#sometimes u die a million deaths and u never forget it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 years

Note

Hii!! I saw that your requests are open again so I hope u don't mind cosidering mine!! Maybe some Hcs of the THH bois being sad and their s/o comforts them and when they think they're asleep, they sing them a lullaby? the idea makes me very soft 👉👈🥺

Oop this idea makes me v soft, too ;w;

..........

Taka

You knew how emotional Taka tends to get, even over simple things like you reminding him that you appreciated him in your life.

Though one day, you find him laying on the bed, crying into a pillow.

The fact he neglected to greet you when you came home was especially concerning, since he always did that.

So you lay down beside him and hug him closely, asking what’s wrong.

He just buries his head into your chest and sobs about a quiz he failed, believing his life was ruined because of it.

Anyone else would’ve probably laughed at him for bawling his eyes out over something that insignificant.

But you never do.

You understand he takes a lot of pride in success...and that he could be harsh on himself for little mistakes.

Instead you hold him tighter and reassure him that one bad grade doesn’t mean his future is in shambles.

Eventually he calms down, thanking you for those words he often needed to hear.

Before seemingly passing out from the exhaustion of crying.

You pet his black hair for a bit, and then quietly sing a short lullaby.

In response, his arms hug you tighter.

Mondo

Usually, he’s scary when he’s upset.

But around you, however, he looks like a kicked puppy.

This especially becomes true when he comes home after an argument with his gang.

He takes a shower and comes back out to greet you, his infamous pompadour now shoulder-length brown hair.

Now he looks like a wet kicked puppy.

If you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll just say it was another stupid fight with his gang, who still doubt his capabilities as a leader.

You knew he was trying his best to keep them in one piece--fulfilling his late brother’s dying wish.

So you understood he could take those insults to heart.

He doesn’t wanna go into much detail, knowing he’ll just get angrier (and probably break the coffee table for the third time this week).

You just pat your lap, inviting him to lay his head down there for a while.

He obliges and just closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair.

It soothes him to sleep real fast.

And you hum a small song to help ease his mind and forget his frustrations.

Leon

It’s quite easy to tell when he’s sad, even if he doesn’t say anything directly to you.

Oftentimes, it’s when you enter the bedroom or living room and see him curled up with a pillow, eyes moist and red.

The moment he sees you, though, the pillow’s on the ground and he opens his arms up.

It’s like he’s saying “hold me right now or I will die”.

So you oblige and let him cuddle with you like a teddy bear, already feeling better now that you’re here.

He’ll talk about what’s bothering him if you ask.

Usually it’s either growing pressures of baseball practice or his own insecurities eating away at him.

Though sometimes he just says he wants to sleep the day away.

You’re fine with that, and you help him relax by singing a bit of a lullaby.

All he can pay attention to is your calming voice as he dozes off.

After the nap, he feels a lot better.

Hifumi

It’s typical for him to come crying to you about being bullied again.

Though when he asks if you truly loved him...that becomes a shock to you.

Of course you did! What idiot would try to tell him you didn’t?

You swear this is the last time anyone would mess with your big and lovable fanfic writer.

Usually the perfect solution is to sit down on the couch with his head in your lap, while you brush away his tears and list all of the things you loved about him.

No really. You have an actual list you keep in case someone has the nerve to ask you what you see in him.

He might get choked up all over again as he realizes he shouldn’t listen to those idiots.

At some point, he does fall asleep, and you catch yourself humming the tune of some anime song you recently heard.

Funny enough--he sometimes mumbles the lyrics in his sleep.

Yasuhiro

You find him sitting alone in his room, looking sad as he stares down at a crystal ball in his hands.

At first you scared him when you rush over to ask him what’s wrong (fortunately you save him another million yen by catching the ball before it hit the floor).

But once he calms down, he just says he feels like a “useless idiot” during trials sometimes.

He wonders why Monokuma insists everyone participates if he can’t contribute anything good.

What breaks your heart most is when he asks if you think he’s an idiot.

You just take his hands and reassure him he’s far from that.

You remind him that he did bring up some important topics that helped piece the crimes together.

So he’s not useless at all.

He feels much better after those reassurances, though also tired since he was doing a lot of thinking.

So you two just cuddle, and when you think he’s fully out, you quietly sing a random song.

Though he mumbles a “wow you sing rly good” before dozing off.

Makoto

Sometimes the guilt of class trials weighs heavily on him.

Especially when he leaves knowing he basically sent someone to their death.

Even though he knows he has to if everyone else wants to survive.

But that doesn’t stop the nightmares he has of the victims and blackeneds taunting him, blaming him for their deaths instead of Monokuma.

Fortunately, you sleep with him on those nights.

And when he wakes up suddenly, you’re quick to bring him into your arms.

Though if you’re a heavy sleeper, expect to be shaken awake by a teary-eyed Makoto who was scared you died.

When you’re awake, you comfort him by resting your chin on top of his head, while he listens to your heartbeat.

A reminder that you’re still alive.

And you end up singing a short lullaby once he falls back to sleep, ensuring he stayed asleep knowing you were safe.

Chihiro

Knowing Chihiro, it was easy for him to get upset over many things.

But all day long, he’s kept things bottled up, afraid you’d see him as “less manly”.

Though it all backfires horribly when he’s working on a program that keeps having pop-up errors and other glitches.

It’s just one after another and he can’t fix them all.

He feels like he’s faltering in his talent--the one thing he was confident in.

How could he be an “Ultimate Programmer” if he couldn’t fix simple errors?

Sometime later, you find him crying at his desk. You can easily tell your poor bf is overwhelmed again.

So you carry him away from his computer and to the bed, where you both cuddle.

He ends up breaking down into tears again, spilling his heart out to you--the guilt of ignoring you, the frustrations with the program, everything.

And you hold him and listen, letting him talk before you give him your own reassurances/advice.

Eventually, he passes out from exhaustion, and you take the opportunity to sing something to help him calm down more.

Byakuya

There’s not much of a sensitive side to him. He learned to toughed up in the face of many hardships--all to rightfully earn his position in the family.

But not even the heir himself was immune to the stress, suffering, and doubt--especially when he was all alone.

And when you saw that mask crack for the first time..it was a shock.

You came home earlier than expected one day, and you saw the prodigy pacing around the living room, trying to dry both his glasses and eyes while taking shaky breaths.

“You’re better than this...stronger than this..y-you’re..gonna be head of your family...”

The crack in his voice prompts you to intervene.

Of course, he tries playing it off as nothing, though you take him to the couch anyway and hold his hands.

You don’t say or do anything; you just let him calm down by himself, with your presence being more than enough.

Once he does, you convince him to rest for a bit. He just scoffs and says he already planned to.

You hum a song when he finally dozes off.

Your voice is actually soothing to listen to, though he’s not gonna outright say it.

But you know it from his small smile.

Kiyondo

Despite his brash attitude and tendency to mimic Mondo..you knew that deep down, your beloved Taka was in there--still heartbroken and grieving.

It became more apparent when you found him crying in the bathhouse (around the same time he was when he first went there with Mondo).

He shut himself into the sauna, but with luck you managed to convince him to leave and go to your dorm.

At first he aggressively cuddles with you, though as you brush away the hot tears that streaked down his face, his voice becomes less rough and more...soft.

Like his old self.

He admits he’s scared you’ll be taken away from him, too.

But you just hold him, promising him you will be okay...and you’ll help him through this, no matter what it takes.

It’s hard convincing him to sleep, but when he finally does, you just stay awake for a bit longer, petting his hair and singing a short lullaby.

By the morning, he’s back to normal--still gaunt and depressed.

Yet he seems more hopeful, as he remembers you’re still with him.

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imaginedigimon · 4 years

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u got any lgbtq+ hcs for any of the main 12 adventure and 02 kids?

🤔 Hmm...

Now Anon, I’m warning you: I’m probably not going to give you what you want for this. But I’m going to try.

I REALLY HOPE I DON’T FUCK THIS UP, FRIENDS *stressing out a bit I will not lie*

LGBTQ+ Headcanons for 01 + 02 Gang

Tai [Taichi]

Doesn’t know the meaning of the word “straight” except in terms of line segments in math (but even then, he’s a little lost)

He probably saw the pride flag for the first time when he was 14 and because it reminded him of the Crests thought, “I CAN GET BEHIND THAT”

When he learned the real meaning of pride and the LGBTQ+ community, he was even more ecstatic

Has definitely beaten up some homophobes before

And transphobes

He’s beaten up a lot of people in general

Realized after a while that he’s pansexual himself and started painting his face with the pan flag everyday

Will not deny that he has a thing for Matt and Sora at the same time and is happy if they’re happy but would really like to kiss them both pls

Matt [Yamato]

He most certainly questioned his own gender for a while, though he can’t pinpoint when it started

Gabumon told him it didn’t matter what he identified as, they’d always be partners anyway, so that really helped him a lot

It also helped that Tai was willing to beat people’s asses for him

Has also beaten up some homophobes and transphobes (Tai has been the one to drag him away from some fights)

Wears pins of all the pride flags at all times because fuck you haters

Also would like to kiss Tai, just like once or twice or a million times

Identifies as bisexual most likely

Sora

Doesn’t mention it a lot, but Mimi was probably her first kiss (by accident...OR WAS IT?)

She was the type of person who, because she grew up in a very hetero-normative world, wasn’t sure what it meant to like a girl

Probably asked Tai when she was 15 and still thinking about Mimi’s hair and lips when he explained to her that it was perfectly normal

She never forgot that conversation

Has continuously questioned her identity and orientation throughout the years, though only Biyomon has been privy to this struggle

Finally settled on saying she’s queer because she’s not much for labels (especially when she’s in a constant state of questioning)

Definitely asked Mimi to kiss her again just so it wouldn’t be an accident

Izzy [Koshiro]

Always a kid before his time, knew how to explain all aspects of pride to everyone else before they even knew what the LGBTQ+ community was

Has PowerPoints to make things clearer

Around age 17 or 18, he started asking that everyone use he/him or they/them pronouns, and this hasn’t changed since

Everyone said “a’ight” because they love him no matter what

Has always had some kind of romantic feelings for just about everyone in the group, but nothing beyond that

This poor sweetie pie cried the night he realized he was asexual and called Joe, who said in the most intense voice he’d ever heard, “You think that matters to us? We love you, Izzy, and don’t you ever forget that”

Has decided Joe is the coolest guy ever

Started some social media account where it’s nothing but pictures of Tai with various pride symbols painted on his face and it’s blown up

Mimi

Unlike Sora, she didn’t think much about the kiss

She had already accepted that she liked girls by that point

Definitely had a crush on Yolei too, though she played it cool

YOU CANNOT TELL ME SHE DIDN’T CONSIDER MEIKO HER TRUE LOVE

Teases Izzy a lot because she has a bit of a crush on him too, though this confused her because she thought she liked girls

The day she learned the term homoflexible she thought she was dreaming

But she wasn’t

Still, Sora and Yolei and Meiko are her girls and she loves them very dearly

Has the same enthusiasm as Tai and paints the various flags on her face as well (became part of that social media account Izzy started)

You can catch her and Tai at a pride parade screaming at the top of their lungs

Joe [Jou/Jyou]

I’ll admit, he’s probably the token straight? But he’s also one of those guys who’s not afraid to tell Matt he looks handsome today

Has needed to ask Izzy a lot of questions because he’s like me and wants to know and not offend anyone because he’s ignorant or doesn’t know something

Had a moment similar to me where he wondered if he really was straight

Decided he still was, but would support anyone and everyone because that’s just the guy he is

You know how he becomes a doctor? He most CERTAINLY helps with transitioning whenever he can because he’s a GOOD. DOCTOR.

Doesn’t beat up haters, but gives them a death glare that’s just as effective

Wore around a rainbow doctor’s coat because he COULD and no one tried to stop him because they knew he’d quit on the spot

Takeru [T.K.]

Been the guy to say “respect LGBTQ+ rights or die by my sword” or something like that

Lowkey had a crush on Angemon and Angewomon simulanteously and could NOT for the life of him explain why that was

Never told either of them this though

Or Kari

Definitely didn’t tell Kari

Okay yes, Tai is his big brother, but he definitely had a crush on the guy for about 2 weeks before he met Kari and everything changed

Hasn’t told either of them this

Like Sora, has only said he identifies as queer - he’d like to figure it out/delve deeper but is too busy flirting with everyone to care

Brings 5 different dates to his brother’s concerts at the same time and they all have to vie for his attention - it’s usually whoever says the most positive things about his brother

Has done at least 6 drag shows so far and let me tell you - KILLS IT every time

Kari is his forever girl but keeps winking at Ken just to make him blush

Kari [Hikari]

Also had a crush on Angewomon like how could she NOT

Also had crushes on Matt, Izzy, Mimi, and Sora (but not Joe for some reason)

When she realized her feelings for T.K. she got really really nervous (because of all his dates, you see)

Was also confused because she was pretty confused about her range of crushes over the years

Tai came out as pan to her first and she realized that sounded a lot like her

She’s a pan baby and she’s proud of it (and thanks her brother for supporting her)

Gave a rainbow pin to T.K. for his birthday and in return he kissed her

They go to ALL the pride events and nothing can stop them

Occasionally uses they/them pronouns on days she’s questioning

Davis [Daisuke]

Tai was his first love and you cannot change my mind about this

Meeting Kari was like meeting a Tai Who Would Notice Him and that was pretty rad

But he also likes her because of her, too

The world kinda stopped when he met Ken, though

Like damn, look at those soccer skills

I’m gonna be real, I think Davis is soccersexual (or footballsexual for non-Muricans)

Them soccer players be really hot though

Always has questions about the community, but never retains the answers

The PowerPoints, unfortunately, do not help

Eventually gave up and said, “I’M A DUMBASS BUT I SUPPORT YOU ALL”

They tried to tell him he should at least know what he’s talking about

(We’re still working on that)

Wears rainbow shirts with rainbow pants and it’s very atrocious but very appreciated

He is gay. He sometimes does crimes. We accept him anyway.

[T.K. asked him if he wanted to go to a drag show, he said “okay?” and really really loved it now he goes all the time]

Yolei [Miyako]

Mimi is hot, Ken is hot, Kari is hot, Matt’s kinda hot, everyone’s hot

She’s never been able to fully accept this because how is everyone so hot

Mimi was her first love, and Ken was her first boyfriend

She never forgot the firsts

Attracted to any and everyone it seems

She likes to call herself a frying pan and it makes everyone facepalm a little bit

Constantly dresses in the colors on the pan flag because she looks GOOD in them and it’s a way to remind everyone not to mess with her or her community

Tries to pretend she doesn’t know Mimi and Tai when she’s at a pride event and they’re out here acting like fools

But she also loves how unerringly supportive they are

Cody [Iori]

He was the first one everyone came out to, like for some reason he’s that guy

Literally the first person to offer you support

One day he told everyone he was transgender, and while they were surprised, they also didn’t react the way he was expecting

They actually hugged him immediately and said, “But don’t worry we love love love you” and Tai started painting the trans flag on Cody’s face until Cody said, “Guys please fuck off for a sec”

When he becomes a lawyer, he becomes the type of lawyer to defend anyone who was arrested on basis of race/identity/orientation/gender like the boss he is

Suspects he might be ace but hasn’t really delved into it much

He’s too busy scolding Davis for doing dumb things

Ken

Can everyone stop being hot for a sec? -direct quote from Ken himself

He’s in love with all the 02 kids and he’s accepted this

Yolei somehow stole his heart, but T.K.’s winks send it aflutter

He wants them both to stop (but they won’t)

Was completely unaware that Davis also liked him (even though it was really obvious?)

He identifies as bi and, like Izzy, uses they/them pronouns interchangeably with he/him

One of the good detectives on the force. Will bust your ass if you say any offensive slurs about anyone. [Has gotten suspended a few times for doing this BUT IT WAS FUCKING WORTH IT.]

Always the one on duty when Davis gets arrested for his crimes and it’s hecka exhausting

---------

Uhm... did I do good? I’ll admit, I was a little nervous since I myself am straight and cisgender (or cishet, as I’ve learned is the term) 😥 😥

Anon, I really do hope I did a good job!

And if I didn’t you can roast me in the flames of Meramon Hell

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sadsapphicslut · 3 years

Text

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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not-from-the-absence-of-violence · 3 years

Text

You'd break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull when the mind swells

“Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass.” ~Richard Siken

Moments in Leenik Geelo's life after losing his brother.

a/n: love that my first campaign star wars fic is just pure leenik geelo angst, i dedicate this one to @leenik-matagot thank u and also ur welcome <3 >:)

content warnings for: canon typical character death and violence, suicidal thoughts, refrences to self harm, ptsd, trauma and just general grief and depression.

It’s the emptiness he doesn’t expect. When they were running out of the planet the numb shock passing into the unrelenting reality of the loss he had just suffered.

There is that night where neither him or Chartreuse say anything and it felt like his chest was going to collapse into itself. It wasn’t real, not quite yet but the grief that threatens to consume him whole had already set in. it was like a gaping open wound in his chest. Like shards of glass. Like he was dying, following Tony into an early grave.

Those days blur together but he remembers eventually when the pain wouldn’t stop, he remembers cristal clear the quiet desperate prayer he sent out to the stars he and his brother had once travelled together.

Make it stop. He begged. I will do anything to stop feeling like this someone, anyone, please make it stop, make it stop, make it-

Be careful what you wish for, they say, because eventually it did, and it left the broken being that had once been Nicky Geelo.

There was nothing, he hadn’t thought it possible before to feel nothing but it was there. He was but an empty black hole. What was he now, without his grief and pain.

Nothing matters then, when the world stops being something you experience, he stared blankly at the wall. A million thoughts hung around his head.

It was your fault. It should have been you. You have always been this useless. What are you now? What have you ever been?-

They droned on, it was like listening to static, they were there, they were his thoughts and he believed them, but there was no emotion tied to it. He wants it back, the overwhelming despair, the anger burning in his veins, the quiet background sorrow that settles into your bones.

The first time Leenik Geelo gets captured on purpose he doesn’t plan on coming out of it.

He had picked up doing jobs again because he had to, life didn’t stop even if it felt like it should, the loss of Venton was nothing on the greater galaxy, even if to Leenik it felt like the stars weren’t allowed to shine without him.

It isn’t quite like he consciously plans on getting shot, it’s just that he goes in with a half-baked plan, no plan B, no weapons and not really sure when the last time he ate was.

And sure maybe when they are marching him to the brig, blasters trained on him part of him wonders why it would be bad if they just fired.

It’s not quite wanting to die, as much as it is not seeing the point in living. As much as that the moment they truly are about to shoot him his fear finally kicks in and he feels awake for the first time in months.

How he gets out of that one he doesn’t know, it's like all the luck in the galaxy follows him when he doesn’t want it.

He stands there and picks at his suction cups absentmindedly until one starts to bleed, he stares at the blood dripping from his finger like it contains the answers to everything.

He isn’t prepared for the wrath that comes next, the vast nothing in his chest comes and goes but the only other thing he is made of these days seems anger.

It is directed at everything and nothing, his brother's killer, Traxx, the ceiling fan that is too loud, himself.He who couldn't help, he had insisted to take on a job they shouldn't have, he should have been the one to fall in Ventons place.

The first time he stuns himself he can almost convince himself it's an accident. He is in fact, shooting at the fan, but who is to say whether he knew that the laser would bounce of it and hit him in the chest.

There is a flash of blinding agony and then a final blissful nothing. He wakes up very soon after, with a pounding headache, dizzy and miserable.

He knows very well he should not do that again, he stares at his blaster and feels some sickening kind of fear of himself. He tries to avoid using a blaster for a while but it doesn't last long.

It's always an accident though, and usually when it happens people laugh at the guy who just got himself stunned.

That's good he thinks making people laugh.

Leenik Geelo doesn't know the name of the first truly innocent person that he kills.

Usually there is some sort of justification for it, in his mind at least.

At some point he is at a shoot out and he very well knows he could aim away from the civilians that have nothing to do with it.

He doesn't.

There he is met with sickening guilt, and an even worse sense of perverted glee.

He sees the disappointed face of his brother every time he closes his eyes.

The moment he is alone that afternoon he breaks down crying, falling to the floor of some ship.

What have you become Nicky?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know.

It's Venton who should have lived, and so he starts dressing the part. it's easy to pass off the wig and the eye patch as simple eccentricities, people find it odd, people laugh.

Good. He thinks, it's almost better to not be taken seriously, no one seeing under the surface.

So easy some days to almost believe it's Tony who is staring back at him in the mirror. That he’s here with him at least. He doesn't know how to be himself anymore.

One day he simply forgets the eyepatch, he catches a glimpse in the mirror and panics. True awful panic, the one that causes you to stop breathing, your chest to hurt, your mind to start racing.

"I need to go get it," he chokes out.

"Jeez man, we have a job to do."

He is already running back already, his hands in fists shaking as he tries not to break into sobs in the middle of the busy street.

It is odd in many ways how much Venton had been to him. His brother, his work partner, his only connection to his home he had left behind.

Leenik isn’t good at planning, he isn’t very strong or agile or-

Together they were invincible and alone he’s just...him.

He isn’t sure whether he misses Rodea or his brother sometimes, tangled up together in a web of nostalgia.

There is so little that is left from the person he used to be now.

What exactly makes memories flood him like rivers is truly awful arbitrary, he hates it.

And like anything he hates inside himself, he fights it like a caged animal. He is holding onto the shards of himself so tightly, cutting his fingers with it, he is walking on his own broken glass.

It’s a perfectly unremarkable day on the Mynock, he struggles to open a container.

"You should work out more, Leenik."

He stares at a fixed point on the wall, he feels it, the helplessness, his brothers hand in his, he feels the way he can't pull them up because he isn't strong enough, good enough, such a failure-

"Leenik? You okay there buddy?"

Leenik snaps out of it, clearly looking at his surroundings.

"I am just self conscious about my strength alright," he says as he bats away Bacta's hand " Don't bring it up again."

Bacta looks vaguely worried but drops it, used to his odd outburst by now. Leenik goes to look outside at the stars that were supposed to be theirs.

Sleep and Leenik are at war. Every night is a battle.

The weeks, months even after he couldn't sleep. He couldn't without waking up to nightmares of every kind and every night he saw his brother die because of him in seemingly increasingly gruesome ways.

Not sleeping made being awake worse, made the colours sharper and the noise louder, made his already weak grasp on reality weaker. He heard Venton everywhere, knowing it wasn't him, his own head driving him mad.

The only sleep he knew was collapsing from exhaustion.

Eventually time passed and no matter how much Leenik picked at it the wound healed somewhat and sometimes he slept.

Nightmares were still common enough for him to be anxious every time bed time approached. So he read, indulged in the calming familiar anxiety repetitive formulaic fiction brought.

Sometimes he had good dreams about Venton, of beautiful summers in Rodea, about the best bounties they had brought in, soft quiet scenes of love they deserved to have.

He woke up feeling the emptiness worse those days, not being able to even look at himself in the mirror.

There is something so comfortable in not being him. Leenik picks up a million hobbies and drops them just as soon but dressing up he might just keep.

He’s good at it, it’s fun, most importantly for the rest of the crew, it's useful.

And if it also means that he gets to look into the mirror without having to bear his own face looking back at him, even better.

He falls into the same patterns over and over and over again. He can’t stop, like a derailed train, and it’s always him left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

Like pushing boulders uphill it soon starts to feel tedious, pointless, if you have to do it again every time.

He doesn’t know who he is without anymore, doesn’t know how to be whole, he doesn’t want to know.

It feels like he is a spectator in his own life as he sees himself grimly fall back into ruining his life in both small and big ways.

It’s too hard to mend it, he doesn’t know how to sow.

He had never thought of having children really, every day he didn't quite believe he was going to survive the week, much less enough to form a family.

The vornskr gets attached to him so quickly, it needs him, like Leenik once needed his brother.

So he names him Tony, the name feels like rubbing salt in the wound, something that is almost like comfort for him now.

I'll protect you he thinks, even if I couldn't protect him.

He stares at the place where his arm used to be.

He can see it so vividly in front of him, Tony's arm a bloody mess dangling making it unable for him to pull himself up. He sees his own hand, the one he doesn't have anymore, not strong enough to pull him up either.

He stares at his arm and sits on the floor crying. The noise of the battle fading away to the background

Maybe I deserve this one.

Leenik Geelo has a family now, crammed into a small spaceship, full of unspoken issues and painful tension.

He holds on to it lightly, or pretends to.

The only way Leenik knows how to hold on is so tight it's suffocating, so loud it hurts, so pleading it is pathetic. He overcompensates in the other direction constantly, to the point where neither he nor the people he now loves know whether he cares about them or not.

He looks onto Tamlin who lost his mother, so small, so fragile. Now his responsibility too. Maybe he doesn't know quite yet what's to come for him, all the small ways loss cracks you. He is afraid of Tamlin in the same way he is afraid of his own true reflection. And as afraid as anyone is of his own children.

"What's the name of the kid again?" he asks and he can almost convince himself he doesn't know.

So many masks to Leenik Geelo, his name has lost meaning.

Everyone has a breaking point and eventually Leenik reaches his. As he falls to the floor crying, there are people there this time. To listen, to hug him, to comfort him. To share in his pain and not flinch as they see the worst parts of him. To hold his hand and pull him up as he starts the arduous climb from rock bottom.

He isn’t alone amongst the vast expanse of space anymore.

Time passes and loss never truly gets easier, but eventually one has to heal. Eventually he grows up and knows his brother wouldn't want this for him. More importantly he doesn't want this, not anymore.

Rebuilding yourself is a never ending process that often leads to hallways you had forgotten about, it's painful and thankless and while in it it never feels worth it. But it is, oh it is, when he is able to talk about Tony again and it doesn't feel like his throat is full of glass. When people can call him Nicky and it brings only the slightest twinge of melancholy, like pressure on a sore bruise. When he can go to Rodea again, a planet he had once thought he would never be able to bear to return.

Sometimes he still gets cut on his own shards, but this time he lets someone help mend it.

He can lay amongst the trees and for the first time lay his brother to rest in his mind.

"Goodbye Tony," he says, looking onto the millions of planets and galaxies above him, in wonder of how small he is compared to it all.

"I miss you." he says because it's true, he will never stop missing who had once felt like an infinite constant in his life.

"I hope you are well amongst the stars."

#campaign star wars #campaign podcast #leenik geelo #venton geelo #my writing #fic

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beca-mitchell · 5 years

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one for the road (1/1)

Summary: Snippets into the life of what it means to date Special Agent Beca Mitchell. Chloe-centric.

For @asimplefavors, gif-maker extraordinaire and dedicated Anna Kendrick fan. This is not meant to kill u. Also I literally know nothing about how the FBI works.

Word count: 1,386

Read on AO3 or read below.

one.

Chloe Beale knew what she signed up for when she started dating Beca Mitchell. A talented FBI agent in her own right, Beca’s skill and talent were often unparalleled in meetings and out on missions.

Chloe expected a certain amount of drama and anxiety to enter her life regularly because she knew Beca was somebody special. While she could do without the death-defying moments that Beca often somehow subjected herself to – unwittingly or otherwise – Chloe understood it was all part of Beca’s line of work. Hell, Chloe was even willing to look past her own personal politics in regards to some aspects of Beca’s line of work.

It was just hard sometimes, knowing that Beca’s work took such a toll on her.

Ultimately though, Chloe knew how much it made Beca human. How emotional Beca got after receiving upsetting or disturbing intel; how emotional Beca got after a failed mission.

Chloe vowed to be there for it all – at least as much as she could as Beca’s girlfriend who knew very little about what Beca’s line of work actually entailed, beyond the occasional glimpses she got. In all honesty, while Beca’s line of work was often interesting, Chloe hardly found glamour in her girlfriend’s work. She constantly worried and she constantly fretted because seeing Beca in distress and seeing Beca upset was awful on its own.

The thought of anything else happening to Beca...Chloe could die. It makes her heart hurt in previously unimaginable ways.

two.

“You honestly shouldn’t be in here,” Beca murmurs, closing her manila folder deftly with one hand while the other hand expertly slides up Chloe’s back, still warm from her earlier shower.

Chloe could care less about the contents of that folder. She knows how many things there are that Beca can’t talk about.

She just wants her girlfriend.

three.

Chloe can see visible dark rings under Beca’s eyes as she slides into Chloe’s car for their dinner date.

“Hey,” Chloe says when Beca finishes buckling her seatbelt. Beca looks up. Chloe smiles lovingly. “C’mere,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss against Beca’s lips.

Beca kisses back immediately, her hand coming up to rest on Chloe’s thigh. Chloe can sense a certain kind of desperation in Beca’s kiss like she is trying to immediately lose herself in Chloe’s touch. For a moment, Chloe obliges and lets Beca’s fingers press into her thigh a little more firmly; she lets Beca’s lips push a little insistently against hers until she parts her mouth to let Beca’s tongue graze hers.

For a moment, Chloe honestly forgets about the rest of the world itself – forgets about what it means whenever they’re not together.

And then the moment ends and Beca is leaning back into her seat, eyelids fluttering.

“Hello,” she murmurs a little dazedly into the quiet of Chloe’s car.

Chloe grins, ignoring Beca’s previous despondent demeanor for a moment. She is pleased enough by Beca’s reaction.

They have all the time in the world to talk.

four.

Chloe considers the first moment of intimacy between them to be the first time Beca broke down in her arms, crying heavily and openly. Her normally steely demeanor, marked by steel-blue eyes which rarely belied her true emotions, had cracked and then shattered all at once in Chloe’s arms.

Chloe had wrapped herself around Beca’s small frame – somehow smaller – and simply held her until the sobs subsided and Beca managed to choke out a series of embarrassed-sounding apologies.

“You can talk to me,” Chloe had promised, choking back her own tears. It had surprised her how much it hurt to see Beca so upset. “You don’t have to be specific about anything if you can’t, but just tell me about what you’re feeling.” She felt Beca’s grip tighten in her shirt. “Anything,” she promises in a voice so soft it barely comes out as a whisper.

It had taken Beca a few minutes, but when she spoke again, it had simply been three words and Chloe’s heart had broken.

“I’m a failure,” Beca had whispered.

four and a half.

Beca Mitchell is decidedly not failure, for the record.

She does sometimes fail at seeing how much Chloe loves her, too caught up in her own head. But Chloe never tires of reminding her in the same way Beca never tires of reminding Chloe in her own Beca way.

five.

It feels like hours, but Beca finally manages to leave the building. After providing adequate answers for her supervising agent’s report, she wants nothing more than to go home.

It almost makes her want to laugh, how dependent she is on Chloe. The thought of home isn’t her own apartment. It’s Chloe’s. Chloe’s apartment which is warm and inviting and always has a stock of Beca’s favorite coffee.

As she steps out further into the still-busy parking lot, she feels a chill rush over her as memories from the night steadily stream through her mind in an organized manner. Her hands begin to shake, like she can still feel the heavy, solid weight of her gun in her hands – a gun Beca barely enjoys holding – and the fear that had rushed through her.

She had briefly imagined if she never made it home to tell Chloe how sorry she was for making fun of her chili. The had, in the moment, been the most obscure and abstract thought Beca had ever conceived while on a mission, but that only served to remind Beca how much she had to live for.

She feels a gaze on her before she sees it and looks up to see Chloe walking towards her, looking so much like an angel to Beca in that moment. A concerned, sad-looking angel, but an angel nonetheless.

She has to look away for a moment because Chloe is staring at her with that expression that Beca has come to both love and hate – like she knows that Beca’s mind is working a million clicks per second to try and figure out all the ways she went wrong.

(Chloe’s voice in her mind is steady: “You’re a human, Beca – my favorite human nonetheless – and I will never love you less. I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself when things don’t work out. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Her own voice, parrying back, a little shaky: “I’m not a good person, Chlo.”

“None of us are, not really.”)

“What are you doing here?” Beca asks in wonder. Her mind pauses to take a moment to drink Chloe in as well.

“Picking up my girlfriend from work so we can get a late dinner. Aubrey called,” Chloe offers, referring to Beca’s boss who somehow likes Chloe way more than she likes Beca. Typical.

“Don’t you have…a shift?” Beca asks, too tired to add on more to her inquiry.

Chloe smiles in that spectacularly sad and loving way that only the Chloe Beales of the world know how to do. “Do you know what time it is, Bec?” Chloe asks gently.

Beca had only been aware of the seconds that had passed before her partner had squeezed the trigger. It had felt like hours.

“Late,” she offers finally at Chloe’s concerned expression.

“Definitely,” Chloe laughs. She finally steps in front of Beca. She fingers the heavy fabric of Beca’s vest. “Don’t you need to return this?”

Beca glances down, realizing belatedly that she’s still decked out completely in her mission attire. “Oh,” she mumbles.

Chloe frowns when she feels the bandages on Beca’s hand. “What happened?”

It makes Beca sigh because she knows how much Chloe truly hates hearing about the various injuries she occasionally receives while out in the field. “It’s just a scratch,” she promises (lying a little). “They maybe went a little overboard with the bandages.” She touches her vest. “I should get this off.”

“Wait,” Chloe says before Beca can turn around to head back inside. “One for the road,” she says like she always does whenever they have to part (No matter how long their separation, Chloe always does this. Beca loves it.). She pulls Beca in for a quick kiss and like every time they kiss, Beca feels all the world melt away, like the sensation of a much-needed warm shower washing over her.

It makes Beca feel like she can finally go home.

fin.

#bechloe #fanfiction #anna kendrick #brittany snow #gif #au #my fanfic #mine #edit #mine:au

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thegeminisage · 5 years

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we were robbed: the morgana & arthur edition

i have a well-worded and very-thought-out meta about this brewing in me but i don’t have time for all that so have this instead (spoilers obviously):

arthur & morgana didn’t know they were brother and sister but in actuality they would have GROWN UP like brother and sister because (though we don’t have any ages) it’s implied that morgana came to uther quite young

season 1 has them acting all flirty with a touch of antagonism but if they had had their shit together from the start there would have been nothing but (somewhat loving) antagonism from the get-go

a nice thing to have done would have been for someone to suggest arthur/morgana and for them both to look genuinely disgusted (”he’s like my BROTHER”/”she’s like my SISTER”) instead of “i’m pretending to be disgusted but secretly i’d hit it” because it would have been really funny come season 3 when the reveal came thru

here’s the thing about siblings, particularly when there are only just the two of you and you’re very close in age: siblings know you better than anyone. if you grow up with someone they have been witness to all of your weird obsessions and awkward phases and stupid crushes and bad ideas. they are often the only playmate of your age and so you spend 100% of your time together whether you like it or not. you learn to tolerate them and vice versa. you know what will make them happy. you know what will piss them off. there is no one you hate more than your sibling. there is no one you love more than your sibling. no one else on earth can make you so angry or so happy. they are your partner in crime and/or the one framing you for murder. they will help you bury a body and mock you mercilessly for it for the rest of time. siblings are your life companion until one of you becomes an adult. in a perfect world, nobody would have ever, ever, EVER understood arthur and morgana as well as they understood each other - absolutely no one else on earth can comprehend what it’s like to grow up where you grew up with the parents that you had except someone who did it with you

AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED FOR ARTHUR AND MORGANA

imagine a canon where when morgana says in season 1 that SHE ALONE can convince arthur to defy their father and get him to do (whatever dumb thing - kill the afanc, find the morteus flower, etc) it’s not because of her Womanly Wiles it’s because she grew up with this IDIOT and she knows him better than he knows himself

imagine a canon where arthur and morgana’s relationship more closely resembles merlin and arthur’s just for the SHEER AMOUNT of insults traded - and morgana hardly has to mind her tongue the way merlin sometimes does because she and arthur are nearly of equal station

shooting each other rude looks behind uther’s back at dinner, absolutely roasting people at court under their breath, roasting each OTHER under their breath, scheming to get away with mad plots right under uther’s nose, tattling on each other when one of them was holding a grudge, alternatively arch-enemies and thick as thieves, that’s SIBLINGHOOD, babey. like this except if morgana wasn’t lying

you know what i think? if morgana and arthur had been written as proper siblings, arthur would have been one of the first people morgana confessed the truth about her magic to. yes sometimes it’s hard to tell people close to you about that shit, but we didn’t see morgana so much as CONSIDER telling arthur the truth in canon. arthur, as morgana’s adoptive-not-adoptive brother, would be one of the most important people in her life (and vice versa). if magic = gay, there’s no way she wouldn’t asking probing questions such as “so hypothetically if you found out someone you loved had magic what would you do” (more subtle than that because she’s not merlin but you get the idea - that’s what the gays do with our straight siblings. we test for homophobia.)

like if arthur had come for her when he thought the druids kidnapped her because he was actually as distraught and worried as uther was and she, instead of freaking out and fleeing, begged him to cover for her because she wanted to stay - THAT’S WHAT SIBLINGS DO. they ask impossibly hard shit of each other and then they owe one another favors for the rest of their lives. morgana and arthur should have been RIDE OR DIE for each other. that arthur would have fucking covered for her or at least been really torn about it and really fucked up that he didn’t, if he chose not to

i would have loved to see arthur struggle more with the fact that was not only morgana his biological sister but she was magical - and yeah he didn’t find out until morgana had turned ~evil~ but THAT IS WHAT WE WERE ROBBED OF

as a matter of fact arthur only gets about 5 total minutes of screentime in the same frame as morgana AT BEST! after she pulls off the sister & magic reveals but in every bit of it he is fucking HEARTBROKEN. arthur’s more fucked up about morgana than merlin is and it’s merlin’s stupid fault she went darkside to begin with

look at the tears in her eyes. he’s so sad to see her like this. he calls her MY LADY even when she’s trying to murder them all. arthur grew up with morgana. arthur must have loved her SO MUCH. she would without a doubt be someone he considered his immediate family. there’s a million and one fanfics about arthur changing his mind about magic after he discovers someone he loves (merlin) would be killed for having it, but almost none of them deal with how arthur would take the revelation that morgana, his sister in all but name (at least until he finds out she’s actually his biological sister too), has magic, and would have to be put to death according to the law

like. ok. he sent merlin out of town when merlin was facing execution over something as simple as STEALING in 2.06, he helped mordred escape the chopping block in 1.08, he pled gwen’s case in 1.03 when he thought she was a sorceress for real, do we really think he wouldn’t have fought for morgana?

moving on: morgana died nearly right in front of arthur and we get 0 emotional reaction from him - typical. granted he was also dying, but a word exchanged about how the pendragon line ended with the two of them on the same day would not have gone amiss.

think of the PARALLELS - they both died from a sword forged in a dragon’s breath, when their father was the one who drove the dragons to extinction

LIKE: morgana wanting arthur to lift the ban on magic SO BADLY yet being the reason arthur remains convinced he can’t - because he watched his bright sweet compassionate and brave sister become someone cold and ruthless - watched her pain morph her into someone not unlike uther, who also used his pain as an excuse to kill people

arthur wanting morgana to stop her crusade EQUALLY badly but HE’S the reason she remains convinced she can’t do that EITHER because he still won’t lift the fucking ban

(AND LET US NEVER FORGET THAT THEY BOTH HAVE THAT FIREBRAND PENDRAGON RAGE - when arthur gets mad he gets GOOD and mad - both of them tried to kill uther, both of them at one point attempted to or actually did disown him once they were able to fully comprehend the extent of his crimes)

their reconciliation could have been so good. morgana insisting that magic didn’t make her this way, people did - people like arthur and uther. as good as arthur’s moment at the druid shrine in 4.10 was, that same moment and emotion should have gone to morgana in late season 4 or 5 (preferably while she was beating his face in with him making no effort to stop her winter soldier style lmao)

man ok arthur and merlin’s grand tragic not-quite-romance was good and fucked up and i love it to death, but SIBLING RELATIONSHIPS are so fucking powerful. they’re messy and difficult but most of all they’re ENDURING because you just can’t pick your family

and they had such a good character and good relationship RIGHT THERE with morgana and they WASTED all of their potential

thats ALL IM SAYING. ok. thank u and goodnight

#personal #merlin blogging #bbc merlin #liz's meta #liz's merlin stuff #i guess is gonna have to be a tag i use #long post #sorry for the amanda palmer song but like #they say u can catch it but sometimes ur born with it HELLO that's magic babey #liz makes stuff

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leveys · 4 years

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alright kiddos, time to meet this mess of a woman — SPECIAL AGENT MATILDA “MATT” LEVEY, 39, fbi (enhanced swat). a protector, a warrior, an idealistic lover of fighting for the right cause (ex wife of another fbi agent, mother of a nine year old smartass who’s currently living in her arizona hometown with her father). she’s been undercover as a member of the blazing bandits for the past five years, and though she fucks up here & there, she’s devoted to the Cause™. quick info about her (TW for DEATH, WAR, MILITARY, DIVORCE):

BASIC FACTS:

• chain smoking like there’s no tomorrow. • smartass, always has the last word (and you won’t like it). • relentless, won’t take a half truth for an answer. will always push you to come clean abt something. there’s no getting away from it. • has italian blood which means family > anything. she’s super close with her brother (who’s actually in charming!), lost her eldest brother and still hurts about it. • the Mom™ — doesn’t matter how old you are, she will look after you, and call you out on your bs. (especially if your name is arlo or mona, smh). • kind of has a huge heart but?? u gotta earn it • might actually stick around after the event, maybe join the charming pd?? wE’LL SEE

BIOGRAPHY:

her mother always knew she was gonna make her prematurely grow white hair. she’d known since the day she was born, but she was sure of it the one time she took her to church & when the priest said ‘we shall pray’, hers was the only voice resonating in the silent halls — why ? why, why, always looking for answers. she’d be happy when given reasonable ones, but knew her way around the answers she didn’t like. her brothers called her a smartass, & momma yelled when they’d say that, but they laughed & she did too. she’d follow them everywhere, letting them teach her foul words as well as how to punch people who pissed her off. she asked why to everything, & they had answers no adult ever had. it drove her parents insane, sometimes. each time she got grounded they found a way to sneak you out, & her dad, the general, one day just gave up — do whatever the hell you want, he said, just don’t get in trouble. she still does, sometimes, but for right causes only. she never understood trouble for trouble’s sake.

she was a good kid, when not actively antagonizing her teachers. she loved science — other subjects not as much, but she got by. general levey would have to make his peace with that. and detention wasn’t that bad, anyway. in the school library she met a boy — one year older but he looked even further out from the school’s elite than she was. arthur had kind eyes and a warm smile. she liked wasting her time with him, and for the first time, she didn’t feel like asking why.

they talked — a lot. both outcasts from the core group of cool kids they’d never be a part of, but they signed an unspoken pact to survive high school together. she’d say she hated this place enough to say she’d want to go far, far away, to the end of the world — he’d just smile and say hey, i’d follow you there.

but she wasn’t joking, no. johnny, the eldest of the levey children, straight out of college decided he’d join the army. why, she asked, & he had an endless list of reasons. she ended up being convinced, too. the general was proud of this, her mother not so much. can’t you be like jeremy, go study biology instead ? she didn’t get it — johnny did. she had a fire burning inside, like she had to do something, had to stand up for what was right. at eighteen she thought that meant believing in patriotism & joining the army, so she followed johnny & enrolled.

she was never one for goodbyes, so she left quickly; no good with words, so there was no heartfelt letter for arthur, just a scribbled out note saying she’d be back soon.

but ‘soon’ turns to years, and it’s hard, rough years that take the spark from her eyes. she’d ask ‘why’ too many times — why are we bombing this village ? why are we shooting civillians ? most of the time, she found enough answers to outweigh the questions, but at night, staring wide-eyed at the top of her tent, she felt a part of herself dying.

but a part of her survived. january 2003, new cadets came in and there was a face she feared she was starting to forget — the same kind eyes, the same warm smile. didn’t i say i’d follow you to the end of the world ?, he says. the ‘why’ was on her lips but she didn’t ask — he had a superpower, that kid, the only one who could ever leave matty the smartass speechless. & she held on to him. in nights where this job made her stomach turn, she held on to that smile. when the part of her that was dying shrieked in agony, she hid in a tent with him & pretended they were back in that shithole of a town, pretended they were kids again, the bombs were just fireworks, the same old new year’s eve in the same old desperate neighborhood.

but new year’s eve came and took johnny away. a raid gone wrong, and the eldest of the levey children dies a war hero. she was desperate, she broke her hand punching walls, begging for answers ‘cause it made no fucking sense — but why was never met with a reason, what went wrong remained unanswered. the part of her that was dying, it almost gave up — so she had to go back. it felt like defeat, like there were a million questions that would never get an answer. but arthur came home too, & she held on to him — to his quiet strength that was nothing like her violent ways, to the reasons he’d find without demanding an answer with planted feet. over time, she healed. thanks to him, she healed. one year later they were married — nobody on the whole planet would ever have expected her to settle down, but she did, & god, she was happy. she got a new job that allowed her to do more good & less harm within the swat team of the fbi — arthur joined the fbi as well, and this new version of her life started fitting her much better.

she missed johnny all the fucking time, but she learned how to handle the grief in healthy ways and avoid punching walls. she found comfort in the family she’d once disregarded, she learned how to allow herself the softness of love & the warmth of affection. her parents, her other brother — they had been grieving too, and they warmed up each other with memories of the leveys’ golden boy.

and then cassie came along. unexpected, unscripted, but a blessing either way — she had her father’s eyes and her mother’s frown, the same curious look when asking for answers, but thank god none of matt’s aggression. it felt like a movie, this new life; the happy ending after a long, tiring journey. a pill of happiness that made her dizzy. but this wasn’t a movie, this was real life, and real life meant a job that put her on the front line every day. she could retire, she could be a stay-at-home mom — as if she could settle for that. she loved, she would’ve given her life for her, but she knew giving up her job would mean die a little, and do her wrong, too. there were things she wanted to teach her child, how to have faith in yourself & stand up for what you believe in — but that was where she and her husband began arguing. two different views clashing, two opinions, however correct they may have been — incompatible, despite theri best intentions. she started doubting him and his reasons. once upon a time she’d used to hang from every word he’d say, a blind faith in all he was — but now was the time to ask, why ? why should she give up a job that saves people, that protects human beings like cassie or him ? why should putting a child in the world be a curse, & not a blessing ? why, why, why ? why is her marriage falling apart this quickly ?

they divorced after cassie’s sixth birthday. she was a smart kid, she figured it out — in a way she seemed to understand, but matt knew she was gonna have some apologies to make, when she’d be older. meanwhile she’d fight. she began working harder. she tried to prove to anyone that she wasn’t an asshole— that she was still a good mother, that this wasn’t her fault, that she could be a mother & an agent & save people & still make it home in time for dinner.

she could feel arthur’s blame on her every time they crossed their gazes at work.she didn’t hate him, and she didn’t think he did, either — but something was broken there and she couldn’t help but wonder, was she really that good at her job, if she could save everyone but couldn’t save herself from this ?

cassie needed him ( matt did, too ), so they settle around a new routine. joined custody, a truce of sorts. a compromise — & she didn’t ask why anymore. growing up, she learned, meant accepting that sometimes things just happen without a reason.

people die, children are born, marriages fall apart, & divorced parents can still stay together. either way, the world goes on. thinking about it, that might be the best reason of them all.

then a chance appeared — a task force revolving around gang activities in utah. not the gig she’d been dreaming of, but a chance to do some real good, put an end to a spiral of traffics that couldn’t seem to be stopped. she looked at her life in shambles — her depression settling in, the strained relationship with her ex husband, the fear, the constant fear for a daughter they brought into a world that’s made of ravenous beasts. the choice was easy. one day she got to work, called arthur into a separate room and let him know she was leaving. how long?, he asked. she didn’t know. that part, that was the one that hurt the most.

for a while, her job was the same as before — kicking doors, rescuing people recovering drugs. the need for family, a crippled vein that ached in her heart every passing day, found some sort of relief in the company of the rookie they assigned her, whose name was arlo but she soon found pleasure in calling kid. though she’d cut herself out of the only place she could ever really call home, matt just had to keep moving.

the chance to go undercover presented itself as a temptation. it would be a dangerous job, her daughter might remain an orphan — yet she took it, for she wasn’t happy unless she was on the front lines, really putting her life on the line. joining the bandits as dylan harker, thirty-eight, was somewhat easy— pretending to be a good-for-nothin’ mother who’d left a child behind to pursue a life chasing bullets, well, that came easy. far too fucking easy.

three years later, she’s been doing her job so well she’s getting results in. they might actually get a chance at taking these guys down — except one day there’s a reckoning with the other guys, their rival gang, the unfazed, and there’s a familiar face among their ranks, the kid now grown enough to be put into her same position, just on the other side of it. it’s enough to drive her mad, call her superiors and ask what the fuck are you doing?

after arlo came mona, and though she would've loved to say she was smarter than growing attached, she began finding a sense of family again, the kind she so sorely missed. mona, rookie cop on her same task force, became a sort of daughter — and arlo, god. if he was a son, he was being the kind that would break her heart.

little by little, she has to begin coping with danger. that danger is not just what she puts herself in every day. danger is the chance to lose the people she loves. danger is when she can’t protect them anymore. danger is her daughter being on the other side of the states, not knowing whether she even has a mother anymore. danger is her protegée exposed, exactly as she is, to the ugliest face of the world. danger is a feeling that keeps her up at night: perhaps this time she won’t make it out alive.

MORE INFO

hit me up if you’d like to plot or interact in some way! i’d love for matt to develop any sort of relationship within the bandits even though she’s undercover, so that ♥

#charming.temporary #intro #HENLO

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alittleshocking · 4 years

Text

Long Live the Car Crash Hearts (*) [Self-para]

Shock had plenty of choices to make...did she make the right one?

[tw -- cancer, talk of death, mild sexual overtones]

Shock gets out of the hospital on a Thursday morning in spring. It doesn’t matter the exact day. What matters is that it smells like petrichor and she can feel the breeze on her skin.

It’s not that she hasn’t left the hospital in two years. She has. It’s that this time, she doesn’t have to go back. There isn’t an IV connecting her to the arteries of the hospital. The hospital is no longer the thing pumping her blood through her veins. She gets to decide what to do with her life now. No one can tell her what to do anymore. What to eat, what to wear, how much she could exercise, where she could go…

Freedom is a million futures sprawled out before her like yellow brick roads.

It’s a choice.

***

Shock chooses fear.

She retreats into herself and stares at walls. Forgets what it means to live, because she’s so afraid to try again. The last thing she wants to do is make her way back to that prison.

So, she makes a prison of her own room, her own body, her own mind.

Shock eats everything the doctors tell her to eat. She doesn’t go out, because there are things that could kill her lurking around every corner. Inside is where she can control the space around her. Her heart beats loud and fierce in her chest, but she at least knows it is still beating.

Shock chooses fear and her family--

You know what, fuck this. Shock would never choose fear.

***

Shock chooses guilt.

She hits the books harder than she had before, ready to get the fuck out of Hallowtown if it’s the last thing she does. She beats the intelligence out of the pages, clawing her way up the honors list. When she graduates, she has a full scholarship to UCLA for creative writing.

She’s won her money the hard way: by dying once already. She figures God, if there is one, owes her. Shock writes a sob story about her cancer wrapping like vines around her body and stealing her chances like a snake in a garden, plucking apples from trees.

Admissions eats out of the palm of her hand.

Maybe she’s a little obsessed with death, maybe she makes her peers cringe, but she wins awards and gets published in modern horror anthologies.

When the first check from her anthology submissions comes in, she pays for Barrel and Lock’s emancipation and leases them a little flat on Skid Row. Cats crowd their front stoop and Shock kicks them on her way inside to keep them out. There is a beat up car in the driveway they stole. It’s a rough and unpretty life that she’s won, but at least some of the guilt she carries like too much luggage for an overnight trip dissipates.

Lock fucks off eventually. Shock might have always been too late to save him, no matter what she did. Cancer or no cancer. He’s only half hers anyway. The rest of him belongs to the wind.

“Send postcards,” she tells him when she catches him sneaking out one night. She’s not going to stop him. There is no point.

Barrel cries like Lock died when he finds out, but a week later, one of the cats has had kittens and they get a postcard from Italy in the mail.

A week after that, Barrel gets into U of F. He’s so happy that it sticks like sugar in Shock’s teeth and she hates it.

So, Shock goes to a party that night to forget.

“Did you really die?” asks a boy from her 19th Century Women’s Lit class after he’s done fucking her.

Shock shrugs a shoulder. “Yup.”

“What was it like?” His chest is sweaty and pale as he turns and props his head up on his hand. The crucifix winks at her from between his pectorals. It’s flirting with her better than this boy whose name she has forgotten.

“Dark.” Shock pauses for dramatic affect. Their breath is the only sound in the room, but just outside the walls is a heartbeat-thumping bass from the party they’d left. It is dark in here too. Shock likes to fuck with the lights off, so she can focus on herself. It’s hot too. UCLA may be a multi-million dollar institution, but they still won’t put AC in the dorms. The sweat is like a second layer of skin.

Shock does remember that. When she woke up again from the dark, she felt as if she had just been baptized she was so sticky with sweat. It’s funny how like death everything else can be.

This boy, hanging on her every word, his eyes shining like pennies put over the eyes of the dead, and Shock figures she should put him out of his misery.

“It was warm. I think it was like being in a womb, y’know?” Her voice is soft and contemplative. She strokes at this pretty LA boy’s hair, tender as a mother comforting her child. He’s so soft and pretty. He could never die and live to tell the tale.

“And then I woke up.”

“Oh.” He lets out a breath.

They’re always disappointed. Sometimes, Shock wonders if she’s disappointed too.

***

Shock chooses freedom.

She snatches the smell of petrichor and seizees the breeze. She becomes the storm passing through, indifferent to the destruction she leaves behind.

Freedom tastes like a cigarette: clenching death between her teeth and daring it to try again. It’s reckless abandon. It’s screaming at the top of your lungs and setting the whole world on fire. It’s doing whatever you want, whenever you want, because if death wants you, he’s going to have to drag you to hell fucking kicking and screaming.

Shock stays one step ahead of her guilt, one step ahead of her fear.

If they can’t catch up to her, are they even there at all?

#bdrptask #self para #long live the car crash hearts #i seriously think taht #shock is one of my favorite characters #i've ever written

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orihharas · 6 years

Note

do literally all the questions for ari

i fuckin hate u but okay

under the cut tho

01. What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?

-the name kiara was stuck in my head and even tho it’s p fem i liked it for a boy character. ari is just his cute lil nickname

02. What is one of your character’s biggest insecurities? Are they able to hide it easily or can others easily exploit this weakness?

-he’s pretty worried about being a good leader. considering he’s the swim team captain he’s worried he’s not a strong leader. he’s never been very vocal or aggressive and he’s afraid that makes him appear weak to his teammates

03. What would be their favorite physical trait about themselves?

-he thinks his eyes are pretty! he’s also very proud of his body. he’s very athletic and well trained so he’s happy with the results of that, his arms most specifically

04. What are their favorite traits about their lover? (one psychological and one physical)

-HE LOVES CAE’S FRECKLES. cae’s freckles are like stars and they make him so sweet lookin. he wants to count them all and fall in love with each part of cae all over again. he loves the way cae analyzes things and he makes everything seem so logical and easy to understand. it helps ari process when they study together, cae is a good teacher

05. Are they sexually confident or more of the shy type?

-ari is def a shy type. it takes him a little bit to feel more confident. but once he feels better he’ll get more daring, but he’s usually soft and gentle. he doesn’t like being rough

06. Do they have any hobbies that their lover finds unusual, odd, or otherwise annoying?

-not really, he’s got normal hobbies. he’s very invested in his doggo so he does everything with him, but i’m p sure cae finds that cute

07. Is there a catchphrase or sound that they tend to make a lot (likely without being aware of it)?

-he sighs a lot, mostly because he sometimes forgets to breathe normally outside of the swimming pool.

08. What is, perhaps, their biggest flaw? Are they aware of this or oblivious to it?

-he is an overthinker. he thinks so far ahead that he starts to assume things before they even get a chance to play out. he’s constantly worried about things he’s done or said and feels the need to make up for it. he is not super aware of it

09. Do they have a favorite season? What about a favorite holiday?

-summer time!! more swimming to be had!! he has no favorite holiday, any one he can spend w his family and bf

10. Is your character more feminine or masculine?

-i’d say he’s p masculine

11. What is something that would make your character fly into a rage?

-uuhhhhhhh probs bad mouthing his family, cae, or his dog

12. Is there some particular talent, skill, or attribute that they simply could not give up?

-his swimming ability for sure. he’s an average student and often feels his athleticism is all he has

13. What are your character’s sleeping habits? Heavy or light sleeper? Blanket stealer? One that always rolls onto the floor? Pushes their lover onto the floor? Sleep talker or walker?

-HE BITES HIS NAILS SO MUCH. GET UR FINGERS OUTTA UR MOUTH BOY!!!

14. Do they live alone or with family? How do they feel about their family/roommates?

-he lives with his mom, dad, and lil sis! oh and his doggo. he loves his family a lot and they’re super close. he’s especially close w his sis

15. Is there a certain person in this world that they cannot stand? The very mention of this person’s name makes them tremble with anger or fear.

- he’s a v tolerant person so there’s no one. he can stand most ppl even if they made him mad. he does seems to get a lil tense around anyone who has had problems w cae or his lil sis

16. Is your character the athletic type or more of a couch potato? What are some sports/games that they like?

-ATHELETIC AF BOIII. he’s good at any endurance sport but swimming most specifically. he did track for awhile too

17. Does your character have dreams of getting married and/or having children?

-he wold totes love to marry cae and have babies (if cae wanted that too)

18. What kind of home would they want to live in? Where would they place this abode?

-ari is a small town guy. he wants to live in a cute town, maybe some place by the beach. a house big enough for him and cae to live in with their dogs and enough space for family to visit. something that’s modest but stylish

19. Would your character be the kind to get into fights? (physical or verbal) Would they be a good fighter or cave in rather easily?

-he’s not one to fight but can if pushed too much. he can argue but isn’t too confident in his abilities to fight physically despite his athleticism

20. Does your character like animals? What are some of their favorite animals? Would they want pets? What about mythological creatures?

-ARI LOVES DOGS!! all dogs and any dog. he loves them all. he wants to own one million dogs. he enjoys cats and birds too but... dogs. they are the best for sure.

21. What is one of your character’s biggest fears? How would they react when dealing with this fear?

-he’s a bit claustrophobic and tends to get anxious in elevators or bathroom stalls. he doesn’t freak out but it certainly makes him anxious. other than that he has no real big fears.

22. What kind of tattoos, piercings, birthmarks, freckles, and other such unique physical features do they have?

-his hair is an odd shade of black, it almost looks blue in some lighting but that’s about it. his eyes are a weird brown that makes them look gold almost

23. What is your character like when it comes to school? What subjects are they good/bad at? Do they get in trouble a lot or are well behaved?

-he is a very good boy and is well behaved in class. he sucks at science and math and does well in other subjects. he has a hard time studying because it’s not very physical so he tends to drop off studying so he can run or swim

24. In their own words, how would your character describe what their lover is like?

-”caelen is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i feel really lucky knowing he loves me as much as he does. he’s perfect”

25. Is there something traumatic from your character’s past that greatly affects them even to this day?

-nope, ari has never had anything traumatic happen to him. he’s lived a scare free life so far

26. What is their lover like sexually? How do they feel about their lover’s quirks, needs, etc?

-cae is an easy to please lover, he doesn’t need much in terms of sexual stuff. he’s fine with gentle sex so they’re both very compatible. ari really has no complaints. he loves everything about cae

27. If your character was going to get arrested, what would be the most likely reason for it?

-stole all the animals from the shelter so he could look after them

28. If your character became a celebrity, what would they be famous for?

-swimming!! and probably his animal rights activism

29. What is one of the most courageous things your character has ever done for a loved one?

-he broke up a verbal fight between cae and his ex. he also got in a fist fight w someone for bullying his sister.

30. When it comes to the arts (music, film, theater, etc), what does your character like?

-ari’s guilty pleasure is country music, but he listens to anything. he likes all films but is not the biggest fan of horror, cheap jump scares are so boring

31. Would your character be the kind capable of killing? Would they enjoy killing or only use it when necessary or, perhaps, refuse to kill no matter what?

-ABSOLUTELY NOT

32. If your character’s lover offered to take them out on a dream date, what would they want to do?

-stargazing on a summer night during a camping session. ari points out all the constellations he knows and kisses cae every time he asks

33. If your character wanted to be alone, where would they go?

-arti locks himself in his room with his doggo. he will hide in his bed sheets if he’s really needing to be alone

34. Does your character have favorite foods? (breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snacks, etc)

-ari will eat just about anything and he loves all breakfast food. his favorite food is his mom’s homemmade french toast

35. Is your character afraid of death? If they got to choose how to die, how would they want to go?

-he isn’t scared of it necessarily, it just makes him uneasy. he would like to pass away in his sleep.

36. Does your character have any medical conditions? Are they serious or minor? Do they affect their day to day life?

-he has no medical conditions. though he has broken a few bones and torn a muscle before from over working himself in his training

37. What are some of your character’s pet peeves? What are some things that annoy them or disgust them?

-he hates people who chew gum loudly. he wants to punch anyone that chews gum loudly.

38. What kind of weather does your character like? Cloudy skies, rainy days, sunshine, etc?

-ari likes sunny weather, but prefers when it’s mild and not blistering hot

39. When people look at your character, is there some assumption they might make about them just by appearance? Is that assumption correct?

-they would assume he is a strong lookin jock who is pretty serious. the jock side is true, however he is not serious. he is very soft

40. Does your OC have any guilty pleasures they enjoy? Hobbies, past times, music, etc that they wouldn’t want known by others?

-I SAID IT EARLIER BUT COUNTRY MUSIC

41. Does your character’s family affect your character in any way?

-ari’s family is super supportive of him so they are an extremely positive influence on him.

42. Is there anything in your character’s past that they regret, haunts them, or they wish they could change?

-he always wishes he studied more so he could get better scholarships for college. he hates being the stereotype jock that is all brawn and little brain

43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self?

-cae and his lil sister see the darker sides of ari, the ones that are more anxious and sad. he’s usually cheery but lets himself be vulnerable around his bf and sis.

44. Is there a particular event that would emotionally devastate your character?

-if his dog ever got killed in an accident or anything harmful happening to his family and cae

45. Is your character the kind to hide their true emotions or do they wear their heart on their sleeve?

-ari def wears his heart on his sleeve, he is easy to read

46. What is some random affectionate thing that your character always does to their lover?

-he is always kissing cae’s forehead. saying hello? forehead kiss. saying goodbye? forehead kiss. comforting? forehead kiss

47. Is your character outgoing? Would they be the leader of the friend group, or the quiet one that gets dragged along?

-he is p outgoing! he’s not much of a leader or follower in a friend group, it changes depending on the ppl he’s with

48. Is there anything in particular that would ignite your character’s jealousy? Or does your character not get envious?

-he gets jealous when boys flirt with cae or when his dog is being more affectionate to someone other than him

49. What is something that your character has nightmares about? Are these frequent? Do they heavily affect your character’s mood?

-ari often dreams of drowning, most often it’s during a stormy night in the ocean. it’s not super frequent but it’s one that does happen more than other dreams

50. If your character confessed love to their crush, boyfriend, girlfriend, etc, what would they say?

-he’s already confessed and now they’re dating and happy!!!!

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questionairesforme · 3 years

Text

Are you bothered by your cosmic insignificance? i'm terribly aware of it, sometimes that can make it difficult to find the point in staying alive. i can hardly imagine anyone who's not bothered by this tbh, doesn't it make everything we do sort of pointless?

Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known? i definitely do. i long for something more.

Do you really think there is somebody for everybody? honestly, i don't know. i certainly dont think there is one specific person for everyone but i guess it only makes sense that everybody's got several peopple they feel comfortable with and are a perfect fit. the question is, will they ever meet one of them?

Do you place any value in gender roles? no

Do you have to be related to be family? no, family is so much more than that.

Are your platonic relationships just as valuable as romantic or family ones? definitely. some even more so.

Are you in love? Do you want to be? i am. i'm not sure if i want to be.

Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation? i find it difficult to see differences between platonic and romantic love, especially when a romantic relationship went on for a while. ig the feelings are mostly the same, you just choose to express them in different ways.

Would you be happy with a life without romance? idk i guess i'd start longing for it eventually.

Are you always going to be a little in love with somebody? yea

Would you change your appearance if you could? hell yes

Do you have the feeling you’ve lost something you might have had in another life - whether it be a person, a place, a world, a language, etc.? i have never thought of it that way but it makes total sense to me

Do you think you’re special, or just another person amongst billions? Can you be both? just another person

Did you have imaginary friends? Do you still have them? i dont think i ever had any

Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’? no

If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why? i sometimes do. i imagine its quite reassuring to believe in some greater power and it might make life seem more meaningful

Do you want a grand adventure? yes please but also i'm scared to leave the house

Do you have somebody, whether it be a friend or stranger, who you think you could have loved if the circumstances were different? yes

Is love about convenience or something more? Can it be about both? I DONT KNOW why would u ask that. ig it is mainly about convenience in the end

Do you think you really understand your gender and sexuality? nah. does anyone ever really understand?

What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far? idk

Are you afraid of growing old? yea. i don't wanna do that, man

Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millennium, a century? NO

Do you believe in some form of god/s? no

Are your choices fated or of your own free will? free will. however, i really cant shake the feeling that there is some greater scheme behind all of it

Do you have a hunch about how you’re going to die? oh yes

Do you believe in star signs? nah

How old do you have to be to be considered an adult? id sure like to know

Was your childhood happy? i wouldn't say i was a happy child. too much trauma to deal with.

What are you missing from your life? happiness, purpose.

Have you ever met someone who had a very similar personality to your own? Did you get along? yes. we did get along until she stopped talking to me for no apparent reason.

Do opposites attract? thats a tough one.

Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago? dude i never planned this far ahead

Do you know what you want out of life? no. to be happy, i suppose

What makes a person ‘good’? Are you a ‘good person’? caring for others, having their best interest in mind, being honest

What fundamentally matters do you? honesty, trust, friendship, family, relationships

Is freewill an illusion? dude idk

Do you create art? How do you define art? art is anything you want it to be. i used to create art but i don't anymore

How often do you lie? Is all lying inherently bad? Are you generally truthful? id say im generally truthful as i consider lying to be bad. however, i do lie to protect others (or myself in rather irrelevant situations)

Do you want to be remembered after your death? What for? of course i don't want everyone to immediately forget me, i'd love it if sometimes they thought of me when a certain song comes on

Is true world peace ever possible? not as long as humans exists

Are you free? Will you ever be? Can anyone be truly free? No. I am bound by financial, time and space constraints.

Do you hold yourself to higher standards than you hold others? yes, sometimes i do

What do you expect from a friend or partner? honesty, loyalty, communication, being on equal footing, trust

What question could you ask to find out the most about a person? people are not truthful enough for this

Do you justify all your beliefs or have you just inherited/absorbed some? i mean... i do like to have some sort of truth and facts to back up my believes?

Which beliefs do you have that is most likely to be wrong? human beings are inherently good

Can human really understand the complete nature of the universe, space and time? no, under no circumstance

Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing? definitely. why wouldnt we be? what else is there to distract us from our cosmic insignificance and how pointless this life actually is? if we didnt try to escape we would have all committed suicide by now lol. that wouldnt be such a bad thing tho i guess

Are we eventually going to ‘run out’ of new combinations for music, art, language, etc.? Is there a limit to human creativity? no, there will always be partially new elements

Do we live in tumultuous times, or do they just seem so strange because we’re living in them? are times ever not strange and tumultuous

Would you want to meet a clone of yourself? Would you like them? hell nah. i even hate seeing only parts of myself in others lol

How confident are you, really? idk not very confident id say

How consistent is your perception of time? dude dont get me started

What age should people be allowed to vote? Should children and teenagers be allowed to vote? i feel like for teenagers age shouldnt matter, it would be more useful to quiz them to assess whether they understand the power they are given by voting

How do you feel about monogamy? i prefer monogamous relationships.

Can you be in love with someone and still fall in love with someone else? yes

What’s the tragedy of your life? i have been given so much but my mind wont let me appreciate any of it

Would your life make a good play? nah

Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation? no

Do you believe in gender equality in every aspect? uh, of course i do?

Do we have a moral obligation to care for others? To what extent? i think we do.

Do you crave approval and/or praise? i guess i do to an extent

Are you ever going to be satisfied? dont think so

When you are sad, do you listen to music that conveys your emotions or music that makes you happy? i usually listen to aggressive music to change my mood lol

Is your music organised by mood or sensation or do you just listen to everything at any time? by mood

Would you marry a friend if they needed you to (e.g. for citizenship)? yes

Are you a deep person? i'm shallow even though i don't mean to be

Given the chance to live your life on Mars, with no hope of returning to Earth but with the promise of scientific discovery and glory, would you take it? no

Are you who people think you are? no but i am even a mystery onto myself lmao

Do you think you would be happier if you had been born a different gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, nationality or religion? no

What’s your toxic trait? Are you trying to improve yourself and fix it? i can be controlling, i'm trying to be better

Do you anger easily? yes

Are you a jealous person? yea tho usually in non-romantic relationships

If you lost all your memories, would you have the same personality? no?

Given the chance to reset your life (with none of the knowledge you currently have), would you take it? whats the point

Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate? i guess it can be. i have never felt hate like that. only towards ppl i have never met

Do you speak multiple languages? Which do you dream in? What language would you want to learn? i speak english and german. i dream in german, during my time abroad i did start to dream in english occasionally tho lol. if it didnt take any time or effort i would love to learn alll the languages. especially spanish and russian i guess

Do you draw meaning from your dreams, or do you disregard them? usually i overthink them lol

How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately? unconditionally

Is unrequited love real love? sure? feelings do not become real only if they're reciprocated? lol. of course it probably cannot be as profound as the love you feel for someone you've been with for some time

Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you? no

Are you overly analytical? no

Do you ever feel that you are really a terrible person, and only act good out of societal or some other obligation? not really, no

Do you believe in magic? Are you superstitious? i don't believe in magic. i am a little stitious.

0 notes

carolinabronova · 6 years

Text

Songs.

30 Seconds To Mars The Kill (Burry Me)

99 Souls The Girl Is Mine (ft. Destiny’s Child)

ABBA Lay All Your Love On Me

Adam Lambert Fever If I Had You

Adele Chasing Pavements Rolling In The Deep Send My Love Someone Like You When We Were Young

A-ha Take On Me

Akon Don’t Matter I Wanna Love You (ft. Snoop Dogg)

Alicia Keys If I Ain’t Got You No One

All Angels The Scientist

Ana Carolina É Isso Aí (ft. Seu Jorge)

Angus & Julia Stone A Heartbreak Big Jet Plane Big Jet Plane (Acoustic) Draw Your Swords Just A Boy Paper Aeroplane Yellow Brick Road

A Perfect Circle Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums

Arctic Monkeys 505 Brianstorm Do I Wanna Know? Fluorescent Adolescent I Wanna Be Yours One For The Road R U Mine? Stop The World Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?

Aretha Franklin Say A Little Prayer

Ariana & The Rose In Your Bed (Kevin Drew Remix)

Ariana Grande Almost Is Never Enough Bad Decisions Be Alright Be My Baby Best Mistake Dangerous Woman Everyday (ft. Future) Greedy Into You Jason’s Song (Gave It Away) One Last Time Right There (ft. Big Sean) Side To Side Sometimes

Athlete Rubik’s Cube

Austin Manuel I Just Want You To Love Me

Backstreet Boys If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy) I Want It That Way

Banks Drowning

Bee Gees How Deep Is Your Love More Than A Woman Too Much Heaven Tragedy

Ben E. King Stand By Me

Beyoncé 7/11 Baby Boy (ft. Sean Paul) Best Thing I Never Had Blow Countdown Drunk In Love Ego Formation Hold Up Love On Top Partition Sandcastles Sorry

Biel Demorô

Black Keys Howlin’ For You

Blue Öyster Cult Burnin’ For You (Don’t Fear) The Reaper

BoA Eat You Up

B.o.B So Good

Bon Iver Creature Fear Perth

Bonnie Raitt Can’t Make You Love Me

Bonnie Tyler Total Eclipse Of The Heart

Breaking Benjamin I Will Not Bow

Bright Eyes First Day Of My Life

Britney Spears 3

Bruce Springsteen Dancing In The Dark

Bruno Mars 24k Magic Calling All My Lovelies Chunky Gorilla (ft. Pharell Williams and R.Kelly) Locked Out Of Heaven Talking To The Moon That’s What I Like Treasure When I Was Your Man

Bryan Adams Heaven

Calvin Harris Feels (ft. Pharrell Williams, Katy Perry and Big Sean) This Is What You Came For (ft. Rihanna)

Camila Cabello Havana (ft. Young Thug)

Captain & Tennille Love Will Keep Us Together

Carly Rae Jepsen Run Away With Me Your Type

Cary Brothers Loneliest Girl In The World

Cash Cash Overtime

Charlie Brown Jr. Me Encontra

Charlie Puth Attention How Long Marvin Gaye (ft. Meghan Trainor)

Charli XCX Boys

Cheat Codes Let Me Hold You

Chet Baker My Funny Valentine

Chris Brown Liquor Show Me (ft. Kid Ink) Strip Take You Down

Christina Grimmie Must Be Love

Christina Perri distance

Chromeo Come Alive (ft. Toro Y Moi)

Ciara Body Party

City And Colour The Girl

Claudinho & Bochecha Fico Assim Sem Você Quero Te Encontrar

Clean Bandit Tears (ft. Louisa Johnson)

Coldplay Charlie Brown Hymn For The Weekend (ft. Beyoncé) Swallowed In The Sea Violet Hills Viva La Vida

Colbie Caillat Bubbly

Counting Crows Accidentally In Love

Cyndi Lauper Girls Just Wanna Have Fun Time After Time

Daft Punk Around The World Digital Love Harder Better Faster Stronger Lose Yourself To Dance One More Time Something About Us Technologic

Damien Rice 9 Crimes Delicate Rootless Tree The Blower’s Daughter

Danni Carlos Coisas Que Eu Sei

Daughter Landfill Medicine Run Touch

David Guetta Bad (ft. Vassy)

Dawin Dessert (ft. Silento)

Demi Lovato Sorry Not Sorry Stone Cold

Destiny’s Child Bills, Bills, Bills Bootylicious Independent Women Say My Name

Disclosure Latch (ft. Sam Smith)

DJ Snake Leon On (ft. MØ and Major Lazer) Middle

DNCE Cake By The Ocean

Drake Fake Love Hold On We’re Going Home How About Now Marvin’s Room One Dance Passionfruit Too Good (ft. Rihanna)

Dua Lipa New Rules

Duke Dumont Ocean Drive

Earth, Wind & Fire After The Love Has Gone Boogie Wonderland Fantasy Let’s Groove September

Eden Project drowning.

Ed Sheeran Cold Coffee Drunk Give Me Love Grade 8 I’m A Mess Kiss Me Little Bird One Night She Small Bump U.N.I The Man Wake Me Up

Ellie Goulding Love Me Like You Do On My Mind

Elvis Presley Can’t Help Falling In Love Suspicious Minds (You’re The) Devil In Disguise

Erasure A Little Respect

Escape The Fate Zombie Dance

Etha Franklin At Last

Evanescence My Immortal

Fetty Wap 679 (ft. Remy Boyz) Again My Way (ft. Monty) Trap Queen

Fifth Harmony All In My Head (Flex) (ft. Fetty Wap)

Flight Facilities Crave You Crave You (Adventure Club Remix)

Florence + The Machine Cosmic Love Caught Drumming Song Never Let Me Go Seven Devils

Flo Rida I Cry

Francoise Hardy Voila

Frank Sinatra Fly Me To The Moon If I Had You Moon River

Gabrielle Aplin Home Please Don’t Say You Love Me Start Of Time

G-Eazy F**k With U (ft. Pia Mia) Lady Killers (ft. Hoodie Allen)

George Martin Pepperland - Remastered

Gilberto Girl Vamos Fugir (Gimme Your Love)

Glen Hansard All The Way Down Falling Slowly Lies Say It To Me Now

Grayscale Palette

Gym Class Heroes Cupid’s Chokehold

Halsey Gasoline

Hozier Someone New Take Me To Church

Hudson Thames How I Want Ya

Hurts Illuminated Somebody To Die For Stay Unspoken

Ingrid Michaelson Can’t Help Falling In Love You And I

Iron & Wine Flightless Bird, American Mouth

Israel Novaes Vem Ni Mim Dodge Ram

Ivete Sangalo Quando A Chuva Passar Se Eu Não Te Amasse Tanto Assim

James Blunt You’re Beautiful

Jammil Praieiro

Jeff Buckley Hallelujah

Jeremih oui

João Bosco E Vinícius Chora Me Liga

Joe Walsh Turn To Stone

John Mayer Free Fallin’ Gravity Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

Johnny Cash Hurt

JoJo Beautiful Girls

Jon Secada If I Never Knew You (ft. Shanice)

Jordan Fisher All About Us

Jorge Vercilo Que Nem Maré

Jota Quest Blecaute (ft. Anitta and Nite Rodgers)

Justin Timberlake My Love (ft. T.I) Summer Love

Kanye West Bound 2 Power

Kate Nash Nicest Thing

Katy Perry Birthday

Kendrick Lamar DNA King Kunta Loyalty (ft. Rihanna) Poetic Justice (ft. Drake)

Kid Abelha Como Eu Quero

Kina Grannis Valentine

Kings Of Leon Pyro Sex On Fire

Kodaline All I Want

Kyle Edwards Starboy (Harder Better Faster Stronger Jersey Club)

Labrinth Jealous

Lady Gaga Bad Romance Do What U Want (ft. R.Kelly) Edge Of Glory G.U.Y Just Dance Marry The Night Million Reasons Monster Perfect Illusion Speechless The Cure You & I

Lana Del Rey Born To Die Dark Paradise Freak High By The Beach Love Religion Ridin’ (ft. A$AP Rocky) Sad Girl Serial Killer Video Games West Coast Young And Beautiful

Lauren Aquilina Wonder

Leonard Cohen Hallelujah

Leona Lewis Bleeding Love

Lil Dicky Lemme Freak

Lil Wayne 6 Foot 7 Foot

Linda Ronstadt I Will Always Love You

Lionel Richie Just Go (ft. Akon)

Lissie Everywhere I Go

Little Big Town Girl Crush

Los Hermanos Anna Julia

LS Jack Ô Carla

Lulu Santos Como Uma Onda Sereia

Lykke Li I Follow Rivers Until We Bleed

M83 My Tears Are Becoming A Sea

Madonna Material Girl

Maiara & Maraisa Medo Bobo

Mariah Carey #Beautiful (ft. Miguel) Emotions Obsessed Touch My Body We Belong Together

Marianas Trench Haven’t Had Enough

Marina & The Diamonds How To Be A Heartbreaker Oh No! Primadonna Teen Idle

Marisa Monte Depois

Maroon 5 Feelings Makes Me Wonder Stutter What Lovers Do

Marvin Gaye Sexual Healing

Maskavo Um Anjo Do Céu

Matthew Perryman Jones Only You

MC G15 Deu Onda

MC Leozinho Se Ela Dança, Eu Danço

MC Marcinho Glamurosa

Michael Sembello Maniac

Miguel Adorn coffee Simple Things Sure Thing

Mike Posner Cooler Than Me I Took A Pill In Ibiza Looks Like Sex

Miley Cyrus 23 (ft. Mike Will Made It, Wiz Khalifa and Juicy J) Wrecking Ball

MKTO Classic

MØ Fire Rides - Night Version

Mumford And Sons Little Lion Man Sigh No More White Blank Page

Muse Neutron Star Collision Plug In Baby Resistance Starlight Supermassive Black Hole Undisclosed Desires

My Chemical Romance Helena (So Long & Goodnight) I Don’t Love You The Light Behind Your Eyes

Natalie La Rose Somebody (ft. Jeremih)

Natiruts Me Namora

Nelly Dilemma (ft. Kelly Rowland)

Neon Trees Animal Everybody Talks Mad Love

Ne-yo Closer

NF Got You On My Mind

Niall Horan Slow Hands

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds O Children

Nick Jonas Jealous Teacher Wilderness

Nigahiga Bromance (ft. Chester See) Nice Guys (ft. Chester See and KevJumba)

Ninja Sex Party FYI I Wanna F Your A Peppermint Creams Sex Training The Decision

Oasis Wonderwall

Olivver The Kid Attica ‘71

Olly Murs Dance With Me Tonight Kiss Me

Omarion Post To Be (ft. Chris Brown and Jhené Aiko)

One Direction Fireproof Happily Night Changes No Control Perfect Stockholm Sydrome Strong You & I

Outkast Hey Ya!

Panic! At The Disco Death Of A Bachelor Nine In The Afternoon

Papas Da Língua Eu Sei

Paramore Ain’t It Fun Misery Business Still Into You

Passanger Let Her Go

Paula Fernandes Não Precisa (ft. Victor e Leo)

P.Diddy Last Night (ft. Keyshia Cole)

Pentatonix Can’t Sleep Love Fantasy I Need Your Love La La Latch Love Again Natural Disaster

Pink F*cking Perfect Please Don’t Leave Me Sober So What Who Knew

Player Baby Come Back

Post Malone Rockstar

Psirico Lepo Lepo

R5 Dark Side

Rae Sremmurd Black Beatles

Raleigh Ritchie Bloodsport

Redfoo New Thang

Rich Homie Quan Flex (Ooh, ooh, ooh)

Richie Campbell Do You No Wrong

Rihanna Can’t Remember To Forget You (ft. Shakira) Don’t Stop The Music FourFiveSeconds (ft. Kanye West and Paul McCartney) Love On The Brain Needed Me Russian Roulette Te Amo Unfaithful Where Have You Been Wild Thoughts (ft. DJ Khaled and Bryson Tiller)

Rise Against Savior

Roberta Campos Minha Felicidade

Robin Thicke Get Her Back

Robot Koch Nitesky (ft. John Lamonica)

Ryan Adams Wonderwall

Sam Smith Nirvana Palace

Sarah Jaffe Clementine

Scorpions Rock You Like A Hurricane

Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox Stacy’s Mom

Scouting For Girls Heartbeat

Seal Kiss From A Rose

Selena Gomez Bad Liar Fetish (ft. Gucci Mane) Good For You Hands To Myself Perfect Wolves (ft. Marshmellow)

Seu Jorge Carolina Mina Do Condomínio

Shania Twain From This Moment On Man! I Feel Like A Woman You’re Still The One

Shawn Mendes There’s Nothing Holding Me Back

Shura Touch (Canvas Remix)

Sia Cheap Thrills Elastic Heart

Simon & Garfunkel Bridge Over Troubled Water

Skank Ainda Gosto Dela Tão Seu Vamos Fugir Vou Deixar

Sleeping At Last As Long As You Love Me Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic Venus

Snoop Dogg Sensual Seduction

Stevie Nicks Edge Of Seventeen

Stevie Wonder Isn’t She Lovely

Story Of The Year Until The Day I Die

Talking Heads Psycho Killers

Taylor Swift Blank Space Love Story Safe And Sound (ft. The Civil Wars) Style Wildest Dreams

Tears For Fears Everybody Wants To Rule The World

The 1975 Chocolate FallingForYou Somebody Else UGH! The Sound

The Archies Sugar, Sugar

The Barr Brothers May 4th

The Bird And The Bee How Deep Is Your Love

The Black Eyed Peas Meet Me Halfway

The Black Keys Howlin’ For You

The Beach Boys Good Vibrations Wouldn’t It Be Nice

The Beatles Hey Jude Yesterday

The Black Eyed Peas Meet Me Halfway

The Cataracs Ready 4 The Weekend (ft. Icona Pop)

The Civil Wars Poison And Wine

The Cure Boys Don’t Cry

The Glitch Mob Between Two Points (ft. Swan)

The Irrepressibles In This Shirt

The Jackson 5 I Want You Back

The Killers Human Somebody Told Me When You Were Young

The Last Shadow Puppets Miracle Aligner

The Lonely Island 3-Way (The Golden Rule) I’m So Humble (ft. Adam Levine) Jizz In My Pants Spring Break Anthem

The Maine I Must Be Dreaming Into Your Arms

The Middle East Blood

The Neighbourhood Daddy Issues #icanteven (ft. French Montana)

The Platters Only You (And You Alone)

The Police Every Breath You Take Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic Roxanne

The Pretty Reckless You Zombie

The Script Breakeven

The Turtles Happy Together

The Weeknd Acquainted A Lonely Night Earned It I Feel It Coming Often Or Nah (Stwo Remix) Starboy The Hills Wicked Games

The White Strips Seven Nation Army

The Zombies Time Of The Season

T.I Whatever You Like

Tim Maia Descobridor Dos Sete Mares Gostava Tanto De Você Não Quero Dinheiro (Só Quero Amar)

Tinashe Superlove Quit You (ft. Lost Kings)

Tom Odell Can’t Pretend

Toni Braxton Un-Break My Heart

Toto Africa

Tove Lo Cool Girl

Tribalistas Aliança Já Sei Namorar Velha Infância

Troye Sivan Fools for him. Wild (ft. Alessia Cara)

U2 One (ft. Mary J Blidge)

Usher DJ Got Us Fallin In Love Hey Daddy (Daddy’s Home) U Remind Me

Van Halen Why Can’t This Be Love

Vinicius Cantuária Só Você

Wesley Safadão Aquele 1% (ft. Marcos & Belutti) Camarote

What So Not Jaguar

Whitney Houston I Have Nothing I Wanna Dance With Somebody I Will Always Love You

xxyyxx About You

War Why Can’t We Be Friends

Yvonne Elliman If I Can’t Have You

Zara Larsson Ain’t My Fault I Would Like So Good

Zella Day Hypnotic (Vanic Remix)

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1st-worldsaver · 3 years

Text

I have a hard time writing out my thoughts as often as I want to, but sometimes I begin and manage to write a lot. Recently, I was talking with my mom and really felt how much I love hearing about culture. Every time my mom tells me something about Nicaragua, I get happy. There are so many small things that you don't think about without being prompted, but when you do, it feels amazing. Something that was seen as mundane in the past becomes impressive in the future, like the way people used to transport and sell eggs during the 70's.

You couldn't waste money on cartons if you're a rural farmer during those times, so people made use of what they had. She showed me a picture of a succulent leaf that had the perfect U-shape for transporting eggs(after cutting of the prickly edges). That same plant also gave a fruit that was used to make a thickened drink, but you had to make sure to wash the fruits well beforehand or it would sting you, and not in the way pineapple stings if you eat too much, but as in “millions of microscopic spines on the outside of the fruit hurting the inside of your mouth”. It’s a knowledge that had to be passed down, people telling each other the correct way to prepare it, and it was shown to us through a simple cooking video today. It becomes one of those times where you feel such a connection to your people for some reason.

When we were children, our mom used to tell us about her starting to work from the age of five, to help her mother prepare the pigskins they later fried and sold as Chicarron, with a dangerously sharp knife that left many cuts and scars on her hands. The skins were always burning hot, being boiled beforehand to remove all the hairs from it. As a child, I could only imagine how heavy it must have been, and as an adult it’s something I’ll never forget. We were told about the suffering and hardships other people had to go through in life. But she also allowed be proud of our heritage and keep it alive, something many other groups of people aren’t allowed to.

I get to learn about the modern history of Nicaragua whenever they speak about their own lived experiences, of my mother's poverty and my step-father's fighting, through the food we eat and the language we speak every day.

When I was six, I wore my beautiful folklore-dress almost every day to preschool. I got to show it off to my classmates and other people, an opportunity to share a small piece of our country.

I still think about how lucky I am to be able to do so, without shame, without sadness, because the story of Nicaragua is such a rarely triumphant one.

The revolution was driven by determined people who were tired of the misery, and they decided to start fighting. They would rather die than let their country continue as it did, making the phrase "patria libre, o morir" something they said with their whole chest. A free country, or death. After many years, they succeeded. They won against the dictatorship, they started funding schools and culture, giving out aid to the people who’d suffered poverty and the destruction from the war.

The U.S. decided that they couldn’t allow something as dangerous as an “autonomous third-world country”, and started another war. Contras, arms-dealing through Iran, filling the ports with mines to destroy their trade by sea, threats that if the neo-liberal Violeta Chamorro didn’t win the first democrating election the war would never end. It had been ten years since the first victory, and even though the revolutionaries did their best, people were suffering and tired.

Chamorro won, and what followed was sixteen years of breaking down what little had been built up. The train-rails were broken up and sold as scrap, the free glass of milk given in schools were pulled back, no new roads were built. The country’s misery continued almost the same as under the dictator.

But the people didn’t give up.

15 years ago, the revolutionary party won. Slowly, they started building up the country again. They started building roads, they started giving out free school-lunches, electricity grids were built up to cover more and more houses each year, several of those houses built by the government for the poor who wouldn’t be able to buy their own home otherwise.

Me and my family can hear about new projects being started and finished every day on the radio and government news-channels, and it makes us happy hearing such high spirit and progress. But there’s always things to be critical of.

This history isn’t innocent and clean; during any war, there will be atrocities committed from all sides. I can’t believe that all those male soldiers had pure intentions when they enlisted, something my mom had her own experience with after a fellow coffee-picker tried to assault her once. She was saved by other peers, but who knows how many women and men in those rural communities were subjected to such things. When hungry and thirsty revolutionaries knocked on their doors, or when soldiers from the military ransacked their homes and killed anyone who could be suspected of interacting with their enemy.

When the revolutionary party won the election in 2006, they banned abortion as a stupid gift to the church and the people who wanted it. In 2018, there were protest and battles that recalls the ambiguity of the war during the 70′s, which left around 200 people from each side dead at the end of the year. Many news-channels give legitimate information, but they are in equal parts government-biased and never say anything critical about it, leaving that to the equally biased right-wing conservative news who refuse to acknowledge any progress at all that has been made.

There is so much you should know before forming an opinion, but something that no one can refute is that there has been so much good done during these years, things that the former powers never bothered to do.

All these things, I’d be overjoyed to share with other people. People fought, and they lost. They kept fighting, and won again. Despite dictators, despite the U.S. interventions, despite being such a small, poor country that rarely passes through other people’s mind, they did something incredible: they managed to build a better country.

It's very different from when I was younger, when everything was difficult to care about and I couldn't understand the names, events and references to the things my parents knew. Now that I know so much, I want to learn even more.

For the same reason, I love reading and seeing the different ways people celebrate and live their culture.

Before my brother met his girlfriend, I didn't know about Nourouz, the fire festival celebrating a new year. Before meeting a classmate in university I didn't know that there still were orthodox Christians who fasted before easter, and when I made a friend from southern China she showed me a different cuisine that I never would have gotten the chance to learn otherwise.

If you have something from your culture you want to share, even the smallest of things, I’ll always enjoy reading it.

#Nicaragua #Chrash-course history-lesson out of nowhere? Why not #If anyone ever has a question about Nicaragua or Latinamerica I'd gladly answer it #Even if it's just 'what's a name I could give this latin character'#By god am I tired of only seeing ultra-cliche names being used #my posts

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jinjikook · 7 years

Text

House of Cards: An Ace (M)

word count: 4.8k

genre: super angst + references to smut; non-idol AU ; set in i need u + run mv universe, references to other mvs

pairing: ot7/reader (includes all pairings but enforced yoonseok, vhope, jikook, yoontaeseok, sugamon, yoonmin, jinkookmin)

summary: all eight of you were just trying to live life, go with the flow. unfortunately, fate had much more awful plans for you all.

warning(s): lots of angst, plenty of major character death, suicide, self-harm, depressing thoughts, cursing, sex (straight and gay), murder, violence, eating disorders, codependency, drugs, smoking, verbal, physical and mental abuse, sexual situations, use of the word slut and whore (both used only once), promiscuity, mentions of being arrested

a/n: this is suuuuper angsty so please read the warnings beforehand because it has a million things that could trigger someone. this was inspired by the song listed, along with a video edit that i’d love to link but unfortunately, the one link i had seen it from was a repost with no luck in finding it so if anyone recognizes the edit to go with the song, please let me know!

music: dynasty - miia

masterlist

There was no definition for you all.

Lost.

Distant.

Drifting.

Just following your hearts until it inevitably led you over the edge; into the unknown, the deep dark abyss of which you never thought you’d welcome so familiarly, like a distant cousin or old friend from kindergarten. Like someone you’d lost touch with and barely remembered their name but you still had shards and fragments of their memory, burned and etched into your mind in a million insignificant, nonspecific ways—from how the bitter taste of your coffee was like the candies from their mom’s purse or the hollow sound of your desk drawer reminded you of someone’s hollow eyes, empty smile full of promises you knew neither of you would keep.

You couldn’t say you all hadn’t tried to stay together, amongst it all.

When Taehyung’s dad would beat him to a pulp, you all vowed to make it the glue to hold you closer. When Yoongi’s music went nowhere, it just solidified your need to stay united. When Jimin’s love rejected him, it just made you all codependent on each other, saying how no one’s love could compare to the bond you all had.

Even when Hoseok swallowed a bottle of pills, you all realized that it made the group tighter, as you huddled around the too-stark-white hospital bed, stench of chemicals and medicine in the air; with the boy who used to breathe life in everything he did, his sunshine warm skin now pale in comparison to the milky sheets he was laden in. All your knuckles matching the empty color along the bars of the bed, gripped tight and the fabric below just darkened with tears as they soaked into them, only making Hoseok look that much more devoid of life.

But sometimes, life had its limits.

As much as your little ragtag gang liked to test them, push past them and tease Mother Nature by screaming in that bitch’s face with as much malice as you could muster, at the end of the day there were things that you all just weren’t capable of withstanding, holding up like a weak twig on an already bare tree, trying to weather the hurricane that came rushing at millions of miles an hour, determined to break you off and sweep you into the whirlwind until you’re forever forgotten, spread across acres as only bits and pieces of who you used to be.

Soon all would remain are those stale, empty, hollow memories.

Like how a strip of aluminum foil just made you think of the burrito joint Taehyung danced on a table at, how a candle’s gentle flicker would remind you of Jeongguk’s birthdays, his favorite thing to do being blowing out them out and waiting with his eyes scrunched shut and wish being plotted for his friends to smash his face with frosting and bits of cake.

The smell of fresh strawberries made you retch, only able to recall the sweet taste you used to savor, Seokjin’s chapstick melding with your own countless nights, only for you to be torn away and forced to mash lips with Yoongi right after, just because he was always the one to taste you last, to leave with your tongue on his.

Some called you a slut, a whore.

For what? Just letting things run their course?

You weren’t sure if you’d ever end up with any one of the guys, feeling like all it would ever be is whirlwind romances, quick fucks in closets and stairwells with palms muffling sounds until you reached your high, going lax in their grip and smiling contentedly at your inner beast being satiated, while whoever was with you finished quickly. It was never a chore but it was something done daily, just another aspect of humanity you all indulged in.

Sometimes it was with one of the guys, sometimes they did it with each other and sometimes you just took care of it yourselves.

Not that big of a deal you always told yourself, because it really wasn’t. You loved them, and you always hoped the feeling was mutual amongst them as well.

“Hey Y/N, wanna blow me?” Jeongguk asked one night and all you could do was shrug and tug his zipper down, wetting your lips because you knew he liked things sloppy. Not once did you doubt their intentions, fear that they’d speak ill of you or treat you like some object because your friendships ran deeper than that.

Hoseok and Yoongi were close, Taehyung somewhere sandwiched in the middle there. Jimin was fond of Jeongguk and the latter was protective of Jimin, Seokjin being the Taehyung in their pairing. Namjoon and yourselves just slotted in the cracks in-between, being something along the lines of rubber cement in the shredded wallpaper lining your friendships.

Somewhere along the line, the rain began to trickle in and soften your hold, the boys slipping from your grip one by one.

Taehyung was the first to go.

He had always been a rebellious guy, loved to go tagging with Namjoon and mock fast food workers for giving into society’s ploys. Never one to back down from a challenge, he’d participated in more orgies than you could count on your fingers and toes and you’re sure he’s never said no to a dare—having slept with a teacher, gone streaking past a police station and even slipping in a tab of ecstasy on his tongue, just for shits and giggles. You swore he’d be the one to go kicking and screaming if anyone even thought about threatening your groups bond.

But one day, it was just too much.

Too many bruises on his skin, too many harsh words spat at him and his sister, too many days where he wasn’t sure if the sun would rise and he’d be alive long enough to see it.

So he made sure one day he would see it, but his father wouldn’t.

He ran for days after it happened, after someone called about screams and wails of anguish; after his apartment was littered with cops, each inspecting the spatters of blood along the floor and window of the small room, swabs in clear cases turned purple to indeed confirm it was exactly that, blood. Tests were ran to show the fingerprints on the broken beer bottle indeed were the dead man’s son’s, the boy with a record for graffiti and public indecency. The boy with a boxy smile that charmed all the female officers whenever he’d be brought in, the boy who you felt inside you too many times to forget.

It wasn’t like any of you hadn’t tried to find him, countless days of searching and shouting and hoping he’d turn up like a lost dog, ears perked and stomach receded until you finally brought him in to have a big meal and a warm bath.

But he never came.

Someone spoke of a boy with pretty eyelashes and dead eyes standing by the ocean, muttering about how sorry he was, how he wished things could’ve been different but he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing because every small, seemingly insignificant detail in his life led him to you, to your friends. To his lovers and exes and all the in-between that you couldn’t name or define. That same someone said they watched as he took a deep breath and jumped over the railing, taking a plunge and never emerging from the dark waters of the stormy shores.

The hurricane powered on.

It took ages to even sort of recover, Yoongi went back to smoking and as many times as Jeongguk would blow out his fire to keep him alive a little longer, it only served to double his cigarette count. Namjoon always kept a journal on hand, writing the most obscure details of the days in it because he was worried one day, something else would happen to another one of them and he didn’t want anyone’s memories to die with them, for their days to be meaningless and forever lost in the wind. He had a black hair tie always on his right wrist, a running joke that he just wanted to give it to a pretty lady one day just to make her life easier but you knew what it was for. You at least commended him for taking the tamer route in hurting himself, unlike Jimin who—no matter how many sweaters he’d wear even on the hottest of days—couldn’t hide how he befriended a razor, the dotted lines of scabbing and scarring flesh being his only lifeline, as ironic as that was.

Hoseok lied and said the orange bottle in the trash wasn’t his and Seokjin would just keep dealing out cards on game nights, as if nothing happened, as if he wasn’t putting out stacks for eight players when there were only seven of you seated. As if Taehyung’s cologne wasn’t still sitting there in Jeongguk’s gym bag right where he forgot to grab it. As if the scratch marks from when Yoongi fucked him too hard on the table you were sitting at weren’t prominent still, the grooves dipping under where your dug your nails into, hoping to cover them up with your own tracks.

You want to say it was unexpected, that you all had no idea it was coming.

But really, it was just a matter of time before someone else came crumbling down, an unfortunate victim to the Domino Effect.

Jeongguk was covered in bruises, supposedly not from the car that carelessly drove straight into him. The medical examiner said he was in a fight, two different assailants with big fists and a drive to kill but the stake in his coffin, the final nail, were the headlights that he stared into before it barreled into him, splattering him onto the pavement.

It was poetic, how his blood looked so similar to Taehyung’s father’s, to Jimin’s when his wrists began to leak down his arm. It was just blood, it flowed in everyone and despite the fact that when you donate it, you have to be so specific when you scribble it down on paperwork, it all looked the same on the ground.

“Kiss me.” Yoongi looked at you with disgust, his lighter a constant flicker in his fidgety fingers.

“What is it with you people? Two of us are dead and we’re supposed to act like it never happened? Like we can all go through the motions without their presence around?” It was the first time someone had verbalized it, made it real by saying it out loud. The room was pin-drop quiet—not like it wasn’t already—but now everyone’s eyes were on Yoongi.

“We’re not forgetting about them, Yoongi,” Namjoon corrected. His pen already blindly scratching down the date and time of this incident to forever keep in his records.

“Just because you put a few things in your little dream diary doesn’t make them alive, Namjoon. They’re fucking dead, in the ground and lost at sea forever. At least with Jeongguk, we got some fucking closure but Taehyung… he’s still out there, floating like trash or sunken like…”

“Like treasure.” Hoseok finished.

Taehyung was always closest with Hoseok and Yoongi. Jeongguk also but…. he wasn’t around to speak his mind right now.

“Maybe we just need to be with them then. They’re waiting for us, probably. God knows Jeongguk can’t do anything without one of us to hold his hands anyways.” Jimin mumbled, fingers toying with what laid under his striped sleeves, his skin marred in a similar pattern. You don’t even know why he even bothers with the sweaters anymore, it was no secret what he did to himself.

“Jimin. Never say that.” Seokjin chastised, fingers wringing out excess water from the sponge he was using to clean up the drink Namjoon has spilled on the table. The table that still has sticky sweet liquor inside the grooves that Taehyung left behind.

“It’s not like we aren’t already headed that way anyways. Hobi has tried and so have I. Pretty sure Y/N attempted to too, after Jeonggukkie died.”

“Don’t call him that.” It was Yoongi’s turn to chastise the younger, eyes shutting as he tried to push the rotten, beautiful memories of Jeon Jeongguk in his prime, chasing after butterflies and having the stars in his eyes.

“So what if we’ve tried? Clearly, God doesn’t want us, that’s why we haven’t succeeded.” You picked at the stray tweed from the sofa, knowing you were not only unraveling the lining of the cushion but also in the patched layer of your friends. “He wants the good kids, it’s why he took Tae and Guk. God is a selfish prick, he can suck me.” You seethed.

“Or you could.” Yoongi looked at you with his dead eyes, and you knew he probably couldn’t get it up if he had swallowed as many Viagras as Hoseok took pretty white pills in unmarked bottles. But it didn’t stop you from getting up and tugging his belt off.

The calendar marked today as some off-brand holiday, something that a store somewhere would profit off of. It marked that it’d been a week since you choked on Yoongi’s limp dick in front the rest of your numb friends. The red circle on the date, however, was because today was yet another tragedy.

In your dreams, you pictured Jimin to die in the tub, the water murky with his blood and something poetic inscribed in his forearm, a picture or something of equal significance burned into scorched soot by the clawed feet of the porcelain bath.

You didn’t think it’d be Seokjin found like that instead.

Namjoon wrote in his journal, tore out the page and burned it the minute he finished with it. The hair tie on his wrist was replaced with something sturdier, more industrial. The colored rubber band snapped harder, louder and left a bigger welt. He tried to take pride in the fact that he still hadn’t resorted to pills or fire or the end of a blade but honestly, this was so much worse. He lived a lie, a façade that he was alright just because his choice of pain wasn’t that of vulgar taste. He lived among the common faces of the world, blurred in the crowds but nothing would make the bright green on his wrist blend into the bland, colorless world.

Jimin tried to cry, the tears burning at his retinas but nothing ever came to fruition, his fingers scratching at the scars he chose to keep visible to the world today.

Of-fucking-course Kim Seokjin would ask to be cremated, to be turned into soil for trees. It was such a “him” thing to do, something he probably read on FaceBook or saw on Pinterest. You honestly thought if he was to be reincarnated into anything, he’d ask to be a pressed into a diamond, so he could always be has beautiful as he said he was. As he really was. No one was as beautiful as Seokjin, both inside and out.

The screen of your phone was shattered and you couldn’t bring yourself to get it fixed, the constant swiping on the glass leaving shards in your thumbs and making you smile whenever another cut embedded itself into your skin. You were just as weak as Jimin, though you hoped that you looked a little more civil since at least you didn’t have to wear jackets in ninety degree weather.

“What are we ordering for takeout?” Hoseok flickered through the several menus in his hand, mind caught between Chinese and pizza. Namjoon just shrugged and Yoongi pointed his chin at the one in Hoseok’s right hand, the Chinese menu. He scanned the options and asked what meats and sides for everyone. When he reached dumplings, Seokjin’s favorite, Jimin ran to the bathroom and left the door wide open as he puked into the toilet.

It was a resounding no for dumplings that night.

“Do you ever think… we’re being punished?” Namjoon started one night, his journal long forgotten as he inhaled deep, passing the joint to Yoongi before puffing out a big cloud of dragon-like smoke.

“For what? Fucking a lot and tagging some abandoned buildings?” Yoongi bitterly spat, Jimin next to him flinching with every venomous syllable. His body was constantly trembling, fingers unable to stay steady unless they were gripping something, anything. This time, it was Yoongi’s own shaking hand.

Hoseok took his own inhale of the drug before giving you the rolled up papers, the joint looking more and more displeasing to you as you stared at it.

“Maybe this is why we get out every time we’re put in a cell, because our ultimate justice will come from a higher power.” Hoseok drawled; weed always made his tongue slow and his eyelids heavy. He’d probably pass out on your shoulder any minute now.

“I think we’re just bad people getting what’s coming to us.” Jimin whispered, eyes still stuck on the break in the floorboards where Jeongguk drunkenly fell, his ass breaking the wood but no one caring because Jimin was on top of him, making out heavily mid-party. You all cheered for the two of them, watching their sexual tension unfold and you yearned for those days back, when you’d skip school and come to this little shack of a home, broken and frayed at the edges but still home. Just like you and your friends; your family.

“Stop repeating what your deadbeat alcoholic of a mother says to you, Jimin. She’s more worthless than any one of us.” Yoongi tightened his grip on Jimin, his squeak of pain doing nothing to ease the tension in his fingers. He didn’t want to lose him too, to watch him slip through the cracks.

Hoseok began to sing, slightly off-key but still melodious, somber in the empty house with broken furniture and too many memories to stay sober near. Namjoon couldn’t sing to save his life but his voice joined, a low murmur along Hoseok’s. Soon, the scratch of Yoongi’s voice intertwined like the threads in Jimin’s crocheted sweater before he too, began to sing. He harmonized with them, a missing link tying the bridge to the chorus. When you finally gave in, it was when you’d all reached Jeongguk’s name, singing Happy Birthday to him one last time.

“Did you know the Song dynasty ended in 1279 but it coincided with the Liao and Western Xia dynasties as well?”

“Who gives a fuck, Namjoon?” Yoongi pulled off Namjoon’s dick long enough to try and shut him up, hoping he’d just be quiet for once and take the damn blowjob without making a damn lesson out of it.

Hoseok was asleep on the couch, Jimin and you in a heated battle of black jack, currently you had 20 and you could chance it and hope you’d pull an ace and win all the graham crackers you’d put in the pool or you could play it safe and hope Jimin had less than you. He wasn’t a great card player but lately, all his expressions look the same so his bluffing was the same as his genuinely sad face, making you lose your cookies too many times in a row.

You used to use real money when you played, back when you had a reason to want to win. Back when you’d cheer for taking all of Taehyung’s money and you and Seokjin would go out to spend it on stupid shit that you’d regret a day later but in the moment, it just looked so useful and convenient.

When Jeongguk would win it back the next day just to see Taehyung smile again, to have him underneath him that night to repay him for his chivalry.

“Hobi, did you want me to suck you off too?”

Silence.

“Hobi?” You murmured, looking over in his direction. Jimin’s sad eyes followed.

Namjoon tucked himself back in, not zipping up the rusted metal in his tattered jeans.

You put down the card in your hand, moving from where you hovered over the deck to turn and watch as Yoongi crossed the room to shake Hoseok, his voice incomparable to the ringing in your ears as he screamed for Hoseok to wake up, to just wake the fuck up.

Jimin didn’t look away, Namjoon frozen in place as Yoongi continued to slap and shake his best friend, his lover, his confidant, hoping he’d wake up from some deep slumber. You turned back to your game, hand back on the deck as you decided it was time to give fate a chance. You pulled a card, the black butterfly in the middle telling you what you never hoped for.

An ace.

You won.

It used to be “us against the world” with you eight, a force not to be reckoned with whenever you all banded together. When you originally met, it was through friends of friends, mutual interests and one through a really interesting Tinder profile. You all had sworn fate brought you together for a reason, happiness meant to be share amongst the lot of you.

You wish you’d never met them, not a single one.

“Jimin? Could you let go?” You touched his shoulder, his body no longer jerky with anxiety. He was desensitized, no longer feeling anything. His eyes stayed on the cascading waves as he released the urn he had clutched against his chest, as if Hoseok still radiated his warmth through the pretty patterns and decorative top.

He wanted to be spread into the ocean, to find Taehyung. He didn’t want to leave him alone out there, knowing that Yoongi could be strong and handle him being gone. His note read:

“Just because I was weak, doesn’t mean you have to be. Let us live on in your hearts, let them beat for the rest of us. Taehyung was a tragedy, Jeongguk an accident, Seokjin an unfortunate chain of events and I, an outlier. Don’t make us into martyrs, something we’re not. We’re just kids, dealt a bad hand. But you all still have your game faces on, so come on Yoongi, pull an Ace for the rest of us.”

Yoongi set fire to his bedroom instead; with the lighter Jeongguk used to blow out, the very one Seokjin used to light his birthday candles, the one Taehyung bought at the gas station at the corner of where you lived. Namjoon threw the remainder of his journal pages in there, Jimin tossed his sweaters inside the flames. You stood by and warmed your hands by the fire, feeling your tears dry from the heat until the firetrucks came screaming and the hoses put out the fire that was in Yoongi’s heart. They killed him. Right before your eyes.

And then there were three.

Jimin never ate, walking bones that creaked and cracked whenever he moved. Namjoon refused to give up his rubber band, switching to a thick red one that turned white when he stretched it beyond his limit, matching the color of Hoseok’s pills, the mayo that globbed out of Seokjin’s burger, the come that Jeongguk would get on the bed after round two, the boxy grin Taehyung used to get everyone in more trouble than it ever did help. The same color that burned when the ignited fire got to its hottest, right in the core. The color of Yoongi’s skin when he found his friends dead, one by one.

“Should I take up the flute?” Jimin shook his head and told Namjoon his fingers weren’t dexterous enough, that he’d never manage the fine skill it took to play such an instrument. You nodded, knowing the damn thing would break the minute it slipped between his grimy fingers.

“Taehyung liked the sax, maybe you should try that instead.” At the sound of his name passing your chapped lips—lip balm no longer appealing to you because every flavor reminded you of someone different, someone dead—Namjoon stiffened, Jimin motionless like always. You’re sure any sort of use of energy from the younger male would cause him to pass out, the hunger in him always there but food never enticing enough for him to give into the temptation and give his body the energy it so desperately needs.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Another tack on the wall as Namjoon robbed a music store and let the cops gun him down. You never thought Namjoon would be the kind to go out in a blaze of glory, let alone one to own a gun. He was a pacifist, but when the crime scene investigator told you that the initials M. Y. were on the handle, messily scratched with probably some house tool, you knew what he’d done.

Jimin stopped holding hands, not having the nutrition in him to making his fingers tighten around yours, the bones probably seconds away from turning into dust. Your throat was dry, like the days you used to love. The days where the sun burned something serious and the boys only wanted to run around outside, despite your protests. Those were the days that everything seemed so simple, so cut and dry. So… easy.

You really hoped that Jimin would be stronger than you, that you’d finally give in and join the others so you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of yet another piece of your soul, your very being, shot dead right in front of you. So you wouldn’t have to go to another funeral or service or spread another’s ashes or read another’s will; so you wouldn’t ever have to hear crying wails or heartfelt apologies, hushed murmurs about how tragic it all was and how you all slipped through the cracks, the school system and your parents all failing you. So you wouldn’t have to etch a seventh mark, as you found Jimin, strung up from the ceiling fan.

The bedsheets were Jeongguk’s, the bandana Taehyung’s, the dishtowel Seokjin’s, the rubber bands Namjoon’s, the shoelaces Yoongi’s, the scarf Hoseok’s, and the sweater Jimin’s.

All knotted together to create a perfect noose, just like you all were meant to come together as. Only good for bringing the worst, death hovering over you all like an ominous storm, threatening to rain on the parade you’d created for yourselves.

All that was missing from Jimin’s perfect noose was yourself.

So you made sure to remedy that.

Putting yourself next to him with the aid of a rickety dining table chair; your hands wrapped around his throat to create a vice, to wrench the last breaths from his body, knowing that his heart was weak but his eyes weren’t; finally there was a spark inside his irises, something more than fear and dismay. You felt his body go limp before you finally checked his pulse, confirming that he indeed, was gone.

You sat down on the ratty couch, the same one you’d had sex with each and every one of them on; the same one that hosted countless movie nights and had popcorn tossed all over it whenever Hoseok got scared or Taehyung too excited. The couch that cradled Jimin when he cried at night and when Jeongguk would hold him for hours, promising to never leave him. The same couch that Yoongi would always fall asleep on, Seokjin covering him because he knew he’d catch a cold if he wasn’t kept warm. The couch that sat Namjoon when he’d heard the news on the phone:

“Kim Taehyung has committed murder.”

It felt like weeks, months, years scrawled by before you heard the front door open, slowly and then suddenly. The creaking something similar to Jimin’s bones, his body still hanging from where he killed himself; where you killed him.

Taehyung walked in, eyes on Jimin then you.

“How’s Hell?” You murmured, knowing damn well he could hear you clear as day.

“I just got back.”

You smiled and let death sweep you up, leaving just one. The first, the domino that started this terrible chain of events. The butterfly on your card, the Ace you needed.

Taehyung took one small breath before taking your life, making sure he followed right after.

Maybe you’d all meet up again, in some maze of chain link fences and pristine white ribbons like the bedsheets of Hoseok’s hospital bed, the suds in the sink where Seokjin scrubbed, the wax of Jeongguk’s birthday candles, the hoodie Taehyung always wore, the blond of Yoongi’s hair, the pages in Namjoon’s journal, the nailbeds on Jimin’s small hands. The white on the back of your playing cards, the ones built to be a steady house but instead crumpled in on itself.

But for now, you just welcomed the white and hoped that no one else would follow in this Butterfly Effect.

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