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recentanimenews · 4 years

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Bookshelf Briefs 9/30/20

Accomplishments of the Duke’s Daughter, Vol. 6 | By Reai and Suki Umemiya | Seven Seas – Another series down to “once a year” release—I had to jog my memory at the start to recall what had been happening. Many things are going wrong for our heroine, who is trying to be strong and tough but is also starting to break down, and I felt that the scenes with her and Dean struck just the right balance of comforting and letting the heroine cry without making her seem weaker. This sets the stage for her comeback, which is extraordinary. (And also has a corrupt Church, a constant in Japanese light novels, though at least here there are also honest and good religious people in it.) That said, eventually Dean’s identity will come out, and I do wonder how this very good “villainess” isekai will handle it. – Sean Gaffney

The Ancient Magus’ Bride: Jack Flash and the Faerie Case Files, Vol. 1 | By Yu Godai, Mako Oikawa, and Kore Yamazaki | Seven Seas – A faerie switched at birth for a human child, Jack never fit in in either world. Only in the mortal realm could she earn money for anime collectibles, however, so she decided to make herself into a tough, capable woman like her literary heroes and set up shop as a detective. Together with her fellow changeling, Larry the werewolf, Jack takes on supernatural cases in New York City. In this volume, Lindel tasks them with tracking down a missing dragon egg. I liked the resources Jack uses to obtain information, which include a dapper theatre ghost and a spell with components of rat whiskers and taxi tires because “Nobody out there knows this city better than them.” I still found this a bit hard to get into, though, especially the parts involving a perpetually tearful off-off-off-off-Broadway actress and her pickpocket boyfriend. Still, I will check out volume two! – Michelle Smith

Black Clover, Vol. 22 | By Yuki Tabata | Viz Media – At long last, this interminable arc comes to an end. I enjoyed a lot of it, but I cannot deny it should have been about two volumes shorter. Most of the book is taken up by shonen battles, with the villain being nigh unkillable, the heroes almost breaking themselves to stop him, etc. Fortunately, the day is saved, and even the Wizard King turns out to be… sort of alive again? Shota fans should be happy. Asta fans perhaps less so—the sheer amount of damage done to the kingdom in this arc means someone has to be blamed, and give Asta has the “dark evil magic” it’s gonna be him, especially when he takes the incredibly obvious bait they use to get him to fight. Oh well, if Asta were smart, this wouldn’t be Black Clover. – Sean Gaffney

Don’t Toy with Me, Miss Nagatoro, Vol. 3 | By Nanashi | Vertical Comics – Part of the problem with titles like this and the other teasing works (Takagi-san less so as Nishikata doesn’t fall into the category) is that they are, at heart, the classic “extroverted girl acts overtly extroverted to bring introverted guy out of their shell,” and that’s not really a plot that feels comfortable in the Gen Z days, where you’re more likely to say “why doesn’t she just let him be in his quiet, safe space?” And by she I mean they, as Nagatoro’s two friends appear far more often here, which offers some good two-way teasing action, as they clearly see her crush on him, if not why. It’s still sort of hard to read, but if you pretend he’s more OK with it than he actually is, this is cute. – Sean Gaffney

Failed Princesses, Vol. 1 | By Ajiichi | Seven Seas – The concept of “popular girl meets unpopular girl” is a common one in yuri manga, and we do indeed hit several of its tropes in this first volume. The amusing thing is that Kanade, the shy outcast girl, is perfectly aware of how things are supposed to go, and keeps pulling back a bit to try to save Nanaki from, well, making herself an outcast by associating with the wrong people. The best part of the volume is that Nanaki really doesn’t give two shits about any of that, and seems set on making Kanade her best friend… and also making her over, which backfires a bit as Kanade cleans up nicely. I hear this gets a bit dramatic later, but for the moment it’s a cute and fluffy proto-yuri story. – Sean Gaffney

In/Spectre, Vol. 12 | By Kyo Shirodaira and Chashiba Katase | Kodansha Comics – The first story in this volume is another “Rikka tries to make people understand Kotoko is an evil Machiavellian schemer,” this time with one of her ex-classmates, but again the response seems to be “we know she’s a manipulative bitch, but she’s a good person anyway.” The larger story, which will continue into the next book, seems to be a chance to write Kuro and Kotoko as an actual romance, as the man we meet here and his relationship with a yuki-onna… as well as his penchant for attracting misfortune… very much parallel them. That said, they’re very cute together, which is why I hope he avoids the murder charge he’s now being investigated for. Still a favorite. – Sean Gaffney

Interviews with Monster Girls, Vol. 8 | By Petos | Kodansha Comics – The author knows what people want to see, but also knows that the best way to get readers is to drive them crazy by not showing it. We finally get what we’ve been begging for here, as Tetsuo asks Sakie out on a date. (This is after rejecting Kyouko’s love confession, both because she’s his student and also, as he is forced to admit, as he likes Sakie.) The stage is set for the date… and the rest of the book is thus spent with the three main student girls going to Kyouko’s for a fireworks viewing and meeting her family. They’re good chapters, and I really liked showing how difficult Kyouko has it as a dullahan in terms of everyday life, but GOD, please get back to the teachers, I beg you! – Sean Gaffney

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War, Vol. 16 | By Aka Akasaka | Viz Media – The series has gotten to the point where the more rewarding chapters are the ones as part of a larger arc. Not that the one-shot chapters are bad—though Maki’s journey to India may be the most pointless thing in this entire series to date, we do get Chika’s iconic “shut up or I’ll kill you” here. But the larger arcs, featuring Miyuki and Kaguya attempting to date without interruptions, and setting up Ishigami and Iino for a romance—though given the number of limbs broken in this book, and Iino’s own horrible lack of self-awareness, it may be a ways out—are better. This series is still hilarious, but we’ve come to read it more for the heartwarming moments. Heck, there’s even some serious drama here. Very good. – Sean Gaffney

Nineteen | By Ancco | Drawn & Quarterly – Although it was translated and released second in English, Nineteen is a precursor to Ancco’s internationally award-winning manhwa Bad Friends. The volume collects thirteen short comics originally published in Korea over a decade ago which absolutely remain relevant to today’s world. While understandably not as polished as some of Ancco’s later work—one can observe her style evolving and growing over the course of the collection (which is fascinating)—the comics still carry significant emotional weight and impact. Nineteen includes diary comics, which tend to be more lighthearted, as well as harder-hitting fictional stories, many of which also have autobiographical inspiration. As a whole, the collection explores themes of young adulthood, growing up, and complicated family relationships. In particular, there is a compelling focus on the relationships among daughters, mothers, and grandmothers. Some of the narratives can be rather bleak, but a resigned sense of humor threads through Nineteen, too. – Ash Brown

Ran the Peerless Beauty, Vol. 8 | By Ammitsu | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – Shoujo manga that has couples getting together BEFORE the end of the series is inevitably going to have an arc dealing with how far the lead couple should go now that they’re dating, and this is Ran’s turn, as she and Akira and their friends go to a beach house Ran’s family owns and have some beach fun. Unfortunately, the cast gets winnowed down one by one until it’s just the two of them… and her overprotective father, who arrives in time to provide the cliffhanger and no doubt ensure that nookie does not ensue. Not that I think it should—these two kids are even purer than the couple from Kimi ni Todoke, and I think they should mature a bit more before going further. Plus, watching them blush and kiss is wonderful. – Sean Gaffney

Spy x Family, Vol. 2 | By Tatsuya Endo | Viz Media – Having spent our first volume establishing that our found family can really come to love each other deep down, this volume shows off how they are also, at heart, fundamentally awkward and unable to socialize normally. This is unsurprising—hints of Loid’s life we’ve seen show him as a war orphan, Yor is a contract killer, and Anya basically grew up being experimented on by bad guys. As the school soon finds, this leads to issues. The second half of the book introduces Yor’s sister-obsessed little brother Yuri, who turns out to be a torture expert for Loid’s enemies. As always, half the fun is that everyone except Anya has no idea who their real selves are, and the cliffhanger tells us we’re in for some hilarious family fun. I love this. – Sean Gaffney

Spy x Family, Vol. 2 | By Tatsuya Endo | VIZ Media – After a brief spell atop the waiting list, Anya officially makes it into Eden Academy. Loid is anxious to progress to the next stage of his mission and, believing there’s not much chance in turning Anya into an elite scholar like his agency wants, focuses instead on having her befriend the younger son of his target. It does not go to plan, of course. Anya is very cute in this volume, and I also really appreciated how Loid genuinely listens to Yor and values her input. The arrival of Yor’s brother, a member of the secret police, is going to be a fun complication, and another cast member with a secret, but my favorite part of this series is probably always going to be how much love these three are already feeling for each other. So unique and good! – Michelle Smith

Sword Art Online: Hollow Realization, Vol. 6 | By Tomo Hirokawa, based on the story by Reki Kawahara | Yen Press – The weakness of this manga is the same as always—it’s written to tie into the games, and features several characters I just don’t recognize, which can be a problem given this is the big final let’s-save-the-world ending. That said, this is still a decent SAO title. Kirito gets to be cool and badass, but because this isn’t written just by Kawahara others do as well, and it’s a nice balanced effort that focuses on heroine Premiere. I also really liked the point where all the NPCs are worried when everyone has to log out for several days for maintenance. While I’ll still remember this as the “SAO only everyone is alive” manga, I enjoyed reading it, when I wasn’t confused. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

#Anime #News #Manga Bookshelf

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bionicallywriting · 4 years

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Prompt: Hermione/Bill, pining

Word Count: 1712

For @frumpologist

Scant Love Not

While flowering, ladies, scant love not

Lest all your fruit

Be but this black outcrop of stones

—Sylvia Plath, Two Sisters of Persephone

As someone who prided herself as an intellectual, it was perhaps appropriate that Hermione would be knocked off her lofty perch by a massively inexplicable infatuation.

She had always admired Ron’s tall, broad-shouldered build; he had the type of naturally athletic figure that sent very unintellectual butterflies fluttering in her stomach. He looked like how a man should; strong, tall, with the bluest eyes she had ever seen on a person. It was not—well, unnatural that she should develop a tiny crush on him. They had grown up together, after all, and what girl hadn’t fantasised about marrying her childhood sweetheart?

It was just a pity that they weren’t interested in the same things at all and that most of their conversations were so contentious that she was annoyed for weeks afterwards. Everything she said seemed to set Ron off and vice versa. Sometimes she found him so irritating that she wanted to hex his face off.

Then Hermione met Bill Weasley.

Suddenly she understood her infatuation with Ron was just a small, miniscule shadow of the real thing.

It was terrible to compare brothers. Hermione knew this. Ron was the last of the brothers, and Bill had been the first, the scion, the bright star in the happy horizon of Molly and Arthur’s blissful nuptials. Their upbringing would have been completely different, and yet—

—And yet, Hermione couldn’t help seeing in Bill all the things she had admired in Ron, and more.

Everything about Bill Weasley was just more. He was the best looking of the brothers, with a cleancut, chiseled jawline that Hermione couldn’t help but peer at and admire secretly. Less superficial than his looks, however, was his intelligence, his love of books and knowledge, and his gentlemanly chivalry. Everything about him was just more, more, more, and Hermione couldn’t help but compare every single boy she met after that to him.

It was unfair. She knew this. He was almost a decade older. She knew this too. He was completely out of her league since she was still in school and his little brother’s friend. She knew all of this.

—And yet, it didn’t dim her infatuation. Not one bit.

xxx

Every year that Bill remained single was another year in which Hermione hoped and prayed to grow up to be his equal. It was hard not letting her fantasies get out of control when he finally announced his intention of returning to Gringotts in London.

This was a sign—wasn't it?

The logical part of Hermione's brain had gone on permanent vacation, replaced by someone who had perpetual heart eyes whenever she thought of Bill Weasley. It got so bad that her relationship with Ron was more acrimonious than ever. Before, she had swallowed her ire in favour of diplomacy, but now that civility had been exchanged for a coldness that rivaled first year animosity. Harry, bless his heart, submerged in the troubles of the Tournament and on the outs with Ron, didn’t even notice.

She no longer waited for Ron to step up and be a man anymore—no, she had someone else in mind for that. When Viktor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball, it hadn’t been with Viktor in mind that she accepted. In the back of her mind, she had thought, older boys liked her. They found her attractive. Wouldn’t he also?

She was turning ugly and dark on the inside, but the grip of a teenage infatuation was strong, overpowering. She was doodling his name on her notebooks rather than notes from class. Something inside her told her she was being unfair to Ron, that she should do something to heal the rift between him and Harry, but her mind was focused on other things. Other possibilities for the future. A meeting between two minds.

Surely he’d see her. He’d really and truly see her, not as a little girl, but as an equal.

xxx

It was a shock when Ginny first mentioned that Bill was dating Fleur Delacour.

He couldn’t. Hermione listened with white-lipped shock.

“Two months now,” Ginny said with a grimace. “Ugh, I can’t stand her.”

Ginny had a fairly good relationship with all her brothers, but with Bill and the age gap between them, there was a special bond. She was filled with acrimony at the interloper Fleur. She was haughty, she was snooty, she thought everything about England was terrible—then why didn’t she simply go away and leave Bill alone?

In her thudding heart, Hermione couldn’t agree more. “Maybe it’s not serious.”

“Merlin, I hope not.” Ginny rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror and added another layer of lip gloss. “I couldn’t stand her during the Tournament, what with Ron following her everywhere, but now this is even worse.”

It was much worse. Hermione remembered Fleur’s unnatural effect on Ron, and her heart sank. What if—what if the Weasleys were more susceptible to Veela than other wizards? Harry hadn’t been as affected, after all, nor some of the other boys in class. Ron—perhaps Ron had been a special case?

Ron wasn’t a special case, and Bill proved it by proposing to Fleur over the disapproval of his mother.

“They were going to live abroad, but then Bill decided to settle down in England.” Despite her gloomy air, Ginny managed to pop an astounding three Cauldron cakes at a time into her mouth. “I hope they’re not going to live at home. I can’t stand to have all of my brothers mooning over her. What makes her so special anyway?”

“She’s—”

“She’s not even that pretty. It’s completely the Veela thing, because all the other girls in school thought she was too bony and pointy-looking. Kind of like a bird, if you ask me.”

“It’s not the looks,” Hermione said, remembering what had been in her textbook.

“I know.” Ginny’s subdued response was almost covered up by the rustling she made digging around inside the snack box. “I know. It’s the allure. They could be as ugly as a troll, and nobody would care.”

“Yeah.” Hermione was feeling fairly gloomy herself. If someone like Fleur, who was already thin and elegant and pretty, had on top of that the allure of a Veela, what chance did bookish, frizzy-haired Hermione have? None. Added to it all was her age. She was fifteen. The distance, in mere numbers, meant nothing to her, but in practical terms, Bill could have physically been on the moon itself.

“Let’s hope she latches onto someone else.” Ginny tossed the empty cauldron cake box across the room towards the rubbish bin.

Hermione turned to watch the box spin a little before going in the bin. She turned and smiled at Ginny before shaking her head. “Will she though? I mean, Bill’s pretty—” She caught herself before she spilled out all her feelings towards him. She bit her tongue before continuing. “He��s a really good catch.”

“I know. He’s tall, he’s good-looking, he’s extremely charming. He even makes a lot of money at Gringotts, much more than she does, since she’s just starting out. I just don’t see how she could find someone better, considering that she’s part-Veela, and—” Ginny’s voice dropped to a stage whisper “—not exactly acceptable to a lot of Purebloods.”

Then what chance do I have? Hermione thought mournfully to herself. Aloud, she could only repeat her words again, “Yeah. I know.”

xxx

They were married.

Before the bridal party came down, Hermione bumped into Bill outside near the marquee.

“Beg pardon,” Bill said instinctively, hands clasping Hermione on the upper arms to steady her. He glanced down and smiled, as though only realising it was her. “Oh, Hermione, how are you?”

“Good, good.” Hermione felt and sounded, to her own ears, a little breathless.

“You look lovely in that dress.” Bill was smiling in his usual open, charming way. Hermione thought miserably that any children Bill and Fleur were bound to have would have an unnaturally unfair advantage over the rest of the population.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her eyes down so that her love for him wouldn’t shine through so obviously. Her fingers twisted at a fold in her skirt.

“I’ve heard from Ron that—well, you’re probably the only reason those two are still alive and kicking, aren’t you?” His voice lowered, as though imparting a joke, and a sliver of awareness crawled up Hermione’s spine.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s vastly overstating my—contributions.” She was floundering for small talk. This was misery, and yet she did not want it to end.

“Anyway, thank you for helping out. This can’t be that much fun for you.”

“It’s—nothing,” she said, her voice trailing off as his attention was called away. Hermione was left staring after his disappearing figure. The pangs she put into her own appearance seemed silly now. Had she truly wanted him to see what he was missing? She felt like an idiot now.

She felt even worse when the ceremony started, and Fleur came through the archway looking like a fairy princess. She glowed so brightly that she might have been an actual celestial star passing through the darkness of their presence. When everyone watched and gasped over Fleur’s appearance, all Hermione’s attention was fastened on Bill’s profile. Her heart twisted inside her chest.

She wished with all her might that he was looking at her in that way.

#fairest of the rare #lovefest2020 #teamaphrodite #rare pairs #bill weasley #Hermione Granger #bill x hermione #drabble #writing #my works #harry potter fanfiction

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delilahlae · 5 years

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hi everyone !! you can call me peach or mae , & i’m super excited to begin writing with all of you , and may i humbly present to you my muse :

{ delilah lae , thirty , barista at grind house / cashier at the attic / aspiring author }

What type of character(s) are you hoping to bring to Seattle ?

tw: drugs, murder

originally born as emily yu in london, england to a single mother out of wedlock — her father was married with a family of his own , and hooked up with her mother , resulting in emily

her mother was a performer who , in the early stages of her pregnancy , announced her retirement and became a ghost writer for different bands and groups that came through her label

her mother also got involved with drugs as both a dealer & user , which supplemented the income she was making with legal pursuits , but was still very much an illegal act

emily was a very bright girl who had more of a friendly relationship with her mother , rather than one of parent and child ; she did notice the drugs and various paraphernalia that would sometimes show up in their flat or in their car

she began collecting evidence to use in an intervention with her mother , concrete facts that she could not dispute in an argument

before she could do that though , her mother was killed by one of the drug circles in london , a group she had been doing work for on the side

emily saw the murder happen , brought the evidence she collected over the years and her eyewitness testimony to the police , and testified in her mother’s murder trial — and wound up taking down one of the oldest drug trafficking rings in london in the process

immediately after the case , emily was entered into the witness protection program at age twenty , and moved to the united states for university under her new name : delilah lae

delilah graduated in four years and moved to seattle , where she’s been living for the past six years , keeping a low profile and trying to remain inconspicuous

she’s very quiet , keeps to herself a lot , loves the sea and books , and really appreciates the quiet pace of life she’s made for herself here in seattle

Are there any connections you already have for them ?

i would love for someone to be the agent assigned to her case ; someone that she checks in with periodically , because she has to , and maybe even because she wants to . this person is her rock , her touch stone , and the only person who knows the real circumstances of why she came to seattle ( and america ) in the first place

Anything extra ?

she still has her “rp” british accent ( think like how emma watson sounds from her speech here or really anywhere else where she’s not in character ) ; it’s a very relaxed accent , softened from her time in america , but still quite clearly there

she holds a massive soft spot for cats and all things feline — she would love to have one but that is a responsibility she isn’t sure she can handle just yet

she is also perpetually living on edge , waiting for the need to have to move somewhere else again ; though it has been ten years that she’s been safe in america , she was always on high alert and the situation with her mother didn’t exactly prove to her that the world can be a soft or kind place

i am so looking forward to writing with you all !!

#seattle.talk #i hope this is ok !#i also hope that this makes it into the tag ;;

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dreamscapeadvent · 5 years

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Intrepid Party pt. .6

This is, for the most part, the beginning of a RWBY fanfic. Canon-continuation, diverging into a universe of my own. I'll eventually put what comes just before - an edited version of what I posted months ago - and the rest as it develops.

As I said before, I hope I do the characters justice.

It's mostly first-draft. Lay on the lit crit.

---

The rock in Vergo's boot was slowing him down, if the hike through End's after-path wasn't bad enough. He wanted to stop, sit down, yank off the boot and dump its contents, wiggle his toes in the air. He would watch End's bright, silvery vortex wander away, and he would go find a rift that didn't deliver monsters to their doorstep. Vergo stopped and put his hands on his knees, looking accusingly at the white tornado his diver party was following. They'd only just dropped into its direct trough minutes ago, so the rest of the men were excited enough to give Vergo a headache.

“Pull your weight, scav!” said the tall, sonic-pike wielding diver in front of him, having looked back as though expecting - correctly - to find their caboose slacking. Vergo only groaned and trudged forward, knowing better than to complain.

The leaders of their party, the tall, beastly brothers Taiko and Timpa who “brought glory and riches to End” - far enough to be out of earshot - were following close enough to the rift that Vergo thought there was a chance it'd TAKE something, for once. He imagined the two being plopped on an alien world bloodied and confused, with otherworldly divers stabbing them in the chest before they could get their bearings.

Of course, not many others believed that was how the rifts worked. And only the most monstrous of the rift's deliveries survived the apparent trip. Vergo coughed on End's metallic air and decided to remain being mad at it anyway for being so selective.

“VEEEEERGO!” came a taunt and a wiry, gangly diver with another sonic pike bounded back from the middle of the group with his two typical lackeys. Vergo kept his head down and tried not to limp on his rock.

“Come on, buddy!” It was that seething kindness that made his hackles rise. Shouldn't this asshole be digging through the dirt? “You can't find anything for the town if you're always trying to catch up!” A few divers cackled as the gangly one craned down to look up at Vergo's lowered face. “Need HELP, buddy?”

Vergo merely plodded onward, trying his best to seem preoccupied with the dive, his heart beating fast. He was a small man, awkwardly shaped, so he'd been used to this kind of treatment since he was little. He wanted to retort - say he was fine - send these idiots back to their hike, maybe ask them why they weren't paying attention to the dive - but he knew it'd only be ammunition. So he stayed silent, kept on while the carrion feeders circled.

The tall one - Vergo struggled to remember his name- stopped directly in front of him, halting the rear procession. “Looks like you could use a hand,” he said with a barely-veiled sneer. Vergo tried to look around him at the receding backside of the one who had first told him to keep up, actually concerned about being left behind - but the stage was set for the gangly bully and his audience. “This looks like a good spot,” he said, and used his weapon to whip some dirt up at the small man, who barely had time to shield his eyes. Among the sound of falling dirt and pebbles, the silence was deafening as the troup watched.

Vergo stood frozen for a second before kneeling down to feign investment in the new little furrow. He scrunched his brow, rubbing some of the unearthed dirt between his fingers.

“No such luck,” he said quietly - but before he could finish the last word a boot kicked more dirt in his face, getting in his mouth and eyes. He cried out and sputtered, rubbing at his eyes, which burned and screamed for the intrusion. Didn't they know this soil was rogue? The gods only knew what End put in it! But Vergo heard only laughter as he fell back, both spitting and trying not to scratch his eyes. Yeah, a tiny piece of metal with the dirt in his mouth. He fumbled for his canteen and uncorked it over his squinted eyes.

“Vergo's wasting water!” he heard another say.

“He's not even trying to use the help we offered,” said the first voice. Vergo's heart picked up again, seeing the man kneel through blurry, watering eyes. He instinctively fell back on his ass and scrambled back. “Just wasting everything, eh, Verg’?” Tall and gangly picked up something Vergo had dropped, turned it over slowly in his hands, shaking his head. His shock baton. “Can't even kill the stragglers with this thing you made.”

“Catro!” came a call from toward the middle of the group. Vergo rubbed his eyes, seeing a little better. His abuser had stood up at the call looking to the messenger with a relaxed smirk. His followers looked like animals after thunder.

“Yeah?” he called back. He dropped Vergo's shock baton, who barely caught it before it landed on his crotch. Vergo wheezed, grasping, and rolled over, his weapon trapped between his legs.

“Taiko's callin’ for the stray,” the voice called back with a hint of distaste. “Get him up there and form up the rear.”

“Can do!” Catro shouted, then pulled up a still doubled over Vergo. The small man struggled to right himself, gingerly pulling his weapon from where it stuck locked between his knees. Catro smiled with predator teeth. “Go be useful, knot-tier.”

Without a word, Vergo set up the path eyes-down, fighting nausea, passing other divers examining the fresh rift soil. Oh, he thought. They must be close to the rift itself for the black soil of its prowling grounds to look this undisturbed. He had to fight two urges as he delicately made his way past the other divers, all at least a head taller and several grades rougher than him. The first urge was to stop, kneel, and run his fingers through the fine, mostly pristine soil.

The second was to turn and run away as quickly as possible. Diving behind this monstrosity was inSANE.

As though feeling left out of his thoughts, End itself bloomed into his vision as he topped a rise in its wake-path. Vergo froze, wide-eyed, before what his brain called an apex predator: a thick, blue-white finger of god stretching from the ground to an angry vortex of dust in the sky - End looked like a tornado without spin, a slightly tapered column of angry light surrounded by perpetually shattering mirrors. It was the biggest rift Vergo had ever seen, and he'd never been this close to it before.

What made him want to turn around and run in that exact moment was that End wasn't moving.

“-can outrun it if it turns around,” Vergo suddenly heard just below the rise in front of him. Two large men in faceted leather armor stood with their backs to him, regarding the frozen rift.

“Yeah, that's not the problem,” said the other. Taiko, and his brother. Two separate survival instincts started to have a staring contest in Vergo's head. “When was the last time you saw 'er stop still like that?”

Timpa turned his head, grimaced through his beard at his twin. “Wasn't that…”

“When that thing took out bunch of Jimba's guys, yeah.” Taiko barked a surprising laugh at his twin. “Dear cousin was pulling ahead of us, Timpa. End gave us an edge.”

“Yeah,” Timpa said, “but what's it giving us, now?”

Vergo stood frozen on the rise, his leaders below him, his fingers unconsciously tightening around his shock baton. For the twins’ part, their hands only moved to check their armor as the three of them looked on at the uncomfortably stationary rift, which shuddered for a moment before going still again. Taiko’s hand found a loose knot under a plate on his armor, and he seemed to remember something he was waiting on - he turned and saw Vergo, who jumped at his name.

“Vergo!” Taiko said, turning on a massive heel. “Get over here! Where've you been?” Vergo tried to don his most apologetic face as he slid down the rift soil, nearly tumbling forward. Taiko gestured with both hands impatiently. “I’m gonna lose this plate!”

Trying and failing not to look over Taiko’s shoulder at the rift, Vergo felt a huge, gloved hand clap him on the shoulder as he reached the leader with the weak knot. “You look at that thing too long,” Timpa said, “and you can be the first that tries to kill what comes out of it!” Timpa threw back his head with loud laughter, earning a few well-needed chuckles from the advance divers surrounding the leaders’ stopping point. He leaned forward, grabbing and releasing Vergo’s arm with a little shake. “You fix my brother’s armor, knot-man.”

Honestly, Vergo preferred Taiko and Timpa to the divers like Catro who seemed to have a lot to prove.

Taiko turned his torso to look back at the rift, forcing Vergo to strafe around him as he undid dependent knots before fixing the armor.

“What’dya think we’ll get?” he asked Timpa quietly, seeming to pay the little knot-tyer little mind. “Never seen it pause this long.” Timpa’s response was a thoughtful, guttural growl accompanied by a meaningful stabbing of the butt of his pike into the dirt.

“Something dead,” he said after a moment, loud enough for everyone to hear. “One way or another.” More than a few surrounding divers made sounds of affirmation.

Vergo’s eyebrows furrowed as he began re-tying knots, pulling plates back into place around Taiko’s torso. Why were these men so eager to kill? His whole family had been divers where he came from - they’d been wary of junk that came through their rift that was slightly radioactive, or even sharp. There were sometimes tiny, dead alien animals - but they were usually barely recognizable pieces of meat or char, and Vergo’s family had burned them. The idea of living monsters coming through End still boggled his mind. He eyed a long scar on Taiko’s underarm. He supposed… maybe just a bit… that these men had reason to fear their rift’s treasures.

“Maybe,” he muttered, “it’ll give you a lifeless thing that you can use or sell.” Vergo barely realized he’d spoken aloud until he recognized the deeper-than-normal silence between the two brothers towering over him. His fingers froze. Then he heard quiet laughter bubbling up in Timpa’s chest, slowly building like rolling thunder, before it erupted out of him, making him toss his head back in genuine mirth.

“That’d be the day,” Taiko said, looking down at the little man with an unreadable expression. Vergo immediately got his fingers moving again, noticing the lack of comment on his prior silence. The surrounding divers shared looks of annoyance.

“Where’d be the fun in that?” Timpa said between gasps of laughter. “The achievement?” Vergo tried to pretend he hadn’t said anything, hastening his work on Taiko’s armor, but the other leader wouldn’t let him go that easily.

“Is that what you want, boy?” Taiko said, raising his arm to let Vergo finish, who grimaced. He was half again Taiko’s senior, probably. When Vergo tried to stay silent, Taiko raised his voice. “Speak up!”

“Y-yes,” he said. “Yes.”

“And why is that?” said Taiko. The advance divers around them had fallen silent, listening. “Don’t you want to earn your keep?”

“I want to feed my family,” muttered Vergo. “If I have to kill something…” he considered his words. “... I want it to end up on the dinner table.” Surrounding spits of laughter.

“Boy,” Taiko said, leaning forward. “If what crawls out of End - with what you’re gonna sell to feed your family - doesn’t eat you, you sure as hell don’t want to eat it after it’s dead.”

“Last week,” Timpa said, making a wide gesture with his arms, palms inward, “big toothed worm, HUGE. Didn’t want to burn after we finally put it down. Pried a tooth out, brought it back to town, and it couldn’t even be shaped into a pendant.” He clapped Vergo on the shoulder again. “Good sport, though.”

“The machinery in the building that it came though in, though, paid its weight,” Taiko said. “Not the goddamned monster. You about done?” he added, gesturing at the rift. Vergo looked and felt his heart palpitate. It was difficult to tell by looking at its column, but the ground beneath it was crawling away - End was on the move.

“LEZGOHHH,” shouted Timpa. Vergo nearly fell over. “Get ‘er shit while it’s fresh!” Divers were stirring, scuttling, stowing food and checking weapons. The group started to move forward, led by a trudging Timpa, like predators following the herd. Recovering, Vergo finished his work and Taiko loped off behind his brother with an impatient grunt.

Before he could gather his things, Vergo felt an impact and bolt of nervous pain from the back of his knee, knocking him down - he knew it was Catro, and swallowed his cry of distress - no fuel for the fire, he growled at himself, eyes shut tight.

“Get up, Vergo!” the man shouted, jogging ahead. “Go and get your bread!” Vergo wanted to hate him, but - as he tended to do - pushed his thoughts towards supporting his family.

“Bread,” he muttered, getting to his feet, shambling after the group. But then, he didn’t have far to go.

They’d stopped cold.

He could see the brothers’ heads at the front of the crowd of divers, frozen solid, looking at something in End’s fresh wake. There was nervous, confused muttering, and the sound of shifting feet and packs being laid down, blades powering on. It didn’t sound like a group of hunters seeing prey, Vergo thought.

Unable to see what’d stopped the group, Vergo scrambled up the side of the rift’s wake-trough and squinted over their heads at what had quieted them. His first thought: yellow.

His second thought: this was hell, and hell was confusing.

The monster, a short jog ahead of the group, was a tallish young woman with wild blonde hair, wearing some kind of leather riding outfit complete with boots and jacket. She was staggering, trying to lift her hands from her knees to stand upright. She doubled over, instead, and vomited square in the middle of End’s fresh rift soil.

There was no doubt she’d come from the rift, being nearly otherworldly, disoriented like he’d heard monsters always were after exiting, and directly in the middle, right in front of them. But… she was standing.

What came through a rift and just stood?

The woman straightened, seemed to just then see the group of rough, armed men before her, and wiped her chin on her sleeve. She staggered one more time, trying to find her balance, before calling out, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Yo!” she shouted. It struck the group like a wave. “Any of you seen a girl with cute little kitty ears?”

#writeblr #rwby #fanfic #wip #yang xiao long

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thedefinitionofbts · 6 years

Text

Error

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Scifi, Angst, Robot Au

Words: 4.5K

Description: As requested by anon: “have u seen Vixx Error MV?? can i request a jungkook robot au based on the MV?? something along the storyline about after ur tragic death he couldnt live on without you so he made a robot that looks exactly like you and programmed all their memories they had together into the robot. but the police (well more those ppl in black from the MV lol) finds out about it and take actions. and so now you and her are trying to escape together.”

A/N: First off, I’m just going to say I love Vixx’s Error, and I’ve been wanting to write a robot au for a long time coming. I hope you don’t mind that I added my own little twist to this. Thank you for the request!

Jungkook stares at the humanoid robot positioned in front of him, tracing along every edge and curvature of the android that is an exact replica of the woman he has only able to see in his dreams since the day she left this world. Her eyes remained delicately closed, body rigid and lifeless, but her hair flowed naturally down towards her shoulders, and it reminds him of the exact way it used to flutter in the ocean breeze, the exact way it used to embody the familiar scent of her. He continues to gaze at the rendering machine, eyes flickering with ambiguity and swelling with imminent tears threatening to spill over. He is unsure of himself; uncertain of what he has done, and yet he cannot stop his heart from continuing to call out for someone his mind knows is already gone.

There is a kind of stillness in the room that makes Jungkook wholly hesitate one last time. His head throbs as the tiny voice of reason makes an attempt to crawl forward and awaken him, but he squeezes his skull with his hands, shutting it away before it can convince him to stop while he still can. Part of him knows this is not the answer, but a larger portion of him doesn’t care because he’s too close to stop now. He holds his breath, thrashing in his self-created penitentiary, shaking violently and coercing the voice to go away, and when it finally does, he’s ready to proceed without any more disruptions.

An eerie silence looms as the approaching finale instigates the slow churning rise of apprehension in his chest. He inhales and exhales, gradually calming his stiffened body and proceeds to finish off what he started.

After months of burying himself in the lab--designing, experimenting, and building—driven purely by his grief stricken heart and the determination of a madman, he was finally one step away from completion.

This was it.

He was one step away from bringing you back.

…

9 Months Ago

Whoever came up with the five stage of loss was spewing bullshit.

Jungkook has been stuck in limbo, slipping between the stratums of earth and hell for weeks, and the fact that his therapist kept telling him that time will heal the deepest of wounds was infuriating and maddening because Jungkook doesn’t buy any of it, especially not when he’s fully convinced that he has the ability to bring you back.

“Jungkook, are you sure about this? You understand that it’s illegal right?”

“No one has to find out. You won’t tell the authorities, will you?” Jungkook looks at him intently, eyes burning and desperate, nonverbally begging the older male to keep this secret, to hide it between the two of them for as long as need be. Of all the people in this world, Jungkook trusted Yoongi, and he knew for a fact that Yoongi would never rat him out.

Yoongi looks at the younger male with pitiful eyes and has no choice but to let out a defeated sigh. He knows Jungkook won’t listen to him anyways because any sort of reasoning just ends up going through one ear and out the other. Jungkook is too stubborn, too hopelessly in love with his dead girlfriend to think straight, to accept any kind of consolation offered in hopes of getting him to move on with his life because he still thinks it’s his fault.

That accident was a tragedy, and no one could’ve predicted that semi-truck would collide with his SUV that day. But he still chooses to imprison himself in guilt because he insists he could’ve prevented the unavoidable. And Yoongi can’t fucking stand to see him in pain, he can’t bear to see the kid continue to live in perpetual torment brought on by something that he had no control over, but the whole idea of creating a conscious robot did not sit well with the older male.

Yoongi looks back up at Jungkook, who was still waiting for an affirmative response. At least Jungkook wasn’t crying until his tears ran dry or showing up with sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes from not being able to eat or sleep for days. He was maybe doing a tad bit better after the tragedy that happened three months ago, and although Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s because of this crazy idea or if he’s actually just moving to the next emotional stage of loss, he figures it’s much better to be trusted by the younger male than to be seen as an enemy so that way he can at least be of aid if worse comes to worst.

“No. I won’t tell anyone.” Yoongi murmurs, sighing once more.

Jungkook’s lips curve into the faintest of smiles, something Yoongi hasn’t seen the lights of in a long time. “Thanks.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing for the next six months.

…

Memory download complete.

Your eyes gently flutter open, squinting as your system adjusted to the artificial lights streaming down from the ceiling. Lost in a confused daze, you take a moment to stabilize, scanning the surrounding area to gain some sort of a footing, so at least you could process how to proceed from here. You don’t really feel anything unbearable, nothing you can’t handle with a bit of buffering from your hard-wired code, that is, until you see him.

Jeon Jungkook

The flood of emotions that washes over you the moment you recognize him instantly is overwhelming, to the point where it’s almost too overpowering to fully comprehend, too much for your system to logically handle, which shouldn’t actually be possible but somehow is. He’s looking at you with anticipation, eyes glittering with the tears he’s trying so hard to hold in.

“Jungkook” You voice, stepping forward and throwing yourself into his arms.

He welcomes your embrace immediately, enveloping you in his arms as securely as he can. Caressing your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, like he was afraid you would vanish if he didn’t hold you tightly enough. And it feels familiar; the same way it has felt when he hugged you on multiple occasions in the past, only now, it’s even more desperate, and he’s even more unwilling to let go.

“Y/N” He breathes out in relief and rapture as his tears finally tumble over, streaming down his cheeks and onto your exposed shoulders, and you can feel their warmth, the anguish they carry with them, and you can sense his pain in the most undiluted way. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, Jungkook.” You whisper back despite not being able to understand the precise reason for your response, but seeing him quelled a deeply rooted longing that you are just now becoming hyper aware of. You can fully grasp the cause for his unbearable yearning, the origin of why every inch of his body was conveying elation at the sight of you. However, simultaneously, you felt that there was something important missing, something you didn’t have the means to obtain the link for or find a way to trace it back to the source data.

“You remember me, right?” He pulls away slowly, holding you by the shoulders and searching within your synthetic eyes for that indisputable glint of recognition, the confirmation that his experiment was a success, and he had indeed brought you back. His features are laced with expectancy, and you can tell he’s grappling with the fear that you don’t remember him, and he failed.

You nod your head deliberately, flashing him an endearing smile. “Of course.”

At the sound of your words, he returns the gesture fondly and exhales deeply. “I can’t believe you’re back.” He breathes out, leading you over to the bench and sitting you down beside him. “How do you feel?”

The question catches you off guard, you don’t know why there’s such an opposing mixture of emotions playing inside of you. “Happy to see you.” You blurt out, despite knowing it was a white lie. It hurts, but for some reason you don’t want to tell him that it does.

He smiles again, and the pain within you subsides momentarily. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry I left” The words come out before you’ve made a prediction about the response they would elicit. You aren’t sure if it will work, but you wanted to get one fact straight right away.

A shadow hovers over his irises, and the aching inside of you swells once more. “It was my fault. I should’ve reacted faster.” He lowers his gaze even more. “I wish it was me instead of you.”

You close your eyes, replaying that moment of seeing the girl drenched in blood, lying unconscious in a totaled vehicle, and you understand. You know that you are supposed to be the girl he is longing to see. “No, Jungkook. It’s not your fault. It was an accident, no one could’ve predicted those events to happen that day. And please stop wishing you could’ve taken my place.”

He takes your hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb in the way you’ve always loved most. “You’re right.” He agrees. “But it doesn’t matter now, you’re here and that’s all that matters.”

His words do not provide you the unadulterated comfort that he intends. They are sincere, but they’re only pieces of the whole that is still broken, and you know it’s only a band aid covering a wound that has not been disinfected. “You’ve been through too much.” You squeeze his hand firmly, leaning your head against his chest just like the way you used.

“Anything for you.” Jungkook doesn’t pay attention to the strange sensation of persuading himself he’s brought you back from the dead. He’s completely fine with allowing his brain to continue tricking himself into thinking you are no different from the girl he lost in that car accident a year ago.

But you on the other hand, are unable to ignore what you perceive to be a miscalculation.

…

“Do you like it?” Jungkook says, walking you into your new bedroom connected to his lab.

You look around at the spacious replica of the old room you shared with him back before you had died, complete with cream colored walls decorated with paintings and photos of the two of you in your happiest moments, a dresser for both of your clothes, your vanity lined with cosmetics and your favorite stuffed animals, his shelf of action figures and comic books, and finally a king-sized bed with white sheets placed directly in the center. It resembled the bedroom from your memories down to the very last detail, and you can’t ignore the bittersweet taste in your heart as you stood there, staring at the visual evidence of Jungkook’s attempt to restore that which cannot be repaired. “You have a very good memory.” You comment.

He laughs for the first time in 12 months, the sound saturating the room strangely foreign to his own ears, but nevertheless completely genuine. “I scanned it and used 3-D printing technology. Piece of cake.”

You throw him a playful grin. “Boastful now, are we?”

“It’s not bragging if it’s the truth.”

“Never heard of that one.” You cock a brow.

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, realizing it’s been a year since he’s cracked a joke. “It’s been too long, I’ve lost my touch.”

“Well, let’s bring it back then.” You nudge him in the shoulder, and he responds by reaching over and tickling you until you are both squirming on the floor giggling like the good old days.

When the two of you calm down for your laughing fit, you continue to lie on the floor together as Jungkook takes you in his arms once more. And it’s not that you didn’t enjoy being like this with him more than anything else, but the glaring fault line is there again, and it’s cutting into you like shards of glass gripped in the palms of your hands.

“And to think I almost listened when they told me to let you go.” He tilts his head down to look at you, expression unreadable, but you can sense his grip on that shard of glass, and you know he thinks ignoring the blood oozing out of his hand will make the stinging go away because that’s what your system wants you to think as well.

But it’s a lie because the wound is growing deeper.

“It would’ve been less painful.” You tell him, almost wanting to be more adamant about the statement.

He shakes his head. “I’ll never be able to.” He whispers.

The look in his eyes is exactly how you feel when he voices those words. A mixture of emotions that are indescribable except through the endless stories built by all the memories the two of you have shared, and the reality of having a future of infinite possibilities taken away, stolen abruptly so that you are only left with fading pages of a lost life.

You scoot in closer to him and hug him snugly. Taking in every piece of sensory information you are provided in that intimate position. You are listening to every vibration of his body, the sound of his heartbeat, and his calming whispers, and in that instant you can feel yourself inching that much closer to the missing source despite knowing you’ll never reach it.

…

Over the next few weeks, the error that had made itself known since the moment you opened your eyes for the first time is kept at bay through your interactions with Jungkook. From the moment you wake in the morning until the day comes to its inevitable end, he is with you. He is always with you, and the fact that you would never want to have it any other way, makes you feel selfish because you were fully aware that his love for you is more than you deserve. He’s beautiful just like this world he has gifted you the ability to experience, and everything about the days you are allowed to spend with him leaves you breathless even if those ephemeral emotions are artificial. He’s covering your shared wounds with his undying affection until the surface heals while the infection below is allowed to resume spreading beneath the scars, and even though the pain is reduced to a dull throbbing, it never vanishes completely.

But he does it because he can’t let go of you.

And it’s not that Jungkook was very good at hiding his own pain or deceiving himself into trusting that everything was perfect. It was the fact that he had literally become immune to his actions, unable to focus on treating the problem rather than the symptoms. But you completely understand him because he made you feel like your life with him was authentic, existent, and tangible. In his embrace, you are able to set your worries aside temporarily. While listening to his voice you can’t help but believe in his words. Seeing his smile you are gifted the hope that everything can potentially work out. But it wasn’t long before the superficiality of the life you have forced yourself to consider valid is actually counterfeit, and you can never run away from such a fundamental issue.

“Y/N, I have good news!”

“What is it Jungkook?” You turn around to face him as he wraps you in his arms in excitement.

“I’ve figured out how to turn myself into a cyborg.” He announces in an utterly delighted tone that sends your system directly into panic mode.

“What?!” You pull away from him, shaking your head and trying to register his words. “No, why would you do that?”

His smile drops when he realizes your reaction was not the one he had expected to witness. “So we can be together. Isn’t that great?” He peers at you hopefully, waiting for a different response.

Together. For some reason, the word hits you suddenly like a harsh gust of wind that snaps a thick branch off of a tree because you are reminded in that instant of realization that being with him was not right. It was never right to begin with, and no matter how expertly you try to hide your mistake, it always comes back to bite. It is then that the cause of the missing source finally revealed itself, and it only took one decision from him for you to locate the reason for why all of this felt so wrong.

You were not who he assumes you to be, and you do not belong with him in such circumstances.

“Yes, it is” Your voice is detached as you force yourself to agree with him, but Jungkook is too enthusiastic to notice your change in demeanor to read in between the lines. “When will you start?” You inquire, hiding the true motive behind your words.

“Tomorrow” He grins, eyes disappearing only to be replaced by smile lines and a pair of bunny teeth that makes your metal ribcage feel warm, even though it’s not and never will be.

…

There’s an urgent pounding at the door of Jungkook’s lab the next day, right as he is about to render the machine to undergo the transformation.

“Who’s that?” He says to no one in particular, thinking that it was maybe Yoongi coming to check up on him.

You stay silent, watching him closely as he walks towards the door. The trepidation sowing within you is beginning to sprout, but all you can do is wait passively.

“Who-“ Jungkook is cut off as the group of men in black suits forcefully barge in unwelcomed. “Hey!” He shouts as they head straight towards you. “What are you-”

“Grab her!” One of them orders as another man behind him walks up to you and binds both of your arms behind your back.

You scream, but Jungkook is quick to react, sprinting over to your side within a matter of seconds and ripping the suited man off of you.

“We need to get out of here!” He urges, intertwining his hand with yours and making a run for it. You follow as he tugs on your arm, running after him as he keeps your hand gipped firmly within his, and you almost wish you could stay like that forever, that nothing else mattered as long as he was with you.

The two of you run outside, and it’s the first time you feel the warm rays of the sun hit your artificial skin directly. It’s so warm and comforting, a sensation supposedly foreign but so familiar because it’s a physical reminder of all the sunlit days you’ve spent with Jungkook in the past, those from the memories he has gifted you, and it prompts you to momentarily forget that you are running from people who are going to take you away and lock you up because that lovely feeling swelling inside of you is melting everything else away.

“Where are we going?” You shout, keeping your legs moving at the same pace as Jungkook’s.

“The mountains” He replies between raged breaths. “We can hide up there until I figure out a plan.”

You ignore the feeling of guilt that is beginning to nag at you. You hate yourself for putting him through all of this, for continuing to allow him to believe in what the two of you had even though you knew it was wrong. You had known all along. His misjudgment was understandable, but yours wasn't, because your mind was always clear and you’ve always had the power to make things right. You sensed the error in the beginning, and yet you still chose to live in the lie that continues to eat away at Jungkook.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Everything will be ok. I won’t let them take you away.” His reassuring words hit you like a bucket of ice water and the faint smile tugging at his lips as he turns to glance at you with glassy doe-eyes is a bloodstained dagger jabbing into your chest cavity. And that’s when you realized how much you truly loved him and how unconditionally grateful you were to receive his love despite the circumstances for why he loved you and how flawed everything was, and in that moment you make a promise to yourself that you will end everything and put him out of his misery.

The trail up the mountain is steep, but Jungkook is strong and determined to make it to the top. You watch the trees fly by as the two of you raced though the forest, the sent of musky wood and wild grasses filling your senses and throwing you back to when you and Jungkook had gone camping for the very first time, how happy he was on that day and how that memory seems to only cause him pain now. The contrast only strengthens your resolve, and it wasn’t long before the two of you reach the clearing on the edge of the cliff.

“How could they have found out?” Jungkook shakes his head, covering his face with his hands as he stops to catch his breath. It was impossible, he never let any of the information he was using leak out, and the only other person he told about you was Yoongi. It couldn’t have been him could it?

“I contacted them through my system.” You mumur softly, causing him to freeze in place and his eyes to lift up, meeting yours with growing misunderstanding.

“What?” It comes out as a muted whisper. “You did what?” He takes a step closer and you take one back. “Y/N, why? Why would you tell them?” He rushes up and grips you by the shoulders, examining your body to see if any discernible malfunctions were obvious and he had just been stupid enough to miss it.

You shake your head, fighting your internal system that was trying to convince you what you did was a mistake because it wasn’t, and you knew deep down that you had to do it. “I can’t sit back and watch you ruin yourself any longer.” There are dry tears where real ones should belong in your eyes, and although they don’t stream down your cheek the way they are supposed to, the invisible substance is still able to convey the excruciating agony that has planted itself in the core of your metallic heart. You lift an arm to caress his warm cheek, moistened by his own freshly produced human tears, and he feels so familiar and so endearing that you almost feel alive like her, the missing source that you could never be, and in that infinitesimal second you’re almost able to persuade yourself that despite not being her, you are still real and you have the power to release Jungkook from his self made prison.

So you step back.

Further and further, and it takes all the strength you have to not stop.

“Y/N! NO!!!” He’s screaming, but the world is being drowned out by his desperation. He’s rooted in place, unable to move his numb limbs that are starting to give way. “What are you doing!?” He croaks.

You smile at him one last time before taking the last step towards the edge of the cliff.

“I’m setting you free.”

…

“Listen, Jungkook, I know it’s hard.” Yoongi begins, walking over and settling down on the couch of his apartment next to Jungkook. It had been two weeks since your self-destruction, and Jungkook was finally beginning to wake up.

“I keep making errors” Jungkook shakes his head, balling his hands into fists.

“You’ve only made one error thus far.” The younger male looks up, confused. “Turning her into a robot and thinking that was the equivalent of bringing her back.”

“I thought it worked.” Jungkook’s voice is hollow and empty because he’s not even confident in his own statement.

“I know you programmed her to be identical to Y/N, but she wasn’t Y/N.” Yoongi scoots over quietly and places a tender arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, rubbing his arm calmingly. “You put your memories of her into her, but that’s a completely different standpoint of how Y/N perceived you when she was alive.”

“W-what do you mean? They were memories of us. She knew us. She recognized me.” Jungkook stares off into space, eyebrows furrowing, and head throbbing once more.

“There are two halves of a relationship, two different perspectives that make up the whole.” Yoongi explains. “Those two halves are the same story from opposite points of view. I’m sure she sensed it somewhere along the way, and that’s what made her ultimately destroy herself. She must’ve understood the immense amount of pain you were in and used her artificial intelligence to calculate how to save you.”

“So it would’ve worked if I had somehow used Y/N’s memories instead?”

Yoongi shakes his head sadly. “No matter what you could’ve done, that robot could not have been Y/N. There is only one Y/N in this universe, just like there is only one version of each of us.” Yoongi sighs, pausing to come up with an easier way of looking at the concept. “Look, I don’t want to go into all these theories of what makes us who we are, but I’d like to think there’s much more to us than just flesh, blood, atoms, particles, and even memories. Wouldn’t you also like to think that Y/N was much more than what could be described by ordinary things?”

“Yeah, she was breathtaking and unbelievable in so many ways.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, picturing the last time you smiled at him in the passenger’s seat, how the appearance of your dimples and sparkling eyes made his heart feel so full and warm, like the rays of sunlight that cascade over flowery meadows in the summer and the diamond-like crystals of dazzling snowflakes in the winter. Then his mind drifts over to the you he created with those same memories, the way your artificial features mimicked almost the exact same gesture, making those emotions manifest into tentative form, close enough to feel under the tips of his fingers. And even though it wasn’t the you he had intended to create, he still loved you almost just as much, in almost the exact same way.

“Do you think she loved me?” He asks after a long moment of silence.

“I’m certain they both did.” Yoongi answers.

...

#bts fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #btswriters #jungkook fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #it's not as heavy on the scifi as i normally like to go #but i really wanted to focus on the emotions because the mv really embodied that kind of style #i watched it so many times to try and capture that lol #it's not perfect but #hopefully it's ok #thanks for the request!#requested

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justtextmeoppa · 7 years

Text

❝ I love you too, Jungkook. ❞

Plot: You’re an idol and you’re dating Jungkook. You show up at one of his fan sign and he says to everyone that you two are dating.

Pairing: JungkookxReader

Words count: 1,8k+

Genre: Fluff

For anon, I hope you like it cutie! - M.

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

Deciding to go meet your boyfriend during a fan sign didn't seem to be any more a great idea as at the beginning. The black mask covered your face and fortunately your eyes didn't reveal much of who you were. Yet the feeling of being perpetually observed didn't seem to disappear and so the anxiety increased to every minute that passed.

But you haven't seen Jungkook for weeks, and if that was the only way to change the situation, you'd be well-born to be discovered.

"Next time I'll close you in our room." Your best friend muttered, as well as the leader of your group and the worst advocate in the world; making you smile amused from underneath the mask.

"I didn't ask you to come.. Then we repeated several times that we're their fans, even if they discovered there I know hey couldn't see anything strange... "

"YOU KNOW? I swear that if I read another article where they ship me and Taehyung I shoot myself. "

"What a bad thing Unnie.... In short, Taehyung is an incredible guy. " You whispered in response, not understanding all that boredom towards that sweet and a little crazy boy. "Then he is also extremely beaut--"

"But think of your boy!"

"You Like him! That's why you're bored by the articles.... because you're ashamed to talk to him. "

The slap that came soon after on your shoulder only made you entertain more, while patiently expected your turn to go to get the album signed.

He was as beautiful as always but he seemed particularly cheerful that day, he could even not to bully his hyung and his smile could make you completely melt. It's been seven months since you started to date and you've already figured out you were falling in love with him, but you were too intimidated and scared to confess your feelings. It was your first serious "relationship", although not yet effective because he didn't really ask you to be his girlfriend and you were both so young that you were afraid that he could run away in front of your confession.

"Jungkook-oppa!" "Jungkook, you are beautiful!" "Jungkook I love you!"

Hearing all those screaming around you didn't help your insecure soul, but you could remain calm because Tara took your hand into her and smiled at you, despite the mask you could understand it from her eyes, and you smiled at thanking subheading.

"Who's calling me oppa? I'm not your oppa! Let me see your ID card! " He yelled, his voice amplified by the microphone, bursting the fan group to laugh; "Really show me your ID card!"

"Jungkook-ah, you were to be born earlier so you could really be their oppa!" Jimin said with a funny low tone, seizing the opportunity to be able to make fun of him, having to move immediately because the youngest gave him a punch on his arm.

After some laugh and joke on their part, finally came your turn so Tara advanced before you reach the first of the row that was Yoongi.

Yoongi, oddly enough, had been the first to push you to Jungkook. He had noticed your glances during the shows, during the reality that you were doing together, and knowing that his bandmates would never have done the first step he had told you to dare. He even advised you how to approach him, always with extreme kindness. You had always thought of Yoongi as an extremely introverted and closed person and instead had been your biggest help in the first few weeks with Kooks. Sooner or later you should have thanked him in some way.

You were behind Tara when he immediately recognized you and you laid the forefinger on the mask, to make him understand that they were practically incognito. He chuckled amused, passing a hand through his black hair, while he took the album and went to the page that you had marked.

"Who's the one with you? Tara-ssi? " He asked under breath, while you nodded and started acting like the other girls. He squeezed your hands, trying to keep his laughter while talking, or at least pretending to do so.

"I'm curious to see how the Golden Maknae reacts"

"Stop teasing him, Yoongi sunbae!"

He winked at you and you passed the boy after, Seokjin, who took two seconds to recognize you in spite of the mask. Yoongi whispered to him something in the ear and he made word of mouth with others, but they didn't tell anything to Jungkook, otherwise, the surprise wouldn't really succeed.

Every time you get up you were forced to put on your shirt, you hated Tara for forcing you to wear that outfit, feeling slightly uncomfortable but enjoying the moment when you finally stopped in front of your "almost" boyfriend.

His gaze slipped over the crowd, smiling at anyone and waving every person who called him; you didn't understand the reason for all that enthusiasm and joy, but it was beautiful to look at him at that moment. So beautiful that the girl behind you had repeatedly summoned you to advance.

By making her a little sorry bow, you closed fast the gap between you two and knelt before him who watched you intrigued, giving you one of his best smiles.

"Hi" He greeted you with kindness, taking the Photobucket from your hands and you would have wanted to beat him because he still didn't recognize you.

"Why do you keep the mask? Don't you grant me to see your smile?? "

"You do this with all the fans? Do you flirt shamelessly with all your fan?!?!?! "

He opened his mouth in hearing your voice and a nuance of pink colored his cheeks, completely caught by surprise and in total embarrassment. He bowed his head while you could hear Yoongi's laughter on the other side of the table while he made a small nod to Seokjin to observe you.

"Y/N.. W-What are you doing here..? "

"I wanted to see you..."

"Don't take off your mask, I don't want you to be bothered by the fans..." He murmured shyly, returning completely in itself; "Wait for me, okay? I'll ask Sejin if I can come away with you. "

It took little for him to go from embarrassed boy to confident boy, but he was Jeon Jeongguk and that sudden change didn't surprise you anymore. His eyes shone with his own light at that moment, filled with the happiness he was feeling because of you.

"Be quiet, I can wait tonight."

"But.."

"Shh, now say goodbye to your fans and go to rest a little." You winked at him, grabbing the photo bucket and getting up you greeted him waving your hand and reaching Tara, who was in the corner waiting for you and was oddly burgundy all over her face.

His gaze was upon you, as you descended the few steps to the stage with a fast pace reaching your friend, and he thought that he couldn't be luckier than that. He knew how busy you were and the fact that you had found time just for him made him completely crazy.

He took the microphone, waiting for the fan to end with Namjoon, clearing his voice.

Hearing his voice echoed in the crates, you turned to look at him curious to hear what he had to say.

"Today is a particularly special day, you know?" He said and the crowd erupted in a scream of joy, because knowing that their idol was happy was the only thing they wanted, while he waited for that scream to decrease.

You kept observing him, while Tara next to you still seemed totally lost in her world.

"A special person came to see me and made me realize how important I am to her. I have read many articles lately, although my hyung told me not to do so, where her fans kept saying that she was perfect for our sunbae. And you know, the anger in reading those articles was so much that I hid in the rehearsal room and danced till I collapsed to the ground by fatigue. "

The other six were silenced, because they knew his torment for that situation, while your heart almost broke, becoming aware of those details that he had never told you. Sometimes he was childish and you learned how to handle that side, but you never thought he could be so strong that he could endure that kind of problem. And to your eyes, Jungkook became even more special than he was before.

He cleared his voice again and took his breath, smiling slightly; "So I started to express my esteem for her during the interviews, praising her in any way. Childish right? I wanted you to start to say that I was perfect for her because she's so amazing that I can't let her go.. And so yesterday a fan on Twitter, yeah I check our twitter every now and then, " he emphasized making everyone burst of laughing and in the meantime you tried to hold back the tears, because by now you had understood what he was to do and that for you was almost a proof of how important you were to him.

"She asked if we were dating because in every occasion I talk about her. Well.. "

You held your breath, immediately feeling Tara's hand on your shoulder that offered you support because she knew you'd start crying in some way, failing to manage your feelings. He was embarrassed, in fact, he began to scratch his neck and biting his lip while Yoongi reached him, starting to rub his shoulders jokingly around.

"In fact, I and Y/N are dating and it seemed right to me to say it, instead of letting you find some photos on internet. I hope you can be happy for me because she's an incredible girl and always manages to understand my moods.. she doesn't make me miss anything and the more time passes and the more I understand how lucky I am. "

Immediately the room was overlooked by a roaring applause, shouting of appreciation and even the other BTS began to cheer, congratulating with him to be a little man grown now.

"However you'll continue drinking milk instead of alcohol, even if you're the only one with a girlfriend" Seokjin pointed out, making you laugh, hidden in your corner.

The tears had begun to slip quickly on your cheeks, wetting the mask and he turned to your direction.

Your eyes met and he winked, mimicking something with his lips that was able to make tremble your legs.

You lowered the mask and with a wire of breath you answered: "I love you too, Jungkook."

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agwitow · 7 years

Text

Writing Prompt: Sci-Fi, hot-shot CEO, the sun is failing

Nadine Endsley stood on the foredeck of her corporate ship. The twenty-deck ship was small, as far as corporate ships went, but it was the heart of her company. A company she’d built from the ground up.

Now, she watched as the star that had birthed the human race flickered and flared out it’s last desperate breaths. It wasn’t as spectacular as when the sun expanded and swallowed the Earth up, nor as dazzling as when it cooled into a dwarf and its planetary nebula first formed. All the valuable gases and other matter had long been harvested, and now the ancient star was collapsing into a black dwarf.

Most of the solar system had been evacuated decades prior. The sun hadn’t produced enough heat or light to support life on any of the planets and moons humans had spread to when they fled the sun’s expansion. But there were still small colonies on Mars, several of Jupiter’s moons, and a derelict space station or two somewhere in the asteroid belt. They were there because they couldn’t afford the cost of spacefare to relocate to the Alpha Centauri system.

Nadine had vaguely toyed with the idea (for six or seven months) of relocating as many of the remaining humans, for free, who would like to leave. She knew many would want to remain--they and their families had been born and died in those settlements. But in the end, she had to admit that she hadn’t built the most profitable corporation in three solar systems by having a bleeding heart. (Though she offered passage to anyone willing to sign on to one of her mining ships)

Her fiercest competitor, Michael Taylor, had laughed when he heard she was going to be in attendance at the death of Sol. She smiled and gave him some drivel of sentimentality and pretended to get flustered when he teased her further. A few of the other corporate owners joined in his mean-hearted mocking, but most tsked and moved off to discuss more pleasant (or business-relevant) things.

Nadine had made particular note of each and every person who mocked her. They would regret it. She would make sure of it. Later. After this endeavour was finished.

Of course, she had waxed a bit too poetic about saying farewell to Sol. Two other ships drifted between the orbits of the burnt remains of Earth and Venus. From the markings on the hulls, she knew they belonged to Charles Clark and Gregory Paolini. Charles’ ship was small--a personal craft. Gregory’s ship was a scavenging vessel. Which wasn’t surprising. Of the two, Gregory was the clever one--though she hadn’t thought him clever enough to realize her motives for watching the star die were monetary instead of sentimental.

Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he was simply desperate to get ahead. Hadn’t she heard he was on the verge of losing half his fleet to debt collectors?

A worry for another day.

“Ready the squadron,” Nadine instructed. Her order was promptly relied to the flight deck, and not even a minute later she was given confirmation that the seven pilots she had hand-picked for this mission were ready to deploy.

The star pulsed once, twice, spluttered, and then gave a final pulse and died. The force of the death breath hardly affected her ship, large and well-equipped as it was. Charles’ ship was buffeted back, almost past Earth’s orbit. Gregory’s ship wasn’t knocked back nearly far enough.

“Launch!” Nadine ordered.

In a moment, seven sleek ships darted away from them. Each was only big enough for a pilot, defence drone, and one end of a Lakey Hook. She really only needed three hooks to form the containment field, but she’d found 3LH to be unstable. Five was her preference, and seven should prevent even a scavenger ship from breaking the field.

“What the--”

Nadine gaped at Charles’ ship darting forward. It was fast. Very fast. It caught up to her corporate ship by the time her LH ships were halfway to the remnant of Sol. It might even beat the LH ships there.

Gregory’s ship fired a blast that skimmed Charles’ hull and rocked Nadine’s ship. She’d never seen a weapon that powerful before--how could Gregory be broke if he possessed such tech? She knew ten different militaries that would pay millions of credits for just one weapon that strong.

“Bring up the scavenger's call-sign,” she said.

“Yes, Ms. Endsley. Scavenger Class 6-8b, registered to Paolini Retrieval Corp. Pilot Laura Miller, Captain Vera Mullins.”

“What? Laura Miller and Vera Mullins? Are you sure?” Nadine asked, spinning to glare at the unfortunate bridge hand who’d pulled the information up.

“Y-yes, Ms. Endsley. Laura Miller and Vera Mullins.”

“Fuck.”

Nadine turned back to the window. That was one of Gregory’s ships, but Miller and Mullins were Michael’s best pilot and captain. There was no way they would have both gone to work for Gregory. Michael must had made a deal--probably for that fancy weapon--to borrow the ship so she wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.

“Scramble a defence squad and all gunners to their stations,” she ordered.

A chorus of “yes, Ms. Endsley” met her command, but she was too busy glaring at the scavenger ship to take any satisfaction in her crew’s prompt response. She knew it would take at least five minutes and thirty-four seconds for the fighters to launch. Only two minutes and fifty-eight seconds for half the gunners to connect to their stations. But the gunners could only defend the corporate ship. The LH ships were too far off to be offered anything more than a light screen of cover fire from the gunners.

And that blasted weapon of Michael’s was powerful enough it could likely hit the LH ships if it moved into Venus’ orbit.

She needed to distract him.

“Patch me through to the scavenger ship.”

“Yes, Ms. Endsley.”

The com-link buzzed with static. “Hello, Michael dear. I thought you said only a fool would weep over the dry bones of a forgotten solar system?”

The static continued for a long minute. Nadine used hand signs to instruct her pilot to keep pace with the scavenger as it advanced toward Venus.

“Why Nadine, my love, I didn’t realize you were talking about this star,” a velvety voice purred over the link.

Nadine snorted. “You knew exactly which star I was talking about. You’re just here to cause problems.”

“How can you make such accusations? You know I only have the utmost respect for you.”

“Of course you do--that’s why our marriage lasted all of six months.”

Michael laughed. It was rich and deep--it was what had attracted her to him all those years ago, when they were both starting out with their businesses.

“Nadine, my love, you’ve always been one to hold a grudge, but surely you see this is purely business?”

“How so, Michael? I know what I’m here for, but what are you here for--other than to be a thorn in my side, as usual?” she shot back.

“The same thing as you, love. The heart of Sol.”

Nadine glanced toward the fighters speeding away to meet up with the LH ships. Charles’ ship was drifting, listing to one side, and apparently already out of the fight. She gave the gesture for the gunners to open fire and watched as a heartbeat later an array of lasers shot toward Michael’s ship.

The lasers splattered against the scavenger’s shields in an array of colours. Blue, green, and yellow, with blossoms of red fire from where the lasers made it through to hit the ship itself.

Of course Michael would have upgraded the shields as well.

“No official declaration of hostile intent?” Michael teased.

“I think our divorce papers serve as a perpetual declaration, don’t you?” Nadine asked sweetly.

“You were the one who wanted a divorce, Nadine. You can’t keep blaming me for your choice.”

She snarled. “You tried to stage a coup and take over my company!”

“You refused to discuss a merger!”

“Ms. Endsley?” one of the bridge hands said softly, tapping her on the elbow.

“What is it?” Nadine hissed. The static dimmed and she cast a glance to see which of her employees had the foresight to dampen the open com-link. That one, with the green spikey hair and tattooed hands. She’d have to learn their name later and see that they get rewarded for their initiative.

“The LH squadron have snared the heart and are moving to meet up with the fighters.”

“No. Tell them to hang back and wait for the fighters to reach them. I think they’re out of reach of Michael’s new weapon for the moment--I don’t want them trying to make it back until they have protection.”

“Yes, Ms. Endsley.”

The static returned to its normal volume and Nadine said, “Michael, you know very well that our companies were incompatible.”

“Were you talking about me?” Michael asked, his voice amused.

“Just what a slimy bastard you are,” she replied.

He chuckled. “I see your ships have snagged the heart. It was so thoughtful of you to grab it for me.”

“What do you even want with the heart? You’re in weapon and defence manufacturing.”

“I want it because you want it,” he admitted.

“Do you even know what it is? Or can be used for?”

“No. And I don’t care. I’m sure I can sell it for minimal loses, which will be well worth knowing that I screwed you over.”

Nadine sighed. “Why do you even bother with the innocently charming act anymore? We both know you hate me as much as I hate you. I’m certain all of our bridge employees know. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in both our companies knew.”

“I do it because it bothers you, of course.”

“Of course. Can we be adults about this for once? The heart is unstable. Your crazy new weapon could easily destroy it,” Nadine said, her fists clenched so hard her nails drew blood from her palm. But it was what she had to do to keep her voice calm, with just a touch of resignation.

“I don’t care if the stupid heart is destroyed,” Michael said. “I just want you to suffer.”

“You’ll kill all my pilots, won’t you?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Fine. Give me a moment to call them back, then you can have the stupid heart.”

Michael laughed triumphantly. “Your soft heart will ruin you someday, Nadine.”

“Whatever. I hope you rot in hell.”

The static from the com-link died and Nadine turned to face her bridge crew. A few looked uncertain--they all knew what the heart was and could do--but most looked grim. Those were the ones who’d been with her for some time. They knew what she was doing.

“Recall the ships. Have them drop a three point LH around the heart.”

One of the uncertain crew members asked, “Isn’t that dangerous, Ms. Endsley?”

Nadine smiled. “Yes. Yes it is.”

She watched her ships return. She watched Michael’s scavenger lumber forward and retrieve the LH containment field. And she watched with a grim satisfaction as the scavenger exploded into a ball of crackling electricity, roaring fire, and neutron dust.

Once the wreckage stopped combusting and the dust had dispersed enough, she sent her LH ships back out to retrieve the heart.

After all, it was the seed of a new universe. It held enough power to destroy anyone who didn’t understand how to contain and control it, but it was itself almost indestructible.

Pity Michael had been so caught up in trying to cause her problems that he hadn’t wondered what use someone who’d started out in mining rare minerals and transitioned to engine development might have for the heart of a star.

Pity she hadn’t gotten to see his face when he realized she’d finally beat him for good.

#writing #prompt #short story #original story #sci-fi #science fiction #futuristic #apocalyptic #tumblr-canon #agwitow

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psychotherapyconsultants · 7 years

Text

Stop Letting Fear Be Your Ultimate Enabler

Today, being blind does not scare me. It hasn’t scared me for more than a decade. I must remind myself that this aspect of my existence, which is like any other as far as I am concerned, stands out for others like a baby on a battlefield—and is terrifying to them. I have to remind myself that years ago I, too, was terrified.

Of course I can remember the fear. But I remember it the same way you might remember cowering in your bed at night as a child, frightened of the monster under your bed. You now understand there never was a monster, that your fear was irrational, self-imposed, the product of your imagination. You can recall feeling terror back then, but when you lay down tonight, you will not be afraid, not of nighttime monsters, at least.

That’s how I feel about blindness. It is the monster that didn’t really exist. Odds are that you find this hard to believe. I understand every detail and every practicality of blindness. I’m an expert at being blind. It is familiar, comfortable, normal, routine. Still, you likely don’t believe me when I tell you it isn’t that bad. I’m the exasperated parent, stomping my foot and repeating, “There are no monsters, go to bed!”

That is the point. Most people have little or no experience with blindness, but nonetheless harbor a visceral fear of it. I had such a fear when we left Dr. W’s office the day I was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, the disease that would slowly take my sight. I was 13, but I felt a lot older.

Blindness is my death sentence, I thought. It will end my life as I know it. End independence and confidence. End strength and leadership. End achievement. Blind, I will cease to be special, funny, successful. I will be helpless, pathetic, weak.

I am living a dream — child prodigy and sitcom star — but I know in advance that I am experiencing the best my life will ever offer. This foresight is a cruel persecution. The anticipation of my decline is not the worst part. The worst part is that the unwelcomed prophecy has stolen even the triumph before my fall. There is no more joy when I take the stage, no pride when the crowd cheers. In my achievements and blessings I see that which I know I will lose. I experience them in preemptive mourning.

I mourn the things I’ll never have, too, like a wife, a partner in life. I will be alone. How can I capture a woman’s affections while in a process of total ruin? Can I expect someone to fall in love with me as my every attractive quality is fading away?

I will never be a father. It is for the better. No child deserves that. Besides, I’ll no doubt remain a child myself, dependent on my parents. Whom will I turn to when they are gone?

Fear’s Tunnel

Psychologists have a great term: awfulizing. Put simply, to awfulize is to make something its most awful in your mind. Awfulizing is a mental construction, the product of imagination. But we experience as reality that which we awfulize. It is our manufactured truth.

Through my teenage years, I awfulized blindness. I did not know the first thing about it. I had no experience with it. I had not thought much about it. On this blank canvas of ignorance, my fear painted with a palette of anxiety, insecurity, and doom. The horrific scene it created captivated my attention, drew me in, consumed my thoughts, overpowered me.

It felt so real that it became real. I could not look away. I saw my destination, my future, my fate in that scene, and I did not question it. Blindness was my death sentence. It was only a matter of time.

Fear’s work does not end with the baseless reality it concocts in your mind. That is where fear’s work begins. To perpetuate its reality, fear must lull you into playing your part. Fear’s accomplices in this elaborate con are your villains and your heroes.

Fear conjures a world in which these villains and heroes command responsibility for your fate like the gods of Greek mythology. Blame your villains, fear whispers in your ear. The fault lies with those around you. The problem is your awful circumstances. Worship your heroes, fear admonishes. They have the power to solve your problems, to make you happy. They can save you.

The drama is epic and endless, shifting and complex. You sit back and struggle to take it all in, to keep it all straight, to see how it will shake out. With supernatural villains and heroes, fear procures for the awful shadows of your imagination your willing suspension of disbelief.

That’s the con. The details are unimportant. The drama is smoke and mirrors, a diversion. What matters is that you have accepted the reality fear has created for you. You are a cooperative participant in that unfounded reality. You do not question the premise. You play nice. You abdicate responsibility. You blame and credit others. You outsource your destiny.

Destiny Outsourced

I was trapped in an awful world of gloom and haze by the promise of rescue. My heroes, brilliant research scientists, would deliver a treatment or a cure for me. I was certain of it. Because they would soon rescue me, I did not need to confront Blindness. I did not need to rescue myself. I was paralyzed by hope.

That was fear’s con. The drama, villain and heroes in conflict, drew my focus to the stage. The unconvincing details of the set faded away, as did the audience around me, the theater. There was only the play. I watched, my disbelief willingly suspended. I believed in Blindness. I believed in Science.

I was Science’s active, enthusiastic fan. Shortly after the diagnosis, my parents set out to understand the state of the research efforts to develop treatments and cures, and they devoted themselves to the support of that research. I joined my parents in this mission, serving as a spokesperson in the media, at fund-raisers, and in governmental lobbying efforts. Like my parents, I will forever feel profound gratitude for the many angels who helped us raise funds and awareness. I’m proud of my parents and glad to have played my part in the scientific mission.

Looking back, however, I realize that my crusade for the cure played into the hands of my fear. It was cover for the outsourcing of my destiny. I felt I was taking control, taking charge, swinging at the proverbial curveball life pitched at me. I was not.

I confused fighting for a cure with confronting my fears. The embodiment of hope and optimism, I played the leading role in my fear’s epic drama. I projected outward courage and bravery in my charge for research dollars. I would surely be rewarded with a Hollywood ending, saved in the nick of time. Disaster averted, problem solved. It felt good to play the part.

Psychologists have a term for this, too: denial. I thought I was taking a stand when I was really running away. My fight for a cure fueled the flames of my fears. I was reinforcing the awful narrative—Blindness as death—by committing myself to its defeat at the hands of Science.

I did not question the premise, fear’s premise. I cheered frantically for my heroes. I bet it all on their victory. Blindness grew uglier, more awful. It had to be vanquished. It just had to be. Blindness is death. Fight. Survive.

While I fought, while I ran, my retinas deteriorated. Blindness was on my heels. Science’s cure was miles back, crawling. Rescue was decades away. The equation flipped. Blindness now, a cure in my 30s, 40s, or 50s. I am not going to win this race. Science will not save me.

My fears foretold my awful fate. There would be no last-minute pardon from the governor. No stay of execution from the Supreme Court. It was time to accept my death sentence, to face it like a man, to lie still in bed, to wait for the monster underneath to attack.

Eyes Wide Open

I had an epiphany, a revelation. There is no Blindness, only fire hydrants, those who are unaware of my challenge, disappearing computer pointers on the screen, an open landscape of practicalities stretching to the horizon.

The scene on fear’s canvas is a fiction, a mirage. You will never face fear’s execution day. But tomorrow you will face your life, and the next day, and every day thereafter, until you have none left. Those days unlived are reality’s blank canvas, and you are the only creator.

The palette of your fears is limited and ugly: anxiety, insecurity, doom, and loss. But you have a million more colors. Countless hues of strength, an endless rainbow of adaptations, growth bright and beautiful. You paint one stroke at a time, one day at a time, breathe a single breath after your last, a single breath before your next. You will never control tomorrow, but you can always choose whether to act today, and how.

With empowerment comes responsibility. There are no villains, no heroes, no gods on Mt. Olympus. No monster under the bed. Those shadows of imagination are excuses, rationalizations, justifications, stall tactics, cop-outs. Without them we are accountable. That is why our fears manifest these figments in defense, and it is why we cling to them. It is why we must let them go.

I chose to let go of Blindness. I stepped out of fear’s tunnel into the wide unknown, shifting my focus from the foreground to the horizon. After fear’s narrow, contrived, myopic scene, reality’s expansive landscape of potential was exhilarating. My awfulized assumptions about Blindness had felt like immutable truths, inescapable reality. Now they were exposed as fear’s self-limiting fictions, fish swimming backward through my mind. My destiny was again my own, my future unbounded. I could stop running.

The terrain ahead was undefined and uncharted. Fear’s superficial struggle with Blindness was awful, but it was simple, too. Reality was far more complex. I contemplated the myriad discrete, specific challenges I would face—physical challenges, practical challenges, emotional challenges. I had a lot to learn and a lot to figure out.

It was my responsibility to do so. I accepted the obligation to help myself, to achieve my potential, and I committed to hold myself accountable at all costs. I took ownership of my fate. It weighed heavy on my shoulders.

I swam in a swirl of emotions. The heroes and villains I had come to know so well had vanished, and I felt an odd sense of loss. I was embarrassed to have run for so long from my illusory villain. Thinking about the years I’d wasted borrowing imaginary troubles and the agonies I had needlessly inflicted upon myself, I felt a deep sadness. I was impatient to master the tools and techniques I had learned about, and to discover others. I felt great joy. I felt immense gratitude. I felt profound relief. I was giddy and somber at the same time, both energized and exhausted, inspired and overwhelmed, confident and apprehensive. It was confusing.

Lying in bed that night, I was at peace with my confusion. I did not have the answers yet, but for the first time I had zoomed out far enough to focus on the right questions. It was a good start. I was many things, felt many emotions. But I was not afraid. It was a good start indeed.

This post courtesy of Spirituality & Health.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2017/05/06/stop-letting-fear-be-your-ultimate-enabler/

#World of Psychology

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positivepsychologyinterventions · 7 years

Text

Stop Letting Fear Be Your Ultimate Enabler

I will never be a father. It is for the better. No child deserves that. Besides, I’ll no doubt remain a child myself, dependent on my parents. Whom will I turn to when they are gone?

Fear’s Tunnel

Destiny Outsourced

Eyes Wide Open

This post courtesy of Spirituality & Health.

from World of Psychology http://ift.tt/2qbLZ7T via IFTTT

#IFTTT #World of Psychology

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