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shesjustanothergeek · 10 months

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty-Three

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties; sorry for the delay. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. First, one of my coworkers called off (she doesn't even work here anymore because she missed too much), and I had to do two 10-hour shifts. Then my freaking internet went out because some tree trimmers cut the connection line for everyone! And after that, I had a crisis and lost the inspiration and drive to write. This chapter is a two-parter, which I usually wouldn't say I like to do, but it would've been over 10k words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, thank you for reading!

Chapter Warnings: The reader has severely unresolved trauma, angst, Arryk is a white knight.

"The axe forgets; the tree remembers." - Zimbabwean Proverb from the Shona tribe.

You were still determining your place inside Maegor's Holdfast, unfamiliar with the royal wing layout like you were with the rest of the Keep, having found an abandoned terrace that the court long forgot. Leaves of green ivory crawled up the side of the castle, wrapping around the red rock banister like an unkempt tree in the Godswood.

Your eyes gazed at the iron mote of spikes that protected the Holdfast. They shined wet like a predator's teeth, grinning back at you in misery.

Your body felt full, yet empty, full of swirling emotions and thoughts you had long buried, stirring the formerly clear water into a murky pool. Yet in that same emotion, you felt nothing, the well dried up from a summer's prolonged drought left with dust and sand at the bottom. You were uncertain if the nothingness was a blessing. Conceivably, it was your psyche's way of coping with the trauma of your life's story. You were fearful that if you suddenly felt those surges of memories, thoughts, and regrets, the iron spikes would be dripping with your blood.

Your title was called out from behind you so softly and so tender it was a whisper in the wind, almost causing you to disregard it as a trick of your mind. The sound of armor clanking and fabric rustling told you otherwise.

"Princess, the hour is late. You must get your rest," Ser Arryk expressed, his voice as compassionate as a mother. You refused to answer, the energy to move your lips and tongue long sapped out from crying.

He stepped onto the balcony until he was beside you, his arms stiff behind his back, shoulders tense at the silence. Arryk was conflicted about what to do. He knew he could not order you to sleep. His position was not one to command the eldest daughter of Daemon Targaryen, but he was assigned to be your sworn protector in all matters, whether defending you from a foe or yourself.

"My Lady, you need not speak of what has stolen you from sleep, but let it take no longer. I shall lead you to your bed chambers," the kingsguard offered kindly, leaving no room for rejection.

Finally, your eyes met his blue ones, seeing your black lashes clumped together from tears. Arryk wanted to comfort and embrace you as any good-natured person would but refrained, simply placing an inviting palm on your shoulder. He had seen you at your worst years ago after your brawl with the Septa, knuckles swollen and red with the blood of the older woman, beautiful face pink and glistening with tears down your cheeks.

Otto Hightower, be damned. Damned to the fiery pits of the Seven Hells to burn for all eternity for what he made Arryk do. You were too dear to the knight to betray your trust anymore. Though Ser Arryk never discovered any hurtful information other than the peculiarity of you and the eldest son of the King's relationship. He spent every waking moment inhaling the same air as you, breathing in each exhale like it was his last. How could he ever betray your trust in good conscience?

"Aegon was the one who discovered Lyra's plans to smuggle me out of Kings Landing. He killed them." Your words tore him from his internal struggle with shock.

Arryk's brows scrunched in confusion, trying to recall what you were saying. His face paled when he did, remembering the blotchy grey faces displayed on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to see, for all to see the Hand's justice. May Lord Hightower's death be long and painful for what he did to you, Arryk thought.

"I wish Aegon were dead," you spoke aloud without realizing it.

The knight became worried, suddenly closing the distance between you to make somehow your confession disappear. "Princess. You must be careful what you say here. The walls have ears, and the ears have eyes."

"No, Ser Arryk. Let them hear it," you protested, your nails digging crescents into your palms. "Mayhaps they will understand the agony I have suffered all these years. The mornings and nights I have laid awake in bed, praying to the Old Gods and the New for them to somehow bring her back and make it so nothing happened." You sucked in a ragged breath, hiccuping from the remnants of your tears as your body became too challenging to carry. "I cannot do this anymore. I cannot be here."

The kingsguardmen did not understand your true meaning of how you desired greatly to leave this whole charade behind, to return to Dragonstone and watch little Joffery and the younger Viserys and Aegon grow into their skins, to watch Lucerys become the man you were confident for him to be. Instead, Arryk thought the worst, believing your words to be final and life-ending, as he firmly grabbed your biceps.

He said your name gently yet sternly, causing your glazed eyes to widen. "You must not think like that. I shan't allow it," he commanded. "You are the strongest maiden in the realm. You ride the fiercest dragon, feared by humans and its species. You have endured hardships and trials a girl of your age should never have to, and even when your blood was stolen from you, you did not turn to resentment. You were not bitter to those undeserving."

You attempted to move your face away from Arryk's, unconvinced at his words. He was so close that you could smell the mint leaves on his tongue. "You are stronger than you know, and until then, each moment like this, you will feel as if it is too much, but you will always find yourself emerging on the other side."

No words made their way to your lips, and you suddenly felt the rush of emotions you had thought dried. You stepped away from Arryk, embracing your torso as you faced the opened doors that led inside. You didn't want to feel anything. Not now, nor ever again. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you returned to the silver-armored knight of the Kingsguard.

"I seem to have lost my bearings, Ser Arryk," you whispered into the chill night air. "Will you help me find my way back to the guest wing?"

The request was a peace offering, a silent "thank you" for his unfailing kindness. If he had not dedicated his life in service to the King, he would've made an excellent father and an even better husband.

Ser Arryk nodded stiffly, taking long strides ahead of you until all you could see was his pristine white cape flowing like a field of wheat in the wind.

***

You desperately desired to stay within the confines of your bed, as if laying underneath the thin cotton sheets would protect you from the outside world. It was silly, and you felt childish, but truly, that was all you were—a child disguised as a woman painting a facade of fierceness and maturity on your skin. But the pigments had cracked and bleached from weathering winds, rains, and suns until it revealed the canvas underneath. You wished desperately for the chips to be covered, groping at your flesh to hide them from the world.

But it was too late, for they had seen the peeled paint and what lay beneath—a frightened young girl yearning for acceptance and love.

Tears returned to your eyes, a common occurrence over the past fortnight. Your maids had become used to seeing you sniffling in your bed as you were now, covers tucked underneath your nose to hide your sobs. They had tried more than once to find the root of your sadness, but you were a closed door, keeping those who cared for you locked from entering.

Helaena had moved your quarters to the Holdfast as she promised, something you were initially looking forward to. It meant less sneaking around the halls and the corridors of the Keep like a mouse to find Aegon, but that was why precisely you dreaded it now. Though you had scarcely seen him, no doubt drunker than a Bravosi sailor in the pillow houses, the fact that he resided within the same wing made your skin prickle with disgust.

He had yet to return your dagger, small and silver with dragons on the hilt, and you had half a mind to storm inside his chambers for it, but each time you were within eyesight of his door, profound nausea and the sting of tears would stop you.

How could you have lain with the man who bore the blood of two innocents? How could Aegon lay with the kin of the people he sentenced to death? You knew him to be cruel and unusual, but that was something even you could not rightly justify.

Aegon was no matter, you told yourself, rising from your bed at the smell of ham and boiled eggs. All that did was ensuring your Mother's smooth succession. You could achieve it in other manners of not seducing the eldest son of the King. Your presence was something enough to stop them should the Stranger take your Grandsire, and if Queen Alicent and Lord Otto Hightower try to place Aegon on the throne, you would gut her, then her Father, then her beloved first son before the following morn.

You would kill a legion of men before Aegon ever sat upon the Iron Throne, even if it meant your demise.

It's what your Father would want. He would proudly let his daughter lay down her life in service to the crown, just as he would. There would be no nobler of a death.

Jeyne had readied your bath and outfit for the day, a high-collared dress made of black satin. Small silver plates of metal and beads that looked like dragon scales were sewn on the torso in a 'v' shape, accentuating the scandalous low cut of your gown. The sleeves were a long, unsewn style, the stitching keeping them together ending just before the crook of your arm and flowing around you like a cape at your sides. You paired it with an ornate belt, the design of swirling dragons with their teeth bared melted into the steel, matching hammered cuffs on your wrists. Your necklace was a simple chain, needlelike links dripping down your sternum until they looped into your house sigil.

You looked to be in mourning garbs rather than the typical court colors, a common occurrence. Perhaps you were, in a sense, mourning. Mourning a loss you should have accepted years ago, weeping for happiness free of politics and schemes, mourning the connection from someone you tried so hard not to form one with.

The three ladies had learnt not to ask why you made such decisions in your clothes. They would only be met with a lie and a smile that stretched a bit too wide. They understood that something had happened and did their best to tread carefully. You were not cross with them, no matter how hurt, vengeful, or angry. Fiora, Jeyne, and Dyanna were innocent in all this, as Sara was, and you refused to have them involved with any of your personal affairs in fear of what would become of the three women.

You paused momentarily, adjusting the designed belt to rest comfortably on your waist, realizing the littlest maid was not there.

"Where is Dyanna?" you asked calmly, curious but not concerned about where she could be. "Is she unwell?"

"No, Princess," Fiora answered, ushering you to the vanity. "She's been assigned to care for Princess Helaena's children after one of the nursemaids fell ill and had to be sent home."

Your brows scrunched in confusion, frowning at the memory of your time with the young Prince and Princess. You have seen the little ones almost every day since the beginning of the planting season, and you haven't noticed any ailments in their caretaker.

You reasoned that illnesses always had the potential to be a sudden onset of symptoms. You had seen in your childhood on the merchant streets how a vendor was acceptable one day, selling different fruits and vegetables you could never afford, then the next, gone without a trace due to a fever. You hoped Jaehaerys and Jaehaera did not catch whatever it was. The first decade of a child's life was the most precarious, their tiny bodies not used to the dirt and disease the realm had to offer.

You left the thought at that, hoping to see the skittish, fair-skinned girl with them. A grimace made its way to your face, attempting to ignore how the wooden comb snagged on a tangle in your hair. Fiora styled it into a braided updo. Two thick plaits in a 'u' shape lay at your skull's base, a silver three-layered chain with black star sapphires pinning it to your hair. Clasping a pair of fan-shaped earrings in your lobes, you stood, stealing one last boiled egg before bidding your ladies farewell and greeting Ser Arryk at the door.

He followed wordlessly, as any knight should, observing how your hips slightly swayed with each step of your leather slippers. Arryk had tread carefully since that scornful night. Since the night you reeked of sweat, alcohol, and tears. He remembered seeing the stars reflected in your dark eyes, the violet hidden during the hour of the wolf, and he couldn't help but think how things might have been if your Father wasn't a Targaryen.

Perhaps he could've met you before he swore to take no wife and bear no heirs. Possibly still while he was a simple bannermen, living from allowance to allowance. Arryk would not have the luxuries he had now if it happened, but if ever given a chance, he might leave it all behind. It would be a shame to leave the highest rank a knight of lower-born descent could achieve, but he would do it for love, for only if you loved him back.

Your guard had suddenly stopped following behind you, standing idly with a slight wrinkle on his forehead and hand on the pommel of his sword.

"Ser Cargyll?" you questioned without words incredulously, tilting your head to the side.

He was silent for a moment more, seeming to come back from wherever he was inside his mind. It was a dangerous place to be inside one's head for too long. It sent some men mad, some women to despair, and some to where they could never leave. You knew what it was like when one would stay inside too long. It sent you reeling in anger, sadness, and joy. There is too much inside not to get lost in.

"Princess, this is not the way to the Godswood," Ser Arryk stated, the crease on his forehead gone.

"I know, Ser. We are not going to the Godswood today," you answered politely, not elaborating further as you continued walking.

"If you don't mind me asking, your Grace, where are we going?"

You flashed a bright smile at Arryk, glancing behind before coyly turning away. He started at the back of your intricately braided hair, mesmerized by the being that was you. His eyes traced how your ebony strands crossed in on themselves, the way the golden chains bounced with every stride. The knight noiselessly cursed the Maiden and the Mother for making you in their image.

While Ser Arryk did recognize the halls you traveled, he was sure you didn't. Your head twists and turns each way, peering into every door and threshold, searching for something he was unsure of.

"Princess, I may be a knight, but I am your protector. 'Tis my right to know your plans and destinations," he commanded as kindly a man could in hopes of not securing your wrath.

He had seen it once before in the training yard at the hour of ghosts, Prince Aegon standing too close to be considered appropriate, his sworn protector nowhere in sight. Despite Arryk's place on the ramparts above and the sun having long set in the west, he could spot the twitches underneath your eye, barely containing malice on your pursed lips as you pulled your bowstring. The knight hadn't noticed how you did it, but a rock was within the place of the arrow as you shot it at the crown Prince's foot, earning a yelp from the twenty-year-old lecher.

You turned back to him, crossing your arms with an undignified huff. "I am not gallivanting off into the Kingswood, Ser Cargyll. I do not understand your persistence with the matter." Arryk attempted to hide the frown that pulled his lips, but you saw him sighing softly and looking to the floor to think over your words more carefully. "We are visiting Grand Maester Orwyle. He has a collection of history and law books that has peaked my interest."

You stepped towards him, breathing a calming breath through your nose, and dropped your arms. Ser Arryk was a fragile soul, simple almost, only following the linear path of honor and duty with no concern for whether it was right or wrong. If the King said it, he did it. If the Queen said it, he did it. If you said it, he did it. His singular vision of things was almost admirable at times. To blindly follow orders without the moral guilt of your actions was something you hoped for. It would make things easier in this game of thrones and less heavy to bear.

But that wasn't life. That wasn't the fate the Gods intended for those with responsibility, though many attempted. Rhaenyra tried, and if you were her, impending the ever-looming doom of the crown, you too would stay tucked away in the little world where life felt light.

Arryk took your stillness as an invitation to walk alongside you, silently leading you to the Maester's quarters and saving your pride from ignorance. You ordered him to stay outside, and he obeyed without a second thought, dipping his head and muttering, "Princess."

Maester Orwyle was hunched over a large oak desk, tomes scattered across it, pieces of parchment covering most of the surface; peeking between them were lighter patches on the wood worn from centuries of usage. It was a simple room with a cot at the far end of it, large bookcases occupying most of the space. Multiple candles were lit throughout the dim room, the smell of incense burning heavily. Shelves lined the bare walls, glass bottles of liquids, salves, and dried herbs occupying them.

The brown-skinned man looked up from his work upon your entrance, sitting the quill he was writing with inside the inkwell and standing.

"Princess, how can I help you?" he asks sincerely. You could still recall when you first met him, scribbling notes and assisting the former Maester Mellos as he tended to you.

"I was inquiring if I may borrow some books of laws from your collection. I find myself not reading the correct ones in the library to assist my studies."

You weren't lying. You couldn't find the text you were searching for because it was not only laws. It was the death records of prisoners, and only the keeper of those things had access to them in their collection.

"Ah. I see," Orwyle nodded, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his canvas robes. He led you across the room, showing you to the section. "May I ask what specificity you require so that I may lead you to the correct tome?"

You planned for him to ask you this, and as you rehearsed a dozen times in your head, you smiled, bobbing politely. "Of course. I am in search of the laws regarding war aid. We have provided some to the Stepstones, and Lord Corlys brought to my attention that they require more. I do not want to make it seem like the Crown is inserting itself into the conflict."

He beamed slightly, a sight you never recalled seeing on the man before as he directed you to the section of law. An entire side of the bookshelf dedicated to just that, tomes of varying shades of green, brown, and black, and you blanched at the sight. What would the records be like if this was only the law section? Would you have time to sort through them all to find the one you need?

"Thank you," you said, concealing the sudden rush of anxiety within your gut. "I realized that your collection was vast, but this is..." you trailed off, gesturing to everything around you, "expansive. How do you ever keep track of them all?"

Orwyle chuckled, seeming to preen under what he took as praise, bowing in gratefulness. "It is not all from me, Princess. Each book has been added with every Maester since they were brought to the Keep. We simply divide each shelf by memory, though we try to keep the subjects together."

"That is..." you couldn't find the right words, truly at a loss for them as you stared at the collection before you, "extraordinary. You must show me everything!"

You took his arm in yours, leading him out of the secluded area like a child with their playmate, giggling like an unwed maiden as you skipped along. Orwyle was surprised by your giddy demeanor, contrasting the dim and almost gloomy atmosphere despite the late morning sun shining through the tall stained glass windows. The Maester was alone within these four walls, writing, studying, and mixing away with the occasional Lord or Lady stopping by. To have such radiant company was a welcomed intrusion to his duty-filled days.

Men are so easy. All you had to do was smile demurely, flutter your lashes, and they would eat shit out of the palm of your hand.

Orwyle guided you, explained how each section was organized, and added his anecdotes. You listened intently, nodding along to every word, no matter how minute it seemed. This endeavor had proven more fruitful than you intended. The Maester had enjoyed your company so much that he invited you back, insisting that you could pick whatever book you wished before he left to return to his work.

And so you did. Traversing to your rooms with six tomes piled high in your limbs before Ser Arryk insisted he carry some, keeping one hidden between the stack within your hold.

Once you reach your chambers, your sworn shield follows you, placing the stacks on a table with neatly stacked parchment, a letter sealed with the Targaryen emblem in black wax resting beside your writing set. You catch Arryk eyeing it for longer than appropriate, and you purposely meet his gaze, a raised brow on your face.

"That is all, Ser Cargyll. I thank you for your assistance." You never fail to detect how he stiffens when you say his title, a quirk you've been unable to comprehend.

As always, he bows and takes his leave, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. When the lock clicks, your hands immediately snatch the letter, knowing who it's from. You lived for the notes from your family; they were the lifeline that kept you afloat in the brackish waters of Kings Landing. It was your only form of communication with them, and you looked ahead to whatever they had to say, no matter how asinine or mundane the contents were.

You ripped the wax seal without care, devouring each word, your eyes moving too fast for your mind to keep up. You could quickly tell it was from your Father, the lines of his letters thicker and more potent than your Mother's, his writing purposeful.

"Daughter,

I hope you find yourself well. Your Mother missed you dearly at Jacaerys' nameday this spring, but she looks forward to seeing you for Luke's later this year. I informed her that you are dealing with matters of importance that require your attention and would be unable to attend. Death comes when we least expect it with crowned heads and ambitious hands."

Tears stinging took you from reading, pursuing your lips to keep them from wetting the document and making the ink illegible. You longed to return to Dragonstone and see your family. Smell the scent of brimstone and salt and feel the damp sea air on your skin as you rode Cannibal high above Dragonmont.

Daemon's reasoning was understandable, but it hurt. It made your heart clench and your chest feel hollow. Resting your forehead on the heel of your palm, the letter in the other, you continued.

"I know this will upset you, but I trust you'll understand my reasoning. We must make sacrifices until your Mother sits on the throne uncontested. You see the concept of duty and loyalty to your kin. You've always been the one out of my children to unwaver in your will, and that is something I admire.

I received word from Lord Dalton Greyjoy, who has proposed marriage just as you said. Your wit and cunning never cease to amaze me, daughter. I still need to send word regarding my decision. I wanted you to be the one to decide.

Lord Greyjoy is a fine match for you. His fleet of long boats and swords rivals that of the crown itself, but I hold my reservations regarding his intentions with you. I believe you have outdone yourself, for he seems bewitched, intent on making you his Rock Wife, and I am unsure if that is harmful or helpful. I've heard the rumors of his treatment regarding his Salt Wives, and I will not tolerate such things toward my eldest child. Should you accept his proposal, and he does not honor his duty as lord husband, I shall cut off his cock and throw it into the sea as a gift for his Drowned God.

Think over this. I do not expect an answer within a moon. If he truly desires you in such a way, he will wait as long as you deem fit. My daughter is not a shiny coin to be plucked and placed in a crow's nest.

Expect a letter from Lucerys soon. He's been inquiring about your happiness. I believe he misses you more than your Mother and I put together. I await your next raven with patience.

Yours Respectfully, Prince Daemon Of House Targaryen"

You scoffed, throwing the letter haphazardly across the table. You knew the proposal from Lord Dalton would come eventually, as you had corresponded for the past seven moons. It was a gratifying distraction you should have taken seriously, your letters filled with much less pomp than was expected for a woman of your status. Possibly, in your lack of care, you inadvertently wooed him as his last raven was treading the line of inappropriate. You remembered how his words made you, a girl who spent her early years in a whore house, blush.

He would be an excellent match politically, and perhaps you could grow to love him, even better his treatment of his Salt Wives. But you knew better. Lord Dalton Greyjoy only loved two things in this world: bloodshed and women. He would grow tired of you swifter than you would him, and it was not proper for women of the realm to have paramours, hypocrisy be damned.

You didn't want to give the situation more thought. Your Father permitted you to mull; you would gladly take it, opening the records book hidden between the stacks.

The pages were easy enough to navigate. The Masters, if not anything, were thorough, creating an index of years in ascending order to the most recent. Your finger paused on the one you remembered so well. The year in which you were stolen everything that might have been. The year that the Stranger claimed two souls earlier than they should have.

You turned the pages.

The smell of aged leather and parchment wafted into the air, nearly choking on its scent in the back of your throat. They arranged the death records from the first of the year to the end of it, and you searched for the seventh moon. On the fifth day, only two deaths are recorded, that of two prisoners named Lyra Black and Sara Smithe. The cause was beheaded by members of the City Watch.

It did not say the names of who, an intelligent choice on the Maester's part, for if you knew, their deaths would become sooner. They were lucky Mellos or one of the many others had the foresight not to write them down, as other Maesters had, but it only made this all the more exciting. The satisfaction as you plunged your dagger into their necks, slicing through tendons, muscles, and vertebrae, ensuring they felt every bit of suffering, anguish, and fear Lyra and Sara felt.

It would be messy. There were many veins and arteries within one's neck. You needed to bring some water with you to wash before returning to your chambers. It would all be for naught if someone saw you walking the halls with blood dripping from your digits and face.

You wished it would be the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day to cut through their flesh, but Aegon still possessed it.

It was no matter. You had four more from the past, but that one, with its silver handle and roaring dragons engraved on both sides, held a place deep within your heart. And Aegon took it, as he always did with things. Take, take, take without concern about who he stole from. You would get it back, but not now. That would raise too much suspicion, and you would not put it past the eldest Prince to run to his Grandsire or Mother as he has done before.

You tried to recollect that fateful night, searching your memory for any detail you could sounder up, but it was hazy. The years you had blurred the picture of the throne room in your mind's eye. It was too painful to remember. Each time you thought of it, it was flashes, little glimpses of faces and bodies and heads. When you thought of it, all you could see was Lyra's smile, spending her last moments trying to reassure you, the fear behind Sara's eyes within her shackles, Otto Hightower's indifference, and Alicent's inaction in the face of two innocents deaths. You would never forget that, nor ever forgive.

You were scarcely in the Great Hall for a moment, and even then, your attention was elsewhere. You witnessed Ser Criston Cole grabbing you, pulling you back, the Queen turning away, and Lyra's comforting grin. Then, you saw them, gaze following the loops of the metal chain attached to Lyra and Sara, hands gripping at it as if the two women were nothing more than dogs. You met the eyes of two Gold Cloaks. You did not know their names, but you would soon; their countenance now burned into your mind.

Masterlist of Series

I've decided to change my uploading schedule from Sun/Mon to whenever possible. I'll always let you know before I post so you won't have to ask, "when are you going to post?!" I know that's not fun, but it works best for me because I get myself so worked up over updating on time when I'm in control of the situation. Also, I'm going to be getting rid of people in my taglist who haven't interacted with this fi since the list is so big. I want to have it all in one and make room for those who are active. So if you've been in my notifs in the past two months, you'll be fine. Welp, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapters are gonna get a little messy from here! xD

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @daenerysqueenofhearts, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @prettywhenicry, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe,

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antiradqueer · 29 days

Text

Hey tumblr.

It's Luna, or more, someone of us who has no clue who they are right now. We feel like the embodiment of being sick and tired and just so done.

We have been thinking long and hard about what to write in this post or if we even want to make a post like this, but now that we're typing out these words, we don't know why we put it off so long.

We are permanently fucking off from the radqueer discourse. We can't take it anymore and we don't care anymore. We've lost all empathy and sympathy for everyone and everything involved in this shitshow, no matter which side they're on. The reason for this is not that we suddenly are neutral, we are still anti-radqueer, but we are so burned out and just start to dissociate the second we open the tags or see a radqueer post in the wild. We're naturally low empathy to begin with, but now every last ounce of that is completely gone when it comes to this topic, plus we just... don't care anymore. There's the 100th transnazi popping up? I don't care. Another "cisabuser" in the tags? doesn't matter. whatever. We're not a bad person, we are just done. We can't keep on doing this or this will eventually throw us into depression again and that might literally kill us. and I'm not going to let that happen.

when I think about radqueers, I feel so much anger, frustration and sadness - or more, that's what I felt. now all of that is just drowned by a dark cloud of tiredness and nothingness.

so, this is our goodbye. Knowing us, we will probably still roam the tags sometimes and depending who is fronting, some of us might even interact with discourse still, but like, officially, we are gone. (@ mod mew: if you could let us still have access to this account that would be dope af tho!)

I will also use this post to to encourage every anti-radqueer who's fighting tooth and nail to get blogs taken down and people banned, to step back for a minute, take a deep breath and think about if you really want to keep on doing this. we thought this would never take a mental toll on us, yet here we are. I'm not saying what you're doing is wrong, but I'm saying that maybe you could use your energy and will to fight for something else.

let's face it, radqueers will never be an actual threat to society. they are pathetic, sad people, hiding behind their screens, screaming "the future is radqueer!" over and over, but in reality this "movement" will burn to the ground eventually and they will go down with it.

do people get hurt in radqueer spaces? yes, they do and that's horrible (just a note as to how bad it's gotten with us: I write this and logically know that yes, it IS horrible - but I feel absolutely nothing. In all honesty, I currently don't care if people get hurt or not, because I can't care. it's like our brain shut off all emotions regarding this topic to protect ourselves). and I'm not saying you should stop offering them help, but I think you can stop worrying about the radqueers taking over society or whatever. if you feel this taking a toll on your mental health, please put yourself first. protecting your health and your life is always, ALWAYS more important that fighting strangers on the internet.

okay, in case you don't think of us as a total asshole with a heart of stone now and are interested in our plurality- and alterhumanity-focused tumblr life, here's out brand new system blog: @the-exodus-fleet And also our hosts blog: @talks-with-the-void

Take care of yourselves and thanks for every kind word and all the support we've got along the way /gen

PS: if any radqueer reads this and wants to celebrate this as a win or whatever, go ahead. if you need this to feel some joy in your sad, miserable little life, I'm not stopping you.

PPS: I still genuiely hope all radqueers eventually come to their sense and leave this bullshit ideology behind

PPPS: and to all radqueers who hide behind this label to abuse and groom other, I hope you lose all your friends and your family over this. you deserve no happiness.

#mod luna 🌙#this is probably the most politically incorrect post I've ever made #to be 100% open and honest I was THIS close to just add a bunch of threats and insults towards radqueers #I'm not a perfect person but I will not sink THAT low lmao #anyway we are dissociated to hell and back so. goodbye.#antiradqueer #anti radqueer #anti transx #anti transid #anti transabled

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comradekatara · 2 months

Note

thank u so much for ur voltrons post omfg sorry if I sound incoherent I just got back from getting my titties removed but Voltron was so fucking funny to me as some1 who watched it as like, the target demographic when it premiered (L for me) bc it was like watching the entire internet sling shit at each other over fucking doritos. The show was so fucking bad and disconnected that when it was finally coming to an end, every subset of fans the show conglomerated had an entirely different theory for what was gonna happen and it always ended with one of those crusty shits giving kissys to each other for gay rights or something. Im realizing I'm talking more abt the fans now than the actual show but like.. That's basically just what Voltron is nobody remembers the plot. I tried rewatching it a year ago to giggle abt it w my buddies and I fell asleep almost immediately.

I think anyone, who was like cool, stopped watching the show in s4 (and if not that, then they stopped watching in s1.) bc s4 was where (iirc) they had the characters travel to an AU <3 where the genocide-surviving colonized Alien race was (gasp) actually the colonizers!! None of the voltronnies talk abt this bc that would require cool people (of coler) to care abt voltron. I wish I could give more context to ur voltron post but its such a soulless nothingness like ur spot on its just an exercise in marketing. If i kept listing all the things that I rmbred abt Voltron it would contribute nothing u couldnt already guess. Why was Steven Yeun a voice actor for that show I feel so bad L. Okay have a good day bye!!!!

i hope your surgery went well!!! and lmfao yeah i didn’t watch past s1 bc the writing was just so bad and painfully boring, but WHAT????? i do not trust those fucking clowns to explore the hypothetical wherein colonized subjects also operate as colonizers under different conditions, because like, obviously many populations have both been colonizers and colonized throughout history and victimhood is not an ontological state of being, but considering the absolute dogshit quality of that show’s writing and the racism seeping out of every pore of their narrative and respective characterizations of the main ensemble, that does NOT seem like an issue they could ever remotely handle with even a modicum of nuance or poise. and im sure they don’t. apparently the only season i saw was the best season??? because i remember at the time ppl saying it was good and a worthy successor to lok (lol. lmfao even) and just being like “um…… am i missing smth here?” no. turns out i wasn’t missing anything. it was just bad from start to finish. many such cases.

#bigpansy #asks #jfc…….

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skinnypaleangryperson · 3 months

Text

This house is full of nothing but consumer cobwebs, and a failed attempts of being able to be seen as a creative and as an individual both on a personal level as well as professionally throughout my life. I can literally feel the spiritual and physical dust and grime going through the books and the celebrities I've crushed on, the creative people that I've admired and have read about ever since high school and now, as a washed-up meaningless nameless 27-year-old that is nothing but internet trash, I've never been more aware about where my journey was going and it feels like my head is imploding constantly wanting to rant and to see that failure in everything, everyone, and in everything set around me. It blows my mind that people just accept the fact that their dreams never come true and that they just live that way. That they don't even some just try to be able to spew out every minute of every day how unhappy they are and how detrimentally spiritually devastating it is. When I was a kid, being a nobody and not being creatively successful was not yet a mark of anything of a lack of character or of anything I had to offer, it was just simply something that I hadn't figured out yet. Now I can't enjoy anything anymore, I see my failure and everything at best, and at worst, I see a lifeline of profound spiritual and physical suffering that is surrounding me from an already terrible unremarkable and a loveless childhood enough as it was where I was told that I could push through it because once I got older, it would "get better", only to realize that those were all just cope adults that couldn't stand the idea that some people are born miserable and unnamed and unseen, and only become increasingly worse until the point of death as they get older.

I'm now just another no name, miserable on Reddit and miserable at work in real life with people who are in the same circumstance who are probably told the same lies for all the same fake and reasons growing up. Some people can handle it more than others but I can't even enjoy anything anymore. I realized today while everybody else was casually enjoying the Oscars in the celebrities in the rich people that are celebrating and knowing each other, that I seem to be one at the very few that is in a genuine state of peer despair over the way that my life is gone and the way that it will continue to go, at best, exactly the same within it's a loveless impossibly robotic mundanity and even abuse on the internet, and worse, to end up dying or alone on the side of the street while everybody else celebrates how special they are, the people that get to run this country, the people that really wanted, the rich people in the celebrities, the ones who own people souls.

This is only a small section of the torment that's in my head everyday, and I'm just waiting for the day when it renders me to a sense of complete dysfunctionality. There's cobwebs in my throat to those cobwebs on the things I used to be able to enjoy before I realized my own true unremarkable dry, profoundly pathetic nothingness in reality, and the way that it's always been on them and the fact that I just didn't have the unfortunate temperature reality to be able to see about what that actually meant, and the delusions that I held and kept close to me that I still do but now just do on a fictional level because I can't stand the burning pain of being a part of reality even on a pair of social relationship way knowing what that means for me if I were to allow myself to.

Nothing helps and nothing will ever change it. And the worst part, is that 98% of the time in this world I feel like I'm experiencing it entirely on my own.

#there's no such thing as embarrassment anymore when I can barely even understand reality

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angelikook · 1 year

Text

Love Blinds

Pairing(s): Blind!Jungkook x reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 4.7k

Warning(s): Accident(s)

Summary: You are his oldest and only best friend, but why do you leave him all of a sudden when he needs you most?

A/n This fic was requested by the sweetest person on the planet, @thehopelessromanticclub. I know this took me quite some time, because I'm also juggling with work and uni. Nevertheless, I had so much fun writing this. While this was one of the hardest fics to write, I enjoyed every process it took. Fun fact, this fic is literally the first fic that made me cry when I wrote it. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I've never met a blind or visually impaired person in my life. Everything I've written about blindness and living as a blind person, I learned about them from the internet. I know that there's only so much one can learn from the internet. If there are any inaccuracies about them in this fic, please let me know.

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There was one thing on top of Jungkook’s wishlist: to be able to see his best friend, you.

It happened when he was too young to understand the world around him. He was around four or five years old. One morning he woke up still able to see cars passing by, people walking by, he could even name all the colors he saw. The next morning, he woke up to darkness, nothingness, and his mom’s cries.

He met you not long after. He was playing in the park while also learning how to use a walking cane. After half an hour of successfully not walking into anything, he accidentally tripped on his cane and fell.

He wasn’t a crier. So as the pain on his knees spread – he was sure it was at least bruising – he still kept quiet. It went like that for a bit since he didn’t have enough power to stand up again, the pain on his knees was too painful.

The next thing he felt was the soft touch on his free hand, the hand that wasn’t holding his cane. And then, he heard a girl’s voice, “Here, take my hand. I’ll help you up.”

With that, he took the girl’s hand – your hand – and introduced himself as Jungkook.

+++

Jungkook fidgeted on his seat at the bleachers as he waited for you. Hands were already clammy to the point he wanted to wash his hands. You were supposed to come a whole 30 minutes ago and he was supposed to be listening to his coach’s briefing by now. He tried to call and text you, but you didn’t reply to any of them. In your defense, you weren’t big on calling and texting, you preferred scrolling mindlessly on social media and sending him memes.

“Kook, coach Lee is waiting for you by the pool, don’t you wanna go?” His mom woke him up from his deep thoughts.

Jungkook sighed. “I’m worried about Y/n.”

The seat beside him creaked, a sign that his mom took a seat beside him. “Stop thinking of her. Obviously she doesn’t think you’re that important.”

“She was never late, mom. This is just a one time thing,” he defended you. He never understood why his mom disliked you. For all he knew, she had hated you since the first time you met him back at the park. All this time, his mom probably only tolerated you because she knew how much you meant to him.

“The show must go on. Worry about her later.” With that, his mom stood up and left him again with his thoughts.

It took him around five long minutes to realize that his mom was right. The show really must go on. Whether you came or not, he still had a competition to win.

Just as he stood up from his seat, he heard someone run to him.

“Am I late?” you asked in the midst of panting, seemingly you've been running.

Upon hearing your voice, Jungkook smiled. “Well, I’ll be on in a bit. So, kinda?”

“I know you’re gonna do great, as always.”

“And I know you’re gonna ask me for a free meal if I win.”

“‘When’ you win, you mean,” you corrected him.

He laughed heartily. He didn’t know why but you always managed to lighten his mood. “I think it’s time to talk to coach Lee. He’s been waiting for me.”

“It’s your own fault for waiting for me.” You lightly pushed his shoulder.

“It’s your fault for being late.”

“You know why I’m late.”

“You snoozed your alarm again?”

“Yep.” You pushed him again, this time a bit harder. “Now go. The competition’s about to begin.”

“Go sit beside my mom, yeah?”

You huffed. “Your mom doesn’t like me. I’ll sit here. I’ll find you once it’s over.”

“I tell you multiple times to ignore her. I want you there.”

The swimming competition went just like how his other competitions went. He listened to coach Lee, shook the hands of other participants, swam like he was born for it, and won the competition. It was easy. It became a routine.

“But your mom doesn’t. I’ll be okay, seriously. Just go, your mom’s already glaring at me.”

The crowd surrounding him and congratulating him, him thanking them, and him waiting for your turn to congratulate him also became a routine. A boring routine that he would rather skip. He’d rather celebrate with the people he loved, his mom and you.

After the crowd around him left, you finally came up to him and gave him a big hug despite his body was still half wet. It was the 'you' Jungkook always knew, supporting him no matter what.

“Congratulations,” you whispered to his ear. “Again.”

“You sound like you’re tired of congratulating me,” Jungkook joked once you let go of him.

“I'm not tired when it comes to getting free food.”

Jungkook chuckled. “You’re lucky the prize money I'll get will be a bit more than usual. I can take you to that new cafe you’ve always wanted to try.”

“Really?”

He nodded. In his mind, he could only imagine how beautiful your smile would be and how the glimmer of happiness in your eyes shined through. And just like that, the wish to be able to see you grew stronger.

Knowing how his mom was towards you, Jungkook took the initiative to celebrate his win in two different settings: once with his mom and once with you. He’d always done that despite deep down wanting to celebrate it with both his mom and you.

+++

“What’s your plan?” you asked after you picked up your ice cream that he paid.

“For? Don’t be cryptic, please,” Jungkook replied in a bored tone.

“For swimming, of course. I bet you’re gonna get another offer.”

“Already did. Coach Lee wanted me to join this year’s national competition. He thinks it’d be good for pushing my career forward.”

“I assume you accept it?”

“It’s not like I have any other competition at the moment.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess. When will it be, though?”

“Still a few months away.” He laughed when he noticed the strain in your voice. He assumed it was because you were nervous for him. “If you’re worried I don’t get enough rest, relax. Coach Lee purposely makes me rest for around a month.”

“For a person who’s never been to a national competition before, you sure seem so chill.”

“If I stress it out, I’ll be unreasonably overthinking.”

“Good wisdom.”

“I know. I’m always wise.”

“Says the one who got scratched by a cat because they kept annoying it.”

It was true, though, he indeed was scratched by a cat once. That was one experience that he didn’t want to repeat ever.

Jungkook protested, “That’s just one time.”

“But that one time makes you not always wise,” you teased him.

“I’ll never win an argument against you, will I?”

+++

Time flew after that. Jungkook really did take a break for a month. If by break it meant he was swimming every other day instead of everyday. And once the month was up, he was training intensely until it was exactly a month before his competition.

Knowing well that you were waiting for him on the bleachers, Jungkook left you to change his clothes into his swimsuit. To say that he was excited for today’s training was an understatement. His last training ended with him beating his previous record. And the day before that, he received an email from the mayor that he was proud of Jungkook for representing his city for the next national competition. He basically was on a roll for the last few days.

So it nearly broke his heart, he could almost physically hear it, when he came to the bleachers and his mom told him that you left.

“Why did she leave?” Jungkook asked with his eyebrows furrowed. That was not very Y/n of you to leave without noticing him.

“Who knows,” his mom answered while gently nudging him to walk towards the pool, “She has always been rude.”

“No, she’s not,” he protested. “Something really did happen, mom. Did she said something to you?”

“Nope,” his mom replied quickly. “Well, you can always call her later. You have more important things to do now.”

That was what he did. He practiced, practiced, and practiced. Lap upon laps he did, trying to shake the thought of you, yet he failed. A tiny voice at the back of his head kept telling him to check up on you ASAP.

Once practice ended, even before coach Lee could give him a feedback, he went straight to the changing room, changed into his clothes, and dragged his mom away.

“Where are you going?” his mom inquired behind him. “Coach Lee hasn’t done talking.”

“I want to meet Y/n.”

“She’s probably fine, Jungkook. You’re gonna look stupid in front of her for doing this.”

“You always tell me to trust my gut feeling. My gut feeling is saying that I need to go to her now.”

“Do you even know where she is?”

Jungkook was stunned for a second. He didn’t know where you were.

“I’m gonna call her. Let’s go to the car first.” With that, he pulled his mom again in the direction of the parking lot.

Inside the car, he indeed called you, but no matter how many times he tried, they all went through.

“No wonder,” his mom commented, “That girl seemed like she doesn’t care about you.”

“If she didn't care about me, she wouldn’t have come.”

“Probably she’s in her moody phase. Give her some time.”

Having enough of his mom’s rude comments, Jungkook snapped, “Mom, please. I don’t have time for this. Just take me to Y/n’s house.”

“I thought she’s with you,” your dad answered after opening the door to a very worried Jungkook. “This morning she said she was gonna accompany you to practice.”

“She did, but then left without telling me.”

“We’re gonna try to contact her, don’t worry,” your mom’s voice spoke up. “Just go take a rest, you seem so tired.”

Upon hearing your mom’s words, he realized that his shoulders had been hurting and his legs were cramping. Jungkook sighed. “But please tell me when you find her.”

“Of course.”

But no one contacted him for the next few days. Not you, and definitely not your parents. As days went on, he became more and more anxious. His phone calls and texts still hadn’t gone through. It was as if you disappeared off the surface of Earth.

He couldn’t even imagine what had happened to you to make you suddenly disappear that day. Not only that, the fact that his mom became more insufferable the more he talked about you made his blood boil every time he thought about it.

There was one time when Jungkook, who never raised his voice at anyone, raised his voice at his mom.

“Right now, your practice is more important than Y/n,” his mom had said.

At first, Jungkook had tried to ignore her in hopes that she wouldn’t say anything else. But he was dead wrong.

“Jungkook, are you listening to me? I said, focus on your practice, stop thinking of Y/n.”

And just like that, Jungkook had snapped, “You’re not helping at all, mom.”

Little did he know that him snapping at his mom only made his feelings even worse.

There was also a time when Jungkook deliberately ran away from practice after hearing his mom’s words about you, leaving both his mom and coach Lee worried. Sure he came back later that day, but he had hoped it was enough of a sign that he didn’t like what his mom had said.

“She’s been gone for days. I doubt she’ll come back. She probably already forgets you by now,” was what his mom had said to trigger such a reaction from him.

And it was only the day before when Jungkook had yet again rebelled, this time to the point he was gone all day.

That day, Jungkook’s mom had said something along the lines of, “You should be glad that Y/n’s out of the picture, you can focus more on winning the competition.”

But to be quite honest, it didn’t make him focus on his practice anymore.

His time was slower and slower to the point coach Lee – who was never mad at anyone – stopped that day’s practice abruptly.

“Whatever problem you have right now, I hope you deal with it soon. I don’t want your head out of the game like this, especially not when the competition comes.” With that, coach Lee had ushered him home.

Later that day at home, his mom had also lectured him about ‘being a good son’ and ‘making your parents proud’. But he cared none of that. He still had a missing best friend to find.

His mom had sighed when she realized that Jungkook hadn’t been listening to her. “I don’t know what else I need to do. Paying for your practices takes almost all of my savings, yet you're getting worse and worse.” Then she whined, “Tell me what more I need to do.”

Only two words had come out of his mouth. “Find Y/n.”

+++

For a few days after that, Jungkook still kept at it with his acts. He only came to practice when he felt like it. Once he was no longer in the mood, he just left. Not at home, but somewhere where he didn’t have to meet his mom – the playground where you and he met the first time. He wasn’t gonna lie to himself about the fact that he frequently went to the playground in hope to find you there. But just like how bare his phone is from your messages, the playground was bare of your presence.

Sitting at the playground made him remember that one time when you and Jungkook planned to go visit your grandpa that lived just outside the city.

One day after sitting at the playground for sometime, he walked back home with an ache both at his chest and head. While the competition was getting closer and closer, he was still no closer to finding you. He almost ran out of time, and unfortunately, also his patience.

As he felt his cane touched the familiar gravel in front of his house, he sighed. It was time to face his mom again. But right before he opened the front door, he heard a talking voice from inside. He recognized the voice as his mom's. He pondered for a moment whether he should walk in and interrupt his mom. Then he decided against it when he heard his name in his mom's conversation. It sounded like his mom was on a phone call since he couldn't hear the other person's reply.

"–lengths I did for Jungkook." Pause. "I just want the best for him since it's gonna be his first national competition." Pause. "I got rid of his best friend." Pause. Jungkook felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment. "Yes, the girl who made him blind."

If his heart stopped beating before, now it was beating so fast. Adrenaline was pumped throughout his body, making his head almost hurt.

There was no way what his mom had said was true. None of it. Not the fact that his mom got rid of you and definitely not the fact that you made him blind. No way. His mom was just bluffing.

But as much as he liked to believe that, his mom still carried on with the conversation. "I don't know what else to do." Pause. "I've tried everything I could, but now he just skips practice whenever he wants." Long pause. “Guess I’ll try that. Thanks.” Pause. “Bye.”

With a huff, Jungkook opened the door. As he closed the door behind him, he heard his mom gasping.

“You’re already home?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I am, for a while.”

“Did you hear everything?”

“Not everything. But enough to know what you did.” Jungkook deemed it was the right time to let out his anger bit by bit.

“So now you know the truth. Why I don’t like Y/n and why I got rid of her.” It sounded like there was no remorse at all.

+++

It was his fourth birthday. Just like how kids who had birthdays before him celebrated their birthday with the whole class, Jungkook also celebrated his birthday with his classmates.

“Jungkook!” A little girl called him while running up to him.

He smiled upon seeing the big present on the girl’s hand. It was big enough to fill the girl’s hands full.

Once she was close enough, she handed the gift to him. “This is for you. Happy birthday.”

Jungkook accepted it. “Thank you, Y/n.”

Like any other class full of kindergarten kids, the class was chaotic. The teacher was busy trying to sit everyone down and left the birthday boy with his best friend on their own. That was a big mistake.

Little you had seen a lot of funny videos depicting pranks people do on their friends and wanted to try one on Jungkook. So just as Jungkook wanted to take a seat beside you, you pulled his seat, making him fall butt first to the hard floor.

Then everything flew by. He only remembered faintly. He remembered his loss of vision. He remembered hearing cries. He heard a lot of cries. From himself, Y/n, his parents, Y/n’s parents, even the teachers. Then the strong smell of disinfectant indicated to him that he was in a hospital.

There were also doctor’s checkups. A lot of doctor’s checkups. He remembered those checkups almost made him stay up all night. It was hard to forget how scared he was of the doctors handling him.

The only memory that engraved into his mind was when the doctor told his parents that he was permanently blind because of the accident. Then he heard more of his parents’ cries.

+++

Jungkook shook his head in disbelief. “You’re wrong, mom.”

“You’re still defending her?” His mom raised his voice. “Look what happened to you after she came into your life.”

“I’m defending her because the good things she’s done outdid the bad things.”

His mom grunted.

“Yes, she might be the one who made me blind, but she is – was – also the one who pushed me to become a national athlete.” Jungkook regained his breath before continuing his speech. “At the start, I didn’t really like swimming. But when Y/n said that it was cool to be able to swim fast, I was motivated.” Pause. “And don’t even talk about how many times she supported me, accompanied me. She never skips coming to my competitions and practices.”

All he said was true. As much as he wanted to hate you, he couldn’t. A part of him – a big part – still needed you and missed you.

With one last statement, Jungkook ended his conversation with his mom. “You not being able to forgive Y/n is the reason why my career almost ruined. If you really want me to succeed, help me find Y/n.”

It didn’t even take his mom more than three days to find you.

Jungkook was listening to a podcast when he received a notification from his mom. Words couldn’t explain how shocked he was when he realized it was the address he knew well – your grandpa’s house. With you on his mind, he left his house and went to where you were.

Because your grandpa only lived outside the city, it didn’t take long for Jungkook to arrive there. The familiar smell of lavender still lingered just like how he remembered it. He smiled internally knowing that your grandpa still took care of his lavender plants after all this time.

Right before he got the time to step further near your grandpa’s house, he heard a voice calling him. He instantly recognized it as yours.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice getting louder by the second indicating that you were walking towards him.

Couldn’t hide his smile because of meeting you again, he grinned. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked the question first.”

Jungkook sighed. Still the same stubborn Y/n that he knew. “I’m looking for you. Now answer my question.”

“Helping my grandpa around. It’s been some time since I went here.”

“But you never stayed here this long.”

“Is that a problem?”

Jungkook’s face fell. It looked like you didn’t want to talk about the elephant in the room. “I think I know the reason why you’re here.”

“Of course, I already told you the answer.”

“No, I mean–” he hesitated, not sure how to break it to you, “–I know the truth. And I’m sure you know about it, too.”

You grunted. “Jungkook, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He decided to just drop the bomb at once. “The accident when we were young, my blindness, my mom hating you and making you leave me.”

He heard you chuckle at his response. “If you really think the reason I’m here is because of your mom, you’re dead wrong.”

Good. He made you angry.

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush, if you have nothing important to do here, I suggest you leave.”

“Can we talk about this first?”

“What is there to talk about?”

“Everything!”

“I don’t have the time. Just go home.” Jungkook heard your footsteps, you were walking away.

“Please, Y/n,” Jungkook called.

“What is there to talk about?” you repeated the question after stopping in your tracks.

Almost giving up, he answered, “Us.”

“We should never be friends, Jungkook. Your mom was right to separate us.”

“Why?”

“Look at you!” you half-yelled. “Look at what I did to you! Oh, gosh, I can’t even look at you without hating myself.”

“Y/n-” Jungkook took a step.

“No. Listen to me first. I’m really grateful to know you. But your mom was right. I did too much damage to you. We can never be friends.”

“Y/n, I don’t understand what you mean by that. It was an accident, yes, you knew no better. But don’t think it was a tragedy. It wasn’t and it’ll never be,” Jungkook tried to reason with you.

“How can you call it ‘not a tragedy’ while you’re standing there unable to see permanently?”

“I lived with this for so long I almost forget what it feels like to be able to see. Being blind is a part of me now and I already accept it. But why can’t you and mom accept me?”

The next thing he knew, you ran to him and hugged him so tight he was scared that would break a bone. But another part of him, his heart specifically, drumming against his chest he was sure you could hear it.

“I’m so, so, so sorry. You don’t even know how much I’m sorry,” your cries muffled by his shirt. “I’m sorry if I couldn’t accept you. Never even think once that I have bad intentions towards you. I would never do those things to you intentionally.”

Jungkook patted your hair softly. He was lying if your cries didn't hurt him. “I know, I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”

“I tried to make amends with you. I befriended you, supported you, accompanied you. I basically did everything I could do. But when I realized that you were nicer than what I had thought, I only felt worse.”

“I understand.” This time Jungkook brushed his hair through your fingers. Your hair smelled like strawberries, the exact smell he liked. The smell he had missed.

“And when your mom told me that you would do better without me, I believed her.”

“That’s where she’s wrong. I did worse, you can ask her. I couldn’t do it without you.”

You pulled back slightly, but not breaking the hug. “But you’re so good at swimming.”

Jungkook smiled. “Only when you’re watching. So, can you, please, accompany me again?”

“What about your mom? She would be angry.”

“I already explained everything to her. In fact, she was the one giving away your location.”

“That’s because you forced her,” you whined.

“To be honest, I don’t really care if she still can’t accept you. At least she won’t bother you, hopefully.”

You sighed happily. “Okay. I trust you.”

As he laid on his bed that night,

*Add a scene where Jungkook lays at night, thinking about how grateful he is for making amends with you. He also realizes that maybe he has a crush on you.*

+++

True to your words, you went with him during his practices. Although his mom never talked to you or even approached you, Jungkook felt like things were going better. At least she wasn’t talking bad about you anymore.

On the D-day, you came early – even before Jungkook himself – much to his surprise.

“You’re already here,” Jungkook said in surprise when he heard you call him. His mom was talking to coach Lee, giving him the perfect opportunity to talk to his best friend.

“For around 15 minutes, yeah,” you confirm. “Are you nervous?”

“Don’t even ask that kind of question.”

“Okay, sorry.” You laughed. Oh, how he missed that sound. “Hey, I don’t know if you’re allowed to eat a lollipop before a competition, but I’d like to give you this.”

He felt you pushing what felt like a lollipop into his hand.

“Aside from eating heavy meals, I can eat anything. So, thanks.” He opened the lollipop and put it into his mouth.

“I thought it would make you feel less nervous.”

“You know I can handle nervousness well.”

“You’ve never been to a national competition before, though.”

“Fair enough.” A sudden thought flash in his mind. “Y/n, I have something to tell you, but I think it’s better to tell you after the competition.”

Though it was a nation-wide competition, everything went quite similar like Jungkook’s previous competitions. Minutes before the competition began, he received a briefing from coach Lee, shook hands with the other competitors, and then the competition finally began.

Everything slowed down once he was in the water, it was only him, his mind, and the flow of water around him. Much to his surprise, everything went smoother and calmer than he had anticipated. He never knew that national competitions weren’t much different from his other competitions. In short, he was in his element again. He felt free.

Sooner than what he had liked, the competition ended and he was allowed to go home empty-handed. Empty-handed because he lost. He came in fourth place. Not as good as what his mom wanted, but for a newbie like him, it was just the beginning. He wasn’t sure what was the reason, but he really wasn’t feeling sad or anything.

Once he walked out the changing rooms, he felt someone hugging him. From the smell, he could tell it was you.

“I’m super proud of you. Fourth place in your first national competition? You’re gonna be a legend,” you rambled in his ear while still hugging him.

Jungkook hugged you back. “Thanks.”

You finally let him go. “I overheard coach Lee tell your mom that there’ll be another national competition. The organizer isn’t as big as this one, but he thinks it’ll be good for you.”

“Wow. Isn’t that, like, too soon?”

“Don’t know when it’ll be, though. You can just ask coach Lee.”

“I will. Thanks, Y/n.”

“So, do you have something to tell me?”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Before the competition, you told me you have something to tell me.”

“Oh, right.” To be honest, he kinda wanted to regret it as soon as he had said it back then. Damn you to always remind him.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing serious.”

“It sounded serious.”

Jungkook groaned. “Do you really need to know?”

“Of course. I’m your best friend. I’m ready to listen to whatever you say.”

“Then I hope you’re ready to change that status, too,” he blurted. Jungkook wanted to hit himself as soon as he realized what he had said.

Y/n coughed, probably in surprise. “What? What status?”

Jungkook took a deep breath. “I have liked you since I could remember. Don’t you think it’s time to change our status from best friends to something more?”

There was a delay in your answer. Jungkook bit his bottom lip, scared you wouldn’t like what he had said.

“Right now?”

“Well, yeah, if you’d like.”

“Of course I’d like to.” Then Jungkook felt your weight on him; you hugged him again, this time stronger than before.

And without words, Jungkook felt your soft lips on his. It tasted better than what he had imagined. He smiled to the kiss.

There were two things on top of Jungkook’s wishlist: to be able to see you and to be your boyfriend. At least he was able to check the latter.

[Masterlist]

[Taglist]

@lyoongx @jjddk @babeejeon @thehopelessromanticclub @okvmv

Thanks for joining my taglist ♡

You can join/leave my taglist here.

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook #jungkook bts #jk #jk bts #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook bts #request

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leprosycock · 3 months

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I don’t know much about the episcopal church, but do you ever feel conflicted about what you write versus what you believe? sincerely, from someone who’s been raised to believe that many things are “sinful”.

the episcopal church is extremely egalitarian in their views and chooses to celebrate life, love, and god’s adoration and affection for us rather than focusing on punishment, self-loathing, and a constant need to prove ourselves to someone who already sees the depths of our hearts and souls. god made us because he was lonely and he wanted to share the things he can make with people who would delight in them.

there’s a verse in ecclesiastes that reads “go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for god has already approved what you do”. there’s another very well-known verse in psalms that reads “i praise you because i am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, i know that full well”. and in proverbs, a verse reads “a cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones”.

god gave me a creative, loud, hungry, and eclectic spirit and what fulfills that is sex, love, joy, and analyzing aspects of humanity that are meant be swept under the rug and kept hidden. he meant for me to be a writer and an artist and i don’t think he would’ve given me this yearning and drive to write extreme horror unless he thought that i could find a sense of comfort and belonging in it. not that i’m happy that i’ve endured the trauma that i have, but i do believe it happened for a reason and i want to turn what i’ve felt and experienced into something that will lead to understanding, empathy, curiosity, and, eventually, delight.

a huge problem that a lot of big, greedy organized churches have, especially based on the denomination, is that they love to ignore things like mental illness or sex trauma or truly just anything difficult to talk about and like to act like it can be wished away into nothingness. it’s difficult to approach these things from an outsider perspective and especially from the perspective of sex positivity or overcoming a chemical imbalance that will never truly go away, even if you do learn to cope with it. i’m just a girl on the internet but in my opinion, i don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. live your life to the fullest and care for your fellow man. that’s not a sin.

#bunnyaskz

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dollya-robinprotector · 8 months

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dollyaaaaa ur art is so nice n clean always!! im wondering how u draw so quickly n consistently? bow much time does it take for u to draw stuff ö i love seeing ur art pop up on the tl always, its so inspiring!! have a great rest of ur day >:333

Not gonna lie, I usually avoid the ask related to my drawing time or process. I cannot count how many asks I have received on this same matter, but...

Well, I should clarify one thing: I am not uncomfortable answering these ask. I answer some if I can. I just don't know how to answer most of them. English isn't my first language so even if I want to write a tutorial it's just gonna be... "messy" I think? Also, I have this love-hate feeling when it comes to drawing fast.

As you can see I draw almost daily. To answer asks, to present my own ideas,... there are two reasons for my fast-drawing skill:

I think way too much. My trains of thought often crash onto each other and my brain is just purely chaotic, to the point I'm overloaded and stop thinking. That's not good. So before things get complicated or fade to nothingness I would draw them out. it's how I preserve my ideas, keep my sanity intact, and not shut down from thinking.

It's my practice. I grew up knowing practice makes perfect, so I kinda draw to train my muscle memory. A kind of habit as an artist. I remember coming across an interview with BL artist Hotoku and I saw their comment on how to get through a "slump":

and it was at that moment I realized there's nothing more important than to draw when you are an artist. A "slump" (or artblock, etc...) is a disaster for all art creators, so I choose to prevent and get out of it simply by drawing more.

I remember I doubted Hotoku's answer for some time, but now I understand them perfectly. I, too, love and think about drawing all the time, almost that I don't want to do anything else besides drawing. It's complicated to describe, but I think I gaslighted myself successfully into a drawing maniac.

After all, all that I'm capable of is drawing. If it's not for my artworks, I'd be nothing. I can not satisfy my parents, my coworkers, my senpais, or even myself, so at least seeing some strangers on the internet appreciate my drawing warms me up inside I think, ehe~

As for how long it takes me to draw, it depends. Some simple sketches to answer asks took from a few minutes to maybe some good hours. The asks keep coming and I'm delighted to it, but the most I can do is answer 5 - 6 of them a day, usually, I could only do 3 - 4 or least, so I have to admit and apologize because I can not answer everything sent to my ask box. I do the most I can. The asks are a huge part of my creative inspiration and mental comfort, so I always give them my best. Thanks for sending me these asks everyone~

I called off my work today and shut down all the notifications from my boss, so maybe I'll rest more. But I would get back to draw as soon as I can.

#dollya ask #I kinda went on a ramble with this one but #I just can't help #other whom've sent ask about how I draw I hope you understand I can not answer them all #dollya art #non dol posting

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taiyaki-translations · 1 month

Text

Autumn Cafeteria - Prologue 1

Season: Autumn Characters: Shu, Tsumugi Translator: taiyaki-translations Proofreader: raspberrytls

Shu: —You there, waiter, may I get another cup of coffee?

(Whew… It’s nice to sit back and read every once in a while.)

(The library at Starmony Dorms isn’t terrible, but it sometimes gets so noisy that I find it difficult to relax.)

(With classical music gently playing in the background, this makes for a blissful experience, indeed.)

Tsumugi: Oh? Is that you, Shu-kun?

Shu: …If it isn’t Aoba.

Tsumugi: Sorry for suddenly calling out to you. Were you taking a nap?

Shu: No. I was simply closing my eyes and enjoying the music.

Tsumugi: Ahh. I’m familiar with this piano piece. It has a nice, melancholy feeling to it, doesn’t it~

Shu: This isn’t the place for you to stand around and talk, Aoba. Why don’t you take a seat for now?

Tsumugi: You’re right. Since this is a rare opportunity, is it okay if I sit with you?

Shu: …Personally, I’d much rather you didn’t.

However, being spoken to from a distance is even more unpleasant. Do as you like.

Tsumugi: Thank you very much. …Ah, the waiter brought you more coffee.

May I order something too? I’ll have the same coffee, and five loaves of round bread to go, please.

Shu: Five? Do you like them that much?

Tsumugi: No, I’m giving them away. (1) The round bread here is well received no matter what kind of function I bring them to.

The dough is soft and chewy, and the sweetness comes out the more you bite into it, so you don’t need to add anything to it.

Shu: Oh? This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’ve been here several times but never paid it much mind.

Tsumugi: Really? Then please, give it a try ♪

Wai~ter, please bring him some round bread. You can put it on my tab—

Shu: There’s no need. Since I’ll be the one eating it, I’ll pay for it myself.

Tsumugi: Is that so? And here I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to…

Shu: Good opportunity for what?

Tsumugi: Ah, no, it’s nothing.

What kind of book are you reading? It’s paper-back-sized, so is it some kind of novel?

Shu: It’s a recently published book containing commentaries on Shakespeare’s works. It seems to be popular amongst literary scholars for its interesting interpretations, so I was curious to see what it was like.

Tsumugi: Oh, so Shu-kun reads books like that too~ But doesn’t it interfere with your artistic vision?

Shu: It depends on the content. The internet is a place where people can make vulgar posts that have as much value as stones on the side of a road. But books like this depict the sort of high quality views I wish to absorb.

They say art is an explosion, but an explosion requires a catalyst—the accumulation of one’s studies and the skills one has honed.

By combining them, they take on form. Ideally, one could create something out of nothingness. But alas, I am not some kind of god, after all.

Tsumugi: ……♪

Shu: …What’s with that face? It’s disturbing.

Tsumugi: Fufu. Normally you’re so distant with me, Shu-kun, that I’m just glad to have your company ♪ It’s been a while since I’ve been able to talk about trivial things like this with you~

Shu: I beg your pardon? Trivial? …Listen here, Aoba. I was in a good mood today, so I allowed you to sit with me.

But you are a spiteful traitor. I advise you not to try and get too familiar with me.

Tsumugi: How cold~ Even though we’re friends?

Shu: Non, do not get the wrong idea.

Tsumugi: Ah, the round bread’s arrived~ Here you go, please try it.

Shu: I’d rather you not rush me. Hm, so it’s served with fig jam?

Tsumugi: Why don’t you try it without the jam first?

Shu: I was just about to do that. Stop talking for a moment.

Munch munch…

…Oh? The buttery aroma is quite nice.

The sweetness of the sugar is also just right. This flavor would go well with any dish.

Tsumugi: Fufu, I’m glad to hear you say so ♪

Actually, I was looking forward to your reaction. You love croissants, so I figured you would like this too.

But I was surprised to hear you’ve never had it. Do you not eat any bread other than croissants?

Shu: It just never crossed my mind to try it. I actually happened upon this place while I was looking for stores that sold croissants.

While I didn’t find what I was looking for, I liked the atmosphere. I’ve been coming back ever since.

It’s a hidden gem that’s empty even on weekends or holidays. It’s the ideal place for when you are looking for some peace and quiet.

Tsumugi: I know what you mean. Just looking out the window with a cup of coffee is a nice change of pace.

So it's such a shame that this café is going to be closing~

Translation Notes: 1. Tsumugi is bringing the bread as 差し入れ (shashiire), refreshments you'd bring to work or activities as a way to encourage people or help them recharge after working.

Directory | Next

#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #shu itsuki #tsumugi aoba #autumn cafeteria

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ome-magical-ramblings · 8 months

Text

Good deeds, virtues don't sell.

The idea of talking about Virtues and Good deeds isn't as big or popular but it's a good enough topic that I feel deserve a post here. Mainly that the results from our livelihood deserve this aspect of action in the world...that sounded a bit weird writing it out. What I am saying is that your action in the world, your behavior with other, and a lot of the stuff you do "off the cushion" or "with normies" matter a lot when you go and do the rituals or even meditate.

The essence of all the practices is some kind of finicky adjustment and the real meat is what you do when you talk to people, when you act with people, and how this feed back into the whole equation. It doesn't matter how you talk to random people politely, what matter is how you talk, deal, and act with people close to you.

What are you doing in the world, how are the stuff manifesting in the world, is it all internal? you have to ask yourself these questions.

"The wrong person even with the right knowledge will come to no good end. But the right person even with the wrong (or incomplete) knowledge will make it work."

Some people might think of it as "oh I don't have a lot of money", it's not even about the money, if not by the money then you can help with time, with effort, with talking, with guiding, etc. It's not about always gain and loss in that sense. I think you can see it yourself, but if you don't do anything bad or anything good which is most of population they just tend to "blob" along the sea of life not sinking nor floating, most of their action are morally ambivalent or not even considered "actions" just motions. Paul Sedir in his book about how to Pray have a very good quote on this:

To make ourselves heard, our heart must speak the language of Heaven, and that language is charity; our person must become aware of his nothingness, and in this inner void infinity rushes in to fill it. Thus, belief is not enough; believing in God and not obeying Him is what only too many Christians do. I prefer those who claim not to believe yet obey the Divine Law. Praying without previously performing an act of charity can do nothing; whereas charity without faith still moves Heaven. Remember the wonderful stories of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan. It isn’t faith that begets charity, it is charity that begets faith. Faith isn’t an opinion of the brain, it’s a conviction of the heart. To have faith in someone isn’t to believe that the person exists; it’s to trust them, and to trust them wholeheartedly.

Faith means love of God, as charity means love of one’s fellow beings. These two flames grow through one another and feed one another.

I hope, this doesn't remove the importance of the experiences, the rituals, the practices, and so on. One of my friend said he didn't appreciate the Quran or wasn't moved by the Quran until he worked with Jaljalutiya prayer. So again it's a very tricky situation, there's no one way to crack this egg and some people who over-emphasize the charity too soon don't realize it could be a bit too bad for the people who didn't have the experience or understand why they would do that. I am not telling you to go out right now and do charity just because you read it in the internet, but think about it and contemplate it. Just like Paul Sedir said, they're two flames(prayer and Faith) working in conjunctions, your rituals, invocation, spellwork, etc AND your behavior irl, how you deal with people and how people see you, your actions, thoughts, and words. You can't just practice 1 hour a day and do shit for the rest of the 23 hours. The WHOLE thing is your practice.

Let me end this two points, first a quote and lastly a technique. The Quote from G.O Mebes' Minor Arcana course:

An isolation for too long could harden your heart and damage the intuition. A period of self-analysis lasting too long, developing the principle of reason, could take place at the cost of sensitivity, which is also necessary. This is the first danger that the disciple encounters on the Way and that you need to avoid, instituting an adequate "modus vivendi" in your environment. Ethical Hermeticism teaches that it is preferable to take just one step forward and advance your environment - even a tenth part of that step - than to take ten steps, giving nothing to the environment. It is by giving that man receives.

The technique is either the Planetary Charity which you can read about extensively here and the other one is that aim to just do one good deed a day, to counsel a friend, to drop one cent in a charity box, to pray for the dead, or to help a friend with a problem. Again, Charitable and good deeds have a lot of ways to come about them so why not try praying to be in the position to help people ;) maybe that prayer can be answered. May the Divine Creator open the way for us to help one another as brothers and sisters.

Sincerely, From the Heart.

#occult #magic #witchblr #invocation #prayer #virtue #planetary magic #planetary magick #astrology #astrological magic #theurgy #tarot #tarot cards #tarotblr #witchcraft #ritual #magick #occultism #hermeticism

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feelbokkie · 10 months

Note

srry, ppl lie on the internet all the time for attention plus u used ur brother's death in a fic which is kinda icky

Hey, anon, disrespectfully, shut the fuck up.

Writers, not just fic writers, but writers in general use their work as a coping mechanism and me coping by writing about what happened with my brother is way less harmful to myself than how I coping before.

I am very well aware that people lie on the internet, it's seldom the place to go to for truth now unless you know for a fact that you can trust the person or source you're reading. There are a lot of fucked up people out there, and I can be mean or bitchy when need be but I am not one of them.

(Bokkie's going graphic for a second. Tw: death)

And I can guarantee you that I am not lying about the week I spent in literal hell not eating or sleeping and barely at home because I was in an infinite hell loop driving from school to work to the hospital where I would sit in a cold ass room in the world's most uncomfortable chair waiting for my brother to literally die. And I'm not making up the day I had spent several hours at the hospital, leaving to get some sleep before work, and then going back to the hospital for a few hours, leaving to get some sleep and then having to go back to the hospital once again after getting literally 20 minutes of sleep to watch the shell of the man who took me to see star wars and would pick me up and put me on his shoulders and bought me a pet turtle and would take little 5 year old me to spend the night at his house even though he had 2 kids of his own to take care of and bought me a selfdefense kit even though he was broke when he found out I would be taking grad classes on campus at night in a slightly dangerous neighborhood slowly drift off into nothingness. And I wouldn't lie about hearing him flatline and watching his skin sink into his skull and turn grey as rigor mortis set in. Or how to this day, 7 months later, I still can't sleep properly without seeing his deceased face every time I close my eyes

(Bokkie is done graphic)

So don't sit there and try to imply that I would just lie about any of that. Honestly, just unfollow me or block me or whatever the fuck because you're not fucking welcomed on this page anymore

#feelbokkie answers

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scumbag-monthly · 1 year

Text

The Young Ones Were: A Final Word from Scumbag Monthly’s Editor 🖕💚

I was going to post this on 7th March – the birthday of the pan global phenomenon himself – but I think the emotion will be stronger tonight. Either way, I’ve chosen this post to say my last farewells to Scumbag Monthly and thank the people who helped make it what it was.

It was my decision as editor to end SM at Issue #25 and it was a difficult one to make. Although SM has come with both pros and cons, it’s something I’ve enjoyed creating and is something I’m very proud of. In a way, it would have been easier to carry on – sticking with the familiar is always easier – but I didn’t want our fanzine to drift off into nothingness. I thought twenty-five was a good number to end it at. Three years; twenty-five issues; three Rik specials; a zine for the fortieth anniversary – I think we’ve done alright, all things considered. More than alright! I’m so happy that we were able to add to the fandom in some small way.

I have a head for dates, so I can tell you with 99% certainty that I took on the reins of editorship at SM on 14th May 2020. It’s weird that that time feels both close and far away – international pandemics will do that to you. I’ve seen engagement and interest in this zine ebb and flow over the years. We’ve never really received enough submissions to keep us afloat long term. I used to ask my mutuals if I could add old art of theirs to zines to keep the Drawing Room full, and the amount of my fic that made its way into SM was not the result of an overinflated ego (I promise!), more the result of fic submissions falling even lower than art submissions. We’re a small fandom; that’s always been a problem for SM. While I’ve continually emphasised the importance of submissions to SM – how else would SM involve those not working behind the scenes? – the truth is that the end products simply wouldn’t have arrived on our website be it not for the so-called scumbag staff who dedicated their free time to making pages and content.

With a small fandom and ergo a small team, SM’s ambitions had to be realistic. We would all have loved to bring new segments out in every issue but, with a lot to do and limited time to get it done each time, this often wasn’t possible. I never wanted SM to become a burden to the people who made pages for it, as we all lead offline lives and SM was simply a passion project – we made this because we wanted to, because it was fun.

I won’t deny there have been points where SM burnt me out a tad. I think it was easy to lose sight of things during the lockdowns, or simply fall completely into one project. There are some zines where well over twenty of the pages were made by me because they had to be, and I’ve often feared that The People’s Poetry suffered because of this. I’m very pleased and grateful to point out that the page share became slightly less exaggerated after we found different people for each character, but (and I’m afraid I am going to have to be egotistical now XD) I’d be lying if I denied every zine since Issue #4 isn’t drenched in my blood, sweat, and improvised version of graphic design (not actually my passion, me being primarily a writer and all XD).

I hope this isn’t sounding too negative because SM really does mean a lot to me. I think it’s just that a mixed relationship is guaranteed with anything you give a lot of yourself to and I want to be honest here, at the end. It’s going to feel weird for me for a little while: no more new documents to set up, no more new pages to make, no more themes to discuss, no more Google Forms to collect. I will miss SM, but thanks to the internet it’ll actually still be here. We’ll be keeping the website up as an archive and the same with our Tumblr blog and Instagram (scumbag_monthly). For future runs of the Rik and Ade Fest, another blog has been set up (@rikandadefest). SM has also had a Redbubble on the down low for some time now and we’re planning on adding our designs of the lads there soon, if any of you fancy owning something with those on.

I realise this whole post comes at the risk of sounding pretentious and melodramatic… but sod it, you know? Here are the people I’d like to thank individually, on behalf of our fanzine.

@theevilesteviled -

First of all, the creator of SM: the reason you’re even reading this right now. During the period in which SM got going – that calm before the utter shitstorm of 2020 – we spoke nearly every day… though, living on different sides of the globe did limit our talk time to early mornings and late evenings. Ed is the reason SM ever launched. She did almost everything for the first few zines, often at the cost of her own sanity, and she inspired a passion for this fanzine within me.

In May 2020, when I found myself in lockdown limbo between college and university, Ed was struggling with the brunt of SM plus the new hell of online classes. When I took charge of Issue #4, I don’t think I realised the extent of what I was taking on – I certainly didn’t expect to still be editor nearly three years later! Even so, without Ed SM wouldn’t have gotten as far as Issue #4. I’ll admit when she initially proposed the idea for a The Young Ones fanzine, I didn’t assume it would ever actually happen. I agreed to take on Rick’s page, but never allowed myself to imagine we’d end up with a project that’d last three years. Surely, it was only other people who could pull off that kind of thing, right? Surely, a group of introverted young adults online weren’t really going to get anywhere with this, were we?

I’m not trying to make SM sound bigger than it is – I’m well aware how niche we are, have always been – but the point I’m trying to make is: thanks to Ed spearheading SM in the early days, I had the profound realisation that I can actually be creative and try new things and they’re not destined to fall completely flat on their faces. I think everyone involved with SM, be it through making pages or submitting their work, has experienced a version of this same realisation with the publication of each zine.

That’s thanks to Ed, so I’d like to formally express my gratitude. Thank you, ya bastard.

@xgardensinspace -

The lovely Deya! Deya has always been a big part of SM, right from the beginning. The portraits of Vyvyan, Rick, Neil, Mike, Balowski, and P that appeared regularly in our zines were drawn by them, as well as the ten portraits of our staff on our website. That’s not even mentioning the five exemplary covers they’ve whizzed up for SM!

Not only is Deya an exceptionally talented artist, they’re also an enthusiastic team player. From Issue #11 onwards, they’ve been our resident Mike. As most of us agree, Mike is the most difficult young one to characterise – Deya rose to the challenge with full commitment. Alongside taking on Mike’s Moments, for a period of time in late 2021 Deya posted as Mike to SM’s Instagram every Thursday, providing all of us with funny insights into Mike’s sense of fashion. There have also been times when my SM workload proved too much and they stepped up to write Comic Strip reviews for our Strip Tease – in fact, one of my favourite reviews is the one of Five Go Mad on Mescalin we wrote together for Issue #18.

Deya has always been passionate about SM, even when it seemed there were only a few of us who were. They’ve been incredibly supportive and understanding, often one of the first to volunteer to make art or write pieces for specials. To put it lightly, SM would be left severely lacking without their endless contributions and help and for that reason I’m incredibly thankful to them.

Last spring, I was lucky enough to finally meet Deya, when they visited the UK on holiday, and they were just as lovely in person as they are online. Thank you ever so much for your work on SM, you really are a cool person.

@drinkysketch -

I felt it only right to single out Julia here. Fandom spaces are ever changing and the individuals who’ve contributed to SM are no different. Despite this, Julia has been a constant cover artist for SM – not only did she create our first ever cover art back when SM was completely unknown, she’s since provided us with five more pieces for our covers. As the clever trousers among you will have worked out, that’s six in total. Almost a quarter of our regular zines!

There’s something instantly likeable about Julia’s art style: the shapes, the bright colours, the insistence on always giving Vyvyan one eye bigger than the other. The cover of Issue #1 especially is representative of SM – it’s the establishing shot – and I couldn’t imagine a better piece of art than the one Julia provided us with. I’d like to thank her for always being so eager to make art for us, even as the world’s gotten crazier and crazier. True scumbag style!

@codrington-road -

It was April 2020 when Haley first emailed SM with a fanfic submission and an offer to make pages for Neil. These were the early days of SM – Ed and I were just about keeping up with the zine’s Rick and Vyv content but were seriously struggling where Mike and Neil were concerned. It’s thanks to Haley that Neil is the only young one I’ve never had to make a page for… well, aside from that time we switched characters for April Fool’s in Issue #14… and she’s been a constant, reliable presence at SM since Issue #4.

There probably aren’t many people who could come up again and again with hilarious horoscopes on purpose, and I don’t know for exactly how many Wednesdays Haley manned Neil’s entries to our Instagram stories, but it was a lot. 9th June 2021 fell on a Wednesday – a little daunting for anyone. Yet, I think it’s that entry from ‘Neil’, a touching piece about missing people who are no longer here while still carrying the warmth they gave us within us, that sticks out to me the most.

Haley has always brought the exact right levels of surrealism, humour, and bloody hippie moping to Neil. She is probably secretly Nigel Planer. She’s helped keep the excitement for SM alive in me when I’ve been at my wit’s end with it and is in fact the main reason this fanzine didn’t fold after Issue #19. Honestly, she’s great. Have you read the fanfic she’s submitted? Pure brilliance. Her reviews of Rik Mayall's Bedside Tales and GLC were sublime.

Thank you, Haley, for encouraging not just me but everyone behind the scenes of SM and for being our resident Neil for so long. I know you’re a girlie, but I hope the seed of your loin is fruitful in the belly of your woman. Ta very much!

@martian-martian-martian -

Part of SM since Issue #18, Wisely is a person who truly deserves so much love. I first spoke to Wisely on Tumblr when they signed up to write about Rick and Kevin in our second Rik zine, in 2021. Needless to say, the results of their endeavours were some of the most memorable pieces in that zine. Rick still hasn’t recovered.

After that, Wisely only became more and more involved in SM, until they’d taken on the enigmatic fifth housemate, that scumbag named Petyr, as a regular in our zine. They did this despite the graphic design element being out of their comfort zone and even came up with a whole new page idea to spearhead. Cliff ‘sHits – as well as having a perfectly Young Ones-esq name – is exactly the kind of thing I always hoped would start happening with SM: that staff would strike out with new page ideas when they had the time. Wisely has a talent for twisting well known verses to fit the scumbag agenda and we thank them for it.

A keen promoter of SM – they could frequently be found suggesting submitting to our fanzine in the comments of TYO fanart on Tumblr – they’ve even written fanfic to keep zines full of content. I’d like to thank them for joining the team and enhancing the zine in the process. SM is all the better for having them.

@the-tardis-in-221b-baker-street -

Zoe already has a name for herself in Rik Mayall circles outside the scumbags; what fan wouldn’t go absolutely crazy at the sheer time and dedication she puts into her many cosplays? Zoe has a knack for morphing into the bastards she portrays… physically, at least. I’ve always found her to be as friendly as Alan B’Stard is devious. XD

It was during SM’s hiatus, when the spot of resident Vyvyan fell vacant, that Zoe immediately jumped at the chance to help SM out. Since Issue #20, she’s provided the voice of the beloved punk as well as producing a page of her own design, Top of the Plops. Zoe has also been quick to help out where reviews of Filthy, Rich and Catflap and of the music in The Young Ones are concerned, for which I am very grateful. Despite being the newest staff member at SM, she’s thrown herself fully into it and offered much needed reassurance and submissions whenever necessary. Zoe has been an optimistic voice at the fanzine: always up for new ideas and competitions, always there with schemes to boost engagement. Her DnD stats for the lads in Issue #24 were incredible.

We’ve had many scumbags writing for Vyvyan at SM over the years – more than we’ve had for any other character – and I’m thrilled we got Zoe in for our final run. She even made the cover art for our last issue. Thank you!

@aspinecone -

Aspen is someone I’ve shared online fandom spaces with since 2017. We’re both fans of Red Dwarf, but it was our shared enjoyment of The Young Ones that finally got us talking to one another. Last autumn, we finally met in person when we went to see Ade in A Christmas Carol - a brilliant day with a great friend that I'll always remember.

Aspen has had a presence behind the scenes of SM since the beginning, often submitting fanart and the odd piece of fanfic, until they took on the role of resident Balowski at SM from Issue #16 onwards. Creating content for the character most out of the loop with the others isn’t as easy as you might think, but Aspen has always produced insane, amusing pages for him. Aspen was also the original cover artist pencilled in for Issue #21, but graciously stood aside when they realised offline commitments were going to need more of their time.

During SM’s run, I’ve sometimes had hairbrained schemes such as making the badges several scumbags will be receiving very, very soon. I’m no design whiz – Ed and I always made SM out of Word Documents – and Aspen helpfully volunteered to remove the backgrounds from designs and clean them up. Like I’ve always said, producing SM has been a team effort. I’d like to thank Aspen for always being in my corner.

@cloubdustings -

Ava, the mad meme machine! If I recall correctly, Ava first popped up in scumbag circles in late 2020. She surprised SM with cover art for Issue #10 and kindly took on the role of resident Vyvyan from that same issue until Issue #19. 2021 was not a fun year – in fact, I’d argue it was worse than 2020 in some respects – so having Ava on the SM team to handle all Vyvyan content was a great help.

Ava has a very distinct sense of humour and you can usually tell which British comedian she’s most recently become obsessed with by checking her Instagram. XD Even with changing tastes, she’s still making content about Mr Mayall and her brand of whackiness is most definitely beloved by the fandom. Thank you for sharing it with SM!

@lumivarjo -

Lumi was around at the very beginning of SM and is actually responsible for the piece of grey tape bearing the zine’s name that became our logo. He was our original resident P, producing pages for us during the autumn of 2020. Lumi has always been more behind the scenes than at the forefront of SM, but has nonetheless also always been supportive. Being an artistic sod, Lumi is to thank for many of the key headers SM used, which were all vital pieces of the SM brand… if we want to get really pretentious. Thank you for being there for the zine!

@serenpop -

Pol was also around when Ed was proposing this insane new idea of a fanzine for The Young Ones and was our first resident Neil. Offline commitments saw them have to drop the role, but they reappeared again to help us out when we needed cover art at a pinch for Issue #9. A lot of SM’s Drawing Rooms have featured art from Pol, so I’d like to thank them for brightening up our pages!

Additionally, I'd like to thank the other scumbags who’ve made cover art for us: @frankenbolt (who made three(!) beautifully chaotic covers, including everybody’s favourite Modern AU); @whatacompletebastard (for the fab Breakfast Club parody that’s always been popular with the scumbags); @heinzpilsnerbloody (another talented artist who drew me a whole bunch of cool stuff in an exchange and kindly helped SM out); @colourshot-draws (our first anniversary zine cover artist and a genuinely lovely person); @postpunkpontypandyphantomthief (a massive Rik Mayall fan and integral part of the fandom); thedinodoodles (for being ahead of the curve and bringing us pirates before the Tumblr obsession); @rikhead (for the sheer dedication to detail on her cover and for her legendary skills in Rik Pic Hunting™); and @smashingblouses (for providing us with the brilliant TYO 40th anniversary zine cover art). I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: SM couldn’t have functioned without its cover artists. Thank you all. Big respec.

There are a few final scumbags I wish to mention and thank - SM's cheerleaders, if you will. These people have brightened up my day on various occasions and their enthusiasm helped make the zine what it was: @anglophobias, @my-blood-is-maple-syrup, @friedhofcreative, @shotsofnovacaine, @5gogh2, @mariigoldmayall, and @fourstarsandahamster.

Finally, of course, I’d like to say a quick thank you to the people who inspired this fanzine in the first place. Without the canon, there would be no fanon. They’re never going to read this thank Cliff but without the brilliance of Rik Mayall, Adrian Edmondson, Nigel Planer, Christopher Ryan, Alexei Sayle, Ben Elton, Lise Mayer, and all the recurring comic guest stars of The Young Ones, SM would have quite literally never existed.

We need comedy in hard times – to call out the shits in power, to keep us grounded, to simply make us laugh. I count myself incredibly lucky to have stumbled across fans of this anarchic ‘80s sitcom on Tumblr. Despite the time gone by between 1982 and 2023 and the changes in society and sensibilities, I think it’s an incredibly good thing that this comedy still connects with us. Most of the people I’ve spoken to on here, like me, weren’t alive during TYO’s initial run. It’s often assumed by certain bastards who shall remain nameless that the youth are trying to kill comedy, that we take offence too easily, that comedy classics are a thing of the past. To them I say: UP YOURS, UGLY! As long as there are people, there will be laughter; and among those of us laughing, there will be the young ones.

So thank you, scumbag reader, for downloading our zines and supporting our bastardly endeavours.

Signing off from Scumbag Monthly for the last time,

- R / @neil-neil-orange-peel <3

"This is it! It's really happening! Who needs qualifications? Who cares about Thatcher and unemployment?! We can do just exactly whatever we want to do! And you know why? Because we're Young Ones. Bachelor boys! Crazy, mad, wild-eyed, big-bottomed anarchists!!" - The People's Poet, 1984

#scumbag monthly #the young ones #tyo #rik mayall #fanzine #notice #goodbye

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