#this story has literally consumed my life like i am neglecting my finals to write it
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———
For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.
It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.
But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.
She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.
“Hello?”
There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.
“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”
The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.
“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”
The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.
“You see a hostess’ station?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”
“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”
“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”
Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”
The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.
“Go home, kid.”
“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”
The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.
“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”
Naomi snaps her mouth shut.
“Well,” she says, and nothing else.
The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”
Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”
Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.
“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”
The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.
“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.
“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”
I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.
“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”
The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.
There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.
As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.
“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.
Naomi shrugs.
“You deaf, or stupid?”
She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.
“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”
A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.
Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.
“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”
Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.
———
Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.
“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.
On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.
Maybe she should look into an apartment.
Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.
Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.
“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.
“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“
Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.
(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)
“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”
Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.
She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.
———
Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.
She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.
She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.
Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.
“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”
She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”
Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.
“Clean the grout.”
Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.
“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”
A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.
“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”
“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”
Naomi smiles triumphantly.
Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.
Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.
For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.
Di even almost smiles at her.
———
“Naomi, go home.”
“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”
“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”
“I’m fine.”
She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.
“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”
“I need to work.”
With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.
When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”
“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”
She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.
Like she’s about to burst.
“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”
Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.
“Jesus Christ.”
Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.
Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.
“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”
A hand digs around in her apron pocket.
“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”
No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.
“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”
Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.
“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”
The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.
“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.
Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.
“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”
“…You remember the exact date?”
Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?
“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.
“I see.”
Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.
Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.
Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.
Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.
“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.
“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”
Di rolls her eyes.
As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.
“What kinda money do you have?”
Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”
“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”
“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.
Di purses her lips. “Well.”
She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.
“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.
Naomi looks at her in alarm.
“Di, I can’t —”
“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.
“Try again.”
Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.
“Rate’s a rate, Di.”
She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.
“Two hundred a week.”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m not asking, Jed.”
The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.
“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”
Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.
“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”
Jed just his chin out.
“I don’t owe her shit.”
Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”
“Ain’t how this works, Di.”
“Says who? You?”
For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.
(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)
(…Well.)
Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.
“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”
Di nods once. “Fine.”
She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.
“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”
Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.
A motel, Naomi realises.
“Clear, kid?”
“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.
The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.
Much, much bigger than her car.
“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.
Naomi does the math fast in her head.
“Twenty hours.”
Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”
Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.
God, she’s missed pillows.
“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.
Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.
She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.
“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”
———
next
naomi art
#this story has literally consumed my life like i am neglecting my finals to write it#literally the only thing i care about rn#pjo#barely lol#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#naomi solace#will solace#does it count if he’s literally a fetus#i said BACKstory 💀#angst#pregnancy#teen pregnancy#homelessness#original work#?#longpost#my writing#fic
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Single (Jeno x you)
a/n : i may forgot how to write (?) anyways this is a jeno piece I work quickly today for @neopalette
hope this is entertaining enough and to all dream stans out there this is for you :D
setting is all dream members considered to be in the same age as you.
enjoy!!
People have been pestering you with the same question, “Why are you still single?”
Well you cannot really answer them and say, “I don’t know why don’t you date me?” As much as you want to shut them up with those words, you knew it’ll only turn awkward.
Well to be honest, you've been asking yourself that. It's not that you're unattractive or unsocial. You're the total opposite! Cute, caring, and fun.
You have friends or a group of school's princes as your hang out friends. It's just a lucky coincidence. You're the childhood best friend of Jeno and that guy’s really like your brother (despite the same age you share). He always brings you to his outings and you slowly develop a good friendship with the boys.
What irks other people is that the fact you're in a position every girl is willing to die for. Standing on the side of the class, leaning to the wall while laughing with a circle of the most popular guys in the school.
Now their question is, why are the boys so attached to you and why are you not dating anyone of them? Well, first you do want to date anyone of them. Literally anyone because you feel so chill and relax around them. They make you feel save too! But what is this? Friendzone? Maybe. Or “I see you as my sister.”
One day as you walk through the hall with one of the boys, Jeno, both of you overheard a group of girls talking.
“I know right, there's no way she is not leeching over them. Did she use some magic? She's so usual like us why do they choose her?”
“You're right its either she pays them, or she buys them with money. She came from a quiet decent family. No way she is not crushing anyone there. If she does not, she's crazy.”
You try to ignore them, but your heart is sad. No, you do not “buy" your friendship. They even treat you more than you did to them.
Jeno heard them and apparently, he was riled up and he went to the group of girls who looked shocked but tried to act normal.
“Excuse me pretty girls,” he nicely greets them with his smile and friendly composition. You close your eyes, knowing this will just give you trouble.
They look struck by Jeno’s close presence and melt into his charm. “I am here to remind you, what you’re doing is making false rumor and that is not good. It doesn’t suit you.”
Jeno forces a deadly smile and turns his heels back to you when the girls nod their head like they heard him clear. Their eyes found yours and you already gulp down the heavy lump in your throat when they send you a death glare.
“What are you doing?” you question Jeno once he returns to your side and starts walking as if nothing happens.
“Just reminding some girls what they’re doing is not good.” He shrugs his shoulder “You should speak up you know. You’re a great listener to us and what they said were wrong, so you should speak up.”
You nod “I know, it’s hard Jeno. I’ll let them think of me that way, besides you guys know my real side, why do I have to bother them.”
That actually makes a little bit of sense according to you and Jeno, but when you meet the gang during lunch break and Jeno told them what happened, well the boys cannot keep it low.
“I’m not going to help them anymore.” Renjun scoffs when he hears the story.
“You should really speak up (y/n)! You’re our amazing friend and we cannot let them think of you this way.” Jisung chimes in, which is something rare.
You smile and laugh “Thanks guys, but this doesn’t sound like you at all. I am the one getting judged, why are you the confused one? Besides what bothers me is not that, but something else.”
“And what exactly is that?” Haechan suddenly pops into the discussion. He surprised all of you, well earlier Mark and him were called for a help in the teacher’s room, and you guys were sitting on the backyard (a rare meeting place) so it’s a surprise they found you.
“I cannot tell you now. I promise I’ll tell you once I am ready.” You fiddle with your uniform skirt.
“Okay, we won’t push you.” Jeno smiles at you and you thank the others as the bell of the last quarter rang.
--
You spend the last quarter lost in your own mind. You keep on questioning yourself, is it true you look like that in other people’s eyes. Of course they do not know what happened between you and the boys behind their back.
You listened to every single problem they have, they share it to you through messages at the middle of the nights. Each slowly opening up to you, showing their vulnerable sides. You never judge them, instead you comfort them by staying with them. Just listening and being there for them. They like you because of that and you never share their secrets to the other. It started with Jisung opening up to you, then Chenle, then the harder shells to read like Jaemin Jeno and Renjun. Mark and Hyuck also lately come to you for sharing sessions.
You know people do not have to know that to clap and give you recognitions, you did this out of empathy and care. Plus they make a good gang to play and have fun with. Having a friendship bond with boys is less dramatic and more fun.
You push a smile back to hide your own emotion and luckily they bought it when you say “Let’s not bother or mind what others think about me. As long as you know the real me, I am glad with it.”
--
“You should stop acting like you’re fine.” Your longest best friend says when both of you have parted ways with the others and walk side by side on the empty road.
You look at Jeno and he doesn’t have his friendly smile on. His face looks serious.
“I am fine, but I could probably use a boyfriend card to take care of me and make me finer.” You joke around a little bit. Teasing the boys about you wanting a boyfriend is always fun.
They always say no but they never cross the line because they are afraid that being in a relationship with you may cut the nice friendship if things go wrong (break ups!)
“You’re still questioning that?” Jeno sighs, you’ve been talking about this to him. You always code him that you want to know what it’s like to be in a relationship, but Jeno just says “You’ll regret the drama”. He did date a few girls but finally settle on being single until he is ready for commitments. You, on the other hand, are single from birth. You always befriend boys to the point where they’re too comfortable with you to see you in a romantic way.
“Well I always wonder why and where did I do wrong.” You shrug your shoulder
“I want to be in a relationship! I want to know what it’s like to have someone take care of me, or me taking care of them. I want short goodnight and good morning texts. I want to walk with them home and maybe grab some bite along the way while we discuss small things. Oh and I want to just you know sit together, listen to a music from a shared earphone and act like we’re the main characters of a movie!” you have stars in your eyes and as Jeno stares into the sky, he notices the beautiful sunset.
“You’re being single for too long. I tell you, that did not always happen.” He mocks your ridiculous idea and playfully ruffles your hair “You read too much fantasies.”
“I never read them.” You glare at him and he nods “Now that explains why you also sound so clueless about relationship. Look, it’s not as simple as saying I love yous and holding hands in public. There’s more and as much as I hate to tell you this… I have to.” He pauses and you stop walking.
You look at him. Waiting for Jeno to continue “Look, you don’t need a boyfriend right now. You’re taking care of so many people and that’s great, but that is time consuming already. If you have a boyfriend, then you will pay more attention to them and counting the time you spend taking care of us, will make you neglect your life and study and fail school. Which is something I do not want to happen.”
Your eyebrow raise “Conclusion?”
“You don’t need a boyfriend, or at least right now you should focus on taking care of yourself. You did a lot to us, let us take care of you in return.” Jeno whispers, and deep inside his heart he adds “or maybe let me take care of you in a way you always wish to get. You don’t know how much I love you and seeing you want a boyfriend only pains me. Will I be ready to lose you?”
“Fine. It’s not like I can buy one from a store.” You start walking again and Jeno follows you.
“Silly idea, ignore that okay.” You feel shy about saying that to him, what will Jeno think of you? A creepy freak.
NO. IN JENO’S HEAD YOU LOOK SUPER CUTE. WANTING TO HAVE A BOYFIE, EVEN GOING INTO THE DETAILS.
“Alright, this is it, good bye and good night (y/n)” Jeno waves as you enter your porch and open the door. You look to the house right next to yours, separated just by a wall. Yes he is your neighbor.
“Good night Jeno! Thank you for accompanying me.” You disappear behind the door and continue your lonely life.
“Hey Jaehyun hyung-“ you greet your brother who is amazingly already homed already at this time.
“Oh hey, dinner is on the table.” He juts his chin to the dining table and your eyes fall to the set of plates.
“You’ve eaten?” you ask while washing your hands, getting ready to change and eat.
He nods “Boss was awful today, I got home quickly and was hungry. Sorry I left you to eat by yourself.”
“Any news about mom?” you ask when you’re back on the table ready to eat.
Jaehyun still sits in front of the TV, looks like he is having a bad day and is afraid of lashing emotions to you, thus he avoids you.
“She’s probably with that man again. No news.” He sounds bitter. Well, after father left mom also left to find another man. You were left alone with your brother, who has to work hard for you and him.
“Help me with some clothes will you?” Jaehyun asks when you’re done cleaning up and washing the dish. “We need to deliver the laundries to the neighbors.” Jaehyun stands up from his seat and goes back to you with a packed fresh clothes.
You and your brother run a small laundry services for the neighbors here. Well, your family left both of you with the house and utilities inside them, one of which is a laundry machine and a dryer. So for additional income you and Jaehyun did laundries.
“It’s by the end of the road, can you please drop this tomorrow morning? I am taking the one on the other side.” He shows you which packages should go where and with that you leave to your room.
You’re glad your father still pays for your tuition, but you have to keep your scholarship going or you’ll be in trouble. Right as you finish studying and doing your papers, your phone vibrates and Jeno’s name appear.
“Good night (y/n), sweet dreams!”
You glance to the window and look into the window across yours, it’s Jeno’s room and you can see his silhouette sitting on his desk probably still gaming. You smile a little and text him back and the next thing you see is his room going dark. Oh he really is sleeping!
You set your alarm and also take the long awaited sleep you needed.
--
“Good morning (y/n) oh and Jaehyun hyung!” Jeno greets you and Jaehyun on the front of your house. Jaehyun’s locking the door and taking his bike to work.
“Morning Jeno.” You feel happier with this kind of small acts. It’s not new, but something about his smile and genuine happiness is making you energized.
“Don’t forget to drop the laundry.” Jaehyun said after hugging you goodbye.
You don’t forget. With Jeno on your side, you walk to the house on the edge and knock on their door to deliver the package and receive the money. It’s nothing big, but definitely enough to buy you lunch and safe some for the piggy bank.
“Still running the laundry business eh?” he looks surprised, guess you usually deliver them not in the morning or he’d known already.
“Yes, usually I send them near evening, but today is special. Imagine if the school finds out I am doing this, maybe they’ll stop saying I bought my friendship, right?” you try to liven up the mood but Jeno is in pain.
“Let’s just enjoy the day!” Jeno boldly hugs your shoulder from the side and drags you with him into the school.
“Woah what’s with the sudden closeness??” Jaemin interrogates once he saw you and Jeno entering the school in an uncommon way, which is Jeno bringing your bag and having you on his back.
“She fell on the way here, and I guess she has to check her ankles and clean her wound.” Jeno shuffles you up on his back and you hide your face from the stares.
“Oh hurry then! I’ll help with the bags. Leave it here, Renjun can help me.” Jaemin takes over your stuffs and Jeno makes a run to the nurse office. There is still no one on duty, but he knows basic help.
He washes the blood carefully and puts disinfectant to your scrap, you almost kick him but his reflects are quick.
“I think your ankle is swelling. I am no professional but that is not normal.” He points to your ankle and right, its not.
“Do you want me to stay here? We can skip the first quarter and wait until you feel better. You fell hard earlier, did you black out?” Jeno sounds worried. Well he remembered how you suddenly wobble, lose balance and fell before Jeno could catch you.
“Forgot breakfast I guess.” You bite your lips and Jeno in a dash of an eye has fled from the room and return with a pack of milk and sandwich.
“Eat, or you’ll faint again.” He gently opens the wrapper for you and like his promise stays with you there.
“Want to listen to this?” he suddenly hands you one earphone piece and you pick it up carelessly. Not realizing that Jeno has been doing the things you wish to receive from a man.
“Nice song,” you comment as you focus with your left ear to the music playing. You don’t feel anything weird until break time comes and Renjun surprises both of you.
“Oh sorry for disturbing! I was just going to check on you but I guess I came in the wrong time.” He chuckles nervously and disappears before you can call him and say nothing is happening.
That’s when you lock eyes with Jeno, one piece of earphone connecting both of your ear and he was near to you. Oh now you understand.
“He thought we were in a moment?” you giggle
Jeno smiles, he loves seeing you this happy. He laughs too and brushes your hair away “This is it right? Something you want to experience. Getting taken care of, doing cheesy things like this.” He teases you
Realization hits you late and you laugh until a tear escapes your eye “You’re right! This… oh gosh! Jeno are you trying to let me feel this sensation?”
“What sensation?” his heart suddenly beats faster.
“Like I am treasured and getting taken care of? I feel loved??” you sound so happy and that makes Jeno both happy and sad. Happy to see your genuine laugh and sad why hasn’t he noticed this sooner.
“You deserve this (y/n), and I am stupid for not realizing this sooner.” He holds your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
You suddenly feel butterflies in your stomach, Jeno’s close body doesn’t help your heart beat slower and the music playing in your ear is no longer clear. You can only hear your heart beating faster and your eyes are only locked inside Jeno’s deep warm eyes. Why did you not notice this? His eyes are warm and comfortable. You never want to cut this moment.
“I’m going to break the rules, why don’t we try to step further like more than friends?” he turns red and you are sure your cheeks are also red.
“Guess we can try and see where it leads us to,” you sing song give him the green light.
“Okay then, from now on, don’t be surprised if I change into your dreamy boyfriend type.” He winks and you laugh. Life’s great and you’re happy whenever you are with Jeno.
Maybe you both did not realize that life brought you together for a long time not just to be friends but something more.
That something, is going to be decided when both of you are ready to find out!
For now, you’re glad that Jeno took the first step into getting to know you as more than friends, and you are more than ready to share what you’re dealing with to Jeno.
end
#jeno imagines#jeno scenarios#jeno x you#jeno x y/n#jeno x reader#jeno soft hours#jeno oneshot#jeno fanfic#nct dream fanfic#nct dream fic#nct dream fluff#jeno fluff#jeno packs#lee jeno#jeno#nct jeno#nct dream masterlist#nct dream scenarios#nct dream imagines
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To those who want to kill themselves:
I’m not going to sugarcoat this at all. I’ll be gentle at times and then rather aggressive. And for good reason...
Because you deserve to fucking live.
I’m aware there’s blatant bullying, discreet and subtle bullying that makes you question if you’re just being sensitive and taking things too seriously (most of the time you’re not, trust me), neglect, familial issues, and then situational instances that pound into your heart and head consistently.
Believe it or not, but the cliché term of “it does get better” is true, just as long as you yourself is willing to check its validity and try.
I thought of several ways like drowning myself in the bathtub and hoping my fingertips would slip on the rims so I couldn’t pull myself up when my body got weak/ holding a knife to my chest while crying/ contemplating on just taking those three steps into the road when I was supposed to get the mail/ jumping off my balcony/ finishing off my oxycodone pills from a wisdom teeth surgery/ etc.
Maybe I’m a coward or was weak, but I could never follow through with it. Just left with that same bottle lying in a medicine basket somewhere or had a brief puncture mark on my chest that just broke the skin with the tip, whatever.
Crying myself to sleep almost every night because it was too much.
Honestly, I think being a coward and weak was the best thing to happen to me.
I lost a boyfriend from how much my anxiety and suicidal thoughts consumed me and had to tell my parents why I was dumped which led to me seeing their faces when I fessed up and said “I’m not happy, I’m not okay”.
It’s funny because I’ve had a cry for help several times through stuff I’ve written and published on fanfic sites, stuff I’ve given to my teacher to read senior year, literally telling my AP Lit class two years ago I was depressed and thought suicidal shit (only 8 of us in that class and teacher) and being told “it’s just like that sometimes, gotta shake it off”, “don’t let people’s words get to you”, “yea, same” and having a teacher pretend like she heard nothing.
That one time I was brave, and I was waved off.
I know there are times where you finally find your voice for that one split second and then you’re ignored, and you feel yourself rescinding back to mute and distant.
I know you’re plastering a smile on constantly to fool others because you’re afraid what will happen when they find out.
It sucks, doesn’t it?
When you hear so many voices in your head playing that record on repeat of the things you most want to forget. Having those nightmares occur where someone takes the final step to push you to your edge. Seeing the annoyed rolling of eyes or blatant show of disinterest of you.
Nine years of schooling, because after 3rd grade, I was just one of those girls who females decided to hate for breathing or asking a question. So nine years I was trying not to victimize myself in my head and justifying why everyone acted the way they did to me.
Teenage girls and teachers alike made my life hell. The girls never gave me the chance and teachers treated me like I was some lost cause that couldn’t even make it to merit roll and like my work was shit.
“Oh, you sure you can make it into the media production film? I don’t think you’ll be able to make shows like you planned. Maybe try for something else.”
“Your writing is, it’s okay. Try harder next time.”
I struggled with grades in high school and wondered if I’d even graduate.
I made the president’s list my first year of college. Got straight A’s. My English professors loved to leave excited feedback on my essays and were amazed how quickly I could conjure one up and fix my own mistakes before peer review.
My professors talked about me to one another and when I met the new ones, they already knew of me.
My history professor begged me to write a poem for a book he’s writing and publishing near 2021.
My creative writing professor attacked me with an email of compliments over a chapter book of poems I wrote where i took them in the order written so it was me at my worst, to me fooling myself, to me losing and falling back, to me trying for help, to me being the best I’ve ever been. >I also made him cry in a class writing experiment with less than 300 words.
(Idk maybe the bitch is that sensitive but he was chill)
My point is: fucking block out what other people say or do to you. Tell someone you trust you need help and stop kidding yourself.
And please, for the love of god, if it is really that bad then do not make yourself so naive into believing a friend or partner can take the brunt of it all and fix you.
It may work for some time, but if you’re still suffering, they will too and neither of you will win in the end.
I took to therapy and it worked. And I dropped all the toxic shit out of my life and moved on.
I may not use social media besides Tumblr or Discord, but I’m more present in life than I was before and not comparing myself to others anymore.
I dropped friends that made me feel bad and bashed things I liked or would cause issues and I have a peace of mind (as much as one can have one during a pandemic and such).
Get the help. Find ways to receive help if you can’t financially afford it. Find that courage to tell someone you trust that listens to you that you are suffering and need that professional help and to be taken seriously.
I was the first to walk the graduation stage of my 2019 class, and I thought I’d be the first of us to die because I couldn’t move past everything I’ve endured from a large majority of them.
I would’ve missed how positively my life turned around.
I would’ve destroyed my parents, little sister, and brother for being so selfish.
I’m the middle child, the good kid with a career in mind and the mediator of the family. And I’m used to not being the favorite but appreciated one.
My dad confessed to me that I was his favorite and I never want to hear it again.
You never want to hear a man you see as the strongest person you know say that while trying not to cry and keep his voice normal, you don’t want to hear “You were always my favorite” said in such a thick voice it brings tears to your eyes.
Your life matters.
This isn’t Sims where you can move on to the next household member. This isn’t like throwing LEGO R2-D2 off a cliff with that iconic scream only or lose a few coins. This isn’t a fucking game.
And I am so sick of hearing people treat it like some quest you get once in your life:
“You’ll be okay.”
“Cheer up.”
“It’s just a phase.”
Etc.
It’s all fucking bullshit. We live in a world that sugarcoats the severity of someone’s life when it’s presented in front of us while on the precipice of shattering.
You deserve to live. Anyone who tells you otherwise is the one who loses the right to be considered human or a person, not you.
Do not let someone dictate your life’s outcome because they don’t agree with you or like you.
And please, for all that is good in this world, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re alright when you don’t feel it.
Hang in for one extra day to gather the strength and tell someone you need help.
Everyone acts so ashamed of it but it was the best thing that happened to me after being such a weak coward and now, I’m genuinely happy. And it was a lot of work to get here.
Want to know where all my angst and suffering had gone to? Just ask the characters in the books and fanfic content I’ve written. I’m sure they don’t appreciate it, but those stories wouldn’t exist if I gave up then.
And believe it or not, people will fucking miss you like hell if you killed yourself. It’s just too hard to see it right now and I was blinded before too.
Not everyone has the same opinion of you. Not everyone matters in your life.
You’re living this life singlehandedly by yourself while surrounded by others experiencing the same thing. Don’t let that opportunity go to waste.
And if you need distractions, indulge yourself in the harmless guilty pleasures like I do.
It can get better if you just open yourself to it.
It can get better if you get help.
You really must be so tired, isn’t it time you stopped pretending?
#suicide#mental health#readers#followers#depression#anxiety#help#encouragement#bluntness#medical help#get professional help#stop pretending#to my readers and friends of#miraculous ladybug#ateez#astro#kdramas#timeless#fe3h#fire emblem
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The Last of Us Part II: The effects of exposure four days after completion
There is a plant in my apartment. When my partner and I moved into our unfurnished flat, it was one of the few things left behind. A scrawny, scraggly thing, we left to it’s own devices tucked away as we focused on populating the space with our own things and navigating the perils of quarantine. Naturally, months later, the plant was even worse off than before from neglect. After finishing The Last of Us Part II (TLOU2) I have become obsessed with nurturing and caring for this poor dead plant until I can bring it back to life. There are other factors to my huge emotional stake in this plant other than TLOU2, such as current political events and general ennui but that beautiful game is a final straw. I loved it. I think it’s a masterclass story of the perils of hate, of longing and loss, grief and collateral. Of pain and moving on. It is a tale desperately in need of being told during modern times as ideas of revenge and justification become muddled and blurred. Naturally there are spoilers to this so please do not continue reading if you don’t want that.
SPOILERS Below
Death
I have seen many people talk of the main character death of Joel as being unnecessary and unwarranted. As a disservice to his character. I could not disagree more. I understand those thoughts and it was a devastating loss so many years after falling in love with the character in the first game. But his death is far from a lacklustre shock tactic in place of real narrative as we’ve seen with shows like Game of Thrones. It is not death for deaths sake. His entire death is central to the story and it’s protagonists. It of course completely encapsulates Ellie’s. Here is someone with so many mixed feelings for her father figure after the discovery of his actions at the end of the first game where he killed the fireflies and prevented a vaccine being made. She says at one point “My death would have mattered. You took that from me.” This complete betrayal coupled with her desire to try and forgive even if it’s impossible is a central theme. She has a lack of closure with him, and with it she becomes lost in navigating life without that purpose. She pours all her efforts into doing what he would do. “If it was you or me, Joel would be halfway to Seattle by now.” That’s why the parallels with her beating Nora for information and demanding a location on a map from Mel and Owen, all perpetrators in the murder, mirror Joel’s actions in the first game. He does the exact same thing while trying to find Ellie. But this is a man consumed by the loss of his daughter and the last twenty years of survival and all the horrible deeds he did in that time. When Ellie does it, she is shown to be deeply effected by the trauma of it. Her numb and shaking reaction to torturing Nora. Her breakdown at murdering the pregnant Mel. The costs of this hit her hard, because she is not Joel. Which is all he wanted for her.
Joel never wanted Ellie to be like him. Ellie was what dragged him from that person into a better one. He learned to care again with all the vulnerability that brings. Ellie’s process is so similar with the narrative parallels. We spend the majority of the game begging Ellie not to go through with it when we see the adverse effect it has on her. The people around her and herself are hurt with every act of revenge. Where initially, we see Abby, the one who dealt the killing blow, we as an audience are calling for her death. We can’t wait to kill her. And the game solemnly shows us that cost. We sit there going wait no I don’t want Ellie to feel this way. But it’s what we wanted. This is the cost.
Playing as Abby
I was initially reluctant to play as Abby for half of the game but it was a brilliant and integral part of the plot. We see so many parallels between her and Joel when she starts to look after Lev and Yara, two kids she discovers. We see the similarities between her and Ellie with her desire of vengeance. We see these interpersonal connections that grow on us, the very people we condemned immediately at the beginning. We see them as having their own complex lives, their own three dimensional narratives. We start to care about them and start to see how Abby and her friends have their own motives. Ones we want to disagree with because we love Joel but it’s hard to do so because it seems so right that he would be the antagonist to them. That’s not why we should disagree. The game shows us that the cycle of violence harms everyone in the vicinity of it. The only winning move is not to play. To say no and break the chain. Abby has the complexity of Joel. His brutality matched with their good deeds. It is a great opportunity for us to connect with a character that had she been introduced any other way we would have loved. Hell, when the trailer first showing Abby came out people lost their minds about how great she seemed. How capable and strong. The game tells us that if we love Joel then we should love her too because they both have the same flaws and same merits.
Misery Porn
I’ve seen people describe this game as unnecessary misery porn. I get why, and if you don’t want to play a game with a profound sense of loss and tragedy throughout then it won’t be for you. But it isn’t misery for misery’s sake. Every stroke of sorrow is either to drive us to empathise with characters feeling the same kind of way, or to show the cost of violence as an answer to overcoming grief. Some say that just because it’s post apocalyptic doesn’t mean it needs to be sad. I agree. The genre itself is far too often just a outlet for people to have gruesome and half baked plots with character death as a substitute for genuine plot. But a sequel to a game so routed in tragedy, a game called The Last of Us, you shouldn’t criticise it’s sequel for not being primarily focused on softer elements. The sadness of the sequel is a clear and direct progression of themes set up in the first one. It would a disservice to the series to change gear. That’s not the core themes of the games. If you think the ending of the first game is a happy one, you should revaluate the outcomes for both Ellie and Joel and the morality of Joel’s actions. If you still think the sequel does a disservice but filling itself with pointless misery then fair enough. But I think the sequel is entirely honest to its roots and if anything is better than the first one as it has that platform of character development there to springboard a emotionally stocked tale for fans to immediately dive into.
Lastly
I think people who think Joel’s death was out of character and sloppy writing should take that anger and pain and direct it towards the narrative as the game would want of us. The seemingly bold execution of a main character so shockingly and so early on is exactly the kind of pain Ellie felt at his death. To have someone who means a lot to you taken so quickly and ruthlessly is exactly what sets her on the path of the game. And the ultimate message is one of overcoming that grief. Her journey of violence that leads to nothing but more death ends with her leaving Joel’s guitar behind, literally moving on, from that pain. Trying to kill Abby, killing her friends, brings no solace. It costs so much. Her walking through and empty house is the cost of her leaving her family to pursue vengeance. As Dina says “She doesn’t get to be more important than us.” Ellie mad the very human choice to desperately try and force herself to overcome her PTSD and her loss of Joel by misguidedly going for revenge. But as she is moments away from getting this outcome she sees a flash of Joel the night she told him she was going to try and forgive him. And she stops. She finally allows herself to grieve without recompense. Greif doesn’t have a quick fix. It has to be felt, harshly and wholly. Working through the pain, letting time take its course, and getting to the place where you can evaluate your actions and their fruitfulness, is the only way forward. It cost Ellie a lot to learn that and to get to that point. But I think the end is ultimately a showcase of her process from where she was to where she is. I was so deeply affected by the end because it’s the greatest tale of grief and the cost of revenge as an answer I have ever experienced. For everyone who doesn’t like it I am sorry. I hope you can put that anger and disappointment into the narrative and use it to further connect with the characters. If you can do that, I think you’ll discover a fantastically told tale. I hope you do.
#The Last of Us#The Last of Us Part 2#Spoilers#The Last of Us Spoilers#The Last of Us Part2 Spoilers#tlou2 spoilers#tlou ii#tlou ellie#tlou joel#tlou abby#Review#The Gaudier Collection#video game#narative#naughty dog
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Creature of The Night
I have always been a bit of an insomniac, but ever since something happened recently in my life - or rather, I was told about this thing - I have been getting less and less sleep at night. I work sporadic hours ever since this pandemic started and I know that isn’t helping things. I am not as busy as I once was, which I often mentally complained about. I now regret all those mental complaints - maybe all that activity would finally give me some peace and quiet inside my head. I work a job that had me going literally 24/7 and now due to pay/hour cuts, I am finding I have more time than I know what to do with. I guess that’s why I am writing here - to have some kind of outlet into the internet where no one knows who I am and what I am about to write in this post.
I can’t not talk about it anymore - it’s been slowly choking me.
To start, a little background/history. I have always had a rocky relationship with my mother. Actually, that’s putting it delicately. My relationship with my mom was TERRIBLE for several years. It has only recently (round about three-ish years) been getting better. I guess it makes sense - that was around the same time my mom’s second-eldest sister died. It hadn’t taken too long, only about a year and a half for her cancer to consume her. My mom’s eldest sister died a little over a year after that and my grandmother (my mom’s mother) a year after her. I guess you can say that all of those deaths in the family have been forcing us together. I must say, they did a better job at helping us communicate than my mom when she would literally lock me in my bedroom with her and make me stay there until we solved whatever was going on. Great parenting, mother.
But I digress and now I know the “reason” behind the bad parenting and all of the hard times we had.
The fourth of July of this year was when my mom told me. I am still having a hard time processing it over two months later. For reference, I won’t use real names, but I will use random letters to the key people involved.
My “uncle” - J
My aunt (my “uncle’s” wife) and my mom’s eldest sister - R
My grandmother - L
So, fourth of July rolls around. I usually would have been out with friends on that day, but due to the pandemic, I decided to go to my parent’s house to visit my mother (my father was working that day) and my cat. We got to talking like we do a lot more of now - those deep talks she would always have with my sibling that I would be jealous of, but never wanted to partake in. We got on the subject of healing the family. It’s been quite broken with all of the recent deaths and all of the things people somehow never say until it is too late.
For another little tidbit of backstory, you should know that my mother and her siblings were all abused by their father - L’s husband. Mentally, emotionally, physically, and yes - sexually. L had six kids and nowhere to go, so she began to work night shifts at an office, leaving her kids with that horrible man. My mother was six the last time her father sexually abused her. He was a drunk, a low-life and I am glad he is dead so that I don’t ever have to try to forgive him for what he did to my family.
When my mother was just turned seven; she, her brothers and sisters and her mother all moved away from him. But the damage had already been done. R couldn’t have anyone touch her for the pain that she would feel everywhere - a burning sensation that spread from the inside-out. My mothers brothers all had resentment towards L, my mother’s second eldest sister had resentment towards everyone, but they stayed in each other’s lives. I cannot say if that was for the worst or not.
My mom was twelve years younger than her eldest sister - R. Right around the time they moved away from the monster that was their father and husband, R was proposed to by J. Even though R couldn’t be touched, even though she probably could never bare their own children, J married her. Everyone thought of him as the most amazing, perfect man for marrying R. They lived in a little house in Northern California, went to church every weekend, and my mom would go to visit them every summer.
Every summer. It all started when she was nine. I can only imagine - though I wish not to - what J did to her. You see, since he couldn’t get his nut out with his wife, he assaulted my mother. Every summer she went up there. For weeks on end, she was at his mercy - a nine-year-old girl who only knew to turn to her mother for help. When my mother finally told L a couple of years into the abuse, she was informed that it must have been her own fault. L chose this monster - the second one in my mom’s short life - over her. All because L liked J and couldn’t imagine him as the no-words-in-the-human-or-heavenly-or-down-in-the-depths-of-hell-languages kind of man he really was.
L knew what my mom had gone through with her ex-husband. J knew what they had all gone through and my mother was not an exception. J knew what had happened to her already in her short life and decided to go and do it anyways. Repeatedly. For YEARS!! I cannot fathom how my mother is still alive. More so - I cannot believe HE is.
No one knows but these few people - L (who as stated before, is now dead), my mother, my father, me and (obviously) J. I have not the strength to tell my sibling - who by the way has been suicidal for years. Telling them now... I don’t know what that would do and I will not let myself be an only child. No way in hell.
I grew up with J around me. I can’t tell you how many times I was in the very house - the very ROOM - my mother was assaulted in. Now I know why my sibling and I never went up north without one or both of my parents there. My parents never left my sibling or myself alone with the man and it never registered in my mind until my mother told me about all of this. He was a man that I trusted, a man who I thought to be amazing for loving my aunt even though he could never be with her the way he probably wanted to. R, he respected. Her sister, not so much. It’s a mask that I hope to one day rip away and show the world what he truly is.
There is just one roadblock in all of this. Well, two, really. My cousins. See, what I haven’t mentioned before is that R and J adopted two kids. The reason I have stayed silent this long is because... well I don’t know how it would feel in reality, but I can only imagine the pain of knowing the man who raised you - the man you trusted - was a child molester and rapist. A man who affected forever how my mom, my sibling and myself see the world. I can’t. But someday I’ll have to explain to my family why I can never ever go to a gathering he will be attending. Why I could never look J in the eyes again without imagining my mother’s face as a child reflected in them. I would throw up on him. I feel nauseous as it is just thinking about J now, even with him over a thousand miles away and not having seen him in over a year and a half.
One of the reasons my mother didn’t tell her family was because she knew how it would destroy her sister and it probably wouldn’t have turned out good for my mom back then. It definitely would have divided our family between those who wanted to stay close to L and those who would have stayed by my mother’s side. The second reason ties into the first. My mom thought - and still thinks - since L didn’t validate her story or pain that no one else would believe her. And who could blame her?! Her own MOTHER didn’t give a rat’s ass about her pain - didn’t believe her. The one person who was supposed to love my mom and protect her no matter what had failed her. Again.
The reason I won’t say anything yet breaks down into two things as well. The first is that my mother isn’t ready. God, it’s been 40 years and I don’t blame her at all for not being able to process what happened to her. The second reason is that I know what it will do to my family. Most, if not all, will be on my mother’s side now. That’s part of the problem though. I know what it would do to J’s kids - my cousins. I don’t care that they are not technically blood relatives, I would protect those two with my own life. The eldest is already worried about being the “black sheep of the family” even though there is nothing they have done that will ever come close to earning them that title. I can’t think of what this will do to them - both of them. I am scared they would feel ashamed to show their face to our family again. I can’t go the rest of my life without seeing them.
So for now, I don’t really have a choice. I will have to wait until the day of justice finally dawns upon J.
The absolute worst part about this for me? I don’t know what to do until then. Actually, I don’t know what to do even after that. I don’t know how to move on, how to let go - how to SLEEP. I can’t even sleep at night for Christ’s sake!! It evades me now more than ever. I constantly feel like when I turn my light off and roll over; close my eyes - I will feel someone grab me from behind. J is an all consuming entity now and I don’t how to expel him from my waking or sleeping mind.
If there is one point I want to make with this post - it’s this.
Trust your kids.
Put your biases aside and believe them when they tell you they are in pain. L HATED and blatantly showed her dislike for my father even though he did nothing and has done nothing but love and cherish my mother. Not once has he hit or abused - emotionally or physically. However, L adored J and she showed it openly. I cannot fathom what makes a mother choose someone else over her own child, but I am here now telling you it’s possible. So please, I implore of you, if any child comes to you with pain - any pain - help them for God’s sake.
I ask this of you because the reverberations of neglect have rippled through my mother and passed into me. I know how it feels and I would not wish it on my worst enemy.
Well, maybe J.
#blog#familyblog#pain#abuse#lifeis#complicated#anonymous#familylife#stop#hurting#children#family#life#is#messy#lifeismessy
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Are You Happy?
A/N: while planning out chapter 10 for Her, this idea came to mind. I didn’t want to wait til the end of the series to post it, so here you go! haha. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing this for you all. sorry for any errors. as always, your feedback is greatly appreciated. enjoy💗
2.3k words(as you can see I got carried away😬)
italics are Y/N’s thoughts
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You couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that now resided in the pit of your stomach. Something was up and you couldn’t lay a finger on what it was exactly. Maybe it was the amount of stress that you’ve been dealing with for quite some time due to the fact of being short-staffed for a couple weeks now; everyone scrambling about in your unit, their bodies running on a few hours of sleep and consuming rather dangerous amounts of caffeine. Stress and work loads were through the roof, while morale ran on the opposite side of the spectrum. Every single one of your fellow coworkers trying their absolute bests to push through and do their assignments for the day. Maybe that was the probable cause of your uneasiness. Who knows, because you sure as hell weren’t. Due to your long (and I mean long) long hours spent at work, you kind of neglected everything else. You were so focused on your job that you put everything-your life, your family, your friends, and last but not least your boyfriend, Tom on the back burner. They have all in some way became an afterthought, as terrible as that sounds.
But it could also be your current relationship with Tom that has you feeling this way. If you were being honest, you can’t remember the last time you guys did something together. It had been a few weeks or so since you guys had last gone out on a date. Tonight, you were going to change all that; after coming home from work you decided that you were going to spend some much needed quality time with him. Even if it ends up just being you both cuddled on the couch as a movie played-just enjoying being in each other’s company and feeling the heat of his body against yours as he lazily ran his fingers through your hair like you liked as you returned the favor and drew imaginary shapes and lines on his arm and chest, or if you did something totally different and you guys cooked dinner together. Literally anything, you didn’t care what the activity was, as long as you were together spending time, that’s all you wanted.
During your break, you sent him a text asking if he wanted to eat something specific for dinner or if he was open to do something when you got home from work. About an hour or so after hitting ‘send’ you felt your phone buzz. Sure enough, it was your man. He replied saying he was open to do anything not before saying that he’d be a little late in coming home, about 45 minutes after you’ve arrived home since he and the boys had gone out to the golf course.
7pm couldn’t come any sooner. After giving report to the night shift nurses, you hurriedly ran to the locker room to grab your belongings and headed out the door. As soon as you got to your car, you took your phone out to text him.
Y/N: Hey babe. I am on my way home. Would you like me to pick something up for dinner? Or do ya wanna cook something up together?
Tom🥰♥️: hey, I don’t care. Anything sounds good to me. The guys and I are on our way home. Mind if they join us?
Anything. That doesn’t make things easy! I was kinda hoping you’d give me options so it would make things a bit easier. What would they like? Pizza? Chinese? Italian? I was kinda hoping it just be us two, but I guess they can come over for a while. I mean it has been a while since I had last seen them anyways. So I guess it’ll be nice to catch up for a bit. Maybe tomorrow we’ll spend time together, just the two of us. I wonder if I should ask if they’d like me to pick up some beer.
Y/N: no, of course I don’t mind. It’d be nice to catch up with them. does pizza sound ok? do you want me to get beer?
Tom🥰♥️: yeah that’s fine.. get pepperoni, Hawaiian and plain. we already got the beer.
Is it me or does he seem angry? Annoyed maybe? There’s definitely some kind of tone to these texts. Our conversation all day has been dry. This isn’t really like him. This is not his usual texts. I guess I’ll have to see when I get home. Let me be wrong, please.
Y/N: ok. Got it. I’ll see you soon. I love you.
Tom🥰♥️: k, see u
Well damn, okay. He hit me with the ‘K’ response. There is definitely something wrong. He didn’t even say ‘I love you back’. He ALWAYS says it. Did I forget something? An important day? His birthday? Someone in his family’s birthday? Our anniversary? Or did I say something? Did I do or did not do something, did I say something for him to act this way towards me? Ugh, I guess I’ll find out sure enough once I get home.
During your drive home you replayed everything. You frantically looked through your calendar to see if in fact you had unknowingly missed an important event, but there was no indication of anything. From what you could remember, there was nothing that you said or an event that you had missed. nothing , absolutely nothing came to mind as your mind tried to conjure up a plausible reason for his new found coldness.
As you pulled into your driveway, you saw Haz’s car, signaling they were all home. As aforementioned earlier, Tom said they’d arrive some time after you but seeing as you stopped to pick up the pizzas, they managed to get home before you. Miraculously, with everything you were holding, you managed to open the front door. As soon as the guys were aware of your struggle, Sam jumped up from his seat on the couch to lend a hand. Once he set the boxes of pizzas on the coffee table, be brought you in to give you a hug, not before asking how you were doing and stating how he and the rest of the family had missed you dearly. One by one the rest of the squad, Haz, Harry, and Tuwaine and greeted you and briefly hugged you. Tom was the last one. He gave you a short smile(a pretty fake one) before he hugged you and kissed your forehead. Your forehead for crying out loud. It wasn’t like you guys never showed any PDA in front of the guys but this, this was way out of character for him. There was clearly something bothering him, and you were going to make it your mission to find out what it is. It would have to be delayed a bit since you had no intentions of causing a scene with all the guys here.
You quickly went into the kitchen to grab plates and napkins as well as a bottle of water for you. Once you arrived back into the living room, you passed each one a plate as you all began to eat. During dinner, you managed to catch up with everyone. All the lads telling you what was new with them and updating the group with whatever was new on your end, and venting about work. They had then proceeded to ask you when you’d be able to take time off of work so that collectively y’all would do something. They lads sharing that they have all missed you dearly. You had missed them too. You told them that you’d talk with your manager the next time you were scheduled to work to see when that would be; hoping it was sooner rather than later. The stress was really taking its toll on you.
Hours passed and many many laughs later, the lads decided it was time to call it a night. You took a look at you phone-2:30am. Everyone not really wanting the night to end. This was long overdue. During your laughs and when one told a funny story or was just talking about something, your eyes always found your way to Tom. Usually, he’d lock eyes with you. But not this time. This time around, he made eye contact with everyone BUT you. Whenever you spoke or if someone had asked you a question, his eyes went straight to the floor. Whatever was there was way more interesting than you. You took in his appearance; he seemed rather tense, as if he was on guard or something. And you kept replaying your whole interaction when you came home. How when you looked into his eyes, his eyes looked different. It appeared to be more dull, there was no sparkle or glimmer in his eyes. And as you sat where you were and indeed looked over at his direction and watch his facial expressions, it validated that there seemed to be no sparkle-no joy to be found. Something was off with him.
Wow, it’s half past 2? It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. This was nice. It was amazing to unwind and just chill with friends. Oh how I’ve missed this.
You bid the guys good night as you went on to clear the empty pizza boxes and beer bottles that littered the living area. Once all was said and done, you went upstairs to your shared bedroom.
As you laid in bed, you took this time to catch up with your man.
You sat up, your head against the headboard as you initiated the conversation.
“Hey babe, how was your day? I’ve missed you”
“It was fine. Yeah missed you too”
“Tom, can you please look at me?”
“I’m trying to sleep, Y/N”
“Just for a second, please?” you shamelessly begged.
With a deep sigh, he finally complied to your wish.
“Yes?”
Sure enough, it was the same lifeless stare.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine”
“You say you’re fine, but more importantly are we fine? Because you seem a bit distant. Did I do or not do something? I know I have been so focused with work and all but did I forget something? An important date? I looked at my calendar and I didn’t see any events scheduled. Or did I say something? Can you please talk to me and let me know what I did wrong? Because I know something’s on your mind and I would like to try and help you. Y’know we can talk about anything, right?”
Silence. Absolute silence. And it was eating you alive, absolutely killing you. This dead air between your bodies was unbearable.
“Tom?”
“Just thinking is all”
“Thinking about?”
“About us. Where we stand”
S I L E N C E
He sighs again before continuing on.
“Just how things changed between us”
“What changed between us? Besides us not really spending as much time together?”
“I-I uh, I uhm, I don’t know”
“A-are you not happy? Are you not happy in this relationship? Do I not make you happy anymore? Tom, please. I’m begging you, please talk to me. Can you please let me know how things have changed between us? Is there someone else?”
“No, there’s no one else. I, I don’t know. I mean yeah, I was before. I was happy, uh, I think I’m happy. I don’t know. I guess you being busy and us not being able to spend time got me thinking is all”
He’s not happy? What? He was happy before but doesn’t know if he is now? he doesn’t know? He’s been thinking? Of what? How can he say this all cool and nonchalantly?
“Y-you-you’re not happy?” your choked response pierced the air. As you shamelessly started to break down and dissolve into tears. Not caring how you would look, not even bothering to wipe the ceaseless tears that fell from your cheeks, to your sweater and ultimately unto the blanket.
He sat across from you in bed as he watched your face contort in this newfound pain. He hated seeing you cry. His actions may not have shown it, but this was painful for him too.This was pain on a whole different level. This pain affected you mentally, physically and emotionally. He sat in silence. I mean, what does one say to that? How does one respond?
As you cried, you felt his eyes on you. You dared not look in his eyes. As you bawled your eyes out, a part of you hoped that he would say something, anything. Anything to break this unbearable situation. But nothing.
His lack of response was in fact a response. You’ve got your answer. Message received, Tom.
With that, you got up and walked to your closet. You pulled out a duffel bag as you haphazardly threw your clothes in it.
He watched you intently as you stuffed your bag. Still not saying a word.
Once you were done, you turned your body to talk to him, eyes glued to your beige colored carpet.
“I know work has been crazy but never would I have thought that it would lead to this. If you aren’t happy being with me, who am I to stop you from finding your ultimate happiness? I’m not cruel and evil; I would never do that to you. That would be so selfish of me to do so. You have every right to be happy. You truly deserve to be happy and everything more. I am sorry for wasting your time and I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to do so. I want you to be happy, even if that means us not being together. What a ride this has been. So go out there, go out into the world and find that person that truly makes you happy. Someone that brings you nothing but joy. Take care of yourself, Tom” you murmured as you slung the duffel bag straps on your shoulders and proceeded your way down the stairs and out the door. Out of his life forever.
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tagging some mutuals: @hollandroos @parkeret @gab-spidey @roses-hxlland @unholyholland @sleepybesson @moonlightom @peterpcrker @hollandinq @ihrielloyer @spideybitey18 @jackiehollanderr
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Essay Wars - it’s a doozy
Last night my friend got in a texting debate about the story structure and character developments of Star Wars (a majority of it Kylo Ren). Well, what started off as my vigorous texting writing turned into full-blown essay responses.
Alright, let’s get into how this actually happened.
First, I was so excited about The Rise of Skywalker Final Trailer and I began to sing praises for Kylo Ren/Bendemption. My friend did not like that...so I whipped out the big guns.
I began to send scattered texts about certain things, mostly pertaining to:
Kylo Ren was turned to the dark side before he was even born via Bloodline, where Leia describes a dark presence over her womb.
Someone must be impersonating Darth Vader when Kylo goes to the Vader mask for advice.
Leia and Han were emotionally neglectful/did not know how to raise their son in the right way, mixed with brainwashing lead to Kylo Ren.
The Jedi are not good for the galaxy (yes, yes I know, but see my explanation down below...if you last that long)
Kylo wants to let the past die and start fresh with a new ‘order’, leave behind the Sith, Jedi, First order etc.
I also rambled on about a few other things in separate texts, but that is the gist of it.
So, in response to my scattered texts I received this from my friend Sammy, and oh boy was I ready:
So, let’s start with the story of Ben. The dark side since before he was even born thing is interesting and the fact that he’s been influenced his entire life by it is something they should have made much more clear in the films. That’s actually one of the problems I have with this new expanded universe- it just seems like damage control for the movies. The Previous EU EXPANDED everything, giving backstory to the characters we know and understand, in addition to secondary characters. Hell, they even gave us new characters as well but they never negated or changed the meaning of the films which is the bread and butter of the franchise, so if this super important info is coming from the book I think that’s just silly. You really shouldn’t have to read the novel iteration to understand what the movie did a bad job of interpreting. But I digress, that is some crucial info…
The Vader mask scene and the theory that it’s someone else like Snoke who has been pretending to be Vader is interesting, and I buy that, but like…Kylo didn’t know Vader was redeemed? Did Luke, Leia, Han, Chewy, Lando, Akbar, Wedge, or like literally anybody else form the Rebellion forget to tell him that? Big yikes.
IMO, feeling “misunderstood and neglected by his parents” isn’t a valid excuse for him to kill his own dad and being ok with his mom getting bombed to hell. Idk, you can ask why it’s ok for us to forgive Vader through his redemption arc but I think comparing his experiences to Kylo’s is like comparing apples to oranges. Vader was a BAD guy, but he ended up doing the ultimate GOOD thing in the end, and then the prequels fleshed out how he became bad intangible way, which to be fair, Kylo doesn’t have. But still, this is why most fans don’t take him seriously.
About the Jedi not being good- I challenge your credentials. “For a thousand generations the Jedi knights have been the guardians of peace and justice for the Old Republic”, then they were hunted down and everything turned to shit. And both in this canon and the previous one, it’s wildly considered that the few thousand years preceded the events of the movies things were super peaceful all things considered when the Jedi were in charge…and the Sith traditionally only operates in agents of 2. So how come everything was so peaceful for a thousand generations when there were a million Jedi and 2 Sith…ying yang in this case is bollocks.
And if Kylo really wants to “Start fresh”, why’d he start by becoming Supreme Leader of like the Star Wars version of ISIS? This is something we’ll need to find out in this next movie. I agree, his motive is to dismantle the Jedi and Sith way and create something else entirely, but the second Rey says “nah” he goes back to how he was. It’s not looking good.
The George Lucas rhyme thing lets not forget he’s talking about Episode 1 which was arguably one of the worst Star Wars movies made and he ended it with “hopefully it’ll work” and then grimaces…IDK bud lmao. And I doubt back in 1977 he knew there was going to be an episode 9 because he didn’t even know what he just made was Episode 4! It definitely was never a 9 episode arc from the get-go. Now, I know for certain after the prequels he had another trilogy in mind, and when he sold the rights to Disney he did hand them his drafts and notes, but even Bob Iger, CEO of Disney, admitted in his new book, they didn’t follow those drafts AT ALL. LIKE NOTHING. And he said that George felt betrayed. This idea of a new trilogy is something that was created in 2012, but I suspect they have been making this up as they went. After this last movie, Disney scrambled to get JJ Abrams back and figure out how they were going to get everything back on track. Daisy Ridley herself said JJ wrote a story for each of the 3 new movies, but Rian ended up created his own completely. I think that alone shows that production for these movies has been inconsistent, I don’t buy this was all part of some 9 series plan with a definitive beginning, middle, and end from the get-go.
Not sure what Rey’s lineage is, we’ll find out for sure in this next movie. I read one theory that Palpatine created her sorta through the force like many people think he did with Anakin.
So that was what I was up against.
Let’s take a brief moment to appreciate this:
Okay now that that is done...great.
My turn!
Now, I wrote my response (copied below) at top speed in about an hour, so maybe some of the things I say start sounding rushed or not as fleshed out as they should be. But I cracked my knuckles and gave it a go:
I am the first one to advocate for a film to have the ability to ‘stand-alone’ in any particular universe, whether it be Marvel, DC, Hunger Games, and Star Wars. By introducing a backstory for Leia’s pregnancy and hers and Han’s marriage in ‘Bloodline’, LucasFilm is doing just that: giving a backstory. In both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi, there is proof that Snoke is the one pulling the strings when it comes to young solo. In the first film, Leia is quoted saying to Han, “There’s still light in him I know it! No. It was Snoke. He seduced our son to the dark side”, and in the second film Luke is quoted as saying, “Snoke had already turned his heart”. It is made apparent that ‘Kylo Ren’ is the production of Snoke, and Ren suffers abuse both mental and physical from his master. Though this changes when Kylo finally becomes free of the shackles Snoke once had on him when Ren slices him in half. The look of shock and release on Ren’s face when he realizes what he’s done says it all. Who are we to judge someone who is freshly out of the control of their captor? By just watching the films it is clear that Kylo Ren is not fully in control of his actions and he is being manipulated consistently as shown by the quotes above. When having that manipulation in conjunction with the neglect of a parental figure, then you get the full-blown reality that is Kylo Ren.
Feeling “misunderstood and neglected by his parents” is a valid excuse for turning to the Darkside in the world of a fictional fairy tale. Keep in mind we are not in a reality where this is okay, yet the world in which Star Wars exists allows such things to be redeemable and explainable. Take for example when Padme knew about Anakin killing younglings; she wanted him to still come home because she ‘loved’ him. If he had turned back to the light at that moment she would have most likely accepted him back. It is a danger of the force. They are not dealing with everyday normal emotions; the force, as well as the genre of the franchise, creates a heightened sense of urgency which is apparent throughout the forty-plus years Star Wars has been around (hell, as long as any fairy tale has been around). When you point out that Vader did the ultimate good thing in the end, do you mean to save his son and push Palpatine down a duct? If so, then this would be his redemption which occurred in the last of the original trilogies. If you are to treat Kylo with the same rules as Vader, then we must give him a chance to ‘do the right thing’, something which the filmmakers have been steadily building his character-arc for. Vader did numbers ‘wrong’ things, some of them much worse than Kylo has done. But yet the audience still chose to respect him, even before the prequels which fleshed out the story of Anakin Skywalker.
Now, you may be correct in that Ben Solo knew of Vader’s redemption, and I misspoke, to which I am sorry. He, in fact, learned of his heritage when he was training with Luke at his academy when he received a letter from his mother. The contents of the letter are unknown, though it is assumed she told him of his heritage when he was in his late teens. This was only because one of her rivals she was campaigning against in the senate threatened to leak the knowledge to the public that Leia was the daughter of the infamous Darth Vader. Ben had no idea before-hand though, so once again we assume that this had some type of impact. Imagine finding out your grandfather was Hitler. Would that be fun? But, since we addressed the fact that external material should not need to be consumed in order for a film to make sense, then we should disregard any idea as to how Ben Solo came to learn of his heritage. It is not mentioned in the films, but it is a widely held belief by many in the fandom that if Kylo Ren knew of his grandfathers’ redemption then he merely took this as a lapse in judgment in his late years (especially since it is hinted to in the films that Ren is speaking to someone via the Vader mask). Perhaps said mask has been telling Ren lies in lieu of the true story of the redemption. But that is speculation. What is not speculation is the line Ren utters in The Force Awakens, “Forgive me. I feel it again... The pull to the light... Supreme Leader senses it. Show me again... The power of the darkness... And I'll let nothing stand in our way... Show me... Grandfather... and I will finish... what you started.” What we can tell from the film is that Ren is in a constant struggle to stay within the dark, and through his words, it is expressed how this warrants forgiveness. The second half of the statement is even more worrying in the fact that Ren says ‘show me again’, referencing a previous time this ‘Vader’ has shown him what the darkness entails. Will we find out in episode nine if there was an imposter (Palpatine?) feeding more lies and brainwashing to Kylo Ren? That means not only was he getting terrible treatment from Snoke, but from his ‘grandfather’ as well. Perhaps this is why in the final trailer for episode nine we see Rey and Ren destroying said helmet. Until the film comes out, this will still be a mystery.
In coming to why I believe the Jedi are bad, I side with Luke Skywalker on this one. As he says in The Last Jedi, “ At the height of their powers, they allowed Darth Sidious to rise, create the Empire, and wipe them out. It was a Jedi Master who was responsible for the training and creation of Darth Vader.” To that, Rey points out that it was also a Jedi who saved him. Which is true! Yet, the rules surrounding the Jedi order are such that allowed for Anakin to search elsewhere for support. True, he was very conflicted, but the Jedi are so extreme that they do not welcome outside opinions or thinking. You are either all light or you’re bad. There is no intermediary. That is why the answer is grey Jedi. I know those exist, and what needs to happen is a yin and yang between the light and the dark. Working together fosters acceptance and love within the galaxy. Even the symbol in the pool of the Jedi Temple in which Luke tucked himself away had a figure in a yin and yang pattern. “Powerful light and powerful dark...a balance”. Yet, any dark whatsoever that the Jedi see they stamp out.
When Anakin says, “If you’re not with me, then you’re against me”, Obi-wan responds with, “Only sith think in absolutes!”. Well, can you see the issue there? Obi-wan is also thinking in absolute. Using the word only further segmented and cast aside Anakin, by labeling him a lost cause. Such a similar thing happened with Kylo Ren and the incident with Luke at the Jedi Academy. The momentary lapse which Luke expressed to Rey was the tipping point. In Ren’s eyes, even his Master saw him beyond saving. And since everyone around him insists on thinking in absolute, then he must be bad according to them, right?
Slowly, Ren is beginning to realize there is another way, something not presently defined within the Star Wars universe. It is not Sith, it is not Jedi, it is not the First Order: it is the ‘new order’ which he proposes to Rey. Yet, he is not ready for redemption yet. The entire point of the scene was for Rey to realize that Kylo Ren cannot be saved by anyone but himself. This is a very powerful message and I am quite looking forward to seeing how his self-realization occurs in Episode Nine. Now, keep in mind that he had banked everything on Rey saying yes, and in his mind, she is “Still. Holding. ON!”, which she is, and he is right that it is holding her back. How can you expect someone from a family of yelling, angry people to get it right the first time? In fact, Adam Driver had to ask Rian Johnson if Kylo Ren had ever kissed a girl before. Kylo is not experienced in this ‘love’ world. He did not receive much love language from his absentee parents, so the only relationship he’s known for most of his teen and adult life is that of Snoke and General Hux. At that moment in which he wakes up to realize she is gone is one of abandonment and rejection. He thought he had found his match, the answer to his loneliness, and she snapped his lightsaber in two. He is basically throwing a grownup temper-tantrum, which is blatantly apparent in the standoff with Luke. When Kylo threatens everything, even ‘destroying’ Rey, Luke claims that everything Kylo says is “a lie”. It is clear in the last few moments of the film when Kylo is defeated and on his knees holding his father’s die that the audience begins to realize his anger was all a facade. In that shot, he is merely a lost and lonely boy realising the path he has chosen is wrong. The final force-bond between Kylo and Rey exhibits every one of those notions. There is no anger in his face, not very ‘destroy-ee’ of him, and he looks up with her with an almost longing. But when she sternly shuts the door on him, once again he is left alone, the die slowly fading from his gloved hand.
If that doesn’t sound like poetry then I don’t know what is! George Lucas was quoted saying in the behind the scenes of the prequels, “You see the echo of where it all is gonna go. It’s like poetry, sort of. They rhyme.” Similar themes and sequences occur within the franchise, and they have kept that alive at Disney Lucas Films, especially in regards to the parallels drawn between Anakin/Padme and Kylo/Rey. They even designed their respective costumes in a similar fashion. Kylo has his mother and father’s anger and stubbornness. They had a rough idea of where it was all going to go. And in regards to JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson, JJ Abrams was an executive producer on Episode 8 and had a say in the general outline of the plot. JJ had set up the relationship between Kylo and Rey in The Force Awakens, and Rian continued along that path. He followed the skeleton needed to get the plot from 7-9. But think about it, Disney would not allow Rian to just veer off the path completely. Yes he had some creative license but within parameters. Sometimes I don’t think people understand the workings of a large corporation with creative decisions. On a project like Star Wars there is always input from the higher-ups. In addition, JJ Abrams auditioned potential Kylo Ren actors with the script from Pride and Prejudice (Mr. Darcy of course). This is made clear in the writing decisions and parallels which have been made for that particular character.
Lastly, would you really want George Lucas at the helm of this new trilogy? People thought the prequels were terrible and Lucas went back and digitally altered the originals against the will of fans. He is not technically the best when it comes to scriptwriting (Exhibit A: “I hate sand, it gets everywhere!”) Also, Mark Hamill was interviewed in the early ’00s and said, "You know, when I first did this, it was four trilogies. 12 movies! And out on the desert, any time between setups...lots of free time. And George was talking about this whole thing. I said, 'Why are you starting with IV, V and VI? It's crazy.' [Imitating Lucas grumble,] 'It's the most commercial section of the movie.'” Yes, the first film was a stand-alone, since they had no idea they would receive any further funding. But then the immense success allowed for Lucas to develop the franchise further.
What I think people tend to forget is that Star Wars is a fairy tale, and it is not supposed to be about ‘a mass murder’ who is going to jail. It is supposed to be about redemption at its very heart. George Lucus had expressed that he intended Star Wars as a series for “twelve-year-olds”. This explains things like Jar Jar Binks and other bizarre choices he has made as a creator. Though this explains a lot of why most of the people who hate the franchise now are angry adults online who live in an overly politically correct world judging a fictional character who is in the middle of a character arc. As JJ Abrams had said in the director's commentary of The Force Awakens, “We looked at it like […] a fairy tale. What are the elements that you’re going to see that makes it this genre, this specific genre? […] You’re probably going to have a castle, and a prince and a princess, if you’re looking at a fairy tale. We wanted to give these fundamental, not cosmetic, but prerequisite elements.”
Okay, I’ve talked too much. I am going to end it there for now. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
Haha hope that was entertaining and that sparked some thinking and inspiration. I know I let my keyboard run away from me and please excuse the odd typo from time to time. Let me know your thoughts.
I mean just look at that beautiful man.
Love you all!
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I really fell like you kind of romanticised butterfly in the sense of self hat anxiety and cutting.Unless you deal with them personally you would not know that it feels like and I bet you can agree on that. it was glamorised.It’s really worse then that and you really kinda didn’t perceive it that well. Sorry but it kind of hurt that you tried to romanticise it for an stupid ff. it’s offensive and not something to write about so army’s can fantasise about being “saved” from it by bts It’s mocking
Sorry guys this is kinda graphic but be warned major talk about self harm and a shit ton of personal stuff- jfc- don’t actually read this if you don’t want to know verry intimate details about my life, sorry for the weird font things and the emojis I had to distract myself from what I was actually writing about.
I did use to cut, I’m about 2 years clean now (I think it was about March of 2017 but I didn’t really have a good grasp of time then depression man) but I started when I was about 12 because honestly my life was shit.
Butterfly is mostly based on the things I needed to hear when I was going through the worst of it and verry much based on my first ever relationship with a guy who constantly said he’d leave me if I ever cut again. He always found a reason to stay when I did, because I always did again no Matter how many times I promised him I wouldn’t. until I had a pregnancy scare- then he noped right out of my life
this, this bareing of myself isn’t intentional- but maybe telling my story will make you understand. I don’t know if I did romatisize self-harm and mental illness in the story, but if I did, that wasn’t my intention and I’d love to change it if you have any specific suggestions beyond just saying that it is- because to my eyes it’s not problematic because I live with the same kind of self hate the reader has, (not all the time but definitely on my bad days, which thankfully are few and far between now that I’ve been in recovery for so long)
It’s not my intention for butterfly to be a fantasizing peice, for people who want to self harm and be saved to start because of what they read. there is no talk of “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem” talk” which over simplifies it. Or the whole “you must be better for me and I will make you live for my sake” because that never works you have to live for yourself if you’re going to live at all.
what you do have in the story is the boys constantly and consistently challenging the readers view of herself, assuring her that she deserves to be comforted when she’s feeling overly self negative, she deserves to ask for thing like support. The boys aren’t going to be her reason- they can’t be, but they’re sure as hell going to stop enabling her in her self hate (everyone but Jungkook that is) her view of herself is overwhelmingly negative besides the occasional thought of “at least I’m helpful-maybe then my existance is worth it” she can’t subside on their love when she needs to start loving herself and actually putting in the work to get better.
This particular kind of worthlessness is a feeling so pervasive no one should ever have to live with it alone. Which is why I write about it even though it’s really hard for me.
No one besides a phrat boy knows this, but during the worst time of my self harm (my sophomore year of college) I cut two words into either of my wrists. On one side was the word “useful” and on the other side was “worthless.” a guy saw them when we where hooking up and almost checked me into a psyche ward despite the fact that he probably needed to get his stomach pumped. Don’t know if he even remembered it the day after he was so drunk. after that I refused to take my shirt off during sex.
I’m asexual- like pretty certian I’m somewhere on the spectrum, definitely not sex repulsed though. I’ve probably had more than 20 one night stands? not because I really wanted to have sex cuz I never do. literally sex is so boring if it’s not kinky- it’s like watching golf and even when it’s kinky it’s like a movie marathon I’m like mildly interested if it’s on in the background but I’m not going to sit down and watch it like I would the new how to train your dragon movie or the season finale game of thrones. My sexuality is dragons I guess
I had one night stands because I needed to feel useful for a little while and because I usually like the cuddling that comes after, usually , but if I actually like the person I have sex with, I vomit, every single damn time Cuz like Maybe if someone used me for just a night I could pretend that I hadn’t already been thrown to the curb like something that was only meant for a single use. Useful, but worthless. Two sides of the same coin, one word for each wrist.
So yeah maybe I dream of a world where i was saved from that, where I didn’t have to go through it all on my own and fight for every clawing inch I got with my mental health. But maybe everyone dreams that they weren’t alone. Maybe I wish it wasn’t all me that got me to where I am now- to where I can talk about it on this forum and write about it so that other people can be comforted along side myself.
Maybe if It wasn’t all me I wouldn’t worry and stress about my mental health so god damn much- to the point where the fear of going back to that time, to being like that, consumes me on the daily. I have anxiety attacks about the posibility of having anxiety attacks (because I used to cut nearly every time I had them). I never ever want to go back to cutting myself. Never ever ever. I’m terrified at the possibility of it.
But writing about it. Putting myself back in those months before i stopped and writing about it (and reading other stories about it) helps me to remember what I didn’t know then:
I have people who love and will help me if I need it, I can talk to people about it, I can have a conversation about my mental health while knowing I deserve it. I’m not just something someone would toss in the garbage. I’m not just taking up space
✨ One persons trash is another’s treasure and fuck it if I won’t treasure myself ✨
Yeah I wish someone had been able to help me through that- because it was fucking terrifying doing it alone. And if fantasizing about it makes me feel less alone, then it’s okay. Literally all fan fiction is a fantasy anyway. None of it is real. Dean Winchester would have cum enough to fill several seas if it was and Jeon jungkooks dick would have fallen off from how many times he’s fucked y/n. A lot of army’s already feel like bts has saved them, I did verry little to encourage that line of thought in them.
For most Armys, BTS saving them is not a fantasy- it’s a reality.
If you’ve done a close reading of the story, youd realize it’s flawed, Jungkook flat out refuses the readers request for understanding, hoseok dosent realize what’s going on half the time because part of him sees the world through rose colored glasses.
Seokjin dosent know how to reconcile what he knows he wants to happen and what the actuality of the world is. He wants to force the reader to get better but knows that’s wrong and only knows he wants to hold onto her and keep her safe- neglecting the fact that being safe is not the same thing as being happy
yoongi is being overprotective and over watchful not understanding how the readers perception of that behavior only makes her negative mindset worse. Namjoon is doing the same. I haven’t spent a lot of time on Jimins side of the story, but he too clings to her.
They’re all trying to help- but none of them are doing it in the right way- except for taehyung, which is the only part of the story I think that might seem like other conventional narratives of recovery. But what taehyung is trying to do is show her that intamacy, that letting them in and see her- and the parts of her that she views as worthless, won’t make them run and if she actual start to confide in them about her issues then they will know how to best go about supporting her.
The reader wants them to forget about her problems, the others kind of do a bad job of showing her that they can’t. all accept taehyung, who tries to make her understand that they can’t force her to be open or to get better, they can’t be mind readers, she has to want them to understand why she is the way she is before they figure out the best way to help her. She has to want to get better. They’re not going to magically wave their kpop hands and she’ll fall into their arms and suddenly love herself because they want her too. Getting better takes work.
What you said hurts me, but not because I can’t handle my work being criticized, but because I genuinely want to help people with the same issues I had in the past. Like I said before, I just wanted people to feel less alone and maybe I wanted to feel less alone. Maybe one of the reasons why it seems like it’s glamorizing it is because I haven’t shown her getting better yet- which I will, it’s just gonna take me a second to get there in the story I promise.
If you honestly had a problem with any part in butterfly part two, or part one, I would love it if you sent me the part and told me why it wasn’t okay, so that I can change it and make it not glamorize self-harm.
Also to the other people who are reading this and are really concerned about me and my well being, know that I’m okay now, I’m more okay than I’ve been since I was like 11 years old? You don’t have to worry about me. Like at all. I would have just deleted this message if I thought I wasn’t okay and couldn’t handle the criticism.
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CONGRATULATIONS, LINDSEY! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Arthur Weasley. I’m so happy to have an Arthur again so soon. He’s extremely important for some upcoming plots, and you do him such justice. I loved the way you write his relationship with Molly, and I can’t wait to see Arthur on the dash.
Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!
ooc.
name: lindsey
age: 24
preferred pronouns: she/her
timezone: cst
activity: to be honest, i’m not completely sure. i graduated from college (LITERALLY!) yesterday. lol so i can say that i will probably be extremely active as i have a ridiculous amount of time on my hands all of the sudden
how do you feel about your character dying?: i’m fine with it as long as i’m not getting the boot! although i would absolutely love to see molly’s return/discover that she’s actually dead before that point
anything else?: my graduation trip starts tomorrow and i will be gone until the 14th, but emily referred me here and i wanted to apply for arthur before he got snatched up! i can be around on mobile in the evenings until i return, and am happy to. i hope this doesn’t hinder my acceptance at all, but of course i completely understand if it does. if you need to, you can wait to make the decision until the 14th. thank you for understanding either way!
ic details.
full name: Arthur William Weasley
He admired his father from afar, struggling his whole life to feel heard and valued when his tongue always seemed to feel thick and twisted in his mouth. Their relationship was never perfect, but when Arthur had his first son, it seemed natural to pass down the name that was also his.
date of birth: 6 February, 1952
It had been snowing the day Arthur was born. He knew this because in the haste to get his wife to the hospital, William Weasley left their house without shoes on his feet. “Almost lost a toe, I did.” It was a story he grew up hearing, met in later life with eye rolls and sighs of irritation. It wasn’t until he experienced his pregnant wife going into labor in the middle of the night himself that he empathized with the panic he knew all too well.
former hogwarts house: Gryffindor.
Until he met Molly Prewett, Arthur would tell you it never completely made sense to him - why he was sorted into Gryffindor. He couldn’t get words out under the slightest amount of pressure, why would anyone think he could Roar with the Lions? Perhaps it was a sort of Grandfather Clause. He did, in fact, come from an exceedingly long line of Gryffindors. Did the Sorting Hat take pity on him and place him where his parents could finally feel some pride in their only son? Maybe. But then the day came that he tried to voice this fact and the response he got was instant. She came through a crowd like a bolt of lightning (shoving a few innocent bystanders to get to him) and looked up into his face with a look of angered determination. She told him he didn’t have to be loud to be brave. He pointed out the truth that she was quite noisy, herself. To this, Molly Prewett broke out in a grin that (though maybe a tad dramatic) Arthur would swear changed the course of his life indefinitely, and called him funny. And bold. Bold to call her, the argumentative eleven year old than she was, noisy. “See,” she’d said. “A Gryffindor.”
sexuality: straight, but with a jealous admiration for his sex.
gender/pronouns: cisgendered male, he/him
face claim change: no change! Sam Claflin is a lil peach.
more.
how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.
Arthur is a quiet man with many thoughts, but few words. His intellect says nothing of his verbiage and though he doesn’t say much, his eyes tell all. There is a slight wonder that had he not been cursed with an abnormal tongue, he might not have had such telling looks. It is just that, however, a mere curiosity for he has no lasting desire to change who he is. Despite his earlier insecurities, he has come to accept himself for all his faults.
The true Gryffindor in Arthur Weasley came to light when he became a father in a world ravaged by war. He wanted to fight for his children, the woman he loves - the family that never questions his worth but sees him as wholly better than he could ever see himself. Everything clicked into place the first time he found himself face-to-face with someone who knew him from their days in school, someone who knew the jibes that would hurt him, and that he had a wife and children back home. He couldn’t place them behind the mask, but they knew his youngest son’s name. “Charlie, was it?” And something in Arthur snapped. He hadn’t realized just how protective he was of the things he considered precious until that moment, but it made perfect sense. What good is a father if he’s not willing to kill or be killed for his loved ones?
Part of the consuming love Arthur has for his family comes from the love he never really had for himself. In his youth, he didn’t care about it. He never focused on self-loathing, but neither did he see any good within himself. That is, as it always is, until Molly came blazing into his life, cementing her position to his left side. When he discovered that she reciprocated his love for her, he admired her all the more. How could she? But she was the smartest person he had ever met, so he wouldn’t dare question it - lest she realize she could do so much better than little old him.
The worry is consuming. He spends his entire day thinking. The gears in his brain churn faster than they ever have, taking his soul and ripping it to pieces. Is Molly still alive? Is she being tortured? Is she at peace, wherever she is? Did she realize how grand her life could be a simply fly the coop that disastrous day? He knows that last one is a bit off the rails, but when his mind is going, Arthur is lost to stop it. Bill might be off safely tucked inside Hogwarts Castle but the rest of his children are with him in Godric’s Hollow. At ten-years-old, Charlie, his most adventurous spawn, gets restless and likes to run off at odd times, causing Arthur’s heart to skip furtive beats. He’s never that far off, usually closely examining stray animals that want nothing to do with him, but Arthur fears one day he’ll be just beyond his reach in the midst of a tragedy (not unlike his mother was). Percy, who is six, is wise beyond his years and stays close to his father as if he can sense the anxiety distance brings. It is young Percy’s help that keeps Arthur from losing his mind over his rambunctious twins, who are barely four and already rebellious. His youngest song, Ron, who has entered the Terrible Twos, clings to Arthur whenever he is awake, making it rather difficult to give his six-month-old (and only daughter) the proper attention she needs. The worry never stops, the change in his daytime routine doing nothing to change that. The only time the young but aging father feels an ounce of serenity is when all the kids are asleep.
how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?
In her absence, he sees her. Like a ghost, she hovers beside him in his loneliest moments. Molly, the greatest love of his life, reduced to a figment of his imagination. When he longs for her uplifting presence the most, she appears. The first few times, she didn’t say anything. She simply left him stunned, staring at her like he really had seen a ghost. These little visits left him haunted for days. He couldn’t sleep but neither could he bring himself to leave the bed they once shared. His mother stayed with the kids, taking care of them in both their parents’ absences. He thought it meant that she must be dead, but a bigger part of him refused to believe that. This wasn’t her genuine ghost. They had been so connected for years. He knew how she was feeling before he even entered the house after work night after night for years. Surely if she was really and truly dead, he would feel it in his soul. Then he’d managed to ask her what to do aloud, and suddenly she replied. He peered up from the deep pit of sheets their bed had become and took in the insufficient image of his missing wife. “Get up,” she had said, and though it didn’t sound exactly like her, he knew what she wanted. Even as a sad duplicate of the real thing, she wouldn’t let him neglect her children - their children.
where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?
With Molly missing, how is Arthur managing taking care of his children and continuing to be a part of the Order? Does he feel like he should remain a part of the Order?
These questions go hand-in-hand, so I grouped my answer to one longer explanation; I hope that’s okay!
Arthur gathered up his children, said goodbye to his quickly aging parents, and moved to Godric’s Hollow. Lupin had a point. They’d be hiding in plain sight because no one in their right mind would expect them to go where so much darkness remained. Dumbledore promised there would be Hogwarts-level protection on the village to ward off any more disaster. It felt like the smartest thing to do. The draw to continue fighting is there, but he has to think of his kids first. Their safety comes far before his own and the more his soul tells him to fight, the more he considers doing the hardest thing and sending them somewhere far away where they wouldn’t have to be a part of any of it. Time isn’t healing her absence, it is making it harder for Arthur to keep himself together. If he fights, will he finally find her? Will he uncover the truth, that maybe (God willing) she’s alive somewhere? And if she is, what torture could she possibly be enduring? Perhaps it’s better to hope that she’s dead, but the selfish side of Arthur knows what a fighter his wife is - and how lost he might be without her permanently. He remains a part of the Order in the hopes that he will be the first to hear of her whereabouts, determined not to give up just yet. He stays so that the concern and the kids don’t consume him completely. It’s not out of duty anymore. It has nothing to do with wanting a better life for his children. He needs to be the first to know when they finally reveal his biggest fear - that Molly Weasley is dead.
extra.
An extension of the Worry weakness;
Arthur tucks Percy into his sheets and lays a kiss to his sons head, says goodnight to Charlie who doodles in a journal in his adjourning bed across the room. As he leaves the room, he shuts off the light and pulls the door until it is almost closed. Through the crack in the door, he can see the dim yellow light of Charlie’s flashlight. He smiles because he can see his son in his minds’ eye, light tucked beneath his chin, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on drawing whatever strange animal he’s dreamed of the night before. In the next room, Arthur has to tell Fred and George to lay down and go to sleep, as he catches them playing in the dark. Fred leans over the top bunk, his small head upside down as he tries to grab the stuffed animal his brother, who is still laying on his back on the bottom bunk, has in his outstretched arm. Ron, in the lowered crib on the other side of the room, stirs restlessly. Arthur tucks the twins in tight, thinking he might invest in restraints - a joke that would’ve made Molly laugh boisterously, had she been there to hear it. He crosses the room to Ron and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, tucking his stuffed rabbit into his small arms. His hand lingers on the warmth of his sons forehead - does he have a fever? If he does, they all will by in the morning and then Arthur will be dealing with six sick children for the next week. If Molly were there, they’d take it in stages, letting the other rest in the interim. It’s nearly impossible to deal with that many sick kids at one time, each needing something at different times through the day and night until they are back to normal. Arthur heaves a sigh and wanders out of the room, hoping the warmth came from a deep sleep and not an impending epidemic. He goes into his own bedroom at the end of the hall where a crib is pushed against the end of his bed - they couldn’t afford a four bedroom house, especially not with Arthur working half the time he used to.
He plops down on the corner of the bed, sleep pulling at his brain, begging his eyelids to close and he hears it. From inside the crib comes the slightest gurgling noise. He peels his eyes open and leans sideways to look over the bars. His small daughter is awake inside her bed, quite content with chewing on her wet fist. Her small feet kick at the air, her eyes blinking up at the mobile above her. It has little twinkling stars with reflective mirrors and colorful ribbons hanging from it. Arthur feels his throat tighten at the sight of her. The slight hair on her head curls like her mothers, her big, almond-shaped eyes are Molly’s precise color. She’s beautiful. Arthur heaves a deep, exhausted sigh and lays back on his bed, legs bent at the knees with his feet still on the floor. For the briefest of moments, he hadn’t been worried. He said goodnight to all of his children and reveled in the quiet. But the thought of Molly brings on a whole new wash of agony and he closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them. He would fall asleep just like that, sleeping deeply until the twins awoke him in the early hours of the morning already full of energy and ready to take on the day. But for a moment before sleep and a minute after waking up, he’d stop worry and simply lived.
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Show of Hands
Is there anyone out there interested in reading my writing about someone other than Harry Styles?
I am really having fun exploring other characters and may potentially someday go back to that original novel of mine. I just am unsure if anyone gives a shit if I post it or if it’s better left for another blog, which I do have but have neglected. If it appears that it’s better for the other blog this one will likely remain dormant for quite a while.
I have a good start with two things that I could potentially start publishing.
One involves Michael B. Jordan and a love interest who is white, which I feel like I haven’t found in my searches. I will preface this by saying she is white mainly because I’m not sure how advanced of a writer I am to get into the mind of someone unlike me. If you have read my writing in the past you may have noticed that most of my characters share similar things with me, whether it's my anxiety, my chronic migraines, my neurotic behavior, being absolutely horrible at relationships, hell one even has my name. The thing this character shares with me is that I am white. While someday I’d love to feel confident enough to write a POC as the lead narrator in a novel I don’t want to do a disservice to the amazing women of color who exist in this world by terribly writing about them because I respect them too much to butcher their life experience for a story. It would take more research and learning to understand how to adapt my writing style to something that I have no shared experience with. It’s not meant to be controversial or imply that MBJ should date white women or only does or whatever. I just find him hot and started writing something about him a while ago and sort of stopped because my drive was shot and because I wasn’t sure if I liked what I was having to use as the dramatic element in the story. Dating a black man is something that I can relate to which is why the perspective intrigued me. While there was no controversy about us because we are two regular, normal people in our 30s in Iowa, admittedly a lot of my extended family is racist so there was a lot of internalization about what they would think if things got really serious and if I would essentially have to watch my family disown me and my mother because she loved him as much as I did and wouldn’t stand for someone telling me not to love him because he wasn’t like me. In the end, we were better off friends and he is who I saw Endgame with yesterday. He is still the first person I tell my good news to that isn’t family and very supportive of me. I’m fairly certain my ex would laugh his fucking ass off if I told him I was trying to rehash our relationship in my mind for a story involving MBJ. He’d roll his eyes at me so hard the Earth would fly off its axis. It’s a challenge for me personally and creatively because I know that MBJ’s history of dating white women is talked about on the internet a lot and it sort of inspired me after a week of binge-watching a crap ton of MBJ movies and the final two season of FNL. I think the conflict I knew my family would have with my past relationship was bleeding too much into what I’m writing because it’s 2019. If people have a problem with two people from different races loving each other that’s something that is their problem, not mine.
The current one I’m writing has Chris Evans in it. I talked about it a little yesterday. I started writing one a looooooong time ago and hit a road bump with life and never finished it. In fact, it never made it past 30 pages. I do frequently open that document up and read through those 30 pages of not great writing - it was before I truly found my groove in writing and it’s honestly not that good. But I have essentially only been consuming MCU and MCU adjacent films for like 2 solid months so I have Chris Evans on the brain all the time. I developed a massive crush on him when I was a senior in high school that has just grown through the years. I have never seriously toyed with the idea of him as a love interest for a character but I feel like it’s something I really truly want to keep working on. So I’m going to for myself most of all but if it was something that anyone had interest in I’d consider sharing it. Writing this doesn’t give me panic about what my life could’ve been like if my relationship had continued and the racist relatives had come out of the woodwork. It doesn’t make me fear that I will offend someone by writing an interracial relationship and honestly it saves me from trying to analyze the cultural differences between my ex and me to more properly write it. It just lets me live in a happy bubble where I get to watch youtube videos of Chris laughing - literally my favorite sound in the world. Plus I get to feel better about having done more than 30 pages of something that could’ve been great that I gave up on. I have a tendency not to finish things and want to break that habit.
I struggle to write short, one-shot style fanfics. I’m a chaptered kinda lady. And if you’ve read anything I’ve published I screwed myself with ITHOLA and my chapters were all 10,000 words plus. I love telling stories and creating characters and bringing them to life. I’d love to try and write the shorter one-shots but I don’t know that I have it in me, I absolutely can’t write anything where the character is referred to as {your name} because I have to develop the character in my mind to be able to write it. I like writing from inside someone’s head, not in the third person POV. This blog started initially as this heaven for Harry Styles because I fell down a rabbit hole. While I love the characters I created we all know I’ve been struggling to write it for a year. I’m at such a different place in life than I was when I started and I needed time to step back from it and see if I could keep doing it. I got through a few chapters but the parts of it that were imitating my real life started to cause some serious depression associated with my writing. The dissolution of a friendship and health complications with a parent are something I know all too fucking well these days. I need something new and happy and fun to give me the release that my writing gives me.
So I guess the question is. If I published something that wasn’t about Harry Styles would anyone read it? Does a tree make a sound if it falls and no one is around to hear it? Help me figure out if this is just for me or if I need to keep fine-tuning it to have it be for the world or at least a few readers on the internet.
#fan fiction#fan fiction writer#fanfic#fanfic writer#harry styles#michael b. jordan#Chris Evans#Please someone tell me I should write about Chris Evans#He's just so perfect in every way#I mean I'm going to write about him anyway#avengers#endgame#avengers endgame#all of the endgame feels#to write or not to write
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Dear NaNo Diary... (Week Four and Beyond)
NaNo can be thrilling, challenging, frustrating, and revitalizing––sometimes all at once. This November, we’ve asked NaNo participants to share their daily thoughts in a new series, Dear NaNo Diary. Here are some entries from the last two weeks of NaNoWriMo:
November 21
Dear Nano Diary,
Just wanted to let you know that holiday vacations are PERFECT for catching up on lost words. I'm only five hours of good writing away from being back up to where I should be, and my story is finally cooperating again. I think at this rate I may actually finish today or tomorrow, and then I can skip off into the sunset and switch to that new project I was so excited to get started on. I know the past week has been rough for both of us, but thanks for making me stick to it. I don't think there's been a year yet where I've written this much, this well, and come so close to the actual end.
Optimistically yours,
Burlew
Dear NaNo Diary,
I've just realised that I'd rather write a fantasy novel than a "realistic" one. I was wondering why I couldn't be passionate about what I was writing, and I think it's maybe because I want to build a fantastic and better world that includes magic through my words. Well of course, as great as they can be, it would be too late now to just throw a dragon in my novel. I'll know what to try next, though. On another note, I'm starting to see all these pink "WINNER!" bars and it gives me a slight sense of panic. I'm catching up on my word-count, but I am slow, and I don't have much time. And most importantly, I don't really know where my story is going. I just killed off my main character's father just because I felt like it, and I thought it would add something interesting to the plot. Maybe it will. But poor him. Barely outlined and already dead.
Signed,
Hyléore
November 24
Dear NaNo Diary,
Dare I say it? I'm tired, but also way to stubborn to give up now that the end is only a week away. So I'll keep going, but my health is definitely being a pain in the behind (and wrists, ouch) the last week. And if I can muster the energy I'd like to go on a field trip tomorrow to a botanical garden - that's kind of a must when you're writing a story that heavily features plants, right? I can write in the train, and watch one of the amazing plants that only flowers once in its life and is now in bloom according to the garden's Facebook. I'll be walking in my MC's footsteps, so that should definitely give me that final burst of inspiration to finish this story.
Love,
Mossenmeisje
Dear NaNo Diary,
Look, we both know that writing every day is easier said than done. And I certainly have not done a great job of it. Things got pretty rough there in Week 2. I mean, this is NaNo--we all know that Week 2 is where novels go to die, and man, did it ever kick my butt! But I powered through with only minimal skipping of days (and, well, maximal hating-everything-I-wrote) and things got back on track. There will probably be lots of editing to be done in that little chunk, but let's be real, that's just how this novel-in-a-month thing goes… this isn't my first rodeo. I'm gonna write through this just like I wrote through the suck in Week 2, and I'm gonna win again, and then I'm gonna take a break before I dig in to editing this monstrosity, where I will hopefully find (as I usually do) that it really isn't as bad as I think. I'm a good writer. I can do this. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Right. I've got 20 minutes before I have to take the dog to the vet. Better get back to writing.
Determinedly yours,
Jaina
Dear NaNo Diary,
Day 24 and I kinda wish I was done with you. But, alas, you aren't even halfway finished yet. Yeah, I'm almost done with the 50,000. Whatever. I haven't even made it to the midpoint of the story yet. I have the feeling I'm going to have to keep this same pace throughout December, and that's scaring me. I have so much to do. My physics grade is suffering, my music theory and math grades are beginning to drop. Next to go is psychology and English. And heaven forbid, drivers ed. I'm literally behind with drivers ed. NaNoWriMo, you are sucking the life out of me and I hate you.
But...without you, I probably would've already given up. Like, hardcore given up on myself. On life. You've kept me going, kept me living. So part of me is glad I'm not anywhere close to being done with you.
Until next time.
AllisonReneS
November 25
Dear NaNo Diary,
I was always the kind of writer that doubted myself. I never even imagined that I could ever declare myself a winner of this event, or that I would ever get close to writing 50K, ever. My novel just proved me wrong, because yesterday I hit 50,000 despite having struggled with illness, schoolwork, and about a thousand other things that got in the way of writing. I actually did it, and it's only thanks to this lovely community. My writing group has pushed me towards the finish line, and the people in the forums were always there to offer encouragement or to play with on the procrastination forums. The virtual write-ins gave me wind under my wings when I needed it, and the NaNo WordSprints motivated me to keep going.
NaNo has given me something I haven't had in a long time: a sense of accomplishment. Because I did something hard, but I actually did it. Now, this novel is still not done, but nothing says I have to stop now. For today, I'm going to let myself smile and catch up on everything I have neglected to get to this point. But that's okay. Because I just did something I thought was impossible, and nothing is going to bring me down.
Signed,
TheRavenclawWriter
Dear NaNoDiary,
Look, I can write about cannibalism today, or I can write about sex.
Not. Both.
Jessikanesis
Dear NaNo diary,
I am sad that this month is almost over. Today I have crossed the 40K mark, a thing I still thought impossible a week ago when I was struggling to get to 20K. My story has taken me unexpected places and characters have slipped from within me that I didn't know I was holding captive. Thank you for that. My writing experience has been a little lonely, today is probably the first time ever I wandered onto the forums, it'd be nice to have met some fellow writers along the way. I've read many ideas and plots around the forums and I have to say I am so impressed and humbled to be a part of such an endlessly creative and talented community. I guess I'd also like to thank myself, for not giving up despite travelling in between three continents at the beginning of this month and having real life deal me some busy distracting stuff as well. A part of me wishes this crazy journey and enthusiasm and frustration swapping with joy will follow me, and everyone else, further after November.
Congratulations to the finishers, strength to those who are still going, and love to all!!!
Elishadowy
Dear Nano Diary,
I've topped 1,600 new words today and I'm on schedule to reach 50,000 on the last day. Not the day before, the last day. There is no room for error or wasted time. I believe my writing limit in a month might be 50,000 words, no more. It would appear it is going to require 100 percent effort in order to accomplish this goal.
One of my professors in college once said "People say they gave it 100 percent effort, and yet they have not expended all of their energy when they are done. I contend," he says, "if one accomplishes a goal at 100 percent effort, then death would occur at the precise moment the goal was accomplished."
Here's hoping I can write 50,001 words in a month.
stellaloop
November 26
Dear NaNo Diary,
This is bad. My goal this year was between 50,000 and 65,000 words. Right now I need to write between 28,001 words and 43,001 words in the next 4 days to win. That is basically 5,601-10,750 words a day to finish on time. BUT despite it all I am weirdly feeling motivated and excited to finish?!?!?!? I think the extreme amounts of espresso I've consumed are getting to my head.
Signed,
Teen dreaming with her eyes open
November 27
Dear NaNo Diary,
Day 27 on this plane of existential reality. Having passed the last barrier of 40,000 words towards the final stretch, three days doesn't seem like long to achieve it. The experience has been perfect not only because I could monitor myself with an objective during those days, but I've proven I could do it, raising the bar of my own personal margin of daily writing. A plus to this experience has been the great quality of the new writers I've encountered on the forums and in groups. There's a lot of talent about to be discovered, as is the inner fire needed to write a story from beginning to end. It's a beautiful proposal you've created and I celebrate this worldwide festival of words, creativity, and language in all its dimensions.
Laura Pigatt [translated from Spanish]
November 28
Dear NaNo Diary,
I am so behind! If I'm being realistic with myself, there's no way I'm going to write 20,000 more words by the 30th. Despite that fact, I'm reeling really good. I've won a few times before, but this is the best I've felt about a manuscript...ever. I am excited to finish my first draft (which will be well over 50,000 words when it's done) after November is over. Even more, I've established a writing habit that's realistic. I feel like a winner!
Signed,
r0gue0fd00m
November 29
Dear Nano Diary,
We are so close to the end and it could not come sooner, writing this story has been fun (especially at the times I made it suck less) but finals are coming and I have far too much to do and far too little energy for it all.
Just about three thousand to go though... it would just be stupid not to finish at this point.
Onwards!
SortaDevon
This is the last Dear NaNo Diary post of this year’s NaNoWriMo! We didn’t have a post last week due to the holiday and some schedule conflicts, but you’re welcome to check out all the great, inspiring, touching, and hilarious entries on the official forums post. Thanks for reading!
Original top photo licensed under Creative Commons from Joel Montes de Oca on Flickr.
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I’m a bit nervous about posting this, because it’s a big nerdy splurge about Doctor Who, and why it is so very important to me, and there is quite personal stuff in it that I have never posted publicly, but. It’s a little over a day out from the finale, and I can’t not talk about something that totally consumed me for seven years.
When I say personal stuff, I mean stuff like suicidal ideation and mental illness, so there’s a content warning.
I wish Steven Moffat, and everyone else who has poured their lovely hearts into making this show, could know what it has done for me.
I've found it somewhat difficult to pinpoint what my favourite episode of Moffat era Who should be. It puzzled me for quite a while. Not because there are no tremendously stellar episodes that stand above all the rest -- there are quite a few of those to pick over. In terms of actual writing skill, narrative cohesion, magnificent direction and all that pretentious stuff, it would have to be Heaven Sent. I could watch that episode over and over again until the heat death of the Universe.
But I think my actual favourite episode, the one nearest and dearest to my little anarchist care bear heart, has to be The Beast Below. The one with the whale that was technically more up in space than it was below. I realize fandom consensus does not consider it the pinnacle of Moffat’s storytelling, but I don’t care. The ideas in that episode, and it is so full of lovely ideas, are what made me sit up and start paying attention to the potential this show had.
Specifically, what got me was what it said about child abuse and neglect as an essential cog in the machine of fascism, or something. Which I had never, in my whole entire life, seen so earnestly articulated on TV before-- in a children’s television show-- with a goddamn whale. I can pinpoint that as the exact moment this show snatched me and hurled me, screaming, into fandom.
[Later, A Christmas Carol would draw big red underlines and exclamation points all around these ideas... that's my other favourite episode. But The Beast Below did it first and hooked me.]
There’s more to it besides that, though. This is the deeply personal emotional context stuff.
So, here is something you may or may not know about the nerd creature that is me. I was quite homeless at the time The Beast Below aired. And I had nothing -- literally nothing, you see. I was in a totally unfamiliar city in a fairly unfamiliar country, post-psychotic break, post-marriage-engagement breakdown, and I was more alone than I'd ever been -- and I'd been your standard lonely friendless geek my whole life, being Autistic, and what have you.
I had just escaped an incredibly abusive, toxic group of people upon realization they were not so much a group of friends, but a cult. Yes, an actual cult! I was in one of those. I was also very, very ill with an immune disorder. And the only member of my family who ever accepted me, the only one actually still talking to me after I gave my narcissistic rage monster mother the finger, had just died of cancer.
This had all occurred across the space of, oh... one year? Almost entirely within 2009, leading into 2010. I was a wreck. And if you piled all this nonsense on a fictional character all at once, I'd probably say you were being gratuitous and change the channel. I was too miserable to even know how miserable I was-- just sort of wandering around in a dissociated haze, surviving entirely by the instincts of my autonomic nervous system. A good friend of mine described it to me later as ''you were sort of frozen'', and she was right.
So. I downloaded the space whale episode over a wi-fi connection, illegally, on an ancient computer, in a library [haha how appropriate is that?] because I quite liked all the other Doctor Whos I had seen before, and this new writer fella had done Press Gang, a fond highlight of my otherwise wretched childhood.
I watched Amy Pond and the Doctor cavorting around dystopian space Britain, having casual conversations about the nature of fascism, in a show marketed to 10 year olds. My sad little eyes pressed right up to the computer screen, irradiating my retinas, and I whispered: ''I've waited 20 years for My Show, and someone finally wrote it. It even has a mad ginger immigrant in it, and she's me. The Universe made this just for me.''
It also had a whale, and the whale was in space.
And that is how I was propelled into my seven year character arc, my precious nerds. Because this show, from series 5 onwards, has done more for me than anything else on the planet. And I don't care how ridiculous it sounds to attribute my self-actualization to a goofy TV show about loveable alien miscreants saving space whales, because it's true. It took a while, but I learned what I actually value and what actually properly matters to me through this show. Or rather, I re-learned it, because I'd become so lost chasing approval and moulding myself to other people's perceptions to withstand their abuse, I didn't know what I was anymore.
This show, and this goddamn fandom, helped me pull all the chopped up little bits of me back together more than any therapy or self-help nonsense I had tried. I went back to university and got serious about doing actual work, in part, because ''we're all just stories in the end... make it a good one.'' kept looping in my brain. It made me determined that my life could never be summed up with a single sentence like: ''He was sad and boring, and he wasted away in his apartment -- achieving nothing, leaving no trace''.
[I still don’t get out much, to be honest. But I’m trying. At the very least, my epic marathon through 500 wildly divergent university degrees says something, yes? Maybe I can set the official record for ‘’the world’s most reluctant to graduate student’’.]
Anyway. This show, this fandom... gave me so much. It gave me my voice as a creator of things, as a writer, and an analyzer, and it gave me people like me, real and fictional, people I didn’t even know existed anywhere.
And you know…. this is heavy stuff again-- but it honestly gave me the motivation to get through to another weekend sometimes, when I was apathetic enough and in enough physical pain to contemplate not doing that. It really did. I didn't want to miss an episode of Doctor bloody Who, arthritis and schizophrenia and poverty be damned, and that kept me here.
There were points, where one of the few things that restrained me from taking a decisive dose of Oxycontin, was River Song's storyline. I'm serious. And as shameful as that probably is, it's still better than being dead, and not getting to watch Doctor Who anymore.
Cuz Doctor Who had a whale in it, right? A great big pink whale filled with benevolent intentions, and it was in space, and everybody hugged at the end, on top of the whale, after overthrowing the government! Moffat Who came out of the gate telling ten year olds ‘’OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT’’! I needed that with all my aching nerd heart. The Universe made it for me.
And then they put queer characters in it, and mentally ill characters, and abuse survivors, like me, and it valued them, and it valued children. And then there was River Song, and hugs, and self acceptance, and found families, and sparkles all around, and Bill Potts. And a big Jungian tapestry of meta and mythology. Just for me. There was nothing else on TV like it.
So now here we are, the eve of the final episode of series 10, which I have slobbered and fawned over almost as much as series 5, the one that grabbed me.
And... I’m kind of terrified, to be honest. Because all the connections I made here, are so tied up in this show, and talking about this show, and picking apart this specific era of the show... I’m afraid I won't have anything to talk about anymore? and I'll drift apart from my friends, and…. never have something quite like this lovely little hive of internet debauchery and meta and space whales ever again.
That actually scares me so much. Some of you have been here nearly a whole seven years, longer than almost anyone else in my life, apart from my husband, and I am grateful the vast and mysterious machinations of the Universe dumped us all together in the seething hell-pit of fandom. Those of you who have not yet run screaming into the night from my 957 daily posts about Doctor Who... you don't know how much you have helped me, and brighten my day, just by existing.
Yes, even Proton, who is old, and frequently incorrect, and a cyborg. And Elisi, who speaks utter nonsense that confuses my head. Really. I know my primary method of interacting with people is emphatically, and tactlessly, listing every single way they are wrong about things, but I do occassionally have actual emotions like ‘’appreciation’’.
Do not worry, though. This audaciously out-of-character display of sincerity will now be deleted from your memory.
Gone? Good.
So it's been seven wonderful transformative years for me, and the Doctor Who they made just for lil gay anarchist crazy pants care-bear me is ending forever soon. I mean... there will always be Doctor Who, and it will always be Doctor Who, of course. It will be there at the heat death of the Universe, while I’m still salivating over the utter perfection of Heaven Sent. And a sentient gas cloud in a jar will be running it, or something-- because the show has gained its own level of quasi-sentience, furiously transcended all sensible laws of television, and refuses to die.
But the Moffat era came into my life right when I needed it, and it changed me, and I can’t imagine any other era can be that personal to me. It won’t be my Doctor Who anymore.
Steven Moffat doesn’t know I exist, and yet, has tormented my televisual experiences since I could barely even comprehend television. I have him to thank for two glorious book-ends to my childhood and adolescence: Press Gang, and Doctor Who. Thank you so much, Moffat, you scheming Scottish bastard. Thank you for everything.
I don’t think I would be the sort of person I am now without this damn show, it’s fandom, and its unapologetic, space whale flavoured idealism. I honestly just wouldn’t be.
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