#not reflecting on my mommy issues as we speak

[dirtytransmasc]

[TW implied/referenced rape/forced consent]

did Alicent call for her mother? did she ask her, a woman she thought was so wise and all knowing, why? why it happened to her? why her father betrayed her so? why this man who was so much older than her, looked at her with such empty lustful eyes? did she silently pray for her mother when Viserys raped her, night after night, begging for her to save her? did she imagine her mother walking next to her as she made her way to Viserys's chambers, knowing what was to happen, unable to change her fate? did she scream for her during labor, begging for her to be by her side, to hold her hand, to make the pain stop? did she cry for her mother when she was raising a child, while still a child herself, another on the way, clueless as to what to do? did she ask her for advice? did she beg for forgiveness cause she was failing her children? did she kneel at the Sept till it hurt more than she could bear, trying to feel her mother's arms around her? did she take Aegon? Helaena? Aemond? Daeron? did she take them with her to pray, to get to know her mother? did she have to hold them still and remind them to be quiet in such a place? did she hold them close as she told them stories of her?

did she ever think of Aemma? she must have, she must have when Viserys forced her into the late queen's robes, she must have when he frequently called her by the wrong name, when he sought her hand in marriage before his mourning period had even ended. did she beg for Aemma's forgiveness? was she sorry for what Viserys was doing to her? did she blame herself? did she feel guilty for having a healthy son on the first try, for having 4 healthy babes? did she tell her kids of her? did she share her memories of Aemma with them? did she question how she managed to be with Viserys for so long? how she lost so much cause of that man yet pain and anger never once flashed in her eyes? did she think of the last conversation she heard from her, about the child bed and royal wombs, often?

#im having a moment #its fine #im fine #not reflecting on my mommy issues as we speak #definitely not projecting them onto alicent #no no no why would you ask? #the (conceptual. since hotd never explored it) bond between Alicent. her mom. and Aemma is something that can be so personal #like did she think of them? did she bury her memories? did she seek forgiveness or mercy? #I need to know #how deep did Alicent's guilt run? #how desperate was she to have her mother back #please hotd writers please I'm desperate #alicent hightower #aemma targaryen #I can't even find a concept name for Alicent's mom (she deserves a name) #pro alicent hightower #pro team green #anti viserys i targaryen #anti otto hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #going mad. chewing my own leg like a dog. shaking uncontrollably. seeking gods mercy. help

[lamnwar]

"Hey, babe."

"Hm?"

"Do you think we can get a dog?"

Taiga raises an eyebrow at you, facing your pleading eyes, that look on your face he only sees when you ask for him to take you out on a nice dinner.

"Are you serious, babe?"

"Dead serious."

He stares back, thick eyebrows torn in confusion at your sudden request, and one that makes no sense at all since...

"I'm scared shitless of them."

You laugh, a blatant mockery of your boyfriend and his irrational fear of dogs. You've been aware of it for a long time now; from the way he goes the opposite direction of anyone walking their dog on the street and how he stays on his guards every time you hang out at Tetsu's. The sight never fails to amuse you. Can it get more ridiculous than seeing a buff, giant man like your boyfriend shitting his pants in front of a creature which's not even a quarter of his size?

"Come on Taiga, we'll get a small one, maybe something chill like... a corgi?"

"Can't we get a cat?" he replies, still not convinced by, what is to him, an absurd demand.

"I'm allergic, you know that."

He sighs. He doesn't get it - where this sudden demand comes from or what even is the necessity for you to get a pet. As far as he's concerned, the two of you are well enough. So, what more can you seek? Is his company not enough to keep you from loneliness?

"What do you need a dog for, anyways?" he mumbles, a slight childish pout on his face.

You don't reply instantly, your gaze travelling away from his adorable face. The reason for your request is not a mystery to you, yet voicing it out scares you. It's just painfully embarrassing.

"Maybe you'd like a bigger breed? Should we get a German shepherd?"

He clicks his tongue, turning your face towards his, "Answer my question."

You remain silent, still not looking his way. It's not like Taiga would judge you for your reason behind this seemingly random request, but it's more that you don't like what it may reflect of you.

"Hey, babe. Not gonna judge, I'm just trying to understand. Y'know, depending on the answer I might actually be open for negotiation."

You laugh softly, a breathy sigh coming out of your lips as you finally speak, voice little.

"I... I want company so I don't feel alone when you're not home."

Your answer surprises him at first; eyebrows raised as he ponders what you mean by that. For all he knows, he's at home quite often, safe for the few times when he has to play abroad. Taiga's routine, overwise, is constructed so he gets to spend the most time with you. Morning in your arms, making sure he's home to cook a delicious diner for you every evening, and even going to occasionally pick you up earlier just so he has more hours to spend with you. And you are fully aware of it, which makes you feel terrible for being so clingy. You literally have no excuse, when your boyfriend is Taiga Kagami.

"It's stupid, I know." You groan, hiding your face in the palms of your hands.

"Nah pretty, I get it."

"Huh?"

Strong arms pull you towards your boyfriend's warm chest. He keeps you there, in a soft embrace as you feel his laugh rumble in his torso.

"I'd become a househusband if it meant spending all my days with you. So I get it."

"Yeah? Because there's that and also..." you pause, gathering your thoughts. "I wanna take care of something."

This time, though, he doesn't get it at all. You could mean anything by that statement, and for all he knows, it might have everything to do with him, or not. You grimace, not expecting to open up that much from what started off as a rather simple request - well, simple in your book, that is.

"I don't get to take care of you, since you're so independent. But I wanna care for something, have someone be dependent on me. Is that crazy?" you laugh in embarrassment, "shit, my shrink would probably put that on my mommy issues."

In all honesty, Taiga doesn't really know how to respond to that. It's not really that he's at lost for words, as much as he simply cannot comprehend what you are feeling.

He wishes he could though, and after a few minutes of silent reflection, he eventually does. Taiga grew up to be self-sufficient, and ever since you started living together, he's unknowingly started taking care of you, too. It's just a second nature to him, something he does without thinking about it too hard.

"That's why you want a dog, huh? well, I would rather have you take care of me" he says, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Envious of our non-existent dog already, Taiga?" you chuckle.

"Honestly? Yeah."

He sighs, bringing you closer to him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You're a bit stunned by the sudden demonstration of affection, but your fingers automatically find his hair, twisting his red locks between them.

"I didn't know you felt like that, babe. But I don't want you to get a dog either. If you wanna take care of someone, take care of me."

You laugh softly, "then start needing me a bit, you do absolutely everything by yourself, s'not fair!"

He pulls away, looking at you curiously. Well, you're not entirely wrong, he clearly doesn't need you to clean after him, cook for him, or do anything of that sort. He even takes care of the spiders and other insects! So really, he doesn't need you for that. But at the same time, he'd argue that you're omitting one crucial thing which just you can tend to.

"Are you stupid? I still need your kisses. Want me to be more needy for them? I could absolutely do that!" he leans in again, face so close that you feel like he's taking your air all for himself. "Kiss me, I'm begging."

You stare back in surprise, flustered by his sudden request. Yet, some part of you feels warm by hearing these words. Maybe you do crave him begging for you, for anything that only you can provide.

Your lips find his softly, drawing a hum of satisfaction out of your boyfriend. If he's being a 100% honest with himself, he'll gladly admit craving your touch more than anything else. He leans in, grabbing the back of your neck almost in desperation, almost as if he wants to gobble you in. You giggle, pulling away and leaving a playful pat on his hair. Lovestruck eyes stare at you, making your heart bloom in a thousand of flowers.

"See? No need for a dog. I'll always need you for kisses."

#idk what prompted me to write this but listen!! #i love writing soft kagami 😙 #knb x reader #knb #kagami taiga #knb fluff #kagami x reader #kuroko no basquet

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Love in the Big City: Part Two

Once again I find myself without an original essay already floating in my head, so shout out to @bengiyo for the discussion questions. They are a life saver! 

I find the question about I maintain effective distance from a narrator when the story gets heavy, but I am not sure that that is something I know how to do. In my day to day life I often feel cut off from emotions. I process my emotions through media, where putting myself in the experiences and feelings of the characters can be used like armor as I turn to face my own. I fail time and time again to maintain effective distance from my characters, because my characters are how I maintain effective distance from myself. I suspect Mr. Young and I have that in common. 

I’m glad for these essays because last week’s made me really have to think about Young, what he was like, why he was like that, how his friendship with Jaehee broke down when Young wasn’t able to be serious. Because I feel like Part Two is proof for me that my initial read was correct. But just like in Part One, where Young mentions his own problems almost off-handedly, his suicidality being a single sentence sandwiched somewhere in a paragraph. Here too, Young is rather distanced himself when he recounts his traumas. 

He does not linger on the fact he spent his summer in a psychiatrist facility because his mother saw him kiss a boy. He merely bluntly gives the details, but doesn’t really mention how he felt about it. At least not until closer to the end of Part Two. His boyfriend is the same, in some regards. Beyond the dickmatization of our narrator, I think the initial draw for Young was that there was another gay with mommy issues who was willing to talk about them. I think sadness speaks to sadness and that can call people to one another. The failing here is in the difference in their courage. 

Young has suppressed his sexuality as much as he could in places where he knew it might get him hurt (the military as an example). But even after suffering what he did in that psych facility, he left it with the knowledge that his mother was the one who was sick, not him. Young’s boyfriend, however, grew up in a different generation. Ben’s right, in BL we usually root for reciprocal couples to get together, and here we are watching a relationship fail. But I am not rooting for these two to be together, because that relationship was not balanced in what it gave and what it took. Young and his boyfriend stood on different ground from the beginning, both in what they wanted out of it and in how they navigate the world. 

I am not someone who thinks everyone needs to be out of the closet, I think it is quite rare that we get a closeted and out couple where their need to hide their relationship does not impact their relationship (shout out to Cooking Crush yet again for defeating that trope!) Young does not seem like the kind of person used to be looked at and he’s in a younger generation. He isn’t closeted, and does not at least outwardly appear to fall victim to internalized homophobia, he wants to hold his boyfriend’s hand in public, he does not give a shit what elders think. But he is with someone that is deeply ashamed of his queerness, to the point where he tortures himself with the news. Young is right to be upset after he finds the articles on his boyfriend’s laptop, it would be horrifying to find out that’s what your boyfriend thinks of you. 

But I don’t think Young mentioned, and he definitely did not reflect on the fact this has less to do with how he feels about Young and more to do with how he feels about himself. I love that this book got in to the complexities of activism. Now, I know someone did some very incredible work on the Korean history timeline, I just did not have an opportunity to finish it. So I’m not sure about the politics at play for what those students were activists for, but if I know one thing, it is that activists are never perfect. In the US, for example, racism existed within the women’s sufferage moment, homophobia existed in black liberation movements, and transphobia exists in the feminist movement and in queer communities as well. 

If Young’s boyfriend and his classmates were activists together, got arrested, fought against whatever it is they fought against and the boyfriend had respect for them, it would be a massive thing to internalize to find out they are homophobic. Hell, when we met that couple at the park, the husband said he believed that queer people existed as if there was a time when he didn’t think homosexuality was real. Young’s boyfriend ranted a lot about the American Empire and the influence of Western culture on Korean society and Young made a point to emphasize religion as a part of that. 

Korea has a pretty decent Christian population, and as we saw from Young’s umma that evangelical nature resulted in massive punishment for Young out of his mother’s fear of his sins. And she’d been a Christian for 25 years. I think every character we meet is really supposed to be some sort of reflection for Young, a way to show us alternate futures for Young. Jaehee is what his life could never look like because he was gay in a country that does not have gay marriage rights. But at the very least, Jaehee got serious when Young could not, and she got a serious boyfriend, and entered a serious relationship. Young and Jaehee were so similar for so long, that I do think Young would have been able to maintain a longterm relationship if he could actually emotionally commit to one. 

In Part Two, Young’s boyfriend is his mirror. The anti-American imperialist that pays attention to flags versus the kid who does not even pay attention to the symbology he is wearing. The former activist versus the passive kid. The internalized homophobe and the one who rebelled against that. I said it already but Young was tortured for being queer, and the first thing his mother did when the therapy failed was to hand him fucking scripture. Young could have ended up just as disgusted and ashamed as his boyfriend, but he didn’t. 

I think the author intercut Young’s relationship with his mother and his boyfriend in this part because they act as catalysts, they change Young, they show him what his weaknesses are, and the pain he will suffer when he bites his tongue…and when he doesn’t. His relationship with his boyfriend implodes when he starts saying more of the thoughts in his head, he waits for his mother to die after he cannot bring himself to ever tell her he wants an apology. 

I think so much of this part is about being let down by the people around you, which I think is how Young felt when he realized Jaehee had left him at the end of Part One. We get the homophobic activists as an example, but we also spent a significant amount of time with Young talking about his boyfriend who was the first to make a move, and the first to sit and listen, and how that turned out to be an act, his boyfriend was deeply stuck in his homophobia and stopped really listening to Young early in to their relationship; Young talked quite a bit about how stubborn and strong his mother used to be. The force of her. And he spends this entire part just watching her wither away to skin and bones. He describes how long she kept up the act, that he’d help her use the restroom and then ten minutes later you couldn’t even tell she needed help. 

And then he lays his head in his mother’s lap at the end, and he wants an apology. He wants an apology so badly. But he knows he will never get it, not in the way he wants.  But honestly, I think his mother does apologize to him, in her own way, when she admits that she was scared. And I think the hardest truth he could ever tell his mother is that he was sorry he felt like the whole world in her hands. 

#love in the big city #litbc #litbc book club #love in the big city bookclub #litbc analysis #litbc discussion

[lunar-years]

T! From your latest ask game post.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending? **

i'm very certain i've rambled on about most (all?) of these before, lol. But here is my truth:

General character stuff -

Jewish Roy Kent!! The O'Sullivan-Kent's are mixed faith

Roy and his sister were perhaps close when they were very small but not so much once Roy moved to Sunderland. They didn't reconnect until around the time she got pregnant with Phoebe, then became incredibly incredibly close during her contentious divorce, when Roy was the first and best person to show up for her.

Keeley's parents are divorced. also she definitely has major mommy issues and i think that's under-explored!

Jamie's dad came back into his life when he was pre-teen (i don't have an exact age but to me it was somewhere between like. the ages of nine to twelve). Old enough to already be putting himself on the football map, locally (enough for James to have taken notice, anyway) but young enough for James to have made the very deep impression on him and to hold the type of influence over him we see reflected on the show.

Simon came into the picture several years later when Jamie was an older teenager (16-17) and he and Georgie didn't get married until Jamie was playing (semi-)professionally

i feel sooooo strongly that he hasn't told a soul about that trip to Amsterdam until he tells Roy in s3. i know some people think he would have told his mum and i respect that but also. i couldn't disagree more, lol.

speaking of mummy, I also think the closeness we see them have in s3 is somewhat of a recent development. They were definitely that close when Jamie was young, but as is typical with having an abusive parent, I don't see how his relationship with his dad wouldn't have tainted his bond with his mum. To me there is a lot of things that were left unsaid between them, on both sides, for a long time, and I think the s1 bonfire scene really reflects that strain. not to say they were totally estranged, but I do think there were a few very rough years in there where jamie barely talked to her. and they reconnected around the time of the break between s1 & s2 when Jamie was back with Man City. now they're extremely extremely close.

jamie works with kids once he retires from football!! i'm not too particular as to what capacity but perhaps my favorite is that he coaches youth football at the Academy level. Like, maybe the U15s or U16s. young teenagers whose lives he can make a real difference in. just...jamie getting to be the mentor and influence for them in the way he wishes he had at that age. ahhhh.

ot3 stuff:

ot3 all have strained (at best) relationships with their parents, but in completely different ways. they all adore Georgie and Simon though and love making time to visit Manchester

they do NOT have kids ❌ Miss Keeley Jones is not EVER willingly getting pregnant i can tell you that much for damn sure

i'm ride or die ot3 and this is kind of irrelevant in a poly scenario but re: marriage none of them would change their last names i firmly believe this

look. it's not that jamie and keeley CAN'T cook. but if roy is willing to make them the majority of their meals. and do it better than either of them ever could. who are they to stop him?? (lowkey keeley's cooking IS tragic though, lol)

simon teaches roy how to bake. then they force Georgie, Jamie and Keeley to "judge" their creations as if they were competing on bakeoff. this is like. an ongoing event. there are multiple occasions, maybe once a year or something, and roy and simon spend weeks planning what they're going to do for it every time.

i think they keep their relationship a secret until Jamie retires. of course there is a thriving in-verse rpf community, lmao.

perhaps controversially i don't think they'd tell the whole team. I love it in blissful and happy and fluffy fics though :) And obviously, i think roy and jamie love the team very much, but i still think they'd only explicitly tell like, rebecca, the coaches, and then Jamie would tell his closest few friends on the team. everyone else kind of figures it out over time, though, they aren't as subtle as they think they are, but it's not really talked about? it's more like an open secret.

they have a closed poly relationship because at the end of the day they are all possessive and none of them are open to sharing with anyone but each other, lol. also like. even keeping up with two partners can be a logistical nightmare. who would have the time for more? keeley runs the calendars.

sex: Roy and Keeley switch. Jamie is mostly a sub but willing to try basically everything and anything once. also what they get up to is generally very kinky and very sex positive and most importantly they have LOTS of fun <333 the details of that would take up another 12 paragraphs but you know. i think the fandom is mostly in agreement with this lmao.

** maybe not so much ~die defending~ because if people have different opinions i definitely do not care, y'all do you. but these are the ones that are so tried and true in MY brain that if i read a different opinion or a fic featuring a contradicting viewpoint... It doesn't matter how much i enjoy it or even love it... I am still filing that away as an AU in my brain even though it's like, totally NOT 😂

#im sorry this is so longgg #i think about them so much #ted lasso #royjamiekeeley #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #asks #ask games #thanks for asking

[musiclover2732]

so i rewatched Dennis Takes a Mental Health Day and i decided to count how many times the word “system” is said. i counted fifteen (15) but there is a small chance that i double counted when he’s on the phone with Daisy cuz i got distracted. someone plz verify this number for me plz. if i double counted that one, then the number is fourteen (14) which would lead to a whole different post. but for now i’ll just talk about the prominence of “system” and not the number. it is said enough in the episode that we can assume it’s not just a coincidence and is certainly a callback to The D.E.N.N.I.S. System and the S.I.N.N.E.D. System. now Dennis’s systems for attracting both involve manipulation but they are very different and we can kinda see that reflected in his fantasy. he is very kind and understanding with the women he imagines. he apologizes frequently and tries to speak gently with them. most importantly he emphasizes how they are all victims of a system they did not create. he says this to the boba tea girl; they’re both victims of the system, specifically her, and he says that neither one of them created it. but he did create this imaginary system that she is the victim of in the same way he created the real D.E.N.N.I.S. System which women are victims of. and when Dennis does apply his system to get some girl just to torment and ultimately ditch her, we do feel bad for them and we do consider them victims of his system. by having Dennis apologize to this imaginary women for being victims of an uncontrollable system, this could be interpreted as him being aware that the way he treats women is shit and he feels guilty. he doesn’t go after any women in season 16. maybe he’s given up chasing women half his age but isn’t ready for women his age. i mean he’s gotten married and had a kid but neither of those normal domestic milestones kept him. he always goes back to the gang. then we have the S.I.N.N.E.D. System. it’s all about really building up and man then breaking him down into someone who’s just kinda putty in your hands. i mean there’s the obvious mommy issues/kink thing but ultimately it’s about reeling in and keeping a man long term. to use this system, you actually have to be interested in a man more than how the D.E.N.N.I.S. System just focuses on a single encounter and cutting ties completely. a man attracted by Dennis’ system isn’t a victim in this case. he is just a guy entering the dating phase of a relationship. the men Dennis encounters in his fantasy are similarly not treated like victims. Dennis is a little more annoyed with them specifically. he complains about the cop asking him to leave his car (a decision not enforced by a system but rather an individual), he gets very snappy with the phone store guy much more so than we see with the women employees, and of course he rips the CEO’s heart out. he does not feel bad for these men. men are not victims in his mind.

now if there were fourteen (14) instances of the word “system” being used in this episode i could make the obvious leap to Klinsky but for now this is all my brain could think of

#i feel like i’m just stating facts but it’s late rn #just wanted to get this out here cuz that ep makes me have Big Feelings and such #and i love to talk about dennis #i’m like one of those birds that gets a different egg in their nest and cares for that chick instead of its own chicks #yeah this is an anime blog but lemme tell you about my pathetic sopping wet son he was born in a cardboard box all alone #i have many thoughts on the other characters but this was at the surface of my mind cuz i just watched it #i had a different post in mind but this is slightly lighter #lemme know if i need to add any tw tags #dtamhd #dennis reynolds #it’s always sunny in philadelphia #iasip

[juste-une-etudiante]

Here goes my analysis of the last chapter

I'll leave the emotional growth of Garou, Bang and Tareo for the people who are better versed for such matters, although I must say that I'm really happy that the manga took a rather wholesome turn compared to what happened in the webcomic, and I may briefly mention some stuff to prove a couple of points

So, without further ado, let's begin

Garou has mommy issues

We all suspected that his parents weren't particularly supportive before this happened, seeing how they acted when his son was bullied at school, but this detail really emphasises their neglect towards Garou -they never took responsibility for what his child did, and it doesn't look like they will anytime soon- which confirms the aforementioned theory

However, there is hope for the future, for Bang seems determined to mend his mistakes, and finally try to connect with his disciples instead of giving them a stoic -rather cold- treatment. Considering that Garou was inclined to dealing with problems on his own due to his family situation, having someone to rely on may be crucial to break through his insecurities, thus embrace who he has always been: a kind spirit who only wishes to protect those who can't stand up for themselves

Bang's approach to establish a proper relationship with his (adopted son) student is, as expected from an alcohol enthusiastic Casanova, to enquire about his love life (as if homeboy hadn't spent the past months on the run not being able to take a shower and then making up for it by sitting under a waterfall for God knows how much time), since Garou isn't legally allowed to drink yet

Garou's response to this is very funny, he (naturally) gets all awkward and nervous, and isn't quite thrilled to having to talk about it. Perhaps it's my bi ass projecting, but I kinda saw myself reflected here, as it's always slightly uncomfortable when my relatives ask me if there's a special lad too hahahaha... Even though it could be argued that this is a bit biased, I think there's room to interpret this situation under this light as well

Regarding Garou's answer, there's a big red flag that I think some are wishfully ignoring in order to celebrate that the guy may be straight: the girl is from a TV show

We all know too well how prone the boy is to idealising these sorts of programs, breaking them down to their essence and then trying (failing) to apply their simple rules to a nuanced reality. It doesn't end up well

Having the actress being similar to his mother, yet differing in the most important characteristic that affects Garou -kindness- speaks volumes about the nature of his feelings. He's simply looking for a figure that shall give him the love his parents failed to provide, and people reading this as an "usual" crush is imo low-key off-putting

My personal opinion on this (besides it being a poor and bizarre attempt at pulling out a "no homo"), is that a possible reason behind Garou's self-worth problems and perception of the world has been revealed to us: he has mommy issues

It has been discussed that people who have daddy issues might suffer sadness or depression while people who have mommy issues become sociopaths. Nevertheless, I am no psychologist, and so my knowledge of this subject is limited. I don't intend to sound like an authority, and everyone is free to disagree with this idea

In spite of there being many (myself included) who would like to have more information on Garou's childhood, I think we've been shown enough to properly understand his character, and what's left to see is his future growth now that he's slowly building a supportive network

#opm #chapter 170 #garou #bang #manga spoilers #analysis #meta

[writer59january13]

Shame and guilt sabotaged mine healthy growth...

and let yours truly not forget emasculation that prickly emotional immobilization whereby these lovely bones subject courtesy senescence

upon cremation reduced to obliteration.

Inching closer to mortality linkedin with concomitant subtle deterioration of body electric finds yours truly (me) speculating what happens

to corporeal essence

when sprawled out on death bed able, eager, ready, and willing to give up the ghost. Resultant baby boomer saddled

with unbridled tumultuousness stirrup (thus his need to pony up)

with delayed emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual development

necessitating self advocacy at present stage of mine existence,

especially where crisis brews,

concerning fruit flies (Drosophila melanogaster)

called apartment unit b44 their home turf.

These pesky, itsy bitsy

teeny weeny, blimey insects

hold Guiness Book

of World Records

to bring about infestation faster than you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious within our living quarters.

An adult female fruit fly can lay up to 2,000 eggs on the surface of anything moist and rotting. Within 30 hours, tiny maggots hatch and start to eat decayed food.

Within 2 days, they attain adulthood grown up and ready to mate, too.

While that transition may seem quick, a fruit fly only lives 8 to 15 days.

Run in with management finds innate susceptibility

with anxiety skyrocketing, cuz umpteen instances called out about pestiferous critters supposedly being out of compliance when aforementioned issue necessitated exterminator technician (on quite a few occasions), unbeknownst to us until

then warden Jackie Geiger summoned us into the principal's office,

we got pleasantly informed suddenly finds yours truly and the missus

in violation of rental contract.

Agitation swirls (think F/EF5 tornado)

viciously storming inside me psyche analogous to whirling dervish wreaking psychological havoc.

Resultant outcome with threat of eviction,

triggered a slew of physiological symptoms; I experience full blown panic attack, whereby irritable bowel syndrome kickstarted insync with palmar hyperhidrosis psychologically run me ragged. Linkedin and in tandem with current stress (worse case scenario being homeless) compounded by tsunami courtesy

severe mental health issues stifled healthy growth of

body, mind, and spirit triage.

Internalized emotions wrought quotidian psychological oppression retrospective reflection courtesy 20/20 hindsight reveals absolute zero positive natural development of

body, mind, and spirit extreme cerebral agitation, and social withdrawal compromised (during metamorphosis to manhood) kickstarting and jumpstarting prepubescence quashing, sabotaging, upending, wrenching maturation, education, and socialization

every year since being born free and clear of obvious defects minus alien aberration, Russian collusion..., or basket of deplorable dysfunction

crooked Hillary accusation, and submucous cleft palate inducing severe nasality fraught with arduous speaking difficulty coping, fraternizing, integrating within ordinary circumstances alienated, defied, horrified, mortified, scared, and (frankly) zapped

yours truly, albeit analogous experiencing ferocious, hellacious, torturous... suffering predicated on suppressing and/or repressing moderate slights inflicted upon withdrawn younger self, who lacked adroit, deft, heft... coping with typical situations subsequently aggravating, exacerbating, jinxing... to cultivate, generate, liberate locked potential hypothesized, premised, yoked

infantile grievous inconsolable crying unsolved behavioral mystery venting only for my "mommy dearest," would utter (this from hearsay) exhibiting extreme aversion if other than thee birth mother comforted, cradled, cocooned..., an extremely reticent individual buckling as strapping bullies relentlessly belted jibed, taunted... said teasing begat intimidation (oft times mentioned in other poems)

scrawny kid (me) cowed, fawned, irked, nonetheless I remained passive against blistering, hectoring, teasing, which apothegm turning other cheek avoided getting smashed pumpkin face courtesy subservient stance devotional acquiescence help me dog pose prayer temporarily answered harboring entire being ten thousand feet beneath avast sea of dejection time and again repeated

alas crass harassment absorbed into nucleus of every cell anchored barnacle encrusted tenuous pride in short shrift brewing, abjection, dejection, humiliation... "NOT FAKE" misery inducing suicidal ideation (and actual attempt courtesy anorexia nervosa) spurring serious delineation allowing, enabling, proffering permanent salvation uber vacation to give lyft among livingsocial

years later overlaid earthshaking starry eyed son fault finding fundamentally misbehavior gifted from those I called mother and father.

[chiyobambino]

Just speaking into the void here, but I need to rant. If you read this, thank you for bearing with me through this long post.

I have mommy issues, plain and simple. I'm the eldest daughter of parents that divorced during those tender, formative years of childhood, and although that wasn't the biggest impact on me, it was still a heavy blow. I've been reflecting a lot on my relationship with my mother, and it's so strange; she isn't aware that there's an issue, even though I'm in constant conflict and turmoil about her in these recent months. I don't know where it came from, but one day I was just AWARE of the impact that her emotional absence yet overbearing, constant presence had/has on me. When I was talking to my best friend about my realization, she automatically went, "Yeah, I've known since middle school when you cried because you got a C on your report card, or when you wouldn't do things because you thought your mom would find out somehow." Everyone around me knew it, except me. Growing up, my mom wasn't the most affectionate, most loving, or most nurturing toward me, or my younger siblings, I suspect because I wasn't the boy that she wanted (probably would have been the same if I had been a boy, though); the divorce after my sister turned about three definitely didn't help either. We grew up with an emotionally distant, yet domineering mother; she might not have smiled at us with love and pride, but she made sure we had a strict routine and straight A's. Heck, I even became a second mother when she started leaving it to me to make sure that my siblings were handled when she had to work. To this day, at three weeks shy of my 21st birthday, I still get treated as the second mother, even though my mother has since remarried. I still, in the deepest part of my psyche, cannot fathom talking back to my mother for fear of the consequences; when I was younger, they were physical, now, they are emotional and psychological. My best friend tells me that I should talk to my mother about my issues with her, however, I recognize that my mother is as painfully human as I, yet, I still see her as some untouchable persona that would receive my concerns with abject apathy, or worse, anger.

I know that my mom has unsolved issues and trauma from her life that carried over into her parenting, and bred Me. My mother is still repulsed when people touch her, even her own husband; she is uncaring of the feelings of those around her, opting to believe that everyone is "sensitive; her views on love are, depressing, to say the least; despite all of this, she does not see anything wrong with her opinions or actions. I am a mirror of her, as much as I hate for that to be the case. I have taken on many of her qualities, for better or worse, and I am doing my best to break away from her habits. However, growing up with the idea that being like her would finally make her happy is still somewhat imbedded in my consciousness. I love her very dearly, and want her in my life. She was not/is not always a tyrannical figure, but I wish that she had been the nurturing, loving mother figure that I, we(my siblings and I) needed. She was there for us when it mattered, but her own emotional issues made it hard for her to be empathetic and relate to us outside of an authority figure. She is now trying to understand and relate to us, but I fear that the damage has been done already, 10 years later.

So here I sit, contemplating what to do next in my journey to self-healing and resolving my issues with my mother. I work on re-parenting myself, and giving myself the type of love and support that I needed growing up, but it's very hard when you don't have a good example of how it's supposed to look in the first place. I fantasize and imagine an indulgent childhood where I didn't have to take on the role of "pseudo-mother" at 11, or where my mother was warm and receptive and didn't reject our touch or emotions. A childhood where my mother was supportive of things outside of education and extracurricular activities; a childhood where I didn't feel like a failure for making a C in 7th grade algebra, and went to my dad about it before my mom because I knew how she would react to it and needed him to cushion the emotional blow she would leave. I know that my mother is only human, and has built herself up on the experiences of her life; but I can't help but wish that life has been much gentler with her, treated her more kindly.

I find myself crying a lot recently, something I hadn't allowed myself to do in the past for fear of my mother calling me weak and sensitive. But I find it to be cleansing during these times of mourning a childhood that I could have had. Despite this, I'm trying to use these times to also reflect on the woman that I have the capacity to become.

#just ranting #mommy issues #laments of an eldest daughter

[andybondurant]

New Post has been published on Andy Bondurant

New Post has been published on https://andybondurant.com/2022/10/24/how-instagram-stole-my-true-identity/

How Instagram stole my true identity

If you a follower of Jesus, you find identity in being made in the image of God and being adopted as a child of God. This is what sets you apart as a Christian. However, there is an enemy of the soul intent on stealing that identity from Christ followers. Has your identity as a Jesus follower been mistaken or even worse, has your identity been stolen?

This is the third in a series of posts addressing this issue of spiritual identity theft. The first post was an introduction to this problem. The second post defined the first half of your identity as a follower of Jesus – you are made in God’s image. This post dives into the other half of you identity — you are adopted as God’s child. The next and last post will give you three ways to regain your true identity.

In the last post, I showed you how God created humanity as a reminder and a reflection to the rest of creation of the goodness, the power and the authority of God. Sin, though, twisted that image. Our identity is more than being made in God’s image, because sin made our image incomplete. So the second half your identity is found in being adopted by God as his child. 

You are an Adopted Child of God

Jesus followers are adopted by God, and this is THE key to your identity. The Apostle Paul makes this clear in his letter to the Galatian church:

“But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, “Abba, Father.” Now you are no longer a slave but God’s own child. And since you are his child, God has made you his heir.”  -Galatians‬ ‭4:4-7‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Paul uses two different pictures to describe our relationship to God – slave and child.

Sin captured you and me. Sin enslaved us. Jesus came, at just the right time, to set you free from that slavery. More importantly, God didn’t just set you free, but he also adopted you as his child.

Were You Adopted as a 2nd Class Citizen?

American history shows us that simply setting a slave free does not guarantee that freed person success. While set free from their masters, those slaves weren’t given a true chance for success. Imagine if America in the 1860’s and beyond had the same attitude toward the freed slaves that God had toward us. What if they weren’t seen as just free, but the former slaves were viewed as true and full citizens of the state?

Growing up, I knew a family who adopted two children along with their own biological children. From the outside, it seemed to be a beautiful story of redemption for those adopted kids and the adopting family. As an adult, I learned the adopted children didn’t see it this way. These adopted children felt they weren’t given the same preference and love as the biological children. They felt like second class citizens at best.

I can’t speak to their situation first hand, but I do know what it feels like to be a step-child. My parents divorced when I was young, and my dad remarried a woman with a son from another relationship. I didn’t spend time with him often — only a couple of summers before my dad and this lady divorced. For the most part, this step-brother and I were on equal footing, however there were times I KNEW I was not my step mother’s child. I was a second class citizen.

You are not the adopted child who is a second class citizen. You are not God’s step child.

Let me show you two ways I know this to be true based on this passage from Galatians:

1. God as Daddy.

Paul says when you turn to Jesus you are set free, and you are given the Spirit. The Spirit of God causes your own spirit to cry out “Abba Father” to God. That word ‘Abba’ means ‘Daddy’ in Hebrew. I don’t yell out for my ‘daddy’ or ‘mommy’ to someone who sees me as less than the other children in the family. The lady who was my step-mom was always ‘Gloria’ to me. She was never ‘mom’, ‘mother’, and definitely not ‘mommy’.

When God adopted you, he did so as a full child, and even more than that, God made you an heir to all that is his. 

2. You are an heir.

The book of Galatians was written to a church in the city of Galatia. It was made up of both Jews and Gentiles (non-Jewish converts). I’ll get into the greater significance of this below, but for now let me say both of these cultures celebrated a young person’s coming of age. However, how that process worked was very different in each culture. 

Most of us know the Jewish tradition of the bar mitzvah. A young man, after rigorous study and work, is celebrated as a man at the age of 13. He moves from one world to another at this specific and known time in his life. He is now able to be an heir to all his parents have. In the Roman culture this was different. A boy became a man when his father, the master of the house, deemed ‘the time right’. There was not set age or achievements, the father just had to declare the time to be right.

Paul pulls from this imagery to show us what happened with God adopted us. He says, “when right time came…God made you his heir.” You aren’t just a child adopted by God, but you are his heir. All that belongs to God is now yours. Let me put this another way, all that Jesus is and has is also yours.

Has you identity been stolen from you?

The world (popular culture surrounding us) and more specifically, the enemy of your soul, Satan, is trying to steal your identity from you. If you forget your true identity – made in the image of God and adopted as a child of God – then you lose what is most true about you. You will slowly fall away from who you are and whom you belong to.

One way the world steals your identity is telling you this lie: “We are all God’s children.” As we just saw in Galatians this isn’t true. We are all God’s creation (made in the image of God), but you aren’t God’s child until you put your trust in Jesus. So if you begin to believe the lie of the world, then you are forced to find another identity that sets you apart from those around yourself, and you look to the same places everyone else looks – gender, race, economics, politics, etc. 

Put on your Christ identity

Paul had this to say about finding your identity in the right place in his letter to the Galatians:

“For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus. And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on Christ, like putting on new clothes.”  -‭‭Galatians‬ ‭3:26-27‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Your faith in Jesus is what makes you God’s child, so then your identity is Jesus. Paul uses the example of clothing to make this point. We don’t wear the identity the world puts on us, but we put on Jesus.

Take off your non-Christ identity

Paul makes is very clear what he means by this in his very next sentence:

“There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  -Galatians‬ ‭3:28‬ ‭NLT

The book of Galatians was written in large part because a fierce disagreement in the church about how the members in the church should identify. The Jewish believers thought everyone who followed Jesus should also identify as a Jew. In other words, they wanted the non-Jews to follow the same Jewish customs, rules and traditions they did. The Gentile followers of Jesus didn’t want this burden added to their lives. They wanted to simply follow Jesus.

Paul tells the church that Jesus came to break down barriers and walls of identity. For those who follow Jesus (live in Jesus) their is now no racial, economic or gender identities. Our identity is Jesus first and foremost. Everything else is secondary at best.

Consider this example from The Blue Letter Commentary:

Sadly, some Christians still draw lines today. Some draw lines between denominations, some draw lines between races, some draw lines between nations, some draw lines between political parties, and some draw lines between economic classes. For example, if you feel you have more common ground with an unbeliever who shares your race or your political party than with a genuine Christian from another race or political party, you have drawn a line that Jesus died on the cross to erase.

David Guzik

So let me ask the question again, has your true identity in Jesus been stolen?

How Instagram stole my identity

In the fall of 2010, a new social media app hit the Apple store. You may have heard of it — Instagram. At the time, I worked in the photography industry, and I was investing my time and energy in learning how to market using social media. I downloaded Instagram in early 2011 as an early adopter. Because of adopting the technology early, I gained hundreds of followers when most people had a few dozen.

Fast forward a few years to me starting this blog. I decided to use my Instagram account to promote my writing to my followers. It worked, but something strange happened in my heart. I began to find my value and worth in the responses to my posts and stories. If I received likes and comments on a post, then it wasn’t just that post was good, but it was I was good. Vice versa too. If the there weren’t many likes or comments, then it was more than just a bad post. It was me who wasn’t liked or valued.

The enemy of my soul used Instagram to steal my true identity (made in the image of God and adopted as a child of God).

About two years ago, I scaled back on my posting. Take a look, and you’ll find my last post was nearly a year ago. I post stories every few weeks. I’ve turned off my notifications. My identity is not found in my social media accounts.

Has enemy of your soul stolen your identity?

Immediately following the passage about being adopted as heirs of God, Paul lays this challenge to the Galatians:

“Before you Gentiles knew God, you were slaves to so-called gods that do not even exist. So now that you know God (or should I say, now that God knows you), why do you want to go back again and become slaves once more to the weak and useless spiritual principles of this world?”  -‭‭Galatians‬ ‭4:8-9‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Let me rephrase that for you. Before you knew God, you were a slave (not a child or heir) to an identity outside of God. Why do you want to go back to slavery to a non-Christ identity?

Let me be clear, if you find yourself identifying FIRST by your…

Social media accounts

Favorite sports team

Political stance, political party or political candidate

Sexuality

Gender

Race

Children

Nationality

Church

…then your identity has been stolen from you.

Reclaim your true identity

But there is hope. You don’t have to stay in this place. You can reclaim your God given identity. It begins with humility. You need to be filled with the Holy Spirit. You need to be immersed in Scripture.

That’s where we’ll begin in the next post. For now do some soul searching. 

Has the enemy of your soul stolen your identity as being made in God’s image and adopted as God’s heir?

#adoption #Christ #Daddy #freedom #Galatians #God #Identity #Instagram #Jesus #Paul

[pasiveagressive]

Quarantine // h.s.

This was a request! Hope you like it!

Warnings: Language, implications of adult activities

March 1st 2020

Today was the happiest day of your life. You married your best friend in the world, with your closest friends and family present. You thought the day Harry asked you to marry him was going to be your all time high, but you now realise that nothing would ever compare to saying I do. You got married in Harry’s hometown. A sort of destination wedding for you and your family and a local one for him and his. 

“Hey Mrs. Styles.” you feel his arms wrap around you. You are standing in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite. Wrapped in just a towel steam fogging up the mirror from the shower the two of you had just taken.

“Oh god Harry, I don’t know if I can go by that. That is what I called your mom when we first started dating. It just seems weird.” you laugh and lock eyes with him through the reflection.

“Well that’s too bad. When you agreed to marry me you agreed to become Mrs. Harry Styles, so that’s what I am calling you from now on.” He teases you kissing your neck at the same time. 

“Babe.” You whine

“Yes Mrs. Styles?” you shoot him a look “Maybe this will help. Mrs. Styles,” a kiss on your neck “Mrs Styles,” another this one a little higher, “Mrs Styles.” This time you grab him and put his lips on yours.

“Yeah definitely helping.” you sigh into him.

March 10 2020

You had just gotten back to LA from your honeymoon last night. Harry had gotten up early to go to some meetings about Love on Tour. So you are home alone. You have the TV on as you fold laundry from your trip. 

“Breaking news, the Covid-19 virus has spread and more countries are shutting down, banning all travel.” the news anchor explains. You stop and look at the TV. Watching as the report goes on explaining what's happening.

March 13 2020

“Breaking news, the Covid-19 virus has spread and the President of the United States has declared a state of emergency, issuing a stay at home order for all non essential personnel.” three days ago this had seemed a world away, here it was now on your front doorstep. You and Harry sit and watch the new anchor go into more details. After the report you turn off the TV. Harry has his arms around you but you lean in closer if possible.

“This is scary bub.” you say out loud, breaking the silence and speaking what is on both of your minds. Harry just nods his head and then smiles 

“Guess what though angel?” 

“What’s that bub?”

“It’s like our honeymoon has been extended.” you shake your head smiling.

“That is true I suppose.” you pretend to think about it “I don’t know though, I might not feel the same now that there is no sun, or sand, or ocean, or Mai Tai in my hand.” you tease

“Well the Mai Tai thing we can fix, but I am sure you won’t be saying any of that here in a minute.” he smirks picking you up and making you squeal.

April 27 2020

You and Harry were fighting. Again. It feels like the 20th time in the last week that the two of you had gone at it. He is stressed and you are stressed and you both are sick of being cooped up in the apartment, that honestly was a bit to small for the two of you but it originally only had to work for a few weeks before Love on Tour was supposed to kick off, and while he was away you were going to go house shopping. Obviously that hadn’t happened. The current pandemic caused everything to go wrong. 

“I just don’t understand why you would do that!” Harry yells 

“That is how I have always done it, before we were together, and since we’ve been together.” you retort with an equal volume. 

“Well maybe that’s our problem, maybe we shouldn’t be together.” well that was a new statement. Your eyes go wide. Harry’s do to the moment he realises what he said. “Angel-” He starts but you cut him off.

“Please don’t call me that right now.” You say almost in a whisper trying to hold back tears. “ I need some time alone.” You say walking to your bedroom. You shut the door and that is when you let the tears go. 

It's a little while later when there is a soft knock on the door. 

“Y/N?” you had stopped crying about an hour ago and are just trying to figure out what you want to say to him.  You walk over to the door and unlock it revealing Harry who looked as if he had been crying as well. You yourself are in one of his sweatshirts that is far too big for you but makes you feel as though he is hugging you. Stepping to the side you let him in. “Y/N.” He reaches out to hug you and you brush past him. 

“We need to talk.” you state, he nods.

“Angel you know I didn’t mean what I said.” He tests out the pet name and you allow it, so he continues. “I was upset over literally nothing that you have done, I was just taking my stress out on you which is 100% unfair of me.”

“Yes it is unfair to me. But Harry you can’t say things like that. Do you want to get divorced?” you question and he looks at you like you grew a second head. 

“Is that a joke? Absolutely not.” 

“Then you can never say something like that again. Unless you plan on getting a divorce-” 

“Never going to happen.” he cuts you off

“As I was saying unless you plan on getting a divorce we can’t say things like that to each other. Harry I literally felt like I couldn’t breathe and that you didn’t want me for a while.” tears start rolling again. This time when Harry reaches out to you, you let him hold you “I love you so much and to hear you say those words nearly broke me bub.” you feel something hit the top of your head and look up to see Harry crying as well.

“I am so sorry love. You are my everything and I never want to make you feel that way okay? I love you so very much.” He kisses your forehead and the two of you fall asleep like that.

July 1st 2020

“Hey there to the lovely couple!” Jimmy Fallon says as you sit in front of your computer. 

“Hi Jimmy.” 

“‘Ello Jimmy.” 

“How are the two of you doing? Staying healthy?” Jimmy asks and you let Harry answer

“Yeah we are.” Harry smiles and answers

“What have been your favorite things to do while stuck at home?” He asks this time you answer

“We have being doing a lot of cooking and baking and then a lot of working out to equalize all of the cooking and baking.” you answer with a laugh Harry nods his head agreeing with you

“Y/N has also really gotten into TikTok. She tries to get me to do them with her but I haven’t broken yet.” 

“Ah yes young people things.” Jimmy laughs and the two of you laugh with him “Y/N I have to ask, what was it like on that beach with your husband eroctically eating watermelon?” 

“Just that Jimmy eroctic.” Harry goes red as you and Jimmy laugh some more. 

“Okay honesty time you two, have things been completely smooth sailing at the styles’ household?”

“Oh god no.” you answer immediately

“Yeah no, but that's to be expected. We only saw each other for two months and then after that we were still seeing each other almost every single hour of every single day.” Harry expands on your answer

“Yeah, I love him with my whole heart but we had never spent time like that together and honestly if this hadn’t happened we may never have. I am almost glad for the pandemic in that sense, because I knew that I loved him but now I know him on a whole new level and I can say that I will never be able to love anyone the way that I love Harry Styles.” you look over at Harry and see that he has teared up “Oh come on Styles don’t go soft on me now.” you joke and kiss his cheek

“Okay I have one more question and it is mainly for you Y/N.”

“Alright, hit me.” you say

“What made you decide to change your name. A lot of celebrities keep their name when they get married but you decided not to, why?” you had been expecting this question

“It really came down to the fact that I want to have the same last name as my husband and our children someday to not wonder why mommy has a different last name than them, or why daddy had a different last name. The more we thought about it the more it made sense. If companies don’t want me to model for them simply because I don’t have the same name I did when I rose to fame, why should I be working with them at all.” Jimmy nods as if what you are saying makes sense

“Alright thank you for zooming with me today.” Jimmy says to you and Harry

“Thanks for having us Jimmy.” Harry says smiling and turns off the camera then he turns to you “Have I told you recently how much I adore you?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to hear it.” You smile at him

“Well I love you so much and I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

“Your not so bad yourself Mr. Styles.”

#Harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry edward styles #harry #styles #mrs.styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfic #one direction x reader #fluff #angst #x reader #x y/n

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

can you give me drowsy headcanons, ramble, or anything please, i am so deprived. do not be afraid to make it super long, the more the better, i just love drowsy chaperone and love to hear other people (plus you’re one of the only people i’ve seen who knows a lot abt it)

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

I’ll divide this into a few different parts, going from least to most excruciatingly sad :)

1. general headcanons

2. in canon things i noticed and think about daily

3. a full analysis of man in chair’s connections with the drowsy chaperone as an in universe show (trigger warning for abuse ment, alcoholism ment, suicide ment)

SECTION ONE: HEADCANONS

- okay the chaperone is trans I don’t make the rules

- also her name is ambrosia :) she forsook her last name :)

- she’s about 12 years older than janet and kinda hung with janet’s family after leaving her own for a while . essentially she’s a big sister to janet

- aldolpho has some lines where he asks if the bride is big and/or burly and while in canon this is supposed to show he’s kind of a womanizer I like to believe it’s because he was fully prepared to fight her if needed

- speaking of which Of Course janet is ripped she does gymnastics

- my batshit crazy headcanon for this show is that dee dee allen from the prom is a descendant of roman bartelli no I will not elaborate

- is aldolpho one of those bitches with pets that definitely shouldn’t be legal? yessir

- post show kitty becomes a star okay I just want her to be happy

- the “pastry chefs” do discover a love of baking post show and now run a shop along with performing in feldzeig’s follies which might maybe be a front for some crime too

- TRIX DROWSY AND ALDOLPHO WORLD TRAVELING POLYCULE CAUSING PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

- underling’s name is james I will not elaborate on this either

- show never says what trix does so I’ve decided she’s an explorer. she charts maps and punches colonialists and drags her stupid friends along with her, the only bitch in the show with a braincell

- drowsy was a former vaudeville child star pre transition - she left the business but was a mentor to janet

- I do have a headcanon for mic’s name but in the spirit of every actor who’s ever played him I won’t fucking tell

SECTION TWO: SHIT I NOTICED

- robert refers to himself by full name a lot of the time which is v interesting given he’s named after the writer, bob martin (whose wife is also named janet van de graaf). the real bob martin is like five feet away at all times playing mic

- idk how to describe it but the dynamic kitty and feldzeig (VICTOR felgzeig. we have a name from one (1) line) have when talking to each other is so snappy and funny and good

- aldolpho’s lines in spanish are mostly romantic bullshit but his first one hints that he has/had a wife who, if we’re taking the translation literally, refused to touch him. yeah I’ll bring this up in analysis

- the “pastry chefs” provide liquor for the wedding even though it has absolutely no relevance to their mission of stopping it :)

- drowsy is like. SUPER endearing towards janet and despite her bad social skills it’s super clear she cares a lot about her

- robert speaks fluent french apparently

- everyone says “ew” after aldolpho reveals his affair with drowsy despite her being a certified milf

- the body language of drowsy in the end of the show where she takes mic’s hands and breaks the barrier between reality and fiction is just so good. she was iconic the whole show but I honestly think this final bit is what won beth leavel the Tony in the end

SECTION THREE: OH NO

before diving into the way the drowsy chaperone affects his character, we need to understand what exactly it’s playing off of. to fully understand mic’s attachment to the drowsy chaperone, we need to outline what led him to isolating himself and living in fiction to the extent that he does.

mic’s father left his family at an early age and his semi estranged alcoholic mother was the one who began his love for theatre. mic grew up in a broken household and eventually moved on to land in a one sided marriage, which lasted a few months until he slipped up and expressed his discomfort with the situation, after which he and his wife split. nowadays, he lives alone in his apartment surrounded by records he uses to escape to a better life - his favorite of which being the one his mother gave him, the drowsy chaperone.

symbolism in the drowsy chaperone regarding mic’s life can be split into two main categories - mommy issues and internalized homophobia. there isn’t nearly as much mom symbolism as there is the latter, so I’ll cover that first.

drowsy covers both bases, but she definitely has some undeniable mom symbolism going on. drowsy marries aldolpho and mom dreams of being swept off her feet by a latin lover, both feel they’ve wasted their chances at love, both drink to forget, etc. this is where the idea of the drowsy chaperone being mic’s ideal way for things to work out, a positive parallel, comes into play. given that we don’t hear too much about mic’s mom other than her connections to major life events and the record itself, we can assume they grew apart in one way or another. the key difference is that drowsy finds a happy relationship for herself and retains her bond with janet, unlike what we’re led to assume mom was like.

further elaborating on the drowsy chaperone representing mic’s ideal fantasy version of events is the wedding the drowsy chaperone’s plot centers around. here’s a list of the things that didn’t stop that damn wedding:

- a minister not showing up

- the groom cheating on the bride with the bride

- the bride having a complete mental breakdown

- indirect mafia interference

- direct mafia interference

on the flip side, what little mic says about his wedding indicates it sucked absolute ass. he spent the entire ceremony in internal distress as he went through with a life changing event he, at that point, knew at least a bit that he didn’t want. I think he also implies he had severe diarrhea on the wedding day? it gets worse when you realize mic’s relationship before the wedding wasn’t any good for him either - he was playing along the whole time because it would be cruel not to, right?

throughout the show, mic is pretty clearly shown as an extremely repressed gay man. there are five specific instances that point at romantic and/or sexual attraction to men directly and another moment outside of his commentary that pretty much confirms it if you look a little bit deeper. thus, here is what I propose - to mic, the drowsy chaperone’s wedding plot represents a world where he was able to ignore that part of himself and have a happy marriage with his wife despite all the overwhelming obstacles thrown at him. however, bits and pieces of that internalized homophobia manage to show themselves throughout the drowsy chaperone anyway despite its happy ending. here’s a rundown on a few significant instances:

- by the end of the show, the “pastry chefs”, who had literally been planning to kill feldzeig, have left their life of crime to perform with him. this symbolizes how in mic’s ideal world he would have been able to turn away from what he perceived at the time as living wrongly - his homosexuality

- at the same time, the “pastry chefs” have this line, spoken in regards to janet: “if she gets married and leaves the show... there ain’t no show.” this is a take on mic’s subconscious concern that he might lose himself if he goes on with his marriage pretending everything is alright - of course, as we already know, he doesn’t listen

- “cold feets” is a pretty obvious instance of mic’s hesitation

- aldolpho’s line in spanish regarding the wife who won’t touch him flips to reflect on mic’s treatment of his own ex wife - she was alien to him as a lover, just as aldolpho was to this woman

- janet recalls her meeting robert at a point in the show and states “we spooned, briefly, then he proposed.” though mic’s relationship pre marriage was much longer than that, it must have felt that way to him - just as quick and nonsensical as janet describes

- just as janet is caught in showbiz but has a toxic love for it, so does mic with his own repressed life

- janet has a line in “show off” that alludes to her experiencing harassment/assault: “I don’t wanna be cheered no more/ praised no more/ grabbed no more/ touched no more/ loved no more” , which I believe represents the way mic perceived his intimacy with his wife - labeled as love yet unenjoyable for him

- “I look into his eyes... I get all woozy. and that’s... love, isn’t it?” is another very clear nod to mic’s misconception of love based off the only thing he’s ever experienced, relationships with women he’s had to fake

- this is the part where I tell you the lyrics to toledo surprise are a metaphor for actively suppressing gay thoughts. I’ll just leave you with “if it tries to rise; don’t let it”. these lyrics are not comprehensive enough to make a dish - trust me, I have tried. it’s also notable that they serve a double entendre as instructions on how to beat the shit out of someone, but several lyrics are also directed towards the singer/audience. for example: “it’s a snap/ try it folks/ whip your whites/ split your yolks” is an easy metaphor for the unhealthy mental gymnastics required to repress oneself so wholeheartedly

it’s also worth noting the obvious just for the sake of it - mic copes with all this by isolating himself in a safe spot where he can use musicals to escape and live his ideal fantasy, even if it’s only for a short time. there are plenty of nods to this throughout the drowsy chaperone as well. in “as we stumble along” drowsy notes that “the best that we can do is hope a bluebird/ will sing a song/ as we stumble along” - to mic, musicals are his bluebird. while mic mostly indulges in these fantasies, he knows to a certain extent the sheer amount of time he’s spending in them is unhealthy. the first line of the show is “I hate theatre” and I think that to an extent? he does. obviously mic loves theatre as a concept, that can’t be denied. what he hates is the way he’s allowed it to confine him.

with all that out of the way, let’s move on to the most important moment of the show. if you’ve ever seen the show, you’ll know exactly which scene I’m talking about immediately. I’m referring to, of course, the infamous “l-ve while you can” scene. as janet stands at the alter she asks drowsy for one final word of advice, which is partially obscured by aldolpho dropping his cane. “l-ve while you can.” it’s a simple moment, but mic reveals to us that he’s been agonizing over it for years - did drowsy say “live” or “leave”? it occurs to everyone eventually, whether a couple days after the show like with me, or years after like with bob martin’s replacement on broadway that the most likely answer is that she had said “love while you can”. it’s this moment, when you realize why mic had never seen that as an option, that the drowsy chaperone’s status as a musical within a comedy within a tragedy is solidified. mic had no love in his life - his parents hated each other and he was forcing himself into relationships in which he felt nothing. to him, living and leaving were options, but loving never was. so he locked himself away.

as the final note on the record is playing, all power in mic’s apartment shuts down and the fantasy is ruined. the superintendent arrives and further invades his space, breaking the private sanctity he had built up for so long. she fixes the power and before mic can stop it from happening, the final note of the record plays. and the super recognizes it as a musical. she makes a remark about how much her wife loves musicals and leaves, completely unaware of what she’s just done.

mic sits in silence for a while. and then he begins to sing. gradually, the cast members begin to echo their songs, dancing around him but never touching him. then drowsy appears and sings harmony to mic. and she takes his hands. the show ends with the entire cast, including mic, taking off on trix’s airplane as the curtain falls, drowsy handing mic his record as the plane takes off.

some people interpret the ending as mic committing suicide, finally deciding between live and leave. I don’t personally believe that and neither does writer and original mic bob martin, but it’s still a valid interpretation. the drowsy chaperone’s ending is ambiguous, yes, but not to that extent. no matter what you believe the ending means, it was brought on not by the interruption of the fantasy, but by whatever realization the super’s remark about her wife triggered. as I see it, there are two main options here.

option one - mic realizes he still has time to live and to love. when he was younger the prospect of living as himself was unthinkable to him, yet now he sees that while he was spending countless years alone the world grew. drowsy offers mic her hand, an invitation to finally become what he had admired in her - someone who isn’t anywhere near perfect, but is damn well trying and living life without regret. he accepts.

option two - mic realizes that while he spent years alone the world moved on without him and he’s isolated himself so much from social interaction that he’d no longer be able to make a meaningful connection with anyone outside. so he stays inside instead, never trying, always trapped between live and leave. drowsy offers mic her hand - at least he’ll have a tune to carry with him.

I really want to believe we got option one. I think option one is the intended, really, given mic ends the show with a joyful goodbye to the audience. but the way that the ending is still left open for interpretation makes it so that we can never really know - we as the audience only get to be privy to a small part of mic’s life, and we don’t get the answers we want because at the end of the day they’re irrelevant to us - all we can do is make our own choice.

#the drowsy chaperone #musical theatre #musicals #broadway #musical meta #man in chair

[ephemerlskies]

the lighthouse | jjk

⇢ pairing: reader x jungkook

⇢ genre: one shot, fluff (what's new), strangers to "lovers", mutual pining, so much sap you're gonna have to shower after reading this, ANGST, jungkook is a literary scholar (?) of sorts

⇢ word count: 12k

⇢ warnings: as stated before, it's Cheesy with a capital C, lots of introspection, brief mentions of death, explicit language, mommy issues, (((major plot twist)))

⇢ summary: you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled. was this going to be another disappointing chapter in the book of unattainable desires or could your encounter with the mysterious man who lived in the lighthouse lead to something much more?

a/n: i'm super proud of how this turned out even though it ripped my heart out of my chest... this was probably my favorite fic to write and ahh im so happy to release it!!!! i hope you lovely little angels enjoy!! :) <3

What makes us human? This question posed by your philosophy teacher had been stalking your thoughts hours after class had ended. As the rain padded against your umbrella, you piled in a few answers to this question. 

What makes us human? A question that would seemingly have a clear cut answer, but when you got down to it, there was no distinct characteristic that differentiates humans from other animals. It was easy to say something such as how we have complex linguistics or industrialized civilization, but that is to discredit how the packs of wolves howl to each other, the birds sing from tree to tree, the beavers diligently construct their dams, or the dirt cities in which ants build their own societies not much different than humans. 

You pondered the idea that we love so deeply, even when it is often unreturned, but there is no denying the way a mother bear strikes down any and all enemies to protect her baby cub is anything other than true love.

So, what makes us human? You sat on a bench placed on the sidelines where you could witness small scenes of the lives of passing strangers. This sonder might be what makes us human. The knowledge that each person lives and loves and cries and fears and speaks and dies in ways with which you will never begin to familiarize. Life continues on around you despite how unimportant it may seem to the rest. 

Does a lion waste any moment of his time wondering how the deer had found its way to the shallow pond, whilst preparing to strike? Of course not. 

You watched a couple clinging onto each other and wondered where they met. You then were captured in the peace of an old woman prodding around in the grass with her golden retriever; perhaps it was her last companion. Then, your eyes drifted towards the two boys pushing each other over but with the gentleness one could only assume that was out of friendship or perhaps brotherhood.

And then you saw him. 

Gentle fingers tracing the stacks of magazines lined in a perfect column; an arm that disappeared into the sleeve of his dark, wool coat. A tweed newsboy hat sheltering his eyes, and deep chestnut Oxford shoes stepping lightly, nearing a tiptoe, between the cracks of each cement plate, weathered by the infinite other shoes that tread on those very grounds. A body so magnetizing and moving as if it were a secret, and you couldn’t imagine why no one else had been ingested by the enigma that is this man. You longed for him to reveal these secrets that hid underneath his hat and coat, though if he wouldn’t, which he most likely wouldn’t, you had no problem with seeking them out yourself.

In a city filled with young souls draped in modern streetwear, jeans, bright colors, and converse or Dr. Martens or perhaps high heels, catching this needle in the haystack plugged into every synapse of wonderment. The muted tones of his clothing gleamed the brightest out of the sea of strangers.

This is what made you human. Your desire to know everything that lies barely beyond your wingspan. Everything you could hold was close to nothing in meaning, and everything your arms could not reach was always all you could ever want. The rise of your legs, the way you replicated his every movement, running your fingers along the stack of magazines, fastidious prancing in the spaces between the cracks, and your subtle pursuit of the man just out of reach was what made you human. 

Bodies bustling through your path failed to untether you from this chase. It felt far beyond your power to stop yourself from the rising excitement and allure in your chest that pulled you towards him. The man was quick and swift to dodge oncoming bystanders, however your eyes became a missile fixed on a target. 

The unexpected turn he took had you floundering for you had been trapped behind an older lady and a couple walking side by side. Sadly, your memorization of the streets and landmarks had been admisal, so you found yourself in uncharted territory. Each road sign and corner store had been displayed like a foreign language, and you mentally cursed yourself for letting your silly lust for learning what shouldn’t be learned lead you into this difficult position.  

You stood defeated, the man had evaded your fragile trail behind him with ease. You lost him, or maybe he got away.

It was still midday, prompting you to make an end of this means. Your eyes discovered the coast set along the edge of the town, and though this was the furthest you had ever gone, you dared to go further. This mishap of yours granted you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the shore, and the waves have always delighted your interest. So, you found it just to walk down to the sand. The sound of the water pressing into the wet sand was calming; it was something you could find yourself getting used to. Luck presented itself kindly, giving you a moment unencumbered by the rain that had ceased not long after you stepped foot on the beach. 

You took this time to be with yourself and sort out all the problems that have been worrying your mind these past few weeks. Your best friend, Chaeyoung, had an upcoming birthday that had snuck up on you before you had the chance to even think about getting her a card, let alone a gift or celebration. And you would be disappointed with yourself if you failed to outdo last year’s efforts. There was also the test in your Chemistry class scheduled only a day after her birthday, curtailing your plans of staying out late because there was no way you would allow for anything less than your very most on this exam. Then, there was the essay on what makes us human that you denied any chance of regaining priority to your list of worries, knowing it would gnaw at your mind until you forcibly shut it out.

And the man that willed you to seek him out, and that wore the title of his stories as if he intentionally wished to spark your wonder to learn them.

That should have been the last of your worries. It should have been. 

The day began to fade into a warm, orange dusk. Skies once gloomy and grey now covered in blankets of clouds reflecting the sun’s gentle rays and you found yourself reunited with the calming feeling similar to when you first stepped on the beach. 

Not long after registering how far you had traveled along the shore, you noticed a quaint lighthouse with a house-like structure at the base. The off-white stones cemented up until a red paneled roof covered it, tempting you to know what lies behind those walls.

It looked like it was about to rain again.

Are lighthouses closed off from the public? 

There’s a house, there must be someone inside that could help me find my way home. 

All these comments to yourself made to premise the conclusion of entrance into this lighthouse. As you approached the door, framed in oak lining and painted red, the clouds appeared heavy once again. A few drops of condensation was enough persuasion that what was about to be done was for the good of your well being. You pushed it open and a creak echoed around the room inside. 

The walls were covered with stone bricks and there was one table in the center of the room. Other than that, this house was barren and if it weren’t for the second door that you guessed led to the lighthouse you would have called a car to take you home. 

Your walk was pensive and mouse-like; there was some quality about this structure that made you feel like you weren’t alone and sudden movements would disrupt an established peace. Your hand turned the cold, gold-plated handle and pulled open the door, soon being met with a warm gust of air that engulfed you into the lighthouse. 

This part of the building was exponentially more decorated than the room that preceded it. A staircase cemented into the sides of the lighthouse plastered with shelves upon shelves of books spiraled along the cylindrical walls, paired with dull lanterns that illuminated each level of railing had you drawn into its magnificence.

You stared up to what looked like a platform that held a place in which one would rest and look out into the ocean. There was no one in sight, and you assumed permission to climb up the staircase. Your eyes scanned each spine, creased and slightly warped from the moisture of the air, like they had been read over and over again. Your breath became heavy and your stare was focused on the books to ignore the dizziness settling in.

Reaching the top of the staircase came as a blessing, your lungs were close to catching fire. There were two armchairs, side by side, one fashioned a knitted blanket and the other was used as a table for five to seven or so novels, and the walls behind buried in high stacks of more books. There had to be at least seventy in the first half of piles you accounted for, and before you had the chance to snoop around the rest of the room you heard a voice coated with alarm behind you.

“What are you doing in here?” Your breath halted as you turned around, about to explain why you had let yourself into this building, however no amount of words could fully justify this invasive act. 

You recognized the wool coat and the tweed hat now resting in his hand instead of on his head. His eyes were shrouded in a youthful innocence despite his attire that implied he was a sophisticate of some sort. 

“Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the police?” The boom of his voice was chilling, sending shivers along your neck and chest. 

“Sorry, I’m-” How could you possibly defend your intrusion without sounding juvenile or absolutely insane? “I was… It was raining and I just was walking on the beach so-”

“So, you decided breaking and entering was better than getting a little wet?” His barbed responses hurdled how you plaintively stuttered around excuses. Despite his efforts to seem menacing, you couldn't let go of his boyish facial features. It was absolutely astonishing to you that someone who looked young enough to attend your own college and handsome enough to garner quite a bit of attention had anything to do with this dingy, aged lighthouse.

“No, I was going to come in here to ask for directions. I’m lost.” The pitiful temperament of this comment was not intentional, but the man who now stood in front of you felt itched by it. He couldn't ignore how your legs trembled, partly from the cold but also because of his raised voice directed at you, and how that admittedly aroused some guilt.

“It’s fine. Just-” He sighed deeply, placing his hat on the side table adjacent to the left armchair, “You can just wait here until the rain stops. Though, I have to say it looks unrelenting at the moment.” The man’s attention was captured by how the heavy rain seemed to wage war against the raging tides. You caught a glimpse of a smile. The slightest upturn of the corner of his lips almost compelling you to reveal you had spotted him in the town earlier today, and that you found yourself enamoured with his every movement, and he was ironically the reason you were stuck here.

“Are you sure? I can go, I shouldn't have been here in the first place.” The words escaped from your mouth quickly as if they were trying to race each other to be spoken.

“No, I said it’s fine.” The suddenness of this offer hushed you. He then removed his wool coat, unveiling the clothes he wore beneath it. The burgundy crew neck sweater layered tastefully over a collared shirt was just as old fashioned as every other article of clothing he sported. How intriguing.

“I'm sorry.” Your muscles grew sore from suppressing how aggressively you would have been shaking from the cold. “Thank you.” Him granting you shelter gave you motive to keep the umbrella that would suffice to protect you from the rain under wraps. The option he presented was far more favorable.

“Sit down. Please, use this blanket.” He gestured towards the throw draped over the right armchair. His eyes avoided you as much as he could manage though you had this glow emulating from your wanting eyes and soft looking skin that crept to the corner of his vision too brightly to ignore. Consequently, this comment soothed both your body and mind for he unguarded a kindness that was hidden when he first spoke to you. 

“My name is ___.” He was facing the window that displayed the sea, now thrashing and falling into itself, and without moving his head, his eyes drifted towards you.

“I know who you are.”

“Wh- How?” Maybe accepting an invite in a secluded lighthouse on the beach wasn’t the safest thing you could be doing on a Friday afternoon. Anxiety pioneered a place in your breathing, turning it rushed and choked.

Before your mind could theorize all the ways in which you could make an escape from this room or how quickly you could use your hidden umbrella as a weapon he said, “I noticed you following me in the town’s square earlier today.” You sighed, releasing the terror that pricked your lungs. If anything, it was he who should be afraid of you.

“I’m not a stalker!” That weak defense was all you could push from your throat before any well constructed explanations could be put forth. 

His laugh, along with his cryptic gaze towards the waves, made you feel even worse about your actions.

“You were just so stunning and I wanted to know what kind of person still wears a newsboy hat without trying to make a statement.” Your lower lip tucked between your teeth stopped the nervous laugh about to spill and expressed worry that the more you tried to explain yourself, the more this man believed you should be charged for stalking not to mention trespassing.

“Stunning?”

“I mean, like, someone I’d want to meet.”

“What were you planning on doing once I stopped somewhere, or noticed you?” He questioned you only because he relished how you were scrambling to a proper defense. He knew you weren’t any threat to him, not many people were, however he enjoyed your chatter more than the silence that would have taken its place.

“I don't know, maybe just… introduce myself?” This sheepish, yet honest, reply had you drowning in humiliation, while the man before you seemed as if he were floating effortlessly along the surface. 

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” Relief replaced the worry that he would turn you away, leaving you to the hands of the storm outside. The fact that any other person would have done so led you to believe Jungkook held a lot more compassion than he let on. You held your hand to greet him, finding it only polite to execute this formality. His, however, remained folded behind his back, notably denting your ego as you retracted your hand quicker than you extended it.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself in slight embarrassment from this trivial rejection. “So, do you live here or something?” Your question was first replied to with a breath of annoyance. Jungkook was kind enough to allow you a sanctuary from the rain, exemption from the intrusion and stalking, and now he found himself having to entertain you.

“Yeah, something like that.” All this disinterested answer did was persist your attempts to break his catatonic gaze. However, his reserve had been solidified steadily over the years, so this venture was going to be tough.

“I didn’t know you could live in a lighthouse?” Your inquiry was spoken with the hopes this would ignite a lasting conversation. 

“It’s not a lighthouse, technically.” Jungkook’s affirmative tone flew right over your head, conjuring even more annoyance that oddly enticed him to continue responding to your dense questions.

“Well, it looks like a lighthouse. It’s shaped like a lighthouse. It’s on the beach, just like a lighthouse.” A chuckle joined the sigh of his breath and his head that shook at your shallow observations. Jungkook eventually turned around and made his way towards the stacks of books, trying to preoccupy himself from whatever this exchange was. “All signs point to this being a lighthouse.”

“Well, it’s not. Lighthouses are meant to send signals to the ships out at sea. This doesn't,” His curt response tickled your amusement, only encouraging you to further aggravate him. “Therefore, not a lighthouse.”

“Okay,” You sounded agreeable, but this was soon followed by a doubtful comment whispered just loud enough for Jungkook’s ear to catch it, “It’s a lighthouse.” He found his stoicism melting away due to your spiteful attitude and conniving giggle in the face of his frustration. You wanted to get a rise out of him, and he knew this, and you were doing a fine job at it.

“It’s not-” His voice elevated with excitement, but he soon tamed the defensiveness threatening to spill from his lips, “Do you want to go back out into the rain?” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Though, you sounded all but remorseful. The sly smirk resting on your face matched Jungkook’s satisfied expression, despite these smiles surfacing for different reasons. You couldn’t deny how humorous it was to distemper this man. How all the worries you laid out like the pebbles and seashells on this beach were washed away by the tides. Meanwhile, his grin provided little contribution in masking his enjoyment of your company and relentless curiosity.

You now sat in the right armchair, bundled in the blanket. It was not necessarily a thick blanket, but the chills once disturbing you had dwindled almost immediately. You were still entranced by Jungkook's movements. His hands were now occupied with a book from one of the stacks he’d been eyeing; the way he cradled the book like it was a newborn baby further revealed he had a somewhat protective attitude towards them. 

“What are you reading?” His eyes remained between the pages and lines of the book, but his focus was yet again thieved by your incessant curiosity. Jungkook thought it irritating similarly to how one would find a cat disrupting their owner from work, annoying yet ever so endearing, and adorably distracting.

“I’m not reading, I’m being bothered by you.” His snark was meant to damage your brazen pestering, but unknown to him it merely fueled it.

“Boohoo.” No matter how elementary that retort was, you still managed to fever him and hold hostage his attention.

“I’m reading The Odyssey.” Jungkook surrendered to you, placing the book on his lap that was now sitting in the armchair next to yours. “Why do you ask so many questions?” His eyes laid on you the same way they laid on the sea, filled to the brim with fascination. 

“I just wanted to know what you were reading.” Even when he expressed a clear indication that he was past your nonsense, it went unnoticed like the particles of dust flitting around the darkened room. This oblivion of yours prompted your next question. “Could you read it to me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at this request. Jungkook had already found himself exhausted by your persistence, and predicted ‘no’ would not be accepted as a viable answer. He just sighed and began to read aloud.

His soft voice somehow drowned out the sea’s commotion. The words flowed off his tongue as if he wrote the book himself; such poise for a young man lured you to immerse yourself in his narration and time grew more and more abstract. 

After a bit, Jungkook paused to examine how you'd received his reading and he was pleased to find your chin resting in your palm and your eyes and ears fixed onto him as if he were reading the gospel. This made it difficult, impossible, to deny entry for the subtle blush working its way on his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied?” He closed the book, peering out of the window to check if the weather had eased since you arrived. Though the intensity of the storm hadn’t lightened in the slightest, there was a new tranquility adopted by the drizzling sky waters that sank and fed into the waves.

“Never.” You replied with a hungered conviction twisted into your words, “What happens next?”

Jungkook laughed in shock of how eager you were to hear more of this story. It was unlike someone who wasn’t well versed in literature to genuinely enjoy listening to this archaic novel. 

“Why are you laughing? Read more!” Your whine came off a bit childlike, but succeeded in its goal. 

“It’s getting late.” He commented with a gentle sternness, though he proceeded to reopen the book. Your peculiar attention naturally drew him to oblige your desires. Even in the midst of a storm, even as the hours slipped by and the evening had been born, he continued to read.

You settled back into your chair in rejoice that you’d get to spend a bit more time with Jungkook. He was practically a stranger, and still there was a climate of comfort and intimacy that took the place of the crisp, winter air when he read from his book. He felt it too, and that was reason enough to allow you this company.

Throughout the chapter he had been working to finish, he snuck glances to find your eyes growing heavy with sleep as each page turned. Jungkook halted from reading and was trapped in the flush of your cheeks and lips and how your mouth hung slightly ajar as you inhaled the cold, wet air of the lighthouse. The puffs of breath that billowed from your lips had him yearning to know a warmth so full with life and curiosity.

“Are-” Jungkook tensed at the idea of disturbing your sleep, as if you hadn’t barged into his life without a hint of permission. “Are you asleep?”

Your head lifted slowly, then held stiff to maintain consciousness, “I was just resting my eyes. I’m not tired, I want you to read more.” You said this in spite of knowing you would drift asleep if he did.

“I think we are done reading for now.” The book closed for the last time, his hands pressing against the cover to seal his assurance. “You should head home.”

“But, I don’t know how the book ends.” This weak argument came from a place of jaded desperation. Regardless, he almost fell victim to your subdued urgency but any sensibility he could garner warned him not to allow this. You were quite obviously tired and he prefered you be safe in your own bed before the night advanced.

“Well, that’s because I only just started this book and it is very, very long.” Jungkook hoped this would usher you out even if that meant the return of loneliness would seep between the pillows of the right armchair after you left him with his solitude. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get these questions out of my mind unless I finish the book.” Another weak argument drained from your inventory of excuses. Maybe a change of subject would present an opportunity to linger in his company. “Also, why do you live here all alone?”

“I just do. I feel like I don’t have to explain this to you.” Jungkook was bewildered at his admission to give you, an unannounced and uninvited visitor, any explanations and still he was close to doing exactly that. “You’re quite invested in my personal life.” As much as that was true, his withdrawal from your curiosity wasn't all that effortful. Living in secrecy and desolation had the feeling of companionship nearly vanishing from his memory and you reunited him with  that warmth. And, he had not realized how it had nearly been forgotten or how much he missed it until he finally felt it again. 

“You seem like someone who has better things to attend to.” The lament that stained his words bore such heartache that was soon displaced in your chest. 

“No, no. My life is boring, and I don’t know. What person wouldn’t be interested in the personal life of a hermit who lives in a lighthouse?” You stood and paced around the platform towering over the swirling bookshelves below, towering over what felt like the entire world with Jungkook. The end of the blanket trailed your footstep as your drooping eyes skimmed the multicolored novels which were remarkably arranged alphabetically by author. How he had the time or patience to organize the hundreds of books he owned was beyond your comprehension. Every detail you acquired from Jungkook was stored in a compartment of your heart, almost as if it were assigned by fate. They were told in riddles and secrets and everything else meant to be deciphered.

“Not a hermit, and not a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine someone like you being bored with your life.” His voice had become welcoming, with a hint of genuine interest, and this transition felt imminent ever since you first introduced yourself. The tilt of your head signified your agreement with his last statement and implied there was something that bothered you about this truth.

“Someone like me?”

“Someone like you. Curious, young with your whole life ahead of you. It's hard to believe you should be bored with that.”

“You say that as if you aren't the same age as me.” Jungkook shrugged lazily and scuffed his shoes against the rug as he now stood against the window sill, observing your interest of his books.

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, and yet I am all those things. Bored, curious, and I’m here talking to a complete stranger that totally has the capability to murder me like in those movies instead of going back home.” Your comment that snuck out had wrested a soft chuckle from Jungkook. They were absentmindedly thrown into the air that filled the space between you and him, nurturing his reciprocated fascination with you. Your diligent grazing of each book had distracted how the weight of your eyelids heavied by the minute.

“It’s not like I don’t have great people in my life or a quality education that takes up most of my time, I just,” Your brief pause was to turn your attention over to Jungkook, who did not hide how he was listening intently to these confessions, alleviating from a place in need of emptying. His eyebrow was arched in a manner that jolted you back to your senses. You’d revealed one too many privacies to someone who you had been acquainted with only hours ago. Mortification would have bathed your body if not for the way Jungkook seemed to strongly engage with your openness.

“You just?” He staged his interest overtly to correct the imbalance of how your genuinity left you hanging lower than him on the emotional scale. Jungkook believed that was the least he could do to mitigate the embarrassment about to silence you. 

“Uh, I just never seem to be satisfied with what I have. And that makes me seem like a greedy, spoiled child which makes me even more frustrated with myself.” You admitted, pulling the blanket over your shoulders tighter as if that would shield you from the compromising guilt slithering out of your body. “And that’s how I see myself. Ungrateful and spoiled.” This certainly scraped the barrel of your deep rooted disgust with yourself.

“Not spoiled, just lost.” His response felt like a soft and thoughtful embrace, granted that this was meant to ease the tinge of reproach in your heart. The words he spoke caressed your cheeks and told you that every horrid thing you thought of yourself was flawed.

“I’ve certainly been in your position.” He euphemized what he really wanted to say to you, that he saw himself in you. Even though you spoke very little on this, he felt himself living every experience you alluded to as if he had been right beside you your whole life. Or rather that you had witnessed his life and suffered identical desires and grievances and adversities and were simply retelling his story down to the most intricate detail; and somehow you made it sound brand new and a thousand times more aching. He was stranded in a state of amazement, ambushed by your pain and how even in moments of emotional destitution, you were unquestionably beautiful.  

Likewise, this stranger, who was no longer estranged, and his kind words nearly compensated for the billions of people you could never meet, all the dreams you wanted but could never alter into incarnation, and all the disappointments that plagued your heart.

And you felt held by his words, his voice, him.

“You’ve been in my position?” You requested confirmation.

“I was. Certainly.” And he confirmed.

“Where are you now?” In turn, you wanted this to suggest, ‘where can I find you?’

This question carried profound sentiment on both the giving and receiving end of it. To you, this yearned for advice. Any piece of wisdom would gladly, gratefully be accepted to ease this rampage of constant dissatisfaction. To him, it resurfaced a series of speculations long undisturbed until you had asked this question; a place intentionally void of all attention because it was sometimes too grim to remember. A haze of difficulty crowded a definite answer, though he knew there was one. He couldn’t place his finger on a fitting response and found himself next to you in search of the answer.

Where are you now?

This haunted his mind for a bit, leaving him speechless and albeit impressed, for once, by your curiosity. 

“It’s hard to say. Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Whatever meaning this carried did not resonate as sound to you. The mere idea of being on the end of perpetual longing, waiting for a clear path to the end that promised fulfillment, made it implausible to settle on being somewhere in between the two. Again, you were left unsatisfied and feeling a burden placing itself on your shoulders and wallowing a fit of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook noticed how your eyes fell from his, down to the maroon accents of the rug, and felt out of place. Out of place, in his own lighthouse, all because your gaze and attention he’d grown used to in this short time wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s the kind of ambiguity that leaves me so hungry.” He nodded in agreeance with the twisted cruelty of his response you had pointed out. Jungkook didn’t know how or why he’d come to turn every corner and check each crevasse to find what could settle your appetite. This whole time, though, he sailed through this painstaking search without a trace of uncertainty. His illusion of disinterest and annoyance soon dissolved into the floor that your eyes hadn’t strayed from. 

“Maybe if I lived in a quaint, not-lighthouse I would be satisfied with that answer, but I don’t. I live a normal, normal, normal life.” The repetition of your words stressed your fatigue of this dullness, your desire for everything just inches away from your fingertips.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a normal life. I think it’s wrong that we have put the idea of drama and excitement on a pedestal.” This outlook, unlike the last, did gain traction in stripping the thick ambiguity around Jungkook’s mind. To your surprise, you could be satisfied with the small pieces of this man’s mystery being chipped bit by bit. 

He was well aware of his deep rooted appreciation that accompanied your eyes as it moved towards him once again. There was some sense of purposefulness in this glance that demoted his callousness to tender captivation.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I have a hard time believing you only have one more question.” His doubtfulness didn’t seem to discourage you, or him.

“For real! Only one more, it’s important.” The only way to prove whether or not this question was truly important was for you to ask it. His head nodded his approval.

“What do you think makes us human?” Before he could answer, a swell of perplexity had overtaken his thoughts on this. You could tell, out of everyone, Jungkook would have a profound answer that could save you hours of contemplation over your philosophy essay’s prompt. 

“That’s an interesting question.”

“An interesting question in need of an answer.” You prodded him for his response, though this was pointless if there was no response that could possibly be constructed. Not a response of reason that you seemed to require, but of feeling. Like an instinct, and that in itself made it inapplicable to this question.

“Ask me again some other time. I don’t know if the answer is that simple.”

But, of course, it was. The answer, in his eyes, was blindingly clear.

“I’ll hold you to that!” He gladly took accountability for that commitment. An unfamiliar contentment with the unknown had lodged in your chest when the promise of spending time together emerged through the once conditional circumstances. The promise that transformed those conditional circumstances to voluntary acts.

This humbling discovery left a wide grin on your face, beaming directly towards Jungkook. 

Jungkook peered over to the antique clock placed on a shelf next to the window. The aversion of his eyes was to save face from how your soft smile that projected praise and attachment had effectively unnerved him; he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his fingers that twitched out of pure elation. 

The hour hand stationed on the twelve carved in roman numerals verified how his company had erased any discern for the hours that passed. They had floated away so silently, slowly that you could have sworn time froze altogether. 

“Oh shit, it’s midnight? Fuck me.” The decibels of your voice boomed against the walls, it could have shaken the stacks of books down to a pile of mess. “I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t even realize it was so late.” You unraveled yourself from the blanket and collected your belongings in a bit of a frenzy. 

“It’s alright. I, um, I had a nice time.” He distanced himself from you swiftly as you dashed across the room to the edge of the stairs. Even in a hurried state, you still looked back to him and offered a smile, unsure if that was enough to suffice for a proper gesture of gratitude. 

“Me too.” The words were close to inaudible, but you knew he heard them loud and clear, along with the string of implications that were laced in them. 

“Oh and by the way, make good use of that umbrella. It looks like it could start raining again.” Your ears felt engorged with flames when he’d revealed his knowledge of your little secret. It was foolish of you to believe you could outsmart Jungkook because what you thought obscure was well within his range of astuteness and the umbrella, still damp from the rain, was apparent from the beginning.

You didn’t catch how he’d been smiling when you turned away bashfully, strutting down the stairs in an attempt to portray false confidence. But if you did, you would have picked up on his mutual indulgence in your visit, the absolute bliss laden in his eyes. You grasped tightly to the joy evoked from the thought of seeing him again, however your nerves held a tighter grasp that did not allow you to express this to him. Perhaps your giggles of excitement, surely heard by Jungkook, spilling from your throat as you rushed out the empty room or the way you clutched your umbrella to your chest in admittance you had purposefully kept that fact from him would give Jungkook a clue of how thankful you were to meet him. And even more so to be able to see him again.

As you parted from the lighthouse that was not a lighthouse, something in between, you felt that the comfort you once had taper off with the growing distance from the not-lighthouse. You were fraught with a gentle yearning to turn back, run up the spiraling stairs, settle yourself back into the right armchair, and ask humbly to stay a while longer.

Little did you know, Jungkook’s hopes coincided with yours like two concentric circles. 

(One week later)

If it wasn’t the question left unanswered that motivated you, it was the fact that you missed the view of the beach from the window. Or maybe it was the countless supply of book titles that you didn’t get to finish inspecting. Perhaps it was that you missed how the soft blanket complimented the feathery cushion of the right armchair. 

Any of these excuses could be suited to explain how you rushed through the town, determined, goal-oriented and passing down streets now ingrained in your memory, with a destination clear in mind.

But it definitely couldn't be how dearly you missed the sound of his voice when he read to you or his smile or the way he studied the waves with gentle affection. No, it couldn't be that.

Either way, you arrived at the base of the lighthouse. It had been a week since your first visit and you hoped that the invitation still stood for your return. Making your way through the empty room felt quick since you hadn't wasted time to notice how the table now had a vase of flowers in the center. Nor did you notice the new mat placed in front of the interior doorway to the lighthouse.

Your heart dropped from your chest when you reached over to the door knob only to find it was locked. You turned the handle back and forth as if that would miraculously function as a key to unlock the door. After a bit of knob fiddling had proven itself useless, you turned away with a huff of air releasing your frustration. 

The click and turn of the handle had you twirling around optimistically and seeing him made all that disappointment dissolve. 

“You’re back again.” He was smiling at you, then cocked his head to say come in. The moment you stepped into the lighthouse, its lackluster disappeared as if by magic. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t magic at all; it was the person that hid their umbrella, and asked him to read and promised to return as much as he promised to let you return.

“I believe you promised to keep reading to me.” 

“Did I?” The reasons for your return weren’t all that important to discuss, both you and him were just glad to make your way up the stairs to the two armchairs once more, hearts both racing not because of the physical exertion from the stairs but from the excitement rasping through yours and his bodies.

“Yes, but this time I won’t fall asleep.” 

“We’ll see about that.” There was no question that your intense focus wasn’t because you cared about the book he had been reading. In all honesty, you would not be able to summarize any bit of the plot if someone asked. You probably would have a hard time even naming the author of the book because what sank you into the words on the pages wasn’t the story itself, but the voice that read them. Jungkook made those languid paragraphs sound like the first words ever to be spoken; he reinvented the English language through his unique dialect, inflections and phrasing that had the words of Homer dancing off the pages. So, of course there was no question that you wouldn’t be able to name any of the characters or recognize the writing style of Homer because those details faded away, leaving only the memory of his voice with you.

This time, Jungkook didn’t have to offer you a seat. He made it clear that this spot had been reserved and waiting for you by the way the blanket had been folded and worn by the arm of the chair and the new pillow resting at the base of the chair’s backrest. You planted yourself on the cushion that felt more plump than the last time you sat in it and faced towards the large window that showcased the ocean’s energetic swaying.

“I would never get tired of this view.” You commented while Jungkook pulled back the curtains further to widen the seascape. He too was drawn to the deep blue waters making their way to and from the shore. 

“I usually don’t leave the windows this open, but my love for the scenery of the ocean has rekindled.” When he said this, your eyes hadn’t budged from the window unlike Jungkook’s that peered over to you. You pretended not to notice that or the way your heartbeat had taken a quickness that had your skin growing warmer. 

“How could it leave in the first place?”

“It is well known, especially by you, that having an abundance of something lessens your appreciation for it.” A corner of your lips lifted at this, knowing exactly what he had been referring to. Each wave passed by and in a comatose-like state, you wondered where on the shore it would land.

“No need to call me out already, Jungkook.” He had left the window and retrieved The Odyssey that hadn’t left the side table since the night he read it to you. This broke your trance, and you shifted to face the left armchair.

“You made it too easy, ___.”

“Okay, Hermit.” Your smile did wonders to ease the irritation in Jungkook’s chest to tenderness. Though he refused to admit it, this otherwise taunting nickname sounded affectionate coming from you.

“Technically a hermit is-”

“Technically, I don’t care about your technicalities. No amount of facts will persuade me that you aren’t a Hermit.” Jungkook dug his tongue into the side of his cheek to resist from joining in with your laughter. He’d been fidgeting with the book that was waiting to be read, but neither of you seemed to mind putting that off.

“Ho- How was your day?” You shouldn’t have felt as proud as you did for making a man who could read aloud for hours stutter over his own words, and nonetheless you were extremely flattered by this.

“It was good.” Good never really meant good, and Jungkook knew this.

“And what’s the truth?” Your playing field had once again been unleveled, the advantage returned into the palm of Jungkook’s hand in the blink of an eye. His perceptiveness had been bordering on annoying but still remained on the side of impressive.

“Well,” You bunched the blanket in your fists as an expression of worry, “My mom called today.” Anyone who could hear would be able to tell you sounded unhappy about that.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jungkook articulated his question to get the answer he’d been looking for, finding the hostility in your voice far more interesting than the actual conversation between you and your mom.

“You don’t know my mom, but she projects her over achieving personality onto almost everyone she meets, but most of it goes onto me.” Your back had straightened when mentioning your mom, almost as if it were a reflex, like Pavlov’s dog, that you were conditioned to be on guard at the thought of her. “I don’t know why I get so mad at her when she does that because I know it comes from a place of love.”

Jungkook hummed softly, granting you space to continue talking. 

“Yeah, it probably comes from a place of love but part of me doesn’t believe that. Part of me thinks every time she calls to check on me it’s really just a ploy for her to nag me on what I could be doing better.” You scoffed as the conversation from earlier in the morning played out in your head again. Envisioning the back and forth between you and your mother only fueled your frustration but you couldn’t help yourself. There was no stifling the seething anger imploding before Jungkook’s eyes. “She always says stuff like, ‘Maybe if you applied yourself more you would be doing better than this.’ or ‘I told you that you should have done this or that and now it’s too late’ or the infamous ‘Do you not care about your future?’ lecture that just gets under my skin. She’s so good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I don’t know how she does it but she always manages to rub dirt in the wound.” 

“So, she’s never satisfied with you?” Jungkook observed.

“No, never! And you’d think a mother would be supportive or happy with all the things her child had already accomplished but somehow it’s never enough. And she knows what she’s doing. That makes it worse. She knows how she weaponizes my guilt against me.” You held your tongue from the much longer rant about to digress, feeling a sudden discomfort in the way you’d been complaining to Jungkook. You couldn’t understand why it was all too easy to talk of these kinds of things to him, why he looked so interested in what you were saying even when anyone else would have grown tired of you by now, why you found in him a warm confidant much more comforting than you’d expected, yet there was no way to dismiss this reality.

Jungkook did not offer advice, or tell you that you should be thankful or that maybe you were handling these situations poorly. He did none of that. His silence was more thoughtful than any number of things he could have said. He simply listened. 

You rose from the chair to get a closer view of the sea. Past your reflection in the glass, the consecutive tides seemed to grapple over the next and the next; the previous wave always just short of reach to tackle the immediate wave. He had followed you without a word, living up to your desire to have him at your side. There was no need for mindless comments or condolences to fill the silence, only mindful amity, at your side, because watching the ocean with you was enough.

“So, that was my day.” It was the first thing spoken after a period of quiet, perfectly timed and delivered for it to bear a dry humor in its intention. Jungkook and you laughed, finding this the long needed release of tension in your head. 

“Is this going to become a habitual thing?”

“What’s that?” 

“Me complaining to you about my personal struggles that would have gone in my journal or somewhere far more private than this.” All said while your and Jungkook’s gazes didn’t wander from the view of the window. “Me inviting myself into your lighthouse, or not-lighthouse, whatever.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Two heads turned towards each other almost as if it were on que.

The way your pupils dilated and softened conveyed every bit of thanks you held in your heart but couldn’t muster the courage to voice. Jungkook’s doe-eyed smile thanked you likewise and confessed the gratitude for how you had rescued him from yet another lonesome afternoon with a curtained window, an unused blanket, an empty chair, and a melancholic silence as he read his one of thousands of books. Not including The Odyssey, that was for your ears only.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.” His tease succeeded to provoke that smile of yours. And even though that was a favor on his end, he was the one that felt graced by it. Realistically, a smile costs nothing yet there grew an enormous debt in his heart; and even though he couldn’t afford it, all he could do was bask in every detail your smile, of the crease of your eyes, and of the way your cheeks took the form of a sweet Spring Peach, and the scrunch of your nose and brows. Before he sank himself deeper in debt, Jungkook beckoned for the two of you to return to your seats and read all your worries away.

---

Who would have guessed that The Odyssey, of all things, would be the thing that would occupy most of your Fridays through the rest of the winter? Sometimes you visited a Sunday, and other times you’d find yourself needing to hear The Odyssey on a Wednesday evening or a Monday morning. The days on which you swung by the now familiar lighthouse would vary, but they remained a weekly occurrence. 

Jungkook had grown comfortable with this routine, reading to you while you watched him and the waves, but mostly him. Occasionally, his reading would cease to an interruption of his own doing to ask how your day was in a very specific way that only Jungkook seemed to exhibit. He’d ask you say anything but ‘good’ or ‘boring’ and he’d clarify that he wanted you to not leave out any details. 

“Why?” You would ask. And he’d look at you as if you set yourself on fire.

“It’s important to me.” He’d reply as if it were that simple, or the answer you were looking for. Still, if it was important to him you didn’t need any more persuading.

Like when you told him you stopped by a coffee shop, he’d tell you to specify which drink you ordered and how it tasted. 

“Cinnamon.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No, I prefer peppermint but sometimes I combine those flavors and that becomes my other favorite.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“It makes my insides feel like Christmas.”

“Is Christmas a feeling?”

“It is to me!” He smiled at your childlike enthusiasm because it made life seem a lot more appealing than he’d ever believed. Before you, the world was a little greyer. After you, suddenly full of vibrance, saturated to the grandest extents.

Or the time you brought a candle to fill the air with something a bit more pleasant than the smell of the old, wet stones of the lighthouse.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a candle, vanilla and patchouli.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. I just found it in my house and thought this place needed something sweet.”

“But you’re here.” Your teeth bit down on your tongue when he said this. You almost fallen trapped in figuring out what motivated him to say this, but the flattery of his comment was all too pleasing to ignore.

“But I don’t smell like vanilla and patchouli.” You said, only to save face from the fact that you suddenly felt like a deer in headlights when he looked at you, bracing for when he would crash into you and hoping to god you can absorb the exhilaration of souls colliding; and hoping to god he would crash into you.

“Could you light it, then?”

“Of course.”

And the room filled with a sweetness that complimented your company finely. Now, whenever he would smell the scents of vanilla and patchouli he would think of you, and you of him.

He would continue asking these simple questions, and so on.

Why he thought it was essential for you to relay these almost invaluable intricacies was beyond you, but it did make you feel heard; it made you feel held as it always did. It made the value of your life gone without the need to be earned or proven, the value of the smaller moments that fell between bigger moments. 

It made it all okay that you felt like you stripped the clothes from your whole life off for him to revere and that he’d rarely ever display such emotional nudity for you; you were okay with lying bare before his eyes, vulnerable and pliant to his every whim. Even when you wanted to know all of these things about Jungkook and he’d hold them captive or he’d only offer half sufficient answers, you collected as many bits of the puzzle as possible to try and piece together his story.

“How are your parents, Jungkook?”

“Long gone.”

“Oh, Jungkook… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I watched them grow old and content and that softened the blow.” 

“Are you lonely?”

Yes, it’s excruciating when you are not here. I am tormented in your absence and all too plagued with despondency and I wish you knew that.

“I’ve grown used to it.”

“So you have.”

“So I have.”

You did not want him to be lonely; you didn’t want him to ever be sad but you wanted him to be able to say that he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you he was lonely; you wanted him to want you to know his heart. You wanted him to feel as naked as you felt. Vagueness was all you could ever manage to arrest from his gated mind. 

And for once, the little he had given was more than you could ever ask for.

Sunday mornings with Jungkook were your favorite. The ocean was tame during this time on Sundays specifically and sailed you into its calmness; you were half asleep, resting on the sill running along the base of the window panes. Spring had been approaching which meant there were radiant glimmers of the early sun that reflected and glided along the ripples of the waves. Jungkook once said that every time he looked at these little pieces of diamond rays, he believed the sun and the sea performed in devotion for you and him alone. 

“I love that.” And indeed you did. The idea that no one else witnessed this ocean, not this one, not the way you and Jungkook had, was a greedy disposition but felt so true.

“Would you like me to read?” He said in place of, Is my voice properly fitting for something as lovely as this moment?

“I want you to talk, but not of books.” You blinked slowly at Jungkook, “Could you tell me about yourself? Just one thing, anything you choose.” He saw those specks of diamonds glimmering in your irises. He felt so close to you, sitting on the other end of the window, and close enough to finally surrender a bit of his gated mind.

“When I was a child, I knew my days were numbered. The details of why aren’t important, but I digress.” You stuffed a scoff down your throat at the assertion that the details weren’t important. Him, of all people, claiming the details were unimportant had you whirling in a paradox. “With this in mind, I did my best to fulfill everything any child would have wanted. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because that list of desires was never ending.” 

Was this what he meant when he said he was in my position once? You wondered.

“I spent all my time looking for the next best thing I could achieve, because the best things that I had was, as you know, never enough. One week, the best thing would be finding a four leaf clover to give to my mother. The next, it was being the first in line for the new, long awaited comic book. Or, it was the time my father took me fishing on the lake, and then seconds after it was the first fish I caught and threw back into the water, and that best thing was soon replaced by my father’s proud smile.”

Your throat tightened as you visualized a young Jungkook sitting on the dock with his father, full of youth and excitement, and how nostalgia had ripened into your heart even though you had no place in this memory of his. This dream-like sequence had compelled a few tears to fill your eyes, fogging your vision of the older Jungkook that sat before you. 

“When I grew older, in my adolescent and teenage years, the next best thing was fulfilling a newfound passion. It prompted me to buy out almost the entire library and major in World Literature. I spent the rest of my days from then on immersed in reading, as you can see. It was the only place I felt like I was achieving the next best thing, and it was cruel when I came to realize there was no way in hell I could finish all the books I’d collected in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time... for the next best thing to come along, I guess.” This answer appeared fabricated, but was subtle enough to pass through your mind without a second thought. 

“And did it? Did it come along?”

It would have made no difference if your question had been asked to a brick wall because Jungkook brushed it off as he did every other question that would have given you another piece of his puzzle. He took precautions to avoid a defeat to your pouting by walking over to the left armchair and burying his face in the book’s fortitude. Before you had the chance to reiterate your question, Jungkook began to read, making it all too clear he was evading.

“Jungkook?” You whined to which he paid no mind by continuing to read.

“Is he being serious right now?” Again, you might as well have been talking to an inanimate object. There was nothing to be done when he lodged his restraint other than joining him in your armchair, quietly, permissively.

Every day, like this one, spent with him had you convinced it couldn’t be surpassed in enjoyment. And every day, your expectations had been exceeded. That was something you’d never think could happen. Soon, the cares and worries of this Winter melted as the avenue of Spring had unfolded before you. A long path, surrounded with flower blossoms and diamond coated seas, or in other words, the unfathomable had fallen into your hands.

The remainder of this pleasant Sunday had been consumed by The Odyssey and Jungkook’s voice singing its words as smoothly as the waves surrounding the lighthouse and small conversations during the pauses of his reading. One struck you into reminiscence of the first night you met.

“You never answered my question.” He paused, flipping through the many unanswered questions he’d left with you. Jungkook raised his brow to order specification of which one you referred to.

“What makes us human?” The due date of your essay passed over two months ago, however this didn’t diminish your curiosity to know his answer.

“In all honesty,” He paused and looked to assure you would believe his answer would be honest, or honest enough to cater your satisfaction. “I think it’s our desire to achieve the last best thing.”

Every fiber in you compiled its own list of questions in regards to his yet again ambiguous answer, though you had grown to accept that as a part of Jungkook. And you sure as hell accepted Jungkook, ambiguity and all.

“Hm.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know you had theorized any and all connotations branching off from his answer and he didn’t mind that you could be lost in search of whatever the actual meaning of it was. 

The moon was in its fullest bloom tonight, and tomorrow, it would begin to wane into a crescent then into nothing but an empty space full of new and perhaps fortunate opportunities. Jungkook found the romance of this lunar phase well equipped for the dusty instrument he discovered in the base of the lighthouse. 

“I found something that I think you’d like.” Your ears perked like a dog when it’d been presented with treats. “But you have to go get it. It’s in the other room.”

Whatever this surprise was, it had excited you enough to ignore how you’d have to descend and re-ascend the many stairs that would surely tire you. Your eager legs would have jumped right from the platform to the bottom of the lighthouse if the reality didn’t result in broken bones. As you rushed to the door to the other room, you pushed through and discovered a telescope standing in the corner of the otherwise empty space. A few moments later you were hustling back up the stairs, the telescope making the re-ascension of the stairs ten times as strenuous. All the while, Jungkook just stared in amusement at the way you struggled your way to the platform.

“No, I don’t want any help, thank you!” You said sarcastically through grunts of exertion before positioning the instrument in front of the window.

“Well, I didn’t offer you any, so, you’re very welcome.” He stood on the other side of the telescope, admiring the way you fell so easily in love with it, hands scaling the length of the scope.

“Do I just?” You pointed to the eyepiece at the end of the rod and he nodded. You brought your eye to the magnifying glass which was flooded with the enchanting glow of the stars. You’d never seen them this close, but this little gift of Jungkook’s had catapulted you into the illuminated abyss of the night sky. A measly woah was all that squeaked from your voice, because all the other words were stolen by the stars.

“Can you find any constellations?” He’d seen all the stars in the galaxy; that he was sure of. But none had shone brighter than the person he couldn’t tear his eyes from. Three o’clock had crept onto the antique clock, this late hour had worn down Jungkook’s walls completely as the soft glow of adornment laminated his eyes. 

“I think I see ORion's belt. That’s the only one I know other than the Big Dipper.” You laughed at your own lack of knowledge of the stars. Knowledge didn’t seem to matter though, the beauty of the stardusted sky had taken care of that deficiency. You lifted yourself away from the telescope, allowing Jungkook a turn to stargaze.

“Have you heard of the Astral Plane?” Jungkook asking you something other than, ‘how was your day’, was a rare occurrence which most likely meant this was of some importance.

“I’ve heard of it, but I think I’ll need you to refresh my memory.” You really did need clarification on what exactly the Astral Plane entailed, though you mainly just wanted to hear him explain it. 

“Some say it lies in the fourth dimension. It isn’t tangible or something that can be touched. It lies between everything, every atom, every cell, every city and forest and mountain and even between the crevasses of one’s own mind and soul. A place like this is full of divinity and complete attainment and the way it is reached has been theorized by many.” Jungkook’s meticulous readjustments of the telescope had you wondering which constellations he was searching for, or maybe he’d been looking for Venus or Mars or the Moon. “Some say you arrive there in your dreams, or when you reach enlightenment, or when death draws its curtain on you…  I-I don't know why but I’ve always thought that it was stitched into the sky. Far beyond our galaxy, maybe the Astral Plane has situated itself in between each star, just like it does our souls, and exists as the vastness of outer space.” It turned out he wasn't looking for any of those things, he was looking for the Astral Plane.

Could the heat rising throughout your body be merely adoration, or was it something along the lines of a forlorn longing? When he spoke, you felt this sensation growing dense in your bones; you felt a gravitation towards him.

“Seems about right to me.” Fondness had stained your tone which filled some void in Jungkook’s hungry heart, and he’d failed to predict you were the one that would be able to settle it. “Maybe we’ll never reach the Astral Plane, but at least I’m here with you.”

When you said this, the hairs on his arms pointed towards the ceiling. For once in a very, very long time, Jungkook felt a euphoric resurgence striking through the catacombs of his soul and hot tears dripping down the expanse of his cheeks, to the tip of his chin, and onto the glass scope that was shielding this sudden emotional combustion. He blinked away the tears to the best of his abilities and turned away from you and the telescope and the sky. Jungkook felt the push of air from your movement towards him, but he shifted further away. 

“Are yo-”

“I found a cluster of stardust, go look.” He averted you from him and you always fell victim to every trick in his book. 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” The grip you had on the telescope was firm, like you were trying to hold onto the stars themselves.

“Amazing.” He said. This reiteration wasn’t for the stars, however. He wondered if you knew that. He wondered if you could feel how consumed he was by your magnificence under the full moon that reigned with gentleness over the waves. The once wild tides, now moving with the same serenity and romance embedded into Jungkook and this lighthouse. He wondered if you could see he had been emotionally disrobed and bearing all his affection for you. And he wondered how he was so okay with that.

Six o’clock didn’t feel like six o’clock. Your eyes that struggled to keep open told you otherwise, so again you and him were parting ways as the sun had begun dawning over the horizon and there were no more stars to fill the hours slipping away. Jungkook did all he could to compose himself. He’d offered to walk you out; you reached the door that led to the dewy, Spring air awaiting your departure from the lighthouse.

“Wait, ___!” This exclamation echoed louder than the beating of his crimson heart. After stepping through the threshold, you turned to meet his gaze, teary-eyed from what you guessed was from lack of sleep. Teary-eyed from what he knew was because of another egregious goodbye. “Thank you.”

This moment seemed fitting to test the theory that actions speak louder than words. This moment called for the lapse of courage in need to act, not speak. This moment was the moment when you finally expressed the thankfulness that, to you, seemed to outweigh his by pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It was much colder than your lips and the docile warmth of the morning, but once you pulled away the warmth had stained his cheek. 

Jungkook felt like every cell in his body was evaporating into the space around him. Like the way a fire would extend its heat into the air or the way Spring melted away the frost ridden Winter, your act had covered him in a blanket of love and refuge from the loneliness once vaulting his heart. And it certainly spoke louder than words; all the words in every book Jungkook had ever read and the words left unsaid and the words passing between everyone in the universe.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Hermit! You helped me see Orion’s Belt up close and personal!” You called as your strides began a slow fleet from a laughing Jungkook. You waved, now standing a generous distance from him, and he found this gave him the space needed to finally let his tears fall. 

“I love you.” He whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to your ears and heart.

A revelation had overcome him, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe the tears away, they’d be instantly replenished like a stream of water rushing from a conquered dam, spilling over endlessly, with all control suspended in the air around him.

Was it finally here? The last, best thing?

---

A week after the stargazing, your mind had mapped out the stars as you too searched for that Astral Plane. To you, Jungkook’s proposition of it being strewn in the night sky was the only theoretical that made sense. You wanted to flaunt your newfound passion for this concept he’d introduced, and admittedly - and more importantly - you wanted to kiss him again, leading to yet another blissful walk down the seashore to the lighthouse. The air was warm but not humid, carrying a breeze that evened out the sun’s heat nicely. A few pillows of clouds were cascading through the sky, never staying in one spot for too long; you’d come to appreciate each one’s temporary presence and when they passed, you grew to appreciate that as well. The gaze once fixed on the sand had now traveled to the waves of much gentler motion than ever before. 

This walk, unlike the dozens of others, felt different. The streets looked lovely and the air felt clean in your chest, giving you a pleasant journey far more intimate than the last. Then you realized, it felt like you were walking back home.

When you grew closer to the lighthouse, you noticed the curtains had been drawn which was strikingly unusual for a sunny day such as this one. This was a passing observation as you made your way to the base of the lighthouse. 

Through the door to the room before the lighthouse, you were taken aback to find your armchair sitting in front of the table. you walked up to discover a single, folded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp labeled with your name along the top of the paper.

This felt eerie, for some reason, and you called out his name only to be met with silence, before sitting yourself down and unsealing the note.

It read in his voice:

My Dearest, ___

I wrote this to relay a lot of things left unsaid. The first being goodbye. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, though no amount of remorse could possibly appease my actions.

Your heartbeat had grown rampant, until your eyes read those words. It was then when it stopped altogether. Still, you continued to read.

I kept things from you like the fact that our encounter in the town’s square was all but coincidental. The truth is scary, and my truth would have turned you away from the beginning. It was selfish, I admit, but I do not think I could have endured such a loss. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark all this time, but I am beyond gratified for what you granted me in spite of that.

Maybe it might seem cruel. You are not alone in feeling that — never alone. But, we were never meant to spend every Sunday morning, or Friday evening, or Wednesday afternoon together to watch the waves float along with the hours lost reading to you; I knew this was not the end of your story, just mine. 

The books I have read over and over have imprisoned me in search of the “next best thing”. To my dismay, I thought I had run out of time to find it. But then you came along. You helped set me free by allowing me to live out a few more “best things” through the way you shared your life with me, unselfishly, warmly, kindly— You helped me move on.

I know you too will move on from this. I hope I could at least leave you with the tools and courage to find each “next best thing” in store. If not that, then this lighthouse, open to you and only you, and a myriad of good memories to ease our parting. I know in my heart you deserve nothing less.

I hope you find contentment somewhere in the sea or on the sand or in the stars, or perhaps somewhere in between.

Once you do, we will meet again within the Astral Plane, my love. I swear it. And if you miss me, just look through the telescope and find me woven in the spaces amidst Orion’s Belt.

Thank you. Again and again I thank you and it is still not enough. Thank you for you, for your warmth, for your salvation, for your smile, for your endless questions, for re-introducing me to the aroma of vanilla and patchouli but it was not as sweet as your companionship, for putting good use of the right armchair and the view from our window, for making the odyssey a little less lonely to read, and thank you for stepping into my lighthouse and my life.

Don't you see, it was you. You were my last, best thing.

with love and sorrow,

Jeon Jungkook

Before you got to the end of the letter, you were racing up the spiraling stairs, ignoring the burn in your tightened chest, how the air in the lighthouse had suffocated your lungs. The dizziness that blurred your eyes had not slowed your climb up the stairs, and the wetness of your tears now seeping into his letter.

You reached the top, The Odyssey greeting you on the chair Jungkook would have been seated in. Your breaths were staggered and warm, filling the mournful emptiness of the lighthouse. 

“Jungkook.” You whispered. You begged for a reply. The curtains were drawn over the window, like never before, and exposed a bronze plaque peeking out from the end of the fabric. You pushed the drapes aside to read what was engraved into the metal plate and the first page of The Odyssey that hung below it.

In loving memory of our beloved son, Jeon Jungkook. May he rest in peace. 1918-1942.

The note below read: 

The Odyssey

Jeon and ___ Lighthouse.

You pieced the puzzle together, finally. And with that, came the final picture, so beautiful and mesmerizing and everything you could have ever hoped for, and more.

“Jungkook.” You repeated as a bid of farewell, with a heart full of satisfaction and content, and Jungkook. You pressed the letter to your chest in hopes his words would mend your aching heart. 

And it was true, he was not your last best thing, only one of them. 

But he was undoubtedly your most cherished and beloved best thing.

#bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #bts #bts imagines #bts writing #bts scenarios #bts one shot #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #bts au #jungkook strangers to lovers #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #the lighthouse #rubycoast #reader x jungkook #jungkook fluff

[fandomcolourofmyskin]

Please don't take this the wrong way, but you realize that this show is explicitly about the poor, Midwestern white male experience? They lack privilege on multiple levels which the show explores (sa m the janitor, Dean the grunt), and all of the queer issues stem almost directly from the poor white male's low level of self determination/ agency or the perception thereof I'm a poor whitish person from a similar area, and it feels unique to see a poor white show that isn't Roseanne.

Hi nonnie,

I have a lot of things to say in response to your message — which does display ignorance of societal organization across systemic racial lines — but without creating a huge extensive post, here are some crucial points to consider:

- The “poor Midwestern white male experience” does NOT discount the insulated bubble of white privilege that Sam and Dean Winchester occupy, and neither is Supernatural immune from racist narratives and/or racist character implementation (especially ‘cause SPN has predominantly white production crew/writers around the table. Again, any literary narrative or script they conceive can and most likely will be influenced by internalized unconscious white dominance —> white-painted narratives perceived by POC viewers. I mean, scour this blog/google ‘Supernatural and racism’ and you’ll get the picture.)

- Additionally, stating that the show is “explicitly about” the poor Midwestern white male experience is false. Yes, you’re a poor white person from a similar area, and so you believe that, as a white person, the show’s premise reflects your experience. However, your statement doesn’t represent reality. The racial blind spot here is: media consumption by (realities of) white people will not equate to media consumption by (realities of) POC.

As I said here, we cannot talk about other systemic forces like socioeconomic class without addressing race. Race is inherently interweaved into other structural dimensions. It’s why BIPOC (Black Indigenous POC) + POC are: statistically paid less than white employees, unequally treated in terms of job capability, encounter unconscious bias across the hiring market, struggle to find jobs, unable to afford three-story suburban houses, and can never seem to find favour no matter how hard we work.

Reni Eddo-Lodge reiterates what white privilege is. When we say ‘white privilege’, we aren’t referring to white people always having it easy, or living in the lap of material wealth (but economic race disparities are instrinsically linked to material wealth), or lacking suffering, or living in poverty.

White privilege: the unearned set of societal benefits, advantages, and positive attitudes/behaviours bestowed upon white people solely because they are white (because of the pale/white colour of their skin). Claiming that Sam and Dean “lack privilege on multiple levels” perpetuates the continuous erasure of the POC reality, as well as intersectional BI+POC realities (being PoC, queer, and disabled, etc). What’s our reality? We actually lack privilege on multiple levels because of the colour of our skin. Your claim could imply that white privilege isn’t a thing, but it is. Think of white privilege as the air we breathe: it’s there, and we’re surrounded by it, and we breathe it in, yet because air is mostly invisible, some people aren’t always aware of it until you tell ‘em “Hey dude, did you know you’re inhaling oxygen?” The answer would be: “Obviously. Idk why you’re pointing that out - I already know that. You saying I’m dumb?” (lol not too far off from white defensiveness, right?) White people are so used to their privilege that they feel weird, ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘unsafe’ once people of colour point out their privilege. They subconsciously (and consciously) refuse to lose their place at the top. They’ll be offended.

To address your message, specifically — Sam and Dean hold white privilege as white men despite being poor. This is an uncomfortable fact that white SPN audiences must acknowledge.

If translated into real life, Sam and Dean will walk inside a bar and not be suspected of crime at first glance. They won’t look suspicious. They won’t get physically assaulted, shot at, killed, and/or lynched, both by police and fellow white men. They can speak, eat, and behave however they please without getting kicked out. They’ll chase after people they wanna bang or make inappropriate moves without being accused of sexual harrassment; BI+POC are typically falsely accused. (*Bonus Salt incoming* Sam and Dean won’t die permanently on their own show. The BI+PoC allies they have are often killed off to forward their plot and channel white manpain, then embody racist narrative tropes. As an Asian, Kevin Tran’s Stereotypical-Asian presence upset me, and his death further hurt my sensibilities. It did not shock me at all to see yet another Asian character killed off. Again, I must mention the horrible Asian-fetishist-exotificating Busty Asian Beauties, as well. Heck, S8 episode title “What’s Up Tiger Mommy?” was blatantly racist that I can’t believe no one demanded they change the episode premise + Kevin and Linda Tran’s characterizations. JUST KIDDING, of course I know why no one emphasized the issue - there are barely any BI+PoC in the writer’s room. This is why hiring us must become important).

Unfortunately - and unlike your opinion - Supernatural is not “unique” for us BI+PoC fans. It’s a show manned by predominantly white cast/crew that centralizes two white men and their respective narrow realities. We don’t live in a bubble. We’re everywhere. Depict us properly, with cultural/racial sensitivity, in entertainment, media, art forms, and more. Acknowledge our lack of privilege on multiple levels.

We live within a society set up for people of colour to fail. Whiteness is the default, and the privilege intrinsically linked to that ensconces an entire array of political, social, cultural and economic structures advantaging white people while disadvantaging People of Colour.

You’re a poor white person. I’m not, and the likelihood of the white poor person being given an opportunity to escape poverty is statistically MUCH, MUCH higher than the likelihood of poor POC to escape poverty.

#mod naruhearts #mod: naruhearts #-mod naruhearts #ask #spn + racism #fandom racism #white privilege #white fragility #supernatural #racism

[favefandomimagines]

Soul Surfer 5

AN: shits gonna hit the fan..i’m sorry in advance. also, if this doesn’t do well, i’m contemplating taking a break from Soul Surfer or at least putting it on hold for a bit

The night of Friday’s Boneyard party was supposed to be great. It was supposed to go off without a hitch. But that was the opposite of what happened.

Violet was supposed to spend more time with JJ and actually see if the two could work. However, Violet learned that nothing was ever that easy in the Outer Banks.

__

Violet was at home, getting herself ready for the Boneyard party, when her balcony door opened.

“Knock, knock.” JJ appeared. “You could have used the front door you know.” Violet told the blonde. “Hey, you’re the one who said your balcony door was always open.” JJ rebutted, sitting on her bed.

“Well, since you’re here, how do I look? Sarah and Kie have differing opinions.” Violet asked.

The girl did a small spin in front of him, putting her outfit on full display. “You look stunning.” He commented. Violet gave him a bashful smile before looking back at her reflection.

“Come on, pretty girl. We have a party to get to.” JJ told the brunette as he pulled her away from the mirror.

__

It was just like any other summer night at the Boneyard. Violet and Kiara were sitting on a log by the fire, talking about a new fundraiser to save sea turtles. JJ on the other side of Violet, talking to John B and Pope.

Everything was fine until Rafe drunkenly stumbled upon the group of pogues.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite new Pogue.” He slurred, eyes focused on Violet. “Jesus Christ,” the brunette muttered.

“Leave her alone, Rafe.” Sarah told her older brother. “No. No, see I don’t want to do that.” He said. “Seriously, Rafe. I don’t want to talk to you.” Violet interjected.

Rafe’s eyes went dark as she stumbled closer to Violet, causing her to stand up from her seat. JJ then followed suit and protectively stood in front of her.

“Aw, does JJ have a little crush on Violet?” Rafe mocked. “Go home, Rafe.” JJ started. “Or what? You aren’t the only one who likes the new girl, Maybank.” Rafe started.

“And I bet she’d pick me over you if we asked her. Why choose you when she could have everything she ever wanted? With me.” He added.

Before Violet could add her own comeback, given she was standing right there, JJ pushed Rafe on to the sand.

JJ was on top of Rafe, punching him as all he saw was red. “JJ stop!” Violet yelled.

Violet hated violence. She hated it more than most things because she didn’t think it solved anyone’s problems. It only made them worse.

Rafe soon gained the upper hand and began punching JJ’s face in. “Rafe, that’s enough man!” Topper yelled, pulling his friend off JJ. John B helped the other boy off the sand before he stormed off.

“JJ!” Kiara called after him, the rest of his friends following. “Dude, stop!” John B yelled. “JJ, stop walking away!” Violet added. “What do you want, Violet?” JJ snapped, turning around quickly to face her. Ignoring the throbbing pain of his injuries.

“What the hell was that? Rafe could have killed you!” She said. “Really? You’re gonna yell at me for defending you?” JJ snapped. “Yes because it’s not worth it, JJ!” Violet yelled.

JJ scoffed before spitting blood on the sand. “You know what? You’re right. You aren’t worth it. I knew you wouldn’t fit in with us. You’re not Pogue. You’re just a sad little rich girl with mommy issues.” He snapped back at her.

All anger disappeared from Violet’s face and was quickly replaced with sadness and disgust. “JJ are you kidding?” Kiara scolded him.

Violet’s vision grew blurry as she glared at the boy who used to have her complete adoration. JJ used her biggest secret and the one thing she was ashamed of the most, against her over something stupid he did.

“I hate you.” She whispered, a few tears falling from her eyes, before turning and walking away.

It wasn’t until those three words left Violet’s lips and met his ears, did the realization of what JJ said hit him.

Kiara looked at her friend in disappointment before speaking. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you say that to her?” She yelled, before following after Violet.

Violet quickly became one of her best friends and hearing what JJ said to her made her extremely angry.

“Seriously, JJ?” Pope questioned, following Kie. “What did I just do?” JJ muttered, wanting it to just be a bad dream.

“JJ, why did you say that to Violet? I thought you liked her.” John B asked. “I do like her! I-I don’t know. I was mad at Rafe and I took it out on her.” JJ answered. John B gave his friend a sympathetic look before he himself walked away, leaving his friend alone.

__

Violet woke up the morning after the Boneyard completely drained. Well, she didn’t consider it waking up when she never fell asleep.

She stayed up all night either crying or staring blankly at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes she could see and hear JJ say those awful things to her.

That she didn’t belong with the pogues, she wasn’t worth it, sad girl with mommy issues.

“Vi, honey, wake up.” Rob said from the other side of the door. “I’m up.” She groaned. “You know what they say cheers people up?” He asked.

Violet rolled her eyes before replying. “What?” She asked. “A couple boards and some choice waves.” He answered.

The brunette furrowed her eyebrows before she got out of bed and opened the bedroom door.

“You got that from Lilo and Stitch.” She said, looking up at him. “Yeah and it always cheers you up.” Rob replied.

Violet looked at her dad for a moment before she groaned. “Fine. Let’s go.” She said.

The father-daughter pair got their board and Rob drove them to the beach. Violet looked out the open window, the breeze calming her only for a few moments. Rob looked over at his daughter briefly, not wanting to bring up what made her so upset.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked. “Not really. I’d rather not drive into the fact that the guy I liked used my ‘mommy issues’ against me.” She answered.

“Maybe there’s something else going on with him. Something that made him lash out.” Rob said.

Rob always taught his daughter to give people the benefit of the doubt. There could be other factors or circumstances to make people lash out.

They arrived at the beach, it being early enough no one else was there. It was a routine they had that they’d surf early morning so it was only them and the waves.

Violet had to give it up to her father. Surfing did take her out of her head for a while. It made her think of the time that JJ Maybank wasn’t the center of her mind. Before she fell so quickly for a boy she barely knew.

“Feel any better?” Rob asked his daughter as they walked on the sand. “I’m not saying you’re right.” She joked. “Even though you know I was.” He said. “Okay sure. You were right.” Violet told him.

Rob could see that his daughter was still stuck in her head. “What’s going on?” He asked. “I just miss home. I miss Oahu.” Violet answered. “I know, kiddo. But this is our home now. I know it’s going to be hard after what happened with JJ but Kiara is still your friend. She stopped by last night to make sure you were okay.” Rob replied.

Before Violet was going to reply, she spotted Kiara walking towards her. “I’ll meet you back at the car.” Rob told her.

“Hey, Vi.” Kiara greeted her. “Hi, Kie.” Violet said. “How are you doing? After what happened?” Kiara asked. “Honestly, not good.” Violet answered. “I know JJ’s sorry. When he gets like that he just gets angry and lashes out. But I know it’s not an excuse for how he talked to you. You don’t deserve that.” Kiara said. “I wish I could just forgive him but,” Violet started.

The two were interrupted by JJ calling out to Violet. “Violet,” He started. “No.” She muttered as she turned to walk away with her board.

“Violet, please listen to me.” JJ begged. “Just stay away from me.” Violet snapped before she turned and walked away from Kiara and JJ.

JJ watched her walk away beating himself up for how he royally messed up.

Tag list: @outerbxmalia @hockeyschmockey @allie-mcginn @prejudic3 @sexualparkour @k-k0129 @iamaunicorn4704 @milamaybank @jj-maybabe @diverrdown @sweetwatermelonsugar @alexa-playafricabytoto @aaleksmorozova @fandom-phaser @princessmugglecup @infinityspaceuniverse @teamnick @lulbabes @frankiebcanon @srirachabi @starxdame @holadxrry @lopineapples @belledutchess @floridabornandraised @obbx-tings @x-lulu @hopelesswritingxd @prettyboyspence @junkiemuppettxx @shawnssongs @theloxersclub @99sxuxii @jeyramarie @miliefayy @rudths @y0ungandfuckingdumb @xealia @hotel-colson @bubblesam06 @outrbank @thebendslikebendover @wasted-on-5sos @booksandshish @drizzlethatfalls @runway-to-my-aid @never-ever-too-many-fandoms @xlittlemissydjx @strawberryblondies @haharudy @chickencrispers666 @simonsbluee @httpstarkey

#imagine #imagines #outer banks imagine #outer banks #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #john b routledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #rafe cameron #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow #rudy pankow imagine

[non-binharry]

Asia I have a perfect okay relationship with my father for him being Mexican so no I don’t have any daddy issues I hardly call Louis mommy or even Harry daddy but it’s genuinely concerning how every time we get Louis content y’all have to over sexualize him or call him daddy but for Harry now y’all treat him like baby . Please y’all are the ones projecting onto to Louis and Harry . Son tan pendejas y locas Louis las odian mucho

if you "hardly" call louis mommy then why are you reacting to a post that is not reflective of your behavior? 🎤 also i don't know who is this y'all you speak of as i don't answer for anyone else's behavior but i don't speak about louis like that, i'm actually more inclined to baby him and will most frequently describe him as cute or baby on any given day while i am perpetually thinking about ways i can get harr to sit in my lap 🙄

#no creo que louis odie a nadie pero creo que tendria mas respeto por los fans que lo aceptan como es #y que el se siente comodo y feliz expresando su sexualidad por que no existe como un hombre ''estereotipado'' #que los que lloran que es pequeño o lo insultan al insinuar que fumar beber y usar las palabrotas es algo que solo hacen gente ma #anonymous #mensaje mensaje #let me tell you something: if you're gonna come run around here accusing me of something make sure you have your fact straight first 🤗