoongi jump on, laughing loudly and obnoxiously since you’ve only barely caught it, and then you have to trawl through the carriages. To try and find somewhere for the both of you to sit. Sometimes you forget how intimidating you might look, but the horrified looks of older women and younger teenagers reminds you to quiet down a bit. You smile apologetically and hurry to find somewhere before the train departs. You’re not drunk, but you’ve had enough to drink that your balance is ever so slightly off,

“Hey! I’ve got some seats here,” Yoongi suddenly says, pointing at a section of four seats that are all turned towards a table between them. You smile happily and collapse down next to the window before Yoongi gets the chance to, “You’re such a child, you know,” He scolds half-heartedly as he takes the seat closer to the aisle. The two of you buy a bottle of water each from the person with the snack trolley as she wanders down, knowing you should try and lessen any effects of the alcohol if you can.

Everything is still fine until a man sits himself down opposite you on the table, apologising since it’s literally the only seat left on the train. You and Yoongi wave it off good-naturedly and go back to your conversation about the game, happy to pass the time like that until you ruin everything with your loud mouth,

“I could swear I know you!” You blurt at the man who’d sat down opposite you, and narrow your eyes to examine him closer, “Have we met before?” You ask, and he finally looks up, realising you must mean him. The smile he gives you is slightly embarrassed, but still cute. You wonder to yourself if he’d take your number, or if he’s one of those traditionalists who won’t take anyone’s number unless it’s his soulmate,

“You know, you look kind of familiar, I won’t lie. Did we go to school together, maybe?” The man offers, and it’s not until you realise who you’re talking to that you feel that Yoongi’s tensed up beside you, not moving or talking. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing,

“You’re Marcus,” You breathe, involuntarily throwing Yoongi a side-ways glance. As your eyes move, Marcus’ do as well, and it’s as if the whole train carriage falls silent. All you can hear is your own heartbeat, and you can’t bring yourself to say anything else. Marcus doesn’t either, and Yoongi certainly doesn’t. The train ride stays deathly silent up until you pull into the station, forcing you to dwell on the situation.

This is Yoongi’s ex-boyfriend Marcus. The Marcus who he got beaten up for being with. The Marcus that must be part of the reason why Yoongi ‘isn’t gay anymore’.

Yoongi is up before the train stops, and hitting the ‘open doors’ button repeatedly until it lets him off. You hurry to catch up, hoping that Yoongi will let himself talk to you about it. You’re not that close yet, but you’re a little hopeful that this will be the prompt Yoongi needs to open up to you. You’re not supposed to hide your feelings from your soulmate, because they’ll always understand. It’s part of the reason that you get paired up.

You’re surprised to find that Yoongi heads back to yours, but then again you’re not. Yoongi is full of surprised, and also he left his motorcycle parked outside your house, so he needs to get it before he can get home. When you finally build up enough speed to walk next to Yoongi, you nervously glance at his face to try and work out what he’s feeling, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks shocked, sure, but not angry, and that’s a relief. He waists for you to unlock the door patiently, and smiles at you gratefully as you let him in. The train ride has clearly sobered the both of you up for now, and everything is quiet,

“You’re welcome to stay here tonight. I know you’ve had something to drink so I can’t let you ride home. My couch is quite comfortable. You can use the spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet and I’ll grab you some blankets and stuff,” You tell him as you shut the door and kick off your shoes. Yoongi throws a thanks over his shoulder as he heads to your bathroom, leaving you to try and compose yourself as you track down your less crappy blankets to lay out for Yoongi.

While said man takes his sweet time getting ready to sleep, you find yourself cracking open a beer and downing it before Yoongi is padding back into the living room, hair damp from the shower he clearly took. You smile at the darker colour the water’s made his hair and gesture vaguely at the set up of the couch you’d arranged. Yoongi smiles back at you as he leans back into the make-shift bed with a groan, and suddenly you’re talking,

“What happened between you and Marcus?” You say, not able to see what way this is going through the haze in your mind. Yoongi sighs as he rests his forearms over his face, not looking at anything as he tells you that it was just a stupid teenage experiment, like ticking all the boxes just to be sure he was definitely straight, and he broke it off when he realised he was, “That’s a lie. I know you were beaten up for being gay,” You tell him nonchalantly, spurred on by the warmth of alcohol in your veins. You always were a bit of a lightweight, “Is that why you won’t let yourself fall in love with me? Is it because- is it because being beaten up made you internalise their homophobia? Do you hate yourself for liking men?”

You’re too busy with your own muddled thoughts to remember that this was the subject you’d always promised yourself you wouldn’t breach. It’s Yoongi’s own business and his own trauma that he was welcome to share with you over time, but not something you would ever have the right to ask him about, let alone so bluntly.

The house is quiet before Yoongi snaps, eyes hard and burning with anger as he pulls his jacket on and finally snaps,

“You have no right to talk about that you pathetic fuck!” He yells at you, voice already sounding rough from use. You flinch back in fright, but Yoongi doesn’t stop. He doesn’t step towards you, but he maintains eye contact terrifying enough that you know he’s beyond angry, “If you think for one second that we are close enough, or ever will be close enough for that then you’re as stupid as you look! I fucking knew you were pining for me, and this just shows it! You’re a manipulative little prick, trying to twist my emotions and fuck with my head so I’ll go gay but you’re wrong! You can fuck yourself and live without any fucking soulmate. Fuck you,” He finishes, and your ears ring with his words as he grabs his helmet and storms out. Whether or not he had a few drinks tonight, he can’t stand another moment in your house.

The silence he leaves is worse now he’d just been filling it so brutally, and that pulling you felt in your chest when you were around him feels like it’s just snapped. If it’s the red strings of fate, then yours was just cut off by Yoongi himself.

You try to tell yourself that you’re not someone who lets people get to you so easily, because you’re really not. You’ve always been thick-skinned, and you don’t cave in and give up so easily, but this is just so different. It’s not melodramatic to be upset when your soulmate leaves you. Not that you were even together, but you were happy with the friendship that was blooming. For about 3 weeks there, your life was good. Yoongi made you smile and with some more time you know you’d be a better person since meeting him. You have a feeling that you were having the same effect on him, but that’s gone now. You went somewhere that you never should have gone, and you’re now suffering the consequences.

Part of you wants to think about how Yoongi is, and wonder if he’s feeling the same pain that you do every time your eye sees the mint green colour that reminds you of him, or the sound of motorcycle that isn’t his speeding past, or hear about a new basketball game. Even music is different now, knowing how deep his passion for it ran. But that part of you needs to stay silent. You don’t want to think that Yoongi is probably fine. He was never as gone for you as you were for him. Still are, really. Even now you want to see him again, even just as friends, to ask him about his day and listen to him vent about how much he hates his job and how badly it sucks. You know you shouldn’t still be wanting that, but you can’t help it. Maybe you are as pathetic as Yoongi said.

Your mental health spirals over the next few days, and you struggle to get out of your bed for your job. The looming threat of being evicted if you don’t make rent is just enough for now, but the longer you go knowing you’ll have to live without a soulmate, the harder it gets. You read stories about people who’s soulmates die before their time, or who leave them because of their history, but you never imagined it would hurt this bad. You go through your day like a zombie, only doing what you have to and nothing more.

Tears are already swimming in your eyes when you open your front door that night. It was another tough day. Your boss shouted at you for not having your ‘customer face’ on when dealing with people. You’d not been able to do anything but take it. He wasn’t wrong. You can’t manage anything but a monotone voice and a smile is beyond you. You hadn’t even been able to explain that your soulmate had cut ties with you, and that’s why you’re finding it so difficult at the moment.

You were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t notice the motorcycle parked outside, the fact that your door was unlocked, the living room light was on and there’s a man sat on your couch, looking at you with worried eyes. You don’t realise it until he calls out your name.

If you could control your reaction, you might not shout so loudly, but for the first time since Yoongi slammed your door behind him, you feel something other than numbness and pain. Anger. The red-hot blazes of anger burn your veins as you stare at him, and you start letting it out,

“Get out! Get the fuck out of my house, you heartless prick! You think you can lose your temper with me and call me all those names and then just waltz in here like I owe you something? No! How did you even get in here? You’re a fucking serial killer, I knew it! You need to leave right now or I swear to fuck I will call the police and have them arrest your dumb ass for breaking and entering! Who do you even think you are? You can’t just- you can’t just-“ You choke on your words as you continue, and you have to collapse down onto the chair opposite, panting and trying to catch your breath. You refuse to let yourself cry in front of Yoongi, and that resolve makes breathing just that much more difficult.

It’s not until you regain a hold on your temper that you realise Yoongi hasn’t moved. He’s sat on your couch, curled in on himself a little because you’re quite scary when you’re angry, but otherwise unmoved. You notice as you examine his face that he doesn’t look much better off than you. His eyes are rimmed with red, they look hollow and he’s shaking, too. Part of you purrs at the though that he was hurting too, but the other part of you is appalled that this whole soulmate set-up became so messy. The whole point of necklaces is to avoid all of this heartbreak,

“You leave your key under the doormat. You must think you’re so slick and sneaky with that, but you’re not. It was the first place I checked,” Yoongi says, obviously trying to joke with you but his tone ruins it. He sounds as empty as you feel, “I knew you wouldn’t let me in, and even though I understand why, I couldn’t take the chance. We need to talk,” Yoongi continues, giving up on joking in favour of just telling you how it is. An awkward silence hangs in the air for a few moments before Yoongi is talking again, “Look, I’m an idiot. I said some awful things to you and I just hate myself for it. Not that you didn’t already know that,” The sigh he lets out sounds pained, and you find yourself shaking your head,

“Yeah, you’re a dick for saying that to me, but I crossed the line as well. When I first saw you I thought I recognised you, so I talked to some old college friends,” You use the term loosely, “They told me what happened, but I wasn’t going to mention it to you. It can’t have been…” You pause to try and rephrase, not wanting to make this situation any worse, “It wasn’t any of my business. I’d had a few drinks, I don’t even know what I was thinking,” Your voice trails off quietly, and you’re unsure if Yoongi even heard.

It’s a little unsettling how weird this feels. The time you’d spent with Yoongi as of late has felt so natural, but this feels forced and empty. If you had a heart left to break any further, this would certainly do the trick. The only sounds in the room is you shifting into the chair further, and the shallow sound of Yoongi’s breath.

He gathers his thoughts as best he can, hoping you’ll know not to interrupt him when he starts talking. If he stops, he’s not sure he’ll be able to continue.

He hasn’t moved much the last few days, and his job has been angrily blowing up his phone the whole time. If he doesn’t go back tomorrow then he won’t have a job to go back to at all. The time Yoongi’s had has been full of thoughts and feelings and honestly it was quite scary. He’d forbidden himself to ever touch those feelings again, and he still hasn’t in any depth, but he’s getting the urge to try and explain them. That’s part of the reason that he’s here. Other than the fact that he’s been in pain being so separate from his soulmate, he wants to talk about it. He wants to tell you what happened,

“It wasn’t… just an experiment. Me and Marcus,” Yoongi says as firmly as he can. You jolt a little and look up at him in shock. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting Yoongi to say but it definitely wasn’t that, “I liked him, and he liked me. We knew we’d break up at some point because our necklaces were different, but it just felt right at the time. It was just a bit of fun, so neither one of us were expecting it to last long,” You don’t say anything or move in fear of interrupting Yoongi, “I was on my back from his house one night, and I saw some of his friends waiting outside. I nodded at them but didn’t stop to talk. We weren’t that close. It wasn’t even that far between Marcus’ dorm and mine, so I’d told him to stay there, that I could walk myself home. So yeah, I was on my own. There was a shortcut that cut the walk in half, but it was a dark alley. Narrow. It wasn’t until I got too far in to turn around that I realised his friends were following me,” Yoongi breaks off with a deep breath, running. Shaking hand through his hair. The colour is starting to fade now, “You know what happened next. They beat the shit out of me. I hadn’t been playing basketball for a while so I wasn’t that strong, and there were too many of them, anyway. I just had to take it, while they were shouting all these slurs at me, telling me to leave Marcus alone… they made it clear they didn’t want their friend around a fag like me, as they put it,” His shoulders sag as he falls silent, and you know that his story’s over.

His words hang in the air and all you can do is sit three, tucking your knees into your body as you wonder how fucked up those guys had to be. Then you wonder how badly it fucked Yoongi up. Clearly this is the reason why he refuses to be more than friends with you, but you can’t even fathom it. Sure, you’ve had more than your fair share of homophobia directed at you, but this is too much,

“When I think about being in love,” Yoongi presses on, and you feel the urge to tell him to stop if it’s going to put too much strain on him, but you can see that he needs to explain this to someone, “When I think about being in love like that, it messes with my head. I feel like I’m back there… I just don’t know if I can do it. Seeing you be so openly gay fucks with my head too. Part of me wishes I could do that and be that, but at the same time I’d hate it. I know it’s confusing, but this is what it’s like in my head. It’s sick,” He mutters bitterly, and you silently agree. It is sick. It’s sick that Yoongi should feel physically sick for something completely normal to him!

Part of you desperately wants to hold him close to you and run your fingers through his hair as if you can comb out all of his problems, but you know full well that you probably couldn’t do anything worse in this situation. He really has internalised those people’s homophobia and directed it at himself with such force that he can’t even enjoy his soulmate. He can’t enjoy the love written out for him because someone decided it wasn’t right.

There’s nothing to say, you realise, when you finally come out of your own head. No comforting words are going to soothe Yoongi, and all they’re likely to do is make him feel patronised or pitied. You know he doesn’t want your pity. So all you can do is sit there, not touching or speaking or moving, but just being in each other’s presence and hoping it will do something to fix the mess that this has become.

Eventually, you both fall asleep where you’re sat, and sleep dreamlessly for the first time since that basketball game.

You wake up the next morning to Yoongi sniffling in the kitchen behind you and the sound of the kettle boiling. He was trying to do it quietly so you would wake up with you favourite drink in front of you as a peace offering. He’s still not totally sure if you’ll forgive him for flying off the handle, yet. There wasn’t a conversation last night, just Yoongi doing a lot of talking and you doing a lot of listening.

There’s a funny sore spot on your neck from how you slept, and you’re still a little out of it. For a moment, you don’t really remember what happened, and the scenario just seems really domestic and happy. You stretch out with a smile on your face, until the memories trickle back into your head slowly. That’s when you taste the awkward atmosphere, and remember that this is most definitely neither domestic nor happy. After that realisation hits you, you feel Yoongi’s eyes graze over your back, seeing that you’re awake,

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind. I… I made you some hot chocolate and I found the marshmallows… I feel really bad for the last few days and, I don’t know, I guess I was just hoping that we could talk even though I’d understand if you asked me to leave,” Yoongi says as he sets your drink down in front of you, cradling his own coffee between his hands, “First I shout at you and then I break into your house. I’m not much of a soulmate for you,” He says ironically, and you smile slightly when you realise that’s the first time Yoongi has referred to himself directly as your soulmate.

Yoongi doesn’t meet your eye as he talks, and you pick up the steaming drink to sip from it gently trying not to burn yourself but needing the warmth. This is so difficult. So much has happened, but Yoongi really did hurt you when he exploded like that. You don’t want to forgive him so easily, but he opened up about a huge point in his life and his deepest feelings. You don’t know what to do in the slightest, and eventually Yoongi lowers himself onto the couch awkwardly, hoping that you won’t be kicking him out just yet. If the last few days have taught him anything, it’s that if you don’t talk about this then you’ll lose each other. Yoongi tries not to dwell on the obviously romantic connotations of that ultimatum.

He struggles to find things to look at other than you, but manages to do it for a few minutes until you lean forward and set your hot chocolate down, thinking your thoughts might be nearly coherent enough to explain. You’ll try and satisfy both parts of your dilemma,

“Okay, you were an asshole the last time you were here. You know that, and you know me. If you think I’m letting you off the hook this easily then you’re having a laugh,” You say firmly, and Yoongi ducks his head a little, still unable to meet your eye, “But I also understand why you did it,” You continue softly, and Yoongi is shocked into looking up at you, “You have issues, Yoongi. I’d feel bad just kicking you out without a second thought in light of that. Can you understand my dilemma?” You ask, and Yoongi sighs to himself, rubbing his forehead as if trying to cure a headache,

“Yeah. I mean, this was always going to hurt, given my situation and your… being a guy. We wanted different things from this whole necklace shit but I don’t know if I can give you what you’re looking for,” He explains, and you weakly ask him what he wanted from it. Your voice sounds so much thinner than it normally does, but you can feel this like a punch in the gut. Yoongi doesn’t want you, not in the way you want him. You always knew that, but hearing it for certain just aches, “I wanted a nice woman to come and be matched up with me. I wanted to be able to forget what happened in college forever. I wanted to believe my lie - that it was just an experiment. I wanted to get married and have a family without the drama, and even if it wasn’t quite what I wanted deep down, it would be enough. Enough to… I don’t know, pretend that the part of me that wants something else is just a bad dream,” Yoongi explains and you cast your eyes downwards. His are filling with tears and you want him to have some privacy from your scrutiny, “I guess I’m not exactly what you wanted, either,” He spits bitterly, trying to laugh it off but failing,

“You kinda look like it, I’ll give you that,” You half-joke, not wanting Yoongi to know how transparent his act is, “I know you don’t want me to go into it, so we can just skip over this whole bit and be platon-“

“Tell me,” Yoongi interrupts, and you’re taken aback by that for a few seconds. You have to steady your heartbeat, but you oblige regardlessly,

“You’re cute,” You say, barely above a whisper, wanting Yoongi to be able to pretend he hadn’t heard you if he’s already changed his mind. But he doesn’t make any move to stop you, so you continue with caution, “You’ve got a sweet smile, and these kind eyes that you try to hide behind a frown. You act tough but you’re deeper than that and I’ve seen it. You always pack an extra water bottle when we go out and if you have any change on you then you always give it to the homeless. I always imagined that I’d be the Prince Charming for a sweet man like you. I always wanted to be stronger and taller and all of that shallow stuff, and when I look at you I can see that side of me clearer than ever. I want-“ You pause, cutting yourself off, “I’m not sure you want to hear this. I don’t think I can say it knowing it could hurt you,”

“Please, tell me,” He murmurs, eyes meeting yours with a new, indescribable kind of emotion in them, “I need to hear this. Regardless of how this affects me, we need to know about what the other wants,” You nod wordlessly and push on as if you hadn’t stopped,

“I want to protect you. I want to hold you close and tuck you under my chin when it’s cold. I want you to sleep on my chest and I want to shower you with the affections that you deserve but because I know you can’t give me that, I don’t expect it. I want to be crystal clear about that,” Your voice fills with conviction as you move to sit on the coffee table in front of Yoongi so that he has no choice but to look at you, “You don’t ever have to give me anything. I’ll never even ask for it. If you want a wingman, I’ll be the best wingman you could ever ask for. This necklace doesn’t mean shit and I swear to you that all it means to me is that I needs to make you happy. Even though that’s not with me, I’ll still do my best to give you what you do want and what you do need,” Fire burns in your eyes, and anything Yoongi was going to say fizzles out in his brain. His eyes widen solemnly and he nods dumbly, only able to get out one single word,

“Okay,”

It’s been several months since you and Yoongi had that huge… fight? You use that term very loosely, because it wasn’t so much a fight as a huge eruption and misunderstanding of emotion. Regardless of what word you use to describe it with, it’s over now and it has been for a long time. You’ve grown so much closer in the time since then and it’s genuinely so amazing. You’re no closer than best friends are - you meet at least twice a week, sometimes watching some films, and sometimes going out to do things. Yoongi was anxious about joining the local basketball team on his own as a hobby, so you’d gone with him the first time just to help him out. A few months down the line, and you’re their second best player! Yoongi, of course, takes the top spot. It’s ridiculous since you’re so much taller than him, but whatever! You have to remind yourself constantly that he’s good enough to have gotten offered a full scholarship, and you’ve been playing for a few months, but it doesn’t stop you getting frustrated when you play against him in small games and warm ups.

You’re the notorious pair, so competitive on the court and yet so close off the court.

Yoongi didn’t have many friends when you met him, but you had a small group who were happy to welcome him in. One remembered him from college, but everyone else accepted without question that you’ve found your platonic soulmate in Yoongi.

You’re both part of each other’s family, now. His parents didn’t have a problem with you after they got over the fact that their Yoongi wouldn’t give them any grandchildren, and your parents adore him. Of course, you made to clear up that Yoongi was most definitely not any kind of love interest for you, while tactfully avoiding why you wouldn’t even try. What happened to Yoongi remains privately between you, him and the therapist he’s been seeing.

He visits them once a week to try and get over his internalised homophobia and make him a more healthy person. You’d mentioned it to him in passing one night when you’d been having one of your deep chats. It happens every now and again, usually after one of you has had a bad day or if Yoongi feels particularly uncomfortable with himself. You’d figured he’d brush the idea off, but within a few weeks he’d found somewhere that said they could try and help him to start to deal with it. He hasn’t looked back since.

Yoongi is most definitely getting better. Anyone could see that! He’s happier, less anxious and is more positive in general. He still won’t tell you when a guy catches his eye, but you’ve seen his eyes wander a few times. Even though he snaps out of it quickly, it’s progress and that’s the important things. You wouldn’t care if Yoongi never told you when he finds someone attractive, if you’re totally honest. It’s about him being happy with every single part of himself. That’s what’s important here,

“If I ever get over this… you know what I mean… completely, will you want us to be together?” Yoongi asks you out of the blue one night. You’d met him from his therapy session to grab some dinner and catch up, and he’d been a little more thoughtful than is normal for him. He’s always a little drained after his sessions, but he has a little crease in his forehead where h’s been frowning, and that’s never happened before. This must be why,

“Yoongi, I don’t expect anything from you. Not one little thing. You don’t owe me anything,” You say, horrified that he thinks that’s what you want, “If you ever feel comfortable enough to want a guy , I won’t force myself onto you. I promise that I’m more than happy with you as we are right now. You’re my closest friend. I’m not just hanging around for you to put out,” You explain, looking away only to order from the counter. It gives Yoongi time to think that over, and when you turn back he’s got a gummy smile on his face,

“Sorry, I just worry sometimes,” He admits sheepishly, and you snort with stifled laughter. You slap the back of his head playfully and remind him that he shouldn’t apologise for worrying.

But that thought still sits in the back of Yoongi’s mind, whispering to him. He wonders if you’d want that kind of relationship if he ever gets better, and he wonders if maybe he’d want it to. He slots the idea away in his head to talk over with his therapist next week. She’ll be happy to know that Yoongi’s able to think about it at all, since it’s a huge step forward from where he started. Obviously it’s going to take more than half a year of therapy to fix years of suppression and damage, but he can already feel a change in him. He watches you laugh and flirt with the guy making your food, and Yoongi knows it’s a change for the better.

It’s been three years since Yoongi delivered your pizza to you, but neither of you noticed the ‘anniversary’ of sorts pass by. There are more important things going on in your lives than insignificant details like that.

Yoongi’s mental health is at it’s most secure that it’s been since you met, and he even admits when he sees a guy he likes the look of with minimal probing! Even though he won’t let you be his wingman just yet, you’re so excited for how well he’s doing. He’s satisfied as well, and he’s has explained that it feels like a weight is slowly being lifted from his shoulders.

He knows he still has a long way to go now, but he’s motivated. He wants to do it.

Yoongi’s on his way to yours straight from his appointment at the hairdressers, so he can take you to basketball practice. He’d gotten rid of the mint green look just before quitting his job at the pizza place, because he didn’t want his chances at a new job to be ruined by a ‘punk look’ as he put it (even though you’ve told him countless times that a squishy boy like him couldn’t look punk if he tried). He’s a music producer now! He’s not famous or anything, but he has him name on some big tracks, and his income is quite good. Far better than the pizza delivery job, and he’s happy doing it. He genuinely loves what he’s doing. It’s not just Yoongi who’s gotten better over the last few years. You’ve found a new passion in basketball, and you started taking night classes to qualify yourself for a better job. You flew through them and took the exams early, and quit your crappy dead-end job just last week. You start your dream job on Monday!

Yoongi knocks on your door is his cutely unique way - two quick knocks, a pause, and then another. You’re way too excited to see what new colour he’s gone with. He’s tried a whole rainbow - pink, red, orange, silver, blue, purple and probably a few you’ve forgotten. You’re surprised he still has a full head of hair. After he’d settled in at the music studio, he realised how much they didn’t care about appearance. He was the only one with a natural hair colour! They’d told him he didn’t have to stick with black if he didn’t want to, and he hasn’t looked back since,

”Hmm, blonde. An expected move, but okay. It suits you,” You admit as you grab your gym bag from the hooks by your door and sling it over one shoulder, “We good to go?” You prompt when Yoongi makes no move to step out of your doorway to let you out. If you knew the reason, you wouldn’t be so quick to speak up. There’s this feeling in Yoongi’s chest and it’s throwing him off. Something scary. Something meaningful. Something… fluttery. He rolls his eyes as he steps out of your way, muttering two words that you won’t think are of any importance for a few months yet, at the very least,

“Fucking butterflies.”

#bts #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts fluff #bts angst #the necklace #confused

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stevie-baby · 5 years

Text

@satans-helper thank you for tagging me love! This week has been rough, I have had a shit day looking for jobs, but now I’ve got a beer and I’m answering this because self care or whatever. Leggo!

1. What is your middle name?

Marlene

2. How old are you?

3. When is your birthday?

August 20th

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Leo sun; Capricorn rising; Taurus moon

5. What is your favourite colour?

Orange

6. What’s your lucky number?

8 or 20

7. Do you have any pets?

not any more :( but growing up I had a corgi mix named Lulu. She was dope. Fun lil origin story about her: my mom missed the majority of my first birthday becuase she had to stay late at work becuase her coworker’s dog was having puppies and had to leave early. My mom was like “Angela if I’m gonna be late for my kids birthday celebration can I at least get first pick of the puppies?” So when the puppies were finally able to go to different homes, my mom sat little one year old me in their pen to let me pick the one we’d take home. Something drew me to the runt of the litter (maybe it was the fact that she didn’t straight up attack me like her brothers and sisters) and she lived a happy 16 and a half years with us.

8. Where are you from?

Southern California

9. How tall are you?

5'6

10. What shoe size are you?

Womens 11 but I usually wear a mens 9.5 because I have wide feet

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Like 7 pairs (none of which are cowboy boots or gogo boots which is a travesty)

12. What was your last dream about?

I don’t remember but I know it wasn’t anything malicious, so that’s good.

13. What talents do you have?

I play instruments and I sing. I also do art occasionally.

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I wouldn’t say psychic but I am pretty in tune with the universe. But I do also have dreams that have to do with fertility that are like super heavy with symbolism and are oddly prophetic. I call them my egg dreams. If y’all wanna hear about them I make a post about them or something.

15. Favourite song?

At the moment it is When the Levee Breaks by Led Zeppelin

16. Favourite movie?

Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

Honestly? Honestly??? Sam Kiszka. I’ve always been into bassists and lanky boys with long dark hair, so he’s perfect. Also, I love his personality. He’s just magnetic and Joy is a lucky gal :)

18. Do you want children?

Not really. I’m 19, barely an adult, so kids aren’t in my plans right now. I’m not sure if they’ll ever be in my plans. But if I do decide I want children one day, I would want to have more than one because I am an only child and I wouldn’t want that for my kid. It gets lonely and I will never know or understand the bond that siblings have. Also I’d want adopt and foster some kids.

19. Do you want a church wedding?

Nope unless you count a chapel in Vegas as a church wedding.

20. Are you religious?

Not religious, never grew up practising anything, but I’m spiritual.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

Ooof I was always in and out of the hospital. I was always sick or getting injured.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

Not yet

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

Quite a few. The most memorable experiences were pouring champagne for Drake Bell when I worked at the country club and when Jack Barakat from All Time Low and Ashley Purdy from Back Veil Brides were hitting on my mom,

24. Baths or showers?

Baths are really therapeutic but I feel bad because I’m not conserving water :(

25. What color socks are you wearing?

I’m barefoot babey ;) I’m starting to feel this beer

26. Have you ever been famous?

Nope

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

Maybe, but probably not

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

Documenting that I’m now on my second Modelo, just so y’all know.

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

28. What type of music do you like?

All types honestly. I stray more toward rock though.

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

Let me tell you the story. So yes, I have skinny dipped. I was very not sober that night, much like tonight, and I was at a sleepover at my friend’s house on the lake. So all of us drunk 16 year olds were like “FUCK YEAH” and skinny dipped on the coldest night in February. It was transcendent. Later that night I gave myself a stck n poke tattoo :)

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

3 of em. One under my head, one between my knees, and one to hug

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

on my side, spoonin a pillow

32. How big is your house?

Big enough :)

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

coffee and OCCASIONALLY a plain eggo waffle

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

yup. took a gun safety class.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

yeah

36. Favourite clean word?

apothecary

37. Favorite swear word?

fuck (issa classic)

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

74 hours. I was tweaking HARD and crying my fucking eyes out

39. Do you have any scars?

Yup

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

this would be a good time for someone to confess their love for me 👀

41. Are you a good liar?

I’m fantastic at lying

42. Are you a good judge of character?

I’d like to think so

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

a lot of em

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I was back in California for 4 and a half months, so my valley girl accent came back and stronger than ever.

45. What is your favourite accent?

Australian or Midwestern

46. What is your personality type?

old man in a teenage girl’s body

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

One of my formal dresses that was like $120

48. Can you curl your tongue?

yee

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

innie

50. Left or right-handed?

I’m ambidextrous

51. Are you scared of spiders?

not particularly

52. Favourite food?

Bean and cheese burrito or carne asada fries

53. Favourite foreign food?

Mexican food, but Chinese food is also near and dear to me (they’re kinda not foreign to me because I’m Chinese and Mexican

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

I’m messy in an organized way.

55. Most used phrase?

“Fuckin siiiiiiick, dude” and yes I sound like Nick Colletti when I say it. No, I’m not doing an impression, I’m just from SoCal and sound like a skater dude

56. Most used word?

fuck

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

About an hour or so

58. Do you have much of an ego?

I’m a Leo and I fit the description

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Lick

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Uh yeah who doesn’t????

61. Do you sing to yourself?

Always

62. Are you a good singer?

I’m not bad ;) I’m just a bit out of practice

63. Biggest Fear?

failure i guess i dunno

64. Are you a gossip?

I was going to say no but I can’t lie. I don’t spread shit, but I’ll listen to some tea.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

Mid 90s was pretty intense. I dunno that’s the only one coming to mind at the momento

66. Do you like long or short hair?

depends on my mood

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

I’m just gonna say no.

68. Favourite school subject?

History or science! Loved em

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

Major introvert

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

Hell naw. I can’t even watch underwater scenes in movies because I get anxious and I feel like I’m drowning

71. What makes you nervous?

Love/being loved

72. Are you scared of the dark?

Lil bit

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

yup and I do it politely so people can learn from it because I’m not a fuckin dick and I want people to thrive

74. Are you ticklish?

Yes

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

Not that I’m aware of

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

I was on student council does thaf countt??? I got put in charge of prom 2 years in a row because the peoplw that were put in charge fucked up and dropped the ball.

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Currently am. Not the first time nor will it be the last.

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Yeah, yeah I have.

79. Who was your first real crush?

This kid in first grade who had moved here from Russia. We were sat next to each other because our names both started with Z. He was fucking rad. i helped him study for his citizenship test and taught me phrases in Russian.

80. How many piercings do you have?

seis. five in my ears and one in my nostril

81. Can you roll your R’s?

Yup yup yup. I speak Spanish so its kinda essential

82. How fast can you type?

Fast enough

83. How fast can you run?

I’m asthmatic and have bad feet/knees/hips/spine, ya know what my bones are fucked upp let’s justgo with that

84. What colour is your hair?

Dark brown, almost black.

85. What color is your eyes?

Brown

86. What are you allergic to?

Cats :( and pollen and shit like that

87. Do you keep a journal?

yeah imean i forget about it sometimes but its nice to vent or reminisce

88. What do your parents do?

They both work in the automotivw industry at separate companies on separate sides of the country

89. Do you like your age?

Nope. I’m at a weird transitional phase of being an adult but also still a kid but I don’t relate to most teenagers and I also can’t legally drink here in the states. Issa bummer ya know???.

90. What makes you angry?

We don’t have time for this and i ont have the mental capacity for iteither

91. Do you like your own name?

Fuck no. My name is Zoeie, acomplicated variant of Zoe. Its dumb and I misspell t a lot becauseI’m a whole dumbass and I remember in like fifth grade there was four other gorls wiyh the same name and we all spelled it differentlu (oooo I’m buzzed) Also, dann the man wagner’s dog is named Zoeie and I’m like coolcoolcooltighttighttight I have the same name as his dog thats fuckin siiiiick dude sarcassssssm it bums me out and i dunno why (I’d rather go by Zee or Z on here but if you want to call me Zoeie that’s fine, I’m ccool with it, I just think its dumb because of the spelling its actually not that bad of a name i’m just buzzed and salty)

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

I don’t really wantt kids but if I were ever to have gremlins I’d say Stephanie Renee (Stephanie after Stevie Nicks and we’d use Stevie as her nickname; Renee is my mom’s middle name) for a hypothetical daughter and Harrison James (Harrison after the fucking superior Beatle; James after Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix. Basically just after guitar gods) for a hypothetical son. But I’m assuming there’d be another person involved in making that decision in that situation soooo

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

I am but a wee child, I don;’t want chilren. Also why the fuck would I want something specific??? you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. Love your children or some shit like that.

94. What are you strengths?

I can get up in the morning and I thinf that;s real swell of me

95. What are your weaknesses?

I’m a fucking perffectionist anand I get in myown head a lot

96. How did you get your name?

I was nameless for the first day of my life and this was the first name my parents agreed on. Its spelled real fuckin dumb though. And my middle name was my grandma’s middle name.

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Naw but they were royal guards wayyy back in the Ming dynasty.

98. Do you have any scars?

am i tripppin large wit no luggage or did i answer this arleady???? the answer is yeah

99. Colour of your bedspread?

Navy

100. Colour of your room?

its cream we’re renting this place booooo

I don’t thinkk I’mma tag anyone because my braindoen’;t want to work ahora mismo and I can’t think of who to tag but I LOVE y’all even if idon;t talk to you I love you and appeciate you thank you if you read this :,)

#drunk zee #tag game #learn a something about me #whendid i become a fuckin lightweight?]#it was that four motnhs of sobriety i tell ya

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gratiasancti · 5 years

Text

100 PERSONAL QUESTIONS

because @ineffablequestion decided to really put my patience to the test today . not that i mind , ily .

1. What is your middle name ?

maria

2. How old are you ?

23 as of right now !

3. When is your birthday?

oct. 19th

4. What is your zodiac sign?

libra waddup

5. What is your favorite color?

i don’t really have one ? muted colours probably

6. What’s your lucky number?

again, can’t say i have one but maybe 29

7. Do you have any pets?

a dod and a horse

8. Where are you from?

finland / uk

9. How tall are you?

174 cm

10. What shoe size are you?

eu 39-40

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

like seven, if you don’t count my collection of riding shoes and boots. oxfords, brogues, wellies, trainers, and the rest are probably heels. as for riding boots, a lot.

12. What was your last dream about?

that i was late from work and got thrown in a tar pit because of it. and then i sold my old history teacher 500€ worth of alcohol and lottery tickets.

13. What talents do you have?

none?? unlimited sarcasm, idk

14. Are you psychic in any way?

i’m not sure if i believe in this stuff

15. Favorite song?

honestly, anything from hippo campus or glass animals.

16. Favorite movie?

the grand budapest hotel

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

someone who counteracts some of my anxiety and excitedness with a calm and, when needed, firm character but is still funny and can be themselves. preferably someone who i feel is my intellectual equal, and we can share everything with each other. maybe a bit older than myself, but not by much. other than that, i really don’t care.

18. Do you want children?

currently, i can’t see myself ever having kids. just doesn’t seem like my thing. especially babies. maybe adopting or fostering could be an option, but only if i was sure i could give the child a good home.

19. Do you want a church wedding?

i don’t think i want to get married

20. Are you religious?

not particularly

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

maaaaaaany times. multiple riding accidents, broken bones, a car crash. then just being an idiot in general. and chronic back problems.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

apart from once forgetting to pay for the underground and getting an 80€ fine, no.

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

i’ve met and had dinner with two different finnish presidents and some other ‘upper class’ people but other than that, no.

24. Baths or showers?

one of those rain shower things

25. What color socks are you wearing?

i have no socks !!!

26. Have you ever been famous?

uhhhh not in the literal sense of the word but i’ve been infamous at school when i was like 15. made a meme of one of our teachers that went low key viral in our city.

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

definitely not in the hollywood sense of things.

28. What type of music do you like?

a lot of things. anything, really, depending on the time of day and if i’m feeling particularly emo.

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

that’s like the only type of swimming finnish people partake in. naked in the sauna, naked in the lake/ocean. so yes, multiple times a year jhdsnhb

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

currently like five

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

either on my back or on my stomach. depends on what place hurts that day lmao.

32. How big is your house?

closer to 400 m^2 . i still live with my parents but will move into my own flat in six months, once it’s ready. that’s going to be appx 70 m^2.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

i know its a bad habit but i often dont have breakfast. if i do it's usually fruit and yoghurt or some toast.

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

yes

35. Have you ever tried archery?

yes. fun fact; my cousin has won the european championchip ( in some form of archery idk ) like twice , i think.

36. Favorite clean word?

defenestrate

37. Favorite swear word?

fuck. i use it Too Much™

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

can’t remember the exact amount of hours but we were sailing and our shifts got messed up to the point where i had either not slept at all or slept so little in like four days i was genuinely hallucinating. almost jumped into the sea because i thought i dropped my life vest,,, which i was wearing.

39. Do you have any scars?

a few. dumbest one probably when i rode in my shorts but used a saddle and rubbed the skin off of my calf. also from hay work, those little dots that look almost like moles.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

not that i know of

41. Are you a good liar?

yes, unfortunately. it’s a bad habit in the sense that i tell a lot of white lies when i could genuinely tell the truth with no consequence. like, it would be the one and the same.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

also yes. i’ve seen some shit. also i have surprisingly good people skills.

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

i can speak english in my normal accent which is kind of queen’s english (?) upper class idk, then in world’s english ( so basically no accent / neutral ) and then in finnish (rally) english . i can also speak swedish with a rikssvenska (standard swedish ???) accent and then finlandssvenska which is finnish swedish (and an actual thing lmao). also i can butcher a norwegian or danish accent in swedish if i really try. my finnish is very neutral, but it does vary a bit depending on what city i’m in.

oh, and also a shitty southern american accent.

44. Do you have a strong accent?

if i let it shine through, yes, but i tend toward world english because anything else scares finns. but when i speak finnish (which is most of the time) i don’t really have an accent. maybe you can hear that i’m not 100% finnish but that’s about it.

45. What is your favorite accent?

i don’t really have one ! all accents are really fascinating.

46. What is your personality type?

entj-a

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

i have a few expensive dresses, and then of course my riding clothes which cost ridiculous amounts of money because fuck everyone who likes horses, i guess. like excuse me but why is it normalised that you pay over 1000€ for a helmet??? anything less and you’re a peasant.

48. Can you curl your tongue?

mmmmyeah.

49. Are you an innie or an outie?

innie!

50. Left or right handed?

pretty much ambidextrous, though i prefer to write with my left but do everything else mostly with my right. my handwriting doesn’t differ too much from left to write.

51. Are you scared of spiders?

yes. ew. and we’re lucky to only have tiny ones in finland !

52. Favorite food?

ummmmm. currently carelian pie maybe?? idk such a good snack.

53. Favorite foreign food?

squints??? sushi????

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

depends. often too lazy to clean but incredibly stressed and uncomfortable when its messy. meticulous about all the wrong things.

55. Most used phrase?

either some form of keysmash or “FUCK”. also in finnish either “voi jumalauta” or “voi saatana” which both basically translate to “jesus fucking christ”.

56. Most used word?

also fuck. this really must say something about me smdh.

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

really depends. sometimes 10 minutes, sometimes two hours. on a normal day w/ shower and moderate make up, 15-25 minutes.

58. Do you have much of an ego?

depends really. i hope i don’t!

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

whomst the FUCK bites lollipops ?!?!?!

60. Do you talk to yourself?

i’ve only recently started. it’s terrifying.

61. Do you sing to yourself?

when driving if i’m listening to music, yeah

62. Are you a good singer?

honestly, no clue. i don’t really sing in front of people so i haven’t gotten opinions.

63. Biggest Fear?

failure.

64. Are you a gossip?

not about my friends, ever. but i will definitely listen to any tea you want to spill.

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

idk does kingsman count as dramatic?? the first one was hilarious.

66. Do you like long or short hair?

both have their perks!

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

LMAO i can name like 3 if i really try.

68. Favorite school subject?

history, english lang & lit, economics.

69. Extrovert or Introvert?

extrovert but i get tired easily

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

yes ! we go to the maldives once in a while, because finland doesn’t offer much in terms of diving sites.

71. What makes you nervous?

not a lot of things? i guess some responsibilities. things left for me to do even if someone else was supposed to do them.

72. Are you scared of the dark?

a dark room ? no. a dark forest at midnight ? hell yess. finnish winter darkness is terrifying simply because its so depressing. seasonal depression is real yall.

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

depends. if it’s a trivial mistake and they haven’t asked to be corrected, no. if it makes me or someone else feel bad or just makes any situation worse, then yes. but never unkindly.

74. Are you ticklish?

YES. ugh

75. Have you ever started a rumor?

no. i can’t recall doing so, at least. but i have participated in spreading them.

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

yes. at work a couple of times simply out of necessity and also when i took part in MEP. was committee president twice and president of the general assembly once. though idk if that counts since i was like 17 and its all p much play pretend.

oh! and also when i captain our boat. but again, idk if that counts.

77. Have you ever drank underage?

yeah, ever since i was like 16 :/

78. Have you ever done drugs?

no, and never will. not my thing !!

79. Who was your first real crush?

probably a boy from class. i can’t remember, really. i’ve never been too ‘romantically inclined’ i suppose.

80. How many piercings do you have?

just my ears, once.

81. Can you roll your Rs?

almost every r in the finnish language is technically rolled so yeah. i feel bad for those finnish people who cant !! makes everything so hard.

82. How fast can you type?

according to this thing 75 words per minute on my first try, so idk how accurate that is.

83. How fast can you run?

not fast. i hate running, and am very out of practice.

84. What color is your hair?

idk ? like, light brown ?

85. What color are your eyes?

again, idk. blue/green/grey

86. What are you allergic to?

dogs, cats, birch, and almost anything that flowers in the spring jshbdsjh

87. Do you keep a journal?

not a journal per se but i have a ‘little black book’ which i keep rather meticulously about my thoughts on the day, important things i need to remember, my expenses etc. a habit inherited from my dad. i’ve gone through like six of these in the past few years.

88. What do your parents do?

my mum is a mayor and my dad is a ceo

89. Do you like your age?

yeah !

90. What makes you angry?

injustice.

91. Do you like your own name?

yes !

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

ksjdsjhb no. at this rate i’d end up naming a child crowley or sum shit

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

i don’t want kids but if i did gender would be a non issue

94. What are you strengths?

lmao i have good people skills, work well under pressure, get along with everyone, am determined and ?? a good leader??? idk

95. What are your weaknesses?

i take on too much responsibility, i have anxiety and depression, i get frustrated at my own failures, i’m very self-critical and unforgiving. also no self-control when it comes to rp.

96. How did you get your name?

i think somewhere from my dad’s side, not entirely sure.

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

possibly? not sure. but fun fact! a great great grandmother (? or something of the sorts) from my mother’s side actually survived the sinking of the titanic.

98. Do you have any scars?

wasn’t this asked already?

99. Color of your bedspread?

this blue mandala like pattern idk

100. Color of your room?

white and a very mellow blue

#ICB I JUST FUCKING DID THIS #◜ / · ❛ 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 ◞ ooc.

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paris-willow-grey-blog · 5 years

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OC Profile!

So, this being my first post, i reckon I should introduce my character. This will probably be reblogged further down the line and updated a bit as I go along; but here is the profile of Paris Grey!

BASICS :

Name: Paris Willow Grey

Age: 19

Race: White (Caucasoid)

Gender: Female

Height: 5'2

Weight: 118lbs

Eye Color: Blue-green

Hair: Long, usually braided, and dark brown.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

APPEARANCE EXTENDED:

General Appearance: Braided hair, and a red jumper. She wears denim shorts, knee high socks and smaller, black boots. Sometimes she wears a flower in her hair, but only if her hair is down.

Facial appearance: Freckled. Very freckled. They become much more visible in the sun; though. She doesn't wear makeup, and has dimples.

Skin color and appearance: Her skin is pale. It isn't quite tanned enough to be considered tan, but it is more tanned than quite a few people she talks to.

General body build/type/figure: Petite/small, and skinny. Not a model body type, mind you.

Characteristic Gestures: When confident in herself or in what she's saying, she stands straight with her shoulders back, or sits with her fingertips touching. When nervous, she locks her ankles, and plays with her hair. Her usual stance is one hand on her hip while standing straight, or resting her chin on her hand if sitting down.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

RELATIONS:

Family Background/Lineage: Her father was a respected journalist before he had her, and her mother died during childbirth. She was put up for adoption at 3 years old, and taken in by another foster family.

General relationships, past or present: Her foster mother was kind and caring, and would knowingly take her own life if it meant her children could keep theirs. Her foster father was almost never around; and in hindsight, was very obviously a cheater. Her foster sister was sassy and a little bit bossy, but cared about her family. Even if they weren't blood related. She can't remember anything about her relationship with her real father.

Involvement with any associations, guilds, or militias: She was put into a training association at the age of 13, and stayed there until she was moving out. After moving out, she needed money, and found a job at an assassin organization which she was practically forced into.

Any enemies, villains, or rivals, and how did this come to be: The owner of the assassin organization, who wants her back. He goes by the name of Joan Balmer. This came to be when she was taken into questioning by the Avengers, and was recruited to work for them eventually. He found out that she ratted them out, and moved the organization to another location, to plan their revenge on her. She can hardly go outside without feeling extreme anxiety about that place.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

PERSONALITY:

General happiness, 1-10: 7/10. It gets ruined pretty easily.

Social level 1-10: 9/10. She doesn't trust people too easily.

Distinctive personality traits: She's outgoing and a little over-the-top. She's dramatic, too.

Defining flaws/quirks: She is a little egotistical, and not the brightest. She's smart when it comes to some subjects though.

Likes: Dogs, cats, animals in general. She also loves anything theatre related, hence her overly dramatic personality.

Dislikes: She hates not having the upper-hand in any situation. It's not like she'll hold a grudge or anything after it, she just doesn't like it in general. She also hates being told what to do; which comes as a problem when something is important. Just don't act bossy around her; she won't listen to you at all.

General Personality Type: Entertainer, always cheerful and will happily take an audience anytime.

Introvert/Extrovert: Extrovert, 100%.

Method of Handling Anger or Rage (Repress, throw things, etc): They try to vent, or write it out on paper. When something really pisses her off, though, she sometimes cries.

Admirable Traits: Confident, and kind to almost everybody. She's able to stand up for herself easily; and forgives people who deserve a second chance. She's great at telling if people deserve a second chance or not, too.

Negative Traits: Her ego is a little high. She also becomes judgmental easily. If a person judges her, or gives her a nasty look, she'll return the behaviour anyday.

Things That Make Uncomfortable or Embarrassed: If people are in her personal space, she becomes very uncomfortable. She becomes embarrassed easily. If something embarrasses you, it'll probably embarrass her.

Hobbies: Writing, and even performing sometimes. She also likes fantasising about anything at all. Anything.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

HISTORY:

History (Paragraph, chart, timeline, etc): Was born in the UK, Winchester into a family of medium income. Her mother died during childbirth, due to issues with her pre-existing conditions which she never found out about. She can't remember much about her real father, other than that he was a respected journalist, but was forced to quit due to his wife being pregnant. He was struggling with finances, and eventually had to put her into a foster home when she was 3 to keep her safe. Her foster mother was the best person she'd ever known. She was the most uplifting part of her entire life; and kept supporting her for the longest time. Her foster father was never around. He said that he was at "work". Her foster sister was a little cautious around her at first, but eventually settled into a new life with her. When she turned 18, she moved into an apartment of her own in another country. She needed money to keep up with her rent charges, and got offered a job at the previously mentioned assassin association. She worked there for almost a year, and regrets every moment of it. She was found by the Avengers and taken into questioning when she had a breakdown during one of her missions. They decided she'd be useful, and took her in, to work for them.

Most Painful Things To Witness in One's Life: The innocent people who just happened to not have enough money to stop the organization from putting them on the target list, and how their life met their untimely end.

Traumas/Psychological Scars from the Past: She's now a little uneasy at the sight of extreme bleeding, but other than that, just can't bring herself to use a gun anymore. She also has a few phobias from working there.

-Atychiphobia (fear of failure)

-Claustrophobia (fear of small or confined spaces)

-Pyrophobia (fear of fire)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

TICKLING INFO

Ler: She's a big fan of teasing the Lee, since it makes the tickling worse sometimes. Her favorite kind are anticipation teases. She just wiggles her fingers over the skin before digging in. This is why safe words are a thing. If you say the safe word (you may have to say it about 3 times), then she'll stop and get you water, or whatever you want for about 5 minutes until you've recovered. She takes time into aftercare, too. It's important to her that the Lee fully recovers.

Lee: She isn't one to admit that she's ticklish. At all. She'll lie, but if you start making threats to tickle her, it becomes more obvious than ever. She hates being teased. It's torture. She squirms around, and if that doesn't work out, curls up into a ball, and is unable to do anything else after that. She doesn't say stop until she means it, though.

Worst spots: Belly or navel, underarms and feet.

Any tools: She uses feathers sometimes, but other than that, hairbrushes. She'd die if you use any of those on her, though.

And that's it! Hopefully this covered everything that needs to be talked about. Ill take any constructive criticism on her; and I'll fix/add anything that needs to be fixed or added.

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onism21 · 3 years

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how much can i blame my parents?

the rhetorical criticism // how much of my current state is because of the faults of my upbringing? can I blame my forbearers indefinitely? is it really all about what those who guide you teach you? the fact that I didn't know, or just learned recently, is still not enough to explain why I'm so...bad at certain common-sense adulty things?? today, I wanted to quit my job, second day in. I message my boyfriend, I feel like a failure, a loser; I have nothing to show for my life; after 11 years of college I’m....a nanny, thinking about applying to graduate school, but I am haunted by the newfound realization that I am wildly underprepared. recommendations? working towards this since high school? actively thinking of the future, saving for it? HA. time doesn’t flow in a linear fashion for me; every day is a Monday; what does it mean to have structure and limitations or expectations for certain social or personal artifacts? breakfast food is anything; dessert is before savory food; there is no such thing as 1 minute from the present moment; authority is not to be followed. am I doomed, forsaken from the start? being a ward of the state, having no foundation of trust or discipline, moving more times than I can willingly recall with more foster families than I can repress, living a childhood where there was no such thing as future, even thinking about dinnertime wasn’t a daily occurrence. much of my childhood I was feral. it wasn’t until I was in my 20s that I realized how destitute of a human I was produced to, I survived into. i want to go to grad school. my talents are empathy and conversation, and the idea of being an old lady and a professor tickle me pink. I have more than enough intelligence, just nothing to show for it. not even a respectable GPA (it’s a 2.3...academic probation for lack of consistency in my attendance and technology, my work schedule and sleep schedule, my mental health and my physical wellness, my homelessness, and my trying to be better. I looked at my past classes, the grades received and the teachers, if they might remember me. I didn’t remember any of them, none stuck out. is it my fault that I never thought to become friendly with my teachers? is this knowledge that every person automatically knows, or is assumed, or is told by someone with the experience? is it as simple as, I should have Googled it sooner? is the blame mine, or the situation that brought me up and here, to this moment, to this realization that I am, potentially and probably, fucked? I got home from work and started to furiously distract myself by cleaning the messy house. my boyfriend decided to help by vacuuming, then stopped because he was blinded with a fury that the vacuum cleaner was clogged with shards of glass. glass shards I cleaned up the other week, on two separate occasions, both of which I could assume he knew since the vacuum cleaner had been left in the bathroom where the glass broke this past week. he told me to never suck up glass, ever, in any vacuum. how could you not know, he asked. I didn’t want to say, much because all the times I explained to him that I just didn’t fucking know*, no one taught me/told me/showed me,* he told me that ‘excuse’ wasn’t valid. resigned, whatever. when I needed help buying a new used car, it was up to me to already have the tools of knowledge and confidence of experience; when I said I never took care of a child, and have no experience therefore wouldn’t make a good babysitter, he told me that’s not right that I’ve never taken care of a little pure baby (where was I supposed to get a baby to practice on? just materialize it out of my own ovary variously throughout my life??); when I didn’t know it was essential to brown-nose your boss, it was my assholery that I was upset that he didn’t key me in on such a life hack; I think he realized, because, now sweetly, he said, while more tenderly fishing glass pieces out of a dusty cloth filter “I really need to give you adult life lessons for some things...”, yea man, I agree(d). I wondered where this awareness and sympathy has been all those other times when I said, I didn’t know and how could I when no one taught me? he doesn’t know I’ve never owned my own vacuum cleaner, just a shop vac (which apparently is OK to suck glass up with, he says). I’ve never bought a car at a dealership and I never had to worry about trying to win my job back. I ask him, like I want to ask society, is it really my fault that I am so stupid when it comes to such things? is it really that our parents, or whoever teaches us and guides us, set us up for success? how much of common sense is really knowledge passed down, from loving adult to novice child? then what about the kids who are destitute or feral, who grow up into these adults who don’t know the meaning of mealtime appropriate foods. is it histrionic, to want the society to be understanding, to bend to the rare occasions where a doomed child from below the poverty level with no stability or parental figure manages to not be a complete degenerate? I understand that grades are important, and having the accolades and publications and decade-long relevant job history are better than not. but what about those who don’t, are they (we) just fucked, barred from bettering ourselves past the bare minimum of not being a crackhead under a bridge on her 7th wedlock pregnancy? have I just been so wrong, for so long, blamelessly, that I’m am just ‘’sorry, out of luck, try again in the next life’’? and if so, is that okay? is that’s okay for our society, of our education system, to categorize people who are, well, inadequate by strict standards? is my collective experience, my desire, and passion to help and learn, to leave the world with less of what I’ve been through, worthless than? in this society where a degree and academic pedigree is more important in a career than morality and duty? (my friend fucked one of her professors because she didn’t want to fail the class which she was going to. she managed an affair with the man while his wife was expecting their first child, and got her degree, that she doesn’t use. a degree I wanted to get, but couldn’t because I failed the same course twice, and I gave up on the entire program. maybe I should have fucked my teacher. maybe the ends justify the means. maybe, at the standpoint and positionality, I’m in, it’s required.) at the end of the cleaning spree, long after the vacuum tragedy was resolved, my boyfriend picked up the Swiffer Mop’s head and put the now-blackened used pad in my face. “Doesn’t this absolutely gross you out?” I told him it didn’t. He didn’t compute how I could say that. “But this is in our HOUSE. We step on this...ON OUR SOCKS,” as if I didn’t realize we were inside a home. I told him that while I recognized it was fucking filthy, I also have been in way worse of a home. Outside, where I stepped out to have a smoke of a joint, he followed, utterly dumbfounded. “Yea, but, you can be better.” I looked at his peanut-shaped head. “I’m not better than that pad?” He laughed, realizing he wasn’t getting his point across. He told me that it was also about what I texted him earlier, about feeling like I’m doomed. “You have to set the bar higher, and keep working towards better, and never stop, just keep going, and keep thinking positively,”. I said I understood and agreed but wasn’t sure how this tied into the dirty pad from cleaning the floors. I explained, not for the first time to him, about one such home, when I lived with Leslie and her kids. The house sagged into the dirt it was so saturated with cat piss, and there was no such thing as empty floor space or letting the animals outside to shit, or having clean towels or a functioning bed to sleep (we slept on dirty mountains of clothes). He said that, why wouldn’t I want to be better, when obviously he was mistaken. “I’m not better than that?” I asked, now utterly fucking confused. “No, you are, I’m just saying...” I don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, either, other than I’m sorry I don’t know, I should know better, whatever it is, apparently. "You know that's not normal," he said, referencing the reference I made to living with Leslie. "Yes, I'm am incredibly aware of how not normal my upbringing was. I think I'm better than it, I'm not living in squalor, I'm just not offended by the dirt the mop picked up, citing that I've literally grown up in environments that were considered illegal to inhabit," i strained to not take this personally. what reference or context did he have to what I've ever tried to explain? I am better than I was produced, I do set the bar higher, ergo I'm trying to get into graduate school, and I have come so far from where I landed when I was unceremoniously pushed out of my mother's vagina 28 years ago. At least I think so, considering everything. My own boyfriend doesn't realize, I think. Then, how could I get a graduate program's admission committee to realize?

#analysis #rhetoric #philosophy #ask #writing

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stillthewordgirl · 6 years

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LOT fic: Time & Tide (prologue)

In 1985, a Time Master grabs young Lisa Snart for the Refuge...but there's no way she's going anywhere without her brother.

And years later, when Miranda and Jonas die and the Time Council refuses to do anything, Rip Hunter turns to his oldest friend…

It occurred to me, while I was writing chapter 3 of "Secret Santa," that if the Time Masters took unwanted kids like young Michael the cut-purse to become future Time Masters--then in another time and place, they could have taken the Snart siblings for the same purpose.

And then the idea wouldn't go away. It demanded to be written. So, here's a prologue to what's shaping up to be another multichapter AU epic. ;) What's another WIP among friends, right?

Please note that this will have CaptainCanary in later chapters ('cause it's me). Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

It was, like so many other things, Lewis' fault.

Lisa hadn't been so loud, really. She'd just forgotten herself, in excitement over some game she'd been playing with the new doll she'd gotten for Christmas (Len having scraped together enough to hit a sale at the five-and-dime) and her voice had gotten just a little shrill, as the voices of small girls are wont to do. She was only 5, after all.

Lewis, nursing a hangover and planning another doomed-to-failure heist, had snapped. He'd roared into the room, grabbing her by the arm (Len would later find bruises in the shape of his fingertips there) and dragged her to the door, where he'd shoved her out into the January cold in only her pink leggings and My Little Pony sweatshirt, nothing on her feet but slipper socks, too shocked to even scream.

Leonard, who'd been trying to study for a science test, ("Whaddaya doing that for? Not like they're going to give a dummy like you a diploma anyway," Lewis had scoffed) had just started in from the kitchen when he'd seen the scene unfold in front of him. Thinking fast, he'd grabbed both their coats from the kitchen chairs, and darted out the door after her, ducking the blow Lewis aimed his way.

The door slammed shut behind him. He'd heard the lock shoot home.

Lisa had just stared at him, her big blue eyes filling with tears even as she started to shiver. Len, refusing to think of just how bad this could get, had bundled her into her coat, cursing himself for not snatching her boots. After a moment's thought, he'd pulled off his own shoes and made her step into them, glad for once that they were really too small, lacing them up as tight as he could.

Then he'd stubbornly grabbed Lewis' work boots from the back step and pulled them on. He'd get smacked for the theft, no doubt, but time enough to worry about that when they got back inside. It was cold out, tonight, the coldest night they'd had so far, and he knew he had to get them under cover, especially Lisa.

He liked the cold, himself. He'd be OK, he decided with all the false bravado a stubborn 13-year-old boy can muster. He just had to get his sister to safety.

The garage wasn't heated and wouldn't do much good. The neighbors either ignored the Snart kids as much as possible or were the bleeding-heart sort who'd call CPS if they were given a reason. While he'd do that to get Lisa safe and warm as a last resort, Len had heard too many horror stories about foster care and was far too cynical at this point to believe otherwise. Plus, if they were returned to Lewis after that, there'd be hell to pay.

Lisa, shivering despite the coat, wouldn't make it far, but there was a convenience store at the end of the street. With any luck, the friendly young clerk would be working, the one who didn't mind two kids loitering around to keep warm and who occasionally even gave Lisa penny candy—and not the jerk who'd called the cops on Len before (he hadn't even taken anything!) or the motherly sort who seemed to think he was a danger to the little girl so tightly clutching his hand.

All they needed was some luck and some time. Eventually, Lewis would leave, or pass out, and Len could take them back home, pop the lock (at least his father had taught one thing that was useful), and tuck Lisa into bed. Lewis probably wouldn't even remember.

His luck wasn't the greatest. But that's the only idea he had, right then.

In one timeline, the store might have been closed due to a power outage. They might have died out there, all of Leonard's resourcefulness failing in the face of the deadly temperatures, falling snow, and neighborly apathy.

In another, the friendly clerk might have been working, might have turned a blind eye to the kids huddled at the store's one table, maybe even turned up the heat a little and pushed a few "damaged" bags of chips their way.

In yet another, maybe one of the other two clerks called the police. Maybe they recognized the Snart kids. Maybe one held a grudge against Lewis Snart, and decided to hang his oldest kid with his very first misdemeanor charge, a charge that would soon be compounded by one of Lewis' heists gone wrong and land the boy in juvie at the ripe old age of 14.

Just maybe.

But in this one, a nondescript man returning from a simple mission in 1985 Central City sees the small brown-haired girl wearing her brother's shoes while that same brother, standing in boots nearly up to his knees, studies the interior of the store through the iced-over windows.

There's a half-healed bruise on her cheek, and she's skinny and underfed in a way the man understands all too well, from a part of his personal history that's been nearly forgotten. He hesitates only a moment, then nods to himself, detouring toward the child, a ghostly figure appearing out of the snow to loom over her.

Lisa Snart doesn't see him until it's too late.

He snatches her expertly, one arm around her middle, the other clamped over her mouth. No need to use the knock-out device, he figures. No one will see him in this snow, and all he really has to do is get her back to the ship. Then he can double-check her role in the timeline, make sure they're in the clear.

But there's a lot he doesn't know about this little girl. And the important thing, at the moment, is this: Her brother taught her to fight dirty.

Lisa's eyes go wide, but she's only startled for a second. Then, she chomps down on the man's hand with vigor, following the bite with a determined backward kick to his kneecap. It connects and, while it doesn't hurt that much, combined with the bite it's enough for him to lose his grip.

Lisa sucks in a breath and screams.

"Lenny!" she wailed. "Lenny! Nooooo! My bruh-bruh-brother!"

The older boy's head whips around instantly, a look of horror overtaking his thin features, and stumbling in the snow, he charges toward them. The man, cursing, takes a step back…and slips as Lisa kicks at his knee again. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he pulls out a device, tries to thumb it into what he, in his own mind, calls the "dazzle" setting—one made to distract its target just long enough for a hasty escape.

Maybe it's because Lisa kicks him a third time, still shrieking although there's no one else around to hear her. Maybe it's his own subconscious as he looks into the boy's panicked face. Or maybe it's fate taking a hand.

But for whatever reason, the device slides right into the "knockout" setting.

The kid looks right into it as it flashes…and pitches face-first into the snow, lying still, snowflakes immediately starting to scatter over his dark, curly hair, burying him where he lies.

The girl tries to howl again, but the man has his hand back over her mouth again, and muttering to himself, uses the device on her next. She sags immediately in his arms, letting him catch his breath and figure out what, in the Vanishing Point's name, to do next.

If he leaves the boy in his threadbare coat and too-big boots here in the snow, the child will almost certainly die. And the man has no way to tell where he fits in the timeline, if this is the next mayor of Central City or just a petty thief. And truth be told, the way the little one had cried for her brother had touched even his weathered old heart.

There's only one logical thing to do.

He grabs the skinny teenager, too.

"The regulations provide for taking unwanted children to train up as protégé Time Masters," he says mulishly an indeterminate amount of time later. "And these two were definitely unwanted."

"One child!" The other man in the room with him whips around, anger in his eyes before he smooths his expression. "Taking siblings raises the chances that someone will notice…"

"By the time I had them back to my ship, they'd already vanished from the timeline," the man retorts. "No one cared, no one bothered to look for them…"

He's interrupted by the third man in the room, who takes an ingratiating tone. "But you have no idea what lay in store for them before that."

The first man shrugs, narrowing his eyes. He's never liked the leader of the Time Council, nor his chief lackey. This is just solidifying the matter.

"Taking one and not the other here would have caused more trouble," he says coolly. "The brother might have been blamed…"

"What do we care? This…"

"He stays."

At that definitive statement, all three Time Masters turn to stare at the tall woman who's standing nearby, facing the windows. Her eyes are fixed on the gangly teenager who's watching his small sister run across the lawn of the Refuge in the sun. The girl had bounced back from her "kidnapping" with the resilience of the young, especially since this place was warm and comfortable, and her stomach was full of good food for the first time in a while.

And her brother, after all, was there besides her.

"But…"

"Madam Xavier…"

"He stays." Mary Xavier turns on them, her eyes implacable, her demeanor cool. "This one is special. "

Druce stares at her another moment, then shakes his head. "He's too old. He'll remember too much of his former life. Won't be malleable."

"Of course, you'd have a problem with that," the first man retorts, anger entering his tone. "I…"

But Mary holds up her hand, interrupting them again. "One of the rights I have as the caretaker of the Refuge is the right of refusal, balanced by the right of acceptance," she says simply. "And I say he says."

The leader of the Time Council draws himself up to match her. "Then we can put back the girl." Druce's eyes are cold. "One at a time. That is the rule."

Mary shakes her head dismissively. "The girl stays too. They're stronger together."

"She's an attachment."

"And you know how I feel about that, Zaman Druce." Mary Xavier turns away, dismissing the leader of the Time Council as if he were still a haughty boy in the Refuge. "They stay. Both of them."

Druce blusters and Druce threatens. And in the end, Druce leaves.

So does the nondescript man. But he, for one, saunters out of the Refuge with a smirk on his face, whistling an off-key tune, snitching a cookie from the kitchen just as he had as a boy.

He pauses for just a moment before getting back in his time ship. "Good luck, kid," he mutters. "Give 'em hell."

Leonard and Lisa Snart will never see him again.

"Leonard."

The kid in question doesn't jump at his name. He'd seen the woman coming, out of the corner of his eye, and tensed just a little, prepared for whatever she was going to say or do to him. Lisa may think this place is wonderful, the answer to a small girl's prayers, but he's far more cynical, far less willing to trust.

(Even if their kidnapper had brought them here on a ship like something out of Star Wars. Len had tried very hard not to look impressed when he'd woken up.)

Mary, who'd purposefully let herself be heard and seen to avoid startling her skeptical newcomer, sighs to herself as his expression closes off. But after a moment, she smiles a little.

"Leonard," she repeats gently. "Come with me. I have someone I'd like you to meet."

The boy's eyes dart to where his sister is running after her new playmates, under the watchful eye of one of the older children. She'd cast off the chains of her past far better than he, although Mary knows from long experience that some of those issues will still be there, ready to cause problems at the most unexpected times.

"She's fine," Mary tells him. "She's safe here. I promise you that." She pauses. "Far safer than she would be at your…former home."

She nods as he sees him digest her last sentence. "Come with me."

This time, he does.

They walk slowly through the old house, the woman slowing her steps on purpose to allow the boy to look around, to see the genuine contentedness on the faces of the other children they pass. She can understand his caution, can understand it very well considering some of the backgrounds her charges come from. But the sooner he settles in, the more ready he'll be for the trials to come, and all the things he needs to learn.

Finally, after a slow circuit through the house and a trip up a flight of stairs, they enter a room that's comfortable, sunny and lined with bookshelves. She sees Leonard's eyes light up at the sight—followed by immediate caution as his gaze falls on the other boy in the room, one just about his age, who hastily puts down his book and bounds to his feet at the sight of them.

The other boy, nearly as thin as Leonard and a few inches taller, has a sharp face and a shock of brown hair. His eyes are bright and intelligent as he approaches them curiously, and Mary puts a hand on Leonard's shoulder, feeling the hesitation there. He's not someone, she thinks, that's ever had many friends. Too much the outsider, too much the pariah.

Well, perhaps that will change.

"Leonard, this is Michael, my foster son. Michael, this is Leonard—who will also be my foster son. I think…" She smiles for a moment, eyes turned inward, then shakes her head. "I think that you have a lot in common."

The boys stare at each other a moment, a shared background of caution and distrust of their peers (and adults) uniting them.

Then Michael, who's at least had the benefit of years of affection at the Refuge, sticks his hand out. And after another moment, smiles.

Leonard, after a moment's consideration, reaches out too, and shakes it.

And smiles, very tentatively, back.

#time & tide #legends of tomorrow #snart siblings #leonard snart #lisa snart #captain canary #in the future

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pughearts · 3 years

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Today’s post about Grayson (hospice) will be a bit more educational since we’ve had a lot of questions. Grayson has a left sided heart failure caused by heartworms. This condition is irreversible, cannot be surgically corrected and comes with a number of symptoms, fluid retention being the most visible one. Many of you have asked why we don’t drain the fluid. We did, we drained 1.5 liters and to put this into comparison - you do not drain more than 2 liters a day out of a person. We took a huge risk because he had no quality of life. Now that he has some we will not be taking the risk again because with his labs being all over the place he could very easily collapse and we’d rob him of the little time he has left. Another sign is the need to use the restroom at night. Most nights we catch it and take him outside but sometimes even he doesn’t wake up and just pees himself so we are getting some washable pee pads today to manage it better (thank you for the tip Kevin Tyler!). Finally, people with heart failure may find that they often feel cold in their arms, hands, feet, and legs (the extremities), dogs are no different. This happens because the body is circulating most of the available blood to the brain and other vital organs to compensate for the failing heart's inability to pump enough blood to the entire body. Grayson gets cold very easily and his feet are much colder to touch than the rest of his body. This is where his foster brother Raphael comes to rescue. Raphael got a number of socks while his paw pads were healing and after we’ve tried them with Grayson we noticed an immediate improvement! He does not want them off unlike literally every dog I’ve ever tried socks with and the shivering has stopped. Since it is getting colder we also ordered him a pet heating pad (thank you Tara Grizzell for the idea!). Anything to keep our baby boy comfy for as long as we can ❤️ All this is to say we wouldn’t have to be doing any of this and he wouldn’t be dying at the age of 3 had he gotten heartworm prevention. PugHearts.com #adoptdontshop #pug #pugsofinstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/CHvJCqCnhnx/?igshid=1nkziiheoxn29

#adoptdontshop #pug #pugsofinstagram

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cutemisunderstoodmuffins-blog · 6 years

Text

Zane Hooman

Character name: Zane Hooman

Age: 18

Species: Human

Physical character description: Spiky black hair that's pushed back by a red headband. His eyes are so brown they look black, and his skin is fairly tan even though he doesn't get out much. He's probably of Greek descent. He is very long, but not very tall, and Overal he's pretty plain looking. His main outfit is a red and white baseball tshirt, sometimes with a black and white jersey. He likes wearing funky colored skinny jeans and clogs. The only shirt he owns that's not a baseball t, is a JJBA merch shirt he bought online. He doesn't wear it outside his house because he doesn't want anyone to know about his obsession with muscly anime men. Maybe it's a sign..

Character height: 5' 5"

Chumhandle: confusedGrapefruit

Aspect: Life

Alignment: chaotic good

Prospit dreamer

Level: 5

Max HP: 25

Death saves

Successes: --

Failures: --

Stats

Strength: 5

Dexterity: 15

Constitution: 10

Intelligence: 10

Wisdom: 7

Charisma: 13

Skills

-Survival

Character inventory: A snazzy SideKick slide phone, he's also got a red scarf, and his strife is gunkind, his current weapon is a staple gun that shoots lizards.

Traits and Features

•Is a weeb

•tries to hide weebness but fails

•has an entire collection of JIMJONS WACKY QUEST figurines, the STER POOTNUM one was his favorite though

•he doesn't cry. By that I mean he cries a lot. About dumb things too. But he will never admit to crying, therefore, as far as you know, he doesn't cry.

•'MEMES ARE MY CULTURE YOU SWINE'

•the person he talks to most is probably Lander

•has had his license revoked twice already for road rage on the highway. "I was going five over and the asshole wanted to pass, and I didn't wanna let him."

•is sometimes offensive

•kinda thinks he a cool dood

•he's really not though

•his diet consists of granola bars

•when he was in highschool Zane ran track, and was actually pretty sporty. •makes weird faces

•he has a tendency of going out to clothing stores just to try on womens clothes

•he never buys anything there though

•he is an orphan that was never officially adopted by anyone. He has been in foster care though.

•he is not too big on animals. Dogs scare him pretty bad

•despite him not liking animals, he likes dinosaurs and mythical beasts

•he doesn't wear socks.

•doesn't admit it but listens to emo music unironically.

•he is over dramatic at times

•uses 'hon' sometimes when texting people but never actually says it irl because he knows he'd probably stammer on it and das not cool.

•has pierced ears

#Zane #profiles #homestuck #oc #character #sprite #kid

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myvoicenottheoneyougiveme · 4 years

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Cyberstalking, and calls it a relationship.

Triangulating, with everything and everyone I ever have any contact with to make a narrative and a prison of my life.

This person who does so much and gives so much for “the relationship” (i.e. stalks beyond all reason and foils my every attempt at personal space) has claimed me, my life, my personhood, in a grift the likes of which seem inhumanly possible.

Foolish enough to be baited into this “relationship” in the first place, ever increasing amounts of time and attention and ego stroking are demanded. Days I should have been doing school work, I’d be wrestling with this “ghost” instead. Days I should have been getting to work on time, I’d be fighting for some kind of peace. All of this while letting this nonexistent person convince me again (not the first time someone has in my life) that “this” stalking and triangulation with her “stand-ins” and “delivery-boys/girls” waving around carrots on a string-- some kind of forever out of reach “reward”--the time of day--her presence--her existence in any meaningful way--is always a prompt to “fix” something--to set it right--to set it straight--to mend some failing for my part. These questions and arguments I am meant to respond to or react with, should I ignore or look to myself and my own sanity, are met with predictable stabs in the back and lashes with a whip when I refuse to take the bait.

The very environment, the people, the digital spaces, content creators, all moving to the beat of some drum I have yet to understand. Everywhere I look, if it’s someone I have any regular contact with, if it’s a person I have any investment in, if it’s a person who has ANY of my attention, they eventually come to move in sync with “this” rhythm.

In “this” “relationship” with the very echoes off the walls and the spaces in between words with those around me, I am tasked and forever have been tasked with producing the fruits of a relationship I am supposedly a part of. The total stranger whose actual voice and actual words I have never heard, whose face I have never seen for myself, whose existence I question, seems but a sock puppet of a real person I perceived once on my screen. In a recording, in a music video, the most apt target being those persons I’ve admired most or had the greatest emotional investment in. Interchangable, interchangeable to add to the confusion. So interchangable as though, the actual person were indeed nothing more than a cardboard standee with someone in back waving the arms around in grand gestures. That one fails to produce the response, another is procured. Every digital device, every click, every word typed, every song played, every game, every movie, video, show, my very spoken words within earshot of a microphone, they all come back to me one way or another.

“This” relationship, this cyberstalking, this organized actual stalking and harrassment, when I once bought into it (wanting apparently so desperately to believe) I tried and failed to produce (ALONE) the response it was ever looking for. A social media account echoes me and deliberately instills the impression that this particular person is behind the wheel. Next thing I know, these impressions--these echoes--appear everywhere. Next thing I know the semi-random Pandora station has become a conversation. Whether from text I’ve written in a file on my computer or me simply speaking aloud to no one while my phone is within earshot, I find the reverberations outlining the form of a person on the other side.

“This” smoke-and-mirrors light show, this ambiguous parade of “impressions” born of pointed “responses” and choice lyrics, the delivery-persons' jabs and queries, these as I am to understand it, all substantiate a connection to another human being--a specific person who is themselves and not someone else despite being but an amalgamation of others. ...And I am to feel--FEEL--connected to and moved by--FEEL their slightest whim, their faintest movement--to follow their “eyes” and pray I’ve done enough, given enough, felt enough, conveyed enough, delivered that seeming drug to this master of puppets in sufficient quantity and quality so as to avoid their WRATH. I have forever been tasked with producing the fruits of an actual relationship with someone. I have been tasked with producing the fruits of an actual relationship with some person who only truly exists in the media they create. Be it a film, an album, a music video, an interview, I am supposed to collage together on the inside of my own head a person and fuse that--reconcile it--with the silhouette of this vindictive task master who is forever displeased with the crop yield. Alone, in darkness, I desperate to do it, do it this time, real enough this time, ...but even the most emotional outpourings are somehow overridden and negated in her mind by my failure to feel near to and connected any second on any whim she says "jump". It's a lack of persistence and permanence that would seem to match the vapidness of the very smoke that substantiates this person and therefore the connection to that person.

Alone, alone I am to bring the sense, the feeling, of being connected to another human being--the feeling of being deeply entwined with. I am meant to feel close. I am meant to feel such color to overflow on the pages. I am meant to feel so deeply in love and deeply loved by someone who is only ever remotely so real via the very media that brought awareness of them to me in the first place. An album, front to back, a clip, a recording, all like a container of air I would use up trying to draw from to bring what is demanded of me. ...Can’t have what substatiates anything real, until I draw blood from a stone--a fountain--a never-ending, never failing, forever abundant source of life to be drawn from me... and then maybe, maybe, maybe I might be worth the time of day. A one way street from me to the one behind the wheel of what these days all but leaves me speechless. Given the moment, a shock to my system, total reversals and total reframings of reality everywhere I look so as to leave me questioning myself or my sanity. That I could have ever bled myself dry trying to please, trying to prove, trying to be what was ever demanded from me, it’s a lie a told myself, that I let someone tell me. It’s the greatest grift of all time--a scenario designed to fail--an environment designed to do one thing, convince me of my part, my role, the predrafted script. It’s the greatest grift. The god-queen said make those bricks without straw. The god-queen said make what I love, but don’t expect anything from me to do it.

It demanded a harvest so bountiful while tieing the hands of the laborer. It demanded all that and more while holding herself ransom. It demanded my everything, my compliance, my permission, access to my everything, dominance and tyrannical power. It demanded myself a willing prisoner. The part I was to play? The “debtor”. She demanded my everything and gave nothing. She demanded total and absolute power whether I surrendered that or not. She has taken and destroyed and violated and forever attempted to foster a dependence on a fantasy. ...Would this goddess come down, come down and grace such a lowly creature with her simple presence? Could I ever hope to prove myself enough? Have I not been around “this” block enough times to know that’s never going to happen?

It demanded the fruits of a bountiful relationship that a person might have with another human being, without bothering to have said relationship. Non-existence. Non-contact. Non-communication. Nothing but a silhouette into which I was meant to project from the inside of my own head. A great empty blank I would try to fill with the idea of an actual person. And I would fail, and fail, and fail to maintain with depth and breadth an active emotional connection to a living breathing extant person. Nothing more than a fantasy I could neither fully envelop myself in nor remain immersed in having to return to reality as though it had never happened. Because it hadn't.

A one-way street, from me to the goddess upon her throne. How many years was I meant to live “this” way? How long was enough? And every person, every space, every thing that would be between me and my stalker have proven to be no more than the means of access to me. And the first and last therapist I saw after moving to this state, had scarcely begun before completely disengaging. And I had yet to divulge even the remotest semblances of “this”. This therapist like every person I ever come across anymore who I might have regular contact with, is happened upon by something or someone in the shadows behind the scenes. The bridge between us breaks as the connection is thwarted. The strangeness and weirdness with which this person withdrew between sessions as though in the intervening time something had transpired, not only shattered my trust but showed me that there was no one and nowhere that was off-limits. It read to me like someone recusing themselves from being held to a breach of confidentiality and caught between the person clearly in front of him and whatever was whispered in his ears.

I have scraped for resources and help with “this” ever since. But to whom could I even bring a situation such as “this”? Who would believe it? Who would believe that so and so--I mean what would they say? What kind of delusions of grandeur? What kind of psychotic? And worse my own mother, the most consistent delivery-person and capable of the greatest venom... does one thing like everyone does, and then lies to my face when confronted about it.

...Everything and everyone, as though this entity were wrapped around me like I’ve been swallowed whole. She, it operates as an intermediary--a go between. Disregard ME, and defer to my handler. When it says jump, you jump, and don’t pay any mind to what it does to him. He deserves it after all-- I mean uh, this is for his own good you see, err um we’re doing this for the greater good? ...But what's always been true, her intentions and what kind of person she is, mean nothing next to what is done--next to "this". The intent or supposed character does not change the nature of the abuse and what it's done to me and what it’s still trying to do. ...Yet, somehow I am to blame like I’ve failed, like I’ve asked for “this”, quietly dismissing the fact that it's ALWAYS been "this" way. Somehow, in the scenario designed to fail, it is as some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Every means of coping, dysfunctional or otherwise--every response--it’s all somehow proof of why “this” is necessary.

The one that stands out to me the most. The bogus service call, and the kid in the room with some kind of developmental disability so as to not be held accountable for what comes next... picture after picture of flesh eating flies, boring, infesting, and consuming the flesh of people. Individuals infested with “bot flies” some kind of African pestilence that can reduce a person to a mound of rotting flesh and bone. Grotesque, absolutely shock and awe, and he wouldn’t stop going on about them and shoving his phone in my face like “here’s another picture and another picture and another picture” while I was trying to diagnose the bogus problem with the classroom equipment. I had to get terse with him and even that barely got him out of my face. The message to me is simple, and I do not forget. It’s the message I find so often.

“This” is organized stalking and harassment with the intention of destroying someone. Every attempt to push back and hold accountable the person or persons running this circus, somehow only justifies their victimhood and proves that I'm some kind of something. The manipulation of information is beyond belief. And if just the destruction of trust and the isolation and the burning of every bridge weren't enough, the concerted effort to unravel the mind of the target as real life comes to resemble something akin to the Twilight Zone, is well past every moral barrier every person who partakes pretends to stand for. I can't understand it. And heaven forbid I confront, set boundaries, or attempt to hold it at bay without showing every last person in my life that I've literally lost my mind. Perhaps I'll come to believe it myself. Perhaps we will bear witness to an implosion that will once and for all erase him from this plane of existence. Gang stalking and everything I’ve read about organized stalking of this kind, it’s an insidious and covert attempt to wipe a person from the board, to kill them by getting them to either explode or implode. They either lose their minds and lash out at others and get committed, imprisoned, or killed in the process, or he decides one day... to just end it all himself and fade out with a whimper.

Some things I find are so absolutely reversed; those are dissonance inducing moments I don’t have the vocabulary to describe. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I don’t know what. And I’m left thinking to myself, that I, myself, don’t really exist. That this voice I’ve ever raised here and elsewhere doesn’t really exist or is somehow picked apart and scrubbed to make new realities. The one who controls the narrative must of course control the flow of information. All I’ve ever wanted for years now is an ending, an ending, more desperately all the time. The more suffocated I feel, the more the antagonist presses. The more I resist, the more the great snake squirms to find a new angle. New puppets all the time in places no sane person would or should ever expect. Leverage focused via those with the potential for the greatest payoff--the greatest impact. Unending strangulation. Unending psychological torture whose physical symptoms, after all these years, have caught up with me.

Without end, and in her own “words” to me “without hope, without witness”.

Why?

I can either yield to the person forcing themselves on me and be miserable for the rest of my life with someone that can't--CANNOT--be bothered to think beyond herself and how anything makes her feel--a person no better than a volatile minefield I wouldn't cross with the best information in the world (obviously. [nods at "best information"]). I can yield to this person whose only concern is what she can get out of me while she spends all of her time accusing me of everything that's in her mirror in actuality. Or I can say the blasphemous word "no" and see my life ended anyway.

In what reality did the wiser decision to walk away from someone that doesn't really exist who demands everything and gives nothing... let's leave aside a moment the reality of the fact that "this" can't substantiate a relationship in any capacity. In what reality did a person's right to say "no" become a crime? In what reality when that psycho stalker ties him down by the neck and he DARES to hold a mirror up to her and offer the only explanation available as a deterrant to the abuses--a desperate attempt to end it rather than gain some kind of leg up--when did it become a crime to attempt to hold the abuser accountable? When did saying no and then saying "this is what you're doing. What you're doing is wrong" become a crime? When did actual crime become sanctioned and desperate attempts to survive become crime?

Why? How?

youtube

I've done all I can. I've said all I can. I've reiterated all I can. I've found echoes of what's happening in too many artists to count. That's all I have really, the knowledge that others have lived through "this" and survived it. It can end contrary to everything "this" wants me to believe.

There are other perhaps more viscerally felt tracks I could find. Me and Radiohead are "academic", and it's the most recent listen to be off the top of my head. Do I really have to... covering the angles, covering what's always coming, reflexively. Doesn't matter what it is, it, she will find a way to use it against me; "this" is what life is presently. There's nothing left to do but to have at least on the record, myself, in my own voice extant and uneditable, having spoken for myself and the insanity that's happening. It's beyond belief, and it repeatedly warps reality in a bubble around me.

I would say this of the video accompanying the track, as I've intuited it at least. It's the lived experience of vilifying oneself, blaming oneself, a distorted hatred to have ever believed, ever been fed... it reads a lot like another I'm thinking of. To see yourself in the most vile terms and to identify with and to welcome the abuse and the narrative they feed you. To have let love fall. To have failed love, to have failed her. What kind of monster? It's a place, an unwellness that even outweighs this present place and time. It's a place I've sworn never to go back to and to never let anyone do to me again.

The moment he stands up to the pursuer and it reels back, then a symbolic match upon its trail of abuses, in that moment he's not in the back seat anymore within the machination helping them to crack the whip on himself, running himself ragged, but rather the person upon the road. I always found the concept painted here in the accompanying video more than meaningful.

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